Jane Feather - Vixen

"Come here, you." Hugo took her by the waist, lifted her, and sat her on the table. "You and I need to have a little talk, my ward. Leaving aside that inexcusable piece of arrant interference over… over whatever you call him"-he clutched at the air-"Petrarch… I gave you two direct instructions, which, on both occasions, you chose to ignore."

"But you'd forgotten about Rosinante," Chloe protested. "I had to go in after him." Her position on the table meant that she was obliged to look directly at her guardian as he stood in front of her. It was not a comfortable exercise. Hugo was as filthy and as weary as

she, but his eyes were dauntingly severe and his jaw was set in an uncompromising line.

"You did not have to," he said forcefully. "I had just forbidden you to go anywhere near the fire, and you weren't going to take a blind bit of notice. Do you think I say these things just to exercise my vocal chords?"

"I couldn't think about anything but the horses. And you had forgotten about Rosinante." Seeing him for a moment without a response, she rushed on in swift self-defense. "And I didn't need to go inside when you shot Rosinante. I'm not such a milksop. It was the least cruel thing that had ever happened to him, poor soul." She sniffed and wiped her eyes with her filthy sleeve. The lace edging was torn and unraveling, and she began to pull at it. It gave her the opportunity to look down and away from that unwavering scrutiny.

Hugo put a finger under her chin and tilted her face. "In ten years at sea," he said deliberately, "no one ever, ewer disobeyed an order of mine."

"Too interested in keepin' a whole skin," Samuel observed, measuring tea into a pot. "Powerful 'ard the navy is."

It occurred to Chloe that Samuel was on her side. "But this isn't the navy," she pointed out.

"No, it's not, for which you may thank your stars." Hugo lifted her off the table. "In view of the circumstances, I'm going to let it go this time, but you'd be making a great mistake to assume any precedents."

The storm seemed to have blown over. Chloe shifted the subject to good purpose, saying with the ferocity of before, "I'd like to stick a knife in Jasper."

"So you've said." Hugo sank into a chair with a weary groan. "What makes you think your brother's responsible?"

"It's obvious. It has his mark all over it," she said. "He

never forgets an insult or an injury, and he doesn't scruple what methods he uses to get even."

" 'Ere, get this down ye." Samuel put a mug of tea in front of her. "A tot o' rum in that wouldn't do 'er any 'arm," he said to Hugo.

"There's a crock in the pantry, isn't there?"

"Reckon so." Samuel fetched the stone jar of rum and poured a dollop into Chloe's tea. He doctored his own similarly and sat down in his usual chair by the range, closing his eyes.

"Once, when a man offended Jasper… he wouldn't sell him a horse or something… Jasper arranged to have the stream that watered his orchard diverted. And I know he poisoned old Red Biddy's drinking trough and poisoned her cow because she'd cursed him once."

"How do you know these things?" Hugo sat up, no longer weary. He'd put nothing past Jasper, but he hadn't realized that the man's evil was so well known.

Chloe shrugged, sipping her tea. "Jebediah, the poacher, told me. He knows everything that goes on."

"Mmmm." Hugo sipped his tea in silence, a deep frown corrugating his forehead. Jasper had taken up the gauntlet with a vengeance, it seemed, and the duel would continue until one of them was defeated. Chloe had to be protected first and foremost. Only when she was safely beyond her brother's reach could Hugo turn his attention to the more personal vendetta that this had now become.

Chloe Gresham needed a husband… and soon.

"So what are we going to do?" she said. "We're not just going to let him get away with it, are we?"

"What do you suggest?" He smiled slightly at her intent, ferocious expression. "I doubt he'll let you come close enough to stick a knife in his ribs."

"Burn his hay ricks," she said promptly. "What's

sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander… but we won't hurt anyone," she added, tears suddenly sparking anew in her eyes. "What if you'd been asleep, or if we hadn't woken? Or if we were too late?"

"None of those things happened," he said soothingly. "Don't dwell on might-have-beens, lass."

"It was too late for Rosinante."

"It had been too late for Rosinante for a long time." Suddenly, he stood up and his voice took on a completely new tone. "You look like a chimney sweep. You can't possibly go to bed in that condition."

"What do you mean?" But he'd already left the kitchen.

Chloe lapsed into a fatigued trance, sipping the comforting brew in her mug until she tipped it up, draining the tea, and yawned. "I can't stay awake another minute."

"You can stay awake long enough to clean up." Hugo spoke from the doorway. He carried the brown velvet robe she'd worn before, a thick towel, and a cake of soap. He beckoned. "Come on, lass. It'll be a bit chilly, but we'll get it over with quickly."

"What are you talking about?" There was something about the gleam in his eye that made her uneasy.

"You'll soon see," he said, and the gleam intensified, his lips twitching with a secret amusement that increased her suspicion.

Samuel stood up. "I'll be off to me bed," he said deliberately.

"No, don't go, Samuel." Chloe put out a hand to stop him.

He glanced at her and shook his head. "Sir 'Ugo's right. A proper little sweep you are. Wouldn't 'ave happened ifn ye hadn't gone into the stable."

"But I thought you were on my side," Chloe wailed.

Samuel, chuckling, left the kitchen.

"Come on, lass." Hugo beckoned again. "It's bath time."

Chloe stood her ground, holding on to the back of the chair, regarding Hugo with the deepest suspicion. "I don't want a bath."

