The snow fell steadily, large fat flakes that coated the dirty London streets in white. Everything was quiet and still as the hour grew late. Elizabeth stared forlornly out the heavy leaded window as she watched the candles in the street lamps flicker in the bitter wind. She absently wiped away a tear from her cheek and looked up towards the ceiling willing her watery eyes to clear as she choked back a sob. The painted cherubs frolicking upon the high plaster ceiling gave her no joy, nor did the ornately carved bed or the elegant trappings of her room. She was after all, a prisoner in her own home.

She breathed softly into her cupped hands to warm them. It was cold in the large room. Uncle George hadn't allowed her a fire again tonight. It had been four days since her father passed. Two since Uncle George had taken over the sprawling London townhome, and one since her Uncle had commanded her to wed him so the full bulk of her father's sizable fortune would pass into his drunken, greedy hands.

She had refused of course. With all the aristocratic bearing that had been instilled into her by both her mother and countless governesses.

She had looked down at his meaty paw on her hand, sniffed, then pulled away. "My father lies in state in this very house and you dare propose this... This incestuous scheme just to get your hands on a few shillings more? You disgust me Uncle." She had spat, fire in her grey blue eyes.

He had slapped her. The cruel blow splitting her lip and sending her sprawling to the ornate Persian rug. She stared up at him with undisguised hatred and spat blood upon the priceless silken treads. "You'll pay for that." He had snarled, kicking her viciously in the ribs.

Elizabeth refused to cry out, but she lay there panting as she tried to catch her breath. Uncle George had rung the bell cord summoning his valet and commanding him to lock her in her room. The stoic giant had lifted her effortlessly and strode from the room. He dared not meet her eyes until he placed her upon the chaise lounge at her window. There he murmered "I'm sorry Miss." Then turned on his heel and quit the room. Elizabeth had let the tears come as she heard the key turn in the lock.

It was hopeless. So there she sat, watching the snow cast the world in pure virgin white. She was alone at least until tomorrow, the funeral.

Elizabeth suddenly stood, her body stiff from sitting so long. She moved to her writing desk and yanked open the ornate drawers, spilling the contents onto the gleaming mahogany surface. She set aside the jewelry, her mother's. Sapphires, pearls, diamonds, rubies and delicate silver hairpins. That was a fortune in itself. The pin money her father had given her weekly collected in the back of her desk, unused. She had never developed a en tendre for shopping as most girls her age possessed.

Instead she prefered horses and hounds and had been saving her money in the hopes that she could make an offer on her friend's hunter. A sleek grey with long black legs and a mane and tail of flint. The horse was magnificent, and utterly wasted in London, where the only exercise it received was sedate canter's on rotten row.

Eight hundred pounds in ready money plus the jewelry. She had enough to live a quiet life. Away from all of this. Far away from Uncle George. But she still needed a means to escape.

She shoved her money and jewels into a large black reticule. She could sort out the heavier jewels later and see them into her cloak. Yes that was a grand idea!

Inspiration finally taking root she pulled her ink and quill to her and hastily smoothed a piece of paper on the desk.

My dearest friend Julianna,

I write to you in great haste. Since my father's passing my uncle George has locked me in my room until I agree to wed him. He covers my portion of papas fortune you see and will stop at nothing to get it. He even struck me. Please I need your help. I have money and Mama's jewels, I just need help getting out of London.

Please please I beg of you have a coach drawn by fast horses at the funeral.

Elizabeth

The note writen, she sanded the paper then folded it into a tiny square that easily fit in her palm. She took a pound note from her stash and walked to the window. The hour was growing late, but if she could just get the attention of a passing servant... Perhaps they would see her letter delivered. God knew the servants in this house were too afraid of uncle George to even meet her eyes.

She opened the window, shivering as the snow swirled inside. Pulling a heavy fur around her she propped herself up on the window sill to wait. She sewed her jewels into the silk lining then wrapped herself in the black ermine, comforted by it's weight.

Her nose was frozen and her eyes had begun to droop when she heard a man singing. Flinging back the fur she leaned out the window to get a closer look.

The man sat astride a large black horse the red of his uniform a sharp blotch of color in a world gone black and white, His voice was low baritone it rang clear against the hush of the snow covered streets.

Silent night, holy night
All is calm, all is bright

Round yon virgin, mother and child
Holy infant, tender and mild

She hated to interrupt his song, his voice was dark and lovely. But if she waited he would be past her window.

"Excuse me sir?" She tried to keep her voice low, but desperation made it loud even to her own ears.

The man's horse shied to the side snorting. The man sat deep in the saddle and turned his mount towards the sound of her voice. Bringing his face directly into the light of the street sconces. He was not handsome by traditional standards. Too dark, his hair and eyes, and too broad by far. But he smiled and swept her a gallant, if a bit drunken bow from the saddle. "Lady. What need have you of this errant knight in this bitter Christmas Eve?"

Elizabeth smiled a bit, knowing the effect it had on gentleman. "A favor, a simple favor I beg of you."

He nodded his eyes serious. "Name it lady and see it done."

"Deliver this letter to my dear friend with great haste. Please my life depends upon it."

The man took one look at the ethereal beauty and decided he would play the messenger for just one of her smiles.

A roar made his horse rear, and Elizabeth nearly fell from the window as her bedroom door crashed open. Uncle George stood there panting his eyes filled with rage. "I'll beat you for this you slut!" He shouted.

The man spurred his horse forward over the low hedge that separates the house from the street. He was beneath her window now. "Jump Lady." He commanded urgently.

Elizabeth took one look at her raging Uncle and half fell, half leapt from the window. She landed across the strangers knees and felt his arm clasp her about her waist, and then he kicked his horse forward. Over the low hedge and then into a gallop as they made the road. The pounding of her heart and hoofbeats meshing into one as the wind whipped her hair about her face.

It was only after they had put a good long distance between themselves and the spendor of Mayfair that the stranger pulled his horse to a halt that Elizabeth realized how precarious her situation really was. He pulled her to a sitting position, she awkwardly perched on the cantle of the saddle in front of him. His breath smelled of expensive scotch and his eyes were lit with the merriment of a horseman after a gallop.

"So lady mine, a fight with your husband?" He quirked a dark eyebrow at her in question.

Elizabeth shuddered in revulsion. "My Uncle and would be husband. Thank you for saving me." She self consciously touched her split lip.

"The blackguard!" He spat touching the corner of her lip with soft kid leather clad fingers.

Elizabeth shrugged helplessly, "Everything passes to him, except my allowance and dowry, now that papas gone he wants it all. I was going to run away but I needed help."

"Major Johnathan Randall, second son and black sleep at your service. "

Elizabeth found herself smiling at his cavalier attitude. "Pleasure to meet you, I'm Elizabeth Doughtrey heiress and orphan."

He smiled as he leaned forward gently brushing his lips against hers.

Elizabeth gasped at his boldness, but savored the feel of his lips against hers, the warmth radiating from his body and the chill of the snow as it swirled around them.