MISTLETOE AND MAYHEM

A REGENCY HOLIDAY ROMANCE ANTHOLOGY

CHERYL BOLEN     HEATHER BOYD     ALINA K. FIELD     WENDY VELLA     BARBARA MONJEM     DONNA CUMMINGS     SAMANTHA GRACE     SASHA COTTMAN     BREE WOLF     LANA WILLIAMS     BRONWEN EVANS

CONTENTS

Mistletoe and Mayhem

Copyright

COUNTESS BY CHRISTMAS

Cheryl Bolen

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Epilogue

About Cheryl Bolen

SILVER BELLS

Heather Boyd

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Epilogue

About Heather Boyd

CONVINCING THE COUNTESS

Alina K. Field

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Epilogue

About Alina K. Field

RESCUED BY A RAKE

Wendy Vella

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

About Wendy Vella

UNWISE BUT NOT DISHONORABLE

Barbara Monajem

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

About Barbara Monajem

MEET ME AT THE MISTLETOE

Donna Cummings

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Epilogue

About Donna Cummings

WHILE YOU WERE ROGUISH

Samantha Grace

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Epilogue

About Samantha Grace

WEDDED TO THE WELSH BARON

Sasha Cottman

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Epilogue

About Sasha Cottman

ONCE UPON A KISS GONE HORRIBLY WRONG

Bree Wolf

Prologue

Chapter One ~ A Plan is Hatched

Chapter Two ~ A Disaster Waiting to Happen

Chapter Three ~ Friends of Old

Chapter Four ~ A Dedicated Cousin

Chapter Five ~ Simply Kiss the Girl

Chapter Six ~ Under the Mistletoe

Chapter Seven ~ An Almost Perfect Plan

Chapter Eight ~ In the Library

Chapter Nine ~ The Competitor Intervenes

Chapter Ten ~ A Blind Fool…

Chapter Eleven ~ Lady Louisa’s Moment

Chapter Twelve…or Two

Chapter Thirteen ~ Out into the Snow

Chapter Fourteen ~ Mine to Kiss

Epilogue

About Bree Wolf

A ROGUE AND SOME MISTLETOE

Lana Williams

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Epilogue

About Lana Williams

THE DUKE’S CHRISTMAS LIST

Bronwen Evans

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

About Bronwen Evans

Dear Reader…

MISTLETOE AND MAYHEM

There’s no Christmas like a regency Christmas spent under mistletoe! New York Times Bestselling author Cheryl Bolen and friends invite you to discover true love in an all-new collection of steamy romances this holiday collection.

Countess by Christmas © 2020 by Cheryl Bolen

Silver Bells © 2020 by Heather Boyd

Convincing the Countess © 2020 by Mary J. Kozlowski

Rescued by the Rake © 2020 by Wendy Vella

Unwise but not Dishonorable © 2020 by Barbara Monajem

Meet me at the Mistletoe © 2020 by Donna Cummings

While you were Roguish © 2020 by Samantha Grace

Wedded to the Welsh Baron © 2020 by Sasha Cottman

Once Upon a Kiss Gone Horribly Wrong © 2020 by Sabrina Wolf

A Rogue and Some Mistletoe © 2020 by Lana Williams

The Duke’s Christmas List © 2020 by Bronwen Evans

Book and Cover Design by Heather Boyd

Published November 2020

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced nor used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for use of brief quotations in a book review.

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

The stories in this book are works of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used facetiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

COUNTESS BY CHRISTMAS

~ House of Haverstock #5 ~

by

CHERYL BOLEN

Inheriting Darnley Lodge from old Lord Paxton is the best thing that’s happened to lovely widow Mary Milne, whose fondest desire is to remove her ailing little boy from London’s noxious air.

Why in the devil did his dead father request that Lord Paxton spend Christmas at Darnley with the scheming woman who’s deprived him of his family’s old hunting lodge?

CHAPTER ONE

MARY MILNE COULD NOT IMAGINE why she had been summoned to a solicitor’s office. Her late husband most certainly possessed nothing worthy of legal transfer. Indeed, his paltry military pension barely kept food in the bellies of her and their son.

She hated taking Stevie out on so miserable a day. It was not only beastly cold, but she hated exposing her son’s delicate lungs to London’s noxious air. Today one could barely see one’s hand in front of one’s face for the sooty skies. How she missed the clean country air of East Sussex and Darnley Lodge.

What a difference one Christmas made! Last Christmas she and Stevie had enjoyed being with kindly old Lord Paxton at his beloved Darnley Lodge. Now he was buried in the churchyard near Darnley, and she and Stevie had been forced to return to London and their squalid lodgings.

“Come, my little love. Wrap your coat tightly around you. We’ve got to go into the City,” she told her son. She dreaded it. She could not afford to take a hackney coach. They would have to walk. She calculated it would take them nearly an hour to reach the establishment of Mr. Percy Stonehouse, Esquire. She prayed Stevie wouldn’t get sick. Again.

She even contemplated leaving him alone, but he was only eight. Too young to be on his own. What if the building burned down? And he was still young enough to be frightened when left by himself. Even at the risk of damaging his lungs, she couldn’t go off for that long without him.

She squashed a hat on her own blonde locks, donned her worn, hand-knitted shawl, and they left. It had been so long since she’d seen the sun shine, she wondered if it had forsaken the Capital altogether. What a wretchedly miserable day it was with piercing winds and a cold that penetrated every pore of her body.

At least Stevie had a warm coat. She had only a well-worn pale blue merino pelisse that had been part of her trousseau ten years earlier, and this topped by her shawl for additional warmth.

She looked longingly at those they passed who wore heavy woolen coats. Those trimmed with costly furs drew her admiration though she knew she would never own such attire.

The severe cold did not discourage travelers on the busy Strand. There was a dray delivering ale, several coal carts and many stagecoaches guided by teams of four horses—which always fascinated Stevie—various carts with building supplies ranging from boards to stones, a number of curricles and private coaches, and far too many saddle horses to count.

After almost an hour, her feet beginning to blister, they had made it to a narrow street a few blocks east of St. Paul’s. A sign swinging in front of a slender building proclaimed this to be the place of business of Mr. Stonehouse. She announced herself to a youthful, bespectacled clerk.

“Mr. Stonehouse is expecting you, Missus.” He got up and escorted them to an adjoining office.

A white-haired man with stooped shoulders rose when they entered. After introducing himself, he asked them to be seated in front of his desk. “I’ve asked you here today, Mrs. Milne, to explain the terms of Lord Paxton’s will.”

It was a few seconds before she realized he must be discussing her sweet Lord Paxton. When he’d sent her away, she’d never thought to hear from him again.

And she hadn’t. Lord Paxton’s kindly housekeeper, Mrs. Ballard, had written to tell her of Lord Paxton’s passing the previous month. Mary had wept for days. It was like losing her own father.

Then it suddenly occurred to her, dear Lord Paxton must have left her a little something. How very kind. She fleetingly wondered what thoughtful gesture he had made. Stevie had adored the pony in his stable. Perhaps he’d left the pony to them. Not that they could afford to keep it. But, still, it would have been a thoughtful bequest.

Oh, dear. How could she disappoint Stevie? Nothing would give him more pleasure than having a pony of his own, but if that was what Lord Paxton left them, she would have no choice but to sell the animal. She could barely afford to keep a roof over their head. There was no way she could come up with money for livery fees.

Poor Stevie’s heart would wrench even more than leaving Darnley Lodge had hurt him.

Her eyes misted as she looked into Mr. Stonehouse’s craggy face.

“As you must know,” he said, “Lord Paxton has left the bulk of his considerable estate to his son and heir, David.”

She nodded.

“But,” he added, “he has settled a hundred a year on you for life.”

Her mouth gaped open, and tears gushed. A hundred a year was the difference between comfort and poverty. She had never expected such generosity. “I am profoundly grateful,” she managed.

“There’s more.”

Her eyes widened. Her heartbeat thumped.

“Lord Paxton has stipulated in his will that he wants you to have Darnley Lodge.”

It was almost as if a lightning bolt had struck her, she was so shocked. “But Darnley was the place where he and his son had so many precious memories. I…can’t…” How could she be refusing this? She’d never loved a place like she’d loved Darnley. And Stevie had never been happier—or healthier—than he’d been at Darnley.

“It’s not your decision, Mrs. Milne, to accept or reject. This is Lord Paxton’s last will and testament. It’s what he wanted most. Can you question his judgment?”

She shook her head. “Lord Paxton was the wisest man I ever knew.”

“I concur. Therefore, madam, you must acknowledge Lord Paxton’s wisdom and accept Darnley.”

She didn’t dare allow herself to look at Stevie. He might just be a child, but he was intelligent enough to understand what he’d just heard. The prospect of returning to Darnley would have him wild with glee.

“I’ve never admired anyone more than I admired Lord Paxton. If he wanted us to live at Darnley Lodge, then we shall live at Darnley Lodge.”

Now she allowed herself to cast a glance at Stevie.

Her heart felt as if it could expand right out of her chest. She hadn’t seen him smiling like that since…since he’d been at Darnley nearly a year ago.

“Oh, Mama! We can be at Darnley for Christmas!” Then his little freckled face saddened. “I shall miss Lord Paxton.”

“So shall I, love, so shall I.”

Mr. Stonehouse cleared his throat. “Before you leave today, I am authorized to give you a sum of money. Your quarterly installment. It should help with your transportation expenses.”

The first thing Mary thought of was hiring a hackney to take them back to their lodgings. What a wonderful luxury it would be.

She took a quick glance at the bottom of her shoe. A hole had worn through. No wonder she’d blistered. Thanks to Lord Paxton she would be able to purchase a new pair of shoes, too.

Then she and Stevie would leave as soon as possible for their new home.

JOHN BEAUCLERC, the Earl of Finchley, strolled into White’s, accompanied by his friends Christopher Perry and Michael Knowles. Their fourth friend, David Arlington, recently elevated to Earl of Paxton, had gotten a considerable start on them. His brandy decanter was already half empty. Lord Finchley came to stand beside David, wagging his brows as he regarded the bottle. “Drinking alone?”

“Got every right to drown in my own cups.”

“And why would that be?” The man they all referred to as Finch sat beside David while the others also sat at the table with their long-time friend. The four of them had been exceptionally close since their days at Eton.

“Because I’ve been grossly bestrayed by my own father.”

“You mean betrayed.”

David nodded. “Indeed.”

“But your father’s been dead over a month now…Good lord, did he leave his fortune to someone else?”

“Not exactly.”

Christopher leaned toward David. “Then how were you betrayed?”

“Of all the properties the Paxtons possess, I shall not inherit the very one that means the most to me.”

“Paxton House in London?” Knowles asked.

“No,” David replied.

Lord Finchley looked askance at him. “He couldn’t give away Tonton Abbey. It’s entailed.”

David’s eyebrows folded. “How long have you known me?”

“More than twenty years,” Finch answered.

“Since we were eight years of age,” Knowles said.

“And do you not know where I have always been the happiest?”

“Oh, yes!” Lord Finchley brightened. “Darnley Lodge.”

David nodded morosely. “Ever since I was a wee lad, that was where I wanted most to be. That’s where I learned to ride. Papa and I would always go there without the women and girls. Just the fellows.”

“The shooting there was the best,” Christopher Perry acknowledged.

“It still is,” David said. “But I won’t get to enjoy it.”

“Who the devil did you your father bestow it upon?” Lord Finchley asked.

David poured another glass of brandy and took a long swig. “Some She-Devil who bewitched the old fool.”

“He left the lodge to a woman?” Perry asked, his dark eyes narrowed to slits.

David nodded, the set to his head as grim as one in mourning.

“A doxy, no doubt,” Lord Finchley said.

“It does seem so, though Papa was never in the petticoat line.”

“Your father was the most honorable man I’ve ever known,” Knowles said.

“So sorry this has rather ruined your Christmas. You must come with Perry and me to Glenmont for Christmas. I know you usually go to Darnley.”

David sighed. “There’s a massive problem about Christmas.”

“What would that be?” Perry asked.

“I’ve gotten a posthumous letter from my father begging me to spend this last Christmas at Darnley.” He snatched up his glass and downed the rest of the dark liquid.

“Will the doxy be there?” Lord Finchley asked.

David shrugged. “I don’t actually know. I don’t even know why Papa insisted that I spend the Yule at Darnley, but how I can refuse this last request? As angry as I am, he was my father. And throughout my life, he was a very good father.”

“Oh, definitely. A very good father,” Lord Finchley agreed.

The two others nodded in agreement.

“I don’t understand how he could betray me like this. He knew how much Darnley meant to me.”

“He couldn’t very well give away Tonton Abbey. It’s been in your family for centuries,” Lord Finchley said.

“Not to mention it’s entailed,” Knowles added.

“Why did that conniving, depraved, fortune-seeking, low-class wench have to get any of our property?” David grabbed the decanter and poured out another glass of brandy.

“Perhaps,” Knowles suggested, “you can have the will broken.”

“I have certainly discussed that with our solicitor. While he believes Papa was of very sound mind, and all is in order with the will, with everything witnessed properly by our long-standing Darnley servants, he will comply with my wishes to try to contest it.”

“How?” Knowles asked.

“The solicitor is engaging a barrister to examine the situation at my behest.” David took a long swig. “I also feel betrayed by our Darnley servants. I would have trusted them with my very life.”

Knowles shrugged. “All they did was obey your father’s request to witness the will. Perhaps you’re being too harsh on them.”

“Rotten luck, old fellow,” Lord Finchley said.

The two others nodded in unison.

“What if you’re forced to spend Christmas with that…that harlot?” Knowles asked.

David’s mouth thinned almost to a grimace. “I almost relish the prospect. I assure you I’ll take away everything that’s not nailed to the house. And you can be assured every animal in that stable will be moved to the stables at Tonton. She’ll get none of my possessions!”

“Such a dreary Christmas, old fellow.” Lord Finchley patted him sympathetically.

CHAPTER TWO

THE CLOSER HIS coach drew to Darnley, the sadder David became. In all of England, there was no place he preferred over the wooded, rolling landscape that surrounded his family’s former hunting box. Just seeing the swell of beech-studded land that signaled Darnley’s approach had always sent a smile to his face and a quickening to his pulse.

But not today. Today he thought only of all he’d lost. It was hurtful enough losing his father, but knowing the man he’d loved most on earth had betrayed him in his dying days was as painful as losing that man all over again. He was mourning his father twice.

He mourned, too, all those memories they’d shared here at Darnley over the past eight-and-twenty years.

Coming here was one of the most painful things he’d ever had to do. How could his father have made such a demand upon him? Just peering from the frosty coach window at this beloved land stung.

In his melancholy state, he witnessed an occurrence that jarred him from his own misery. A young mother walking along the lane, a basket of greenery in one hand and her son beside her, slipped on the muddied surface and went sprawling into a ravine.

David signaled his driver to stop. He leapt from the coach and sprinted to the bottom of the ravine.

There a remarkably pretty blonde was struggling to get up, her lad attempting to help her. David hurried to kneel beside her. “Are you hurt?”

She looked at him, a dazed expression on her flawless face. “I believe I am,” she finally managed.

“Could your leg be broken?” he asked.

She shook her head. “My ankle.”

“Would you allow me to…” He couldn’t believe he was asking a perfect stranger if he could lift her skirts, shove down her stockings and gawk at her bare ankle. A genteel woman, at that. He could tell by her refined voice.

Still staring at him, she merely nodded.

That she had a child meant she was a married woman. Or had been a married woman. A quick glance at her left hand revealed she wore no wedding ring. Thankfully, she was not an innocent maiden.

“Left or right?” he asked.

“Right.”

He inched up the mud-splattered dress that had been sunny yellow, and then he delicately rolled down her right stocking, not permitting his hands to rise past her knees. When the smooth, pale skin of her ankle became exposed, he saw that it was already beginning to swell. “It’s either sprained or broken,” he proclaimed. “Either one causes great swelling and pain.”

He turned his head to examine it from every angle. “It doesn’t appear to be broken, though the bone could be cracked.” It was a wonder his voice didn’t tremble. This woman’s slender but shapely bare leg had a profound effect upon him. He hadn’t been so physically affected by the innocent touch of a female since he’d been at Eton. What in the devil had come over him?

“I suppose only time will tell,” she said with resignation. “I believe if it’s a sprain, it could possibly heal in a matter of days whereas a break would take weeks to mend.”

So she was well informed. “Let’s hope it’s merely a sprain. It’s fortuitous I happened by when I did. I can carry you to my coach and take you home.”

“Yes, very fortuitous, I should say.”

“What does fortuitous mean?” asked the boy who had remained at his mother’s side like a miniature protector.

His mother smiled at him. “It means lucky.”

“We sure were lucky,” the lad said. “Did you see his coach and four?”

“No, I did not! I’m in pain, covered with mud, and cannot even see the lane, you horse-mad lad!” she said good naturedly.

David gathered the red knitted shawl that had fallen off when she tumbled. “Allow me to help put this on. It’s bitterly cold today.”

Then he scooped her into his arms. She was a slender little thing. It was no trouble at all climbing up the ravine with her. In fact, he found it rather pleasant—even if her dress was muddy. A little mud could not diminish her loveliness.

When she clasped her arms around his neck, he drew in his breath—again like an impressionable lad from Eton. This young mother made him forget he was a man of the world who’d kept mistresses and dallied with any number of women over the past decade.

“I’ll get your basket, Mama,” the lad said as he scurried off to claim the basket she’d dropped when she fell.

She turned her attention back to David. “I do hope I’m walking soon. I have so much to do. People need me. Poor old Mr. Knight’s not doing well. I’ve been checking on him every day. And, of course, it’s Christmas, and I’m all my little boy has.”

How was it this woman knew his neighbors so well? Come to think of it, why did he not know this woman? He sure as hell would remember her if he’d ever met her before.

As he reached the lane, his annoying neighbor Benedict Blatherwick brought his curricle to a halt and leapt from the box, his bushy blond brows lowered with concern. “What in the blazes has happened? I should have been here! Were I here to offer my protection, no harm could ever befall the lady.” He puffed out his chest. “For if I do say so myself—and far be it from me to boast. I only speak the truth—there’s not a braver man in two counties than Benedict Blatherwick.”

It was all David could do not to roll his eyes. The Buffoon was more interested in singing his own praises than in determining the extent of the lady’s injuries.

David’s sinfully wealthy former neighbor approached the stricken woman, and his voice gentled when he addressed her. “I do declare, my dear lady, I was in the process of paying you a call. You cannot see them now as I left them in my curricle when I saw that you were under distress, but I was bringing you a magnificent bouquet. As you know, I am noted for my gardens. They are the loveliest in all of Sussex. I spared no expense when having them designed, but then, as you know, only the finest of everything will do for Benedict Blatherwick.”

“Yes,” she said, “so you have told me before.”

He shrugged. “But, of course, my gardens are not in bloom in winter, but far be it from me to do without bounteous blooms the year around. Many a lovely flower grows in my orangery when the ground outside is covered with snow. You may recall my father commissioned the orangery from none other than Robert Adam himself.”

David had to force himself not to burst out laughing. Surely no woman could be impressed by a man like Blatherwick. He was like a wind-up toy. Now that he had started, he could not stop his string of boasts. “I do not say it myself, but others do say the woman who wins my affections will be the most fortunate woman in all of England.”

David was especially curious to know who in the hell—apart from Blatherwick himself—would ever think Blatherwick a fine matrimonial prospect. He could have howled with laughter.

The woman who was the object of Blatherwick’s attentions made no response to this latest absurd assertion.

Was The Blowhard ever going to actually inquire about the woman to whom he was paying a call, David wondered, impatience making him fume. The lady wasn’t heavy, but David did wish to put her into the coach.

“It was very kind of you,” she said to Blatherwick, wincing, “to be bringing me flowers.”

“But as you can see,” David said, “the woman’s not fit for callers now. She’s been injured and will have to be attended to.”

The fool had the audacity to lay his pudgy hand upon her delicate arm. “If only you would have allowed me to collect you and the boy as I constantly urge you to do. No harm would ever befall you. Now what have you gone and done?”

Finally!

“I merely slipped in the mud and tumbled a bit. I’ll likely be back to normal tomorrow.”

Blatherwick glared at David. There was no love between the two. David had bested him at everything. They’d been contemporaries at Eton, where David had excelled at the sports which were challenging to Blatherwick. David also rode better than Blatherwick, was more successful at gambling, and he counted more men as friends. Blatherwick, however, held such an inflated opinion of himself he was possibly not aware of any of his own shortcomings.

David finally put the injured lady into his coach, instructing her to stretch her leg across the seat. “You must keep the ankle elevated. It will hurt less.”

Then he turned back to his neighbor. “Good day to you, Blatherwick.”

Still glaring, the man merely bowed, clicked his heels together, and nodded before he returned to his costly curricle.

Then David helped the boy into the coach. “Where do we take you?” he asked her.

“To Darnley Lodge.”

He felt as if he’d taken a fist to the gut. He stiffened. This could mean only one thing. This genteel woman was The Schemer who’d persuaded his father to deny him his birthright. It was all he could manage not to throw her out of his coach. But he could hardly punish her child for her evil ways.

It was only with the greatest restraint he made it the short distance to Darnley without erupting into a fit of anger. The discovery of this woman’s identity had the effect of stealing his tongue.

But not hers. Once he was seated across from her, she eyed him amiably. “You may have noticed that I rather stared at you when you knelt beside me back there. It wasn’t shock. It was the strong notion that we’d met before, and now I know why.”

“I assure you we’ve never met before,” he snapped.

“Oh, I am aware of that, Lord Paxton.”

He raised a brow. “You know my name?”

“I would know you from among a thousand men. Your eyes, your chin…they are exactly like those of your father. God bless his dear soul.”

“Then you must be Mrs. Milne.” His voice was as rigid and cold as marble.

“You are David?” the lad asked him, excitement in his voice.

“Dearest, he’s a lord now,” she said. “You mustn’t refer to him as David. He’s now Lord Paxton.”

“But Lord Paxton’s in heaven.”

“Sons inherit their fathers’ titles.”

David couldn’t be unkind to the boy. He turned to him. “I am David Arlington, Earl of Paxton at your service, young fellow.”

“I know all about you.”

“And how is it that you know all about me?” David asked the boy.

“Lord Paxton would tell me stories about you when you were a lad. I know about when you learned to ride Pudding.”

Good lord! Pudding had left this earth more than ten years ago, yet this boy knew about him.

“And Lord Paxton would tell me stories about the shooting parties you would have with your friends from Eton. I even learned their names: Finch, Perry, and Knowles. I didn’t learn their first names because Lord Paxton said young bloods almost always referred to each other mostly by last names.”

David couldn’t believe it. He found himself laughing.

This did sound like his father. Knowing the lad had no father, his father would have taken it upon himself to try to teach the boy the things he thought a lad should know. He’d done so throughout David’s life. Never didactic, just caring. That was his father.

Why had the solicitor not told David The Schemer had a son? It certainly sounded as if his father had befriended this boy every bit as much as he had befriended the mother.

So much was still not explained.

David did feel better now that he knew the woman was most likely not a doxy. Had she been—which David had doubted from the start, knowing how honorable his father was—it would have diminished his father’s memory even more than this ultimate betrayal had.

His coach pulled up at Darnley, and he was quick to leap from it and have the coachman assist him in carrying the woman inside.

The weathered timber door to Darnley opened, and when Ballard saw Mrs. Milne, he came rushing to her, concern etched on his ruddy face. “Whatever be the matter with Mrs. Milne?”

“I’m all right, Ballard. I just took a tumble and hurt my ankle.”

“I can assist you, Lord David,” Ballard said. “Welcome home.” Then the servant thwacked his forehead. “Pardon, my lord. ’Tis hard to remember you’re now the earl.”

“No worries. But you cannot welcome me home any longer. You forget, it’s no longer my home.”

“Oh, please, Lord Paxton,” Mrs. Milne said, “I couldn’t bear it if you didn’t feel this is your home while you’re here. Please.”

It was easy to see how she had charmed his father. The Schemer.

They set her down on a sofa in the morning room just off the low-ceilinged entry hall.

A hurried thumping on the nearby wooden staircase alerted David. He knew it would be Mrs. Ballard scurrying down the well-worn wooden stairway. Since he’d lost his mother, this old family retainer was the closest thing he had to a mother, and the bond between them was strong.

He went to greet her. Thank God nothing had changed in her familiar appearance. She still wore her customary gray with a mobcap smashed on her silvery curls and was as plump as ever.

“Oh, Lord David, it’s ever so good to see you. And at Christmas. It just wouldn’t be Christmas without you.” She, too, had forgotten to address him by the new title.

Never mind that she was a servant and he the master, he went and gave her a big hug. “Happy Christmas. It’s good to see you, Mrs. Ballard. I have such bitter regrets about not being here last Christmas. I didn’t know it would be his last.”

“Don’t you go scolding yerself,” she said. “There’s no way you could have traveled here on those icy roads in the snowstorm. Yer father knew that.”

“Still, I’m just so sorry.”

“The important thing is, he wasn’t alone. He was with people who loved him.”

David stiffened. Was she talking about the Ballards, who most certainly loved him? Or was she referring to the Milnes? The Usurpers.

Good lord, was he jealous of a mere boy?

She looked around. “Where’s Mrs. Milne?”

“She’s in the morning room. She’s injured her ankle and needs to stay off it.”

“Oh, dear!” The housekeeper went flying into the adjoining chamber and began to make a cake of herself over her new employer.

That had been another slap in David’s face. His father’s will had allowed the Ballards to stay at Darnley for as long as they liked, and if they chose to continue on the staff for Mrs. Milne, their salaries would be paid from his estate. David had been informed they chose to stay with Mrs. Milne.

He wasn’t angry. He understood. The elderly couple had never been employed anywhere else. It would have been too difficult at their age to adapt to a new environment. Still, he felt another betrayal.

Mrs. Ballard not only propped up Mrs. Milne’s ankle on a mound of pillows, but she was eager to bring her a pot of tea. Her very manner with her new mistress was in no way forced. Her concern was genuine. David knew the long-time housekeeper well enough to know that she obviously held her new mistress in high regard.

The lad came up to his mother, still clutching the basket of greenery. “Should you like me to begin decorating for Christmas, Mama? Perhaps it will cheer you.”

“That would be wonderful, my little love.”

The lad looked to David. “Perhaps, my lord, you could help with the taller places I cannot reach. We’ve even got mistletoe to hang over the doorway.” He giggled. “Last year Mr. and Mrs. Ballard kissed beneath it!”

A smile lifted David’s face. How could he deny this child? “Sounds like a jolly good time. I haven’t decorated for Christmas in years.”

They started spreading sprigs of holly in the morning room, then moved to the modest entry hall before climbing the stairs to the drawing room where David attempted to fashion a garland over the mantelpiece before he ran out of greenery. “It looks like you and I will have to gather up more of this stuff,” he said to the boy.

The lad frowned. “My mother won’t permit me to go out of doors past two in the afternoon in the winter.”

“Why in the devil is that?”

The boy seemed reluctant to answer. “It’s my lungs. She says they don’t work properly. I breathe much better during the warmest part of the day—and in country air. I have a great deal of difficulty breathing good in London.”

David’s brows lowered. “When was the last time you were in London?”

“About a week ago. We had to go back to London to live when Lord Paxton got sick. That’s when my lungs got bad again.”

David’s father must have known about the boy’s condition. That helped to explain why he might have been persuaded to give them Darnley. His father was the most tender-hearted man he’d ever known.

“Your mother’s wise to try to protect your lungs.” David was happy to see that the Ballards had seen to it that fires were kept in every room.

“I told the old Lord Paxton I wanted to grow up and be like you.”

David’s brows formed a V. “How can that be? You never even met me.”

“Oh, but Lord Paxton talked about you all the time. You were very…very fortuitous to have Lord Paxton for your father. He was so fond of you and so proud of you.”

A wave of some strong emotion broke over him, and David almost felt as if he could lose his footing. It was a moment before he summoned his voice. “And why do you want to be like me?”

“Because Lord Paxton said you’re a natural with horses. He told me all about how you trained Sheba all by yourself when you were only fourteen.”

“I doubt I could do that now. I’m out of practice.”

“My lord?”

“Yes?”

“Have you come to take away your horses? Mama says they belong to you.”

That had been his intent, but he sensed doing so would break this little fellow’s heart. And it wasn’t as if David needed them. The stables at Tonton were full, as were those at the London house. David shrugged. “Probably not at this time. While I’m here, perhaps I can teach you a thing or two about riding horses.”

The dimpled grin on the lad’s face gladdened David’s heart. “Oh, sir, you’re just as nice as Lord Paxton said you were! Thank you!”

David felt like a cheat. “No horses until it’s relatively warm and sunny at mid-day—before two in the afternoon.” He felt like a father. “First, though, we must finish gathering greenery. If it’s not too cold at mid-day tomorrow.”

CHAPTER THREE

HOW FORTUNATE MARY was to have Mrs. Ballard. That competent woman not only assisted her out of her soiled yellow dress and into her only other dress, but she also procured a cane to assist her in walking, allowing her to keep the weight off her injured ankle.

It wouldn’t do to rely on Lord Paxton carrying her about. The man was far too appealing. The effect he had upon her was most embarrassing.

In his presence, she felt like a schoolgirl exposed to her first flush of young love.

His slightest touch sent her trembling. When she was with him, she found herself weighing each word before she spoke. She felt suddenly inadequate next to him. Though she knew herself to be pretty, she did not think her beauty sufficient for a man of his stature.

Added to that feeling of inadequacy was the disparity in their stations. He was an aristocrat; she was the daughter of a poor curate and the widow of a soldier, who held the rank of captain. Strangely, she’d never felt the difference in their stations with the old lord. He treated her as if she were his equal.

She had also been completely unprepared for the son to be so handsome. He was far taller than his father and possessed of a head of thick, dark hair in perfect harmony with his dark eyes fringed with more thick, dark hair.

Like his father, he was the kind of man meant to be a patriarch or a leader. She could easily see him at the helm of a huge ship or wisely addressing hundreds of men in Parliament, both things his father had done before him. Though she’d not spent much time with the son, she’d seen enough of him to know he was accustomed to making decisions that affected others, that he was experienced in caring for others. Exactly like his father.

Whether he knew it or not.

What she did not understand was why he went from hot to cold so readily. One moment he would be all that was amiable; the next, he treated her as if she were a leper.

Throughout dinner she studied him and was determined that after she put Stevie to bed she would try to lubricate things between this man and herself with a quiet tête-à-tête.

“Your son has exceptionally good table manners for one of his tender years,” Lord Paxton said, glancing at Stevie, then returning his gaze to her.

“Thank you. Since there have mostly just been the two of us, I’ve always permitted him to eat with me.”

“Did he dine also with my father?”

She smiled. “Like you, your father kindly permitted it. I do thank you for allowing Stevie to sit at the big table tonight. It must have seemed an odd request.”

He shrugged. “Things have always been rather informal at Darnley.” He chuckled. “I remember one time Papa allowed my friends to come to the table without dressing for dinner.”

Her eyes widened.

“It was a rainy day, and we’d not been able to go out shooting, so it wasn’t as if we were actually dirty or anything like that, though I will own it seemed odd to come to the table in one’s boots.” He eyed the second chair near hers where she’d propped up her foot. “How does your ankle feel?”

“Remarkably good as long as I keep it elevated.”

“Good. I hope you won’t object if, in your stead, I take Stevie to gather more Christmas greenery at mid-day tomorrow.”

She offered him a smile. “So he told you about his lungs.”

He nodded.

“If the sun shines as it did today, and if it’s not too cold, he can go outdoors.” She hated having to be so protective, but she’d almost lost her child to lung fever more than once. If she lost Stevie, she would just as soon bury herself with him.

She settled her hand on her boy’s. “I’m very proud of you for telling Lord Paxton about your limitations.”

“What are limitations?”

“Things you cannot do.”

His fair lashes lowered. “I wish I didn’t have so many lim-tations.”

She patted his hand. “I do, too, love, but I know you’re going to get well now that we’re back at Darnley.”

“He was better at Darnley?” Lord Paxton asked.

A broad smile upon his face, Stevie nodded. “After we were here for a few months, I was permitted to stay outdoors all day long, and I didn’t even cough at all.”

Mary frowned. “Then we returned to London, and he got sick again. You know what the skies are there.”

“Indeed I do,” Lord Paxton said. “Nasty.”

At the completion of dinner, she turned to Lord Paxton. “After I put Stevie to bed and read his Bible verse to him, I hope you and I could sit for a spell before the fire.”

He didn’t answer immediately. Her cheeks grew hot as their eyes met. She felt as vulnerable as one standing before him completely naked.

He finally said, “I’ll wait for you in the drawing room.”

“WHAT A GOOD MOTHER you are to tuck Stevie in every night.” David stood as Mrs. Milne hobbled into the drawing room a half hour later, putting her weight on the cane. He’d taken a seat on a comfortable sofa in front of the blazing fire. Bless Mrs. Ballard for always seeing to it that fires were built and stoked in every chamber throughout the winter.

To him, there was no more comfortable room than this, though when he tried to look at the chamber as others might see it, he realized it was a bit shabby. The sofa that had once been the colour of ferns had faded so much he doubted anyone else would be able to determine it had ever been green.

He had to own that to others, there was nothing special about this modest house. He’d often wondered why he had always prized this one residence so highly, and he’d come to realize it was because of the happy times he’d shared there with the people who meant the most to him.

And because it was by far the smallest of the Paxton houses, it was also the most cozy.

He indicated the sofa where he’d been sitting. “Come, let us both sit here. It’s the best seat in the room. Closest to the fire. And I’ve put your glass here. Is port agreeable to you?”

She nodded.

He braced himself to not be affected by her beauty. It wasn’t as if she overtly tried to make herself alluring. There was nothing seductive in her manner or in the way she dressed. Quite the opposite, actually. Her dress of faded blue muslin with a fairly high neckline was modest as well as outmoded. She was apparently disinterested in fashion.

But, then, one blessed with her flawless face and figure had no need to resort to artifice or fashion to attract men’s attentions.

Even though the neckline of her gown was not especially low, he was well aware of the sweet swell of her breasts. She was every inch a woman.

A most appealing woman.

But he was intent on despising her.

She left enough room between them to have fit another person. “I haven’t had port since my husband died.”

“I’m surprised my father wasn’t forcing you to drink with him each night. He did love his port.”

Her lashes lowered in a fleeting look of sorrow. “At the time I was here, his physician had forbidden him to partake. It was a source of great annoyance to your poor father.”

“I can well imagine. Papa did love his brandy and port.” He poured her a glass and handed it to her, his hand grazing hers. Once again, she had that same effect upon him that youthful beauties did when he was transitioning from Eton to Oxford. What had gotten into him?

“How long have you been a widow?” he finally asked.

“Since Stevie was four. He’s eight now.” She shrugged. “My husband and I were apart more than we were together during our marriage. He was an officer in the Guards.”

“In the Peninsula?”

She nodded solemnly.

“Killed in battle?”

“Yes.” She took a sip, peering at him over the rim of her glass. “I wanted to tell you how badly I felt for you when I learned your father had left me Darnley.”

Anger surged through him as quick as a flame. The conniving woman had to be lying!

He wasn’t about to let her see his vulnerability. He shrugged. “I have other properties.”

“But I know how much Darnley meant…means to you.”

“And you know this because…?”

“Because your father told us.”

He could not keep the anger from his voice. “If my father knew this, one wonders why he would not give it to me.”

“I’ve wondered the same thing.” Her voice was gentle.

Oh, she was most convincing! He could see how she could have bewitched his father. His soft-hearted father.

There were so many things he wished to know about her mysterious relationship with his father. But he was too proud to question her further.

Another perplexing question was Mrs. Ballard’s affection toward Mrs. Milne. Was that because Mrs. Milne was her new mistress? Mrs. Ballard had always been one to display her likes and dislikes as openly as the mobcap on her head. If she disliked someone, she was incapable of being gracious to them. It was obvious she held her new employer in the highest regard.

Which was just one more indicator of what an accomplished Schemer Mrs. Milne must be.

After she took another sip, Mrs. Milne set down her glass and faced him. “I understand there must be many things at Darnley you wish to claim—things you have every right to possess—and I have no objections whatsoever to you doing so.”

“I suppose you’ll be moving in your own things.”

Colour rose into her high cheekbones. She really was a stunner.

“I’m embarrassed to admit I have no furnishings. We always resided in rented lodgings. Peter and I were going to settle in a real home after the war. But, I assure you, Stevie and I are accustomed to doing with very little. Please, feel free to remove whatever you wish.”

“I hadn’t really thought things through. I will own, I hadn’t wanted to come here this Christmas. It stung that my father slighted me in the will in regards to Darnley.”

Her brows formed a deep crease. “I feel dreadful about that. I know your father would have, too. He loved you dearly. Not a day went by he did not joyfully discuss you—and with such pride! As a parent myself, I understand how totally devoted he was to you, his only son.”

He was left speechless, and a long silence followed.

“I wonder why you did come for Christmas,” she finally said.

“I received a letter written by my father shortly before he died. In it, he made one last request. He asked that I come here for Christmastide.”

Now she was silent for a long while. “It seems a strange request for your father to have made after giving Darnley away.”

“I thought so, too.”

“But you cannot deny your father was a very clever man.”

“Agreed.”

“He never did anything that was not well thought out.”

“I do agree, but I cannot understand this last request.”

“We must defer to your father’s judgment. Perhaps by the end of Yuletide, it will all make sense.”

She was making sense. He nodded.

“I wanted to thank you for filling in for me while my ankle is preventing me from taking Stevie out of doors. It means so much to him—being outside as well as decorating for Christmas. Last Christmas here was the happiest Christmas he’s ever experienced.” She shrugged. “I appreciate your kindness to him—and to me.”

“He’s a good lad. I enjoy being with him.”

“You remind me so much of your father. He was such a kindly man.”

He felt ashamed.

CHAPTER FOUR

MRS. MILNE STOOD at the top of the staircase holding onto her cane and looking down. David thought she was having difficulty finding her balance. He could envision her slender body plummeting to her death. He rushed forward and clasped a hand to her arm. “I beg that you permit me to assist you!”

One hand at the rail, the other clutching the cane, she turned to stare at him, a puzzled look on her pretty face. He noted that she wore the same faded blue dress she’d worn the night before. “I’m sure I can manage, my lord.”

“I’d rather not witness a mishap. Pray, please put down the cane.”

She gave him another querying look.

He removed the cane, propped it against the nearest wall, and then gathered her into his arms and proceeded to descend the stairs.

More than the sensation of slightness, he was once again intoxicated by her nearness, by her sweet rose scent, by the very feel of her. Why the devil did this woman have to have such an effect upon him?

He went straight to the morning room where breakfast offerings were laid out on a sideboard, and he settled her at a chair before the intimate table there. Then he pulled out the chair beside her. “Here, you can put your foot on this one.”

“Thank you.” She slid her kid slipper onto the chair.

He stood there watching for a moment. “How does your ankle feel this morning?”

“Actually, it’s better than it was yesterday. I believe the swelling has subsided a good bit. It’s very kind of you to ask—and to be so helpful. I’m…unaccustomed to such kindness.”

“It’s nothing.” He shook away her praise. “Please, stay seated. I’ll get your food. You prefer tea or coffee?”

“Tea, please. And all I require is a single piece of toast.” That she ate very little was evidenced by her slimness.

Her effusive gratitude when he brought her tea and toast made him feel the ultimate scoundrel.

He went back and filled his own breakfast plate. Her dainty appetite was more than made up for by his and that of her son, who soon joined them and happily piled his plate with toast, cold meat, hard-cooked eggs, and mounds of jelly.

Full of good cheer for all, Mrs. Ballard came into the chamber with more hot water for the tea. Then she gave her full attention to Mrs. Milne. “And how is your ankle today, Mrs. Milne?”

“Much better. I am hoping that by tomorrow I’ll be able to get around without the cane.”

“Don’t you go pushing things. You must be patient, dear girl, and allow that ankle to heal properly before you go putting weight on it—not that a little thing like you weighs so very much,” Mrs. Ballard said with a little laugh.

Mrs. Milne smiled at the housekeeper. “I shall definitely take your advice. I know it’s best not to force a recovery before the healing merits it.”

“Is there anything I can do for you?” As indulgent as Mrs. Ballard had always been to David throughout his life, he could not remember her ever talking more sweetly to him than she did to this Usurper. What was there about Mrs. Milne that captivated others so totally?

After the housekeeper left the room, Stevie directed his attention to his mother. “Is it too early in the day for me and Lord Paxton to go out gathering the greenery for the Yule decorations?”

His mother gave him a stern look. “Indeed it is. It’s still very cold. Much too cold for your lungs, dearest.”

The lad’s face clouded.

“And,” Mrs. Milne added in an uncharacteristically authoritative manner, “you’re not to say me and Lord Paxton. What are you supposed to say?”

The boy thought for a moment. “Lord Paxton and me.”

She nodded, a smile tipping the corners of her mouth.

“You sound exactly like our old governess, Miss Fortescue,” David said. “She was a dragon.”

Stevie’s eyes rounded. “A dragon?”

Mrs. Milne looked at David with amusement, and both laughed.

“What I mean is that she was excessively stern.”

“You didn’t like her?” Stevie asked.

“She scared me to death.”

“My Mama’s not like your Miss Fortescue. She’s not at all like a dragon.”

“I’m sure she’s not.” David eyed the mother and spoke with great seriousness. “I have not been in your mother’s company enough to pass judgment, but those who have are most favorably impressed by her. Both my late father and Mr. and Mrs. Ballard seem to be…perhaps enchanted is the word that best describes how they feel, or felt, about your mother.”

Had he just said she was enchanting? Perhaps that was the word that did best describe her. Even he, fight it as he might, was enchanted by the woman in the faded blue dress.

God help him.

David set down his fork and addressed the lad. “I’ll tell you what. After we finish eating, why don’t you and I play a game of cribbage? You do play, do you not?”

Stevie’s face brightened. “I should love that! I used to play with the old lord.”

Mrs. Milne nodded. “It was your father who taught him how to play cribbage.”

David swallowed over the lump in his throat. “He taught me, too.”

Later, as he and Stevie played at a table that had been set up before the fire in the drawing room, he kept discreetly watching the boy’s mother, who sat near them, knitting. Finally, he asked, “What, madam, are you knitting?”

She put index fingers to her lips. “It’s a secret. I’m knitting a new shawl for Mrs. Ballard for Christmas.”

It suddenly occurred to him he hadn’t any presents for anyone. He would have to remedy that omission.

As the game continued, he pondered Mrs. Milne’s own meager wardrobe. Obviously the dress she had worn the previous day had gotten muddy when she fell, so it would have to be cleaned today. That she was now wearing the dress she’d worn to dinner must indicate she possessed but two dresses. Why was she sitting here knitting for someone else when she had desperate need herself of a new dress?

He couldn’t seem to purge his mind of her lack of feminine coquetry. Did she not attempt to make herself alluring to men? From what he had observed, the only thing she seemed to care about was the boy.

Ah! That explained it. She’d used her charms with men to give her son a better life.

She was a clever one. Look at how she had won the allegiance of his old servants! Here she was slaving away to create a gift for Mrs. Ballard.

Then he felt dreadfully guilty for having no thoughts himself of presenting Mrs. Ballard a gift. Of course, he always had a monetary gift on Boxing Day, but Mrs. Milne’s gift was much more personal. He would have to think of something. Perhaps Mrs. Milne could offer a suggestion.

As much as David wanted to dislike the mother, he could harbor no ill feelings toward her son. He enjoyed the cribbage game very much, and he found the lad to be well-manned and likeable. “You’re far too good a player,” David told him. “You must have had a very good teacher.”

“Thank you, my lord.”

“Did my father ever lose to you?”

Stevie hung his head. “Once, just before we had to go back to London.” He sounded sad. “I think the old lord was not feeling very well.”

Now, David felt sad. He had not known his father was dying. His father had told him he merely wanted to spend some time at the lodge away from Society, that he wanted leisure to read in peace and quiet. David thoroughly understood the lure of Darnley and never imagined that his father had gone there to die.

How he wished he had come to Darnley during his father’s last months. How he envied the Milnes for having been here with his father during that time. If only he had known his father hadn’t long to live. If only he’d been able to be with him at the end.

His regrets had nothing to do with the loss of Darnley. He would have given away every Paxton property for the chance to have shared those last months with his remarkable father.

“Do you ever play cribbage with your mother?” he asked Stevie.

“My mother loves to play. She’s as good as the old lord.”

“Did he teach her, too?”

“No. She’s always been good at games. She’s teaching me to play chess.”

“And are you good at that?”

The boy shook his head. “It confuses my head sometimes. Too many…options. Did I say that right?”

“You did indeed.” The boy seemed in many ways older than his years. David spent a good bit of time with young fatherless boys he and his friends were teaching to play cricket, but none seemed quite as intelligent as Stevie. David wondered if his intellect came from his father or his mother.

By the time they finished the game—which David won, even though he tried not to—Mrs. Milne said she thought it had likely warmed sufficiently for them to go outdoors. “It appears the sun is shining again today.”

As he and Stevie were leaving the drawing room, something compelled David to turn around. “Would you like to accompany us, Mrs. Milne? You can stay in the curricle while we men do all the work.” He winked.

She favored him with a beaming smile. “How thoughtful of you to ask. I should love to.”

David marched across the chamber and scooped her into his arms.

“Oh, please, my lord, you don’t have to carry me. I’m sure I can manage with my cane.”

“I’ll not be responsible for you falling on the uneven terrain. Besides, you’re as light as a feather.”

Stevie laughed. “You look like a knight of yore carrying a maiden.”

“My son is fascinated with Arthurian legends.”

“Just one more thing Stevie and I have in common. It was the same with me when I was his age—if not a bit older. Stevie does seem to be advanced for his age.”

“How kind of you to say so. I’m most gratified that he enjoys reading and learning.” Her shoulders sank. “I wish my Papa were alive. He could have tutored my son with great proficiency.”

“He was a don?” He began to descend the stairs.

She shook her head. “No. He was a modest curate, but a scholar of some repute. He translated some minor Greek works and supplemented his ecclesiastic income by tutoring lads going off to Eton and Oxford—where he’d been a scholarship student before he married and started his large brood.”

So intelligence came naturally to her. As did humility. Unlike many women he knew who gave themselves airs, she was not ashamed to admit to a modest background and lack of wealth.

“The curate near Tonton Abbey is the one who tutored me,” he said. “He was more brilliant than any of the scholars I dealt with at Oxford.”

“Have you ever told him?” she asked.

“I don’t suppose I have.”

“Don’t ever delay with praise. It would mean a great deal to him to hear it. Praise is more valued than jewels.”

He looked at her hands and her neck. She wore not a single jewel. David reached the dimly lit entry hall and nodded to Ballard.

Beaming at the earl who was carrying their new mistress, Ballard opened the front door.

Before they left the house, she asked, “Would you mind terribly if we stop off at Mr. Knight’s cottage? It would cheer him so if we could just stop by for a few minutes. He is now mostly bedridden.”

“Of course we can visit him.”

“Good. Mrs. Ballard, kind soul that she is, will spare us a fresh loaf of bread to take to him.” She addressed her son. “Stevie?”

“Yes?”

“Be an angel and run to the kitchen and ask Mrs. Ballard for a loaf of bread for Mr. Knight.”

