Chapter 5
Hunter swallowed hard.
Scarlett’s face was but inches from his, so close that he could count every freckle covering her pert nose. He knew the moment everything changed, when her eyes widened and she took her plump bottom lip between her crooked front teeth.
He could feel every inch of her body on top of him. She was soft in some places, hard and lithe in others. Despite lying in a pile of snow, Hunter felt no cold at all; rather he was heated down to his very bones.
Trying not to scare her away, he slowly, carefully, lifted his head, closing the space between them.
He kept her stare, encouraging her to stay with him, but the moment his lips were but a breath away from hers, she scrambled back away from him, her hands and knees biting into him in her haste to retreat.
“I’m sorry,” she said, her words coming out in a rush of breath. “I shouldn’t have done that. I?—”
“It’s all right,” he said, waving a hand at her as he stood, brushing the snow off of his cloak and trousers. “Just a bit of fun.”
“I know. I shouldn’t have?—”
“Stop apologizing, Scarlett,” he said, coming up behind her and helping to clear the snow from her own cloak. He wasn’t sure what she was apologizing for — the fact that she broke away from him, that she took him down in the first place, or that she had even started this game. “It’s fine.”
She said nothing, turning away from him with her careful facade back in place, hiding all emotion.
He sighed. Why did she turn from him so?
If only he knew what was keeping her away, then perhaps he could help fix it.
Unless it was simply him. For the last thing he wanted was to be dismissed for who he was.
Finally he had come to a place in his life where he had found purpose, when people accepted him for the person he was, for the attitudes he held and the work he did.
He had suffered enough rejection in his early life. He didn’t need it from his wife.
Hunter watched her as she walked over to her horse.
She gently rubbed the stallion’s nose, whispering soft words into his ear, too quiet for Hunter to hear.
In this moment of vulnerability, when she had her guard down, he had the chance to simply look at her.
And she was heart-stopping. Her breath was like smoke in front of her face in the cool air, the sun glinting reddish-gold highlights off her hair, which had come loose from its pins on top of her head and was now floating around her face, moving softly with the slight whisper of wind.
She was a winter nymph, and he wished he could know this side of her more intimately.
As though sensing his stare, she whirled around and the wall came up once more, shuttering her from his view.
“We should go,” she said, and as he walked over to help her mount, she launched herself upon the horse all on her own, hiking up her skirt. Those damn breeches, thought Hunter. They let him see every inch of her shapely legs, made his mind wander to places it had no business being.
“So we should,” he muttered, and, feeling completely useless, walked back to his own horse as she kicked her heels in and began the trek home.
She may confuse the hell out of him, but never in his life had Hunter witnessed a woman who could ride as Scarlett did.
Nor most men, were he being honest. She and her mount were like one, not only in their movements but in the way her hair seemed to be an extension of the horse’s mane, the chestnut hue of the horse a perfect match for his wife’s coloring.
She was exhilarating. And wanted nothing to do with him, that much was clear.
“Welcome home, my lord,” Henry Abbot, the butler at Wintervale for as long as Hunter could remember, greeted him as he arrived.
“Abbot,” he said, nodding to the man. “How fares the household today?”
“Very well, my lord, very well,” he said. “And may I say, my lord, how happy we all are to have you home.”
“Thank you, Abbot,” he said, then looking from side to side to ensure no one — particularly his wife, who told him she would be staying in the stables for a few more minutes with her horse — was nearby, he questioned his butler.
“Abbot, I’d like to ask you … how does the staff feel about Lady Oxford? Is she fair? Has she treated you well?”
He hadn’t given it a thought until now, and he felt some guilt that he had left so abruptly months prior without determining whether his staff would fare well under his wife’s direction. If she were so cold and standoffish with him, what was she like to the rest of them?
“Lady Oxford? Oh, she is wonderful, my lord,” Abbot said with such admiration and enthusiasm that Hunter nearly took a step back in shock.
“All of the staff love her, my lord. She is very kind, and generous too. We see to whatever she may need, of course, but she is always concerned about our wellbeing. When Cook was burned, my lady saw to the wound herself, she did! And when it was discovered one of the maids was with child — not that we want to speak much of that, of course — my lady ensured she was well looked after. When there were complications, she told her to take time away, with pay. Oh, yes, my lord, we like her very much.”
