Seduction on a Snowy Night

by Mary Jo Putney, Madeline Hunter, Sabrina Jeffries

Genres: Historical Fiction; Romance Anthologies & Collections; Regency Romance

Synopsis

This winter, steal away with the reigning queens of Regency Romance . . . to a surprise snowstorm, the comfort of a blazing fire, and the heat of a lover’s kisses . . . A CHRISTMAS ABDUCTION by Madeline Hunter Caroline Dunham has a bone to pick with notorious rake Baron Thornhill—and a creative plan to insure his undivided attention. Yet once in close quarters, she finds herself beholden to their smoldering connection . . . A PERFECT MATCH by Sabrina Jeffries Whisked away from a wintry ball by the officer she knew only through letters, Cassandra Isles struggles with her feelings for the commanding Colonel Lord Heywood. For he, secretly a fortune-hunter, must marry for money to save his estate—and Cass, secretly an heiress, will accept nothing less than love . . . ONE WICKED WINTER NIGHT by Mary Jo Putney Dressed as a veiled princess, Lady Diana Lawrence is shocked to discover that the mysterious corsair who tempts her away from the costume ball is the duke she once loved and lost. Now snowed in with Castleton at a remote lodge, will she surrender to the passion still burning hotly between them? “Hunter’s effortlessly elegant writing exudes a wicked sense of wit.” — Booklist “Anyone who loves romance must read Sabrina Jeffries!” —Lisa Kleypas, New York Times bestselling author “Putney’s books are the literary equivalent of catnip to historical romance fans.” — Booklist

Release date: September 24, 2019

Publisher: Kensington Books

Print pages: 322

Sample

Thirty miles out of Carlisle, the light snow turned to rain. For Adam Prescott, Baron Thornhill, it was a fitting end to a miserable journey.

By the time the mail coach careened around a bend and slowed to a stop in the coaching inn’s yard, his greatcoat hung heavy with damp and a steady stream dribbled off his hat’s brim onto his nose. He told himself that even this was better than being inside the coach with Mr. Liddle, an odiferous gentleman whose fashionable garments did not mask a lack of washing. Adam felt bad for the two elderly ladies inside who could not take refuge in the open air on the top of the coach. One had gazed longingly when he did so himself at the first stop outside London.

Now he climbed down to stretch his legs while the coach changed horses for the final stage of the journey. The other passengers hurried inside to warm themselves, but his mood did not beg for company. Rather he paced the yard for a few minutes, then took refuge under the inn’s eaves and watched the steady drizzle make tiny ponds in the dirt.

Thirty miles more and he would be in another coach, this time with a warming pan and a fur rug, and with a velvet cushion under his ass instead of a board. No one would crowd him and no one would, heaven forbid, smell. After a pleasant afternoon ride through the country he would be welcomed into his cousin’s family for a week of unfettered luxury at someone else’s expense.

And after that, an entire lifetime of comfort, if Nigel’s plan worked.

With such promise awaiting him at the end of this journey, he shouldn’t even notice the rain or smells or his sore hindquarters. He should be dreaming about the fortune within reach.

So why wasn’t he?

He had begun turning his mind to the unfortunate answer to that question when a disturbance distracted him. Scuffles sounded around the corner of the inn. Ruffians were engaged in a fight from the sounds of it. He took a step in the opposite direction; then a voice caught him up short. “Unhand me, you rogue,” a woman hissed lowly before she gave a short cry.

Any inclination to retreat disappeared. He pivoted and marched to the end of the inn, then turned the corner.

And found himself facing the end of a pistol barrel. He stared, frozen in place.

A young blond-haired man in a broad, rustic hat held the gun high, peering down its sights. Not that Adam noticed him much, due to that pistol being so close to his face. Nor did he much note the bit of skirt disappearing around the back of the inn, although he absorbed he had been the victim of a ruse.

“You come this way now,” the man said, stepping back. “I said this way. Are you looking to see me fire?”

Adam took a slow step forward. “I was merely distracted by how very large and black this end of a pistol appears when it is all but up your nose.”

“A bit more now.” The man took another two steps back.

Adam paced forward, wondering if this man really would shoot, or was any good at shooting if he would. He could perhaps simply turn and run back around the building. The close proximity of that barrel to his head made him reject that rash idea. Even the worst aim would probably find its mark this close.

“I must tell you that I have very little money on me.”

The blue eyes taking aim wandered a moment, up and down. “A gentleman like you should have enough.”