What could she possibly have to gain by buttering up an old man who was possibly dying? The old fellow didn’t even own the cottage in which he lived.

Good lord! Could David have been misjudging her all along?

He would have to see.

CHAPTER FIVE

THOUGH THE SEAT on his lordship’s curricle was only meant to accommodate two, Stevie sat partially on Mary’s lap for the short journey. The seating arrangement somewhat necessitated that she squeeze next to his lordship.

To deny her enjoyment of the arrangement would be a blatant lie.

Until the handsome earl had gathered her in his arms the previous day, she had not been so close to a man in nearly five years. She had quite forgotten how satisfying it could feel.

She was also well aware that not just any man’s touch could provoke in her the breathlessness or the trembling that Lord Paxton’s did. She was drawn to him like hands to gloves on winter’s coldest day.

How could she not admire Lord Paxton? He was every bit as kind and considerate as his father had been. Not since Peter died had anyone, save for the Paxton men, ever cared about her or Stevie. (Benedict Blatherwick did not count, even though he clearly meant to court her. As much as she disliked thinking ill of anyone, that man’s only interest was himself.)

But Lord Paxton! He was so solicitous of Stevie, actually remembering his name (unlike Mr. Blatherwick, who persisted in calling him The Lad).

She’d been incredibly touched at how concerned his lordship seemed over her injury. After the old lord had died, her eight-year-old child had been the only person who gave a fig about her well-being. There had been a time when she was close to her brothers, but it had now been many years since she’d seen any of them. They all lived in Yorkshire and struggled to provide for their own growing families.

She did not delude herself. Lord Paxton, just like his father, would never give a thought to a romantic liaison with her. His only interest in her stemmed from a genuine goodness. She understood that no aristocrat would be romantically inclined toward the daughter of a simple country curate.

She was quite certain that unlike Mr. Blatherwick, Lord Paxton could truthfully boast that he was the finest matrimonial catch in all of England. In addition to being in possession of a fine character and an ancient title, his handsomeness could make many a maiden swoon. But unlike Mr. Blatherwick, Lord Paxton would never boast.

Even though she was not a maiden and was well past the first blush of youth at seven-and-twenty, her heartbeat fluttered and her pulse raced when she was in his lordship’s presence. How petite she felt beside his powerful body.

As they rode along on the chilly December day, she schooled herself not to look down at his muscled thighs or up at his handsome profile. So she watched him handle the ribbons with ease and admired his masculine hands, even though they were sheathed in fine kid gloves.

“How old were you when your father permitted you to drive a curricle?” Stevie asked him. Her son had not been able to remove his gaze from Lord Paxton’s expert handling of the spirited horse. She knew Stevie would do anything for the opportunity to trade places with the earl.

“Ten. But, seeing as you’re so intelligent for eight, you might be ready—not today, of course. We’ve got other priorities at present.” Lord Paxton turned to her. “Would you object to me teaching Stevie to drive?”

That was like asking her if she would have objected to leaving sooty London! “Not at all. I know Stevie would love it.”

His lordship eyed Stevie. “Then another day, after we’ve decorated for Christmas, and if it’s not too cold or damp, we shall do it.”

“Oh, thank you, my lord! I cannot wait.” Stevie could not suppress his elation. A smile stretched across his little freckled face, revealing deep dimples and his missing front tooth.

They went first to the cottage where Mr. Knight lived. “You mustn’t carry me in, my lord. I don’t wish to alarm Mr. Knight. He has enough cares without me adding to them.”

Lord Paxton helped her down.

“I do hope you’ll pop in to cheer him up,” she said. “He does enjoy company. He’s had so little since his wife died.” Her lashes lowered. “And I fear it won’t be long before the poor man follows her to the grave.”

“I’m very sorry to hear that. I cannot remember a time when the Knights did not inhabit this old cottage.”

He sounded so sad. She wondered if Mr. Knight’s imminent demise brought fresh grief over his own recent loss. He was possessed of such a tender heart.

Stevie went ahead with the basket of bread and pounded hard on the door, as Mr. Knight’s hearing was not good.

“He says we’re to come in,” Stevie said, swinging open the door.

She looked up at Lord Paxton, whom she leaned heavily upon with each limping step. “Mr. Knight doesn’t get around very well these days.”

The ruddy faced old man with snowy white hair heartily greeted them from his position lying on the sofa. “Forgive me, my lord, for not getting up, but I’m not moving so well these days.”

“I’m very sorry to hear that, Mr. Knight, but I must say you’re looking otherwise well. You haven’t changed at all since last I saw you.”

“It’s sorry I was about yer father’s death.”

Lord Paxton’s head lowered as he nodded.

“We played together as lads, yer father and me.” Then Mr. Knight greeted Stevie and Mary. “What have you brought me, lad?”

“We’ve brought you Mrs. Ballard’s fresh bread. Mama says you like it very much.”

“Indeed I do. I never said nothin’ while Mrs. Knight was alive, but that Mrs. Ballard could bake circles around my wife.”

“I daresay Mrs. Ballard has a finer oven,” Lord Paxton said.

Mr. Knight chuckled, then started coughing.

A moment later, he regarded Mary, his eyes twinkling in spite of all his infirmities. “I ask you, Lord David, did you ever see anything prettier than Mrs. Milne?”

A flush crept up Mary’s cheeks. She shook her head. “Oh, no!”

Lord Paxton turned slowly toward her, his smoldering gaze meeting hers. Then he lazily perused her from the top of her head to the tip of her toes. “I don’t believe I have, Mr. Knight. How is it one with eyes as old as yours still can pick out the pretty ones?”

Both men chuckled.

“I’ll tell you what,” Mr. Knight said. “She’s as pretty on the inside as she is on the outside. People in the village who’ve known me my whole life aren’t as good to me as this little lady. She’s an angel, that’s what she is.”

“Mr. Knight! I did not come here to be praised. I merely wanted to see how you are doing today. How are you feeling?”

“About the same as when you were here last.”

“Is there anything you need?”

“I need to be able to sleep without waking myself up coughing.”

She moved to him and stroked his thinning white hair. “I wish I could oblige.”

“How are the boy’s lungs?”

She shrugged. “Not as good as I’d like. In fact we have to go before it gets colder. We’ve got to gather greenery for Christmas.” She could tell that the little bit of talking he’d done had tired him.

DAVID DROVE past the deciduous beech wood grove and eventually came to a copse of evergreens and stopped. He hopped off the box, and then helped Stevie down.

Stevie gathered pinecones and snapped off low-lying sprigs of holly and conifer while David used his knife to sever larger pieces of conifer to use for garlands on the mantelpieces. As he worked, David found himself thinking about the sprig of mistletoe he’d hung over the drawing room door the previous day and wondering how he could manage to catch Mrs. Milne under it.

Her close proximity during today’s drive had nearly destroyed his composure. What the devil was there about her that stoked his desire the way she did? Why her more than the other women he knew? For none of the other women with whom he associated—either socially as he did with Mrs. Milne or intimately as he did with certain other women—had ever affected him as she did.

Granted, she was pretty. But he knew and had known many beautiful women, women who had never stirred his lust in the way this proper curate’s daughter did.

For he had finally come to concede that she was not The Schemer he’d thought her to be. He should have trusted his father’s instincts. Short of that, he should have trusted Mrs. Ballard. Both of them were too shrewd to be fooled by a manipulator. Both of them were genuinely fond of Mrs. Milne.

And now Mr. Knight added more testament to her intrinsic goodness.

As he moved from tree to tree on this chilly December afternoon, he recalled her words as he’d carried her downstairs before leaving the house. You should tell him…Praise is more precious than jewels.

People are more precious than jewels.

He began to ponder his old tutor and to remember sitting at the man’s shabby desk where David had sat conjugating Latin verbs and reading Plato, and he came to realize that long after the Paxtons’ generous monies had been spent, praise from a future earl would have meant more than the money.

She’s right.

He vowed to write to his old tutor that very night.

His arms piled high with as many branches as he could carry, he started back to his vehicle. “Come, Stevie, it seems to be getting colder by the minute. We’ll hurry home and get you in front of a warm fire, and we’ll have Mrs. Ballard whip up some hot wassail. How does that sound?”

In the daylight David realized Stevie’s blond hair was the same shade as his mother’s. He was also possessed of her sweet nature.

“I love wassail!”

“If the weather’s good tomorrow, you and I are going to the village to purchase Christmas presents for your mother.”

And David knew exactly what he was going to buy for her.

WHEN THEY ARRIVED AT DARNLEY, David tensed when he saw Benedict Blatherwick’s coach and four drawn up right in front of the doorway. Did the man think he was the proprietor here? “No consideration whatsoever!” he barked.

“Oh, lookey! Mr. Blatherwick’s brought his whole team—and they’re all matched,” Stevie said with admiration.

“My son does love horses,” Mrs. Milne said, smiling.

David was repulsed by the man’s blatant display of wealth. While the use of a coach and four was normally reserved for long travels, Blatherwick was no doubt intent on showing off the fruits of his fortune.

And why in the devil was The Buffoon paying a call at Darnley? It no longer belonged…Then David remembered about the drawn-out story about Blatherwick’s flowers. He’d been bringing them to Mrs. Milne. The fellow meant to be her suitor!

The very idea sent David’s gut plummeting. What a gross misalliance!

He’d show The Fool! He hopped down, then drew Mrs. Milne into his arms while instructing Ballard, who’d just opened the door, to bring in the collected greenery. When she hooked her delicate arms about his neck, David’s breath thinned. He fleetingly wished he could march right upstairs to his bedchamber with this most intoxicating of women. For nothing had ever felt so good as holding her in his arms.

“Mr. Blatherwick awaits in the drawing room, Mrs. Milne,” Ballard said.

David climbed the stairs. In spite of her slimness, by the time he reached the landing, he was winded, but he was determined to make it all the way to the drawing room with her in his arms. He’d show Blatherwick!

He proceeded into the room and went straight to the sofa in front of the fire where he placed her, instructing her to stretch out her legs in order to keep her ankle elevated. Then he turned to the boy. “Why don’t you come and warm yourself by the fire, Stevie?”

Throughout this entrance, Blatherwick had stood, and now Mrs. Milne addressed him. “Good afternoon, Mr. Blatherwick.”

“Good afternoon. Your housekeeper has done me the goodness of putting the flowers I brought you into these vases. Are they not beautiful? Just like the woman for whom they were intended.” He indicated a full vase of pink roses on a tea table near the sofa and another vase of multi-coloured blooms arranged in a footed porcelain pot on the mantelpiece.

David wondered if The Buffoon was going to inquire about her ankle.

“Indeed they are,” she said. “Thank you very much.”

David went to the mantle and removed the flowers, setting them on a table near the window. “We’ll be putting a conifer garland here for Christmas,” he explained as Ballard entered the chamber, laden with arms full of assorted bits of tree branches which he deposited on the floor by the fire.

“We’ve been gathering greenery and pinecones,” Stevie said, unable to suppress his excitement.

“My servants decorate my many chimneypieces,” Blatherwick said. “I’ve heard it said Ambersley Hall has more chimneys than any house in Sussex.” A cocky smile eased across his face. “As to our mantelpieces, we copied a picture of the Regent’s own mantelpiece at Carlton House. I daresay one wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between mine at Ambersley and that of the Regent.”

He turned to address David. “You may recall that I almost met the Regent once. He wasn’t the Regent then. He was the Prince of Wales, and I would have gotten to meet him were it not for the fact his travel plans changed. My great aunt had very high connections. Her husband’s sister’s husband was brother to Viscount Harrington, you may recall.”

“How could I forget,” David said. The man incessantly referred to his high connections. David did not feel like being particularly civil to the man. He addressed Stevie. “Shall we start with the decorations?”

The lad’s quick smile revealed his dimples as he leapt for his basket of pinecones and sprigs.

It did not escape David’s notice that Blatherwick eyed the mistletoe. “Who hung the mistletoe?” Blatherwick asked.

David did not give the man the courtesy of turning to address him, but answered gruffly. “I did. Yesterday.”

Blatherwick sighed. “I don’t suppose, given her injury, Mrs. Milne has gotten the opportunity to stand beneath it yet?”

David quickly responded. He was not about to allow her to respond. “I can remedy that the next time I carry her.”

“I, sir, should be most happy to relieve you of that duty.”

Now David turned and faced Blatherwick, a stormy expression on his face. “I am not addressed as sir, and carrying Mrs. Milne is not a duty.” Then he presented his back to The Blowhard and picked up a length of conifer.

Incapable of perceiving that others might not be honored by his presence, Blatherwick turned his attention once again to Mrs. Milne. “I daresay a needy widow such as yourself would be flattered to be kissed beneath the mistletoe by a man of my stature and wealth.”

“You know me not if you think I am impressed by wealth, Mr. Blatherwick.”

How David wished he could have observed the expression of The Buffoon’s face.

“Well, of course, I do have many other admirable attributes.”

“You have been very kind to me.”

She was the one who was kind! Far too kind. David could not understand how she could suffer the man’s presence.

Especially since she was clearly not a fortune hunter.

“Mama! Look at how I decorated around the window!”

They all turned to see Stevie’s efforts. The window seat was strewn with sprigs of fresh-cut holly and pinecones.

“It looks lovely,” she said.

“It’s no longer sunny,” Stevie said, pressing his face to the window’s glass.

The skies had darkened to a deep graphite.

“It’s a good thing we came home when we did,” she said. “It wouldn’t have done for you to have gotten wet, for I do believe it’s going to rain.”

“It’s already starting to rain,” Stevie said. “It’s a good thing Mr. Blatherwick came in his closed carriage.”

“Yes, isn’t it,” David agreed. “I say, Blatherwick, you ought to return to Ambersley while the roads are still passable.”

Blatherwick’s brows lowered. “You may be right, my lord.” Then he got to his feet, moved to Mrs. Milne, and bowed. “I will come back tomorrow to inquire on the progress of your healing, my dear Mrs. Milne.”

After he was gone and after Stevie had left the room, she scolded David. “I thought you treated Mr. Blatherwick in a most insensitive manner.”

“The man’s a complete buffoon. I never could tolerate his company.”

Her lips curved ever so slightly. “He is the only man I ever heard your dear father speak disparagingly of, but I believe you both judge him too harshly.”

“I would be hard pressed to ever find something good to say about the man.”

“His boastfulness grows tedious, but consider how inferior he must feel in your presence, my lord.”

Good lord, David felt as if he’d grown two feet!

CHAPTER SIX

AFTER DINNER that night and after she’d tucked in Stevie, David challenged Mrs. Milne to a game of cribbage. The drawing room, illuminated only by the light from the fire and a single candelabra near the door, was incredibly intimate. Ballard had set up the game table directly in front of the hearth. David kept thinking about capturing her for a kiss beneath the mistletoe.

He was growing mad with want of her.

As their game progressed, he realized she was a skillful player, so much so that she was not inclined to converse with him. Not at all what he had in mind.

Ever since she’d complimented him that afternoon by comparing his merits to the non-existent ones of Blatherwick, he’d felt as if he were walking on clouds. Did she really find him admirable? Could she be attracted to him?

A week ago he hadn’t known her. Three days ago he had despised her. And now his fondest hope was that she could want him in the same way he wanted her.

He hadn’t enough experience with these kinds of emotions to know exactly in what way he wanted this woman. Certainly, he wanted her in his bed. But somehow, even after so short an acquaintance, he did not think she was the kind of woman who would consent to such a prospect.

Did he want her for…good lord, his countess? His heartbeat drummed. Not in his entire eight-and-twenty years had he ever thought of marrying. He’d never before met a woman who appealed to him that strongly.

Until now.

God help him.

Clearly, he was not concentrating on his game. She handily beat him.

“Perhaps,” said he, “we could sit on the sofa, have a glass of port, and watch the fire. It’s so soothing on a chilly winter’s night.”

She favored him with a smile. He helped her to the sofa, and then he moved the table and chairs away from the hearth to allow them clear vision of it. When he came to sit on the sofa, he sat closer to her than she had chosen to sit by him the previous night. He poured her drink, handed it to her, and offered a toast. “Permit me to drink to a happy Christmas and healthy lungs for Stevie.”

Her glass clinked against him. “Thank you. You’re so good to him.”

They drank.

“Will you give your permission for me to take him—in my enclosed carriage against the cold—tomorrow to the village so he can purchase a Christmas gift for his mother?” he asked.

Her sweet mouth opened. “How thoughtful you are! I’m sure Stevie would love that.”

“Perhaps you can suggest something for me to get Mrs. Ballard.”

She thought on this for a moment. “There is something! There’s a man in the village who sells spectacles that enable older people to be able to read small print. Poor Mrs. Ballard’s eyes aren’t what they once were. Just the other day she was lamenting she could no longer read her Bible. I believe she would love to have those spectacles, but I understand they’re rather expensive.”

“That’s a present I could get for her and her husband! Thank you for the suggestion.”

He thought again about the proximity of the mistletoe and about kissing her and about that damned Blatherwick. David was convinced the man meant to offer for her.

The very idea made his stomach drop. “Has it occurred to you that Blatherwick may be intending to propose marriage to you?”

She did not respond for a moment. “It has.”

“And? Have you considered remarrying?”

Again, she did not respond right away. “When Peter first died, I was sure I would never marry again. I could not imagine ever being the wife of any man except him. As time has passed and I’ve reread the letters he wrote, it’s clear he thought there was a likelihood he would die, and he wanted to know that I would be taken care of, that I would be cherished.”

“So you’ve decided you will remarry?”

“I would certainly give such a proposal consideration.”

“Please tell me you would not consider Blatherwick.”

She giggled. “I am honored by his attentions, and marriage to him would give me security—though I will own I couldn’t be happier than I am at Darnley.”

She was far too nice. He refilled his glass, but not hers as she’d taken no more than two sips. He was emboldened enough to finally ask what he’d been longing to know. He drew a deep breath. “Tell me, Mrs. Milne, how is it you ever became acquainted with my father?”

“He never told you?”

He shook his head. “I didn’t know of your existence until the solicitor told me you’d inherited Darnley.”

“Oh, how you must have hated me!”

She was far too close to the initial truth for his comfort. “I don’t think anyone could ever hate you.”

She bestowed her brilliant smile upon him, and he felt as if he’d just broken the faro bank at White’s.

“Getting to meet your father was…” her voice trailed off. “It was like Divine intervention in my life.”

He moved closer. “How so?”

“I was very, very low, and Stevie was not doing well at all when I happened upon an advert—I was too poor to purchase a newspaper, but I was fortunate enough to read my landlady’s that she had finished reading. Your father advertised for a genteel woman to read to him as he was, sadly, losing his vision.”

“I didn’t realize that,” David said solemnly, a giant lump in his throat.

“Because he didn’t want you to know. Just like he didn’t want those of us who loved him to know when he was dying.”

It still stung to think about his father dying alone. “So you answered his advert?”

“Yes, I wrote to him. I prayed so hard that I would be the one he selected for I was desperate to get Stevie out of London.” She paused for a moment. “And I think I knew, as ridiculous as it sounds, I knew that the man who placed that advert was a kindly man. When I read it, I felt it was…I know this sounds foolish, but I felt it was my destiny.”

“And obviously my father felt the same connection.”

She nodded, her great blue eyes meeting his. “I truly believe it was Divine intervention. I was being compensated for past suffering. Do you believe that life offers compensations, my lord?”

He shrugged. “I never thought about it.”

She smiled. “Your dear father did select me and was kind enough to advance me money for the stagecoach for Stevie and me to travel here. He didn’t even object to me bringing a young boy. And, as you know, he was wonderful to Stevie.” Her eyes misted.

It upset him. He couldn’t help himself. He put an arm around her and waited patiently for her to continue.

“We had a special bond, almost like a father and daughter. He was like a grandfather to Stevie. I was devastated when he sent us away. You see, Stevie and I had found true happiness for the first time since Peter died.”

“I’m shocked Papa would have done that.”

“I was, too. It wasn’t until I returned to Darnley two weeks ago that I learned why he’d sent us away.”

“Why?”

“Mrs. Ballard gave me a letter Lord Paxton had written me before he died. In it, he said he’d sent us away to spare us from watching him die. He hadn’t wanted those he loved to see him slip away. That included you, my lord.” She started to cry.

David, too, was not able to staunch the tears that seeped from his eyes. In his melancholy, all thoughts of seduction fled.

He merely lifted her hand, pressed a kiss to it, and said, “Thank you for sharing this with me. I didn’t know. I feel a little less guilty now for not being with him at the end, yet very morose.” He stood. “Allow me to assist you to your chamber, madam.”

When he got to his old bedchamber, he was too restless and too melancholy to go to bed. Instead he went to his desk and began to write. First he wrote to Stonehouse and instructed him to terminate any efforts to try to break his father’s will. “I now fully support every bequest made by my father in his will,” he wrote.

Next, he penned a long letter in conversation style to his old tutor, who’d been a curate in a neighboring village near Tonton Abbey. He started by reminiscing about what drudgery he’d at first considered the lessons but went on to express his gratitude to Mr. Jackson for the fine job he had done in preparing him for Oxford. “I knew not your equal among all the learned scholars at that august institution.” He went on to inform Mr. Jackson of the recent demise of his own father and concluded by saying, “It is my fondest hope that if ever I have sons, it would be our good fortune to obtain your services to be their tutor, for they could receive no finer education in all of England.”

Afterwards, he felt less melancholy. Mrs. Milne had been right when she said praise was more precious than jewels—not only to the recipient, but also to the giver.

Now David understood why his father had been so fond of Mrs. Milne…Mary.

CHAPTER SEVEN

THE PREVIOUS DAY’S rain had brought in even colder air, so it was with some misgivings that Mary allowed Stevie to go off in Lord Paxton’s coach. She’d seen to it that Stevie bundled up in all his warmest clothing, wrapped a thick woolen muffler about his thin neck, and insisted that he bury himself beneath the thick rug in his lordship’s enclosed carriage.

She must not have hidden her fears very well. Before they left, Lord Paxton set a gentle hand to her waist and bent to speak to her in a low, reassuring voice. “I vow to protect Stevie from the cold. You mustn’t let your own apprehensions steal away his Christmas cheer.”

She peered up into his concerned face and nodded. “Of course, you’re right.” How was it that this man had come to know her so well in so brief a time? She’d not said a word about the worries that nearly paralyzed her, yet he’d been able to read her as if she were a penny pamphlet.

Part of her leapt for joy over this close connection between her and Lord Paxton; part of her braced for a mammoth let-down when he returned to London and to women of his own class.

She had lain awake for hours the previous night pondering her feelings toward him. How could she care for him so deeply in just a few short days? She had even come to realize—as foolish as it sounded—that she might be falling in love with him.

If that were the case, her future was sure to be strewn with heartache.

Clasping her red knitted shawl about her shoulders, she stood in the doorway and watched as he and Stevie climbed into the luxurious coach. How happy and excited Stevie looked. This was an unprecedented adventure for him. He could count on his fingers the number of times he’d ridden in a coach, and even more exciting was the prospect of going shopping. Lord Paxton had kindly given him a small sum of money to spend, claiming that Stevie had earned it by helping him hang the Christmas greenery.

As their coach disappeared from sight, she grew calmer. For the first time in years, she trusted her precious son to another. Completely. She knew Lord Paxton would make sure Stevie stayed warm and out of the cold air and wind.

What a wonderful Christmas this was going to be! She would not allow her thoughts to stray to his lordship’s return to London. She must savor each wondrous day they would share. A smile on her face, she turned to go inside when she heard the clop of horses coming from the west. Mr. Blatherwick.

What a pity that Lord Paxton wasn’t here to limit this man’s visit. The misfortune of being too polite always hindered Mary. Since Mr. Blatherwick was coming here, though, she might as well put him to good use. She stood in the doorway and greeted him when his coachman assisted his master in disembarking. Mr. Blatherwick’s eyes widened. “You are standing on your own!”

This was the first time since her accident that his first comment to her actually referred to the injury. Was he becoming less self-centered? “I am much improved. The swelling in my ankle has receded.”

“Where’s Lord Paxton?” he inquired.

“He and Stevie just left. They’re going to Lower Worthington.”

A quizzing look quirked his face.“Stevie?”

“My son.”

“Oh, that’s right! Fine lad.” He almost pushed past her in an effort to enter her house.

“I wondered if I could impose on you to take me in your fine coach to visit poor Mr. Knight today. I’d hoped to take him some of Mrs. Ballard’s mulled wine.”

“Knight? The old fellow’s still alive?”

Her voice dropped. “Barely. Poor dear. I doubt he’ll see the new year.”

“Pity.” Then his face brightened. “I should be honored to take you.”

It was just a short drive before they reached the unkempt cottage. “It doesn’t look like anyone lives here,” Mr. Blatherwick said. “Just look at how the garden’s been neglected!”

“Recall that Mr. Knight’s in poor health, not to mention very advanced years.”

The coachmen assisted them from the conveyance, and Mary walked ahead, knowing she must knock loudly in order for Mr. Knight to hear. After a faint voice urged them in, she opened the door. “Good day to you, Mr. Knight. We’ve brought you some of Mrs. Ballard’s mulled wine. It wouldn’t be Christmas without it.”

It looked to her as if he hadn’t moved since she’d last been there. He was still stretched out on the sofa, only now a thick quilt covered him.

Mr. Blatherwick strode up to the dying man and held out his hand, fully expecting Mr. Knight to stand up and shake it.

She turned to Blatherwick. “I don’t think Mr. Knight is quite able to sit up just now.”

“Pity.”

While she stood beside the infirm man, Blatherwick dropped into a comfortable chair nearby and spoke. “I say, Knight, have you seen the new lake I’ve had constructed at Ambersley?”

In a feeble voice, Mr. Knight said, “I don’t believe I have.”

Blatherwick was only too happy to enlighten him. “It was no easy feat, I tell you. When I approached Campbell—he’s the best, you know, at that sort of commission—he did his best to dissuade me from the project. Said it would cost a fortune. I told him expense was no detriment to Benedict Blatherwick. I don’t care what I have to pay for something that brings me pleasure.”

Mary looked from the fire to the sickly man and spoke to him in a soothing voice. “Should you like me to build up the fire a bit more, Mr. Knight?”

“Now see here, Mrs. Milne,” Blatherwick said, frowning, “that’s a job for servants. Can’t have a pretty little genteel thing like you doing that.”

“I assure you I’ve performed such a task many times in my life.” She turned back to Mr. Knight. “Are you chilled? It’s awfully cold today.”

“I’m fine right now. The girl Lord Paxton sent to help out will be returning this afternoon.”

She quirked a brow. “Lord Paxton has sent someone to assist you?”

“I wasn’t supposed to know who was responsible for the girl, but she slipped and told me who was paying her. Lord David’s just like his father. It’s very kind of him.”

It warmed her heart to have her high opinion of Lord Paxton confirmed. “Indeed it is.” She poured out a small glass of the mulled wine and helped him take a sip. Then she left the bottle on a nearby table in case he wanted more later.

“We don’t want to tire you.” She looked at Mr. Blatherwick. “We need to go before we tire Mr. Knight excessively.”

On the way home, she grew alarmed when Mr. Blatherwick leapt off his seat facing her in the coach and plopped down next to her.

“Mr. Blatherwick! Whatever are you doing?”

“I’ve been waiting ages for this intimate opportunity.” He snatched her hand.

Repulsion surged within her. Being near him was infinitely different from being near the wonderful Lord Paxton. She felt dreadfully guilty that she did not feel more charitable toward the less-favorably endowed (at least physically) Mr. Blatherwick.

She pushed away. “This is most improper!”

“But it’s not as if you’re a maiden—and besides, it’s not as if I mean to make any improper proposals. I mean to honor you with a proposal to become my wife.”

It was as if a huge drumbeat thudded in her chest. For some time now she had been vaguely aware that this man was courting her, yet still when his actual declaration came, she was unprepared with an answer.

He looked so confident, so hopeful. She hated to disappoint him, even if he was not as admirable as Lord Paxton.

“This is not a good time,” was all she could think of to say. “I have too much on my mind with Christmas and…and plans to be made and all.”

The coach pulled up in front of Darnley, and when the coachman came around to open the door and assist her from the carriage she could have expelled a sigh of relief.

“Then I shall wait until January, my dear Mrs. Milne, to give you the opportunity to be the wife of the most prosperous man in all of Sussex.” When he went to get out, she held up a palm. “So nice to visit with you, Mr. Blatherwick, but I have pressing business with Mrs. Ballard regarding…Christmas.” She did have to discuss the Christmas Day menu.

He insisted on pressing his lips to the back of her hand. She found herself wishing it were Lord Paxton who was touching her in so intimate a way.

WHEN MARY TUCKED Stevie in that night, he could only barely contain his excitement over the Christmas gift he’d purchased for her that day in Lower Worthington. “And wait until you see what Lord Paxton’s bought for you!”

Her heart sank. She had nothing for his lordship for Christmas.

A few minutes later when she entered the drawing room, where a table had been set up before the fire for the two of them to play cribbage, her heartbeat fluttered. He stood when she entered and gave her the most heavy-lidded, seductive…gawk she’d ever received.

Her pulse quivered madly as she approached him.

She drew a deep breath as she sat down facing him. She played with intent and did not dare initiate a conversation for fear of dissolving into a love-struck ninny.

After just one game, he suggested they move to the sofa. He continued his nightly ritual of pouring each of them a glass of port. This time it was she who offered a toast. Clinking their glasses together, she said, “Here’s wishing one kind, thoughtful lord a wondrous Christmas since I have nothing material to give him.”

Watching her with a smoldering gaze, he tapped his glass to hers and took, for him, an uncharacteristically small sip before putting down his glass. He leaned closer and spoke in a throaty voice. “You have it in your power to give me that for which I’ve been most longing.” When it came to recognizing the signs of a man gripped by desire for a woman, she was no novice. Now she understood the sultry manner in which he’d been watching her, the huskiness in his voice, the various ways he’d found to touch her the past couple of days.

She was so exhilarated by the knowledge, it was as if a luscious flower were blooming inside her. She had never imagined a man with all his attributes—including a title—would ever be interested in her.

Would he be able to detect her internal quivering when she breathlessly whispered? “I doubt, my lord, I could refuse you anything.”

She had thought this would be the night they conversed. She had planned to praise him for helping Mr. Knight and for taking Stevie to Lower Worthington that day. She’d wanted to tell him how special this Christmas was going to be for her and Stevie, thanks to his presence.

But now she didn’t want to discuss any of those things. All she wanted was for this man to take her in his arms and to slake his manly hunger in any way that pleased him. For she was completely captivated by him, and she wanted him as acutely as he wanted her.

More than captivated, she knew with certainty she was in love with David Arlington, the Earl of Paxton. She had come to love everything about him from his dark good looks to his consideration for Stevie to his protectiveness toward her. She loved the sound of his deep voice, the pensive way he looked when playing cribbage, and most of all, she loved the way he made her feel when his strong arms closed around her.

He groaned as he drew her into his embrace and crushed his lips onto hers. When their tongues touched, she felt a spurt of liquid glistening her core.

She gloried in the feel of those hands of his pressing and kneading and caressing her. Somehow he managed to lower the bodice of her gown to expose her bare breasts. She’d always been a bit embarrassed that her breasts were too large, but not now, not when she looked down and saw how reverently her beloved cupped one as if it were a priceless chalice. His mouth closed about her nipple and as he suckled, she thought she could go mad with want.

Her head lolling back, she whimpered, numbed with the pleasure he was giving her.

Then she remembered something. A guiding principle of her life had always been that she would do nothing that she would not want to announce from the pulpit of her father’s church.

And this lustful action, not blessed by the sacrament of matrimony, did not qualify. Her cheeks grew hot with the mortification of what she was doing.

She sat up, as erect as a fireplace poker. It was then, when he straightened, she saw the enormous bulge between his legs. She was ashamed of herself for causing that, for acting like a doxy, for giving him false expectations.

She started to ask his forgiveness, but he spoke first.

“Forgive me, my dearest, dearest Mary. I should not have gotten so carried away with such a fine woman as you.” He took both her hands and pressed kisses into them. “It’s only because I’ve come to care so deeply for you.”

He cared deeply for her! He’d called her Mary! It was so intimate. And, unlike with Mr. Blatherwick, she did wish so fervently to be intimate with this man sitting so close to her, this man whom she had come to love so potently. “As I care for you. You’re every bit as fine as your father was.”

He shook his head. “Would that I were.”

“I’m embarrassed that I’ve acted like a loose woman.”

He chuckled. “No one who knows you could ever believe that.” He lowered his voice to a growl. “And it’s perfectly acceptable to be a loose woman with a man to whom one is wed.”

It was as if the air in her lungs had stilled, as if her chest had expanded tenfold. She could not believe she’d heard him correctly. A peer of the realm did not wed a penniless daughter of a country cleric. A woman of her background would be fortunate to marry a man like Benedict Blatherwick.

Trembling, she silently repeated what she thought he’d said. She was certain now she’d heard him correctly. “But I’m not wed to you, my lord.” Nor did she ever expect to be.

“I shall have to rectify that situation.”

Her eyes widened. She was afraid to speak.

Their eyes locked and neither spoke.

CHAPTER EIGHT

JUST AN INNOCENT KISS beneath the mistletoe, that’s what he had planned to ask of her tonight. He’d been craving that like an opium eater craves his pipe. But as he’d sat there on the sofa so close to her, he had lost all control.

Especially when she’d said I doubt, my lord, I could refuse you anything. That was all he’d had to hear. She must need him as he needed her!

And when he tasted her lips, or listened to her quiver when he touched her, he’d lost himself to the sensuous pleasure she was giving him.

In his entire eight-and-twenty years he’d never been possessed by such longing for a woman—and not just this moment when he felt as if he could explode from throbbing need.

From that first moment he’d drawn the injured woman into his arms alongside the road, the connection between them was impossible to deny—even though at the time he had strongly wanted to deny it.

Never before had any woman had such power over him. It wasn’t just the physical connection that drew him to Mary, either. It was so much more. He had come to love everything about her. Of course she was lovely, but old Mr. Knight had succinctly described her when he’d said she was as pretty on the inside as she was on the outside. That was Mary, his Mary, in a nutshell.

He thought, too, of what she’d said about what brought her to Darnley in the first place. Divine intervention. He had the strongest feeling that same Divine intervention had brought Mary to him.

For throughout the three kingdoms no finer woman than Mary could ever be found. If he couldn’t have Mary for his wife, he would never have a wife.

He put hands on each of her shoulders and studied her beloved face in the firelight. “Mary Milne, I fancy addressing you as Lady Paxton. It would make me the happiest man in all of England if you would oblige.”

Her pale blue eyes widened. Then she gave him a coy smile as if they shared a private jest. “I should be inclined to oblige if words of love had accompanied your proposal, my lord.”

Now he smiled. “Very well. Allow me to start over. Mary Milne, I am quite certain I have loved you from the moment we met. I shall never love another, and I shall go mad if you don’t do me the honor of agreeing to become my countess.”

She buried herself in his embrace. “Oh, my lord, the answer is yes! And I didn’t think it was possible to fall so completely in love in so short a time, but I, too, plead guilty.” She looked up into his face. “I love you most ardently, my lord.”

“David,” he murmured. “You’re to call me David henceforth.”

“Allow me to repeat that. I love you most ardently, David.”

He settled gentle kisses on the lips of his intended wife.

A moment later, she laughed to herself.

“And what do you find so amusing?”

“That was the second proposal of marriage I received today.”

David rolled his eyes. “Blatherwick?”

She nodded.

“You obviously turned him down.”

She did not respond for a moment. “Actually…”

“Mary?” he growled.

“I didn’t accept him. It’s just that I…I hated to disappoint him. He was so sure of himself, so sure that any woman would be happy to marry so fine a matrimonial catch such as he that I didn’t have the heart to destroy his hopes.”

David glared at this woman he adored. “So what did you tell him?”

“I told him it wasn’t a good time, that I had much Christmas planning to do and couldn’t think about it.”

“Surely you weren’t going to consider accepting him?”

“I wasn’t considering it favorably or unfavorably. Frankly, I never expected a proposal from you, so I didn’t wish to completely eliminate my sole suitor.”

Was she so modest she hadn’t been able to see how much David had come to worship her? “It would have been much easier, actually much more humane, to have let him down today than to give him false hope. David was not entirely successful at suppressing the anger from his voice.

“I’m sure you’re right. I’m a terrible coward.”

He stroked her cheek. “You’re possessed of too tender a heart.”

“A condition I credit you and your father with. I found out about the girl you sent to help care for Mr. Knight.”

He shrugged. “It was a very minor thing to do. Look at all you’ve done for him.”

“He’s very appreciative. He thinks almost as highly of you as I do.”

“Back to Blatherwick…You do realize that as egotistical as BlatherBoast is, it’s likely he may perceive that you’ve accepted him?”

“He couldn’t be that much of a dunderhead.”

“Oh, but he could. You forget I’ve known him all my life. Which explains why I do everything I can to avoid the fellow. But that’s enough talk about him. Now, about us…I want you to be my bride on Christmas.”

“That soon?”

“That or I compromise your virtue, and I’d rather not. You’re too good.”

“But Christmas is just two days away.”

“I’ll procure a special license.”

“How wonderful! Just this morning I was thinking what a wonderful Christmas this would be for us. Because of you. I had no idea just how wonderful it really was going to be.”

“I’m going to be a very busy man tomorrow if I’m going to be speaking to the appropriate clergymen regarding the special license. One more kiss, my love, then it’s off to my lonely bed.”

“But only for two more nights,” she whispered seductively as she moved into his embrace.

MARY SLEPT LATE the next morning. Her excitement kept her awake for hours. She couldn’t believe such good fortune had fallen on her. She was to wed the most perfect man, a man she loved more than she’d ever thought possible. Not for a moment had she ever allowed herself to even hope she could win Lord Paxton’s affections. He was too far above her touch. Even in the dark bedchamber, a perpetual smile lifted her face.

By the time she came downstairs for breakfast, David had already gone. She regretted that they had not discussed telling others about their upcoming nuptials. She, quite naturally, wanted to tell Stevie as well as the Ballards, but she would wait until David permitted her to do so.

After breakfast she found Stevie in the morning room engaged in a full-scale battle with an army of toy tin soldiers. “Where did those come from?” she asked.

“Lord Paxton found them. They were his when he was a lad. He gave them to me.”

The smile she directed at her son was really meant for the man she loved. She stood watching for a moment, though she had no interest in military battles, hoping Stevie might mention that David might have brought up the topic of their imminent marriage.

As excited as her son was over the toy soldiers, he wouldn’t have forgotten the prospect of having Lord Paxton for a stepfather. She was sure David hadn’t told Stevie—which was really as it should be. The news should come either from her or from them jointly. She’d wait and discuss it with him.

She went next to the table in the entry hall and was pleased to see the post had already come. There were only two pieces of mail, and they were almost identical. Both she and David each had received a letter from the solicitor’s office.

She opened hers, her brows knitting in puzzlement.

Dear Lord Paxton,

You will shortly be receiving communication from the solicitor Henry Bosworth, who will be writing to inform you that your challenge to Mrs. Mary Milne’s ownership of Darnley Lodge may very well stand up in a court of law. Expect his letter spelling out the legal aspects of the challenge.

I remain,

Your servant,

Percy Stonehouse, Esquire

She flipped over the sheet upon which the communication was written and saw that the clerk had mistakenly addressed this to her. That meant the one addressed to…his lordship was the communication Stonehouse had meant for her.

She felt as if the house she was standing in had collapsed on top of her. Indeed, it was as if her whole world had crumbled—except that, thank God, Stevie was well.

David had come here hating her and wanting to take away the only thing she owned, the legacy from his dear father.

She had grossly misjudged him when she’d credited him with being like his parent.

She had been blind to trust him—all because he was handsome and pretended to be kind to her.

It felt as if her heart had been hatcheted from her chest. She was too stricken even for tears. It had been like that when Peter died. Now she had painfully lost the only two men she’d ever loved.

She believed he had finally grown to love her, but she could not trust a man who had been so dishonest with her.

So absorbed in her own grief was she that she never heard the noise associated with the arrival of Mr. Blatherwick just a few feet away. Ballard showed him in.

She was in no mood to be civil to anyone.

No sooner had she mumbled some sort of salutation to the man than David came sweeping into the hallway, tossing off his greatcoat while smiling at her.

Blatherwick glared at the earl. “Did you know, Paxton, that Mrs. Milne will soon permit me to announce our forthcoming nuptials?”

David started laughing.

Now she glared at David, compelled to hurt him as he had hurt her. “It’s true, my lord. I’m going to marry Mr. Blatherwick.” She turned and ran up the stairs.

CHAPTER NINE

“LEAVE!” David thundered.

Fear swept over Blatherwick’s face.

Few men—no, no man—had ever been the object of such rage from David.

Blatherwick’s chin jutted out. “You can’t go ordering me about. It’s no longer your house.”

David closed the gap between them and shoved his face into the other man’s. “I’ll rephrase. Leave or I’ll remove you.”

Surely The Buffoon hadn’t forgotten the many times David had bested him in play yard fisticuffs. Surely he was aware of David’s advantage in height and strength. Surely he hadn’t recently acquired courage—something he’d lacked throughout his privileged life.

A deep red flush climbed up Blatherwick’s face. “This. Is. Not. Fair. She’s my betrothed. Why should I have to leave her with you?”

His face still close enough to detect Blatherwick’s trembling, David spoke gutturally. “Because if you don’t your coachman will be scraping you off this floor.”

Blatherwick’s eyes narrowed to where David was incapable of telling what colour they were. “Very well. But I’ll be back tomorrow and expect to receive a warm welcome from my affianced.”

David locked the door behind The Blowhard, then raced up the stairs to Mary’s bedchamber and began to pound upon her door. He waited a moment, but there was no response.

“Mary, my darling, are you in there?”

Still, nothing. He pounded harder, but he heard not a sound. He thought perhaps she had gone to another room, so he swept through the entire house looking for her.

“Do you know where Mrs. Milne has gone?” he asked Mrs. Ballard, whom he found in the linen closet on the top floor.

She nodded solemnly. “She’s locked herself in her chamber. She was crying.”

His heart sank. He must comfort her. He hurried back down to Mary’s bedchamber. This time instead of pounding, he knocked in a more civil manner. “Mary, please open this door. I must speak to you.”

Once again, there was no response. He listened carefully. Now that Mrs. Ballard had told him Mary was crying, he strained to hear signs of it.

And he heard a faint feminine sniffle.

It broke his heart. Or broke it all over again. He was still reeling from the pain of her declaration that she was going to marry The Buffoon.

He stood there in the dimly lit corridor where he’d frolicked as a lad. Only now he felt destroyed by a slender woman who’d enslaved him with her loveliness, and her purity, and her charitable ways. How could this same woman have treated him so cruelly?

He moved closer to the door. “I know you’re in there. I know you love me. You must know I love you. I love you like I’ve never loved anyone in my eight-and-twenty years. We’ll have the special license tomorrow and can marry.” He paused and waited for a response.

There was nothing.

“I credited you with honesty. You said you loved me. You promised to marry me. How could you deceive me so?”

Nothing.

“And I forbid you to marry Benedict Blatherwick. Absolutely. I believe I’d kill him first rather than have him sully you by such an association. Would it make you happy to see me hang for murder?”

The only sound he heard was a lady’s gentle weeping.

What in the hell had gotten into her?

Once more, he started pounding upon her door.

And he finally heard her say something! He stopped to listen.

“I fell in love,” sniff, sniff, “with a man who misrepresented himself.”

He pressed his face to the thick wooden door and spoke gently. “How was that?”

“I thought you were the kindly man your father was.”

He stood there in the ever-darkening corridor shaking his head. “No, I never purported to be half the man my father was.”

Now she started crying. Loudly.

All his further efforts to get her to communicate went unanswered.

Darkness came. As he stood there shrouded in gloom, Ballard climbed the stairs. “My Lord, you have a caller.”

“If it’s Blatherwick, toss him out.”

“No, sir. He’s come from London, and he says it’s urgent.”

David morosely descended the stairs. Standing at the base of the stairs beneath the wall sconce Ballard has just lighted was Mr. Stonehouse’s young clerk, his cheeks bright red from the cold. He wore heavy leather gloves, a thick woolen muffler twirled about his neck, and a voluminous greatcoat. Had the fellow ridden a horse all the way from London?

“My lord! I have come in the hopes of arriving before the post, for I realized I’ve made a most dreadful mistake.”

Ballard, who still stood there, cleared his throat. “Two pieces of mail were delivered around noon today, your lordship. Identical in every way, except one was addressed to you and the other to Mrs. Milne.”

The clerk groaned and slapped at his forehead. “Then I am too late.”

David could see the man’s great distress. “What’s the problem?”

“I have every reason to believe I made a grave error in addressing your correspondence to Mrs. Milne and hers to you.”

Could this have something to do with Mary’s sudden change? Her reversal of affection? David lowered his brows. “What was the nature of Mr. Stonehouse’s correspondence to me?”

“May we speak in private?” the clerk asked. He still had not divested himself of his coat.

David started for the morning room, but Stevie had its entire floor covered with tin soldiers and was in the middle of an elaborate battle. David walked some distance further to the small library at the rear of the house.

A sick feeling settled in his stomach when he closed the door and faced the clerk. “Well?”

“I beg your forgiveness, my lord, but the correspondence Mr. Stonehouse was sending to you disclosed that the barrister you asked him to procure was proceeding with steps to challenge Mrs. Milne’s ownership of Darnley Lodge, and he was hopeful your challenge would be successful.”

The anger David had previously felt toward Blatherwick was nothing compared to what he now felt toward this careless clerk. He wanted to strike him. Imagine how devastated Mary had been, how betrayed she must have felt when she read that letter!

He understood the words she’d uttered from behind her bedchamber door when she said she’d fallen in love with a man who misrepresented himself. How she must despise him!

Then David realized he had no one but himself to blame. He should have trusted in his father.

Now he’d lost everything.

Glaring at the clerk, he nodded. “It’s too late for you to return to London, but there’s a small inn in the nearest village, Lower Worthington.”

The clerk slunk away like terrier evading a wolf.

David stayed in the library, standing before the fire and brooding over his dismal fate. Now that he’d found Mary, he couldn’t lose her. He would never find the likes of her again. He could want nothing more from life than to have her for his wife and would do anything to restore her love. For life without her was unthinkable.

Once more he climbed the stairs and softly knocked upon her door. “Mary, my love, I beg your forgiveness. I know about the letter from Mr. Stonehouse. I’m sorry. All of that was initiated before I knew you. Even before you did me the honor of agreeing to become my wife, I’d written to Stonehouse to cancel any action with the barrister. I was bitterly ashamed of my actions.

“Please know that I abhor lying. I don’t lie. I didn’t lie when I said from the first moment I drew you into my arms alongside the road that first day, you affected me like no other woman ever has. I’ve since come to know with certainty what I have felt for you is love. You’re the only woman I’ve ever loved, the only woman I will ever love.” His voice broke on the last word. Just like his heart.

“And if you don’t open this door, I’ll get an ax and break it down!”

The soft muffle of footsteps crossed the floor of her bedchamber, then the bolt in her door slid, and the door opened.

She stood there, eyes red from crying, and he thought he’d never seen anyone look lovelier. He moved to her and wrapped her sweet body into his arms, arms that had been aching for her. She whimpered.