"Oh, you're mistaken, lass. You want a bath most urgently." He walked toward her with soft-paced purpose and she backed away.

"What are you going to do?"

"Put you under the pump," he said readily, sweeping her easily into his arms.

"But it's freezing!" Chloe squealed.

"It's a warm night," he observed in reassuring accents that Chloe didn't find in the least reassuring.

"Put me down. I want to go to bed, Hugo!"

"So you shall… so you shall. All in good time." He carried her out to the courtyard. "In fact, we'll both go to bed very soon."

Chloe stopped wriggling at that. Despite fatigue and the events of the night, she realized she was far from uninterested in what such a statement might promise.

"Why can't we heat some water and have a proper bath," she suggested carefully.

"It would take too long." He set her down beside the pump, maintaining a hold on her arm. "And it would not convince you of the consequences of headstrong, willful behavior. If you dash into the midst of an inferno, you're going to come out like a chimney sweep." Releasing her arm, he pulled the nightgown over her head so she stood naked in the moonlight.

"And chimney sweeps go under the pump," he declared, working the handle.

A jet of cold water hit her body and Chloe howled. He tossed the soap toward her. "Scrub!"

Chloe thought about dashing out of the freezing jet and into the house, but the filth pouring off her body

under the vigorous application of the pump convinced her that she had no choice but to endure this punitive bath. She danced furiously for a few moments, trying to warm herself, then bent to pick up the soap and began to scrub in earnest.

Hugo watched her with amusement and rapidly rising desire. The gyrations of her slender body, silvered in the moonlight, would test the oaths of a monk. She was in such a frantic hurry to get the job over and done with that her movements were devoid of either artifice or invitation, which he found even more arousing.

"I hate you!" she yelled, hurling the soap to the ground. "Stop pumping; I'm clean!"

He released the handle, still laughing. "Such an entrancing spectacle, lass."

"I hate you," she repeated through chattering teeth, bending her head as she wrung the water out of the soaked strands.

"No, you don't." He flung the thick towel around her shoulders. "Rarely have I been treated to such an enticing performance." He began to dry her with rough vigor, rubbing life and warmth into her cold, clean skin.

"I didn't mean to be enticing," she grumbled somewhat halfheartedly, since the compliment was pleasing.

"No, that was part of the appeal," he agreed, turning his attentions to the more intimate parts of her anatomy. "But I trust that in future you'll think twice before you fling yourself into whatever danger presents itself, my headstrong ward."

Chloe knew perfectly well that given the set of circumstances, she would do the same thing, but it seemed hardly politic or necessary to belabor the issue, particularly when he was doing what he was doing. Warmth was seeping through her in little ripples, and, while her skin was still cold, her heated blood flowed swiftly.

Finally, Hugo dropped the towel and wrapped her in

the velvet robe. "Run inside now and pour yourself another tot of rum. You can dry your hair at the range. I'm going to clean myself up."

"Oh?" Chloe raised an eyebrow. "I'm sure it would be easier for you if I worked the pump." She turned up her blistered palms. "I've had a deal of practice already… and besides, I'm entitled to my revenge… or do I mean my pleasure."

Hugo smiled and stripped off his clothes. "Do your worst, then, lass." He faced her, his body fully aroused, his eyes gleaming with challenge and promise.

With a gleeful chuckle she sent a jet of water over him, careful to circumvent that part of his body that most interested her. Hugo was unperturbed by the cold, having enjoyed many baths under the deck pump of one of His Majesty's ships of the line. The secret was to know it was coming. The other morning, when Chloe had chucked a jug of the icy stuff over him in the bath, he'd been expecting the benediction of steamy liquid warmth.

With the utmost seriousness he washed himself as she continued to work the handle, but deliberately he offered himself to her wide-eyed gaze. She worked the pump with breathless enthusiasm, her tongue peeping from between her lips, her eyes sparkling with anticipation.

"Enough!" Finally, he held up his hands, demanding surcease. "The show's over. Pass me the towel."

Chloe grinned and continued to work the handle for a few more minutes. Hugo leapt out of the stream and grabbed the damp towel. "You're asking for more trouble, young Chloe." He rubbed his hair and abraded his skin.

"Inside with you, unless you want to go under again." He took a menacing step toward her and with a mock scream she ran into the house, but instead of going to

the kitchen she went into Hugo's bedroom, diving beneath the sheets.

When he came in five minutes later, she was lying in his bed, the sheet pulled demurely up to her chin, her cornflower eyes filled with the rich sensuality that never failed to overwhelm him.

"Good morning, Sir Hugo." She kicked off the cover, offering her body, naked, translucent in the pearly dawn light.

"Good morning, my ward." He dropped the towel from his loins and came down on the bed beside her.

If we went to London and you married a rich wife, then you could repay whatever of my fortune you had to use to make your house habitable." Chloe's tone was casually conversational. "You wouldn't have to repay what we spent on my come-out, of course. Clothes and balls and things like that…"

She twirled a silky chest hair around her little finger, her head resting in the crook of his shoulder. She'd never managed to get this far without being cut off before.

"There must be lots of rich women in London-widows or some such-who'd love to marry you. You're handsome and clever and-"

"Enough flattery." Hugo interrupted at last. "As it happens, I'm not in the least interested in rich widows, although I'm deeply complimented that you should imagine ranks of them falling at my feet."

"Oh, but you have to be sensible," she said earnestly. "It's possible that they won't be pretty… or even very young… but if they're rich-"