“You would think so, eh? Although, really, what is enough? I ask you, is there ever enough? Well, never mind. My situation is such that right now, on this day, I do not have enough, whatever your enough is. You chose the wrong gentleman. Now, Mr. Liddle, when he comes out, is probably flush with blunt. He is the sort who always would be. I should warn you that he smells, so you won’t want to insist he follow you this closely. However—”

Just then the horn sounded, as the coachman warned the passengers of an imminent departure.

Adam cocked his head to see past the pistol. “I need to go now. What do you say we just forget about this? You go rob someone else, and I’ll be on my way.”

“You aren’t going anywhere.”

Sounds of feet and voices moving to the coach came around the corner. Adam patted his coat, opened a button, and reached toward his purse. In doing so his hand hit the folded vellum tucked into his frock coat. “I’ll give you what I have, but I truly must return to the coach immediately.”

“I don’t want your money.”

“What then? My hat? It is a very good one. It is yours.” He removed it and handed it forward.

“I’ve no use for it.”

Probably not. And yet, perhaps once he did. This criminal’s speech lacked the tone and syntax one would expect of a pistol-toting thief. At some point this man had been educated.

“If not my hat and not my purse, then what do you want?”

No reply came to that. They stood there not speaking while the feet around the corner stopped landing and the voices muted. They were still facing each other in silence when horse hooves began pounding the ground and the mail coach rolled away.

With Adam’s baggage still tied to its back.

Other wheels rolled, this time from behind the inn. A wagon came into view, with a woman wearing a large, deep-rimmed bonnet and heavy garnet mantle holding the reins. She let the ribbons drop, then climbed into the back.

“Get in.” The man waved the pistol in her direction.

“Are you abducting me?”

“I said get in.”

Adam walked around the wagon and climbed in. The horse stood at attention. A very nice horse, from the looks of it. Deep chestnut, with good lines. Maybe six years old. Too fine to be dragging this wagon.

Some bales of hay lined the edges of the open space of the wagon. The woman gestured for him to sit. Then she accepted the pistol from the man, who climbed to the seat and took up the reins. She sat on another bale, facing Adam, the pistol firmly grasped in her hands.

“I know how to use it,” she said.

Her voice riveted his attention. Low, throaty, melodious, it was the voice of a mature woman but one still young. He peered at her through the drips of rain separating them, those coming off his hat and her bonnet, and all the ones between. He saw a face as young as her voice sounded. Not a girl, but not middle years yet either. Maybe twenty-five or thereabouts, he guessed.

Her hair, barely visible deep inside that bonnet, looked to be dark, and her eyes showed an arresting deep brown color. Her complexion appeared fresh and lovely and exceedingly pale in a good way, not pallid and unhealthy.

The wagon began moving. He waited to see if anyone was out in the yard. If so, he intended to call out for help and risk that pistol going off. She said she knew how to use it, but very few women really did.

Unfortunately, the rain had sent everyone to shelter, even the grooms and inn’s servants. He could see some faces at the inn’s windows as they rolled onto the road.

“I don’t know what this is about,” he said, loudly enough for the man to hear, too. “However, you are committing a serious crime.”

No reply came.

“If you hope to ransom me, it won’t work. No one will pay. You will be stuck with my keep to no purpose.”

Nothing.

“I will be missed. My baggage is still on that coach. When it arrives and my property is there, but I am not, a search will be made.”

That at least caused the woman to blink. “They will decide you slipped and fell into the stream behind the inn and the rain washed your body down a ways.”

“You have a spirited imagination. They will think nothing of the sort. “

“It is the most logical explanation, and being lazy they will accept it. It will be weeks before they suspect something else might have happened. In the meantime, with Christmas soon, no one is going to spend much time looking for a stranger.”

“I am not entirely a stranger to these parts.”

“We know who you are.”

Did they now? “If you know who I am, then you know that you risk your necks with this rash act. I am a peer and the Home Office will involve itself if I disappear. My cousin is also a peer and he will not look well on you once you are discovered.”

“We know the power of the Marquess of Haverdale. His view of us will not matter by the time he learns of this.”

So he would learn of it, eventually. At least they didn’t intend to shoot him and bury him in a shallow grave. He had not led the best of lives, but even he did not deserve that.

The rain fell harder. Adam gave up trying to fight the results. He relaxed on the bales and let the weather do its worst. He speculated on what addlebrained scheme these two had concocted.

“Keep it dry, Caro,” the young man said over his shoulder.

The woman draped her mantle over the pistol and tucked her bared hands underneath. Adam noticed how red and raw they appeared.