And so did he.

Footsteps pounded on the stairs, and he turned to see first Mrs. Ballard, then her husband, trailed by Stevie.

“What’s happened, my lord?” Mrs. Ballard demanded breathlessly.

“Why did you need to tear down the door with an axe?” her husband asked.

Still holding Mary close, he turned to the others and smiled.

“All is well now. Mary is to become my wife.”

Ballard calmly lighted the wall sconce from the candelabra he carried, and David saw that his announcement had met with smiles from all.

Stevie raced past the elder couple and looked up at him. “Does that mean you’re going to be my father, my lord?”

“If you will allow it, it will be my honor.”

That gap-toothed smile and the lad’s piercing dimples were quickly revealed. “It would be my honor!”

In the span of a few moments David had gone from the depths of despair to the dizzying heights of bliss. Everything he could ever want was right here: Mary, Stevie, the Ballards, and his beloved Darnley.

“I can’t tell you how happy this makes me,” Mrs. Ballard said, moving to them. “I’ve been carrying this letter from your father around in my apron pocket since the day you arrived. He instructed me to give it to you upon the announcement that you were going to marry Mrs. Milne.”

Mary’s mouth opened. “I should have know the old lord was scheming to get us together! How could he possibly have known such a thing?”

Mrs. Ballard shrugged. “The old lord was very shrewd. Especially about people. You two are to read the letter.” She turned to Stevie. “Come, Master Stevie. I shall need help setting the table tonight. Your mother tells me you’re a great helper.”

“Oh, I am.”

“Come down for supper after you read the letter,” she told them.

Mary gave David a tender look. “I suppose you can come into my chamber.”

They sat on the settee near her fire. It saddened him to see his father’s distinctive handwriting. How he wished his father could still be with them. Especially now. He unfolded the letter and began to read.

My Dear Son,

I know you must have been hurt when you learned that I left Darnley to Mary Milne. Then when I compelled you to spend Christmas with the strange woman you must have been angry.

But I had confidence that because you were an honorable son you would comply with my wishes. And since you are now reading this, it appears all my wishes have come to fruition.

First, I must explain that even had you not fallen in love with Mrs. Milne, I would have left Darnley to her because she loved it like no one else, other than you, ever has, but unlike you, she had a great need for it. She and her sweet son. They had no one to look after them.

With no expectations, she was incredibly kind to me in my final days, as she has been to many others near Lower Worthington. She’s possibly the most genuinely altruistic person it’s ever been my pleasure to know.

The longer I was with her, the more convinced I became that she would be the perfect wife for you. And you are and always have been the most important person in my life.

This is why from the grave I have endeavored to play matchmaker for my two favorite people. May you and Mary have a long and happy life together.

Your Devoted Father

By the time they’d finished reading the letter, neither of them had a dry eye.

They sat staring into the fire for a few moments when David spoke. “My love?”

“Yes?”

“I would ask that you write a letter now.”

“What kind of letter?”

“One that our groom could deliver to Blatherwick tonight.”

She gave him a sly smile. “It was a wicked thing that I did.”

“Only to me. That man deserves it.”

“I’ll dash it off before I come down for supper.”

EPILOGUE

CHRISTMAS DAY

MARY HAD KNOWN this was going to be a wonderful Christmas, but even she hadn’t dreamed it would be the happiest day of her life. Early that morning they rose and exchanged gifts. It no longer bothered her that she had nothing for David. He’d convinced her that giving him her love was the greatest gift he could ever receive.

Stevie’s excitement over her gift of a game of spillikins was soon forgotten when David presented him with his own pony. “Now, son,” David said soothingly, “I know how much you’re longing to go ride your gift, but it’s too cold this morning. You’ll just have to be patient.”

It was impossible to love a man more than she loved David at that moment.

Then he turned to her, love brimming from his dark eyes. “And for you, love, I bought every beautiful piece of fabric that was to be had in Lower Worthington. You have to be sick of that same blue dress.”

“Indeed, I am!”

He left the room and came back with a box from which he began to withdraw lovely lengths of muslin and wool and silk in blue and ivory and butter yellow and scarlet. Her mouth gaped open. She’d never seen such beautiful materials.

“And there’s a skilled needlewoman in Lower Worthington who’s pledged to sew whatever will suit the new Lady Paxton.”

Mary was in a daze.

An hour later she was still in a daze when, shortly before the villagers were to arrive for the Christmas morning service, with Mr. and Mrs. Ballard as witnesses, Mary stood at the altar in Lower Worthington’s little chapel wearing her faded blue dress and happily plighted her life to David’s.

She felt the presence of the wonderful man who’d been David’s father. And she knew Divine intervention had been at play in her life.

The End

ABOUT CHERYL BOLEN

Since her first book was published to acclaim in 1998, award-winning New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Cheryl Bolen has penned more than three dozen romance books set in Regency England. She’s also been a PTA mom to two now-grown sons, an English teacher, journalist, frequent traveler to England (and to Las Vegas), devotee of college sports (especially the University of Texas Longhorns), and she devours books and diaries of dead Englishwomen.

You can find details of her work at

www.CherylBolen.com

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SILVER BELLS

~ A Distinguished Rogues Novella ~

by

HEATHER BOYD

Widowed a year, Ruby Roper must flee her Scotland home when she discovers her father-in-law plans to marry her off—and keep her only son. Running to her uncle finds her in an equally undesirable situation, surrounded by silent servants and mounting secrets. Very soon, it seems perhaps The Vynes isn’t the safe haven Ruby had hoped. After all, the last time she set foot on the estate, she’d lost something dear. This time, she could lose something a great deal more precious…unless she’s willing to put her trust in a man she’s not seen in years.

She didn’t trust Hector Stockwick in her youth. Can she trust him now? Not just with her own heart, but also her son’s?

CHAPTER ONE

DECEMBER, 1816

RUBY ROPER SHIVERED at the sudden chill of the kitchen and wished she were outside in the real cold of a snowy field. “What do you mean, I’m leaving?”

Her father-in-law sniffed. “Fergus Masters requires a wife and likes the look of you, despite everything.”

Despite Ruby being English is what he meant. Mr. Roper, a Scotsman with an unrelenting dislike for anyone born English, had never approved his son’s choice of bride. He now made no bones about how worthless she was to the family since his son was no longer alive to defend her existence.

Ruby was considered a burden. The fact that she had loved their son from the moment they’d met until he’d suddenly passed away a year ago counted for nothing in Mr. Roper’s eyes. Nor did the dowry she’d brought to the marriage. That money had disappeared into the family coffers, never to be seen again.

Now, a year after she’d buried Liam Roper, his father would be rid of her. “I don’t know the man well enough to consider such an alliance.”

“Well, ya canna stay here,” he said, rising to tower over Ruby at his dinner table. “It’s him, or you’ll find your way in the world. He’ll be here tomorrow.”

Ruby swallowed. “To meet us?”

“To fetch you, girlie. I’ll have none of your fancy talk of long courtships. You wrapped our Liam around your finger. Keeping him away from his duty to the family for too long.” Mr. Roper jabbed a finger in her direction. “You’ll tie the knot without a fuss, as every other Scottish lass does, and be grateful I thought of you at all.”

She shivered at the future her father-in-law had in store for her. But it made her decision to leave next week, return home to the family she’d become estranged from, all the more urgent. She didn’t have a week to escape with her son. “You can’t possibly want to send Pip away from the only home he’s ever known.”

Mr. Roper shook his head. “The boy stays with us. He belongs here.”

Ruby stood. “No, I won’t be parted from Pip.”

Roper raised his hand above her face, ready to strike her. “You’ll do as ya told, lass.”

She trembled, waiting for the blow…but it never came. Her mother-in-law had taken hold of her husband’s elbow and stopped him.

“Not in my kitchen,” Eliza Roper cried out.

Mr. Roper threw off his wife’s grip and turned away. He went to his grandson and ordered Pip up on his feet. Ruby’s son was only four, with hardly any idea what was going on. He faced his grandfather with a smile. “Can we go to the stables and see my papa’s horse?”

“Aye, lad. We’re done here,” Mr. Roper announced.

When they left the room, Ruby nearly cried. Roper was a hard man who’d never had need to punish her child, but she feared what he would do to her little boy.

Ruby swallowed hard. She’d run away this minute if she had the fare. Her original plan was to take the mail coach back to cross the border into England and make her way south as fast as she could. But she still had days of work to go on a piece of embroidery that she would sell to pay for the journey. Getting there without funds would be an impossible trip with a young child.

Ruby had never had a fair chance to make a place for herself within Liam’s family. They’d never tried to accept her the way they did her four-year-old son, Pip. As the only male grandchild, he’d been beloved since birth. And for weeks now, her father-in-law had been attempting to keep them apart in subtle ways.

But it seemed Mr. Roper was done being subtle. Fergus Masters lived many miles away, a relative of one of their neighbors who had visited recently. She could not imagine she would ever be allowed to see her son again once she was moved away.

The silence left in Mr. Roper’s wake was deafening, and Ruby finally looked at her mother-in-law when she sat opposite. Eliza Roper stared at her steadily, and then she shook her head. “You’ll be Fergus’ fourth wife. His last wife died along with the third daughter she bore him.”

Ruby swallowed hard.

She had never been sure how Eliza thought of her. She’d offered Ruby very little kindness over the years they’d shared the upkeep of this house. But Eliza had not been entirely without compassion over the past five years. She’d taken charge of Ruby’s lying in and delivered Pip safely into Ruby’s arms. However, Eliza always sided with her husband. She’d adored her son while he’d lived, but her grandson Pip had become the center of her world. When Ruby was married off, no doubt she would take over raising young Pip in his grandfather’s image.

“You canna stay, lass,” Eliza informed her.

“I loved your son. He wouldn’t want this for Pip or me.” Ruby stood and began clearing the table angrily. She could expect no help from Eliza. The woman was Mr. Roper’s puppet, too.

Eliza sighed. “I know you did, and he loved you, but he’s dead now, and you’ve got to think of the future.”

Ruby carried everything into the kitchens. Roper had funds to pay for a maid to do the work, but he was too tight-fisted to pay anyone properly. In the end, it was left to Eliza and Ruby to keep the house tidy. Ruby had taken on the lion’s share of the work to spare her mother-in-law from scrubbing her fingers raw in the hope of becoming friends.

The work of filling the sinks took some time, and her mother-in-law watched her work without comment as she often did.

Ruby finished and turned.

Eliza was holding out Ruby’s secret bit of embroidery. The piece she meant to sell to escape Scotland.

Ruby wet her lips. “Where did you get that?”

“Ye canna keep secrets in my ’ouse,” Eliza warned. She turned it over. “It’s not finished.”

“No.”

Eliza suddenly tucked the piece into the bodice of her gown. “Mine now.”

“No, please!” Ruby cried. “Give it back to me.”

Ruby had hoarded that linen and thread since the day she’d left home. If Eliza took it, she’d have nothing of any real value left.

“It’s not finished, and you won’t have time.” Eliza went to the kitchen hearth and crouched down. She moved a log of wood, and then turned back to Ruby. “You need to leave,” Eliza repeated. When she approached Ruby, she held a tiny pile of coins in her hand. “Go to your family.”

“I will not leave my son behind.”

“I expected nothing less.” Eliza grabbed Ruby’s hand, uncurled her fingers, and started counting out coins into Ruby’s palm until she had enough for the fare and food on the journey home to England for both her and Pip too.

Ruby gaped, stunned. She had to stop her when it became too much. “I don’t know what to say.”

“You raise him right, teach him what he needs to know about his father and his family. Give him the education his father would want Pip to have. You send him back to me when he’s fully grown to take up his inheritance.”

Pip was heir to their lands. Irreplaceable to the family. Mr. Roper would be furious with Eliza for helping Ruby get away. “What about you?”

“My place is here with my husband. He knows I’d never help the silly English chit my son shackled himself to. She’s only ever been a burden. I’ve made my disapproval of you plain as day since my Liam brought you into my home.”

Ruby held the woman’s stare and didn’t believe a word she said. Eliza wouldn’t be helping her leave, giving her money, if she hadn’t come to care about her welfare. Her eyes filled with tears. “All this time. You only pretended to dislike me all this time.”

Eliza shrugged. “You’ve grown on me a little. You still babble too much, but you’re a good woman, faithful to my Liam in life and in death. He’d want me to help you get back to your people.”

Impulsively, Ruby hugged the woman. Eliza was stiff as a board at first, and then she suddenly embraced Ruby tightly. “You go back where you belong, lass, and find yourself a good man to marry soon. Someone who will care about the boy.”

“I’ll write.”

Eliza pulled away. “Don’t. I canna read.”

Ruby blinked, shocked by that. She’d been living in this household for five years and had never once suspected Eliza was illiterate. But when she thought about it, it was always Mr. Roper or Liam who’d read any letters that came and shared the news.

“Then I’ll send something instead. Once we’re settled in a good place, I’ll send a warm shawl to you.”

Eliza nodded. “That would be grand,” she said.

Ruby stood there a moment until Eliza scowled. “Well, what are you waiting for, lass? A carriage isn’t going ta come to our door to whisk you away like some fancy lady going to a ball.”

“I have to wait for Pip to come back.”

Eliza handed Ruby two apples and cut off some cheese, too. Then she snatched up her nearly threadbare shawl from the peg by the door. “I’ll go to my husband and send Pip back to you. I didn’t let him have his breakfast today, and the boy is bound to be hungry. He can eat on the journey.”

She gaped at the woman who had everything arranged for her. “You planned for this.”

Eliza nodded again. “Mr. Roper said he will go out to the fields, and I’ll go with him to help with the lambs. You go now to your chamber and collect what you can’t live without and carry upon your back. He’ll be after you for the boy by sunset, so you’ll have to run far and fast.”

“I’ll not go to my father,” Ruby decided.

Eliza held up her hand. “Don’t tell me what you plan. It’s best I don’t know so I don’t have to lie about that, too. As it is, he’ll likely beat me for not watching you as I should.”

Ruby hugged Eliza again, afraid for the woman. “I can never thank you enough for your kindness.”

“Did I ask you to? Typical Englishwoman. Always trying to fill all the peace of the world with your endless babble.”

Ruby laughed, hugged Eliza one last time, and then fled for her chamber to collect the satchel already packed with her few remaining possessions from under her bed. When she got back to the kitchen, Pip was munching on the cheese left on the table and was eager to run off outside with her.

CHAPTER TWO

LORD HECTOR STOCKWICK stuffed his book back into his satchel and looked ahead as far as he could see. Derbyshire wasn’t precisely his favorite place in the winter months, but he felt a sense of anticipation as he neared the end of his journey. He had promised to meet a friend here, though he should probably refer to Lord Clement as his brother-in-law, instead. Clement had married his sister Meg ten months ago, which meant a family reunion of sorts. Hector’s arrival was a surprise for Meg to make up for spending Christmas away from Cornwall for the second year in a row.

Lord Clement and most of his family—mother, brother, and sisters—had been living in Cornwall for most of the past year. Meg loved it there, but Hector had not gone back since they’d moved in. Too many memories; not all of them bad, but some he preferred never to revisit again.

He’d been rather shocked to learn that Meg had consented to spend another Christmas freezing her knees off in feet-deep snow in Derbyshire, at her husband’s family’s ancestral estate, The Vynes—and with Lord Vyne himself, her papa-in-law, who was not a terribly nice man. Hector trusted Lord Vyne about as far as he could throw him.

The last Hector had heard, Lord Vyne had been in a snit over plans for his wife and unmarried children to visit Cornwall for an extended stay. Lady Vyne didn’t want to return, and her son and new daughter-in-law hadn’t been in any hurry to send her back to her angry husband.

But now he suspected some sort of reconciliation had taken place. Why else would Meg willingly return to a place she’d disliked so much? Meg had not hidden the fact that she’d been miserable traveling to Derbyshire last year. At least, in the beginning. Meg had fought Hector over going. She might have even hated him for dragging her from Cornwall, too. That had all changed, of course, when she’d fallen in love with Lord Clement.

Damned if Hector had seen that coming. Also, damn inconvenient to lose a fellow bachelor to the parson’s noose. He couldn’t even complain or tease him since the man was his brother-in-law. His sister and Clement were devilishly happy, and that was that.

Hector glanced up at the sky. It was still a few hours till total dark. The weather was holding, but he suspected it wouldn’t for much longer. Thankfully, he was almost at The Vynes. He would have his feet up and a drink in hand before a cheery blaze very soon.

When the carriage topped this next rise, they began the descent into the bowl-shaped valley where the great house stood. “There it is,” he said to his companion.

“Very good, sir,” his new valet replied, somewhat sourly.

“Just wait, Parker,” Hector promised. “Christmas at The Vynes will be a jolly good time.”

“Yes, my lord.” Parker wheezed, sending steam across the carriage. “Forgive me. It’s just so cold. I fear my face is frozen.”

“Winter is always cold,” Hector said as he regarded the poor shivering fellow. He’d been in the army or something before coming into Hector’s employ. At the time of the man’s interview, Hector had thought him up to the rigors of his duties in London. But he’d spoken of warm climes and even a hint of danger when he’d been taken on. Perhaps he’d no experience of winter in recent years. “I could have trained up one of the other footmen, but you were adamant you could fill my last valet’s shoes.”

“I’m doing my best, my lord.”

“See that you do,” Hector suggested as they reached the massive front door of The Vynes. Parker didn’t need prodding to exit the carriage first. It was damn cold, and they both looked forward to a night of warmth and comfort before a blazing fire.

Hector got out, stretched, and then shivered as the cold wind cut through his greatcoat. “Damn, that’s a bitter wind blowing.” He looked at his men as they swarmed over the carriage, and then caught the coachman’s eye. “There’s most of a bottle of rum left inside. Dole it out to the men to warm them through when you’re done taking care of the horses and carriage.”

The coachman nodded, “Thank ye, sir.”

He smiled quickly and made his way up to the front door before his face froze. Belatedly, he noticed the door wasn’t already opened for him, and a drift of snow had piled up before it. He yanked on the bell chain, raining ice down on himself in the process from the bell above the door, and then danced about in the cutting breeze until someone finally came.

As soon as the door opened a crack, Hector darted inside. “What took you so long?”

“I beg your pardon?” a man demanded.

Hector narrowed his eyes, not recognizing the servant. “Lord Hector Stockwick. My sister and brother-in-law are expecting me.”

“And who are they?”

Hector blinked, and then looked around himself quickly, concerned for a moment that he’d barged into the wrong great house by mistake. But no. This was The Vynes. Everything was exactly as he remembered from the last time he’d been here—everything except for the servant standing before him. He must be new.

“I am here to see Lord and Lady Clement,” he announced.

The man brow furrowed. “Lord and Lady Clement are not here.”

“Damn, I must have beaten them and arrived first. That’ll give m’sister a turn. I’m never early.”

The fellow cleared his throat. “They are not expected.”

“They damn well are, or I would not have come all this way in the cold for a family party.”

“Who is it, Peter?” an old voice queried from the shadows.

“It’s a Lord Stockwick, asking for Lord and Lady Clement,” the man, Peter, replied.

Hector heard the shuffle of feet coming toward him and looked for the source. He grinned at seeing a familiar face at last—Brown, The Vynes old butler. “There you are, my good man,” Hector cried.

But Hector’s grin faded as he discovered a profound change in the older man’s features. One side of his face was turned down at the side, and his slow progress became painful to watch.

“You’ve been unwell,” Hector murmured, and then averted his eyes.

“Just a bit slower than I used to be, my lord,” Brown murmured, pausing to draw breath. He glanced at the other servant. “Have the Green Room prepared for Lord Stockwick immediately and inform cook we’ve guests for dinner.”

“Yes, sir.” The fellow rushed off.

The old butler winced. “Forgive the confusion, my lord. Peter is new to the household and not acquainted with all the family yet.”

“Ah, right. Oh, and speaking of new. This is my new valet, Parker,” he announced. “I was expecting to meet my sister and Lord Clement here.”

“We have not been informed of their coming, my lord, but we will now have the house prepared,” he promised.

Hector glanced around, finally noticing there were closed doors all around him, and it was almost as cold inside as out. “Who is here, sir?”

“Only Lord Vyne.”

“Ah,” Hector said but cringed. He and Lord Vyne were not the best of friends. Hector actually preferred it that way. “I suppose I’d better pay my respects.”

“Lord Vyne will be informed of your arrival, of course, and I will have someone let you know when he might consent to see you.”

“I’m in no hurry, but thank you.”

The butler glanced around them; his expression was pained. “The lower rooms are not warm, my lord, so perhaps you’d like to remain in your rooms for now. I’ve put you in the same room you had last year. The lower rooms’ fires will be lit shortly but it could take some hours for the drawing room and library to become warm enough for you.”

“As long as there’s a fire and bottle of port to be drunk in my room, I’ll be in no hurry to come back down tonight.”

“Very good, my lord,” the butler said before he began another slow shuffle back to the shadows.

Hector started up the stairs immediately, Parker at his side. “Well, isn’t this a cold welcome,” he muttered. “I come all this way on the promise of a good time and end up nearly alone.”

“Perhaps the Clements are delayed by the weather,” Parker murmured soothingly. “Lord Vyne will undoubtedly be glad of your company.”

“I highly doubt that,” he rubbed his chilled jaw. “M’sister never quite mentioned how the old devil took his wife leaving him. He was sour before, but after that…”

“Perhaps he’s mellowed.”

“Not a chance,” Hector warned. They reached the top of the stairs and paused to look around. “The family wing is that side, guests always to the left. Lord Vyne’s chambers are the very last set of doors down there.”

Those doors were closed, but a line of light shone beneath them, which Hector supposed meant the old devil was inside stewing in his juices most likely. Hector would see him soon enough, and tonight, console himself with an excellent evening of drinking alone.

He turned down the hall toward the room he’d occupied last year and found servants streaming in and out of the chamber. The bed had just finished being made up, and a maid crouched over the pitifully small fire. Parker strode in, took charge of the luggage, and then ushered the maid out, promising to take care of the fire himself. He bent low, coaxing the flames to life.

Hector threw himself on the bed, tossed a blanket over his legs and put his hands behind his head. “Good enough for now,” he murmured.

A servant came to the door and cleared his throat soon after. “Lord Vyne has been informed of your arrival but is disinclined to see you this evening, my lord,” the man announced

“Disinclined? Now that is a frosty reception.” He waved the servant away and caught Parker’s gaze. “I told you he wouldn’t have mellowed.”

“I’m sorry I doubted you.”

“It’s quite all right. People always underestimate my wisdom.” He sighed. “I suppose we ought to bunk down for the night. See what the new day brings.”

“I’m sure tomorrow will be a vast deal more to your liking,” Parker promised.

Hector closed his eyes, seriously considering taking a nap before dinner. “One can only hope so.”

CHAPTER THREE

HECTOR WAS SUDDENLY and rudely shaken awake. “I’m sorry to wake you, my lord, but I’ll be off to find our supper.”

Hector yawned, glancing around and then squinting at the dark window panes. “Is it night already?”

“A little after nine, my lord. The minute your head hit the pillow, you were asleep.”

Hector scrubbed at his head. “Clement and my sister?”

“There have been no new arrivals, I’m afraid.”

“Any word from Vyne?”

“Nothing.”

Hector sat up. “I don’t know why Vyne would be discourteous to me. I didn’t have a hand in taking his wife away from him or forced his son to marry m’sister. The damn fellow couldn’t be stopped from declaring that he loved Meg. What could I do? I had to agree to the match, or they might very well have eloped. If anything, it was I who have reason to be upset with them. I truly think she would have married him without my blessing. Imagine that.”

“People in love do the strangest things,” Parker agreed but he started to frown before rushing to look out the window. “There’s a carriage approaching.”

Hector got to his feet and stretched. “M’sister?”

“I couldn’t say for sure,” Parker muttered. “I don’t think so. The carriage is smaller than I would expect for a traveling chaise. It is still some distance away.”

“I’d better fortify myself with a stiff drink before I go back downstairs.”

Parker left the window and started to pour Hector’s drink.

“Give it over,” Hector said as he drew near. He took a warming swallow and smiled. “Only the best at The Vynes,” he murmured to himself. “I have missed that this past year.”

Parker returned to the window, and Hector joined him in looking out. There was indeed a carriage drawing closer. He could see a pair of lamps swinging back and forth, carried by men guiding the horses down the long drive. But with so little illumination, there wasn’t much else he could make out.

While Parker straightened the bed, Hector continued to track the carriage’s progress, warming himself with another small glass of Lord Vyne’s excellent port. The carriage reached the house finally, but then circled to the servants’ entrance. “Not m’sister.”

Hector moved to the far window, threw aside the drape in a bid to see more below.

A cloaked figure clambered out, and then reached back inside the carriage. Hector was taken aback to see a child jump into those outstretched arms. Instinct told him the cloaked figure was female. “A lady and child,” he mused out loud.

“What was that?”

“I said the carriage just brought a woman and child to the servants’ entrance.”

Parker came to see, too. “Odd.”

Hector followed their progress until he couldn’t see them anymore. But he was sure they had come in. “How is it odd?”

“I don’t know, but…”

“I’m curious too,” he murmured. His stomach rumbled. “Be a good fellow and go below and bring me back my supper. While you’re there, find out what’s afoot.”

“Yes, sir,” Parker promised before slipping from the room.

Hector glanced out the window again, noting the carriage was being turned around to leave again. “Now, who would visit Lord Vyne with a young child on a night like this?”

Intrigued, he headed for the door and stepped outside into the hall to take a peek, only to dart back inside his room when he saw movement. Three figures were just down the hall at the top of the staircase.

Hector peeked out carefully again, noticing they were moving toward the family wing. No. Not just the family wing…but directly to Lord Vyne’s bedchamber door.

The distant door opened, and for a brief moment, the trio was illuminated. A woman and child’s outlines were as clear as day beside Peter, the butler’s stand-in. They entered, but Peter remained outside. And then the bedchamber door shut behind the new arrivals, throwing the hall into darkness again.

Hector withdrew into his room as Peter headed for the stairs and rushed down them loudly.

When all was quiet, Hector risked another peek. The hall was empty now. Eerily still.

Hector took a few steps toward the family wing, feeling an odd sense of concern about the woman and child arriving so late at night. It smacked of a scandal in the making. If that were true, he’d better find out the details before Clement and Meg came.

“My lord, is something the matter?” Parker queried from directly behind Hector.

Hector spun about, caught by surprise. He was about to complain about Parker’s stealth when he noticed a footman standing behind his new valet. “No. Just stretching my legs.”

The footman stepped forward, his expression grim as he held a large tray. “Your supper, my lord.”

“Yes, good.” He cast a discreet glance toward Lord Vyne’s chambers and then headed back into his warmer room, where the tray was being set on a low table before a chair nearest the fire.

Hector picked at the food until the footman was gone. “That woman and child were taken into Lord Vyne’s private chambers. What did you learn below?”

Parker whistled. “Perhaps that’s the cause?”

“Of what?”

“The odd feeling I just got from the other servants. I know I’m a stranger, but the mood below stairs is grim. No one is talking, and I sense the servants in the kitchen couldn’t wait for me to leave again.” Parker’s lips twitched. “But perhaps it’s nothing at all, and I imagined the strangeness where none exists.”

The man had good instincts. “Get back down there.”

“Why?”

Although he didn’t have to explain himself to his valet, he wanted to impress upon Parker a sense of urgency. “My sister is due to arrive, and her delicate state…”

Parker nodded. “You don’t want her made upset if there’s a scandal brewing. I understand.”

Hector nodded. “Find out who that woman is before morning comes, and I’ll double your wages.”

“Yes, sir,” Parker agreed, eyes alight with a mix of greed and excitement.

CHAPTER FOUR

RUBY ROPER HUGGED her son tightly to her chest. The little boy was sleeping soundly in her arms at last. Their journey had been hard for him. The cold and urgency of their flight from Scotland had unsettled him. Surely it couldn’t be too much longer before they met her uncle, Lord Vyne, and they could finally rest.

If they were to receive the help they needed from Lord Vyne, and perhaps be allowed to stay at one of the family estates, they had to make a good impression. She had hoped to see her aunt and cousins, too, but they hadn’t come yet. Ruby was sure that with their support, the matter of her son’s future would be easily achieved.

Ruby had only the vaguest idea of where she was in the Vynes’ mansion. Her last visit was years ago, long before her marriage. Tonight she’d been brought through dark corridors to this small reception room with no conversation other than she was to follow and wait.

Ruby adjusted her son in her lap, striving to ease the discomfort of sitting in the same position for an hour. At least they were warm at last. A cheerful fire burned in the hearth below the clock, and plenty of fuel had been added to it to ensure their comfort.

The servant appeared again, a pitcher in hand, and disappeared into the other room without looking her way.

A few minutes later, the servant returned and cleared his throat. “Lord Vyne will see you now, Mrs. Roper.”

“Thank you.”

Ruby shook her boy until Pip stirred. Sleepy gray eyes blinked open. “Mama?”

“Shh, my darling. We’re to see Lord Vyne now. Remember what we practiced on the journey.”

Pip nodded quickly and wriggled to be set down. Pip smoothed his hands down his rough waistcoat and then tugged on his too-short sleeves. As with any small boy, he usually cared little for his appearance. He tossed his head, removing his sandy hair from his eyes and nodded that he was ready.

Ruby smiled down on him. Poor Pip had been through so much since their flight from Scotland. She had uprooted him from everything he’d ever known. He missed his home, and his granny, too. She took hold of his tiny hand and they moved toward the servant side by side.

The man gestured her toward the open doorway.

Ruby glimpsed shadows beyond and not much else. But she moved into the room, tugging her son with her because she had no choice.

The room was a bedchamber, and her uncle sat before the fire in a chair, one booted foot carelessly thrown over the other. He did not rise upon seeing her but beckoned her close impatiently.

“It’s a pleasure to see you again, Uncle,” she murmured as she dipped a deep curtsy. Beside her, Pip bowed. “May I introduce my son, Pip, to you?”

“I never expected to see you again, Niece,” Uncle said in a disapproving tone. “I thought you were gone from us forever.”

Although startled by his tone, Ruby kept her chin up. She was not ashamed of her actions. She’d married for love. “My husband died last year, sir. I missed home and my family.”

His eyes narrowed. “Your father’s home is still some miles away, girl. Much farther south.”

“I could not pass The Vynes estate without paying my respects to you first.”

He grunted. “Well, then, don’t just stand there, girl. Come closer so I may see you better by the fire’s light.”

Ruby quickly complied and bore a long stare that took in her appearance from head to toe without flinching. She was very conscious that her gown was years old and desperately needed replacement, her cuffs worn. His gaze then flickered to her son Pip and lingered, before he gazed into the flames again.

“You look like your mother,” Lord Vyne remarked.

“I think so too,” Ruby murmured, looking down at Pip with a fond smile.

“I was speaking of you, Mrs. Roper. Your mother was a beauty in her youth. Quite the catch for my brother, then. She may not have had much of a dowry, but men were lining up just to speak with her.” His expression soured, and he looked up at Ruby again. “Your ill-advised marriage ruined your chances of reaching your fullest potential.”

Ruby trembled a little. “I have never regretted the choices I made, Uncle.”

Vyne snorted. “As difficult as your mother was, too, I see, which explains why you’d willingly run off to marry a poor farmer’s son.”

“He was a good man, kind to me. A good father to Pip.” She’d known her marriage would make her unpopular within the family, but she’d expected at least cordial civility from her uncle. “I see I shouldn’t have come.”

Vyne shook his head. “Sit down.”

She did, and Pip, to his credit, neatly lowered himself to the seat beside her instead of dropping like a stone as had always been his custom.

In the light of the fire, she got a better look at her uncle. He seemed to have changed very much. There was a lot more gray in his hair than she remembered, and the lines on his face were deeper. She didn’t wonder about the lack of a smile for her. He’d never smiled at her before that she could remember. “I am glad to find you in good health, Uncle.”

One of his brows rose. “Is that so?”

“Yes, of course. Why, you’ve hardly changed at all since I was last here as a girl,” she promised.

His eyes narrowed. “There’s no need to butter me up.”

“I wasn’t speaking untruths,” she promised but then began to feel uncomfortable.

Uncle began to tap on the arm of his chair. “What is it you want with me, Niece? And I do know you want something.”

She dropped her gaze a little. “My husband’s sudden passing revealed how unwanted I was in his family. They had intended to bind me in marriage to a man I’d never met.”

“You should be grateful they considered your future at all by arranging a marriage,” Uncle Vyne suggested.

“I was not consulted until it was nearly too late to avoid the connection. I believe the marriage would have brought further disgrace upon me.” She lifted her gaze to her uncle. “I feel sure my family would not have approved of me marrying a potato farmer. He was not wealthy or important. He was not a suitable connection.”

“That describes your unfortunate marriage, too.”

“I was young and in love. But I am older now and ready to make amends.”

Vyne narrowed his eyes. “You fled from them, just as you did from your father’s home.”

She wet her lips. “I had no choice. Mr. Roper has not allowed me to write to any member of my family since my husband’s death. I wanted to ask your advice.”

Vyne started nodding again. “You did the right thing coming here first. Your father washed his hands of you long ago.”

Ruby winced.

“And he would not wish you to return home to spoil your younger sisters’ chance of making a good match by stirring up that old scandal you made again.”

She had worried about them, too. “What should I do then? I need to provide for my son. Pip needs a home and a gentleman’s education befitting a member of our family. Will you help us?”

“At least you possess the wit to come to me. You are your father’s daughter, all right, but at least you’re honest about why you want my support,” Lord Vyne grumbled. “Alexander always had his hand out.”

Ruby knew that. Father supported his family as well as he did because of the grudging generosity of his elder brother. For herself, she needed very little. “I hoped you might take an interest in my son’s future.”

Uncle pursed his lips as he studied them both for several uncomfortable minutes. His expression was inscrutable. Ruby glanced at her son, who’d remained silent at her side, and she saw that he was drowsing off to sleep. She quickly nudged him until he opened his eyes wide again.

“How old is the boy?” Uncle asked at last.

“Pip is four years and five months old.”

“Healthy? Strong?”

“Yes. Pip is very smart, too. I have already begun teaching him his letters, and he is a very keen student of mathematics and geography.”

Uncle waved her remarks away. “I will consider later what I might do for him. As for you…”

Ruby held her breath.

He squinted even more. “I will require something in return for any assistance. I will expect you to marry a man of my choosing to wipe away the disgrace you brought upon the family,” he warned her. “I will have the final say, young lady. I will brook no argument, or you may leave tonight.”

Ruby had been expecting such a requirement, but from her father, not her uncle. She did need protection, and a biddable husband would certainly help her cause, too. It was not the way she’d want to make a second marriage, but Ruby was prepared to say yes to any good man recommended to her, if it meant food in her son’s belly.

She inclined her head. “I would be pleased to meet any gentleman you and my aunt might suggest, Uncle.”

“I expect you to comport yourself as a lady while you are here, Mrs. Roper,” Uncle said suddenly. “You will not speak of your unfortunate marriage to anyone after today without expressing the deepest regret for your past actions.”

“As you wish, my lord,” Ruby agreed, but her cheeks burned. Ruby would never regret her marriage to Liam. “I promise I will give you no trouble, Uncle, but might I speak of my husband with my aunt?”

“No, you may not,” he snapped. “Keep your son out of sight for the time being, too. Now, off with you before I change my mind.”

Ruby fled for the door, dragging Pip along in her wake.

CHAPTER FIVE

HECTOR COULD HAVE SPENT this Christmas in London, gambling, drinking, and whoring with his closest friends. Instead, he was sitting before a massive marble fireplace, feeling the warmth caress his cheeks in frozen Derbyshire. Hector wore a pair of new wool breeches, his best Wellington boots, and had rested his feet upon a tasseled velvet stool. But there was no one to see his sartorial splendor—he was utterly alone and quietly miserable in his solitude.

He glanced around the cavernous library with weary resignation. He doubted half the titles up there had been read in years, but they certainly looked impressive. That was the sad story of The Vynes. It might impress at first glance, but when you looked beneath, spent any length of time here, you soon found out that was as far as the thrill ever went.

Lord Vyne rarely came downstairs, or so he’d been told over his lonely breakfast. So upon hearing that, Hector had toured the downstairs rooms and elected to make himself at home in this chamber until Meg and Clement arrived. Less work for the servants. Less disturbance for him. He had everything he needed within easy reach.

Across the room, there was an exceptional array of spirits to consume later. Hector would eat his luncheon upon Lord Vyne’s huge and unused mahogany desk and put his feet up on it afterward. No one would know because no one was here. But he expected that by afternoon, he’d be ensconced in one of the four deep-padded window seats, which provided outstanding views the estate, even in inclement weather. Or perhaps he’d take a nap.

A storm raged outside just now, and there wasn’t a chance in hell he’d bother to stir himself to go and look about the district or visit the local tavern. A pity. There had been a charming piece of fancy at the distant inn he’d enjoyed upon his visit last year. He’d planned to see her again, and might even now have been entangled with her but for the foul weather.

But Meg had still not yet arrived, so he was stuck waiting for her to come. Once he’d spoken a few words with his sister and brother-in-law, dined with them once or twice, he’d probably slip away discreetly and avoid those disapproving scenes Meg was so fond of creating in recent years when he drank too much.

But in this weather, until Meg arrived, Hector would be better off amusing himself right here in this warm, well-appointed chamber.

“Here is your journal, my lord.”

Hector was startled by the abruptness of hearing his valet’s voice ringing out right behind him, and yelped. “Would you please learn to scuff your boot as you enter a room, Parker. If I were advanced in years and possessed of a weak heart, you’d have me finished off, and you’d be seeking new employment,” he complained even as he held out his hand for the journal.

“Apologies, my lord,” Parker murmured as a slight weight settled on Hector’s palm.

He brought the journal to his chest and caressed the familiar leather. “What news?”

“No one is talking still. Not about her or the child.”

“Is she still here?”

“Indeed, yes. A large breakfast tray was sent to her chamber early.”

“One to the nursery, too?”

“No. The nursery remains empty.”

Wealthy women did not often share their beds, their chambers, with their offspring. They shunted them off to the servants to care for their needs. Lord Clement had been assigned four servants by his father when he was a boy, and Hector, from a slightly less-well-off family, had been granted two. “What about her servants?”

“There are plenty about, but none of them seem to belong to the lady. I was curious about the child and went up to see for myself. The nursery is empty and quite cold. Nothing is being done to make it ready for habitation yet.”

“Perhaps the child has gone.”

“No one has left the estate since the carriage departed last night, my lord. Not in this weather.” He shrugged. “There is a visitor expected in a few days, though.”

“Who is it?”

“No one would say.”

“Ah, well that’s something to look forward to.” Hopefully not another of Vyne’s unwelcome surprises like last year. Last year, Vyne had tried to match his son with the daughter of one of his toadies. “Keep your ears open.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Hector hoped that whoever was coming was someone nearer to his age rather than Lord Vyne’s. Older men tended to become stodgy and humorless. Lord Vyne was a prime example of what happened when men reached a certain age.

He peered at his valet, who was still hovering at his side. “Any word from Lord Vyne?”

“None, my lord. I believe he does not rise early, though.”

“Or at all. Well, perhaps I’ll see Vyne in the afternoon.” But for now, it seemed the morning was likely free to spend as he liked. He couldn’t imagine Clement forging on in this dreadful weather, not with Meg along and likely complaining of the cold every half-mile. “You can go. Why don’t you go butter up a maid and find out more about our mysterious lady guest?”

The fellow’s eyes lit up with amusement. “Shall I take that as an order to consort, my lord?”

He shrugged. “As close as you’ll ever get from me, I should think. But remember, I’ll not rescue you from any below-stairs scandal should you get a child on any chit. You’d have to marry her etcetera, etcetera.”

“Never fear. Like you, I value my independence far too much to make such a careless mistake with a woman.” He bowed and sauntered from the room, leaving Hector to his solitary comforts.

But first.

The journal.

Hector got to his feet, rounded the impressive library desk, and sat down in the well-padded leather chair. He reached for quill and ink and added a few words about his arrival at The Vynes. There wasn’t very much to say, unfortunately.

December 18 ~ Dreadful weather. Arrived before Meg and Clement. Lord Vyne indisposed to conversation. Port before bedtime an excellent vintage. Slept well. Breakfast ham was a little dry. Mysterious guests intrigue me.

Chore done, Hector closed the book. He’d kept a daily record of his life from the moment he’d inherited the title. In those pages were scandals and conquests, joy and heartbreak. All the things he’d experienced. He did not censor himself. He wrote the unvarnished truth so that his own son would know more of him than Hector had of his father.

He was about to rise from the desk when a child suddenly raced into the room—a small boy, wearing a rumpled brown suit. The child’s face was narrow and pointed, hair pale and falling to his shoulders. The child laughed before flopping onto a wide velvet chaise.

A willowy beauty raced into the room, scolding someone called Pip about daring to run away. They did not see Hector sitting across the chamber, so they carried on with their own business.

The woman punched her hands to her hips but smiled down at the boy. “What am I going to do with you, young man?”

“Love me,” the boy replied, giggling as he wriggled on his back on the velvet chaise looking up at her.

“Oh, I do love you, my lad,” the woman said as she scooped up the child and hugged him tightly. “More than you’ll ever know. Forever and ever and ever.”

It was a sweet scene, but it was a private moment he shouldn’t have witnessed. He ought to announce himself before they burst into songs about love and other such nonsense.

Hector stood and cleared his throat.

But he wasn’t quite prepared for the impact of the mother’s beauty when she turned to face him. The woman was stunningly pretty with wavy dark hair and wide blue eyes. Her full red lips parted in surprise; her delicate, ring-less left hand rose to the base of her throat. He feared for a moment that she might scream. But instead, she quickly curtsied and apologized.

The boy bowed, too, quite flawlessly for someone so young.

Hector approached them slowly, drawn in by the pair and the chance for conversation. The lady was a fetching wench indeed, one he felt keen to become acquainted with. Perhaps Hector might just get his Christmas wish for an enjoyable holiday after all.

Hector extended one leg and swept into a deep bow worthy of a court appointment. Women tended to enjoy being treated like queens in their own right. “Forgive the start my presence must have caused you. You must be another of Lord Vyne’s Christmas house guests.”

The woman nodded. “How do you do?”

“Very well, and all the better for seeing you and your son.” Hector glanced around, but there was no one to introduce them. He wouldn’t let that dissuade him from talking to her, though. “I had started to feel I might be the only soul about the house, save for the servants.”

She looked toward the boy for a moment. “My son has an energetic disposition and is still of an age to think it funny to elude me. Forgive us the disturbance.”

“No apologies are necessary.” Hector looked at the child now, feeling he should acknowledge the boy if he wanted to make the best impression with the mother. He extended his hand. “How do you do? Pip, isn’t it?”

The boy nodded.

“You shouldn’t run away from your pretty mama like that. You could be easily lost in a house this size, and she might never find you. Make sure you stay close to her from now on.”

The boy hugged his mama’s skirts. “I won’t be lost.”

The woman hugged her son to her side. “Forgive me, but who are you?”

He didn’t mind that the woman made a bold request to find out his identity. She’d saved him the trouble of dropping his name and title into the conversation. “Lord Stockwick, madam.”

“I see,” she said, then her eyes narrowed. “Stockwick, did you say?”

“Indeed. I see you are familiar with the family name.”

“I was, once, but I’ve been away a long time. I remember an older man—with gray whiskers—held the title then.”

“Ah, you must be thinking of my father, whom I am happy to say I don’t at all resemble. There’s no gray in my whiskers, as you see. Were you very well acquainted with him?”

“Only in passing. I recall a daughter, though I am afraid it has been many years since I’ve thought of her. I cannot remember her name.”

“Margaret. Or perhaps you knew her as Meg.”

“Oh, yes. That’s it. Meg. We spent some time together right here. Well, upstairs in the nursery.”

“Then we are likely already acquainted, too.”

“I don’t recall meeting someone like you,” she began, her frown growing as she peered at him. “Unless…”

“Hector,” he supplied, and then smiled as she appeared to recognize his name.

But her eyes had narrowed upon him. “Oh, it’s you. I don’t suppose you’re here to return the silver bell you stole from me.”

“I…” He gaped, stunned. “Ruby Clement?”

“Ruby Roper. Mrs. Ruby Roper.” She scowled. “So will you at last admit the truth?”

“I…” he began, but then her request sank in. “I admit you accused me of theft of that ridiculous thing when we were children.”

“It was not ridiculous,” she argued, voice rising. “That bell meant a great deal to me.”

Hector punched his hands on his hips. “Well, I didn’t take it.”

“Do you swear?” she asked.

“Every day and every way I can,” he shot back. “I was falsely accused, and you owe me an apology.”

For a moment, Ruby seemed taken aback by his statement, but then her face pinked with a blush, and she looked down. Her child had moved between them, looking up at them with a bewildered expression.

Hector took a pace back, appalled by his heated outburst. He hadn’t seen Ruby in a dozen years, and she could still stir up his temper over something so inconsequential as a silver bell. The way she’d done as a girl, too. He remembered they had become bitter enemies over the lost bell, but those childish fits of rage belonged in his past.

Ruby Clement had lost a silver bell somewhere in this vast pile, and Hector had the unfortunate luck to be the last person to admit that he had seen it. And because he had, he’d been suspected—by Ruby, mostly. His possessions had been searched, and he’d even been deprived of a meal in a bid to entice him to admit the bell’s location. He should have kept his mouth shut instead of trying to help with the search. He’d never coveted the stupid bell, since he had one of his own.

“Forgive me,” he murmured. “I should not have raised my voice to you.”

“No, I beg you to forgive me, my lord. Apparently, some losses never lie quietly in the mind. I hadn’t truly thought of my bell in years.”

“Well, no harm done.” He took pains to calm his ruffled feathers. He was no longer a little boy who needed everyone to believe he spoke the truth. He swept his hair back from his eyes, noting his brow was damp and hot. “Well, that little disagreement between us certainly got the blood pumping through my veins on a day I thought would be utterly uneventful. No chance of being chilled for a while now, eh, Mrs. Roper? Would you care to sit down with me so we might conduct a more civilized conversation and renew our acquaintance? It has been some time since we last met. I’m sure much has happened since that we could catch up about. I must admit, I haven’t kept up with news from that side of Lord Vyne’s family.”

She shook her head and turned away. “I really should return Pip upstairs. Excuse me.”

Hector was keen not to let her go away yet. He had been rather bored until she’d swept into the room, and the chance to talk to a near-stranger was vastly more appealing than watching the snowfall outside. “If you’re worrying about Lord Vyne’s restriction denying the chance for children to be in the lower part of the mansion, I happen to have it on good authority that he rarely comes downstairs these days.”

She stopped and turned. “Why ever not?”

“He hardly ever comes down.” Hector drew closer so he could whisper.

“Oh!” she gasped. “But still, Lady Vyne might not want Pip running around.”

He looked at her in confusion. “Surely you’ve heard? Lady Vyne is not here. She left Vyne almost a year ago. Took the children, packed her trunks, and has been living in Cornwall with Lord Clement and m’sister Meg—whom he married by the way.”

“He never told me about my aunt.”

Hector rolled his eyes. “Vyne lies, quite frequently, and he is known for keeping his own counsel, especially when it’s a sensitive topic. I really would not put much faith in anything he might promise, too, if I were you.”

