A Winter's Knight: A Regency Romance

Phoebe Hartridge runs into serious danger on an icy winter evening. But her rescuer, the mysterious Anthony Sterling, immediately melts her heart and makes her dream of a life beyond her tiny, sheltered world. The more she gets to know him, the more she senses he is hiding something from her.

When Captain Anthony Sterling was wounded at Trafalgar, he lost his leg, his fiancee, and any hope for happiness. Even the revelation that he is the heir to a fortune brought him nothing but bitterness. Then his chance encounter with the charming, innocent Phoebe makes him wonder if there may be a future for him after all. But first he must escape the shadows of his past.

Can Phoebe bring her winter knight out of the past and back into the light?

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

A WINTER'S KNIGHT

Ebook Edition

All rights reserved.

Copyright © 2012 by SkySpark Books.

Cover design by Brittni Thomas

This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. Any reproduction or other unauthorized use of the material or artwork herein is prohibited without the express written permission of the author.

SkySpark Books
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
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England, 1806

“Oh, no,” were the first
words Phoebe Hartridge muttered when she came to. She remembered Dasher sliding on the ice, and then panicking, rearing, throwing her clear. Then she remembered nothing at all.

As she looked around the snow-laden forest, it was obvious that hours had passed. The sun hung low in the sky, and she was chilled to the bone, despite her riding habit and heavy cloak. Nan, her housekeeper and surrogate mother, would have her head for ruining the fine woolen cloth of the habit. She had sewn much of it herself, and she did not relish repeating the work. Phoebe chanced a look at her skirts and winced. A long tear in the cloth reinforced her memory of the brutal fall. When she shifted her weight, an icy puddle splintered beneath her foot, soaking her shoes. “Bother,” she muttered.

Winter had come early this year, though it was not yet Christmas. A recent snowfall had blanketed the wood with white, and Phoebe, riding home from an errand, had decided that a shortcut through the trees would be beautiful and also get her home in time for luncheon.

Now she was paying for that foolish decision. From the hoofprints on the ground, it was clear that Dasher had bolted. Homeward, she hoped. Although if the horse came home without a rider, her father would be beside himself.

Phoebe struggled to stand, shaking her head dizzily. Her dark blond hair tumbled down around her, pulled loose in the fall. She tugged it back and tied it with a ribbon, hoping it would hold till she got home. She must look a fright.

She was far from home still, but with luck she could find the road and hail someone down. Taking a few tentative steps, she hoped that she would reach the road quickly. Her weak leg, a plague since a carriage accident in early childhood, hurt worse than usual. No doubt the cold had seeped in. Phoebe began to walk, reaching out to trees for additional support. Her limping gait sounded a peculiar rhythm in the woods, echoing in the cold wind.

Phoebe had a good sense of direction, using the setting sun to point her toward the main post road. She started to shiver as she walked, the wet wool of the cloak providing only the barest protection. She wanted to sit down and rest, but it would be better by far to reach civilization by nightfall. Spending the night in these woods would be idiocy.

She had just sighted the road in the distance when she noticed two figures in the late afternoon light. “Excuse me!” Phoebe called out. “Can you help me?”

The figures turned, and began to walk toward her. As they got closer, Phoebe saw that both were men, poorly dressed and unshaven. She began to doubt her wisdom in calling attention to herself, but she wasn’t actually scared until the first of them reached her.

“Well, now, if it isn’t a little lost lamb.” The voice was anything but friendly.

“A fallen angel,” the other agreed, standing to block her way forward.

Phoebe looked at one, then the other. “I need to get to the village—” She backed away, but the man shadowed her, forcing her to turn aside, losing sight of the post road.

“We all need something, pretty miss,” the first one, a blockily built man, said. “See, I need your money and whatever baubles you got.”

“And I need to get a piece of what’s left.” The other man reached out and flipped her cloak aside. He looked her up and down, grinning. “When I’m done, you’ll find the road—or at least they’ll find you on it.”

“Get your hand off me,” Phoebe warned, her heart beating wildly. “Or I shall scream.”

“And who’ll hear it? No knights in shinin’ armor in these parts.” He grabbed her roughly.

Phoebe batted his hand away. “I said don’t touch me!” She threw her dignity out to the winds and screamed as loudly as she could.

He growled and made to cover her mouth with his hand, but Phoebe bit his finger. He yowled in rage. “Minx!”

Phoebe felt him grab her with both hands this time. “No!” She managed to scream before he clapped his beefy hand over her mouth. She resisted, trying to wriggle free. She could hear nothing but her own gasps and his angry grunts.

“I ain’t going to make this quick, girl,” he warned, all pretense gone.

Then it all changed.

“There seems to be some sort of misunderstanding.” The voice that suddenly echoed through the clearing was as cold as ice. The click of a pistol being cocked accompanied the words. Everyone froze. Phoebe slowly straightened up, even as the first man loosened his hold on her. The voice went on, “I very distinctly heard the lady say no. You seem to have heard something different.”

Phoebe chanced a look over her shoulder. She never thought a man holding a gun pointed in her direction could be a welcome sight, yet this one certainly was. Astride his horse, he had a soldier’s bearing, and the hand that held the gun was steady as a rock. Phoebe did not think he would miss if he chose to shoot.

“We don’t want no trouble,” the heavyset thug said, holding his hands out by his side. He had seen the same things as Phoebe, and came to the same conclusion about the broad-shouldered rider’s shooting ability. The other, the one who had grabbed her, hesitated. The man on horseback shifted the gun to him. “If you want to avoid trouble, you will step away from the lady. Now.”

Phoebe watched, breathless, as the taller man took one, then two steps away from her. His eyes never left her though, and she shivered with revulsion when she saw the look of anger and lust on his face.