“You are both going to hang. How sad. It is a disgusting way to die. Have you ever seen it? I’ll beg them to transport you instead, but my cousin will insist you hang and a marquess normally gets what he wants.”

The man looked over his shoulder. “You talk too much. Watch him closely. He is trying to distract you.”

“I won’t be distracted. You watch the road. The rain is making parts barely passable.”

“I am not trying to distract her. I am just passing the time with conversation.”

“Too much conversation,” the man muttered. “It’s a wonder all those ladies can abide your company.”

So they did know something about him. “Where I come from, conversation is expected. I am considered clever, even witty.”

“Part of your charm, is it?” The woman offered a thin smile with the question. “In these parts we save talking for when we have something to say.”

If there was to be no conversation it could be a long journey. They turned off the main road and jostled down a much poorer one. The wagon bounced in and out of ruts.

He began to stretch out on the bales, thinking a nap might spare him an hour of wet silence. As he did he noticed that the pistol no longer aimed right at him but rather down at the wagon’s floor. The fingers holding it became visible as the mantle edged back.

“Have you no gloves?” he asked.

“Not ones fit for this.”

Not leather then. Knit. He sat upright and peeled off his gloves. Recently purchased but not yet paid for, the gloves with their softness had seduced him as surely as a woman’s velvet skin. He handed them toward her.

The woman hesitated. She glanced at the man’s back, then took the gloves.

She had to set the pistol on her lap in order to pull a glove on her left hand. It was too big, but the fine lambskin meant it would not be too clumsy. Still, it interfered with getting the other glove on her right hand.

Adam leaned forward, took her hand in his, and pulled the glove on for her. He took the opportunity to push the leather lower on the fingers so it fit fairly well.

She watched with wide eyes. She glanced once at her companion in crime, then down again at what he did.

He picked up the pistol and put it back in her hand. She flushed at the evidence that he had indeed distracted her, but not with words. She grasped the pistol with determination while he set about making the glove fit better on her left hand

He looked into her dark eyes, so in contrast with her white skin. She was a handsome woman, with a face that would still be attractive thirty years hence, when the fashionable beauties of the day had long lost their prettiness. When she smiled a severity in her expression disappeared. He peered into the bonnet’s shadow while something nudged at his memory.

“What is your name?” he asked.

“Caroline.”

“I should not address you with such familiarity.”

“I would prefer that you do not address me at all.”

“Then I will pose a question while I have your attention. Have we met before?”

She just looked at him.

The wagon suddenly halted. “What are you doing? Caro, are you mad? We know he is a rogue and a rake.”

She and Adam both turned their heads to where their driver glared over his shoulder. Not at their faces. His scowling gaze rested lower, where Adam still held a gloved hand in his own.

Caroline snatched her hand away. Adam lounged back on the bales and smiled apologetically. The wagon moved again.

And just then, at that moment, the rain turned to snow.

Caroline regretted that she had scolded her sister, Amelia. Of course the girl’s head had been turned by this man. Between his face and his charm, a female would have to be dead not to be affected.

That Caroline herself had briefly succumbed could be blamed on nature, not her character. She had assumed he would not dare anything with Jason two feet away. She had also assumed he would not find her worth daring anything for. She had not counted on his being a man who flirted and dared for amusement, and perhaps to advantage himself in a situation like this.

That was the problem with carefully laid plans. They were based on assumptions. They had to be. She had convinced herself that this would unfold how she needed it to unfold, and already it wasn’t working out quite that way.

She really wished she had taken the reins instead of Jason. She could manage this wagon just as well. Then she would not have to look at their captive. Now she could not avoid it, since she needed to keep this pistol on him so he did not jump off the wagon and run into the trees.

He had lain down now, to take a nap it appeared, with his hat cocked over his brow, but she could still see his beauty. His limpid dark blue eyes alone would command attention. They had humor in them, even when facing a pistol. The result was the finest of lines on the side of the eye she could now see. As for the rest of his face, his regular features and rather perfect skin made him appear to have stepped out of a painting, where the artist embellished reality by removing the flaws nature inevitably provided.

And yet, now, with his eyes closed and his face in repose, he appeared harder than he did when he looked at her and smiled. Older. Perhaps even a little weary.

Of course he was a rake. With that face, what else could be expected? Women probably lined up when he entered a drawing room, all but begging to be seduced.

She realized that she had just found a way to excuse him for his horrible behavior. All because of one brief touch through a glove. A fine caretaker of the family honor she was! She would have to be on her guard not to let his manner and appearance lead her to question her plan on how to save Amelia.