She pulled her child to her side and stroked his pale hair. “I’m sure that’s not the case. He wouldn’t lie to me. I’m his niece. Family.”

“Then you might be a rare bird indeed, but I am not wrong about your aunt.” Hector gestured her to the arrangement of chairs before the warm fire. “Please join me.”

Ruby shook her head again. “Do excuse us.”

To his regret, Ruby flew from the room, dragging her son along with her. Hector followed along a few steps, but she was soon only a memory.

A pity she went so quickly. He’d only now remembered that Ruby Clement was the first girl he’d ever kissed. Since it was Christmas, and she was quite pretty, he hoped to be in a position to claim a second under the mistletoe…and do a much better job this year.

CHAPTER SIX

RUBY RETURNED her son to her chamber, told him to play quietly, and then went in search of a servant. Hector suggested she had been lied to, but that couldn’t be right. Her uncle surely would have told her of her aunt’s absence when she asked to talk of her marriage with the woman. And she’d experienced enough of Hector as a boy not to believe anything he would say without confirming it first.

At last she found a maid, who stammered out that Lady Vyne was not receiving.

That didn’t sound promising. “Perhaps you could ask if Lady Vyne would make an exception for her eldest niece.”

“It’s not my place to interrupt her, madam,” the girl warned.

Ruby narrowed her eyes, suspecting she was being lied to again. “Then whose is it?”

The maid wet her lips and became visibly distressed. “I could ask the housekeeper.”

Ruby could ask, too, and get the answer she wanted in quicker time. “I should like to speak to the housekeeper myself.”

The maid’s eyes grew round.

“Take me to her,” she said. “Now.”

The little maid uttered a muffled wail.

Ruby hadn’t been so long in the wilderness of Scotland not to remember how to deal with reluctant servants. “I hope you’re not going to tell me the housekeeper is too busy to speak with a member of Lord Vyne’s family,” Ruby asked, raising one brow.

“No, madam,” the maid promised as she bobbed a curtsy and bid her follow her to the main staircase.

They went down to the entrance hall together but turned away from the sealed front doors and the library, where Lord Stockwick might still be if she bothered to look. Behind the stairs, there was an entrance to the servants’ hall below. Although, at first glance, it seemed merely a paneled wall rather than a doorway.

Ruby descended after the maid, skirts lifted to clear the steps. The passage down was narrow, and the air musty and cold, and Ruby was very happy to see light seeping around a lower door.

They burst out into the warm, fragrant air of the servants’ hall. The scent of roasting meat and baking bread was strong and reminded her of her former Scotland home. Farther down the hall, she could see servants bent over a large worktable, consulting each other as they toiled for Lord Vyne.

“This way, madam,” the maid urged in a whisper.

Ruby was turned away from the kitchen staff and shown to a plain oak door with a brass plaque attached to it. Housekeeper.

The maid knocked and entered when bid.

Ruby waited outside a moment to give the maid a chance to explain her presence, and then stepped into the room. A severe-looking woman with gray hair and dark clothes sat behind a small desk sipping tea, but set that aside quickly when she spotted Ruby.

Ruby smiled. “You must be the housekeeper.”

“Yes, I am Mrs. Burrows. I am housekeeper of The Vynes.”

Ruby didn’t remember meeting the woman on her last visit. “I am hoping you can help me speak with Lady Vyne today.”

Mrs. Burrows pursed her lips, and then she sent the maid away. “She is not to be disturbed. Is there something I can help you with?”

“Yes, the truth would be appreciated. Is my aunt here or not?”

Again the woman pursed her lips. “I shall be happy to pass a message to Lord Vyne that you wish to speak with the countess.”

“If I wanted to trouble my uncle, I would have already asked him about his wife a second time,” she said quietly.

The housekeeper’s jaw twitched. “You will have to wait to speak with Lord Vyne.”

“Why will you not tell me about my aunt’s whereabouts? I promise you, I hold her in the highest esteem. Is she in ill health?”

“Not that I’m aware of.”

“A housekeeper would know everything there is to know about the occupants of the house she is mistress of,” Ruby argued. “I can only conclude that my aunt is not here, and I also suspect now that my uncle doesn’t want her location divulged by the servants. Not even to me.”

The housekeeper tilted her head to one side. “I cannot help what you suspect.”

“No, you cannot.” Ruby pulled a face. Hector had told the truth about Lord Vyne’s marriage. “How sad that I will likely not see her. There was so much I hoped to ask her.”

“I am sorry I could not be more help.”

Ruby nodded slowly. “Thank you for seeing me. But one last question. I don’t suppose you ever found the silver bell I lost when I was here last time.”

“I am sorry to say it is not in my possession, madam, or I would have gladly returned it to you long ago,” the housekeeper promised as she led Ruby back into the hallway door.

If her bell was not in the housekeeper’s possession, or her servants, it meant it had been well and truly lost all those years ago. Seeing Hector again here had stirred up an irrational hope she might be reunited with her long-lost keepsake, but it was not to be.

As she was about to ask another question, the housekeeper spoke again. “Should you require anything within our power, the servants of The Vynes are at your disposal. Please use the bells of the house next time.”

In other words, no more browbeating the servants into bringing her downstairs again. It wasn’t a surprising request. By rights, Ruby ought to have kept to the upper floors where the family normally would spend all of their time. “Perhaps next time I have a question, the maids might simply do me the courtesy of telling me what I need to know.”

The housekeeper inclined her head.

The maid was waiting beside the servants’ stairs and led her back up to the entrance hall without another word. They parted ways upstairs, not far from Ruby’s chamber.

If her aunt was not here, and her cousins were not here, but on their way, she was in for a cold and lonely Christmas indeed, worrying over who her uncle might want her to marry in exchange for his help.

“You only had to look in this room to learn I was telling the truth,” Lord Stockwick said suddenly, startling her out of her wits. He was standing just down the hall, his hand on a door latch. He pushed the door wide and stepped back with a smile. “The countess’ chamber is right here, just down from yours.”

Ruby wet her lips and hurried forward, sweeping past him to see for herself. She entered a room covered in white cloths and so cold, she shivered.

“They’re all like that. Cold and closed up,” Lord Stockwick promised.

Ruby didn’t remember this chamber.

Hector went to a wall and tugged on a white cloth draped over a picture frame, showering himself in the dust. He uncovered a portrait of her aunt as Ruby remembered her looking years go.

Hector cursed softly, batting at his sleeves and dusty hair. “I should have known that would happen,” he complained, and then he sneezed. “She hasn’t lived in this room for ten months or more.”

“The servants have been neglectful.”

“The servants were probably ordered to shut up the room and forget the countess even existed.” Hector shook his head. “He’s a spiteful, nasty man, your uncle. You’d best be cautious of him and whatever plans he has for you.”

“Why do you think he has plans for me?”

“I have been Clement’s confidant for many years. Vyne makes plans for everyone in his family and cares little what you all think of them, so long as he has his way.”

Distressed by that remark, Ruby went to the window and drew back the drape to look out. This room was at the front of the house, overlooking the drive. The best view, she thought. Lord Vyne’s bedchamber was on the other side of the house in a similar position of importance. “What do you suspect he is planning for me?”

“I don’t know, which makes me suspicious. Last year he made a wager with his son. Dangling freedom for Lady Vyne and her children if he wed within three months. He’d even gone so far as to pick out the bride, too.”

“But didn’t you say Clement married your sister?”

“A mistake in the wording of the wager that I don’t think he’ll make again. Clement married my sister because he fell in love with her, winning the wager true—but not how Lord Vyne intended things to turn out.” Hector scrubbed his jaw. “You said you were Mrs. Roper now?”

Ruby always hated when people questioned her marital status. “Yes. I’m a widow,” she admitted.

“Ah, then you ought to be careful you don’t find yourself married again too quickly,” he warned. “Vyne is not above using his own family to settle his debts with an advantageous match that profits him more than you.”

“I’m sure he wouldn’t do that to me,” she lied, knowing full well she had put her future in her uncle’s control.

Hector shrugged. “Suit yourself, but don’t say I didn’t warn you when the next arrival at The Vynes turns out to be a bachelor in want of a wife.”

She looked at him curiously. “Are you married?”

His eyes narrowed. “No, and I intend to stay this way for a long time to come,” he promised before excusing himself and sauntering back out into the hall.

CHAPTER SEVEN

HECTOR WAS RUDELY AWAKENED by the clang of a fire poker striking the hearth. “Do you have to do that now?”

“Sorry, my lord,” Parker apologized. “The fire needs to be relit.”

Hector pulled himself up from his warm bed and scowled at his valet. “Why did you let it go out in the first place?”

“It won’t happen again. I’ve been trying to find out more about Mrs. Roper for you and the guest who is expected to arrive. It has been a frustrating morning all round. The servants here are less forthcoming than any I’ve ever met.”

“Vyne’s influence, I’m sure,” Hector concluded.

He shivered. The room was damn cold, and Hector only wore the bedsheet and a thick blanket over him. He never wore a nightshirt, preferring nothing to come between him and the perfect night of rest. Uncomfortably chilled, he glanced over the side of the bed, but his clothes from last night were missing from the floor. Cursing his new valet’s efficiency, Hector burrowed back under the bedding. His last man had known not to do any valeting before luncheon.

But it was no use. Hector was cold and wide awake. He’d have to get up and dress.

Bracing himself, he rolled out of bed and rushed to his traveling trunks, pawing through his clothes to find his warmest garments urgently.

“My lord, please, don’t ruin my morning’s work on your wardrobe,” Parker cried out in anguish. “I had everything pressed and ready to wear.”

“I want my warmest clothes on me today.” Hector spared the discarded clothing a fleeting glance. “I’d like not to freeze to death.”

“Here, let me help you,” the man offered, easing between him and the remaining clothing. He offered up an undershirt, then a recently ironed white linen shirt. Hose came next, then long trousers that secured under the arch of his foot. He put on his favorite boots and the thickest wool waistcoat he owned, and then a brown wool coat, longer than he’d typically wear. Hector had come to The Vynes prepared for the great chill of the place.

Finally starting to warm up, he moved to the fire but quickly saw the pitiful flames would never warm him the rest of the way. “You cannot allow the fire to die down again. This is the coldest place on earth. There must always be a good fire in my room. Always.”

“I’m sorry, my lord,” Parker said as he rushed to the fire again and began to poke it.

The fire, if anything, burned a little less. This would never do. “Stop poking it. Give it time to catch properly again.”

Parker finally sat back on his heels and rubbed his arms. “This might take a while.”

“Yes, it probably will.”

Parker looked up at him “I believe there is a good fire burning just down the hall in the upstairs parlor.”

“That will have to do.” He frowned. “Why was the upstairs parlor lit?”

“Mrs. Roper and her son are there already,” Parker explained, adding a little kindling to the meager flames.

“Ah,” Hector murmured. “The widow.”

Parker looked up at him again. “Is there something wrong?”

“Yes. No. She’s a widow,” he complained.

“Why is that an issue? Were you not a frequent companion of Lady Freemont’s, a widow, just last month?”

“The month before.” Hector scowled. “You know, for a relatively new employee, you know far too much about my life.”

“I can’t help it if your servants talk, my lord,” he murmured, adding more fuel to the fire before standing up to face him. “It is a regrettable facet of downstairs life in every place but here.”

Hector grunted. “The problem is she, Mrs. Roper, is Lord Vyne’s niece, and…”

“And?”

“I find her much too attractive.”

“Pretty women are one of life’s joys,” Parker suggested with a cheeky smile.

“Indeed they are quite the distraction. Except when there is a genuine danger of becoming leg-shackled to one by accident.”

“Is that likely here?”

Hector sighed. “Normally when confronted by a pretty woman, I wouldn’t hesitate to spend time with them. Alone, preferably. The boy is a deterrent to a romantic pursuit, surely, but I find myself wondering about her, and that isn’t good. Perhaps it is the solitude of the place that draws me to her. But here, at this time, the lady has no chaperone but the boy, no family but Lord Vyne, and he is keeping to his chambers. If my sister were here, I’d have reason to linger in her presence to learn more about her, and perhaps who knows where that could lead. But I would not appreciate compromising Mrs. Roper by mistake because of a lack of chaperone.”

“I see your point. Being forced to marry would be unpleasant.”

Hector grunted.

“However, can you ignore Mrs. Roper until Lord and Lady Clement arrive? That seems a touch rude when there’s little here to amuse either one of you.”

Parker was only repeating what Hector himself had thought about last night, as he’d bid her good night. He couldn’t avoid her too much and not be considered rude. “I agree.”

“Well, you’ll just have to be discreet about how much time you spend together. Lord Vyne has not left his room in several days, and it is freezing today.”

“So you suspect he might not come out at all.”

Parker nodded. “I could keep watch for Lord Vyne or his man, and warn you if anyone starts lurking if you like.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Hector warned. “I am quite capable of discretion.”

“Suit yourself. But I have to admit that if I were in your shoes, I probably wouldn’t regret having to marry someone like Mrs. Roper under any circumstances. She is very lovely to look at.”

Hector studied the man sourly. “Keep your eyes on the fire.”

“Yes, my lord.” Parker chuckled softly. “I’d suggest you hurry along to that warm room before you catch a chill.”

Hector glanced behind Parker and saw the flames had died out entirely while they’d been conversing. “Yes, I suppose I should go. You’ve somehow managed to put the fire out completely now.”

Parker uttered a curse and then knelt before the hearth to tend the fire again.

Hector left him to it, found gloves and his scarf, and wrapped the latter around his neck for the short journey down the hall. But he found himself rather too keen to be given any excuse to spend time with the delectable Mrs. Roper. She was rather lovely and, if not for the boy, available.

CHAPTER EIGHT

A TAP at the door woke Ruby from a fitful doze. “Come in?” she called, even as she checked to see what her son was up to. Pip seemed happy with his collection of old toys, but his eyes lit up as Lord Stockwick entered the room.

“Forgive my intrusion, but might I join you? My valet is having a devilishly hard time keeping my fire going in my chamber.”

“Of course, you can,” she promised, rushing to smooth out her skirts. “Please come in and warm yourself by the fire.”

He shut the door behind him and rushed to the fireside, holding his hands to the flames. “Another cheerful, warm day at The Vynes,” he complained sarcastically.

“Yes, it is miserable weather we are having.” Ruby smiled. “I had hoped to take Pip out, but I’m afraid we’d get lost or buried up to our necks in a drift before we’d gone twenty steps into the gardens.”

Stockwick glanced her way and smiled, too. “You’d be all right if you kept to the known paths.”

She laughed. “I haven’t any idea where they might be, or even go under all that snow.”

“I’d find you,” he promised. “But you really should visit again in the summer. The paths are quite extensive. You can go all the way up to the highest ridge. The views take your breath away.”

“You like it here?” she asked, realizing he spoke so fondly of the place.

He shrugged. “I suppose I do. And I’m not one for rusticating.”

“High praise indeed then.” She watched him warm himself by the fire for a while. She’d been hoping she would meet him again today. She found herself almost as restless as her son. And curious about the boy she’d once known and bickered with. She wanted to know if he really had changed--beyond the improvement of his looks. He was much more handsome now than when he’d been a boy. Talking with him also gave her the chance to learn more about society and the common view of world events from a different angle. “Where is your estate located?”

“I don’t have one. I live in London year-round.”

“I thought all titles came with entailed property.”

“Not in my case, which was something of a relief. I never liked the estate my father lived in.”

“Too many bad memories?”

“Not enough good ones,” Hector told her, and then came to sit in a nearby chair. “But I want to hear about you, Mrs. Roper. Where has life taken you in recent years?”

Uncle Vyne had suggested she keep her history to herself, but hiding her marriage went against the grain. “To Scotland, a little village over the border.”

He nodded. “I thought I detected a trace of an accent.”

She put her fingers to her lips in shock. She hadn’t realized her time away from England had affected the way she spoke.

“Don’t worry, I find the inflection charming,” he promised. “The boy’s is stronger, though.”

“I will endeavor to diminish that as soon as possible. I want him to fit in.”

“I’m sure he will,” Hector promised. “Was his father from Scotland?”

“Yes, but we met at home.”

“Where was home again?”

“My father’s estate is to the south,” she told him.

“That’s right. I remember now. You have a sister who is newly out in society.”

“You met Helen?”

He nodded. “At a ball. Clement introduced us, though I don’t believe we danced.”

Ruby rubbed her hands together, noticing her palms had become damp. She was anxious still about whether her sisters would accept her back into their company again but excited to hear anything of them. If her father really had disowned her, she might never know them again. What Ruby had done in running away might have reflected badly on them for some time. She hadn’t considered that possibility until months later, when her letters to them had gone unanswered. “I haven’t seen Helen since my marriage.”

“She’s lovely, but,” Lord Stockwick smiled slowly, “not as lovely as you, I think.”

“You’re very kind.” Ruby’s face warmed in a blush. “I hope the weather will clear soon. I should have liked to take Pip off for an adventure to see more of my grandfather’s home.”

“That’s a fine idea.” Hector stood. “Shall we go exploring together now?”

“I don’t think we should go outside in this weather.”

“Not out, but up and around,” he said, twirling one finger about. “There’s plenty to see inside The Vynes. How about we start upstairs in the nursery? Find the boy something new to play with.”

Ruby was tempted, especially so when Stockwick gallantly held out his hand to help her rise. She slipped her hand in his and allowed him to bring her to her feet. There was a certain excitement in his gaze when their eyes met. Feelings she hadn’t experienced in a very long time stirred in her belly. Not since her husband had she experienced anticipation and perhaps a not-so-innocent desire to be close to anyone. Ruby was definitely drawn to Hector which was ridiculous given how slight their acquaintance.

“A quick jaunt upstairs and then back here to warm up again,” he promised with an eager smile, unaware of her inner thoughts.

Ruby’s pulse quickened. “We could remain here and have tea instead.”

“Only if you’ll allow me to slip brandy into mine,” he murmured, with a look she could only describe as seductive.

Ruby knew how other widows behaved with handsome men. For the first time, she understood their desire for a little attention too. In Scotland she would never have encouraged a flirtation. But she was in England now and bound to marry a man she might never have chosen for herself. She arched her brow. “How else do you drink it on a cold day?”

“Exactly.” Stockwick grinned…and something inside her shifted again. It occurred to her that she was enjoying his company very much. She hadn’t spoken to anyone so friendly since her husband had died, and she had certainly missed it. She hadn’t been allowed to be herself in a very long time. Ruby Clement had run off to marry a man because of love. Ruby Roper could do as she pleased, too.

Ruby rushed to Pip and dressed him in his warm coat, soft cap, and scarf. “Time for an adventure, little man.”

“Yay!” Pip cheered, jumping up and down.

Ruby rugged herself up, too, and they ventured out into the hall together. “If memory serves, the nursery is one floor up and to the east, isn’t it?”

“That’s right.”

Taking her son’s hand in hers, they climbed the steps together, with Lord Stockwick bringing up the rear. Inside was cold, and the vast room had obviously been deserted for some time, too. She brushed her fingers over the wood of a rail and came away with a thick layer of dust on her fingertips.

Everything she touched was the same, dirty and uncared for, but Pip hardly seemed to notice. To his delight, he found toys belonging to his absent cousins to play with, and even a rag doll of a solider. He brought each discovery to Ruby, and she meticulously cleaned each one before allowing him to play with it.

Although it was cold in the nursery without a fire lit, she allowed her son to explore the chamber as long as he liked. She soon drifted to the window to look out at the view. The storm was still upon them. “I fear this won’t end soon.”

“Likely not,” Stockwick agreed, coming to stand by her side. “We’ll just have to make the best of it, use the time to get to know each other again.”

She glanced up at him, wondering how much time they would have together. Her uncle wanted her to marry, and she didn’t believe that he’d meant her to charm Lord Stockwick. But this might be her last chance to make peace with Hector over her lost silver bell. After she married, she may never come across him again. “I’d like that.”

“Will you play with me?” Pip asked suddenly.

Ruby spun around from the scene outside—but it was to Lord Stockwick to whom her son had posed the question.

Stockwick went to the boy and peered down at what he was holding out. “What have you got there?”

“A horse. I found two of them.”

“He’s a fine-looking steed, isn’t he?” Hector remarked, seemingly quite happy to indulge her son in conversation. To Ruby’s surprise, he picked up the second horse and waved it about as if playing. Pip joined in, following Hector’s movements but neighing, too.

Hector passed the second horse back to Pip then ruffled the boy’s hair. “You’ll take good care of them, won’t you?”

“I will,” the boy promised as he went back to his own game, galloping the toy about the room as if it were real.

She watched him for a few moments, her fingers at the base of her throat. Pip was so sweet and innocent and Hector so unexpectedly kind. She couldn’t imagine life without Pip, and Ruby would do anything to give him the life he deserved. She hoped the man her uncle wanted Ruby to marry might play with Pip like this too.

“Gads, it’s freezing up here.” Hector left Pip and drew closer, rubbing his arms briskly. He was a very well-dressed gent, quite tall and slender, prosperous and at ease with himself around her. He smelled very nice too. She started blushing when he suddenly caught her eye and winked. “What’s on your mind, Ruby Roper?”

That made her blush even hotter. She glanced at her son to hide his effect on her sensibilities. She ought not reveal her real thoughts to him. “I was wondering if anyone would notice if I borrowed a few things from the nursery to keep Pip amused until he can meet my cousins,” she said, rather than the truth.

“I doubt anyone would care,” he said, then shivered. “Find what you need, and I’ll help carry it all downstairs. Do it quickly before we catch our death.”

Grateful for the distraction of the task and for his offer of assistance, Ruby rushed around gathering up slate and chalk, and a box of toys, and handed them off to Hector. Then she ushered Pip back downstairs into the warm parlor.

Stockwick delivered everything she’d gathered to Pip—and then pulled something brown out of his pocket.

She frowned at his hand. “Is that…”

“Mistletoe. Last year’s pickings, I’m afraid. But still if one pretends it does the trick and offers an excuse for what I’m about to do next.”

He held it up over her head—and then swooped in to deliver her first kiss since her husband had passed away.

For a moment, Ruby was quite shocked and didn’t know what to do, but soon instinct took over, and she kissed him back.

They kissed for quite a while and then he drew back slowly. “That had to be better and longer than the first time I kissed you.”

She frowned. “You’ve never kissed me.”

“When we were children, I certainly did,” he promised. “Right upstairs, outside the nursery we just visited. You were the first for me.”

“I…” Ruby froze, startled that he even remembered that brief indiscretion. She’d been too young then to understand what he was about until much later. “So you did.”

Hector smiled, his cheeks dimpling. “I was young then, and not very good at it most likely. The kiss we just shared was nice.”

It certainly had been. Ruby could still feel the effect over her emotions, and her body, too. But she drew back from him. She shouldn’t encourage him to imagine she’d fall into his arms every time there was mistletoe about. Her uncle expected her to behave, and her son was in the room.

Ruby turned toward Pip quickly, but he appeared to have noticed nothing that had gone on between her and Lord Stockwick. He wouldn’t understand.

Lord Stockwick moved close behind but stopped short of touching her. She nearly shivered with the need to be held and kissed again. His nearness made her remember how close a couple could be. The press of a naked male body against her skin. The stroke of a hand along her inner thigh. She shook the memory away, blushing furiously.

Stockwick sighed. “I swear the next time I hold mistletoe over your head, it will be in a more private setting with no small person potentially listening or watching what we do,” he promised. “Maybe then you won’t feel as if you’ve betrayed him.”

Before she could say she hadn’t even thought of her husband, Hector went to the fire to play games with her son.

Ruby turned away to the window, confused by her feelings. Should she even feel guilty over a simple kiss delivered under mistletoe from a childhood friend?

CHAPTER NINE

HECTOR TOSSED the lad up over his shoulder. “Young man, you are in danger of becoming lost in all this snow,” he warned.

Pip giggled, kicked his legs, then thrust out his arms wide. “Look at me! I’m flying!”

“Yes, but backward.” Hector kept a firm grip on the boy as he trudged through the deep snow until they reached the stables, and then sat him down safely.

Pip was devilishly keen to see the horses today. Hector had seen the signs that his mother was fast losing her composure with the way Pip was carrying on inside and had offered to take the boy out to give her breathing space. Of course, the boy, unfamiliar with The Vynes, had run off immediately when they’d set foot outside and found the deepest patch of snow to become mired in. Hector had fished him out, and saved him from the next danger, too. Carrying him seemed the most expeditious way to get to where he wanted to go before they froze.

They quickly slipped into the stables and shut out the cold. The Vynes’ stables were extensive and heated by regularly spaced, enclosed fires, but it was his men that Hector was interested in seeing first. He put a steadying hand on Pip’s shoulders, so he didn’t run off. “Hello,” Hector called.

Twelve men suddenly appeared from the shadows from all parts of the stable. “Yes, my lord?”

“Franklin Jones?” he called out.

“Here, my lord.” Hector’s coachman pushed through the crowd. “Do you need the carriage made ready to leave?”

“Not in this weather. I wouldn’t do that to you again so soon.” Hector laughed. “Actually, what I have in mind is something that will require minimal effort on your part.”

“We are at your service, of course.”

Hector looked down at the boy. “Do you happen to know the location of a pile of clean hay the boy can jump about on? In?”

Franklin Jones grinned. “Indeed I do, and likely I have someone who might be very willing to join him, too.”

He turned away, spoke to someone inside a chamber, and returned with a boy a few years older than Pip. The boy had an unusual scar across one side of his face and a wide smile.

“This is Allan. He’d be pleased to play with the young master for a while.”

Allan rushed forward to claim Pip by the hand, and they ran off together to an empty stall.

Mr. Jones shrugged. “He’s a good lad, but not too bright.”

Hector kept track of where Pip went. “What happened to his face?”

“A horse kicked him when he was younger. It doesn’t seem likely he’ll ever grow up completely now.”

“Ah,” Hector said with a sigh. “That is unfortunate.”

“A momentary distraction and the boy fell into harm’s way. It happens all the time, but at least here, he’ll always be cared for.”

Hector heard Pip squeal and moved closer to the stall to see what was going on. The boy had straw on his clothes already and was reaching for another handful to throw up into the air.

Hector relaxed. “I’m surprised Lord Vyne was so generous as to house him.”

Jones joined him. “He wasn’t. Lord Vyne has little idea of what goes on beyond the great house anymore.”

“So I gather,” Hector said with a laugh as he pulled a small flask of whiskey from his coat pocket. “For your aches and pains. To help you sleep.”

Jones beamed. “Thank ye.”

Hector poked his head over the stable wall again, only to find Pip starting to tunnel into the hay pile. Young Allan raced around to the other side and started his tunnel, too. “They look to be well matched for their game.”

Jones nodded. “Who is the young one?”

“I would have thought you knew more than I?”

“Never seen him before in my life.”

“This is Lord Vyne’s great-nephew. Mrs. Ruby Roper’s son.”

“Is that right? Hadn’t heard anything about another relative come to stay.”

That was odd. Servants always knew everything.

There was something about Ruby Roper that didn’t sit right with Hector. It was strange how little she’d spoken of her life in Scotland. It was clear that she loved her son and thought well of her late husband, though. If Clement were here, Hector would ask him about his female cousin’s marriage. As he was not, Hector was left to get his answers from the lady herself. It was unlikely that Vyne would tell him anything useful.

Hector allowed Pip a good amount of time to play and wear himself out, and then dressed him back into his warm and rather thin coat he’d thrown off. He hoisted Pip onto his shoulders for expedience and returned to the manor as quickly as he could walk that distance safely. Pip was a great deal more subdued when he greeted his mother in the upstairs parlor and happily returned to his toys to play.

She smiled. “Would you care for tea, my lord?”

“Yes, indeed, but only if you will call me by my given name when we are alone.” Hector was on a first-name basis with all members of Meg’s new family. It wasn’t that scandalous, really, especially not here. “We are family now, in a way.”

“I shouldn’t do that.”

“Well, the offer is made.” He slipped another flask from his pocket, tipped some brandy into his cup—and Ruby’s, too—and then sat back to sip his. “How long will you be staying at The Vynes?”

“I’m not certain,” she said, eyes lowering to her cup.

He watched her mouth, became fascinated by the gentle curve and pout of her lips as she blew across the hot liquid. He thought of the pleasure of kissing her and if he might have another chance to kiss her again. The woman was indeed quite lovely, and he wanted to know all about what brought her here. He had a feeling it wasn’t for a holiday. “Lord Vyne is not known for his generosity, even with his wife. I’m sure your visit here has an end date. My departure is imminent, I think.”

Ruby’s lips parted in surprise. “So soon.”

“I came to see m’sister Meg. If she doesn’t arrive soon, I will set off for Cornwall for our planned Christmas reunion.” He smiled. “May I ask where you are bound for when you leave The Vynes?”

“Why?”

He smiled even more warmly. “Well, perhaps I should like to see you again.”

Ruby glanced down at her hands. He noted the cup she held trembled as she put it aside. “I don’t know where I’m going yet,” she admitted.

Hector waited, hoping that if he gave her an opportunity, she might divulge her secrets.

She was wearing the same gown she’d worn for several days. The only dress he’d ever seen her wear was dated and fraying at the seams. Her marriage had not provided for her needs very well. He suspected she was in desperate straits and had come to her uncle hoping for his assistance. That could only be a mistake. “What you say to me goes no further,” he promised.

A tiny shuddering breath left her. “My husband died nearly a year ago. He was a good man, but he wasn’t a wealthy one as you must have already determined. He was my father’s servant. My father disowned me when it became known I had given my heart to someone of his lesser importance than expected.”

Ah, she’d scandalized her family. He did remember hearing something about that but could not recall the finer details. “Most fathers react badly to scandals, I’ve noticed.”

Ruby nodded. “I didn’t care then because I had Liam. I went to live with my husband’s family, but it soon became apparent they didn’t care to have an Englishwoman in the family. Before I fled Scotland, Mr. Roper had decided I must marry a man I didn’t know very well. He intended to keep Pip with him, so I had no choice but to run away from home. I took the mail coach, and then a series of carriages to reach The Vynes. I’ve asked for my uncle’s protection.”

A journey of weeks, perhaps, and costly, too. “I had assumed you hadn’t any money. How did you pay for it all?”

“My mother-in-law had some money set aside. She gave it to me, and in return, extracted a promise to have Pip educated and to send him back when he’d reached his majority.” Ruby glanced at the window. “Pip is the only family they have, too. I intend to honor that promise to Eliza Roper no matter what.”

An unexpectedly kind gesture to a family that didn’t want her. He admired her for taking steps to keep her son, and to avoid an unappealing marriage. Yet matrimonial peril not withstanding, her flight from Scotland would have been an anxious one for other reasons. “Do you fear Mr. Roper is in pursuit of you?”

She nodded. “I had had the good fortune to fall in love, but I ran off to be married without my parents’ blessing. They did not approve of Liam. I was married over an anvil. I fear they will make me give up my son to Mr. Roper, and they might not protect me after the scandal I must have caused. That’s why I came to my uncle first.”

“Most likely, Vyne will write to your father and inform him of your location. Your father could bring Mr. Roper here, too.”

“I’m sure they will come eventually.” She chewed her lips. “I watch the drive all the time, in fear of losing Pip.”

Having spent time with Ruby and Pip, he wouldn’t want to see them separated, either. Male children were considered family property, though. That was the law. Women had few rights when it came to their offspring. Yet it felt wrong to allow any separation of Pip from his mother. Ruby would need a wealthy man to protect her. Lord Vyne was wealthy but not exactly the charitable sort. There had to be more to the story. “Why do you stay?”

“My uncle is still deciding how he can help me.”

Most likely, Vyne was stalling. If it were up to Hector, he’d have spirited Ruby away to a distant abode and suggested she live a quiet life and for them to never use their real names again. “If Vyne refuses to help you, I will be only too happy to deliver you to your cousins in Cornwall or beyond.”

“I’m sure that it will not be necessary, but thank you. My uncle has promised his assistance, but under a condition.”

“How like him. What was his condition?”

“I am to marry a man of my uncle’s choosing.”

“Not you, too,” Hector exclaimed in annoyance. “That is too high a price to pay for anyone.”

“It is customary. Families arrange marriages for their daughters all the time. Don’t say it isn’t true. I need the protection of a marriage, my lord. Lord Vyne, no matter what he promises for Pip, will not live forever. I need someone with the power and funds for a bribe if necessary, to persuade Mr. Roper to leave Pip in my care.”

Hector frowned, disliking the plan. Vyne should easily be able to support and hide, if necessary, two family members. Hector could do it without requiring Ruby to marry anyone. “I’ve heard Lord Vyne is expecting another guest to arrive soon. When did you make this deal with him?”

“The night I arrived. Do you think it could be the man he wishes me to marry?”

“It couldn’t be. I arrived before you and I knew about the other guest coming that afternoon.”

“Well, then it will be someone else he picks.”

Someone Hector was sure not to like if they were closely acquainted with Lord Vyne. Surely Ruby didn’t want to go along with all of this. “Are you sure you want to marry again? Like this?”

“No, of course I don’t, but I have no choice.” Ruby looked at him for a long moment. “I won’t be parted from my son for any reason. I must do as my uncle wishes if Pip is to have the future he deserves.”

“Well then,” he murmured.

“Well then,” she replied, her smile strained. “More tea?”

It really wasn’t his place to tell Ruby what to do even if she was making a huge mistake trusting her uncle. “Hmm, I suppose that will do for now.”

CHAPTER TEN

RUBY LIFTED her gaze to the view. The storm had passed during the night, leaving them with a blindingly white world. They would go outside today, see some of the estate at last. Hector had promised to be their guide. He had insisted on escorting them everywhere after her confession about a likely pursuit, claiming he didn’t want them to become lost on the estate.

Ruby wasn’t sure his company was in her best interests, but she felt safer with Hector around than without. He clearly hadn’t approved of her plan to remarry to protect Pip, but he’d wisely kept his lips shut ever since voicing his initial objections. Pip seemed to enjoy his company immensely, too, and she was glad that Hector spared the boy some time.

When she saw the dark shape of a carriage approaching the manor through the swirling snow, her first thought wasn’t about danger from Mr. Roper but the likely loss of her time alone with Hector. Eventually, though, she couldn’t pretend she didn’t see the distant carriage, and she pressed her hand to the cold glass to peer out.

“There’s a carriage,” she called finally.

Hector was suddenly at her back, looking out the window with her. “Do you recognize it?”

“No. Do you?”

“It’s a wealthy man’s carriage.”

“Then it is not my father-in-law, unless he went to my father first, and together they’ve divined our location.”

“It’s too far away to tell still who it might be.”

Hector’s fingers stole around her waist, a light touch that made her turn. She was very nearly in his arms then—close but so far away. She thought of his offer for a second kiss and wet her lips in anticipation.

He smiled gently. “It will be all right, Ruby. I’ll be right by your side, no matter who comes. I won’t let them tear apart your family.”

“Thank you,” she whispered, feeling the frustration of her situation and regret. If not for her promise to her uncle, she might have taken that second kiss, and then perhaps a third, too, with no thought to the consequences.

Hector stepped aside.

Ruby immediately went to check her son, hiding her flaming cheeks. Pip could amuse himself while she was away for a little while greeting the newcomers. She had to know who was arriving. She needed to see who her uncle had chosen for her to wed—if that is who it was approaching.

Hector’s footsteps sounded behind her. “Are you ready?”

“Yes, I’ll just need my scarf.” When she had it, she turned back to find Lord Stockwick helping her boy into his coat. “What are you doing?”

“Taking him with us.”

“That’s not a good idea.” Pip was supposed to stay out of sight. “Lord Vyne might not like it.”

“To hell with what he wants. If that’s who you fear it might be, I’m not letting your boy out of our sight. Come on. There’s no time like the present to confront your would-be oppressors,” he announced.

“Oh,” she said, chasing after him and Pip as they reached the door. “I hadn’t wanted to put him in the middle of any argument.”

Hector paused as he considered her words. “Then I will ask my valet to watch over him while we are gone. I’m sure he’d be only too happy to play with a few toys instead of pressing my cravats.”

“That’s very kind of you but not necessary,” she promised.

“It is entirely prudent. You’ll only worry otherwise.” He jerked his head toward the door. “Come along, young Pip. I want you to meet my valet.”

Her boy ran to Hector, a tiny toy horse clutched to his chest. Pip tugged on Hector’s hand to make him look down. “Do you have a real horse?”

“Indeed I do. His name is Scout, but I’m afraid I had to leave him in London in his warm stable.”

“My papa had a gray horse to pull his wagon.”

“A wagon, you say,” Hector repeated, and then smiled.

Ruby looked away. She hadn’t married a wealthy man, and by the time of his death, they’d lived a much simpler life than she’d ever imagined living. But Pip didn’t know he should hide their lack of wealth and importance yet. She was grateful that Hector had accepted her tale and not chided her for following her heart, like her family had done.

Hector and Pip went down along the halls together, talking of horses and carriages. They stopped at a far door, and Hector spoke briefly to a man inside. The valet appeared and agreed to return Pip to the upstairs parlor to play.

She winced. “I won’t be very long. Pip shouldn’t need anything but watching.”

“If it’s all right with you, I’ll ask for cake and milk to be sent up for the boy. Boys are always hungry. Take your time.”

Hector took her arm. “Let’s get us downstairs quickly. Dear God, The Vynes has always been a damn drafty place, and it seems worse this year.”

“So you come here every year?”

“No. But I was here last year, and again a few years before that.”

“I haven’t been here since…

“Not since you lost your silver bell, I suppose. I wonder if we could find it this year.”

She sighed.

“I do regret I tormented you as a boy. Moving the bell about the room when your back was turned wasn’t very nice of me.”

“You were sometimes very annoying,” she murmured.

He shook his head. “I probably wanted to make you notice me, chase me so that I could steal a second kiss.”

She shook her head. “A scoundrel at just twelve years of age.”

“Hmm, I probably was—and still am, depending on who you talk to,” he admitted.

When she looked at Hector now, she saw a glimpse of that young boy but not much of the scoundrel he claimed to be. “But who else but you could have taken it from me?”

“I don’t know. The last time I saw it, it was as I said then—beside your cot in the nursery, right before we all trooped downstairs to see our parents. The nursery was thoroughly searched for it the next day. The housekeeper made us all line up outside in our nightclothes. The servants quarters were thoroughly checked, too, I suspect.”

“I asked the housekeeper when I arrived if it has ever been found, and she said not.”

“I fear it is lost for good then, or it was taken by someone rather devious.” He stopped her. “Have you been holding a grudge against me all this time?”

She blushed. “It was important to me. A keepsake from my paternal grandfather.”

“I knew that then, too.” He nodded and started moving again. “We could have been looking for it about the house these past few days. Put the matter to rest once and for all, eh?”

“I couldn’t have troubled you,” she said quickly.

“Nonsense. You know, I think I will be staying for Christmas after all. A scavenger hunt will be just the thing to keep us all warm.”

“I can’t ask you to change your plans for me.”

He smiled quickly. “I wouldn’t have changed my plans if I hadn’t wanted to. Besides, I think Pip could do with the diversion of my company, and you, too.”

“You might be right.” Ruby blushed a little at Hector’s kindness. He was staying for her, to protect her and Pip so they could stay together. If she had to marry anyone, Ruby wished it could be someone as gallant as him.

She had done a little snooping already for her lost item, but it might be a great help to have another set of hands to move a piece of furniture quietly, and Hector did seem quite strong. More muscular than her, at least, and taller. There were several high places quite beyond her reach in the library. “Lord Vyne might not like us poking about the house without his permission.”

“Then I guess we’d better make sure he doesn’t find out,” Hector whispered.

They reached the front hall and heard the voices of men. Ruby hung back when Hector suddenly started to tiptoe to the library door, making no sound. He carefully peeked around the doorframe to look into the library—and then jerked back, shuffling a few yards in her direction. “Bloody hell,” he muttered softly as he caught her elbow.

“What is it?”

“Samuel Blackwood is here.”

“Who?” she whispered.

Hector ran a hand over his mouth and muttered, “A man you don’t want ever to cross.”

Judging by Hector’s furtive behavior, he had.

And he was afraid of the man, too. Was he dangerous as well? Ruby wasn’t keen to meet anyone who could make a grown man shrink in fear.

Ruby pulled at Hector by his sleeve, drawing him away from the library door and into the doorway of an empty reception room. “Go back upstairs. Quickly.”

Hector shook his head. “There’s no use delaying the meeting. He’ll find out I’m here easily enough. Vyne will mention my name, of course.”

That didn’t sound good for Hector’s sake. “What are you going to do?”

Hector tugged down his waistcoat. “Meet him and hope he doesn’t plant me a facer.”

Ruby frowned. “Why would he do that?”

“I kissed his sister.”

“I thought you owed him money.” Ruby rolled her eyes. “So you are a scoundrel.”

“Well, she kissed me back,” he exclaimed. “There was mistletoe!”

“Does that excuse all your indiscretions?”

“Especially those committed during the holidays.” Hector grinned and held out his arm to Ruby. “Shall we introduce ourselves to Lord Vyne’s important guest together, m’dear?”

Ruby considered taking it, but if there were punches to be thrown, she’d rather not be attached to Hector’s side. However, if a lady were present, perhaps cooler heads would prevail. She pulled her shawl tighter about her shoulders. “I think we have no choice but to meet him together.”

Hector leaned closer. “I never would have thought Vyne acquainted with the likes of Blackwood. He’s hardly the sort to frequent country houses in the dead of winter unless there was something in it for him.”

“I wonder what it could be?”

“No earthly idea, but I wonder if Lord Vyne owes the man, and Blackwood is here to collect an overdue payment.”

“I suppose that might be it.”

Hector drew close. “I guess our lovely afternoons upstairs, snug together, will have to wait until Blackwood departs.”

Ruby frowned. Had he really enjoyed their company so much? “You’ve become a great favorite with Pip. He’ll be disappointed.”

“He’s a clever boy, and his mother, too, has been a delightful companion.” Hector teased his fingers up her arm. “I am glad we had a chance to meet again, Ruby. If not for Blackwood’s arrival, you and I could have had a great deal more fun together this holiday.”

“Fun?”

“Indeed.” He smiled down at her as they walked along. “Don’t deny you’re not still thinking about our kiss, and my offer of a second.”

A second kiss probably should never happen. She was starting to like Hector a bit too much as it was.

They reached the door side by side, and Ruby immediately saw her uncle and a dark-haired stranger seated before the fire. Mr. Blackwood’s face, when he turned in her direction, appeared hard. Ruby glanced at her uncle for guidance, and he smiled warmly at her.

Ruby edged a little closer to Hector.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

SAMUEL BLACKWOOD WAS a man of similar age to Hector, but taller and broader in the chest, and with fists that had bruised any number of scoundrel’s faces. He owned a notorious gambling hell in London, which is where Hector had first encountered the man.

Meeting and kissing the man’s sister had been a grave mistake on Hector’s part. He’d had no idea who she was when they’d tangled tongues in Drury Lane Theatre. The last fellow who’d pursued the fetching Molly Blackwood with amorous intent was still taking all his meals in liquid form.

The only thing to Hector’s advantage was that it had been only one kiss—well, two, since she’d kissed him back—and after learning her identity, Hector had never sought out Molly Blackwood again. He’d also given up gambling at Blackwood’s establishment to avoid antagonizing the man.

But there was a chance that Molly Blackwood might have told her big brother all about him.

Well, he’d better get it over with and face his punishment like a man.

He strolled into the library with Ruby close by his side, hoping for the best. “Good morning,” he called to both occupants of the room.

Ruby curtsied and murmured the same.

He noted that Lord Vyne did not rise to greet them, which seemed rude. “Ah, I was just about to send for you, Niece,” Lord Vyne said to her. “Lord Stockwick.”

“My lord.” He bowed and then looked at Blackwood. “Sir. It’s good to see you again.”

Blackwood frowned. “I don’t believe we are acquainted.”

Hector was taken aback. “Lord Hector Stockwick.”

Blackwood’s face showed no recognition whatsoever. “A pleasure to meet you, my lord,” he said.

Hector nodded. Could it be true that Blackwood did not recognize him? Was it also possible that Molly had not shared their encounter as well? “So, what brings you to Derbyshire?”

Blackwood smiled quickly and glanced at Ruby, a question in his eyes.

Lord Vyne smiled, too. “Ah, yes. Mrs. Roper, this is a very good friend of mine, Mr. Samuel Blackwood. Ruby is my brother’s eldest daughter, and a widow. She has recently come to stay at The Vynes.”

Hector noted Vyne did not mention Ruby had a son upstairs.

“A pleasure to meet you, sir,” Ruby murmured, dipping the man a curtsy.

“The pleasure is all mine, I assure you,” Blackwood promised.

“Do join us,” Lord Vyne said. “You too, Stockwick. Sit yourself down over there.”

Ruby perched at her uncle’s side by the fire, and Hector was relegated to a seat slightly farther away. Lord Vyne spared him just one glance and then directed all of his attention upon Blackwood and Ruby.

Hector didn’t mind the cold shoulder. It gave him time to observe the excruciating politeness on display in front of him. Vyne was intent on ingratiating himself with Blackwood. It could only mean the earl owed Blackwood money, and it probably wasn’t a trifling amount, either.

Vyne turned to Ruby. “Blackwood has been telling me he’s taken possession of an estate not far from here,” he told Ruby.

“Longlean,” Blackwood murmured.

“A thousand acres of fertile soil and a grand manor to live in,” Vyne claimed in tones of wonder and not a little envy.

Blackwood’s lips twitched. “Not as grand as The Vynes yet, perhaps, but I do hope that one day people will think so. I intend to restore the estate and make my home there with my family.”

“Yes, you have a sister, I believe.” Hector sat forward, keen to end the suspense. Blackwood’s expression didn’t even flicker. “Restoring an estate in decline is a time-consuming and costly enterprise.”

“Life has been good to me,” Blackwood promised Hector but soon looked back at Ruby.

“What does your sister think of the place?” Ruby asked him.

Blackwood’s jaw clenched momentarily. “My family are excited about the move, and my sister will particularly benefit from experiencing the slower pace of country life.”

Hector quickly read between the lines. Blackwood would brook no opposition from his sister about the move, not if the woman wanted to enjoy his support in the coming years. Everyone whispered Molly Blackwood was well on her way to becoming as notorious as her brother. Blackwood was likely removing her from London to protect what remained of her reputation.

Hector wished the man all the luck in the world. He had tried to wrangle his sister Meg, for a different reason, in the same high-handed fashion when he’d brought Meg to The Vynes last year. A change of scenery had done Meg’s glum mood the world of good.

“I’m sure they will love living there once they see the place,” Ruby promised.

“Yes, an ambitious but achievable project for a man willing to exert himself for the good of the family,” Vyne said in praise of Blackwood, then he turned to Hector, and his expression soured. “Something I understand you were not willing to do, since you sold your wreck of an estate to my son last year,” Lord Vyne accused.

Hector was well aware that his interests and society’s expectations clashed over his sale of the Cornwall estate. The place had simply not suited him. “I made a tidy profit from the transaction,” Hector shot back with a satisfied smile. “And I made my sister happy in the bargain, since she lives there with Lord Clement even now.”

Vyne scowled. “They should be here.”

Hector shrugged. “Snow has never been my sister’s favorite weather.”

“Mine either,” Ruby admitted softly. “Gentlemen, I am afraid you will have to excuse me.”