“Madam,” the man called to her. Phoebe turned her head again. He looked at her directly for the first time, and in the fading light his piercing eyes shone an icy light blue. “May I offer you escort home?” The tone was drawing-room proper, in stark contrast to the gun, still held professionally and calmly. She now noticed that his face was marked by a long, wicked scar on one side, drawing the skin of his cheek into a permanent scowl. It gave him a harsh, forbidding look. Nonetheless, she knew without a doubt that she could trust him.

“Thank you,” Phoebe whispered, her voice not quite her own. She stooped to grab her reticule from where it had fallen, and limped painfully toward the man on the horse. If he saw her lame gait, he gave no sign of it. He merely said, “It might be best if you mounted behind me, madam. Just put your foot on the stirrup.”

As she did so, Phoebe realized that the stirrup was empty because the man’s right leg was gone, amputated just below the knee. He held out his free hand to steady her. Phoebe was able to swing up onto the horse, and she felt him grip her thigh very briefly, to see that she was secure. The contact sent a shock down her body. “Put your arms around me, please,” he said quietly. It was nevertheless an order.

“I shall be escorting the lady home now,” he continued in a voice loud enough for the ruffians to hear him. “I will then stop by the parish constable to give your descriptions to the authorities. If they find you, you may expect a turn in gaol. If I find you, you may expect a good deal worse. Do I make myself clear?”

Cowed by the cold professionalism of the soldier, the men nodded slowly.

“Now run,” he ordered in a deadly tone, and the two lost no time fleeing into the snow-covered forest.

He watched them disappear, returned the gun to the holster on his right side, then flicked the reins of the horse. The creature stirred beneath them, anxious to be moving again in the winter air. Phoebe, who had put her arms round her rescuer’s waist to hold herself steady, felt the heat in his body, and noticed that he seemed to be all muscle, the lean torso widening to broad, strong shoulders. She had never been this close to a gentleman before, and she found it distracting, to say the least. Nonetheless, she huddled as close as she dared to his warmth.

“Are you alright?” he asked, turning his head to glance back at her. Perhaps unconsciously, he kept his scarred side hidden from her.

“Yes, thank you.” She noticed his hair, cut rather short, was pure chestnut. “Just a bit shaky from the fright.” She was also shivering from the cold, and he sensed it.

“They were animals,” he growled.

“They wanted money,” Phoebe continued to explain. “And they were going to…” She could not finish the statement, frightened and embarrassed by the memory.

“Should I have shot them?” the man asked with terrifying casualness.

“No! Nothing happened! You arrived just in time.”
You saved me
, Phoebe thought.
Like a knight in shining armor
.

“Where am I taking you, madam?” he asked, changing the subject. The idea of two men setting upon a lady in the English countryside infuriated him beyond reason. Especially one that looked as lovely and as fragile as this one. He remembered the look on her face when she first turned toward him, the wide brown eyes filled with fear and anger. Who could take advantage of her? These were the countrymen he had fought for?

“I live in Chipping Norton. It’s just a few miles up the road.”

“Were you planning on walking that whole way?” he asked, puzzled. He had noted her dark green riding habit as she approached him in the clearing, though he had noticed her tumbled, rich dark blond hair far more.

“I had an accident. My horse threw me when I misjudged a turn and hit a patch of ice. I fell and hit my head. The horse must have bolted, since it was gone when I came to.” Phoebe rushed her words, fearing the censure that must surely be coming. “It was stupid of me. I should not have tried to take a shortcut through the woods.”

“I am glad nothing worse happened,” the man said quietly. He paused. “Captain Anthony Sterling, at your service.”

“I am Miss Phoebe Hartridge,” she replied, rather shyly.

“Miss Hartridge.” Tony inclined his head, the proper, distant tone in his voice again.

They rode in silence for a few minutes, Phoebe rather intensely aware of the masculinity of the man in front of her. She wondered if he had lost his leg in battle, and if so, which battle. She wondered if he ever smiled.

Then he asked unexpectedly, “Did you hurt yourself in the fall? You seemed to have some trouble walking.”

Phoebe swallowed. “No. It is always like that. My leg, I mean.”

“Forgive my intrusion,” Tony said instantly. He cursed himself silently. He of all people knew how sensitive one could be about a physical defect. It had been a bitter lesson for him.

“How could you have known? You don’t live around here, do you?” Phoebe asked simply. “I don’t think I’ve seen you before.” As if he were a person one could forget!

“No, Miss Hartridge. I am in the area on some personal business.” His inheritance, in fact, but he wasn’t supposed to say anything until everything had cleared the courts. “I shall be returning to London in a few days.”

“Oh, I see,” Phoebe was unaccountably saddened by that notion. How odd, considering their acquaintance was only minutes old.

Tony held his tongue after that, thinking instead about the lovely woman sitting so close. She had wrapped her arms tightly around him for balance, but remembering her deep brown eyes, he wished it were for another reason. He could smell her fragrance in the winter air, a combination of flowers and honey. It was undeniably feminine, just like her face and figure, and the hair that was charmingly, improperly loose. He wondered what it would be like to kiss her. Perhaps she would also taste like honey. Tony tried to stop that line of thought, since it would only lead to pain. He was done with courting. His fiancée—his former fiancée—made that very clear.

Phoebe, relaxing as the cold and fear receded, sighed and laid her head on Tony’s broad back, gazing into the woods beyond, now growing dusky in the fading light. Strange how minutes ago she was in danger of ravishment, or a beating at the very least, and yet now she felt so safe. “It was very good of you to help me,” she said, still gazing at the snow-dusted trees.