He opened his eyes, looked to the sky, then sat up. He removed his hat and shook off the snow, then brushed his coat. “Will we go much farther?”

She shook her head.

“That weapon must be getting heavy. You can put it down for a while. I am not going to jump on you and take it.”

So he said.

“I give my word as a gentleman. See? I’ll keep my hands above my head like this.” He waved his hands, then clasped them behind his head. “And I’ll cross my legs so any move will take time.” He entwined his legs together, hooking one boot around the other.

He appeared so comical that she smiled despite herself. “I never thanked you for the use of the gloves. It was not in your interest to do that. If my hands went numb, I could hardly shoot you.”

“I would not know they were numb enough, however. With my luck today, I would take my chance only to have you shoot me dead in the road.”

“Shooting you dead would not be necessary. An arm or leg would suffice to stop you.”

He peered at the pistol, then into her eyes. “Are you that good an aim, that I might not end up dead by mistake?”

“I am that good.”

“I will take your word on that.” He looked at Jason’s back, then leaned in to speak quietly. “Would you tell me why he decided to abduct me? Was it just my misfortune to take shelter under those eaves, or is there a reason?”

Goodness, his face was close now. Luminous in the overcast day. Her tongue felt thick, but she managed to speak. “He did not decide to abduct you. I did.”

“Truly? You seem fairly sensible, but the situation is ludicrous. What if I had not stayed outside in the rain under those eaves?”

“If you had not taken shelter, we would have found another way to do it. I had several plans.” One had been for her to enter the inn, flirt with him, and beckon him outside for a quick—whatever it was people did when beckoned outside. She had even worn a dress that might aid in that, hidden now beneath her pelisse and cape.

Just as well he had gone to the eaves. She had not had much faith in that particular alternative. She had little experience in flirting, and no evidence it worked when she tried it.

“Why? As I said, no one will ransom me.”

“The marquess would not want to be known as a man who left his cousin to his fate because he was too miserly to pay a ransom.”

There would be no ransom, but for now let him think there would be.

Jason turned the wagon off the road and onto the lane leading to Crestview Park. Lord Thornhill turned to watch the new direction. “Are we going to that house up there?”

“We are.”

“What is it called?”

She didn’t answer. The less he knew, the better.

“I’ll dry these out for you, and give the hat a good brushing.” The elderly, thickly built red-haired man took the garments as if he were a valet. Only he wasn’t a valet, but half of a pair of servants who greeted Adam when he entered the low-slung stone house, with its two levels of windows and rambling wings. He did not miss that lacking a coat meant escape would become a good deal less comfortable.

The man left, limping to favor his right leg.

The young man did not follow Adam in. Caroline did, still holding the pistol.

“Warm yourself here,” said the other half of the pair, a short, round old woman in a big white cap and apron. She led him into a good-sized sitting room and toward a roaring hearth fire. Solid, serviceable wood furniture filled the room, with two high-backed upholstered red chairs facing the fireplace. A simple writing table in one corner held a thick ledger on its surface. The space appeared comfortable but far from luxurious, as if nothing new had been put in it for many years.

At least they did not stint on the fuel. He positioned himself to both dry and warm. The old woman smiled with satisfaction at his expression of bliss in experiencing the heat.

“May I know your name so I can thank you properly for building up the fire in preparation?”

The woman’s face fell. She glanced at Caroline, then said, “Smith. Mrs. Smith. He that took your hat is Mr. Smith.”

“I want you to know that Mr. and Mrs. Smith are not in any way involved in your being here,” Caroline said while she shrugged off her cape onto one of the red chairs. “They work here, and will help see to your comfort, but they are not part of it.”

“That is good to know, but of little use to them. When my cousin starts looking for necks to stretch, he won’t care about nuances.”

Mrs. Smith blanched. She grabbed the cape and hurried out.

“That was unnecessary,” Caroline said.

“She should know the truth. She is here. I am here. I am a prisoner. She is helping imprison me. That is all that will matter.”

She untied her bonnet and cast it aside. Fire burned in her dark eyes. “You can frighten her as best you can and she will not be disloyal. She and her husband have been here for years, and are as good—Are you even listening to me?”

“Of course.” Hardly. With that bonnet gone and the fire blazing, he could see her distinctly. His initial perceptions of dark eyes and hair and white skin, of a handsome face that would be more notable as she aged, held. Only now those eyes were ablaze with annoyance and her head balanced just so on exact posture and her presence warmed him as much as the flames at his back.

“Then hear me when I say do not try that again. If you do, you will not eat well here.”