“Of course.” Blackwood rose, and Hector did, too.

“Very well.” Vyne glanced at his pocket watch, nodded, but remained seated. “We will see you again at dinner tonight at seven o’clock, Niece. Wear something pretty to charm my guest.”

“Of course, Uncle,” she promised, and then directed a warm smile at Blackwood that Hector instantly coveted. “Until tonight, sir.”

She merely inclined her head to Hector then left the room.

When Ruby’s steps could no longer be heard, Hector sat again. Why had Ruby smiled so warmly at Blackwood?

When a servant brought spirits and started passing glasses around, Hector declined.

Lord Vyne smiled. “So, big changes afoot at Longlean.”

“Indeed.”

“You’ll want a wife soon, too, I imagine,” Vyne noted.

Hector straightened up in his chair, interested in seeing where this conversation would go next.

“Yes, people do say a wife will be necessary to bring Longlean back to life.” Blackwood looked at the doorway. “I had already determined to do just that.”

Blackwood didn’t look enthused about the idea of making a marriage though. But every man with a fortune needed someone to inherit—even Hector would need a wife one day. To Blackwood, he said, “It seems everyone my age is in a hurry to shackle themselves to a ball and chain.”

“Marriage is a means to an end,” he answered. “Don’t imagine living as a husband will change my nature very much.”

“I’m keen to hear how you will avoid it?”

“How isn’t important,” Blackwood said, shrugging off Hector’s question.

Vyne was nodding. “A match well made, connecting you to the right family, will ensure society opens its doors to you.”

Blackwood nodded.

Vyne learned forward. “I could be of assistance.”

Blackwood stared at Vyne. “Could you indeed?”

“Well, yes,” Vyne promised.

“I must say I am intrigued.”

Hector glanced down at his empty hands as Vyne gushed about his extensive list of acquaintances. The doors he could open for Blackwood. Hector did not like the sound of this alliance forming before his very eyes. Whoever Blackwood took as a wife would just be a means to an end for both men. Vyne’s insistence on helping likely served his own purpose, too.

Once Blackwood had been accepted into society, his poor wife would no doubt be cast aside to a country estate—to be visited only to get an heir and a spare. It happened all the time in society, he knew, but it was the first time Hector had ever watched such a scheme unfold so coldly. He felt…unclean just being in the same room with them.

Hector stood. “Well, gentlemen. I think I must leave you now. Brave the cold and stretch my legs outside. Until dinner.”

“Yes, dinner,” Blackwood murmured. “I look forward to it very much.”

Vyne said nothing.

Hector strolled from the room but he had no intention of freezing his balls off outside. He went directly upstairs, taking them two at a time, and stalked the halls until he found Ruby. She was in a bedchamber, a pretty evening gown laid out upon her bed. A dress meant to impress a suitor, and he wondered, too, if it was even hers. “What are you doing with that?”

“What? The dress?”

“Yes.”

“I’m to wear it for dinner, I suppose. My uncle sent it along with several others this morning.”

By the look of it the gown possessed a very low bodice meant to encourage a seduction. He recalled how Vyne had fawned all over Blackwood downstairs and felt sick. “You will not encourage that man’s attentions by wearing that dress to dinner. I forbid it.”

Ruby paused, and then moved toward him. She sighed as she looked up into his face. “I expected you to say something to that effect.”

Faced with such a calm response to his outburst, Hector made an effort to control his temper. “He’s not for you.”

“Then who is? You?”

Hector snorted and took a step back. “That’s not why I’m here.”

She winced. “I know. I’ve known all along your interest in me is only an amusement. You’ve made your wishes quite plain but so have I. The needs of my life are not amusing, and they are no one’s business but mine. I must marry to protect my son. Blackwood isn’t married and it’s plain to see he could deal with my father-in-law quite easily.”

“He doesn’t even know about Pip.”

“But he will and once we become better acquainted, he might want to be a father to my son and help us stay together.”

“Ruby let me—”

She patted his chest. “No, Hector. I do thank you for your company and your concern for our future. But please allow me to decide how best to protect my son.”

“Blackwood isn’t the man for you, or good enough to be a father to Pip. You’re making a grave mistake.”

She shook her head. “Please don’t ruin this opportunity for me, Hector. Blackwood might just turn out to be the man of my dreams.”

“Or your darkest nightmare,” Hector muttered under his breath.

CHAPTER TWELVE

SAMUEL BLACKWOOD WAS a hard man to draw into a conversation, but Ruby tried her best. She and her uncle were sitting in the conservatory surrounded by potted palms the next morning and struggling through a discussion on the latest scandals. The room was so well heated, Ruby could hardly stand it. She desperately wished for a fan with which to cool her face.

Of Hector, she’d seen no sign this morning. He’d taken her interest in Blackwood to heart and absented himself from socializing. That was a pity, for she was sure his presence might have helped lighten the mood in this room considerably.

“More tea, Uncle?”

“Yes, I think I will.” Lord Vyne held out his cup, his attention on her, and he nodded as she poured.

Ruby took that to mean he was pleased with her and with her attention to Blackwood so far. The only thing that rankled was Vyne’s insistence she could not introduce or mention her son to Blackwood still. It seemed a ridiculous restriction.

She passed her uncle his cup. “My lord.”

“Thank you, my dear.”

Uncle Vyne had begun speaking more sweetly to her as well since Blackwood had arrived and they’d been introduced. He made it seem like he was a benevolent, even affectionate relative. “Mr. Blackwood, would you care for a second cup?”

“No, thank you.”

Blackwood was strictly a one-cup-of-tea man and an impatient one. He often started tapping his foot when her uncle began droning on about their family.

She put the teapot down, having no interest in drowning in tea herself. After folding her hands in her lap, she looked to her uncle.

Vyne was watching Blackwood. “Have you had a chance to tour the manor, Mr. Blackwood?”

“Not as yet.”

Ruby did not blame the man. The Vynes’ public rooms seemed only a few degrees above freezing on most days.

“Mrs. Roper, if you would be so good as to give our guest a tour in my place.”

Although surprised by the unexpected request, Ruby inclined her head. “I’d be happy to.”

She knew little about the contents of the many rooms at The Vynes, but she supposed extolling the virtues of Lord Vyne’s home was not what her uncle had in mind. She had been instructed to woo Mr. Blackwood.

After dinner on the night she’d met Blackwood, her uncle had sent for her and explained the extent of his help. He owed Blackwood a debt that he believed her attentions to the man would fulfill. Marriage was the only outcome Ruby would insist upon. She would not be used for her body, pimped to Blackwood as a whore just to set the earl free. And in exchange for her involvement in her uncle’s scheme, she’d demanded he answer her questions—no matter how uncomfortable.

He’d said Lady Vyne and his children had humiliated him by leaving to live in Cornwall, and he also admitted that the strength of his legs had become unreliable—which was why she’d never seen him standing. And why he stayed in his rooms most of the time.

She felt sorry for him in a way, but he reminded her of Mr. Roper. He intended to use Ruby to have his way unless she stood up for herself.

Ruby stood, picked up the coat and scarf she’d discarded upon entering the conservatory and led the way out. As soon as she encountered the cold, she quickly slipped on her coat and wrapped her scarf about her neck, too.

Blackwood, absent a coat, rubbed his arms briskly. “Is it always so chilly here?”

“I believe so.”

She led Blackwood toward the heated drawing room, where there were a few portraits she recognized. She pointed at one. “My uncle and my father with their parents, in their youth.”

Blackwood squinted at all the faces in turn. He drew back, one brow raised. “People always appear so perfect in these sorts of things.”

Ruby almost laughed. The painting showed nothing of the reality of her father. “If I could afford to commission an artist to immortalize my family, I’d want to look my best, too.”

Blackwood studied the painting again, but this time only the artist’s signature scrawled across the bottom corner.

When he’d finished, he held out his hand, urging her to continue their stroll.

She took Blackwood through the dining room and then the long hall, noting that every fire in the house had been lit today. Vyne must have ordered it done, intending to seem a generous and considerate host to Blackwood.

The long hall held many grand paintings, but Ruby hardly knew one from the other. They walked in silence for the length of the hall.

When they stopped, it was at a far window. The view outside was white still, but the snow was no longer falling. If not for her bargain with her uncle, she and Pip might have gone exploring together today.

Blackwood turned to her. “Not much excitement out there.”

“The Vynes is a place of peace and tranquility.”

“I’d much rather the chaos of London,” Blackwood admitted.

“My family has a house in London, too.” A place she might never see again unless she married well and they invited her back into the fold.

“Mayfair is not the real London,” Blackwood warned. “I shouldn’t think you’d find it much to your liking.”

“Why is that?”

“London is unruly, disorder and chaos. Loud and unapologetic. It requires a certain degree of flexibility and dishonesty that I suspect you entirely lack.”

Ruby found his statement both pleased and angered her. How dare he assume to know her character on so brief an acquaintance? He didn’t know anything about her, really. Lord Vyne would hardly have told him the truth. She could enlighten Blackwood here and now but found she didn’t want to, no matter what she’d promised her uncle. “I guess I’ll never know until I see it for myself.”

She moved along the hall a ways, to a new window with a slightly different view. What was she to do about Blackwood and that promise to her uncle? Perhaps she should have taken up Hector’s offer of assistance the moment he’d spoken of it. They could have been halfway to Cornwall by now. She needed very little but safety, and a little warmth, too.

To her surprise, she saw him, Hector, trudging through the deep snow…with a small bundle thrown over his shoulder. When the bundle wriggled, kicking tiny legs and arms, she froze in surprise.

Hector had her son and was taking him off to the stables.

At the door, Hector set him down and straightened his clothing.

Pip looked up at Hector, clearly talking his head off, and Hector ruffled his hair before pushing open the door.

They disappeared, clearly off for another adventure without her.

She had not expected Hector to seek to entertain her son again today, or any day. Not after she’d made it plain she would not kiss Hector again. But Pip did love horses, and the stables were his favorite place in the world.

She found Hector’s interest in her son surprisingly pleasing.

Blackwood drew close. “Is something wrong, madam?”

“No. The view is just like all the rest. I am just a little chilled.”

“I am too.” He bowed to her. “Thank you for showing me more of the house. If you will excuse me, I should like to return to Lord Vyne and continue our earlier conversation.”

“But of course. Thank you, Mr. Blackwood, for your company. It has been a pleasure to become better acquainted with you.”

As soon as he left, Ruby hurried for a rear door, looking for a well-trod path to take her to the stables. It wasn’t hard to find the path Hector must have taken. His footprints were deep, though, and she quickly understood why Hector might have thrown Pip upon his shoulder.

She carefully picked her way through the snow, using Hector’s footprints to spare herself the worst of the cold and damp. But by the time she reached the stables, her toes were cold and her stockings were wet.

She pushed the heavy door open and instantly saw Hector leaning against a stall not far away. He looked over his shoulder, and then snatched up a blanket before hurrying to her. “What are you doing coming out in this weather?”

“I saw you and Pip coming here.”

“He’s playing.”

She didn’t see Pip. “Where?”

Hector wrapped her in the blanket and, with one arm around her back, propelled her to the stall he’d just left.

Pip was inside, marching around the stall with another, larger boy. They were stomping down the hay beneath their feet and laughing their heads off. Pip’s cheeks were pink already, and he was smiling. The other boy was just the same.

Ruby drew back but was worried. “If my uncle saw him doing that, he might not approve.”

“It’s harmless play. And the straw is clean, intended only to thicken the mattresses of the stable hands. They just hadn’t gotten around to using it yet and don’t mind. Young Allan there does this all the time, I’m told.”

Relieved, she glanced around the stables. There were no servants anywhere about. Only Hector, watching the boys play together.

Hector’s arm stole around her again. “Are you warm enough?”

“My feet are a bit cold,” she admitted.

“Well, then,” Hector said as he pulled her a little tighter to his side. “Shall we stroll the stables to keep ourselves warm? While we do, I suggest we make a game of choosing more fitting names for Lord Vyne’s horses. Vyne, I’ve found, lacks the imagination to choose names worthy of such handsome steeds.”

She laughed. “I’ve never named a horse before.”

“Well, now is your chance to try while we pass the time waiting for Pip or Allan to tire themselves out.”

She looked back toward her son.

Hector squeezed her waist, and then released her. “Don’t worry. Given your confession the other day, I took the liberty of making sure he’s being watched at all times.”

When he pointed up, Ruby spotted a pair of stable hands in the hayloft directly above Pip, sitting with their legs dangling over the side.

“You didn’t have to do that. Pip is not yours to protect.”

He looked away, frowning. “Clement would expect me to make sure his cousins remained safe at all times.”

Ruby didn’t quite believe Hector’s claim that he was standing in for Lord Clement. Hector cared about Pip.

And he might just care about her, too.

Pleased by that, Ruby withheld a smile as she took Hector’s arm, and they moved to the closest stall.

The differences between Hector and Mr. Blackwood were quite marked. Blackwood’s character was evident on his face. He’d be a dangerous man to cross, as Hector claimed.

And while Hector might declare himself a scoundrel, and quite proudly, too, he was a great deal warmer and kinder than he liked to let on. He was impulsive, boastful, but even though she’d told him of her interest in Blackwood for marriage, he was still willing to go out of his way to ensure her son’s safety.

She already knew which man might make her a better husband. The only impediment to her hopes was whether Hector would ever realize it, too.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

DINNER THAT NIGHT was an unusually long affair hosted by Lord Vyne himself in lavish style. He appeared to be in a merry mood, indeed. The smile he wore tonight instantly gave Hector pause. He was gregarious, expansive, and keen to foster any conversation involving Ruby and Blackwood trading confidences.

Hector was feeling left out long before the dessert course was set before him. His part of the conversation had amounted to very little, since most frequent topics seemed to be rural pursuits and family connections. He looked down at his bowl of brandy custard and discovered that not even a favorite food could cheer him up.

Ruby laughed. “I should have liked to see that,” she promised Blackwood before tucking into the custard with undisguised relish. She licked her lips. “Hmm, delicious.”

Hector lost all discontent in the evening then and there. He couldn’t take his eyes away from the glossy shine of Ruby’s lower lip. He wanted to lean over the table, kiss those pretty lips, and whisk her away from everyone.

In all of his liaisons with pretty women, Hector had not once felt quite so desperate to have a woman all to himself as he did Ruby. He didn’t know her well, but he wanted to know her better than anyone that had ever lived. Better than her late husband had, certainly, and better than her son.

For a man who routinely avoided entanglements, he found the prospect of an intimate, more profound connection with Ruby Roper didn’t scare him in the least.

He finished his custard and declined to partake of anything more to eat or drink. As a group, they left the dining room. Vyne tottered instead of strode, leaning heavily on a footman, and Ruby and Blackwood followed side by side, which left Hector to bring up the unhappy rear on his own. When they seated themselves around the fire, Hector again found himself on the outside, pushed back from the woman he’d rather be closer to.

Blackwood began regaling Ruby with stories of his lifelong escapades in London—highly sanitized, Hector decided—to make her laugh. It was clear she was enjoying Blackwood’s company more than his tonight. She had hardly looked at him all night and he missed having her attention.

It occurred to Hector that he could push himself forward, make a definitive step toward singling Ruby out for notice—remind her of the heat of their earlier kiss. But no matter how promising that kiss might have been, Hector was mindful of the fact that Ruby’s interest was in achieving a marriage, not a brief dalliance that might cause a scandal.

If he chose to pursue this woman, he could not have any doubts that he was headed toward becoming a husband, and a father to her young son. Not a decision to make lightly.

The way things seemed to be going with Blackwood, she was well on her way to charming the man into falling in love with her. But Blackwood had not yet met young Pip, so it remained to be seen if a child made a difference to Blackwood’s interest in the end.

Ruby and Pip had both charmed Hector. He could certainly offer them everything Blackwood could and more, since he held a title. Ruby could once again be welcomed by society and any estrangement with her family might end, too, if that was what she wanted. The boy would certainly benefit, though indirectly, from a connection to the Stockwick title. Hector would never skimp on the boy’s education and upkeep—if he married Ruby, that was.

If.

Hector made an excuse and left the room, mulling over his future and his interest in Ruby.

Despite his claim of relishing his bachelor status, there had been times when having someone around made him happier than being alone. He had been eager to see his family this holiday, yet despite Meg not having arrived yet, he was not unhappy.

Ruby was a delightful woman. Pretty and calm. He’d enjoyed the time they’d spent together. There was not a hint of shrew anywhere about her. And he did like young Pip and wanted good things for him.

He absolutely did not want Pip taken away to Scotland and separated from his mother.

Hector reached the top of the stairs and turned when he heard a commotion coming from the family wing. Two men emerged from a chamber.

Caught between them, and struggling, was Pip.

Hector raced down the hall. “Unhand that boy!”

The men saw him but still tried to get away with Pip. Hector chased them down before they reached the servants’ stairs, and forced them away from the boy by punching both in the nose.

Pip was dropped, and Hector did his best to cushion his fall and gather him up. He hefted the crying boy into his arms and held him tight as he backed away from the boy’s would-be assailants, one fist still raised. “Don’t you dare try anything against me. Who the hell are you to touch my son?”

Hector blinked even as the men advanced on him. Apparently Hector had decided to be Pip’s new papa, after all.

He slid Pip behind him and raised both fists, ready to defend his new family from all comers.

But he soon wasn’t alone in the hall. Alerted by the commotion, Parker was suddenly between Hector and Pip’s assailants. Parker grabbed one fellow by the throat and banged him into the paneled wall. “My employer asked you a question. Answer him.”

The fellow, a bit larger than Parker, struggled and fought. “We were only doing what we were paid to do!”

Hector picked Pip up into his arms, aware the poor boy had been frightened badly and was shaking like a leaf now. “By whom?”

“We were to take the boy. That’s all I know.”

But someone had hired them. And a servant below stairs must have let this pair in and showed them the way to the boy’s chamber. “Take him where?”

“Don’t know, but there’s a carriage waiting in the woods to take him the rest of the way.”

“The boy won’t be going anywhere.” Hector held out one hand, fingers clenched in a fist still. “Come near this boy again, and I’ll do worse than bloody your nose. Don’t ever let me see your face again!”

The second man, obviously believing Hector meant every word, started inching down the hall away from them all, clutching his nose.

Although Hector would prefer to question them further, they were just pawns, and the boy was his priority. “Let him go, Parker.”

Parker released the fellow he’d held by the throat and straightened up slowly. The men turned and fled for the servants’ staircase; they shoved at each other as they made their escape.

When they were gone, Parker turned back to Hector. “Is the boy all right, my lord?”

“I’ve no idea yet.” Hector turned on his heel and stalked to his chambers. Pip’s grip tightened on his neck as they entered the room, and Hector sat down with him. “It’s all right, my boy,” he whispered. “I won’t let them touch you again. Let me look at you, son. Are you hurt?”

“My arm,” Pip said, sobbing softly.

Parker came to kneel at Hector’s feet. “May I see your arm, lad?”

Pip’s grip on Hector eased, and he showed Parker his arm with obvious reluctance. Hector held his breath as his valet carefully inspected the child’s hand, wrist, and forearm. “I don’t think it serious, but perhaps it should be wrapped for the night just in case.”

Hector held Pip a bit tighter against him, seething with anger that perhaps the servants at The Vynes had conspired to take Pip away from him and Ruby. “Do it yourself. Do not involve The Vynes servants.”

Hector sat back, holding the boy snug against him. He felt protective of the boy now more than ever. Hector dropped his chin to the boy’s head. “I won’t let anyone take you away from your mama or me.”

Pip’s grip on his neck tightened. “Where is she?”

“Still at dinner.” He didn’t relish telling Ruby that The Vynes was not the haven she’d believed it to be. “I’ll fetch her.”

Pip grabbed him, shaking like a leaf. “No! Don’t leave me,” he cried.

“I’m not going anywhere yet,” Hector promised, even rocking the boy in his arms a little in the manner he’d noticed Ruby do on occasion. His heart swelled with tenderness for the boy, and with fear, too. What if he’d not come upstairs when he had? Pip might have been miles away before the abduction had been discovered.

Parker returned, his hands full of pristine white pressed linen cravats ripped in half. “It’s the best I can do.”

“A sacrifice for a worthy cause,” Hector promised, ruffling the boy’s hair and making him sit up for Parker.

Pip’s wrist was bound firmly. “He needs rest, my lord,” Parker suggested.

Pip just about strangled Hector out of fear of being separated.

“It’s all right, my boy. You can stay here and sleep in my bed tonight. Parker will be with you every moment. I will have to leave you to fetch your mother. Do you still want her?”

“Yes, but I want you, too,” Pip whispered, and his grip on Hector remained desperately keen.

Although it took a while, Parker finally managed to lure Pip out of Hector’s arms with the promise of a story. The boy was taken to the bed, encouraged to lie down under the sheets and blankets, and then Parker pulled up a chair beside it.

Hector paused at the foot of the bed, watching Pip as he wriggled and fidgeted in the strange surroundings as Parker made up a story on the spot. The boy was probably still frightened, but Hector turned down the lamps a little to encourage him to drift off.

Then he returned to the bed and ruffled Pip’s hair. “Close your eyes now, my lad. We’ll have a big day tomorrow—just you and me and your mother, and Parker, too. Perhaps we’ll go for a carriage ride together. Wouldn’t that be grand?”

Pip nodded.

Hector paused beside Parker. “Lock the door after I’m gone, just in case someone comes looking for the boy again. Don’t let anyone know he’s in this room.”

“No one will get past me, my lord,” Parker promised and continued his story of a young boy who found a stallion in the woods and rode far and wide, having the greatest of adventures.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

RUBY HAD PERHAPS ENJOYED TOO much wine with dinner. The warm room and company had been delightful. It could only have been greatly improved though if Hector had returned to join them. She sincerely wished he had come back. There was nothing better than enjoying a good laugh with him.

But Blackwood had been unexpectedly good company tonight, and her uncle, too, for that matter. Although he did keep making remarks that could only be considered matchmaking attempts. He extolled her virtues, accomplishments, and musical talents, some of which she hadn’t pursued since the day she had married Liam. There hadn’t been too many opportunities to play the harp or perform the Cotillion in the wilds of Scotland. The Ropers hadn’t been much for frivolous amusement of any sort, really.

She stood, wobbling slightly. “Gentlemen, I’m afraid I shall have to excuse myself. It has been an enjoyable evening.”

Vyne glanced at his pocket watch, frowning. “Yes, certainly. Do retire for the night, by all means.”

“Good night, Uncle. Mr. Blackwood,” Ruby said as she dipped a curtsy to both.

Blackwood stood, too. “I think I will turn in as well. Vyne, you set a good table. I hope our business allows a repeat one day.”

Ruby swept from the room, hoping not to have Mr. Blackwood follow her too closely.

Blackwood did follow her a little way, at a distance, but then turned for his guest room and disappeared inside.

Relieved, Ruby let herself into her chamber and yawned. “I’m back, love,” she whispered, just in case Pip was still awake.

“Good,” Hector said from behind her. “I was starting to think I’d have to come find you.”

Ruby turned, startled to find Hector emerging from behind her bedchamber door. “What are you doing here?”

She glanced at the bed, startled to see it had been remade neatly. When she’d gone down for dinner, Pip had been sitting up in her bed playing with his toys, and a maid had been meant to watch him until he fell asleep. They were both gone. “Where is Pip?”

Hector came forward. “Now, I don’t want you to be alarmed.”

“And now I am. Where is Pip?”

Hector took both her hands in his. “He is in my room with Parker watching over him. He should be fast asleep by now.”

Instead of being reassured, Ruby only grew more alarmed. “Why is he there?”

“Come and sit down with me,” Hector asked, and she let him press her down into a chaise close to the fire. “There has been an incident. I came upstairs to find two men emerging from this room with Pip held between them. I made them release him, and they wisely fled.”

“Dear God, Mr. Roper has found us.” Ruby gasped and sprang to her feet. “Is Pip all right?”

“A little shaken up, and he has a sore wrist that Parker bound. He fought to be free of them taking him, and then I helped him.”

She gaped. “You protected my son?”

“Indeed, I did.” Hector rubbed his knuckles, and she saw they were reddened. “Those men say they were acting on orders and I doubt they will be back tonight.”

Ruby reached for Hector’s hand immediately, grateful for his quick thinking and intervention. “I want to see my son!”

“Of course,” Hector promised without hesitation. “Come with me.”

Hector opened the door carefully and, after leaning out to check the hall was clear, he drew Ruby outside with him. He led her down the hall to his chamber, knocked rapidly, and they waited for what seemed like an eternity to hear footsteps inside.

“What do you want?” Parker demanded, sounding cross.

“It’s Stockwick,” Hector replied.

“And Mrs. Roper,” Ruby whispered, too.

The door was immediately unlocked and opened wide to admit them. Ruby rushed inside and went straight to the bed, where her boy lay sleeping.

She smoothed his hair back from his face then found his bound wrist under the blankets. Pip whimpered in his sleep then settled back into slumber.

Ruby exhaled slowly, relieved she still had her son. But she was also afraid. Mr. Roper had a mean temper when he didn’t get his way. And he’d found her so quickly she was reeling. He’d certainly return for another attempt to take the boy. She turned to share her suspicions with Hector, but he appeared in deep conversation with his valet.

“Have there been any movements of servants past this room?” Hector asked.

“No, my lord,” the valet promised. “It’s been quiet.”

Ruby let out a relieved breath but that didn’t mean the danger wouldn’t return.

“Good. Let’s be sure it will remain that way. Go downstairs and fetch me a glass of milk.”

Parker raised a brow. “Milk, my lord?”

Hector scowled at him. “All right, not milk, but you know what I mean. Ask for another bowl of warm custard, perhaps. Anything. Find out if they know anything about those men. Try to find out who was involved and if they are coming back. I don’t care to be surprised again.”

“A very good idea.”

Parker slipped from the room, and Hector was suddenly at Ruby’s side, his hand outstretched. She gripped him tightly. “How could strangers get past every servant in the house and into my room?”

“I don’t know.”

“Wherever we go, Mr. Roper will find us? I can’t lose Pip.”

“You won’t.”

“Where can we go that is safer than here?”

“Anywhere would be better, I should think.” Hector squeezed her hand tighter in his. “We’ll leave tomorrow and make plans for our final destination on the journey.”

“You don’t have to go with us,” she warned.

Hector leaned down and whispered into her ear, “You’re not going anywhere without me tagging along to keep you safe now.”

“We could go to my cousin in Cornwall,” she suggested.

Hector dropped a kiss to her hair. “Clement is supposed to be on the way here, remember. But with luck, we might meet him en route and seek his counsel about all this first.”

Hector pulled Ruby up, sat down in her place, and then settled her onto his lap. He cuddled her close and Ruby clung to him. If not for Hector retiring early, Pip might have been miles away.

“I imagine Pip is safe for the time being.”

“I can’t stay here,” she agreed.

“We’ll have to stay until dawn. Blundering about on a dark snowy night would be just as dangerous.”

Ruby stared at her son even as she snuggled deeper into Hector’s arms. Pip was so innocent and fragile. “I’d be so afraid if not for your calm and strength tonight,” she whispered to Hector.

“I’m here for you.”

IT WAS MORE than an hour later when Parker returned, slipping into the room using the room key. Hector was relieved to see him at last. “Where have you been?”

Parker winced. “The servants hall was in an uproar. I honestly don’t think they had any idea about those men coming in, but they certainly took great pains to chase them away. They were followed and shot at, I heard. I don’t believe those particular men would dare return tonight, not unless someone paid them very well.”

Hector shrugged. “Unlikely they’ll return tonight but tomorrow…”

Tomorrow could see more men come to take the boy. It would be over his dead body.

“The butler was storming around, checking all the locks as I came up and berating everyone who got in his way. I was questioned, too, and warned to be vigilant. I didn’t let on about the boy’s near abduction, as you warned me not to say anything.”

“Good.” Hector rose, sliding Ruby off his lap to stand. He brought Ruby’s hand to his lips and kissed the back of it. “Mrs. Roper and her son will be leaving first thing in the morning.”

Ruby looked at him with wide, frightened eyes. “Without you?”

“With me, too,” Hector promised her. “I’m afraid I might never let either of you out of my sight again.” He kissed her hand again, but she moved closer. “I’ve been thinking about what we talked about the other day. About what you want and need. I want to spend Christmas with you and Pip. I want you, and Pip, too, to have the time to decide if I’m worthy of being part of your lives.”

“That statement only goes to prove that you are.” She leaned in to kiss his cheek. “Your actions have forever placed us in your debt.”

“I don’t want that, but I do want to be the man who protects you.”

She burrowed into his arms. “You know, you are not the scoundrel you make yourself out to be, my lord.”

He smiled. “I suspect my days as a scoundrel might be done.”

“Poor Hector. Perhaps you could be a little scandalous every now and then.”

“Now there’s an idea. I could happily spend my life seducing you,” Hector mused, a slow smile lit up his whole face.

“A lifetime? Do you mean that?”

Hector leaned down and rubbed his nose against hers. “I do.”

But then he became aware that Parker was clearing his throat loudly. Hector glanced at the man. “Is something the matter?”

“I was thinking that I could stay by the boy’s side tonight while you and Mrs. Roper finished planning your future together.”

“That’s not…” Hector began.

“… a bad idea,” Ruby finished. “Thank you, Parker. Pip would normally sleep until morning but if my son wakes before we return, we will be just down the hall in my room. I have a few items to collect to take with us tomorrow.”

Hector nodded. “Yes. You stay here with the boy, keep the door locked, and we’ll be back to make arrangements for our departure before morning comes.”

“Very good, my lord,” Parker promised.

Hector turned to Ruby and ushered her out into the hall. All was silent as they made their way to her room and let themselves in.

“This will only take a moment.” Ruby moved about in the dark, collecting things and stuffing them in a satchel.

Hector could not wait to take Ruby and Pip away from here. Somewhere he could be assured of their safety.

It troubled him how fast Mr. Roper had found the estate, though, if Pip’s abduction had been by Roper’s hand at all. How could the man have deduced Ruby would have ever come to her uncle so quickly? How could Roper have afforded to hire those men if they were not well off?

Those doubts made him now wonder if the real culprit behind the abduction attempt was wealthy, much nearer to hand and devious to the bone.

Hector put his arm around Ruby protectively as another likely explanation occurred to him.

Ruby turned in his arms and before he could voice his suspicions, she rose up and pressed her lips to his. The kiss took him by surprise, but it was not unwanted.

He had thought of kissing Ruby again and if they were going to be together, he looked forward to a great many more such exchanges.

She drew back. “When you have a child, you will discover you must take advantage of every moment of solitude for pleasure.”

“I’ve always been a fast learner.”

He swooped in to kiss her back, and when she looped her arms about his neck, her next kiss promised endless pleasures. When her tongue teased past his lips to tangle with his, Hector drew Ruby closer, delighted that they had found each other again.

Hector drew back. “Tomorrow, I must speak with your uncle.”

“We don’t need his permission,” she promised. Her hands slid down to his chest, and he was nudged back toward the bed firmly. “In fact, since I’m a widow, I don’t have to listen to anyone at all again. No one but you. Now, let me tell you what I think we should do before we return to my son. And I hate to say that some haste will be required tonight.”

Ruby quickly divested herself of her attire and Hector quickly understood. Hector grew hard as her pretty breasts and curves were suddenly within reach of his eager fingers.

Ruby pushed him onto his back on her bed and climbed atop him. She lifted her hands to her hair and released it from its confines.

Soft, long locks fell over his hands and tumbled down around them. He grasped a handful, then tossed Ruby over onto her back. “Lovely woman, now I’ll never let you go.”

“No more talking.” Ruby drew him down for a kiss and further conversation became completely unnecessary.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

A NIGHT of lovemaking hadn’t improved Hector’s temper very much. He shut the door to Vyne’s study in the hope of keeping Ruby from finding where he’d gone too soon. He didn’t want her to hear what he had to say to her uncle.

“You unfeeling bastard,” Hector growled.

Lord Vyne’s head snapped up from the papers he’d been reading on his desk. “I beg your pardon.”

“Don’t pretend. You just couldn’t for once be a decent human being.” Hector spared a single glance for Blackwood, but Vyne was the one he wanted to gut right now. He’d pondered the sudden abduction attempt all night and concluded Mr. Roper simply did not have the ability to abduct his own grandson without help. Vyne had to be behind the abduction himself. “How could you try to send Pip away from her?”

Lord Vyne, seated still, put his hands on the arms of his chair. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Lie. “You waited till dinner when the servants were busy below and used Blackwood as a distraction to keep Ruby away from the child.”

Blackwood rose from his chair. “What child?”

“Ruby has a son, born within a marriage the family never approved of. While you were being charmed after dinner, Blackwood, I returned upstairs, only to be confronted by two assailants. They were trying to abduct Ruby’s boy. I would bet they were here on his orders.”

Vyne’s face mottled red.

Blackwood moved to stand by Hector’s side, looking down at the earl with disdain. “I don’t recall you ever mentioning Mrs. Roper’s offspring. In fact, you implied she was unencumbered.”

“Vyne likely thought the existence of the boy would scare you off.”

“I like children.”

“Enough to become a father to Pip?”

“No, I am not in a position to do that. Not for anyone,” Blackwood admitted. He folded his arms over his chest. “Now I understand why he kept throwing his niece at me instead of discussing when he’d be paying off his debt.”

“One has nothing to do with the other, I assure you,” Vyne promised. “Not that I was involved in any abduction.”

“Most likely, he wished to lessen his debt somehow by joining your family to his, delaying talks of any repayment to you for quite some time.”

Blackwood scowled. “Lord Vyne, I shall have to decline any delay to that repayment. I will accept full payment by luncheon today, and then I will be on my way. My wife is expecting me to reach home by Christmas Eve.”

Vyne gasped. “You’re married?”

“For some time, and I already have children. Six,” Blackwood promised.

Hector couldn’t help but laugh at Vyne’s shocked expression. “Congratulations. Six children and a wife, too. Imagine that.”

“Twin’s. Three sets of boys,” Blackwood said proudly. “I’ve kept my family far away from London and what goes on there, but they’ll be moving to the new estate soon.”

“How marvelous,” Hector exclaimed and it was the best news he’d ever heard.

Lord Vyne’s face was slowly turning purple and that was good, too.

“Congratulations to you, too,” Blackwood murmured. “I think Mrs. Roper will make an excellent wife for someone who can appreciate her best qualities and protect them.”

Hector nodded. “I’m sure she will marry well, and soon. But first, I need to make sure her uncle understands the error of his ways.”

Blackwood slapped Hector’s shoulder. “Do me a favor—don’t kill him. I can’t get money out of a dead man.”

“Oh, he’ll live, but not happily, I should think.”

“Oh, and while we’re confiding in each other—stay away from my sister once you marry. My sister is a complication you do not want in your life,” Blackwood suggested with a bland smile.

Hector had nearly forgotten all about kissing Blackwood’s sister. “I assure you, I will keep a distance,” he promised. He was done with all women—except Ruby.

He waited until Blackwood was gone before he faced Lord Vyne again. The man seemed decidedly uncomfortable and blessedly silent. Good. Hector had a few things to get off his chest. “For years, I’ve watched you manipulate those around you with no thought to their happiness.”

“The concerns of my family are no business of yours,” Vyne snapped.

“That’s where you are very wrong. I’m connected to your family now. My sister is about to deliver Clement’s first child.”

Vyne’s eyes were wide. “A grandchild?”

There was complete wonder in Vyne’s voice. Hector narrowed his eyes. “Well. Well. Well. Didn’t you know about the coming babe?”

Vyne sat up a little straighter. “No. My son is neglectful in his duties and failed to inform me.”

“I’m not surprised you’re the last to know.” He smiled coldly at Vyne. “Do you imagine Clement will allow you to spend any time with your grandchildren once he learns what you tried to do last night to his cousin’s child? Ruby came to you for help, and this is how you treat her. She foolishly trusted you, but will never make that mistake again.”

Vyne wet his lips. “Clement doesn’t need to know.”

“Really? Do you imagine I have any reason to keep your dirty secrets from Clement? He is my brother.”

Vyne swallowed. “I wasn’t sending the child back to Scotland.”

“Then where were you sending him?”

“My sister lives alone in Dorset. She’s an interest in children.”

“So you would break Ruby’s heart just to purify the family tree of an offspring of undesirable origins?” Hector nearly shouted.

Vyne held out one hand. “I knew she’d never willingly send the boy away. If the boy were to disappear one night, Ruby would have been able to plead ignorance honestly when her father brought her father-in-law to take him back. Without the child, there’d be no reason for Roper to linger long. He’d have no further connection to my family, or to her. It would be as if the marriage had never happened!”

Hector narrowed his eyes, unable to believe that tall tale. “And then what would have become of the child? Would he grow up imagining his mother had abandoned him?”

“No!” Vyne exclaimed. “I would send her to the child when I was sure Roper had given up hope. I sent a letter ahead to my sister, explaining the situation already. My sister would have taken good care of the boy until her mother came for him.”

“And this business with Blackwood? Why were you trying so hard to match Ruby to him?”

“Everyone believes Blackwood needs a wife. He is a wealthy man and has a connection to a title hardly anyone talks about. But I believe he will most likely become a marquis in the not-too-distant future. My daughters are too innocent to appeal to such a man, but with Ruby returned a widow, I saw an opportunity to make a good match for her, little knowing Blackwood’s so-called unencumbered life was a lie.”

Vyne told a fairly convincing tale. He had painted his motives in a brighter light than might actually be possible. Some of it might even be true if not for one glaring embellishment. He pointed a finger at the earl. “No carriage or horse has left The Vyne’s carrying any letter for anyone. I know because I’ve spent every day watching the front drive.”

Lord Vyne paled as Hector advanced on him.

“You will not attempt to make another match for Ruby. You will not concern yourself with her again, or with Pip. From this moment on, you will leave them alone.”

“Roper will come to take the boy, and there is nothing she can do to stop him.”

Hector would stop Roper. He would find a way to keep mother and son together, no matter what it cost him. “Lord Vyne, I encourage you to spend your solitude contemplating the difference between what is right and what is good for the sake of the family. Perhaps if you think very hard, you might one day see how you are responsible for the state of your empty life.” He turned away from Vyne, disgusted with the earl.

Vyne got to his feet. “Where are you going?”

“I’m going to do a good thing.”

Vyne was suddenly at Hector’s side, clutching his arm. “What are you going to tell Clement?”

Hector shook him off and Vyne staggered for the support of the wall. “I’ll have to think about that,” Hector warned, but he would probably tell Clement everything once he had Ruby and Pip safely away from The Vynes. But first… “Do you know what might help me decide?”

“What?”

“Give back the silver bell you took from Ruby when she was a girl. I know you took it from her and allowed me to be blamed.”

Vyne jerked back from him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Would Vyne deny every accusation aimed his way? “Thanks to my friendship with your son, I recall the contents of your father’s will were hotly contested by you and your brother. Clement told me your father had left little tokens to each of his grandchildren. You argued against honoring the bequests, but your brother won, and you’ve hardly spoken to him since. You took back that silver bell from Ruby out of spite for your brother’s success. She misses it still.”

Lord Vyne’s eyes lowered, revealing his guilt.

“Your father gave it to her, not you.”

Vyne’s jaw worked then he yanked open a drawer nearby. Inside were a collection of small trinkets, and he removed Ruby’s long-lost silver bell.

When he thrust it toward Hector, he refused to take it. “Don’t be such a coward. Give it back to her yourself, and maybe she’ll forgive you for what you tried to do one day.”

“What about our bargain?”

“I made no bargain with you, but I have the truth of you now.”

Hector stalked upstairs and returned to his bedchamber immediately. He’d fetch Pip and take him to Ruby ahead of their departure from the estate.

But he found Ruby and Pip together already, surrounded by Hector’s packed trunks. Pip was playing with his horse behind one, and Ruby was seated before the fire.

He turned to Pip first to say good morning. Hector leaned down and ruffled the boy’s hair. “Come and sit with your mother and I.”

He turned away, sure the boy would follow eventually, and claimed a spot by Ruby’s side on a cozy settee. “Good morning.”

“I woke to find you gone.”

“Yes, I went to speak to your uncle about the abduction attempt.”

“Why?”

“Because during the night, I realized it couldn’t have been Roper behind it.”

Ruby’s eyes flickered around the room nervously. “Pip, come and sit with us.”

The boy got to his feet and dropped into the space between them. He looked up at Hector and smiled. “Will you take me to visit the horses?”

“Indeed, I will.” He ruffled the boy’s hair again. “How would you like to visit London for a few days?”

“London?” both Ruby and Pip cried out in surprise.

“Yes, but if we don’t run into Clement I’d like to divert to spend Christmas night in my home. I find I have a few extra presents to acquire this year, too, and I have a special license to arrange.”

At the word presents, Pip’s eyes lit up wide, and he inhaled, anticipating a surprise. Hector hoped his ultimate gift for the boy, a pony, would be enough to wait for.

Ruby touched his arm. “You were serious last night?”

“Every word. I will marry you, and I will deal with the Ropers, and we will make a home for all of us together wherever you’d like to live.”

The boy turned to him. “Will you be my new papa?”

“If you want me to be.” Hector smiled.

The boy chewed his lower lip.

“I’ll teach you to ride as well as your papa and me. I’ve a friend who keeps a pony in London. We could visit him after I marry your mother.”

The boy suddenly wrapped his arms about Hector’s neck and hugged him tightly. “Can we go now? I don’t like it here.”

Hector pulled the boy onto his lap. He leaned down to the boy’s ear to whisper but turned his gaze on Ruby. “We could go today, but first, I’d like to have your mama agree to marry me.”

“Mama?”

“Yes, Pip.”

“Why won’t you marry Hector?”

“Well, I suppose I won’t marry him because he hasn’t asked me,” she admitted.

Hector grunted in surprise. He had thought he’d made his interest clear, but perhaps it hadn’t been the perfect proposal after all. He could do better.

He lifted the boy off his lap and stood. “May I have your undivided attention, madam?”

“Of course, Lord Stockwick,” Ruby promised, fluttering her lashes demurely.

“Well, my dear,” he began. “It seems I’ve found and fallen for the prettiest lady in all of England, and I would like her to be my wife without delay, if she will have me.”

He fell to one knee before Ruby and extended his hand to her. She tossed her head slightly from side to side and then burst into the most remarkable smile he’d ever beheld. “Yes. Yes, I would be honored to be your wife, good sir.”

Hector shuffled closer. “Darling.”

He cupped her face and, after a pause, pulled her in to kiss softly. When he drew back, Pip’s face was inches away from them. So the boy didn’t feel left out, he kissed his forehead, and then laughed. “I always thought that would be much harder.”

Ruby laughed. “It isn’t, not when there is love.”

“So very true. I swear you’ll never feel alone again,” Hector promised as he gently wrapped his fingers around her nape. “I’ll love you more than you’ve ever dreamed possible, too. Forever and ever and ever.”

Ruby kissed him, and he didn’t think there had been a better start to Christmas in all his life. He also predicted Christmas would become his favorite time of year from this moment on. He’d make sure of it.

EPILOGUE

RUBY SET her hands to her hips. “Where do you think you are going, young man?”

Pip froze, his hand inches from the door latch. “I just wanted to look.”

“I told you we had to stay here and wait for the carriage to be brought round. It’s much too cold to leave the door open.”

She gazed at the numerous trunks spread around them in The Vynes’ hall and winced that none of them were hers. But their first stop would be the nearest town on the way to Cornwall, where Hector had promised they’d spend the night and go shopping for what Ruby and Pip needed most.

After what Hector had told her of his conversation with Lord Vyne, she couldn’t wait to escape her uncle’s home. Of all the treacherous, backhanded schemes to help her. Only her family could break her heart and expect her to be grateful.

Only Hector and his valet, Parker, were to be trusted with her son’s protection from this moment on.

An odd creak sounded behind her, and she turned slightly.

“So you are leaving without a word of farewell, just like all the rest,” Lord Vyne accused.

Ruby considered ignoring her uncle, but she had been brought up to show respect for elders, even if they were evil. “It seemed appropriate.”

She turned fully, finding her uncle being rolled into the room by a servant in a wheeled chair. He looked to have aged a decade in just one night.

“If you’re going, I suppose you’ll be needing this.” He deposited a silver bell onto one of Hector’s traveling trunks nearest him.

Ruby frowned as she recognized it.

Her uncle had stolen her silver bell!

Vyne nodded. “You don’t belong here, and neither does that anymore.”

He had his man roll him away.

Ruby rushed forward and snatched up her precious heirloom. The bell was just as she remembered, engraved with her initials upon the inside. She held it tight to her chest, her eyes misting with tears just as Hector returned. “I’ve said goodbye to Blackwood for us all. He’s finally been repaid and is eager to leave today, too.”

Ruby looked around them at the emptiness of The Vynes and sighed. “This will be a lonely place to spend Christmas.”

“He brought it all entirely upon himself.” He squinted at her hand. “What have you there?”

Ruby lifted her bell and gave it a little shake.

“Ah, I see Vyne saw the wisdom of returning your possession.”

“When did you realize he had taken it?”

“The same time I realized he was behind the attempt to abduct Pip. If he could stoop so low, there was nothing he wouldn’t have tried to get away with before.”

“He gave it back because of you. Thank you.”

Hector’s eyes softened. “We should be going. I suspect if I don’t marry you quickly enough, I fear I might miss my chance to be Pip’s new papa.”

“Never fear. You are just the man for the job,” she swore.

He was a good man, wonderful with Pip, and she couldn’t have chosen better if she’d tried. She raised her little bell high and shook it again. The much-missed twinkle of sound made her so happy. “Come along, Lord Stockwick, we have a Christmas adventure to embark on, and I mean to start it today.”

She took Pip’s hand and led him out of The Vynes to the carriage. Hector followed, directing servants to load the trunks securely. When he joined them inside the comfortable interior, Pip jumped quickly onto his lap and started peppering the poor man with questions.

Never once on that first day together did Ruby feel Hector regretted the impending loss of his bachelorhood. And after he’d spoiled Ruby with a pretty new gown and cloak, and Pip with toys and even more warm clothing, they took lodgings at a cozy inn, where they spent the night reading the scandalous entries in his journal, highly censored to protect the innocent ears of her young son.

For the first time in a good long while, Ruby was at last happy and safe and felt loved again. Liam, she felt sure, was looking down on them from above, holding mistletoe over their heads.

The End

ABOUT HEATHER BOYD

USA Today Bestselling Author Heather Boyd believes every character she creates deserves their own happily-ever-after—no matter how much trouble she puts them through. With that goal in mind, she writes steamy romances that skirt the boundaries of propriety to keep readers enthralled until the wee hours of the morning. Heather has published over 40 regency romance novels and shorter works full of daring seductions and distinguished rogues. She lives north of Sydney, Australia, with her trio of rogues and pair of four-legged overlords.

You can find details of her work at

www.Heather-Boyd.com

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CONVINCING THE COUNTESS

by

ALINA K. FIELD

A penniless widowed countess with trade in her blood descends upon the country manor of her sons’ negligent guardian, intent on confronting him about her boys’ futures. Instead, she finds his younger brother, a business-minded aristocrat with a penchant for widows and a distaste for emotional entanglements. A man who once witnessed her greatest humiliation. A man offering enticing distractions that threaten to derail all her plans.

