The Vicar's Frozen Heart (3 page)

A deep voice, but it held no warmth at all. Well, she was thankful he found her and took her in, but had the distinct feeling she’d be out on her backside as soon as she became mobile. “My trunk?”

“I recovered it about an hour ago. I found you at half past four this morning. It is now three in the afternoon.”

Goodness. She’d slept nearly around the clock. With great effort she managed to lift the blankets and peer under them.
I’m only wearing my shift.
Did this iceberg of a man strip off her clothes and lay his hands on her? “My clothes?”

“I hung them by the fire in the parlor. May I have your name?”

Right.
“Eliza...Eliza Winston. Where am I?”

“The village of Hawksgreen. Where were you heading?”

His standing over her should be ominous for he had quite the presence. Yet the fright she had initially experienced dissipated even though he continued to act in a grave, unfriendly manner. What a dark, brooding man.

“Dover...I think.”

“Are you in pain?”

Yes, you daft man, I was tossed from a moving carriage.
She no longer wished to converse. Instead she gave him a brisk nod.

“Very well, I will make you a cup of willow bark tea.” He turned on his heel and hobbled out. Eliza admired the view. Well-proportioned with broad shoulders, at least it appeared as such considering he wore wool trousers and a matching coat. The clothes fit him well, the coat hugging a slim waist. He wore no cravat, but the shirt was buttoned up to his neck. Wonder how Mr. Colson injured his leg? He’d grimaced in pain as he turned to leave. Even with his disability he brought her and her trunk into his home? Perhaps he also experienced discomfort this day.

Where on God’s earth was Hawksgreen? She’d never heard of it. A shiver of apprehension ran down her spine. She needed time to construct a sound plan for her future, a plan all the harder to make since she’d been robbed. Not a farthing to her name and she possessed nothing of value to sell. Eliza doubted this man would be empathetic to her plight. Perhaps he had a long-suffering, kindly wife who would take pity on her. Nevertheless, if she must exaggerate her injuries to gain more time, she would.

* * * *

Tremain was right. The woman’s eyes were as green and sparkling as highly polished emeralds. They were also sensual and intelligent. When she met his gaze his insides tumbled with yearning. Dismissing his inappropriate response, he continued into the kitchen, pain tearing through his right thigh to his knee as if a hundred knives sliced into muscle and bone. He was paying the price for his nocturnal adventure, and dragging her heavy trunk into the house also took its toll. If he possessed an ounce of common sense he would be sitting by the fire, his leg resting on the stool while he sipped a brandy and read. Instead, he hobbled about waiting on a strange woman.
A very attractive woman.
When the swelling and redness dissipated, her true beauty would be evident. Lighting the stove and turning up the flame, he shook his head dismissively. After filling the kettle, he set it on the burner and took a seat, exhaling with relief as the pressure on his leg lessened, even if only temporarily.

First order of business, find out her story and make immediate arrangements to see her gone from the premises. If he believed in fate--which he did not--he would wonder why such a woman was deposited on his property and to what purpose? To shake up his staid life? Tempt him into lascivious thoughts and actions long forgotten and buried? Regardless, the storm still raged outside, though not as ferociously as last night. He could not toss her out in it, but be damned if he would allow a storm to start brewing inside of him.

He made her tea, along with a cup for himself to ease the insistent, throbbing ache in his leg, then carried them both to his bedroom. Miss Winston was sitting upright, staring out the window at the swirling snow. “Quite the storm,” she whispered.

“Yes. Though last night was worse.” He held out the steaming mug and she took it, giving him a brief smile. Tremain sat next to the bed.

She took a sip, glancing at him over the rim. “Am I far from Dover?”

“Far enough. Dover is close to two hours from here, all told. You will have to take the coach to Ashford to catch the train to Dover, which is about an hour and a half’s journey. Do you have family there?”

She gazed into the murky contents of her cup. “I have no family. And no money. Those wretched men robbed me and... Oh, no!” she cried.

“What is wrong?”

“The letter of reference was in my reticule. That horrid man ripped it from my arm and threw it to the floor. No money and no reference. I am certainly in a pickle,” she laughed brokenly.

“I think, Miss Winston, you best tell me your story from the beginning.” He placed his cup on the table.

She looked at him, wary and questioning. Green fire flamed in the depth of her eyes. “My tale of woe is hardly your concern, Mr. Colson.”