“Surely you are not threatening me with bread and water?”

“It won’t kill you. In fact, it might do you some good to lose a few pounds.”

“Excuse me?”

“I am not saying you are fat, only that you have thickened a bit, as men do when they leave youth behind and start softening in their middle years.”

“Excuse me?” Thickened? Middle years? Softening? He was barely twenty-seven and at most weighed five pounds more than when in university.

“Have I insulted you? Oh, dear. I do apologize.” She did not sound the least sorry. “Now you must come with me so I can show you your chamber.”

She strode to the entry and called for Mr. Smith. The man showed up a few minutes later. With a flourishing gesture, Caroline bid Adam follow Mr. Smith up the stairs. She followed behind them both.

They trudged up to the attic level, and to a chamber intended for a servant. Rough plank boards and a slanted timbered ceiling contrasted with simple whitewashed walls. A low window broke through the eaves to provide a view of the countryside.

“You will stay here,” Caroline said. “Your meals will be brought to you, as will water for washing and such. There is plenty of fuel for the fireplace, as you can see.” On her mention of it, Mr. Smith knelt to build the fire.

Adam paced around the Spartan chamber. “What am I to do here? My baggage is gone. I have no clothing, no razor, no books, no anything.”

She turned to leave with Mr. Smith. “I will find garments and books and send them up to you. As for how you spend your time, perhaps some reflection and penance would be good for the soul.”

The door closed. A sound scraped against it. He waited a few minutes, then tried the door. It budged only an inch, enough for him to see that it had been barred. They had planned this for some time if they had constructed that to ensure he could not leave.

He paced around the small chamber one more time. It had so little space that moving in it could not satisfy his restlessness. It was a damned prison. He tried the bed. At least the mattress had enough stuffing to cushion the ropes. He rose and checked a little wardrobe. It held nothing except a chamber pot.

He disliked confinement of any kind. This would become annoying quickly. Already anger nibbled the edges of his mood.

He bent to look out the small window. No tree outside, not that he could fit out the window easily. Down below, a stone wall held back the land from the foundations of the house and some steps that he guessed went down to the kitchen. If he jumped or tried to lower himself, he would drop four levels, not three. Only an idiot would risk it.

He threw himself on the bed. Penance, she suggested. She must know more than a little about him. As for her recommendation, plenty of penance awaited him if he found a way out of this cell.

That alone was enough to dampen his rising indignation. In a manner of speaking, this ridiculous adventure was a reprieve, brief though he expected it to be. A small delay before he chained himself to a woman whom he in no way suited or even much liked. Even her fortune might not repay him for the life she would subject him to.

He went to gaze out the window again. The rolling land said they were still in Cumberland and probably still north of the lakes. If he could escape he could probably find his way to Nigel without undue time or trouble. He still had some coin on him, and his boots and greatcoat should keep him warm enough. He rather regretted not retrieving his gloves now.

Then again, he could stay here and reflect, as Caroline put it. Review his carefree life before he sold himself in marriage to that woman. He could reminisce about lovers recent and old, about big wins at the tables, and ignore the bigger losses, about indulgences enjoyed despite no money to pay for them. He could revel in the infamy that meant even rustics like the ones in this house knew who he was.

Why not? And if he could get out of this chamber, the hills out there and the sitting room below offered some unexpected diversion. He did not know why he was here, and that alone was an interesting little mystery to be solved.

The scraping said the bar had risen. He sat up as the door opened. Caroline marched in and dropped a bundle on the bed. “Not the finery you are used to, but they should do and no one in society is going to see you. There’s a Bible there, and one of Mrs. Smith’s novels, and a journal or two. I added some newspapers. They are old, but not of London, so you may find them new enough. There are also a few necessities.”

He eyed the stack of garments and publications. “How long do you intend to imprison me?”

“Five days if the weather holds. Longer if the snow keeps falling.”

“Until Christmas then.”

“Yes.”

He would regret missing the festivities. A marquess knew how to do up Christmas smartly. Watching his nieces’ and nephews’ excitement always provoked a pleasant nostalgia.

“You do not have to bar the door and lock me in. If I did not try to escape off the wagon, I won’t now. Nor would it do me much good if I managed it. I don’t even know where I am.” He smiled his best smile, to cajole her to reconsider.

For an instant her mouth softened at the edges and her eyes shone with new lights. Then her brow puckered while she glanced around the chamber to avert her gaze. She turned on her heel and left.

He returned to the window. Fifteen minutes later two figures came up the steps down below. At the same time, the wagon rolled into view.

The tw. . .