Called home at Christmas to bring his older brother to heel and sort out the family finances, a baron’s younger brother wishes nothing more than to finish the task and return to his railway project. But when he finds his mother entertaining a fetching widow he met many years earlier as the unfortunate bride of a ne’er-do-well earl, temptation steers him along a different track, one that may derail all his plans.

Can he convince the reluctant countess to set a course for her future that includes him?

CHAPTER ONE

RICHMOND, 1811

“GAD, I’ve never seen the likes of it.” Chester Halverton, Earl of Glanford, raised a shaky flask to his lips. “The gacking and puking go on forever. S’pose that’s how it is when you breed on a woman who’s not born a lady.”

Good God, what an ass.

The Honorable George Lovelace shuffled a booted toe through the gravel and glanced at his chuckling brother, Fitz—Fitzhenry Lovelace, eldest son and heir to Baron Loughton.

Fitz leaned against the next column of the circular folly in the Townsends’ garden, and stretched his legs along the stone bench he’d claimed for himself. “As the eldest of ten,” he said, “I can assure you, genteel blood makes no difference.”

The others—fashionable men of good birth, all Fitz’s friends, all well into their cups—laughed and chided Glanford. They’d slipped away from the terrace and wide lawn through the arbor to this secluded folly to smoke their cheroots and drink something stouter than their hostess was serving.

“Surely your bride isn’t ill all the time,” someone said. “Did she not accompany you today?”

Glanford had arrived with an attractive young lady with wheaten-colored hair and wide gray eyes. Tall and shapely, she’d matched her escort in height and had greeted her hostess with a solemn air of either haughtiness or deep unhappiness.

George had suspected the latter. Now he was sure.

“She did.” Glanford took another long drink. “Mooning about like death.”

“Still, she’s lined your pockets,” someone said.

The ass brayed. “And easy it was picking hers. Lured her onto a balcony and one stumble later she was in my arms—with the right nosy gossip observing.”

“Cleverly done,” someone said, and there was more drunken laughter.

George pushed himself off the column. The party had been a dead bore, and this? There wasn’t anything more tiresome than a bumptious fool’s marriage woes.

“Let it be a lesson for the young ones like young Lovelace here,” Glanford said.

Fitz glanced his way and shrugged.

Glanford belched. “Don’t ever give up your ladybirds though, George.”

He scoffed. “I do love tedious advice from my elders.” At eighteen he had no plans to keep a mistress. He had better ways to invest the small income he’d received from his late godfather. “Yet out of my unfailingly deep respect for you ancient ones, I shall keep it in mind.”

“Don’t you want to know why?” someone exclaimed, ignoring his sarcasm. “Do tell us, Glanford.”

He tried to catch his brother’s eye, but Fitz’s attention was fixed on the earl. Like George, Fitz was unmarried. However, Fitz did have a mistress tucked away in a lodging on Brook Street.

“No life there at all,” Glanford said. “Like poking through a hole in the ticking. Heard wives are like that. Never knew it would be true.”

In the general laughter that followed, Glanford turned a bleary eye George’s way. “Find a bumbling girl with a purse, George, but keep your side piece, unless you like bedding the dead.”

Everyone laughed, including Fitz.

He thought of the pain he’d seen in the lady’s gray eyes.

“I’ve heard,” George drawled, flicking at an invisible piece of lint, “a man has to make some effort. I’ve heard it takes a woman longer than two minutes to liven up. Unless, of course, one has engaged an actress.”

Loud snickers followed, petering out as Glanford’s face hardened. George forced a smile and held the ass’s glare.

“Now, now,” Fitz soothed. “What does my pup of a brother know about bed sport, eh?” He stood and slapped Glanford on the back. “George and I must be off.”

Fitz nudged him along the path through the arbor, the men’s voices and laughter following, Glanford booming out details of his mistress’s skills.

“I’ve saved you from pistols at dawn,” Fitz said.

Relieved to be leaving, George stopped, threw back his head, and laughed. “Only listen to him.”

“He is an ass.” Fitz was chuckling with him as they reached a turn in the path.

They both froze, their laughter dying. A lady stood rooted to the flagstones, a pale statue with wheaten hair, a far-away gaze, and hands twisted over a swelling waist. Glanford’s bride.

“Said she learned the trick from a sword swallower.” Glanford’s words rumbled through the garden.

He heard Fitz’s sharp breath over his own pounding heart.

The lady’s gaze swiveled their way. Color flooded her cheeks and her lower lip trembled. He managed an awkward bow.

“Sophie.” Fitz said, “are you well?”

She blinked, and a single tear rolled over her cheek, taking the color with it until she was as pale as the white gloves clasped at her waist.

Shame slithered through George. She looked ready to faint.

He took one step forward and she blinked, shuttering the hurt and freezing him in place with a stony gaze.

“Are you looking for Glanford?” Fitz asked, his tone gentle. “Shall I fetch him for you? The gentlemen are just down this path in the garden.”

Her chin eased up in another long scrutiny, the steady throb in her porcelain neck pounding hard on his conscience.

“You are mistaken, Mr. Lovelace.”

The words curled around him, the voice rich, deep, melodic.

“There are—and have been—no gentlemen in the garden today.”

She turned, wobbled, straightened, and walked away.

Fitz moved to join her, but George instinctively pulled him back. “Give her a moment,” he whispered. Their solicitousness might be seen as pity. Let her recover her dignity while she made her way back to the other guests.

They trailed at a distance. Instead of taking the path to the house, she continued on toward the drive. Assisted by their host’s grooms, she entered a waiting carriage that immediately pulled away.

George beckoned the grooms, ordered his horse, and wished his brother farewell.

“Don’t mind Glanford,” Fitz said. “He means no harm.”

“No harm? Your friend was abominable. Father would never be so disloyal to Mother.” The lady’s hurt and anger had been palpable.

Yet… he recalled her wealth came from manufacturing. It was said that she’d entered society with the goal of acquiring a title. “Do you suppose Glanford’s lady knew the price of her rise?”

Fitz shrugged. “For the sake of the title, I hope this child is a boy. I doubt there will be any others.”

He thought of her steely-eyed glare. “She’s rather formidable.”

“As is her father, and he won’t be happy when he learns of this. That was Clark’s carriage she climbed into. She’ll be going home to Papa.”

“Older brother or not, Fitz, if you ever treat a lady that way, you’ll have my boot up your arse. Give my thanks to our hostess.”

Fitz returned to the party, and George wandered toward the stable.

“I knew Clark,” a groom said. “A fair man, he was.”

“Aye. An’ what sort of puttock would send his wife off on her own after such news?”

“What’s happened?” George asked.

They exchanged grim glances. “Mr. Clark’s died.”

Hell. He raked a hand through his hair. “Does Lady Glanford know?”

“Aye. Her maid brought her the news.”

Hell and damnation. They should have escorted her. He shouldn’t have held Fitz back. She shouldn’t be alone through this.

And yet…what could he have done for her?

“Hold my horse. I’ll be back directly.”

He found his brother on the terrace and pulled him aside. Fitz could deliver Lady Glanford’s news to his fool of a friend.

CHAPTER TWO

LEICESTERSHIRE, December 1822

SOPHIE HALVERTON, neé Clark, widowed Countess of Glanford, had sworn she was finished playing the dutiful waiting lady.

And yet, here she was, waiting for Lord Loughton’s arrival, watching his mother, Lady Loughton, make the rounds of her drawing room where the family had gathered before the evening’s planned dinner.

The waiting would end tonight, Lady Loughton had promised. Fitz—Lord Loughton—wasn’t a bad sort, nor was his family. She’d bully him into a resolution, with his mother’s help, if needed.

She sipped her sherry and pondered her achievements. She’d convinced Burford, the Glanford steward, he must visit his ailing aunt if he wished to be mentioned in the good woman’s will. The moment he’d cleared Glanford land, she’d helped herself to the estate’s ready cash and organized a paltry bit of Yuletide cheer for the tenants, to be carried out by the vicar and his wife. Then she’d bundled the boys and her maid, traveled to Loughton by stagecoach, and walked the short distance from the Royal Swan to Loughton Manor to meet with Lord Loughton in person.

It had all been rather calculated and mercenary—either that or pitiful—and she hated the vulgarity of obsessing about filthy lucre. But she must confront her boys’ guardian.

Unfortunately, Fitz was dodging her.

Fortunately, his mother had insisted she and her party move from their room at the Royal Swan to Loughton Manor, thus easing the considerable strain on her pocketbook.

For the millionth time, her gaze slid to the drawing room door and then to the knot of children grouped in the corner. Washed, combed, and carefully dressed, the three boys were twitchy with hunger and incipient mischief.

As one of the older children, her Artie, her little Earl of Glanford, was in attendance. Ben had remained in the nursery tonight.

Since their arrival here, Artie hadn’t stopped smiling. Ben was just as delighted, though he’d prefer that the playmate his age—five—was a boy, not Fitz’s young daughter Mary. They would both have a Christmas like the merry ones of her childhood. If she could but continue to swallow her pride and be grateful, she would have a happy Christmas as well, and perhaps, the means of visiting London at no expense but her time.

“You are here.” Lady Loughton joined her on the ivory sofa and sent the children a fond smile. Petite and graceful in her lavender half-mourning, the lady’s blue eyes glowed and strands of white sparkled in the fair locks peeking from under her turban. Her loving nature hadn’t been cowed by the recent loss of her husband. Even Sophie felt wrapped up in the nurturing.

She set aside her glass. She must keep her purpose in mind. “When do you expect your son to arrive, ma’am?”

Lady Loughton beamed a smile and patted Sophie’s hand. “Soon. We will wait a bit longer. Be patient with us, dear Sophie.”

“Oh, ma’am, no, it’s you who must be patient with me. I’ve imposed a full week on your warm hospitality.”

“Imposed? Don’t be silly. You’re no trouble. Neither you nor your dear boys. There are always beds in the Loughton nursery, and with so many of my older children not joining us for Christmas, well, you see we have plenty of room. And of course, there’s the matter of you taking charge of Miss Cartwright’s launch. Such a godsend.”

Charlotte Cartwright was another Loughton Manor guest, a wealthy tradesman’s daughter, and schoolfriend to two of the Lovelace girls.

“Has Mr. Cartwright agreed to the scheme?”

“He will write any day now. And I’ve told him there must be a generous consideration for your troubles. New gowns at the very least. As for lodging, my second son and his wife will open their home to you and Charlotte.”

“And my boys.”

“Yes, of course. Unless—well, Arthur is of an age to begin his schooling. Or if you wish to delay, he and his brother might remain here. Fitz is their guardian, after all.”

“Their father’s death was a blow to them. I should like them to accompany me.” Sophie straightened her spine and secretly crossed her fingers. “And I shall need more, er, consideration from Mr. Cartwright than just new gowns. Even with your son offering shelter, I shall have expenses.”

The dowager patted her hand. “You leave it to me, my dear.”

She managed a smile. The urge to trust Lady Loughton—daughter of an earl, widow of a baron, and warm-hearted mother of ten—warred with Sophie’s well-earned distrust. The journey from wealthy mushroom to destitute countess had begun with one naive stumble into the arms of an earl. She had little faith left in any member of the aristocracy, not least herself. After all, she was more or less one of them now.

EARLIER THAT AFTERNOON…

AS GEORGE LOVELACE’S traveling chaise pulled into the yard of the Royal Swan, a groom in Loughton livery popped out of the stables.

“Afternoon, Mr. Lovelace.” Marty’s gap-toothed smile never failed. “Cold enough for you?”

He shook his stiff legs and pulled the capes of his greatcoat tighter. “Damnable weather, Marty.”

Marty laughed and fetched his trunk. “’Twill be snowin’ here any day, my bones say. I’ll just transfer your things to our cart and send this rig back. His Lordship ordered horses for the both of you. Just arrived back from Enderby a bit ago. Ain’t even been home as yet. Don’t know if he knows how the cold’s come in. Been awaitin’ you all afternoon snug by the fire in the taproom.”

Marty plopped the trunk into the cart.

“Marty.”

“Aye, sir?”

“He’s been here all afternoon?” No wonder Mother had begged him to hie himself home and see to Fitz.

Marty cracked another smile, the glazed look confirming he’d been in the taproom as well. “Aye, Master George. And it being dark in an hour or so, I’d best get your things home.” He tugged at his cap and turned away.

George shoved down his irritation. He could do with a warm fire and a brandy, but he’d have preferred them in his old room at home.

Inside, the taproom was teeming with men, all escaping the day’s icy blast.

His brother sat in the corner, waistcoat unbuttoned and tawny hair straggling over a carelessly tied neck cloth. He looked bleary-eyed and bloated.

George scanned the mostly familiar faces and exchanged greetings, making his way over to the boisterous table near the great yawning fireplace.

“Brother.” Fitz’s big paw pounded his back.

The tavern maid arrived with a fresh glass, a full bottle, and a tankard of foaming ale.

“A toast.” Fitz snatched the bottle and topped off drinks. “To my little brother George, the wizard who keeps Loughton afloat.”

He’d forgotten to mention their other brothers, Rupert and Selwyn, who both helped manage the family’s wealth.

George raised his own glass. “And here’s to the new Lord Loughton.”

Fitz’s smile faltered. “And to Father.”

After another round and George’s report on the weather, the crowd thinned, departing to see to their livestock and their suppers.

“And how goes the railway scheme, brother?” Fitz asked.

The railway scheme. He signaled the tavern maid and lifted his tankard, stalling for time. The railway scheme, as Fitz called it, had been taking his full attention since father’s autumn funeral. While he’d been off to Northumberland to look into steam locomotives, other members of the corporation were wrangling members of Parliament or meeting with landowners on the planned route.

His help was urgently needed with the last task.

“Coming along,” he said. “A few challenges, here or there.”

Fitz braced himself on his elbows and breathed brandy his way. “Georgie, I’m fuddled and foxed again.”

George sipped his ale, waiting.

Of all the Lovelace men, Fitz was the most affable, the most garrulous, and the least business-minded. Father had moaned more than once to George, wishing sons two, three, or four had been his first-born.

Not that George envied Fitz. The title’s obligations curbed a man’s freedom. Once Fitz stopped grieving and accepted his fate, he’d do well. He could don his robes and attend Parliament, and leave managing most of the family business to his brothers.

Fitz studied his drink. “Mother wants me home. I’m glad you’ve come. The others won’t be there. Not Rupert, nor Selwyn, nor their wives, nor our married sisters.” He grimaced. “And still, Loughton Manor is swarming with females.”

“As it always is.” Besides their mother, Loughton Manor housed their younger sisters, Cassandra and Nancy, who were not yet out and Fitz’s young daughter, Mary.

“There are guests, George. Female ones.”

Fitz’s gaze glinted with humor.

“Your fiancée?”

Fitz frowned. “No. Miss Parker is at home in Hampshire.” He swirled his brandy with a faraway look.

It had been a little over a year since Fitz lost his wife and newborn son. In September, he’d met Miss Parker at a house party, and become engaged within the week. Father’s death had delayed the nuptials.

The sudden engagement to a girl Fitz had only just met, so soon after his wife’s death, had seemed rash. “Having second thoughts?”

Fitz shrugged. “Rupert and Selwyn are abiding in London for the Yuletide, like sensible sods. Both Mrs. Lovelaces are increasing again. One of them is bound to have a boy.” He topped off George’s glass. “You know, George, you are the only one of us without a Mrs. Lovelace or an intended Mrs. Lovelace.”

He laughed. At the moment, he didn’t even have a mistress. He’d broken off with the last one a year ago when he’d headed to Scotland with his friend the new Duke of Kinmarty. “You’re forgetting James and Edward.”

“I won’t count them until their voices change.” His eyes glinted. “Mother is plotting.”

George called for another tankard. He’d marry when he’d made his own fortune and not before. “May as well spit it out.”

“There’s an heiress afoot. Bound to be mistletoe and kissing boughs everywhere, knowing our sisters. You’ll need capital for your railway, won’t you?”

He swallowed a groan. “So much for the quiet family Christmas while we’re still in mourning.”

“Name’s Charlotte Cartwright. Mother had planned to bring her out with the girls this season, before Father’s death delayed their come-out. They were schoolfriends you see.”

“A schoolfriend of Cassandra and Nancy.”

“Yes, I know. Your tastes go to older widows. But…fifty thousand pounds?”

Fifty thousand pounds, for a lifetime chained to a girl like his younger sisters. “Tempting, but no.”

Fitz laughed. “You didn’t even ask if she is pretty.”

“Is she?”

“Saw her at Easter. She’s comely enough. Fair like our sisters. Not quite as much of a hoyden, I hear. Damnation, but I’d like to dispense with Almack’s and all that bother and find our sisters a match in the country. Mother would appreciate having them nearby. I suppose their dowries are all in order?”

“Of course.”

“Good.” Fitz glanced toward the door and waved. “Come join us,” he shouted. “George, this man has a high-stepper I want you to look at.”

IT WAS full dark when their mounts picked their way down the drive to Loughton Manor. While George dismounted, Marty caught Fitz before he toppled. The sight had both brothers laughing.

“In the suds, Marty,” Fitz said. “It’s his fault.”

“Got to blame someone, milord,” Marty said.

“If you see to these poor plodders,” George said, “I’ll be happy to take the blame.”

“Always were a gentleman, Master George, even in short pants.”

George laughed and hauled Fitz across the yard and through the kitchen door.

Their long-time cook squawked a greeting. “Your mother’s been a-fretting. Waiting and waiting while the roast dries and the—”

“Our deepest apologies,” George said. “We’ll take a tray in the library.” He spotted a footman. “Send word to my mother to start without us.”

“We’ve just served the soup, sir.”

“There you go,” Fitz said. “We’re not too late, and I’m famished. Haul me up there, Master George.”

“I’ll haul you to your bedchamber to change.”

Another young footman popped in with an empty tray and Fitz grinned. “It’s a family meal, isn’t it, Jeffrey?”

“Aye, my lord. All but the very youngest at table.”

“That will be for your sake Georgie. Everyone who can manage a fork present to greet you. Late or not, she’ll want us there. Come along, brother.”

As they climbed the stairs and made their way to the dining room, his heart lifted. He was anxious to see his younger brothers; they’d taken father’s death the hardest.

He’d known that, and still he’d left immediately after the funeral, thinking that Fitz, the new head of the family, would tend to them until their return to school. Then Mother wrote saying she was keeping them at home for the Michaelmas term, and Fitz…

Fitz had let them down, and so had he.

SOPHIE SPOONED A MOUTHFUL OF SOUP, her insides churning.

For the sake of her cook and the hungry boys, Lady Loughton had started dinner without Fitz. Though she hadn’t entirely given up. Not one, but two empty places remained, one at the head of the table, and one directly across from Sophie, and the footmen made no moves to clear away dishes.

“Who else is coming, Mother?” Twelve-year old James called from his place near the vacant seat at the head of the table.

“You shall see,” Lady Loughton said.

“Is it Fitz’s fiancée?” Cassandra asked.

Nancy leaned over her plate and peered down the table. “Why have you placed her between Charlotte and me, Mama, and not next to Fitz?”

Lady Loughton smiled.

“Mama,” Cassandra said. “Tell us.”

Sophie glanced at her hostess and cleared her throat. “The soup is delicious, my lady.”

“Not too tepid?”

“Not at all,” she lied. As in many great houses, the kitchens were a good distance away.

“Lady Glanford,” Cassandra said, “you are purposely diverting our mother.”

Just as Sophie opened her mouth to defend herself, the dining room door burst open.

“Here we are.” Windblown and damp, Fitz filled the doorway and paused with a grin and a flourish. “And look who I’ve found. Your favorite brother.”

A man appeared next to Fitz and Sophie’s heart leapt into a gallop.

“I knew it would be you,” Cassandra cried.

CHAPTER THREE

SOPHIE STEADIED her spoon and tried to quiet the bolt of instant, unbidden attraction, and the rollicking tumult inside her. Taller than Fitz, the brother’s profile revealed a strong stubbled jaw, straight nose, and full lips. Dark hair brushed the edge of a white collar and crisply tied neckcloth; wide shoulders filled the dark superfine of a coat that tapered down to buff breeches covering the powerful legs of a man who must spend a great deal of time in the saddle.

Her gaze traveled back up and met blue eyes, and her breath left her. The same hard-planed cheeks, the same stubborn jaw, the same sardonic lips—but young Lovelace had grown into a shockingly handsome man.

It would have to be that brother.

She stiffened her spine as she’d done on that long-ago day in the Townsends’ garden, fighting the sudden attraction, holding the piercing blue gaze. Oh, he was delicious, and challenging, and…interested. Heat flooded her insides and rose into her cheeks.

“George.” The Lovelace boys swarmed him and pulled his attention away.

She took in a much-needed breath. She’d won this round.

As the tumult increased, she cast her gaze up the table. Artie squirmed in his seat, watching his friends. At the other end, Lady Loughton’s lips twitched as if fighting a frown. Or a smile.

The woman had ten children, but this new arrival was special to her, and as Fitz said, a favorite of his younger brothers and sisters. He was equally windblown and ruddy-cheeked, and likely showing up for dinner in the same clothing he’d traveled in.

Her own father—another hard-edged man—might have done the same, arriving late from the mill after a business meeting. Her vision blurred again.

She shook herself and glanced around—anywhere but at him.

Across from her, Charlotte, her jaw dropped like a fish ready to take a hook, was craning her neck as this brother went to kiss Lady Loughton.

Loughton was betrothed. Was this brother unmarried?

He might be interested in Charlotte’s fortune. Perhaps he’d be a good match, even without a title.

Sophie lifted her gaze again and found him studying her. He didn’t remember her. Or he did and…his lips twitched into a lopsided grin.

Oh heavens. He was drunk—both men were. While Fitz shouted greetings to all and sundry and ploughed into his dinner, this Lovelace’s gaze devoured her, promising things she’d never experienced.

And perhaps never would. The thought saddened her and cooled her racing heart. She’d once longed for romance, for passion, for true love, but ten years with Glanford…

At her age, it was best for a woman to shed that hope. Charlotte, on the other hand, was young and fresh.

If she was to bring the girl out…Charlotte would have a chance at a full season, a chance to meet someone worthy. Whether or not this Lovelace was worthy was an open question.

HE KNEW HER.

But from where? Foxed he might be, but desire flooded George, his gut and other parts recognizing this lady, who was no green girl from Cassandra and Nancy’s school.

He fell into the loveliest gray eyes he’d seen in a long time—wide, and luminous, and equally interested—while his ale-addled brain searched for a name.

Hands tugged at him, and he tore his gaze away, greeting James and Edward.

When he straightened, the lady was staring intently at a boy about Edward’s age, a boy with eyes the same shade as her own.

“Come kiss me, George.”

Mother’s voice pulled his attention from another split-second glimpse of a dark gown and a jeweled cross over a generous bosom.

“Mother.” He kissed her cheek. “You look well. I’ll change in a blink and return for the main course.”

“You will not. You will join us this moment.”

The footman ushered him to a seat across from the lady. His youngest sister, Nancy, sat to his left. The young lady to his right—fair-haired, blue-eyed, and rosy-cheeked—might have been Cassandra’s twin, so much did she resemble her.

He dropped a kiss on Nancy’s cheek, then inclined his head to the two strangers. “How do you do? I’m George Lovelace. One of you must be Cassandra’s school friend visiting for the Yuletide, but which one?”

Next to him, the girl pressed her napkin over a giggle, her cheeks flooding with more color. The other lady went impossibly still and her gaze shuttered.

His breath caught. Face heating, he remembered.

“Do behave George. Lady Glanford, Miss Cartwright, you both know Fitz. This other handsome fellow is my usually punctual son, George.”

Lady Glanford. He’d spent years remembering her hurt, her embarrassment. Her scold: There are no gentlemen in the garden today.

Lessons on gentlemanly behavior from an ironworker’s daughter? Try as he might to shake off the shaming, he was grateful he hadn’t. It had served him well in the wider world of trade.

A BOWL of soup appeared and he picked up his spoon. Lady Glanford’s lips moved in a stiffly polite greeting, stirring the devil in him.

Fitz and his fool of a friend, Glanford had been close once, but father had forced a stop to the loans and the gambling. What was she doing here? Had she changed much? Her innate dignity appeared intact. She was seldom in London, and their paths hadn’t crossed there. He’d heard bits and pieces over the years, that the marriage had been preserved, somehow, and that she’d even given her feckless husband a spare.

Head tilted, she listened to Cassandra’s babble whilst studying the new plate set before her, completely uninterested in both.

Her gaze lifted and met his, and held…and held…and…

Cassandra spoke, and the lady’s eyes flashed irritation before turning away and releasing him for a view of the same porcelain neck with its pounding pulse.

Age had softened her. She’d been an attractive girl, but she’d grown into a beautiful woman. And with Glanford’s death a year earlier, she was now a beautiful widow.

Was she the reason Fitz had delayed his wedding?

He shook off the thought. Fitz was more gentlemanly than Glanford, but when deep in his cups, he wasn’t discreet. If he’d been dallying with Glanford’s widow, he’d have mentioned it at the inn.

In his own liaisons, he’d taken the Glanfords’ unwitting lessons to heart. He didn’t pay actresses or ladybirds. His lovers were widows who relished their freedom, and he made sure he never left them unsatisfied.

This particular lady was free, and luminous, and…a challenge. And the house, Fitz had said, was bound to be filled with mistletoe…

Had Lady Glanford ever learned the pleasures of carnal love? And would Mother slay him if he pursued her?

His elbow brushed the flounce of a gown, and tension sparked in the guest next to him. The gray eyes across from him narrowed on the point where his sleeve touched Miss Cartwright’s.

Nancy leaned close. “Why are you late, George? Did the wheel fall off your chariot? Did your horse pull you into a ditch? Were you beset by a highwayman?”

He elbowed her. “You minx. You’re reading too many novels. It was nothing so entertaining. Merely snow. Bushels of it in Yorkshire. Dreadful weather, and the temperature is dropping. We’ll have snow here soon as well.”

“No one has introduced our friend.” That was Edward, piping up in his little boy’s voice.

A throat cleared across from him, and the lovely widow gestured toward Fitz’s end of the table.

“Mr. Lovelace, meet my son, Arthur, Lord Glanford.”

A new thrill rippled through him. He remembered her husky voice.

A dignified waif like his mother, the boy delivered a gentlemanly greeting, a contrast to the barbarian Lovelace boys.

“What of your railway?” James called. “Have you started laying the tracks?”

“Don’t bore us with talk of railways,” Cassandra said. “Tell us who you’ve been visiting. How is your friend, the duke?”

“He hasn’t been visiting the duke,” James said. “And if you bothered to learn anything besides embroidery, you’d know railways are not boring.”

“My grandfather built a railway,” Lord Glanford said.

Fitz looked up from his plate. “Did he indeed, Artie?”

A memory stirred: years earlier, Glanford had asked Fitz to serve as the boy’s guardian in the event of his death. Father had urged him to decline, to cut ties with the earl. Yet here he was, on a familiar basis with the boy.

Lady Glanford’s lips turned up in an encouraging smile that made his breath tighten again.

“It was in Shropshire,” the boy said.

George cast about in his mind for a Glanford who’d built a railway.

“Ah,” Fitz said. “You mean Clark.”

Lady Glanford’s father had been a partner in an ironworks. But in all George’s preparation for this project, he’d not seen any mention of Clark building a railway.

“It was at the ironworks in Shropshire.” Lady Glanford’s voice filled the awkward silence. “At the time, my father was learning his trade, and he helped cast the iron for a small railway meant to run through the works.”

Her son nodded. “It was an experiment to use iron for the rails instead of wood.”

His mother’s face filled with pride.

She’d been with child, that day in the garden, the day she’d learned of her father’s death. Young Glanford had not heard this proud tale from the man himself. He’d heard it from his mother.

“And did it succeed, Arthur?” Mother asked.

“Not at first, but…Mama can tell it better.”

Gray eyes glowing, Lady Glanford bestowed another fond smile on her son, before glancing at Cassandra who was pulling a face at her plate. The Lovelace girls were as barbarous as the boys.

“Glanford,” George said. “I’ll hear the story from you, but we’d best wait because the ladies will find it boring.”

“Oh no, my mother will not be bored, and she knows far more about iron working than I do.”

When he glanced across the table, Lady Glanford had focused an intense look on her son, delivering some unspoken maternal instruction.

“But of course,” the boy said. “I will look forward to speaking with you another time, sir.”

George’s plate disappeared, and another replaced it, to the sound of his stomach growling loudly. His tablemates giggled, and he knew: Charlotte Cartwright wasn’t a match for him.

“So, tell me, Lord Glanford, Miss Cartwright, have I missed any fun?”

His question set off a round of calls for sledding and games, gathering greenery and finding a Yule log, none of it requiring much input from him. He ate in as much peace as he could expect when he was home with this lot, and between mouthfuls, studied the lovely widow across from him.

AFTER DINNER, the nursemaid came for the three boys, and Fitz hurried off with them, saying he must visit his daughter. Before George could propose to wait for him in the library, Mother caught his arm.

“You’ll join us for tea,” she said. “I daresay you’ve had enough spirits today to last you a twelve-month.” The twinkle in her eye softened the chastisement.

He laughed and went about turning up the Argand lamps and lighting more candles. As the room brightened, he saw beribboned pine boughs hung everywhere.

“Oh, sisters mine, I see your handiwork.”

“Yes, and look up, brother,” Cassandra called.

He groaned. A kissing bough hung from the ceiling in front of the fireplace. “I thought you weren’t hosting the neighbors this year, Mother.”

“What do you mean?”

“So much mistletoe, and no single men about to steal kisses from the young ladies.”

Mother smiled. “We should have a jolly tune on the pianoforte. Lady Glanford, will you play for us again? We’ll leave the girls to chatter among themselves for a bit.”

“And let our food settle before Cassandra begins banging on keys.”

Lady Glanford chuckled softly. “You may say the same about my playing in a moment, Mr. Lovelace.”

The low mellow laugh and the saucy remark stirred him again. He took a seat on the sofa next to his mother and watched Lady Glanford move gracefully to the instrument, seat herself, and begin playing a piece from memory.

“She’s lovely, isn’t she?” Mother said in a low voice, studying her teacup. “I’ve convinced her to bring Charlotte out when the season starts, since we’ll still be in mourning. There’s no reason Charlotte should be held back with our girls.”

“Did you invite Lady Glanford here for that purpose?”

“About that—we will talk. Your brother—”

“Fitz and Lady Glanford?” Anger sparked in him.

“George,” Cassandra called from the other side of the room. “You must come and join us this moment.”

“That forwardness of your sister, dear boy, is another reason to delay her come-out. Go.” She glanced at Lady Glanford. “We will speak about the other matter later.”

“Very well.” He strolled over to the grouping of girls.

His sisters popped out of their chairs.

“Come and sit here, Charlotte.” Cassandra patted the chair in which she’d been sitting.

“No thank you,” Miss Cartwright said.

Cassandra patted again, making eyes at her friend.

“No, thank you, Cassandra.” In spite of the room’s chill, Miss Cartwright’s pink forehead glowed.

“Then you sit here, George.”

The sweet smile signaled danger, the kind a man regularly encountered with so many younger siblings. The chair itself appeared safe—the cushions were undisturbed, no frogs, pine cones, or knitting needles.

And she’d offered it first to her friend…

He glanced up. Cassandra had been sitting right under a kissing bough.

Nudging Nancy aside, he took her seat. Miss Cartwright let out a breath and bit back a smile.

“While you chat, Nancy and I will fetch more tea,” Cassandra said and led Nancy away.

George laughed. “Those two nodcocks must have had you at odds with the schoolmistress at every turn.”

She colored, smiled, and pressed her hand to her mouth.

“It’s quite all right for you to laugh in our drawing room,” he teased.

She nodded.

“Perhaps the ton will expect gravity, but at Loughton Manor, we suffer the reign of mischief and mayhem.”

“And mistletoe as well, I suppose.” She grinned. “It wasn’t my idea.”

Behind them, the music stopped.

“I don’t doubt Cassandra and Nancy are responsible. But in any case, we can’t let all this mistletoe go for naught. I shall persuade my mother into hosting the neighbors. Especially all the single young gentlemen.”

A shadow appeared next to him, bringing a whisper of muslin and the scent of lavender. He jumped to his feet.

CHAPTER FOUR

LADY GLANFORD HAD JOINED THEM, her face so sedate it stirred the devil in him again.

“Miss Cartwright and I have just been discussing the Yuletide decorations,” he said.

“Lady Glanford helped us with them,” the girl said.

The lady bestowed a fond look on Miss Cartwright. “Only in the gathering of greens and tying of ribbons. The girls have done all the rest.”

He slid a smile toward the younger lady, winked, and swept a hand at Cassandra’s abandoned chair. “Won’t you be seated, my lady?”

When she perched on the edge of the chair, Miss Cartwright pressed a hand down on another laugh.

“Come and play for us, Charlotte,” Mother called.

“You might as well practice on us, Miss Cartwright.” George turned in his seat. “Cassandra and Nancy, sing a duet for us, if you please. Miss Cartwright will accompany you.”

Lady Glanford turned her chair to watch the performance, and he studied her profile, remembering. Mere days into her first season, Glanford had drummed up a scandal. Their marriage had spared the girl’s reputation and Glanford’s creditors. After, there’d not been one whiff of gossip about her, though her husband’s antics had kept the scandal sheets aflame, at least in those early days of their marriage.

Glanford had been dead over a year, yet she still wore a somber gray, the gown simply-styled, the waist higher than current fashion. A thick bun at her neck tamed waves that glimmered in the candle light, dark blonde without a trace of white, and her only jewelry was a gold cross embedded with garnets. Her wealth—whatever was left of it—was not on display here at Loughton Manor.

“So, you are to be Miss Cartwright’s chaperone?” he asked. “I doubt your services will be needed for the entire season.”

“What do you mean?”

“She’s a comely girl. A friend of my sisters, so she must be…lively. And I’ve been given to understand she’s well-dowered.”

Her gaze narrowed on him. “If I do this, I intend for her to take her time choosing.”

He caught his breath. There’d been ferocity in that statement.

Miss Cartwright would be allowed a choice? How would Lady Glanford manage it? She wasn’t often in London, and certainly didn’t move in the highest circles.

“I intend for her to have every opportunity to meet worthy young men.”

Ah. She didn’t want the men of the highest circles. Men like the group in the Townsends’ garden. Like her late husband, and Fitz.

And himself?

“Worthy?”

She nodded.

“And young?” He scoffed. “I’m not sure you’ll find those two qualities combined in the gentlemen of the ton.” He smiled. “Present company excluded.”

Color rose in her cheeks and her lips moved up in an answering smile that didn’t reach her lovely eyes. “Perhaps. In any case, I’ve a good eye for fortune hunters of any age.”

“Her dowry will certainly draw interest.” He recalled Fitz’s belief that Mother was matchmaking, and this lady’s sharp gaze at dinner when his arm brushed Miss Cartwright’s. “Do you think I’m a danger to her?” He drawled the question like one of the rakes who frequented White’s.

“I don’t know you well enough to say. However, you are engaged in a business endeavor, and business endeavors always require capital. You are undoubtedly looking for more funds to invest.”

“Or, the project may be fully vested.”

The gray gaze pinned him, intelligent and challenging, stirring him. This lady was not just a beautiful widow. She might be a sharp businesswoman, if she was ever allowed to engage in trade.

“So, you and your partners foresee no problems? No cost overruns? No unexpected expenses?”

There were always unforeseen matters arising. The solving of them was part of the fun. Crossing swords with this lady was fun as well.

One slim finger tapped the arm of her chair. “Building a railway is not like commissioning a shipload of goods, where a gentleman, on the expectation of great profits, might sink a fixed amount, perhaps all of his wealth and then some, and learn it has been lost to the Barbary pirates with every hand, every bottle, and every crate.” The tapping accelerated. The steady gaze darkened. “In such a case, one loses in one fell swoop. For example, as one might have, if one invested in the Matilda Rose.”

The Matilda Rose? Why bring that up? The ship had been lost years ago. Plenty of fellows had lost money, but not him. On his father’s advice, he’d withdrawn from the risky investment, and so had Fitz.

He shoved down a nagging unease, gave into annoyance, and forced a laugh. “My dear Lady Glanford. It’s rare to meet a woman so well versed in business.” He leaned forward in his chair and lowered his voice. “Perhaps I’ll be a danger to you. Do you know, you are seated under the mistletoe?”

Her finger stilled. She stood and extended her hand.

No rings, no bracelets, no other adornments. He bent over white fingers and brought them firmly against his lips.

Her shiver shook him down to the soles of his boots.

“There.” Under the steady gray gaze, the pulse in her neck ticked. “I shall be more careful in the future, Mr. Lovelace.”

“I’m going up,” Mother announced. “George, you’ll escort me. Girls, don’t keep Lady Glanford up late.”

At the door, he cast a glance back and caught the lady in question watching him. She dropped her gaze and turned away.

So, she was not unaffected either.

MOTHER SAILED along on his arm with nary a limp or a creak of her bones, yet she seemed thinner, more fragile since his father’s funeral.

“Retiring early, aren’t you?” he asked.

“Not so early. You’ll remember that dinner was late.”

Mother could, and often did, stay up until dawn for parties and balls. Father had shared her love of society. It was no wonder she wanted her children at home for this first Christmas without him.

Though, he knew, that wasn’t the main reason she’d called him home.

As they ascended the steps, he plunged in. “What the devil is wrong with Fitz, Mother?”

“You’re just like your father,” she said. “Right to the point. I do miss him so.”

“I know. While we’re getting to the point, tell me also why Lady Glanford is here.”

She paused as they reached the landing. “What think you of Charlotte, George? She’s very eligible.”

“She’s a lovely young girl, and I don’t wish to marry her.”

“Well, I tried.” Smiling, she turned and presented her cheek to him, pointing up at the ceiling, where a kissing bough hung. “I may as well take advantage.”

George laughed, dropping a kiss on her cheek. “You’re still lovely as ever, Mama.”

“And not looking for a spouse either, so don’t even mention the notion.”

“No one could replace Father.”

She squeezed his hand and led him along to her private sitting room, dismissing her maid, and seating him next to her on the settee.

“I wish your father were here,” she said. “And Grumby as well.”

Grumby was their longtime steward. “He’s gone?”

“He’s never quite recovered from the fever that took your father’s life. I’ve given him leave to spend time with his sister.” She sighed. “I’m afraid neither he nor Fitz are seeing to the business of Loughton. Fitz comes home for a few days and is off again. His friends are a wild set. I thought, after Glanford died—”

“Fitz was still entangled with Glanford?”

“I fear so, though he kept it from your father.”

“And Lady Glanford’s visit?”

“The poor dear traveled by stagecoach, left the boys and her maid at the Swan, and turned up on my doorstep. She was determined to wait at the Swan until Fitz returned. Of course, I insisted she move in here with us.”

“Of course. But…she came to see Fitz?”

“The boys are delightful. I wouldn’t mind keeping them, if Fitz wishes and she agrees. Arthur might go off to school with James and Edward. They would enjoy that.” She squeezed his hand. “Sophie has been good with all the children, and has helped a great deal with the Yuletide preparations.” She studied the flames licking the grate. “I sense that she greatly needs help, and Fitz is her boys’ guardian.”

“She might have written Fitz with her concerns.”

“She said she has, and I believe that’s true. I’ve seen letters posted from Lancashire.”

If Fitz was ignoring his own family responsibilities, it was certain he wasn’t concerning himself with Glanford’s.

“She revealed nothing more?”

“No, and I didn’t wish to pry. She has a shield about her, but I sense her distress. I want you to get to the bottom of it, George. Talk to Fitz.”

He stood. “I’ll do so, first thing.”

“Tomorrow is soon enough. You must be exhausted after your long journey.”

She followed him to the door and turned her cheek up again for a kiss. “I’m so glad you’re here. Not just for Fitz’s sake, but for the others as well. The boys have been tormenting the life out of the girls.”

He patted her hand and wished her a goodnight.

IT WAS WELL on to midnight when Sophie shepherded the girls up to their bedchambers and climbed the stairs to the nursery suite. She kissed Ben, and then tucked the covers around Artie, not at all sure he and his chamber mates, James and Edward, were truly asleep. Even if they stayed up half the night whispering when she left, she was grateful they weren’t alone in the freezing cold manor house entailed to the Earl of Glanford.

She wished the nursery maid a good night and slipped down the stairs to the guest suite she shared with her maid.

Willa jumped from the chair by the roaring fire, where she’d been dozing.

“It’s toasty in here,” Sophie said, casting aside her shawl.

“And my old joints are grateful, dear one. I’m right glad we’re here. Come through and let’s get you undressed.”

Sophie followed the maid into the small room that contained a cot and a collection of loaned garments.

Willa addressed the gown’s laces. “I hear his lordship is here,” she said. “And?”

“And oh, for the days when I was just plain Sophie Clark.”

“You’ve never been plain. You mean rich Sophie Clark.”

“And single Sophie Clark.” A widowed viscount had expressed interest in her, other younger men of the ton, as well. They were all, of course, after her dowry. Even in the first bloom of youth, she hadn’t been a diamond of the first water.

Glanford had called her a diamond in the rough. Among other things.

What a fool she’d been. Her sponsor had warned her against fortune hunters. But a walk on a balcony at a crowded ball with Glanford and a new lady acquaintance had seemed harmless.

So delighted that his daughter had “captured” an earl, Papa had tossed aside his shrewdness and common sense. His daughter would be a countess. The rushed wedding was lavish, her gown exquisite, her wedding pearls the best Papa could buy.

The pearls were gone, as was all of the jewelry known to Glanford and his creditors; all but her grandmother’s garnet cross.

Willa helped settle a nightgown over her head and gathered her discarded clothing.

She seated herself at the dressing table and began taking down her hair while Willa chattered.

“I heard from the housekeeper at Glanford. Most of the girls have found places.”

Her stomach churned. She, a commoner, a nobody, had all but closed up the ancestral home of the Earl of Glanford. Even before Glanford’s death, the steward had begun the letting go of staff and selling off all but the draft horses and the mount that carried Glanford on his ill-fated ride for the foxes.

“Do not you worry, Sophie. You fed half the hungry mouths of Lancashire and saw the sick were tended. All know what you endured.”

She squeezed her eyes and took in a breath. “I have no need for pity.”

Willa took the brush from her hand. “Is Loughton ignoring you?”

“He’s only just arrived home.”

“Best he sober up I s’pose. Spent all afternoon in the taproom, I hear. That’s a guilty conscience. And the brother just as sopped.” Willa harrumphed. “And now off we go to London, saddled with Miss Cartwright.”

Sophie bit back the urge to scold and reached for her face cream. Frown lines were forming, just as Willa had warned since she was Ben’s age. “Chaperoning Miss Cartwright is a great opportunity.” Given her lowly roots, her late husband’s character, and her insignificant social ties, she’d been surprised by the request. “We’ll have shelter with Mr. and Mrs. Lovelace, food on the table, and coal in the grate. And I know you appreciate a warm fire.”

And in London, she could find time to conduct some private business of her own.

She reached for her dressing gown. “I’ll read for a while. Take yourself off to bed, Willa.”

When the door to the dressing room closed, she paced to the bedside table, picked up the novel she’d borrowed from the Loughton library, and set it back down.

Christmas was three days away and as delighted as she was to be able to celebrate a proper Yuletide, Willa’s wages were due. Paying her loyal maid would bide for now, but what was she to do about gifts for the children, Boxing Day presents, vails for the Loughton staff?

Her stomach churned again. Dinner had been a travesty of picking at food, barely tasting it. Fitz had been too bosky for a serious conversation, and his brother…

He was handsome, and he knew it. And he raised feelings in her. Little use was her set-down over the Matilda Rose—Lovelace had retaliated with his lips. That kiss on the hand had been disturbingly…intimate.

With a tremendous rumble, her stomach informed her she shouldn’t have picked at the good dinner.

The cook here was a generous sort who’d joked with the boys about their nighttime raids. Perhaps she could find a biscuit and warm some milk.

She slipped into her shoes, and made her way down the corridor to the stairs.

CHAPTER FIVE

AT THE NEXT LANDING, she spotted the door to the library ajar and heard a male voice.

If Fitz was still awake, perhaps she might approach him now. She edged closer.

“I’m as surprised as you are to find Sophie here.”

That was Fitz. Who was with him?

“Sophie, is it?”

Lovelace was here, and his tone held contempt.

“It’s not like that, George.”

“Hmm. She’s grown even comelier with age.”

She pressed a hand to her hammering heart. She’d felt his attraction, both when he’d ogled her during dinner, and later, with that kiss. Now, all she heard was disdain.

Were all men false when they were out of earshot?

“Are you interested, George? I should protest, perhaps challenge you. I’m the nearest thing to a protector…Not that sort of protector. I’m sole guardian of her boys.”

“Sole?”

“The other died. Glanford, with his usual attention to his responsibilities, never amended his arrangements before he cocked up his heels.”

“I see.”

She drew nearer, holding her breath for whatever else Fitz might reveal.

“Mother told me she simply appeared a week ago,” Lovelace said.

Heat rose in her cheeks. While she’d been overseeing the girls, George Lovelace and Lady Loughton had been gossiping about her.

“A countess traveling alone with her boys—your wards—by public coach.”

Still a vulgar upstart, that Sophie Clark. She held her breath through another long pause and finally Fitz spoke.

“You are interested. She hasn’t a farthing, and you need money for your railway scheme. The heiress is a better bet.”

“Miss Cartwright is a child.”

“A child with a sizeable dowry. Sophie’s is gone. She’d bring nothing to a marriage but two extra mouths, and for you to keep her might subject my wards to scandal. And deplete your purse, and I know how prudent you are about money. Though I suppose, whatever might happen here between the two of you under the mistletoe…” Fitz laughed. “No, there are too many small ears and eyes about, besides Mother’s. Don’t even try it.”

Angry tears sprang to her eyes, and she beat them back. She was a widow, and to the men of the ton, widows were fair game. Fitz and his brother were still thoughtless and just as calculating as every other nobleman.

Head pounding, she hurried past the door. Her conversation with Fitz would keep.

She found her way to the narrow servants’ stairs, where the upstart Sophie Clark belonged.

MOMENTS earlier

“STILL AWAKE?”

Fitz looked up and grunted, holding out an empty glass. “Pour me one, will you, George?”

“As if we haven’t had enough for one day.” He took the glass.

Unable to sleep, George had rummaged through an old wardrobe for a dressing gown and then headed down to the library. As he’d expected, he found Fitz by the fire, boots propped on the fender, still fully dressed.

Good, because he had questions.

He filled two glasses and took the opposite wingchair.

“Here’s to Father,” Fitz said.

George raised his tumbler and drank, deciding how to begin. Fitz was his older brother, and the head of the family now. He owed him some deference. On the other hand, they were brothers and Fitz was conducting himself like an ass. Plus, he needed to finish here and attend to his own business.

So, the direct approach. “What the devil is going on with you, Fitz? Mother wrote me that you’ve been in a funk.”

Fitz’s feet plopped to the floor.

“Don’t leave,” George said. “I’ve hardly had a chance to speak to you.”

“We had all afternoon at the Swan.”

“Which we spent mostly discussing horses. Tell me, what is Glanford’s widow doing here?”

Fitz’s eyes focused. “You don’t wish to ask about the heiress?”

He was deflecting. The late Earl of Glanford was a sore subject to Fitz.