“I see,” murmured a surprised Hunter. “Thank you, Abbot.”
The butler nodded and walked away with Hunter’s cloak over his arm, leaving Hunter to stare after him. What did everyone else see that he didn’t?
“And then, Marion, I just lay there on top of him as though I were a blathering idiot, an infatuated, flirting tease! What was I thinking?” Scarlett laid her chin in her hands as she looked in the mirror of her vanity table.
Her lady’s maid scampered about the room behind her, laying out her clothing for dinner.
Scarlett had removed all of her wet garments and now sat with her wrapper around her as she warmed herself with a cup of tea after her romp in the snow.
She had nearly allowed Hunter to kiss her.
She had to be more careful. The man said himself that he would be off to London soon, and if she allowed herself to feel anything for him, here she would sit, pining away for him like some lovesick young girl.
That, she would not allow to happen.
“Perhaps, Marion, I should go visit my mother for Christmas. I haven’t seen her in over a month now, and you know how she loves Christmas so.”
Marion stepped back from Scarlett’s wardrobe to look at her in the mirror.
She had been with Scarlett since she was a girl, had practically grown up with her.
Scarlett knew how untoward it was to share such confidence with a maid, but besides Lavinia — who, as Hunter’s sister, she couldn’t completely take into her confidence about certain matters — she had no one else to speak to.
Marion had proven time and again she could be trusted, and Scarlett appreciated their closeness.
“It’s not for me to say, really, Lady Scarlett,” she said, scratching her head underneath her mob cap. “Though if I had a husband who looked like yours, I wouldn’t stray far.”
“Marion!” Scarlett’s head snapped up and she turned to look at her maid with astonishment. “I can hardly believe?—”
“Forgive me, my lady, that was not right for me to say, not at all,” Marion said, her cheeks flushed.
“It’s fine,” Scarlett said with a wave of her hand. “I was taken aback, that’s all. You know how I feel about letting him in too close.”
She flipped open the locket around her neck, taking in the miniature of her mother, who looked so like the reflection that was staring back at her.
Scarlett loved her mother beyond words. She was kind and beautiful, inside and out, with so much love to give.
Her father had cast that aside, and Lady Halifax had schooled Scarlett to protect herself from the same circumstances.
She told her daughter she never wanted her to suffer such hurt.
“The staff has talked about him, before, Lady Scarlett, and I must say … he doesn’t seem that bad a sort. Perhaps if you gave him an opportunity?—”
“No, Marion,” she said, harsher than she intended, and she softened her words with a smile. “Besides, if he leaves in a couple of days as he plans to, then it doesn’t much matter, now does it?”
“I suppose not.”
Marion helped her into a simple but beautiful, flowing red dress, with an empire waist and cap sleeves, before draping a shawl around her shoulders.
Marion cleared her throat. “I don’t suppose … never mind.”
“What is it?” Scarlett asked, turning to look at her, surprised to see Marion’s eyes on the ground as she scuffed her toe into the carpet.
“I was wondering — do you know anything of Lord Oxford’s valet? Mr. Spicer? But no, of course you don’t. Why would he speak to you of his valet? Forget I asked. Off you go, now.”
Scarlett grinned, pleased to have a distraction from her own musings. “Why, Marion? Do you happen to have a penchant for this Mr. Spicer?” She couldn’t picture the man in her head, but then, she had little cause to note her husband’s valet.
“No! Yes. Oh, my lady, he is awfully handsome. He caught my eye at the time of your wedding, if I were being honest, and then of course I didn’t see him again until just this week. I simply wondered whether he was a single man, that is all.”
“That, Marion, I can find out,” she said, with purpose now, and Marion smiled gratefully. Interesting, though Scarlett. She wasn’t sure how well it could potentially work out between the two of them, but Marion was a grown woman and could choose her own actions.
“Wait!” Marion called as Scarlett made to leave. “One more thing.”
She came up beside Scarlett, fastening small diamonds hanging from wires to her ears.
“Earrings? Oh Marion, I’m not sure?—”
“They’re small and tasteful, and they look lovely on you,” said Marion. “Have a wonderful dinner.”
Scarlett let out a little snort but allowed Marion to send her on her way like a doting mother. If she didn’t know any better, she would think Marion was trying to push her together with her husband. But her maid knew her far better than that to think such a ploy might work — didn’t she?