“True. But you will require my assistance to continue on your journey. You cannot stay here.” He winced slightly. His voice was cold and dismissive even to his own ears.

“Eager to shunt me already?” She snapped. Then she frowned and shook her head. “Forgive me, I don’t mean to sound ungrateful. I was a governess at Bowater Manor in Ingleton, Yorkshire.”

Ah
. This explained her educated tone and proper dress. “You are a long way from Yorkshire.”

“Quite. I will speak plainly. I was dismissed from my post for dallying with the youngest son of the Earl of Bowater.” She stared at him as if waiting for his censure. Tremain made sure he did not react to her shocking pronouncement and stayed firmly hidden behind his granite mask. “I was given thirty pounds and a mediocre reference, then stuffed in a carriage driven by two men her ladyship hired God knows where, to be escorted as far away from Yorkshire as possible. Why she picked Dover, I have no idea. Nor do I care.”

“There is no possible way you could make it from any place in Yorkshire to Dover in one night, let alone get this far. It is more than two hundred and fifty miles at least.”

“Well, we did catch a train in Leeds to London, the last one of the night. Once in London they hired a carriage as per her ladyship’s plans. We drove all night, apparently. I guess the men had travelled far enough. Does it storm like this often?”

Tremain digested the information. What she explained could be achieved if they travelled by train most of the way.
Dismissed for a dalliance.
He let his gaze slowly linger over her body and, even well-wrapped in the blankets, she was damn appealing. Her tangled, auburn locks fell about her shoulders. Though her face was still bruised and swollen, the luminescent pearl shade of her skin shimmered in the firelight. No wonder the son of the house couldn’t keep his hands off her. Always the servants who pay the penalty in such a case. What did she ask again? “No. A snowstorm of this magnitude is rare for this part of England. Did they harm you? The men, I mean.”

“Besides the one brute slamming his fist into my face?” She touched her cheek tentatively and winced. “No. I believe he intended to...to...violate me. He said as much. There was a struggle. You see, I had the money hidden in secret pockets of my shawl. The beast tore it off me in the melee, the door popped open, and he pushed me out of the moving carriage. I don’t remember much after that. Bits here and there. I think they planned to return to London to celebrate their windfall. And my downfall.” She gave him a shaky smile and his unused heart clenched briefly. “I am at your mercy, Mr. Colson. I throw myself...at your...mercy.” Her voice quivered.

Good God, not tears
. Tremain rose to his feet. “Try and get some sleep,” he said, then made his hasty escape. Once in his study, he slammed the door behind him and locked it. He could not allow this woman to appeal to him in any way. Yet, her stark honesty and tremulous vulnerability managed to chip away a few pieces from the ice-covered wall surrounding his heart. Never mind what her voluptuous form and fiery, auburn hair did to stir his lust. He sat before the fire and stared at the flames until well after sunset.

Eliza woke to the sound of a brusque clearing of the throat. Mr. Colson stood in the doorway holding a tray. “I thought you would require something to eat.” He stiffly walked toward her as she struggled to sit upright. After laying the tray on her lap, he lit the lamp and turned to leave.

“Wait a moment. Please sit and keep me company? Has the storm abated?”

A deep rumble emanated from Mr. Colson. He sat on the chair and looked about the room at everything but her. Did her story disgust him to such an extent he could not stand to be in her presence or even meet her gaze? How astonishing.

He crossed his arms. “It’s eight in the evening. The snow stopped some hours past.”

Eliza inspected the food on the tray. A bowl of beef stew, fresh bread, and cheese. “Did you make this?”

He shook his head, meeting her gaze briefly. “No. I have a woman who comes in three or four times a week to clean and prepare food. She makes enough to see me through a few meals.”

His words, spoken in a brusque manner, matched his cool expression of indifference. He obviously did not have a wife or family. No surprise there, as this could very well be the coldest man she’d ever met. How to carry on a conversation with such a human icicle?

“Your words, asking for my mercy...”

Flushing in mortification, Eliza wished she could recall them. However, she did need assistance in whatever form. Not used to asking for help, she always stood on her own and made her own way in the world. She remained silent. Exaggerating her injuries no longer seemed a wise plan. There would be no fooling this implacable man.

“I have given it a good deal of thought. I will pay for the rest of your journey to Dover.”