“I’m as surprised as you are to find Sophie here,” Fitz said.

“Sophie, is it?”

Fitz waved a hand. “It’s not like that.”

“Hmm. She’s grown comelier with age.”

Fitz eyed him over his glass and smiled slyly. “Are you interested, George? I should protest, perhaps challenge you. I’m the nearest thing to a protector—” He held up a hand. “Not that sort of protector. I’m sole guardian of her two boys.”

“Sole?”

“The other died. Glanford, with his usual attention to his responsibilities, never amended his arrangements before he cocked up his heels.”

“I see.”

Fitz harrumphed and fell deep into frowning.

“Mother said she simply appeared a week ago.” George swirled the brandy, watching his brother out of the corner of his eye. “A countess traveling alone with her boys—your wards—by public coach.”

Of course, Mother wouldn’t—couldn’t, by all that was honorable—turn her or her boys away.

Fitz lounged back, his gaze hooded. “You are interested. She hasn’t a farthing, and you need money for your railway scheme. The heiress is a better bet.”

“Miss Cartwright is a child.” He stood and fetched a bottle from the sideboard.

“A child with a sizeable dowry. Sophie’s is gone. She’d bring nothing to a marriage but two extra mouths, and for you to keep her might subject my wards to scandal. And deplete your purse, and I know how prudent you are about money. Though I suppose, whatever might happen here between the two of you under the mistletoe…” Fitz laughed and glanced toward the door. “No, there are too many small ears and eyes about, besides Mother’s. Don’t even try it.”

He beamed him the flim-flamming smile he used to charm his way out of trouble.

A shadow flashed in the corridor, like a ghost scurrying by. Or, since Loughton Manor wasn’t haunted, a Lovelace chit. At this hour, the servants were abed. One of his sisters was roaming the Manor.

“I shall be watching, as well,” Fitz said.

“Good.” He refilled Fitz’s glass and set the bottle on the table beside him. “We’ll talk more tomorrow. I’ve heard from Selwyn about the tax levies. Perhaps we can talk during a morning ride?”

Fitz waved a hand and George left him staring into the fire.

What the devil was Fitz running away from? Tomorrow, he’d get his brother out for a brisk ride, and then sit him down to go over the books.

He stepped into the corridor, listening. The figure had moved toward the servants’ stairs. He headed that way.

CHAPTER SIX

WHEN HE REACHED the bottom of the stairs, George heard voices and paused.

“It’s the artillery for me.”

That was his brother James.

“And I’m going to build things.”

Edward was here also.

“So am I.”

“You can’t, Artie,” Edward cried. “You’re a lord.”

“So what? I’m going to open a foundry and run it. Mother says we have ore on our land. Isn’t that right, Mama?’

His heart quickened. The figure gliding past the library hadn’t been one of his sisters. Lady Glanford was here.

How much had she heard of his conversation with Fitz? He was destined for more shaming.

“Yes, I believe so,” she said.

“But how can you know?” James asked.

“Grandfather taught her,” Artie said. “My mother wanted to run Grandfather’s business. It was her dream.”

“Ladies don’t run businesses,” James said.

“Why not, James?” she asked. “Even ladies must be allowed to dream, don’t you think? I intend to help Artie with his foundry in any way I can.”

A long pause ensued while his brothers considered the startling notion of a lady dreaming about running a business. The cheerful note in her voice had surprised even him—Glanford apparently hadn’t crushed her spirit. She’d not entirely given up the dream, and she was grooming her son to be more like her father. Or herself.

“May we have another biscuit?” Artie asked.

“Truly, my dear lady, Cook will not mind.” His voice breaking with budding adolescence, James was trying some gentlemanly charm.

George and his older brothers had sneaked out of the nursery on many nights, exploring the Manor, and sometimes the grounds, unsupervised. They often ended with a raid on Cook’s pantry.

“Pleathe, Mama.” That was the lisp of a very young child.

“Oh alright. Just one more each.”

George crept stealthily into the kitchen.

Four boys huddled on benches at the worktable. The lady was nowhere in sight.

“What’s going on here?” he roared.

They shrieked, an arm shot out, and a mug rolled away, flooding the wooden table with milk. When he walked into the candlelight, the cries turned into laughter, and his two brothers attacked him.

Lady Glanford raced from the pantry. The smallest boy flung himself into her free arm and she juggled the boy and the plate like a waiter at White’s steadying some drunken sod.

“Mr. Lovelace.”

Candlelight glowed in her eyes and shimmered in a bronzed cascade of hair that took his breath away.

He tore his gaze away and swatted at Edward. “I beg your pardon, my lady. I couldn’t resist frightening these two nodcocks.”

Artie mopped at a pool of milk with the sleeve of his nightshirt.

“Not your sleeve, Artie.” Lady Glanford set down the plate, and tossed a tea towel, still clutching the smallest boy.

“I didn’t think about frightening your boys,” George said. “I beg your pardon,”

“As you should.” She settled the boy back on the bench.

“George always scares us.” James elbowed the child. “Don’t be afraid, Ben. And don’t worry. We’ll repay him when he least expects it.”

“You’ll do no such thing, Ben and Arthur. We are guests here.” Lady Glanford slid the plate into the center. Four biscuits sat squarely in the middle, one atop the other.

He leaned against the sideboard, watching. A too-short dressing gown revealed trim ankles and shapely limbs. She must have borrowed nightclothes from his shorter sisters. In her dishabille, she looked closer to twenty than…how old was she? Surely past thirty.

The little boy glanced back at him. Like his brother, he had Sophie’s eyes.

“So, you are Ben. I’m pleased to meet you.”

“Tell her George,” Edward said. “Tell her Cook keeps the biscuits in the pantry for us. I want another. Lady Glanford doesn’t believe us.”

She raised her eyebrows at him, making him laugh.

“It’s true, my lady. Cook spoils these Lovelace brats. I’ll fetch them.”

“No, I will. But let Cook’s wrath be on your head, Mr. Lovelace. The nursemaid’s as well, when they all toss and turn with the stomach ache.”

He bowed. She scoffed, picked up a candle, and entered the storeroom.

“We’re glad you’re here,” James said. “We’ve been going mad with boredom.”

“Mother said you’ve been tormenting the girls.”

James shrugged. “I wish she had let us go back to school. And it’s them tormenting us. You can’t imagine the fits Cassandra threw when Mother told her she was delaying her come-out. I wanted to thrash her.”

George swallowed a laugh. “A gentleman doesn’t strike—”

“Yes, I know. But after Charlotte arrived and Lady Glanford took us out to gather greenery, the girls ran about plotting and hanging kissing boughs everywhere.”

Edward scrunched his face into a frown over his milk moustache. “Cassandra says it’s time for you to marry, and that you’re going to marry Charlotte.”

He choked, grabbed Edward’s mug and took a drink, weighing the best time to throttle his sister.

“But Charlotte is too silly for you,” Edward continued. “Cassandra was fretting that you might like Lady Glanford better. I do. I think you should marry her.”

“Exthept, we don’t have a feather to fly with.” Ben broke his silence cheerfully around a mouthful of biscuit.

Artie shot his brother a look. “Don’t speak when you’re chewing.”

“If George marries Lady Glanford, we’ll be brothers,” Edward said, warming to the argument.

James thumped Edward’s head. “You numbskull. George is our brother. He’d be their stepfather. Which would make us their uncles.”

“Don’t hit me,” Edward shouted, and they were off on a noisy dispute.

He snatched up both his brothers and squeezed between them. “Do you want to argue, or do you want to hear about my railway?”

WHILE THE CONVERSATION continued in the kitchen, Sophie paused to set her candle on a box in the larder and pressed a hand to her chest. Thank God the boys were here. Mr. Lovelace had all but torn off her nightclothes with his hot perusal. Best get everyone fed and back upstairs to the nursery, and perhaps hide there with them until after he’d gone off to bed.

She lifted the lid on the biscuit jar.

“The fits Cassandra threw when Mother told her she was delaying her come-out. I wanted to thrash her.”

Mr. Lovelace murmured something inaudible.

Curiosity pulled her closer to the open door.

“Yes, I know,” James said. “But after Charlotte arrived and Lady Glanford took us out to gather greenery, the girls ran about plotting and hanging kissing boughs everywhere.”

“Cassandra said it’s time for you to marry, and that you’re going to marry Charlotte.”

That plot had been obvious to everyone tonight. Mr. Lovelace remained silent. Perhaps he’d worked that out already. Perhaps he didn’t mind and that’s why he’d goaded her earlier about Charlotte.

“But Charlotte is too silly for you. Cassandra was fretting that you might like Lady Glanford better. I do. I think you should marry her.”

Her heart thumped so loudly she almost missed the next words.

“Exthept, we don’t have a feather to fly with.”

The earthenware lid slipped, and she juggled it, almost dropping it.

Ben had heard the expression from one of their fellow travelers, and so tickled by the poetry of it, he’d searched out the meaning from a maid at the inn.

An argument erupted between the two Lovelace boys drowning out anything Mr. Lovelace might have said.

Clutching the sideboard, she steadied herself, letting the blood flow back to her hands. She really, really must stop eavesdropping.

Ben was only a child, and he wasn’t intentionally trying to embarrass her.

And what did it matter what George Lovelace thought? She didn’t want to marry—not him, or anyone else. Her boys were what mattered, protecting them, seeing to their futures.

She took a deep breath and returned to the biscuits. She’d tried to spare her boys the full truth. They couldn’t have all they wished for, but they’d had all they needed in the way of food, good shoes, and proper clothing. And love. She’d made sure they knew they were loved.

“Do you want to argue, or do you want to hear about my railway?” Mr. Lovelace said, and the quarreling stopped.

Settling the lid on the jar, she hurried out. She would hear more about his railway. Never mind his arrogant leering. The railway might be a sound investment, once she had access to capital.

AN EMBARRASSED NURSERY maid appeared just as the boys finished another round of biscuits.

“Fell asleep, did you, Meg?” Mr. Lovelace teased.

“You know better, Master James and Master Edward,” the middle-aged lady scolded, “sneaking about and bringing along the little one. Why you’re as bad as…” She bit her lip and glanced at Mr. Lovelace, her eyes twinkling.

“Hah,” James said. “As bad as George. And I’m too old to be in the nursery.”

“Me too,” Edward said.

“Off you all go,” Sophie said before another argument started. “I’ll tidy up here. Mr. Lovelace, would you accompany them and make sure there are no more disputes?”

He ushered them to the door. Her relief was cut short when she saw him returning.

“Please, Mr. Lovelace. Go. You must be tired after your journey.”

He gathered up plates and mugs and she made herself shrug. “I suppose there’s no point in arguing with you.”

“None at all.” He brushed by her, sending an unexpected tingle through her. “And by the way, my compliments on your boys. They are certainly better-behaved than my brothers.”

“James and Edward have been very kind to my sons. I’m grateful.”

“You don’t find them too spirited?”

She thought of their green-gathering excursions and smiled. “Oh my, no. At home with family, children should be free to be spirited. Especially during the Yuletide.”

“Perhaps their grief is easing. Father’s death was hard on them.”

“Yes. My condolences. I do understand.”

He set down the cups and dishes. “Mother employs a scullery maid who will see to these. Come.”

Tucking her hand over his arm, he pulled her into his warmth and they climbed the dark narrow stairs, the woodsy scent of his soap muddling her mind.

“Mother confided she’s enjoying your visit. She likes a full nursery and I believe she’s scheming. Not just about you sponsoring Miss Cartwright. She mentioned the boys. What are your plans for them when you go up to London? James and Edward will return to school. Perhaps Arthur could join them, and Ben can stay in the nursery with little Mary.”

Send Arthur to school? The vicar had tutored him in Latin, and she herself was teaching both boys the other basics. But for the lack of funds, he was ready.

They climbed in silence to the second floor and paused on the landing. Dim light shone from a nearby lamp.

The thought of sending Arthur off depressed her. “At present, Arthur is being educated at home.”

“He’ll benefit from school,” Mr. Lovelace murmured. “Not just from the instruction, but also from the connections and friendships.”

She squeezed her eyes shut a moment and eased in a breath.

“I would miss him terribly, but I do agree, Mr. Lovelace. I…” Perhaps he might intervene with Fitz. “I haven’t yet had a chance to discuss schooling with your brother. As his mother, my decision-making is limited.” As well as my means to pay school fees.

He frowned. “But…Glanford died over a year ago.”

“Yes.”

As his gaze searched her face, she tried to tame the turmoil inside her, reminding herself of Fitz’s comment about Mr. Lovelace keeping her.

Warm hands enveloped her own and their grip firmed.

“Fitz hasn’t spoken to you at all?”

She shook her head.

“Hasn’t visited Arthur?”

“Not since Glanford’s funeral. And thus, I am here. And it’s late. I mean to rise early and shamelessly corner him over breakfast.”

His thumbs swept over the backs of her hands, sending unexpected heat roaring through her.

“You are cold.”

“Mr. Lovelace,” she said, feeling breathless. “It’s the middle of the night. I’m in the dark with a man, a man in his nightshirt and dressing gown, and he’s fondling my hands. I am anything but cold at this moment.”

His eyes lit, and the corners of his mouth quivered, and he bit back a grin. “My lady.” He laughed. “Come this way.” He tugged her a few steps and glanced up.

Her gaze followed his, and her heart turned cartwheels, pounding like the pistons of a steam engine. A treacherous kissing bough hung from the ceiling. This was a recent addition. She didn’t remember the girls hanging it.

CHAPTER SEVEN

“OH DRAT,” she whispered. “Those girls.” She stepped back and raised one of her hands, still engulfed in his.

The grin creasing his face made her knees weak. Before she could topple, he pulled her into his arms, cupped the back of her head, and she found herself looking up into midnight blue eyes and a silent request for permission.

The spark of attraction roared to a full blaze, sucking the air from her lungs. Her chin moved up and down of its own volition.

Softness. Warmth. The kiss was tender, almost tentative. His arm came around her and her breasts met hard muscle. She gasped, and his tongue touched hers, coaxing, convincing, melting her all the way to the soles of her feet, and then back up again. She’d been kissed before, quite thoroughly, but it had never stirred her like this.

He tugged her closer and her conscience whispered. Too many small ears and eyes about.

It was only a kiss—a passionate, determined, one but…Oh. His hand slid down to her backside and she gasped again.

If Glanford had ever aroused feelings like this…

Her heart took a leap and then crashed. Lovelace meant to seduce her. He was seeing how far she would let him go. No one had ever… They’d only just met, and he thought she would…

Blasted overbearing coxcomb.

She was calling his bluff. If he took this too far, one healthy scream would bring someone running.

She went up on her toes and matched him with lips and tongue and hands, threading her fingers through thick hair and—

He pulled away and rested his chin on the top of her head. His banyan had loosened, and her cheek touched warm skin and firm muscles.

Heavens. He was not wearing a nightshirt. And his heart was racing like a full team of horses.

WITH A HUFF, he loosened his embrace and Sophie slipped out of his arms, her glazed look moving from desire to confusion to…anger?

Would she clout him? Considering her answering kiss, that would be unjust.

Grinning, he crossed his arms.

“I shall avoid this spot on the landing,” she said. “And don’t try that behavior with Miss Cartwright.”

“Miss Cartwright?” The girl was the furthest female from his mind. “Don’t worry. She’ll be like a sister to me. You, on the other hand…”

She leveled him with a heated gaze. “I, on the other hand, am not your sort.”

“My sort?”

“I’ve no interest in a liaison. Not now and not if or when I bring Charlotte—Miss Cartwright—to town.”

“You’ll be staying with my brother. I’m bound to visit there during the season.”

“And I am sure, you’ll find plenty of ladies to court.”

“What if I want to court you?”

“Don’t mock. I’m not seeking a lover.”

“What about a husband?”

“No. I have sons to guide and protect.”

His mother must have made the same argument with herself about keeping James and Edward home for the term. But both ladies would sooner or later have to let go of the leading strings.

“In a year or two, they’ll both be off and you’ll go on with your life, seeing them during the school holidays. And though you’re not perhaps in the first bloom of youth, you are still young enough, and quite beautiful, and—forgive my candor—gentlemen in need of heirs will note that you have produced two healthy sons.”

Astonishment flashed, and the pulse in her neck started up. “I won’t marry to serve as another nobleman’s brood…” She bit her lip, her chest rising and falling most becomingly. “You are a provoking man, Lovelace, but I appreciate your bluntness. Let me be equally blunt. If I could find the sort of good man who’d be a proper stepfather to my boys, I have little to offer. You heard what my son Ben said.”

“I did. A love match is not unheard of.”

“Are you mad? What sort of love match could I find?” She shook her head, and hurried off down the corridor, hips swaying under the too short dressing gown.

Me. You could find me.

He followed her to a door where a maid appeared and looked him over appraisingly before ushering the lady in.

When the door latch clicked, he rubbed his eyes. Perhaps, like Fitz, he was also losing his mind.

THE NEXT MORNING, George entered the breakfast room to find only his mother.

She glanced up from a letter, wished him a good morning and sent the footman for fresh toast.

“I see I am late,” he said. “Where is everyone?”

“Sophie took all the children out to gather more pine boughs and run off their exuberance. You can still catch up if you wish.”

“Tempting,” he said, surprised that he meant it. He turned away and busied himself filling a plate. Sophie’s kiss had piqued more than his curiosity. He’d been up half the night thinking about her. “I’d best have a chat with Fitz first.”

“Fitz left me a note. He’s off to Melton Mowbray.”

The tremor in her voice signaled anger. He seated himself next to her and unfolded the note she handed him. Fitz was leaving to join an impromptu hunting party and would return before the New Year.

Swallowing an oath, he accepted another letter and scanned the page. The candlemaker begged her ladyship’s pardon, but would greatly appreciate payment of a debt months in arrears.

“I’m so happy you’re home, my son.” The hand patting his seemed frail. “I wonder if you might run into the village for me later. Perhaps talk to this merchant and run another small errand. The jeweler has resized a ring for me.”

“I’d be happy to.”

“The girls are planning to take the carriage today and shop.”

“You’re not going?”

“No. I’ll send a maid and a footman.”

Was Lady Glanford also going? He shook off the thought. Mother’s concerns about Fitz came first.

And she must eat more. She was growing too thin.

When the footman returned, George heaped marmalade on toast and insisted she have some as well.

AFTER THEIR HUNT for more greenery, Sophie left the younger children in the care of the nursery maids and went to tidy her hair. Not finding Fitz up yet, she’d agreed to the morning’s expedition. The air had been thick with the smell of snow, and the footman who’d come along to help with the Yule log predicted it would begin falling before nightfall.

She found Willa at work picking out the hem of a crimson gown. The maid stood and shook out the dress. “Beautiful, ain’t it?”

Sophie stripped off her gloves and lifted the lush silk. Seed pearls and blonde lace trimmed the neckline and hem, and the waistline and pouf sleeves were the latest in fashion.

“It’s Lady Loughton’s. Ordered last summer afore his lordship died. She said you must have it, as well as some day gowns she’s put aside for you. Here.” She pointed out a blue walking dress in a fine woolen cloth.

“I couldn’t possibly.”

“You’ve brought naught but two plain gowns, and those out of fashion. Better you look your best for Artie’s sake. Let all know Lady Glanford means business.”

She sighed. “All right. But don’t ruin the cloth. She’ll want those hems put back when we leave. Help me change out of these wet skirts.”

“And you’ll wear this blue wool today. ’Twill keep you warm and bring some blue to your eyes.” Willa bustled about unlacing her. “And how are these stays? Biting too much?”

“They’re fine.”

“Hmm. We’ll be having you looking your best. Bound to meet some of the neighbors in town today.”

“In town?”

“I hear those girls planned to go into town.”

“Oh yes, I did hear them mention it.” Sophie fingered the cross at her neck. “Can you go with them and run an errand for me?”

“Aye. But won’t you be going yerself?”

“I have to see Lord Loughton.”

Willa went silent as she settled the blue gown over her, straightening it, and then sighing. “Lord Loughton’s gone off this morning. Won’t be back tonight.”

“What?” Heat flooded her face. “G-gone off?”

“Off to Thurgood Manor near Melton Mowbray. Had it from the groom, Marty. Come and sit and I’ll dress your hair.” Willa held the dressing table chair for her. “Left a note for his mother. She was fit to be tied, they say, but that Mr. George Lovelace will have all in hand soon. Mayhap you should ask him for help?”

She dropped her gaze from the rising color reflected back at her in the mirror. Help from George Lovelace might come at a higher price than a few kisses under the mistletoe.

Why did he stir her so?

“There.” Willa patted her shoulder.

Sophie let out a breath. Willa had coaxed some of her thick mop into face-framing curls.

“Been wanting to do this,” the maid said. “You look like yourself again. You’ll catch some gentleman’s—”

“Willa. You know I’ve no plans to marry.” Once had been enough.

Sophie unhooked the chain at her neck and gazed again at her grandmother’s cross. She’d told Glanford the metal was not real gold, that the garnets were just bits of glass, that it was merely a cheap family heirloom, dear for its memories. Only the last bit was true, but he’d believed her, and this piece of jewelry hadn’t gone to pay creditors.

It will one day be yours and you may pass it to your own daughter, her mother had said.

Instead she’d had sons, and she was grateful for both of them. And they must have a Christmas.

“We may as well both go into town,” she said.

THE HIGH STREET was crowded with shoppers, and George greeted neighbors, thankful he hadn’t spotted the ladies from Loughton Manor. He hurried past the drapers, where they might be thumbing through ribbons and bolts of cloth, and entered the jewelers.

Hawkins stood behind the counter frowning down at a short woman in a dark cape.

George raised a hand in greeting and studied a display of gold chains. With no other customers in the shop, he wouldn’t have long to wait.

“I’m asking where you got it,” Hawkins said.

“As I said,” came the pleasant reply, “the cross is my lady’s. I’m here at her behest to sell it. I’ve not stolen it.”

“Perhaps you could fetch your lady to vouch for you.”

“She’s asked me to do this for her.”

“I don’t know you. Are you a visitor to these parts?”

The woman huffed out a breath. “I’m here for the sake of my lady’s privacy.”

George stepped closer.

“But, if you must know, we are guests—”

The floor creaked under him. The woman cast a glance back, and her mouth dropped open.

He barely managed to keep his from doing the same. He’d seen her in the doorway of Lady Glanford’s bedchamber.

She bobbed a curtsy and reached for the item. Hawkins’ hand came down, covering it, evoking a sputter of protest.

“Good day to you both.” George joined them. “May I have a look, Hawkins?”

Hawkins lifted his hand revealing a gold cross set with garnets.

Color rose in the woman’s wrinkled cheeks. Plump and older, she looked to be the sort of lady’s maid who’d started as nurse to the woman she served.

“It’s not stolen, Mr. Lovelace.”

After an assessing look, more for Hawkins’ sake than his own, he nodded. “I believe you.” He turned the cross over. The initials inscribed on the back were not Lady Glanford’s. Surely this was a family piece, and if it was the only jewelry she’d brought with her to Loughton Manor, it must be dear to her. “But, why is she selling it?”

He didn’t need to ask, but he was curious to see the maid’s response. One learned much about a man or woman from observing their servants.

She looked away, took a breath, and seemed to steel herself. “’Tis…’tis a private matter, sir. Meaning no disrespect.”

“Of course.” They hadn’t a feather to fly with. “None taken. Hawkins, I’ll vouch for this good woman. Carry on and I’ll return later.”

He stood in the haberdashery across the street, watching and thinking about the maid’s quiet dignity, so like Sophie’s. Was she the one who’d brought Sophie the news of her father’s death?

All the shame of that day came back over him. Not all men were beastly to their wives. Father hadn’t been, and neither were his brothers, not even Fitz. He ought to have spoken up more that day.

When Lady Glanford’s maid exited the jewelers, he crossed the street and entered the shop.

AFTER COMPLETING his mother’s missions, he easily tracked the footman loading packages onto the family carriage. He pointed George to a shop that sold tea and sweets.

Cassandra beckoned him to a table she shared with Nancy, Miss Cartwright and Lady Glanford. “We’ve finished our cakes, George, but we’ll sit with you while you have yours. Will you ride back with us in the carriage?”

“There’s no room for me with all your packages, and it’s a bracing fine day for a walk. And thank you, but I will pass on cakes.”

“He’s going to the inn to drink ale,” Nancy said. “You never spend time with us anymore, George.” She sent Cassandra a sly look. “And we so wanted you to become acquainted with Charlotte.”

Miss Cartwright’s cheeks reddened like a late summer peach.

Lady Glanford stood. “Take my seat, Mr. Lovelace. I’ll go now and see to the carriage.”

Her maid appeared holding her cloak. Neither would look at him.

“The carriage is just outside, and I believe you should all climb in now, else Mother will be wondering if you’ve run off somewhere.”

“Your brother is right,” Lady Glanford said, urging them along.

“But you haven’t shopped, Lady Glanford.” Nancy said. “You haven’t bought any gifts.”

“And how could she with you along,” George said. “You can’t keep a secret to save yourself.”

At the carriage, George handed the younger girls in while Lady Glanford held back.

When he offered her his hand, she shook her head. “I do have shopping to see to. Willa and I will walk back.”

He cast a glance at the sky. After wading through the Loughton accounts, he’d needed the cold walk into town, but the weather had grown even colder and the state of the clouds meant the snow—when it came—would be heavy and fast.

“I will accompany you.”

She blinked and opened her mouth.

“Your maid—Willa is it? Willa must ride back in the carriage. Willa, I shall see to your lady’s safe arrival home, no matter the weather.”

Lady Glanford cast a glance at the maid.

“I insist. Willa, you appear to be a woman of great good sense. I’m trusting you to keep my nodcock sisters and Miss Cartwright in hand.” He took the maid’s arm, helped her in, and closed the door.

“Now,” he said. “Your shopping. Gifts for Arthur and Ben, is it?”

“Sir, you needn’t trouble yourself—”

“I happen to know where to buy the best toys.”

“There is no need. Your sisters have led me through every shop on and off the high street.”

“Oh, but you’ll need someone to carry your packages.” He set her hand upon his arm. “Let us try to finish before the snow starts.”

AS THEY LEFT THE VILLAGE, the snow began falling in earnest, gathering on the brim of Mr. Lovelace’s hat and in the folds of Sophie’s red mantle, and cloaking the stark grays and browns of the winter landscape.

Elation bubbled up in her and she laughed. “The snow is magical, isn’t it? The boys will love this. But I suppose we’d best hurry.” She stepped out, and stumbled.

Strong arms caught her, steadying her against a firm chest, reminding her of the kiss under the mistletoe.

She took in a jittery breath and with it, the scent of clean starch and a man’s bergamot cologne that started her trembling.

“Come,” he said. “You’re cold. Let’s turn back. I’ll borrow a carriage.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

SOPHIE SQUEEZED her eyes shut and eased in another breath. They’d spent a companionable hour in town. Mr. Lovelace, as it turned out, shopped the way she liked to, when she was able: quickly and decisively, haggling only as needed to reach a fair agreement for both parties.

For James and Edward, she’d bought carved flutes, Mr. Lovelace assuring her the nursery staff wouldn’t curse her for the noisy gifts. For little Mary, she’d found a tiny reticule; for the older girls and Lady Loughton, handkerchiefs she’d find time to embroider; for Willa, a skein of yarn for a scarf; for Ben, some toy soldiers; and for Artie, a spyglass.

Artie’s gift had been surprisingly affordable—suspiciously so. In the midst of negotiations, the shopkeeper’s proud wife had enticed Sophie away to see a chubby new grandbaby. Mr. Lovelace had concluded the transaction.

It had been kind of him. She would pay him back whatever extra he’d paid after she visited Papa’s jeweler in London.

Mr. Lovelace had also introduced her to other merchants and neighbors who’d greeted her warmly. No one pulled her aside asking when she would pay her bill or repair the fences. Though, she recollected, the chandler had scurried out of his shop for a whispered discussion with Mr. Lovelace. She wondered if Lady Loughton was in arrears, and if so, why? Were the Lovelaces in financial straits? If so, what might it mean for her boys? So many worries.

But the snow…the snow was magical, spreading a white blanket over broken bricks, ruts in the road, and overgrown hedges. The snow made everything beautiful.

“Are you well?” he murmured into her ear.

She blinked back sudden moisture. Lured her onto a balcony and one stumble later…

She’d stumbled into another man’s arms. Oh, but this man was so…so…solid. And warm.

He smoothed a hand down her back, sending her heart into a rapid tattoo.

No life there…Like bedding the dead…need to marry money…find you another bumbling long Meg with a purse…get her to stumble into you.

She stepped back. George Lovelace’s eyes were warm, and laugh lines crinkled his face, reminding her he’d come away laughing from that conversation with Glanford. He must have gone on laughing for many years.

She shook off the ugly memory. She’d made up her mind to forget. Through the weeks after Papa’s death, the months of her confinement, and the hours of childbirth, she’d churned over the words spoken that day. But with her first view of Artie, she set her mind to her fate.

She was a countess with a son who needed her. She’d tried harder. She’d found a circle of kind acquaintances. And when she’d finally allowed Glanford back into her bed, it was on her terms. Fortunately, after Ben’s birth, he’d mostly left her alone.

He touched her arm. “Have you twisted your ankle, my dear?”

The blasted man was too kind. “I’m fine.”

“Take my arm. We’ll go back to the inn and borrow horses.”

Her equestrian skills had been another marital disappointment.

“I’m not dressed for riding.”

“A carriage or cart then.”

She straightened her spine, determined to match his courtesy. “It’s not long until dinner. We can walk in less time than it will take to arrange transport.” She brushed snow from her bonnet. “And I do love the snow. Such a welcome change from rain. Run along and hire yourself a horse. I intend to walk.”

“A gentleman wouldn’t—”

“Don’t be silly. You’ve arranged for my purchases to be delivered, so I’m not lugging packages, and I’m perfectly capable of walking a mile by myself. Besides, I’d not wish to be the cause of ruining your boots.”

He gazed down at her feet. “And what of yours?”

“They’ve withstood worse.”

One dark eyebrow rose.

Fine. They were the worse for that wear, but never mind. Her boys’ boots were sturdy and new, and that was what mattered.

“Go then.” She shooed him and stepped out.

Footsteps crunched next to her as he caught up, pulling her hand over his arm.

“I take it you’re one of those country ladies who tramps about through the fields with her dogs.”

“I walk, certainly.” She’d escaped at every chance when Glanford was underfoot.

“Except when your coachman is driving you about. That is more my mother’s style.”

She focused on the road, ignoring the teasing kindness. They’d dispensed with the coach and the coachman even before Glanford’s death.

“Or you drive out in your own gig,” he mused.

“I’ve never been much of a whip.”

“No? Well then, you had the company of your dogs, perhaps. A great pack of them, like the Duchess of York?”

“Glanford had hounds.” He’d lavished more attention on them than his family.

“You had no lap dog?” he teased. “No giant mongrel standing guard?”

They’d reached the turn for Loughton Manor. She freed her hand and passed through the gate ahead of him.

“Neither,” she said. Much as Glanford loved his hounds, he’d banned the sort of pets that would have brought comfort to the boys or warmth to her bed…a dog or a cat or two.

He touched her arm, stopping her.

“I’ve offended you. Or…”

He gazed down at her, not quite frowning. She took a step back, quelling her rising anger.

Damn the man. She didn’t need his pity.

“I’ve raised bad memories. How thoughtless of me.” He stepped closer, backing her off the lane, into a sheltered patch between a large showy yew and the boundary wall.

“Lady Glanford. I’ve been wanting…want to…to apologize.”

Her pulse pounded in her ears. This close, she could see the spiky late afternoon stubble peppering his cheeks. She curled her fingers in, resisting the temptation to touch, gathering her composure.

“For the kiss, Mr. Lovelace? It was nothing.”

He blinked. “No. That is, I wanted to say how sorry I am about the scene in the Townsends’ garden so many years ago.”

A dull ache started up near her heart and she felt her color rising under his warm gaze.

Drat the man. She wasn’t that young girl anymore. She’d withstood the disgrace. She’d weathered the whispers. The past mustn’t matter. It was the present that must concern her.

“Apology accepted.” As she pushed by, he snatched her hand and the hard planes of his face softened.

“Thank you. I’ve always been ashamed I didn’t—”

“What? Confront Glanford?” She inched away, catching her breath as a branch poked her back.

“Defend you. Especially after I heard your father had just—”

“Stop.” She yanked her hand away and fought a surge of tears. For months she’d grieved Papa’s death and her miserable marriage. Her boys had saved her, and now she must save them. Noble they might be, like their father, but they’d have the good sense of common Englishmen.

Glanford had run through Papa’s hard-earned money at a dizzying pace and then somehow got his hands on her dower and Ben’s trust as well. If Papa had lived… But he hadn’t. And now she had only the boys’ guardian to help her, a man who wouldn’t answer her letters or speak to her.

“You have no need to take on my husband’s shame.” She gritted her teeth. “On the other hand, there’s the matter of your brother’s.”

His mouth turned down into a guarded frown. “He’s dishonored you?”

“Dishonored?” She blinked. Then scoffed. “Dishonored me? Fitz? No, he hasn’t dishonored me in that way.” Her hands curled into fists as she struggled for breath. “He’s been dishonorable in other ways. He’s dishonored his duty, to my sons. Fitz…Fitz is like Glanford. A…a ramshackle, cork-brained booby.”

His gaze narrowed on her, his lips firming into a white line. Indignation or anger?

At her?

She straightened her spine. Good. The stinger had hit home. He was too much the gentleman to strike her, but he’d defend his beastly brother. Didn’t she always tell her own sons to stand together?

“My brother,” he said in a tight voice, “lost his wife and newborn son. He’s not been the same since.”

And what of my boys?

She eased in a breath. “Yes. One must have an excuse.”

His eyes sparked. “He did love her. I’ve watched him struggle with the loss of a beloved spouse, just as my mother is struggling. Neither of us knows what that’s like.”

Her throat thickened again, her cheeks heating. “Touché, Mr. Lovelace.” She held his gaze, trying to master her rising anger. “However, we both know what it is to lose a parent. Surprising it might be, but my boys, like your brothers, loved their father. But they don’t have four older brothers to rely upon. They have only me, and a guardian who is a malingering shirker.”

She stepped to the side and he matched her, grasping her shoulders.

“You’re angry.” His voice shook, low and dangerous, and he tugged her into an embrace, her ear pressed to his pounding heart. “You’re not in this alone. I will help you.”

His hand smoothed along her back, stirring his words into mayhem within her. She wasn’t alone? He would help her? What was the cost? There was always a cost.

Would she mind paying it?

She lifted her head and stared up at him. “How?”

His gaze sent heat unfurling in tiny bursts along her skin, drawing her lips like a magnet.

A man has to make some effort. What does my pup of a brother know about bed sport? Lovelace had learned something over the years. He stirred her with no more than his essence and an effortless look.

It was intoxicating. Perhaps she wouldn’t mind… Oh.

His lips touched hers, and she yielded, head spinning, nerves heating and firing, heart pounding out of her chest. She bumped the stone wall, and he spun them around, bracing himself there and pulling her into him.

Her fingers threaded his thick hair and knocked off his hat, while she drowned in the feel of his hands sliding under her cloak, over her back, her breasts, her bottom. Pleasure flooded her, heady and potent, like nothing she’d ever felt before.

She heard herself moan, and he lifted his head.

“Sophie?” He whispered the question, his eyes dark as midnight.

She blinked, still befuddled. What was he asking?

The corner of his lip quirked, and he found a spot on her neck. His warm kiss sent shivers through her.

“Yes,” she said. Yes, yes, yes. Don’t stop.

Eyes glittering, he smiled and drew her impossibly, close, their hearts beating together. Abandoning her lips, he dropped kisses along her cheek, paused to savor her neck and moved on to the top of her bodice.

Her hand traveled over his wide shoulders and firm chest and down to his trousers until she felt the hard length of him.

And he froze.

“SHHH,” George said, more to his own pounding heart than to Lady Glanford. He’d heard a noise. They must take this somewhere more private.

Her bedchamber or his? She had a maid—so, his. Could they get past the gauntlet of family and servants? Could they stay there all night without being discovered?

A sound drifted again through the dense air: crunching footsteps, giggling, boys’ voices.

Sophie lifted her head and looked over her shoulder. “Oh dear.”

Gad, if the boys had discovered them… “We’re well-hidden,” he murmured.

She nodded and looked away. “I…I shouldn’t have allowed that. Not that you seemed to have minded.”

“Nor you, Sophie. May I call you that?”

She lifted a shoulder. “That was…well, I thank you, but we mustn’t go down this path again, Mr. Lovelace.”

“Call me George. You call my brother by his Christian name.”

“Only because he visited Glanford so often. I…I have to think of the boys.”

They would go down this path again. He’d make certain of it.

He set her back from him, straightened her bonnet and returned to the lane to fetch his own hat.

A hard mass of snow smacked his cheek like an icy cudgel and he heard Sophie’s gasp.

“Get back, Sophie.” He clamped his hat on. “Boys. Let Lady Glanford pass in peace.”

Loud giggling drifted through the dense air. Snow pelted his forehead knocking his hat askew.

Sophie’s cloak brushed him in passing. She ducked, scooping up great handfuls of snow. “Come out, come out, wherever you are,” she shouted.

A blizzard exploded against her red cloak. She launched her volleys in rapid succession, and a shriek pierced the air.

“You rapscallions won’t win this,” she taunted.

Another snowball struck the side of her head, and she gasped, laughing.

“Let the lady pass.” George swooped her behind a bush. “I’ve spotted four of them. I fear my brothers are corrupting your sons.”

“Nonsense.” She righted herself and scooped up more snow. “Artie and Ben love a good snowball fight. Come, George. We shall make a good team.”

He and Sophie, a team?

He laughed. “You’ll regret this, boys.”

“WE WON. WE BEAT YOU, MAMA.” Ben grinned as Sophie mopped his wet head.

“Four against two,” James said. “We were bound to win.”

George caught the twinkle in Sophie’s eye.

Like the others, she’d shed her wet cape and boots at the kitchen entrance. Her damp skirts clung enticingly, and locks of hair tumbled around her shoulders.

“We shall have a rematch,” George said. “But not today. It’s time for your dinner, and Lady Glanford is soaked to the bone.”

“I’m only a little damp,” she said. “As are you. Please go on up, Mr. Lovelace.”

“I’ll wait for you.”

She pulled a face at him. “A rematch is a fine idea, boys. We’ll ask your sisters and Charlotte and Mary to join in.”

That launched a debate about uneven teams, interrupted by the appearance of two nursery maids, who escorted the boys in a noisy cavalcade up the backstairs.

Sophie would have gone with them, but he pulled her aside. “We didn’t finish our conversation before the battle.”

Her cheeks flamed. “Best that we say no more on the subject, Mr. Lovelace.”

He glanced toward the servants’ hall. They were quite out of view. “George. And it’s not a conversation requiring words.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You are speaking of criminal conversation?”

“Of course not. Neither of us is married.”

A long moment ensued while she drew herself up and cloaked herself with icy composure. As the moment stretched, his spirits rose.

Her shoulders sagged and she let out a long breath. “No. There must be no distracting entanglements.”

She turned away, and he hurried after her. This wasn’t over. He’d only begun the siege. If she traveled to London, he’d find a way. If she returned to Lancashire, well, even better.

In the entry hall, they met the butler on his way to answer the front door.

“Visitors?” Sophie halted and patted her hair. “I look a fright. I’ll go back and make my way up by the servants’ stairs.”

He drew her aside into an alcove. “Nonsense. You look beautiful. Full of life. A countess lively enough to engage in a snow fight.”

“You’re talking flummery, Mr. Lovelace.”

“Call me ‘George’.”

“I only hope I don’t embarrass your mother with this caller.”

The man Biggs ushered in was a stranger. Of medium height and sturdy build, he handed a footman his caped greatcoat and beaver hat and gave orders about his trunk.

George approached and greeted him.

“Lord Loughton?” His gaze slid over the damp coats and trousers and down to his wet stocking-feet, then shifted to Sophie. He blinked, and frowned.

“No sir, I’m George Lovelace, Lord Loughton’s brother. And you are…?”

“Beg pardon.” He extended his hand. “I’m Cartwright, Charlotte’s father. Lady Loughton offered me hospitality, should I be able to get away for the Yuletide.”

Thus, the fine clothing, face like a prize-fighter’s, and direct manner.

“I see. Well, welcome. And, may I introduce another guest, Lady Glanford?”

Sophie executed a dignified curtsy.

“Lady Glanford.” He frowned. “Lady Loughton wrote to me about you.”

“Yes, I know,” she said. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. And now, I fear I must go up directly. Mr. Lovelace and I were caught out in the snow. Good day to you, sir.”

Her words had been smooth, but she stumbled upon the second stair.

George bowed. “I’ll leave you in the capable hands of our butler. It’s almost time to dress for dinner. I hope we may talk more then.”

He caught up with Sophie and they went up together.

At the landing, she glanced up at the kissing bough and stepped out of his reach. Her gaze slid to the stairs. “Well that is that,” she whispered.

“What is what? What are you talking about?”

She grimaced. “He doesn’t remember me. He called on my father once. I shall not be shepherding his daughter about London.”

“I haven’t understood why you would want to.”

“I have business in London.”

“So have your man see to it, or Fitz…”

Her lips firmed in a determined frown. “This business doesn’t involve Fitz.”

George rubbed his jaw. “Who has been no help to you anyway.” He stepped closer and took her hand. “As I said, I will help you. I can see to your business in London if Cartwright spurns you, but I can’t imagine why he would.”

She raised an eyebrow and swept a hand over her person. “Would you put your young daughter in the care of a woman who looks like this?”

She looked beautiful and fresh and alive. He’d put himself into her care in a heartbeat.

But perhaps she had a point. She was far too desirable to serve as a chaperone.

Biggs’s voice floated up the staircase. He’d be escorting Cartwright up soon.

George ushered her down the corridor, closer to her bedchamber. “You’ve been caught out in the weather. He’ll understand.”

“He’s a competent businessman, like my father was. He’ll already have made inquiries about me. He’ll know I’m the daughter of Wardell Clark, not a born lady. He’ll know about Glanford. All strikes against me perhaps. And I’ve made an untidy first impression.”

He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “He’ll think what any man will think. That you’re beautiful.”

A mulish look came over her. “I must go to London. A few weeks of parties and social events seemed a small price to pay. I must help myself, and London has always been part of that scheme. Fitz has been useless.”

“Sophie,” he said, moving close enough to catch her flowery scent. “I’m not useless.”

Her bedchamber door opened. “Begging your pardon, sir,” her maid said, “but my lady needs to get out of these wet clothes before she catches her death.”

George escorted her to the door, promised to speak more with her later, and then found his way to his own room.

What was she seeking in London? Despite her claims, was she after another husband?

He tore off his damp coats, fighting the urge to go pound on her door and ask.

A pile of post caught his eye and he went to it. His brother Selwyn’s letter would offer Christmas greetings and a report on investments. The Duke of Kinmarty would write about his son’s first tooth or some such—he’d taken up fatherhood with a vengeance.

The third letter was from his business partner. He opened it.

Dear Lovelace,

I hope this finds you and your family well. I write from London, where I’ve encountered both progress and setbacks. I shall start with the infelicitous news first.

Regrettably, Lord Stanley’s support for our railway bill is faltering. Your brother’s active sponsorship is essential. Please write to me of his assurances, as I will be pursuing other votes for the bill being presented this session.

Happily, I have confirmed that our mysterious right-of-way property holder may have been found. As we suspected, ownership had indeed changed hands, quietly, and with the deed not properly recorded. All this from the clerk who would not make free with the name yet, only to say that his master had written to the new owner’s guardian and received no reply. He also advised that the steward overseeing the minor’s estate said the family (precisely, the minor’s mother, an obdurate widow) was known to oppose any use of the land that would sully the pristine acres. I shall continue to press the matter, and ask that you travel to Lancashire to investigate and track down the parties involved.

Please convey my warmest Yuletide greetings to Lady Loughton and Lord Loughton.

With kindest regards, etc.

J. Ellison

He paced to the window. The snowfall had ceased, and the sky had cleared, a bright moon lighting this pristine landscape.

Magical, she’d called it.

The kissing that followed had certainly been magical. The snowball fight as well. The lady had gone from proper, to passionate, to playful in three beats of his heart. If she returned to her home instead of traveling to London, he would escort her. Glanford’s estate was in Lancashire.

He scanned the letter again.

A guardian who didn’t answer letters, a widow, an owner quietly gaining title to land…

In payment of a gambling debt, perhaps?

Could it be? Ninety-nine times out of a hundred, the late Lord Glanford had held the losing hand.

The dinner gong sounded, and he hastened to dress, anxious to see her.

He’d promised to help her. He’d spent the morning in the study going over the Loughton accounts. After dinner, he must see what documents Fitz was holding about young Glanford’s estate.

CHAPTER NINE

SEATED down the table from Sophie, George caught only snippets of her conversation with Cartwright.

She’d been the last to appear for dinner, but she’d used the time preparing well. The daring green gown sported beadwork and lace that made up for her lack of jewelry. Tonight, a wide ribbon circled her neck in lieu of the garnet cross. Cartwright, the bounder, eyed her bosom while he interrogated her about her acquaintances in town.

From this distance, her murmured replies sounded calm, almost bored.

She’d hidden away the warm, feeling, lively woman. What a pity she felt she must act out a role in his family home all to secure a means of traveling to London.

“You’re very quiet, Mr. Lovelace,” Miss Cartwright said.

“He’s ignoring your attempts at conversation.” Nancy smirked at him.

“I beg your pardon, Miss Cartwright.”

“The snowball fight knocked the stuffing out of you I heard.” Nancy giggled. “It was so unfair you didn’t invite us.”

“What is this about a snowball fight?” Cartwright called, proof the man was doing his own bit of eavesdropping.

Cartwright glanced at Sophie. “Is that where you’d both come from?”

Sophie smiled at her half-empty plate. “One has to make the best of a snowy day.”

Cartwright glanced at her and then down the table at George. “You engaged Lady Glanford in a snowball fight?”

Mother laughed. “George would never attack a lady. They were walking back from the village when they were set upon. I do hope there are no stuffed-up noses and sore throats in the nursery.”

“Your younger sons were involved, my lady?” Cartwright directed the question to Mother.

“Yes.”

“They sound like a jolly lot.” He put down his fork.

“And you will meet them tonight.” Mother stood, bringing everyone to their feet. “The ladies and I will enjoy our dessert in the drawing room where the children will join us. Mr. Cartwright, George you may remain here, if you wish.”

Remaining behind would only embroil him in a conversation with Cartwright and delay his business in the study. “Let’s go along, Cartwright. You can’t top this bunch for jolliness. I’ll bring the bottle of port.”

“Do come, Papa,” Charlotte said.

“Very well.” Cartwright pushed back his chair. “And perhaps you and I can chat, Lovelace.”

He swallowed his annoyance and said, “Of course.”

In the drawing room, servants carried in trays. George led Lovelace to a gaming table and poured their drinks.

“I’ve heard tell you’re building a railway, Lovelace.”

George eyed him over the rim of his glass. Their plans weren’t exactly confidential—certainly wouldn’t be when Parliament got involved, but his corporation wasn’t the only group seeking to build. Cartwright might be part of a budding competition.

