Chapter Two

The innkeeper had recognized Sebastian as one of the Quality and was effusive in his desire to help in any way he could. “Arnold Rose at your service, sir. I see you are surprised by my name. There have been Roses at The White Rose for centuries.” Seb listened to his assurances that yes, of course there was a room, and it was cleaned and ready. By the time Seb thought to glance behind him, the front door was closed and the woman was gone.

That moment in the doorway didn’t seem quite real. Her face. He knew it, he knew her, but the memory eluded him. Her dark hair had been tumbling about her after their scuffle, and the way she had gazed up at him with her large dark eyes... she seemed to know him, too. When was the last time a face had captivated him so immediately and so completely? The feel of her body against his, brief as it had been, had brought his flagging amorousness back to vivid life.

Good God, he could still feel the soft flesh of her bottom in the curve of his hand and see the taut bud of her nipple where her breast had escaped its confinement. His body had roared into life in a way it hadn’t for a long time now. He was cock struck—aching within the confines of his breeches—and all because of a stranger’s pretty face.

“Sir? I hope there is a room.” Dodds had arrived at his side. His manservant’s hazel eyes flicked between Seb and the innkeeper. “A night out in this weather would freeze my balls off.” Dodds usually said what he thought, and that appealed to Seb—there were too many toadeaters in his world.

“There is a room for me. You have a cupboard,” Seb responded dryly.

“Wonderful,” Dodds muttered.

They followed the innkeeper up the creaky staircase, Dodds carrying Seb’s case. “There’s a very attractive maid by the name of Maggie staying here,” he said at Seb’s shoulder. “I met her just now. I don’t think she’d say no to wiling away some time together.”

Dodds had a way with women. They found his ex-boxer’s face alluring rather than ugly, and his strong, compact body desirable. Had the woman at the door been Maggie? The idea of his manservant trying his luck with her did not sit well with Seb, and he knew why. He wanted her for himself.

The innkeeper spoke up, having overheard the conversation. “That’ll be the duchess’ maid.”

“Duchess?” Seb asked, as the man opened the door to their room with a flourish. It was basic but clean, and he had been promised hot water to wash in before breakfast was served.

Dodds looked about with a frown, as if the place was not up to his standards. “Is there a private parlor?”

“Indeed there is! But only the one, I’m afraid. You’ll have to share with the other guests.” Rose made a moue which belied the sparkle in his eyes. The snow might be bad luck for the travelers, but it was obviously a windfall for the inn.

Dodds wasn’t appeased. “Viscount Albury is not used to eating with any old Tom, Dick, and Harry.”

“We will manage,” Seb said quickly, before Dodds could create a fuss and lose them the room altogether. For some reason his servant considered it his job to draw attention to his master’s consequence.

Dodds grunted and found a coin from the purse he kept about him for just such occasions as this. He handed it to the smiling innkeeper and closed the door.

“How much did you give him?” Seb asked, going to stand at the window. It overlooked the back of the inn, where there was an expanse of forest with bare trees, their branches laden with snow.

“A shilling,” Dodds said, with disdain. “I’m sure the duchess has the best room, so he doesn’t deserve more.”

The forest reminded Seb of the wood at Albury House. His home. He remembered playing there as a boy and planting new trees with his father with their own hands when a storm had uprooted several old ones. “You’ll be able to sit in their shade when your son is grown,” he had said. His father was normally busy managing the estate, and those times with just the two of them had been precious. Then his mother died, tragically, and Seb and his father had had that terrible argument. Despite the time that had passed, the memory was perfectly clear, and perfectly painful. Afterward, Seb had marched out of the house and ridden away to London, where he had made his life. Money left to him by his grandfather had ensured he was comfortable, and Seb was not one to throw away his pennies at the gambling clubs. He and his father had not exchanged a word or a letter since that day.

Until a week ago when he received an urgent message from old Grimsley, the butler at Albury.

Come home. Your father is ill. He needs you.

Seb had read that short missive many times since. It sounded like his father was dying. Did he want to see him again before the end? Was there any point in trying to repair the fracture in their relationship after what had been said? Probably not, and yet he had set off anyway.

London-born Dodds had complained during their journey north—or to the “godless north” as he was apt to say. True, it wasn’t the best time of year to be traveling, but the winter was meant to be over. Although the spring was always slower to arrive up here, the heavy snowfall and the storm that brought it had still been unexpected. Thinking he had no time to waste, Albury had journeyed through the night, but they had made slow progress, and by dawn it was obvious it would be too perilous to go on. The White Rose made the perfect stopping place until the weather improved.

The sight of the bare trees beyond his window had brought back memories, good memories, and despite Seb’s confused emotions when it came to his father, he was glad he was here. Another day or two and the road would be passable again, and he could go home.

“Who is this duchess?” he asked Dodds belatedly.

“Dowager Duchess,” his manservant corrected him, as he began to set out fresh clothing for Seb to change into after he had washed. “Her husband died a year ago, and she is just out of mourning. Not that he was worth the effort, according to Maggie. Nasty piece of work. He forced her to live in a drafty old castle and even though he’s dead she still can’t leave if she wants to hang on to the money.”

Seb turned to stare at him. It couldn’t be! Could it...? “Was the name ‘Winstanton’ by any chance?”

Dodds eyed him cautiously. “Sounded like it. Do you know her? One of your conquests, is she?”

Catherine Mallory—the name came to him at last, and with it their meeting in London. There had been a connection between them, a sparkle in her eyes when they caught his, as if she perfectly understood and enjoyed his dry wit. All the same, she had been seriously out of her depth, and he’d had the foolish and uncharacteristic urge to rescue her. Though of course he hadn’t. He had never been a hero, and he doubted she had wanted to be rescued when she was on the verge of becoming a wealthy duchess. But for whatever reason her beautiful face had stayed with him for a long time after, and even now when he had thought her forgotten, he remembered her.

“No,” he said in answer to Dodds’ question. “Quite the opposite, actually.”

She had not been a conquest then, but what about now? Would she be open to the suggestion? He thought himself a little mad to consider it, but that moment with her in his arms had turned him reckless. And it had been a very long time since Seb had desired a woman like this.

Dodds waited a moment but when Seb said no more, he announced he was going to see about the hot water.

With the room to himself, Seb turned again to the window. It was odd enough that he remembered those brief moments with Catherine Mallory, but he hadn’t been mistaken—she had remembered him, too. And now they were together in this inn, held captive by the weather, he was considering trying his luck with her. He had grown lazy over the years, women tended to fall into his hands without much effort on his part. Perhaps it was time to take out his seduction skills and dust them off.