Someone else eager to see me depart.
“I have no desire to travel to Dover. I was being taken there as part of my agreement with Lady Bowater. But seeing both my money and reference are now gone, I am not compelled to journey farther.”

“I’m not sure what manner of occupation you can find in a small village such as Hawksgreen. If, as you say, you were a governess...”

Eliza frowned and cast him a furious look. “You do not believe me? By all means write to Lady Bowater, though I doubt she will reply. Better yet, contact Mrs. Travers, the housekeeper, for she will back up my sorry tale and confirm my previous employment.”
Wretched man
. Though--he didn’t know her at all and she could not fault him for being cautious. Since Mr. Colson found her beaten and penniless, he had every right to question her account. She shook her head. “Again, I am sorry. I’m grateful for your kindness and should not be taking out my anger and disappointment over my situation on you.” She nibbled absently on a piece of cheese.

Stealing a glance, Eliza had to admit the man was handsome in a chilly, serious way. Besides the perfect cheekbones, he possessed a wide, sensual mouth, though it often turned downward in a frown or pulled tight in a taut line of what she supposed could be complete disapproval.

“I will travel to the village tomorrow if the roads are clear enough and see what employment I can acquire for you. It may be beneath your previous station as governess.”

“I’m not proud. I will do any honest work that pays a fair wage.” She clutched his hand gratefully and he stiffened. How warm his large hand felt with his long, elegant fingers and clean, blunt nails. Not too soft, but comforting.
Masculine.
The surprising warmth travelled through her, heating her blood, wakening her sensual senses and snapping her nerve endings to life.

Mr. Colson’s silver-gray eyes widened and he pulled his hand away from hers as if he’d been burnt. Stumbling to his feet, he clasped his cane, turned, and hobbled from the room, slamming the door behind him.

Good God. Not even touching the golden son of the earl caused such an electric reaction in her as the mysterious, gloomy Mr. Colson just had. How unnerving.

* * * *

That was it. Eliza--Miss Winston--could not stay here any longer. Twice now he’d fled her presence and it irked him greatly. In the past he did not run from women, far from it. In fact many sought him out. Indulging in pleasures of the flesh became one of his favorite pastimes. Tremain was the middle of three sons. His oldest brother, Harrison, was more of a rake than any of them, while the youngest, Spencer, lived the life of a monk. And he at one time played it down the middle, much like his status in life. Though lately he’d lived more like his younger brother than he had the oldest.

Tremain did not need or want an attractive woman under his roof. She upset his equilibrium and his plan to live a sober, solitary, and for the time being, celibate life. Hell, her touch sizzled his skin, boiled his blood, and hardened his damned cock to the point of pain.

If he had his way he would send her on to Dover and forget she ever existed. Move on with his quiet, sedate life. In the morning he would head to the village and find her other accommodations. Even if he had to crawl through the snow to accomplish it as she could not stay another night under his roof. Because if she did he would lose all control. Kiss her senseless, caress every inch of her luminescent skin, take her to his bed and have her over and over until his rampant desire quieted.

No woman aroused him like Miss Winston. Oh, to hell with it--Eliza. Not in all his experiences. Perhaps it was the fact he’d not been with a woman in close to three years.
Remove the temptation. Do my good deed, and move on.
Yes, a sound and sensible plan.

* * * *

The next morning Eliza awoke to the sounds of doors slamming. Glancing at the clock on the wall, it read nine in the morning. The heavy drapes lay open enough to observe the sun shining high in the sky and the rays glistening on the blanket of snow, causing it to twinkle and shimmer. Stretching, she winced slightly, but decided she should not stay in bed any longer. Bad enough she used a chamber pot last night. How mortifying to have Mr. Colson empty it for her.

Swinging her legs around, she sat upright. Pushing herself up with one hand, she stood. Though her legs shook slightly, she managed to walk back and forth. Not too much damage then. How surprising to find her clothes neatly laid out at the foot of the bed. Her skirt and blouse were not in bad shape, considering, but pale droplets of blood were still visible on the collar. In due time she would inspect her trunk, but first she had to locate it. After dressing quickly, she pinned her hair up in a haphazard bun, opened the bedroom door, and then peered out into the hall. Mr. Colson’s house was a good size for a man living alone. Well, she assumed he was alone, as no one else checked on her, nor did he mention other occupants or a family. But then, he did not mention much of anything of consequence in their brief conversations.