While he picked over how much information to reveal, the nursery crew arrived and headed for the sweets.

“What is your interest?” George asked.

Cartwright smiled, then laughed. “Same as yours. Making money. Vulgar to say, perhaps, but there it is.”

“George.” Mother shooed the children toward him. “Make introductions please.”

Cartwright’s mouth dropped open. “Four younger brothers?”

“No. Those two are my brothers James and Edward.” George rested one hand on Arthur’s shoulder and the other atop Ben’s head. “And this is Arthur, Lord Glanford, and his brother, Ben.”

A maid brought over a tray with an assortment of sweets and hurried off.

Cartwright patted his stomach. “After that excellent dinner, I’ll wait. Dive in, young ones.”

James and Edward snatched up treats and hurried away. Arthur helped his young brother with a plate, then filled his own and turned to go.

“It’s no wonder Charlotte is happy here. Generous of your mother to host her and Lady Glanford, as well. A pity Glanford was such a wastrel.”

Arthur’s thin shoulders froze. He turned around, back straight, plate tilting and threatening to lose its sweets.

“Sir.” He pinned the older man with a glare. “That is my father you’re speaking of.”

Cartwright’s eyes glinted with keen interest.

Color rose in the boy’s cheeks and his eyes—so like his mother’s—darkened. “We don’t speak ill of him, nor do we countenance others doing so.”

George let out a breath, watching the duel. He could imagine those words coming from Sophie’s mouth, and with the same expression of dignified ire.

Cartwright held the boy’s gaze a long moment, then dipped his head. “Quite right,” he said evenly. “The good book tells us: Honor thy father and thy mother. Keep to the good book and you’ll grow into a good man, and a good earl, as well.” He extended his hand. “Accept my apologies?”

Arthur shook his hand and ran off.

Perhaps he could do business with Cartwright. As Sophie had pointed out, a project like theirs could never have too much money.

“Well, well,” Cartwright mused. “Defending his father’s honor, no matter how thinly it was spread. I’d wager that’s his mother’s doing. Clark always valued loyalty. He’d be proud. Seems his daughter has become the true lady he always wanted her to be.”

The lady in question was ruffling through song sheets at the pianoforte. She hadn’t witnessed the scene.

“A handsome woman, isn’t she?” Cartwright said, watching her.

Jealousy reared in him. Chaperoning Charlotte would throw Cartwright and Sophie together. If she truly was penniless…

He’d promised to help her, and he would. “Cartwright, I’ve some correspondence to see to. I’m afraid it can’t wait. Please feel free to avail yourself of my brother’s library.”

“And you’ll owe me that chat,” Cartwright called after him.

He bowed and made good his escape.

SOPHIE SAID her goodnights and escorted the children, leaving them in the care of the nursery maid. In her bedchamber, she found Willa stitching the hem of a dress.

“Not another one.” Lady Loughton’s generosity was out of hand.

“Aye.” She held up the royal blue sarcenet and got to her feet. “This was from last year. Said she’d only worn it but the once. Ready to turn in?”

“No. Go on to bed. I shall manage when I return.”

“You’re going somewhere? Wake me, as you won’t manage those hooks without help.”

She’d hate for anything to spoil the lovely green gown. “Perhaps I’ll change into my old morning dress.”

Willa turned her around and began unhooking her. “Where are you off to? In case that you don’t return and I need to go looking.”

“You won’t need to go looking.”

Willa paused. “You’re not visiting Mr. Love—”

“Of course not. Why would you think that?”

“Hmm. I did happen to peek out of the door late last night. And then you came back with him, both of you soaked, and there’s that bruise on your neck I covered with the ribbon.”

Her hand flew to the spot where he’d kissed her that afternoon.

The maid chuckled.

“I’m not meeting anyone. I hope everyone has turned in. I’m going to search Lord Loughton’s study, and I pray Mr. Lovelace won’t be there.”

“Pity. He might do you a world of good.”

“Willa. I won’t risk my reputation.”

“He might want to marry you.”

“He doesn’t. He’s a full five years younger than me. Gentlemen like him want young women with good childbearing prospects and a healthy dowry.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

Sophie stepped out of the gown and rubbed her side where the stays were digging.

“Let me loosen those. Or you might take them off altogether. I’ll guard them well.”

She trusted her maid above all others. And yet…

She reached for her old gown. “No. I must hurry.”

“You know, my dear, Mr. Lovelace ain’t the heir. There’s five other brothers and any one of them might father a boy. In any case you’ve had two and you’re not too old for another. He may be younger but he’s plenty old enough to be thinking of marriage. And he’s not poor. He could help you.”

She squeezed her eyes shut. Glanford had married her only for money. No way would she turnabout and pursue Lovelace for the same mercenary reasons.

“Downstairs speak well of him.”

Ignoring the maid, she went to light a candle.

“Don’t wait up.”

“Sure and you don’t want me? Two extra hands make for a faster job.”

“I wouldn’t risk you getting caught.”

“By who? His lordship is gone…Ah.” Willa turned away, but not before Sophie saw her sly smile.

“Stop, Willa. The house is quiet. He’ll have gone up.”

“Hmm. Might be another kissing bough in the study.”

“Aargh. Go to bed.”

As she slipped into the corridor, the door closed on Willa’s deep chuckle.

INSIDE THE STUDY, an Argand lamp shone brightly on a pair of expensive shoes propped on the desk.

Drat and double drat.

Mr. Lovelace—George—tossed aside a newspaper and stood, coming around the desk and crossing the thick Aubusson carpet.

“Sophie.” He tilted his head, examining her. “Is anything wrong?”

“Other than your brother’s continued absence?”

His mouth firmed. “Mr. Cartwright questioned you rather closely during dinner.”

“And well he should. We’ll see what else he’s curious about when we have our private interview.”

He straightened. “Private?”

“We’ve yet to negotiate the more unrefined part of the arrangement—my compensation. We shall see what he wants to pay me and what he expects to get for it.”

A deeper frown settled over George. He felt some antipathy toward Mr. Cartwright. Was it a matter of class, or something else?

“As long as the unrefinement only involves a discussion of money for chaperoning Charlotte.”

Oh. She let out a breath. Might he be jealous? Perhaps their two kisses had him feeling possessive.

She wanted to laugh, but decided to take her own jab at him. “He had you pulled aside after dinner, didn’t he? Worried you’ll offer for Charlotte?”

“Gad, no. He’s interested in my railway.”

“Does he wish to invest? He’s very rich.”

“Perhaps. Or else he’s nosing about for our competitors.”

“Or perhaps he wants to make your iron rails? Who have you contracted with?”

His lip quirked. “Are you spying for Cartwright?”

“If it’s worth my while, I might be willing to act as his agent. Perhaps he and I may discuss it after we speak about Charlotte’s come-out.”

“I will be present for any such conversation.”

“Really, Mr. Lovelace.”

“George.”

She threw up her hands. “George. Your mother will be present and she can report back to you.”

As she slipped by him, his arm came around her shoulder.

“Fair enough, Sophie. Now, why this unexpected visit in the middle of the night? Were you looking for me?”

“No. I was hoping you wouldn’t be here.”

His chuckle tickled her ear.

“I’m looking for information.”

“About the guardianship?”

“Yes. And the Glanford accounts.”

“Your steward—”

“Won’t tell me anything, as I have no legal authority, he says. Though I am the one the tenants confide in. If only we might buy new equipment, and adopt newer methods of farming…”

“You’re involved in the estate management?”

“I would like to be. I’ve come to enjoy the countryside, and to care for the people.”

He turned her around to face him. “Mother said you sent letters.”

“I did. Fitz hasn’t answered them, and I made sure they were posted.”

He clenched his jaw, his dark look returning. “All I’ve found are the guardianship papers. I’ve looked in every cabinet, and box, and drawer.” He grimaced and walked back to the desk. “Except this one. It’s locked.”

She moved up next to him. “You don’t have a key?”

“I have several but none of them work.”

“May I?” She brushed by him, shoved back the chair, and bent down, examining the lock.

His quick intake of breath and the chuckle that followed sent hot blood to her cheeks and made her drop to her knees. “Let’s pick the lock, Mr. Lovelace.”

“Call me George.” When she looked up, a small smile curved his lips and his gaze had darkened.

“Not when you look at me that way.” She drew out a pin, and tucked the dislodged lock of hair behind her ear. “Well?”

“By all means. How did you learn your criminal skills?”

“One develops talents when one is kept in the dark.”

“Indeed,” he said, sounding thoughtful.

Shushing him, she put her ear to the lock. His closeness sent her heart pounding and her thoughts straying to that last kiss.

With a deep breath, she steadied her hand.

“Shall I try?” His breath tickled her ear.

“Mr. Lovelace. Please.”

Chuckling, he seated himself, the chair creaking under him, his knees bumping her shoulder.

She froze. George stilled as well. The creaking continued.

Heavy steps thudded across the carpet.

“Cartwright.” George called.

She squeezed herself into the desk’s kneehole and tried not to breathe.

CHAPTER TEN

“THOUGHT YOU WOULD HAVE GONE UP,” George said too loudly.

The guest chair thumped, and George shifted closer. The scents of wood polish and shoe leather filled her nose, and she squeezed back a sneeze.

“Fine library Loughton has here.” The older man’s deep rumble permeated the heavy mahogany. “Thought I might go up, and then I saw your candle moving this way.”

Oh Hades. He’d seen her candle. She’d nearly been caught.

“I see you’ve got the Manchester paper there from last week. I read the piece on the new Stockton and Darlington Railway bill.”

George’s shoe bumped her as he shifted again, and she pressed her cheek to the cool mahogany, holding her breath, barely hearing his murmured reply to Cartwright. The closeness was addling her, and he was fidgeting like Ben did when he was practicing his letters.

When his knee nudged her shoulder, she teetered and reached for the nearest brace—his leg. The solid muscle flinched under her fingers. Breathless again, she pressed her cheek to his knee and swallowed a surge of longing. What would it be like to make love to a man she wanted?

Easing in a breath, she tried to still her racing heart and the temptation threatening to overtake her.

George emitted a strangled cough and cleared his throat. “Cartwright. Tell me more about your interest in the railway.”

“I’ve heard rumors it’s a grand plan. I might want to invest, if you’re selling shares.”

George shifted, and her hand moved of its own accord sliding up the firm muscle, venturing higher to the bend of his knee.

A sharp intake of breath rattled through him.

Cartwright laughed. “I’m not a competitor, I can assure you of that. You think on it and we can talk more in the light of day. Now, perhaps you might tell me what you know of Lady Glanford. Fetching woman, isn’t she? Your mother is pushing hard for her to manage Charlotte’s come-out, but I’m not so sure Lady Glanford won’t be turning heads herself. Not that she’d compete with my Charlotte for offers of marriage of course, but—”

“Cartwright.” George’s chair jerked back taking him with it. “We might as well discuss the railway now. Come, let’s go to the library where the chairs are more comfortable.”

Sophie lolled back and clamped a hand over a mad giggle. She’d rattled the oh-so-sure-of-himself Mr. Lovelace. Who knew he could be such a coward?

Or that she could be so wicked?

No…not wicked. That had been foolish.

When she heard the sharp click of the door, she crawled out and returned to her criminal enterprise.

IT WAS past midnight when Cartwright finally went off to bed and George hastened back to the study hoping Sophie was waiting for him.

Her intentions were clear. The only question to answer was: his bedchamber or hers?

He found her at the desk bent over a letter. Other correspondence sat stacked on each side of the desktop.

He silently closed the door. “What did you find?”

She stood and paced to the fireplace, worrying her hands at her waist.

“Sophie? What did you find, my dear?”

Her fingers rubbed her temples. “It is worse than I feared. I thought I could… I’d hoped…” She squeezed her eyes shut. “I must think.”

He went to her and took her hands. “I said I will help you, and I will. We’ll find a way.”

She lifted her chin, but there was no defiance in it, and he couldn’t read the emotion in her eyes.

“You have worries of your own. I will have to find my way to London as soon as possible, after I speak with Fitz.”

“You’re not going with Cartwright.”

She searched his face. “What?”

After thirty minutes probing George for information about Sophie, and one man to another, making his interest clear, Cartwright had mentioned he’d travel to London before the New Year.

“You can’t serve as Charlotte’s sponsor.”

She let out a tight breath and pulled her hands away. “He knew I was under the desk.”

Had Cartwright known? “No. He’s…” Looking for a lover. George reached for her hand again, watching annoyance play on her face. “Sophie, I’m not entirely sure his intentions toward you are honorable.”

She scoffed. “Then you are two peas in the same pod.” Her lips pressed together. “I apologize for my earlier forwardness. Be assured I’m not going to London as anyone’s mistress. That sort of business enterprise doesn’t interest me at all.”

He held her gaze deciding whether to laugh or to chastise. She’d just been on her knees in an enterprising position. And the kisses that afternoon and the night before had not been produced by an uninterested woman.

“Do not worry,” she said. “I understand men like Cartwright far better than I do the genteel sort, and if I chaperone Charlotte, I’ll make my intentions clear.”

When she wasn’t hiding under a desk or standing under the mistletoe, Sophie had principles. She wouldn’t take a carte blanche from the man.

Oh hell. The way Cartwright had spoken of her, he might…he might…

His jaw tightened. “He might want marriage.”

“Marriage?”

“Yes.”

“To me?”

“It’s not so outlandish.”

“I don’t wish to marry. I’ve been married, Lovelace. I fulfilled my marriage contract. I did my marital duty, and my duty didn’t end with Glanford’s death. I have children, and tenants, and a community that depend on me.”

“You’re not going to London to seek a husband?”

“Are you daft?” She sniffed his breath. “Or…foxed. You’ve been drinking.”

He pressed his forehead to hers. “I’m not drunk, Sophie. I’m…”

I’m in love.

Head spinning, he pulled her into a kiss. He wanted her. She should be his.

She broke the kiss and touched his cheek, and then yanked her hand away. “I have children. You have a railway. We can’t do this.” Her eyes glistened betraying her lie.

“We can.”

Lips trembling, she looked away. “Perhaps one day. Not now. I have responsibilities.”

The longing in her voice stirred his spirits. “One day, then.” Tomorrow, if he had his way. He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “Now, what did you find?”

“Letters. The stack on the right had been opened.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “The file in the middle contains IOUs. Glanford owed Fitz an ungodly amount.”

She stepped out of his arms and returned to the desk, collecting the opened letters.

“May I read those?” George asked.

“Tomorrow. I need to study them tonight, and I’ll leave them for you in the morning.”

More letters were piled on a corner of the desk. “What is this other correspondence?”

“See for yourself. I’m going up.”

He reached for her, but she shook him off and crossed the carpet.

“We’ll talk again after breakfast,” he said.

“I doubt you’ll be up before I leave.”

“What?”

At the door, she fixed him with a determined gaze. “This won’t continue any longer. I’m going after Fitz, and he will speak to me.”

You will not. “You don’t know where he is.”

“I do, as a matter of fact. Willa has uncovered his location.”

A rebuke froze on his tongue and he watched the door close on her.

The stubborn, headstrong woman. He’d no more let her go off on her own to a gentlemen’s hunting party then…

Dear God. There’d be little or no rest for him tonight.

At the desk, he reviewed the file of Glanford’s unpaid vowels. Sophie had the right of it: it was an ungodly amount. Not impossible, but it would take years and tight purse strings to manage. The loans had begun around the time Father assigned his heir more authority over the Loughton estate.

Fitz had his own small income, but not enough for those loans. Father had handed over the estate management to his eldest, while his second, third, and fourth sons managed investments. Fitz had dipped into the estate funds.

No wonder Fitz was dodging his family. He’d jeopardized Loughton’s financial security. Sophie couldn’t repay him, so he was struggling to pay others.

George swiped a hand through his hair. He or one of his other brothers should have uncovered this.

He reached for the letters and flipped through them. They were all from Sophie to Fitz, the wax on each unbroken. He put them in date order and began cracking the seals one by one.

As the light sputtered, he collected everything and found his way to his mother’s bedchamber. He wouldn’t tell her his plans in a note, even if it meant waking her.

Besides, Mother was never one to hide from the truth. She preferred to know what was going on. She was the strongest woman he knew.

And Sophie was much like her.

UNABLE TO SLEEP, Sophie rose early and was donning her warmest clothes when someone knocked at her bedchamber door. Willa peeked in from the dressing room.

“You’re up?” the maid asked. “Who’s aknocking at this hour?”

“Shhh. Go back to bed.” She crossed to the door.

Lady Loughton’s abigail curtsied. “Her ladyship wishes you to join her for breakfast in her private parlor.”

“Now?” The delay would set back her plans. She’d hoped to travel to Melton Mowbray and be back by nightfall. She disliked the thought of spending Christmas eve in an inn, away from her boys.

She would do so though, if she must. Now that she’d made up her mind, she wouldn’t turn back.

And she’d be able to ask Lady Loughton in person to keep her boys for the duration of her travels instead of leaving a note. “Let me just finish dressing and I’ll be right along.”

LATE THE NEXT AFTERNOON…

ONCE FITZ KNEW the excuse for George’s late morning rousting, he’d shaken off his hangover, had his horse saddled, and begged a fresh horse for George.

Fitz would be madder than Hades when he discovered the lie, but so be it. Mother would deal with him.

A vigilant groom met them in the drive, and the butler opened the door before their boots touched the first step.

“How is Lady Loughton,” Fitz asked. “Has the doctor been called?”

Biggs blinked.

“Never mind, Biggs.” George tossed his hat and greatcoat, and nudged Fitz toward the stairs. “Seeing her first-born might just be the tonic she needs, despite your two days-worth of beard.”

At the door to Mother’s bedchamber, Fitz turned on him. “How can you make light of this?”

George reached around him, knocked, and turned the latch.

Mother sat at a table near the fire, a little girl on her lap.

“Papa.” Mary jumped off and ran to Fitz.

He swept her up into his arms, his gaze fixed on the older lady. “You are well, Mother?”

“I am now. Or I will be soon.”

“Grandmama and I napped together, and now we are reading a book.”

Fitz frowned and turned a puzzled look on George.

“You must thank George for bringing you home in time for Christmas,” Mother said. “I dare say he’s had a very long day of hard riding. Mary, Uncle George will take you back to the nursery, and your papa will pay you a visit after he has had his dinner.” She pulled over the stack of letters George had given her in the wee hours. “Fitz, you will come and sit down with me.”

“Let me go and change—”

“No. Sit down now, my son. George, have the kitchen send up coffee and a tray.” She called the little girl over for a hug.

Fitz watched them, balking.

“Damn it,” George whispered. “I’ll haul you over and tie you to the chair myself.”

His brother pinned him with a glare. “You’ll pay for this.”

“I’ve had a look at your books. I fear we’ll all pay, and we might as well start facing up to it.”

Mary gave him her hand and chattered to him all the way up the stairs.

“HE’S RETURNED,” Willa said, entering Sophie’s bedchamber with the freshly pressed crimson gown.

“He who?”

“Well, the both of them, Mr. Lovelace and Lord Loughton. Did you rest at all, Sophie?”

After her interview with Lady Loughton, she’d spent the day outside with the children, where their equally matched teams of males and females had battled with snowballs, then returned to her bedchamber with the hope of a nap. “No. I finished the embroidery on the handkerchiefs.”

Willa clucked her tongue. “I would’ve done it while you’re having your dinner. I’ve already eaten with the cook. Had a bit of gossip as well. His lordship was in with her ladyship for a godawful time. Two pots of coffee. Raised voices, they say. Hers or his, they didn’t say.” She picked up the stays and smoothed a hand over them. “Only reason he came home was he thought she’d taken ill. Shall we start with the dressing now? I’ve something new in mind for your hair.”

Taken ill?

George had lied to his brother, tempting fate with a claim of illness…or…Lady Loughton had allowed him to offer the lie. Oh, how horrid for her, knowing Fitz wouldn’t return at a mere motherly request.

“All right,” she said. “Have at it. But nothing too complicated I hope.”

“You’ve plans to corner his lordship, I’ll warrant. Let’s give you something to catch his eye.”

“I’m not trying to catch—oh never mind.” She surrendered and handed over her hair brush.

ALL OF THE children joined them at table for the boisterous Christmas Eve Dinner, even Fitz’s daughter, Mary, seated at her Papa’s left hand, next to Charlotte, and across from Mr. Cartwright at Lord Loughton’s right.

Thankful to be seated further down, Sophie had been placed next to George, the two of them flanked by her boys. Despite the day’s travel, George had turned out impeccably groomed and attired. Her hand itched to touch his freshly shaved jaw.

Across the table, Edward picked a bit of dough from his bread, rubbing it into a ball, a sly smile growing until he glanced George’s way and popped the morsel into his mouth.

“A formal dinner with so many children,” Sophie murmured. “Your mother is very brave.”

“You have no idea,” he said.

Actually, she had a very clear idea of Lady Loughton’s strength of character.

“Thank you for bringing him back,” she said.

She’d hoped to speak to George before dinner, but he’d arrived just in time to escort her in.

“I thought it best I make the journey instead of you. You said you’re not much of a rider.” His gaze swept over her in a trail of heat ending at her bosom. “You look stunning in red.”

“Your mother has been loaning me these magnificent gowns.” She picked up her wineglass and choked on a sip, suspicion kindling.

Could Lady Loughton be matchmaking? And if so, who did she mean as a match for Sophie?

“But you’re wearing a ribbon again. Where is the garnet cross you were wearing the night I arrived?”

Heat raced into her cheeks. The whereabouts of the cross was none of his business. As for the ribbon…

She touched a hand to her neck. “This serves better to cover…a bruise here.”

George had the cheek to smile, the bounder.

She hadn’t come to Loughton Manor for matchmaking, or to celebrate the Yuletide, nor even to seek a position as a chaperone. She’d come to confront Fitz.

“He’s avoiding my eye, I believe,” she murmured again.

“No doubt. We’ll corner him after he lights the Yule log.”

She blinked back sudden moisture. He still proposed to help her.

Under the table, he squeezed her hand and held on, sending her heart soaring.

“If need be, we’ll bring Mother into it. And then you and I must speak. There’s something I would discuss with you.”

“What?”

His smile drained all the joy from her, and she shook her head. “No. I cannot.”

One dark eyebrow shot up. “Would you be like Fitz and not even hear me out?” Dropping her hand, he turned to respond to a comment from Artie.

How was she to sit through a boisterous meal, the parlor festivities, the discussion with Fitz and then an indecent proposal?

George’s elbow brushed hers and he winked.

“Fustian,” she hissed, reminding herself that he was merely a distraction from her true mission.

He squeezed her hand again. “Arthur, tell me about your lands and holdings.”

With one ear tuned to Arthur’s answer—she’d made sure the new Earl of Glanford knew his responsibilities—she helped Ben manage his peas and his pudding and watched the slow advance of the ormolu clock’s minute hand.

“YOU BROKE INTO MY LOCKED DRAWER?”

George held Fitz’s glare with one of his own. “Needs must, Lord Loughton. What did you expect would happen?”

Fitz walked to the sideboard. “Nothing but sherry?” he growled. “What the devil have you been doing whilst I was away?”

“I might ask the same of you, except I’ve already discovered the answer. You’ve been dodging your duties. You’ve been neglecting mother and the children, including your wards. Sit down, Fitz.”

“You impertinent…I ought to flatten you, George.”

“And I’d love the chance to knock sense into you. Later. After Sophie has had a piece of you.”

Fitz sneered. “Sophie, is it?”

The ass.

“It appears she’ll be in perpetual debt to you. I saw the documents. How could you loan so much money to Glanford? Father told you expressly—”

“It was my fault.” Fitz filled a glass. “The Matilda Rose.” He drained his drink in one long gulp. “Yes, George. I received your warning to get out, after I’d told Glanford all about the golden investment recommended by my wizardly younger brother. I pulled out in time, but I forgot…” He plopped down in the desk chair and rubbed his temples. “I forgot about telling Glanford. Well, and I didn’t actually know he’d invested at all, much less put all of his money in. The bloody fool.”

The night he’d arrived, Sophie had brought up the Matilda Rose. One loses in one fell swoop.

He’d recommended the investment to Fitz, and Fitz had passed on the tip to Glanford.

“I see.” Perhaps Fitz wasn’t the only Lovelace Sophie blamed for her troubles.

“The bloody, bloody fool. Always a gambler. When all of his money was gone, including the money Sophie brought to the marriage, he ran through her dower and Ben’s trust.”

“You should have talked to Father.”

“I couldn’t.”

“Rupert then. Or Selwyn. Or me.”

“So you would tell father his eldest is an idiot? Rupert and Selwyn were in London, and you were there as well when you weren’t running about the country looking for ore.”

Only Mother had known something was wrong, but she’d attributed it to Fitz’s personal woes.

Fitz heaved a heavy sigh. “The best solution for Sophie is to marry a wealthy man.”

That was the logical solution. The one he would have recommended…before. “Any wealthy man with a head on his shoulder will look into her circumstances.”

He certainly would have. Before.

“Not if he’s wealthy and head over ears in love. Cartwright couldn’t take his eyes off her.”

Sophie would marry Cartwright over George’s dead body.

“Why don’t you marry Miss Parker? Your fiancée will bring a sizeable dowry. You can forgive your ward’s debts and carry on. Why not just proceed to the altar with her?”

“Her father is shrewd, and the contracts haven’t been signed.” Fitz’s fingers drummed the desktop. “I suppose the railway scheme will turn a profit one day. How is it progressing? Cartwright was bending my ear about it.”

“We’ve hit a stumbling block.” His talk with Arthur at dinner had been informative. He still had a problem to solve there. The boy had proudly described all the Glanford holdings, and the land in question wasn’t one of them. “I’ll need to leave for Lancashire after Boxing Day and see to an issue.”

“Always on the go.”

“I’ll also need your support in Lords.”

“Do tell.”

The door creaked, drawing their attention and Mother stepped in, clutching a bundle of letters. Sophie entered behind her.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

“GEORGE,” Mother said, “bring a chair for Sophie, and all of you be seated please. I must return to Mr. Cartwright. He’s been whispering in my ear all day about matrimonial schemes.”

Sophie’s gaze—normally so cool under duress—met his, and she appeared troubled.

Had Cartwright pressed his suit on her already?

“Nor do I want Mr. Cartwright to interrupt your discussions tonight. Fitz,” Mother dropped the letters onto the desk, “I’ve read all of Sophie’s correspondence to you. I suggest you do the same. And here are the others regarding your ward’s estate business.”

George reached for the second batch. “May I see those?”

She glanced at Sophie, who nodded her permission.

Mother beamed a smile all around. “Fitz will address your concerns, Sophie, and I trust George will offer wise counsel. We shall have a very merry Christmas tomorrow. I will see you in the morning.”

As the door closed on her, George sifted through the letters. The steward had written, and tradesmen. But two were postmarked from London, and he recognized the name of the sender. Hands shaking, he unfolded the most recent of the two.

“I am sorry, Sophie,” Fitz began, as well he should.

“And I am sorry for your loss, Fitz, and all that has gone before. Now I need you to tell me the state of my son’s holdings, and your plans for his future.”

Half listening, George began reading.

My dear Lord Loughton,

As mentioned in our letter of 15th November our inquiries have proceeded apace and have uncovered an informal transfer of title for the property in question. As we have been receiving inquiries from a group of investors wishing to secure a right of way for this land, we beg your hasty response so we may properly settle this matter. Be so good as to advise how you would like us to respond to the inquiries we are receiving.

While he read on, Sophie and Fitz spoke of the IOUs, of other debts, of assets, and income, and plans to send Arthur to school.

The words barely registered.

His heart pounded, excitement growing. The land in question, the owner he was supposed to unearth, the person who could approve the right of way, was under the same roof at Loughton Manor.

Or rather…the persons: Arthur owned the land, and Fitz managed it.

And Sophie…

He looked up. Color had risen in her cheeks and her mouth had hardened into a thin line.

What had Fitz said?

Whatever it was, he deserved her anger, and so did Glanford. Her husband had used her, as had Fitz, leaving her struggling to care for the boys while he swanned about with his juggle-headed friends.

Sophie was clear-minded, and honorable, and brave, and she deserved a man who loved her, a business-minded man who would appreciate her intelligence.

Him. He wanted her by his side, forever.

His stomach churned. When she knew about this property, she’d think he was using her as well.

Fitz swiped a hand through his hair. “Very well. You are right. I’ve bungled everything. I shall empower George to manage Artie’s affairs and his education.”

“No.” George jumped up.

Sophie’s eyes widened and her color drained.

He turned away, unable to speak.

If he were empowered, if he used that power to impose the lease…he would be using her. She needed to make the choice.

He cleared his throat and sat down again. “Sophie must have authority to manage Arthur’s affairs. She’s…clear-minded, honorable, wise. Hand me paper and pen.”

HEAD SPINNING, Sophie stood and began to pace. Shocked and elated, she was also…disappointed. George was fobbing off the responsibility for Arthur. George wanted nothing to do with her.

Oh, what had she expected?

Mr. Cartwright’s matrimony scheme must involve George and Charlotte. Perhaps it was the price of his investment in the railway, and George was too honorable to continue leading Sophie on. She wouldn’t need to see him again.

That would be fine. That would be better. The kissing, the temptation to touch him, had all been a temporary madness. An unnecessary distraction. She could do this. She didn’t need a partner, and it was madness to think a husband would ever be a true partner. And, good heavens, where had that thought come from? Her destination with George had never been the altar.

She took in a breath. Nor would a lover ever be a true partner.

“We’ll draw something up right now for the bank, the solicitor and the steward,” George said.

His matter-of-fact practicality helped restore her good sense. “I doubt the steward will accept it,” she said.

“Then Fitz will extend himself enough to sack him.”

“Agreed,” Fitz said. “You’re traveling that way, George. You’ll deliver my letter in person and enforce it. I’ll write informing the bank and your solicitor.”

The bank and solicitor would speak to her? It was almost too much to hope. “Will this assignment of power be legal?”

George’s mouth firmed. “We’ll make it so.”

Her eyes misted and she turned away. George had seen the extent of her debt. He wanted her out of his hands. He was a sensible businessman, and she and her sons were a financial liability to the entire Lovelace family. George’s trip to bring Fitz home had more to do with family honor then any feelings for her. He wouldn’t entangle himself with a woman like her.

That would be fine. It must be. Artie’s and Ben’s futures were all that mattered. The debt was enormous, but she’d negotiate payments. Some of the letters mentioned a proposed property lease. Perhaps it would bring enough for new farm equipment.

And…she had the diamonds. There was no need to spend a season in London with Charlotte now, yet to London she must go.

“I should like to see Glanford’s London solicitor, as soon as possible. May I borrow your chaise and leave the boys in your care while I’m gone?”

George’s pen ceased scratching and he looked up unsmiling. “I’ll accompany you. We’ll leave after Boxing Day. I have business there as well.”

His transformation almost undid her. Unable to speak, she nodded.

He’d offered to help her, and he had, but not as a friend. Not as a man who cared for her. He’d simply had Fitz dump all of the responsibility on her, and then he would go off and see to his own concerns.

Isn’t that what you wanted?

Feeling jumbled inside, she found her voice, wished them a good night, and left.

“OH, FOR A BRANDY,” Fitz grumbled.

George set down the pen and rubbed his jaw. “In the drawer of the cabinet. Pour me one, as well.”

Fitz scoffed. “You hid the bottle?”

“Mother saw to it.” He’d left Sophie’s letters with his mother while he’d snatched an hour of sleep the night before. When he’d departed before dawn, she’d been awake and quietly furious.

Fitz filled two glasses. “Can Sophie handle the task?”

“A thousand times better than her late husband.” Or you.

“You surprise me, brother. I thought turning over Artie to you might help your pursuit. You are pursuing Sophie, aren’t you?”

The arrogant fool. He fixed his brother with a glare.

Fitz gasped, and then laughed. “Never say you are seeking more than an affair?”

“Shut up, Fitz.”

He tossed back his drink. He would court Sophie when the time was right. She wasn’t interested in marriage, she said, but he’d find a way to convince her.

First things first. He needed to be honest with her. He needed to convince her to let his railway run through Artie’s land.

“Cartwright,” Fitz said. “You’re up late.”

The blasted man had entered again without George even noticing.

“May I join you?”

“Help yourself to a brandy,” Fitz said. “Bring the bottle over.”

“Late night business, eh?” Cartwright poured drinks all around. “I saw Lady Glanford departing.”

“Yes,” Fitz said.

“Your mother told me young Glanford and his brother are your wards, Loughton. Must be difficult, under the, er, circumstances. Troubled estate and all.”

George’s quill broke, and he reached for a penknife.

“It’s always difficult when boys lose their father,” Fitz said evenly.

George eased out a breath, and glanced at Fitz. It was difficult to lose a father at any age, especially after losing a wife and child. The Glanford trusteeship had been one burden too many for Fitz.

Cartwright sipped his drink, blissfully silenced.

Perhaps he wouldn’t need to use the penknife on the man. He dipped his fresh point in the inkwell.

“Yes, well,” Cartwright began again. “Perhaps I can help in that way. And you being the boys’ guardian I thought I might as well let you know. I’ve made up my mind. I intend to offer for Lady Glanford.”

George dropped the pen, splattering ink. “Lady Glanford is already spoken for.”

Cartwright eyed him shrewdly. “I intend to offer marriage.”

Heat fired in him and sent him to his feet, curling his hands into iron fists. Cartwright’s implication was clear: he thought George meant to set her up as his mistress.

“If you were a younger man, Cartwright—”

“George.” Fitz’s sharp reprimand stopped his next words: I’d challenge you. “It’s Christmas Eve, George. Mr. Cartwright isn’t insinuating anything untoward. He’s simply stating his intentions.”

“Quite right,” the oaf said. “My intentions are honest and honorable. When your mother suggested her for Charlotte’s come-out, I had a man look into things. I’ve a notion Lady Glanford has a grasp of my sort of business as well as estate management, but she won’t need to fret about any of it. I can give her a comfortable life. I’m building a new manor in Yorkshire, and have my agent looking for a London home. She can put Glanford behind her. Boys’ll be at school. You’ll oversee her son’s estate, and I’ll lift any other worries from her shoulders.”

Bile rose in him. Was that what Sophie wanted? She’d gone pale as death at the notion of handling Artie’s estate. He needed to ask her.

He slid the paper toward Fitz. “If you would please, finish it before you turn in.”

He pounded up the stairs and made his way first to his bedchamber, and then to hers.

AFTER A QUICK STOP at the nursery, Sophie found her way to her bedchamber. The room was toasty, the fire burning brightly.

Willa rubbed her eyes and stood. “What time is it?”

“Late. Thank you for waiting up. And good heavens, it’s hot in here.”

“Cozy, aye. Turn around then. Did all go well?”

“Yes.” And no. Her heart twisted. George was back to being the stuffy aristocrat. “Lord Loughton is granting me power of attorney over Arthur and the estate.”

Willa froze, and then laughed. “I want to be there when Burford hears that. He won’t like taking direction from a woman.”

George would be with her when that news was delivered. He hadn’t totally abandoned her. “And Burford won’t have to. We are sacking him.”

Willa whooped. “Praise the Almighty.”

She stepped out of the crimson gown and draped it over the chair. While Willa unlaced her stays, she yanked out hairpins.

“Stop wiggling,” Willa said. “I never did like the way Burford treated you. He did like your dowry though.”

“And sadly, my dowry is gone.” Sophie lifted the loosened stays over her head and studied them. “Except for the diamonds, of course. It’s time to take them out of hiding. I’m traveling to London this week.” And George would be with her for that journey as well.

“I wish you could wear them.” Willa carried the dress away. “Your da would have liked that.”

Memories rushed her, and she blinked away a surge of shame. She’d been less than gracious accepting the diamonds, astonished at their abundance and size, imagining the whispers about their vulgarity.

Papa had presented them privately, a gift to celebrate the news she’d conceived Glanford’s heir. Perhaps an unspoken atonement for what she’d had to endure since her nuptials.

They’re just for you, my Sophie. Put them away for a rainy day. Glanford had never known of them, else they’d have been lost in a wager, or draped on the bosom of one of his other women.

She dropped the stays on the bed and retrieved her hairbrush. Willa held out her heavy winter nightgown.

“I’m warm enough in my chemise, and I’m sure your dressing room will be warm now. Go on to bed, Willa.”

The maid moved behind her. “Let me just get these pins. There.” The last locks of hair brushed her shoulders.

They heard a tapping, and then the latch moved, and George Lovelace stepped into the room.

A FLUTTERING STARTED in the pit of her stomach and spread, sending tingles to the tips of her fingers and toes.

Unsmiling, he hesitated in the doorway, his gaze hooded, his mouth hard.

He turned and closed the door, and she let out a breath.

“Mr. Lovelace,” she said.

“Lady Glanford.” He stepped closer, and closer still, and swept a hot glance over her body. “Sophie.”

Her heart pounded fiercely, hope soaring in her. If he meant to begin a liaison…

What would she do?

She heard the rustle of Willa’s skirts.

“Stay, Willa.” He drew a small box from under his coat.

He was giving her jewelry?

“Sophie, I wanted to give you my Christmas gift tonight, privately.” He reached for her hand and pressed the box in it. “Open it. Please.”

“I have nothing for you.”

His blue eyes darkened to midnight, sending a shiver through her. Never, never, never had any man unsettled her so.

She summoned her composure. “Very well.” The lid snapped open and Willa crowded in.

“Oh,” Willa gasped.

Moisture thickened her throat. Her grandmother’s cross lay in a bed of white satin between two garnet studded earbobs.

“You b-bought it back.” Willa sniffed.

“Yes,” he said, his expression still unreadable.

Willa sniffed again and wiped her eyes. “The shopkeeper thought I pinched it. Mr. Lovelace came in and vouched for me.”

“And the earrings,” he said, “they matched so well, I…”

She flipped over the cross and let her fingertips linger on the faded engraving, the hesitation in his voice touching her. The ever-so-confident Mr. George Lovelace was feeling uncertain.

She eased in a breath. “They’re beautiful. But as I said, I have nothing for you.”

“About that.” George took her free hand and dropped to one knee.

Willa gasped again, and the sound of her sniffing faded as she shuffled away, until the snick of the dressing room door silenced her.

“Sophie. Would you give me your hand in marriage?”

Marriage? Yes, her heart cried.

But her mind picked through the events of the last hour. And the last few days. And the last decade, while she accustomed herself to the notion that George Lovelace was offering her—impoverished, low-born, encumbered with children, Sophie Clark—marriage.

Not a romp, not a brief liaison, but a lifetime of…of what? Respect, and…passion, she hoped. And love?

She blinked back tears. He’d gone mad. They both had. And oh, how she wanted him.

She set aside the box, bent closer, and dropped a quick kiss on his lips.

Pulling away, she set her palm to his jaw and swept her thumb over the masculine stubble there. His eyes glittered up at her, sending more heat through her. “I’ve been longing to touch you here again.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

LUMINOUS EYES GAZED down at him from a face otherwise shuttered. She was guarding herself again, and she didn’t need to. Not with him.

He stood and embraced her, reveling in the soft heat of her skin under the thin cotton. “Then say yes, you’ll marry me.” He fisted a lock of her fragrant hair and inhaled deeply. “But, first, hear me out. I need to be completely honest with you.”

She backed away and his gaze flew to the swell of her breasts and the curve of her hips under the gown. Color swept up her neck and into her cheeks. “Honest about what?”

A drop of sweat ran down his cheek.

She pulled out a tail of his neckcloth and mopped his face. “Willa appreciates your mother’s supply of coal. Now, get on with your confession.”

“It’s not exactly a confession.” He captured her busy hands. “I learned something. Something that impacts you. And Arthur.”

Those beautiful eyes widened, searching his face.

“It’s potentially very good.”

She nodded. “Go on.”

“It has to do with right of way leases. One property we wish the line to cross has presented particular difficulties. The title changed hands irregularly. Perhaps as a lost wager? The old owner fled to the continent because of some scandal, and it’s taken a great effort to record the transfer. In short, the new owner is the Earl of Glanford.”

She let out a long breath. “That’s what those letters meant. And you learned this when?”

“Tonight. When I read the solicitor’s letter. The one you carried away last night before I could see it. But yesterday, I received a letter that made me wonder. My colleague discovered that the new owner was a minor whose mother was unwilling to allow the right of way.” He dropped her hands and mopped his forehead again.

“Take this off.”

Her slim hands tugged at his coat, bringing instant relief from the heat of the room, but not from the growing fire inside him.

She patted the back of an armchair. “Sit. Tell me more while I fetch you a drink.”

He remained standing, watching her glide into the shadow, wondering how his wooing had transformed into a discussion of business, and whether she minded. Liquid sloshed and she returned with a full glass.

“Only water, I’m afraid.”

He thanked her and took a head-clearing drink.

“Better?”

Better would be casting business aside and getting her into bed.

“Yes,” he said.

“Tell me more.”

“I can understand your objections, Sophie. Use of the land is not without inconvenience to the landowners. The Stockton and Darlington line had to be rerouted to avoid Darlington’s fox coverts. Assuming Artie doesn’t have fox coverts, there’s still the loss of farmland, resistance from tenants, concerns about the smoke and noise—we anticipate using steam engines—and the presence of workmen who are strangers.”

“You think I’ve objected?” There was an edge of irritation in her voice. “Did you not read my letters to Fitz?”

Her letters. Of course. “You didn’t know about it.”

She bit her lip and perched temptingly on the edge of the wide bed. “Are there tenants? If so, we shall have to hear their concerns.”

Hope grew in him, but he’d planned to be brutally honest, so he went on. “And as you so sagely pointed out two nights ago, there may be cost overruns and unexpected pitfalls.”

She smiled. “And there’s no guarantee the railway won’t fail, leaving behind ill will, a disrupted economy and miles of decaying tracks.”

Her smile cheered him and he unwound his neckcloth, tossing it aside and seating himself on the bed next to her. “My partners and I have made a solid business plan. We will undoubtedly encounter difficulties, but we will succeed. I won’t let you down. I won’t leave you penniless. There will be no Matilda Roses in our future. We both have dreams: my railway, your foundry on Glanford land. We can help each other achieve those dreams. We can be true partners. I believe we—you and I—can make a good marriage.”

“And a good railway?” She reached for the top button of his waistcoat. “I’m not a natural pessimist, George. The railway will bring more work, more goods for purchase, and faster, safer transportation.”

She was, without a doubt, the woman for him. “All of that.” And what of my proposal?

“After London,” she said, pushing his waistcoat off, “you and I shall travel to Lancashire, see this land, and speak to the people there.”

When she smoothed her hand over his clammy shirt, his privy counsellor stirred mightily.

“George, I must ask: did you tell Fitz to give me power over Artie’s affairs because you planned to offer marriage and get control anyway?”

“No. Yes—that is, I had—have—no idea whether you will say yes.” He closed his eyes and exhaled. “No. I’ve said I’ll be completely honest. I’d planned to wait to ask for your hand. To give you time to take charge of your responsibilities—and they will be your responsibilities, though I’ll do everything in my power to help you. I’d hoped to have time to convince you of my love, and that our marriage would be different to your marriage with Glanford. Money will perhaps be tight while you rebuild the estate and I build the railway, but we can make our own fortune, together, as well as see to Artie’s and Ben’s futures.” He touched the warm, silky skin of her bare arms, drinking her in. “I’d planned to wait, but I learned tonight someone else intended to offer for you.”

“There are only Fitz and…oh heavens.”

Sophie howled and clapped a hand over her mouth, and his heart lifted.

“Cartwright is far richer than I am. I can’t offer you a house in town and a country estate—”

“We have a country estate, at least until Artie marries, and then I’ll persuade him to give us use of the dower house.”

Yes. She was saying yes.

Before he could kiss her, her palm flattened against his chest. “Since we are being completely honest…” She reached for a garment he hadn’t noticed and handed it to him.

“Stays.”

A husky laugh rippled out of her. “The look on your face, George—let me get scissors.”

He fingered the lumpy boning and yellowing fabric, still warm with her heat and her scent, and followed her to the table.

“Feel this.” She dragged his finger along the nubby ridge of boning.

“You must order new ones in town. Surely these are paining you.”

“It’s a reassuring discomfort.” She snipped a hole and reached into the casing, drawing out an inch of gold chain.

Gold chain…lumps…Sophie had hidden her jewels.

“I’m not entirely penniless. I know a jeweler in the East End, an old friend of my father’s. I shall visit him first thing in London.”

She moved the candle closer. Light twinkled and shimmered on one stone, and another, and then another, and a whole string of diamonds until George lost count. “These were my father’s gift on the news that I was increasing, that I had fulfilled the Clark commitment to the marriage contract. I hid them from Glanford, and later from creditors, and from the steward. Only Willa knows of them. I would keep them a secret from Fitz, as well.”

“Whatever you wish. They are yours.”

“There are two more strands like this one. I separated the chains when I hid them. They might bring enough to pay off the loans Fitz is holding.”

He squeezed her hand. She’d spared these for so long, he couldn’t ask her to part with them now. “We’ll work out a payment scheme with Fitz. I’d much rather see you wearing these.”

“That might raise a few questions from him,” she teased. “As well as from a host of others who settled Glanford’s debts for less than they were owed.”

“Would you wear them for me in private then?” He picked up the strand and held it to her neck watching her breasts move up and down with sudden emotion, teasing the soft skin with his thumbs. “May we move onto another matter of business?”

“That being?”

“Will you agree to marry by Special License?”

“I…” She swallowed.

“In London?”

“London?”

“This week?”

“George, I—”

Setting the jewels aside, he drew her in for a kiss, one hand holding her, the other loosening the drawstring on her chemise and finally, finally cupping her bare breast.

He would wait, he could wait. If he must. But if he could convince her that sooner was better…

THE HEAT of the room was nothing to the fire unleashed within her.

And yet…

Her chemise eased down, and George bent to suckle her, his hand traveling to her rucked-up hem, muddling her mind.

Marry? Next week? In London?

Her first vows had come posthaste, by common license in a church full of strangers, a mere ten days after her compromise. The repenting had gone on for ten years.

She pushed him away and stood, gathering her bodice and covering herself.

George popped up, disheveled, stunned, and…fully aroused. Not angry though. Desire swept through her, and sudden tears swarmed.

He wanted honesty, didn’t he? So did she. One more issue must be addressed.

“I was…” She cleared her throat. “A disappointing lover. As you know. Nor did I learn to enjoy…” She squeezed her eyes shut. Bed sport, Fitz had called it.

A calloused finger tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, and stroked down over her neck, the touch gentle.

“What you said that day, George…I know it was perhaps a lack on my part too.”

Strong arms came around her then, pressing her face to the soft linen shirt and the hard muscles under it, filling her senses with the spice of his cologne and his own musky male scent. His large hand stroked her back, the touch soothing, reassuring…arousing.

When he set her back from him, he was wearing his businessman’s face. “Glanford is dead. You’re alive. And I guarantee, you are not disappointing me. What you don’t know, I will very much enjoy teaching you. It won’t be a chore for me, Sophie, and it won’t be for you, if you want me. That is the question, is it not? Do you want me? Am I wrong in thinking that you do?”

The deep midnight blue of his eyes promised everything. But could she be sure?

For years, she’d shoved down her anger and…her disappointment. She loved her boys but she’d never enjoyed the breeding of them. Might it be different with George?

A gasp escaped her. It was already different. “You aren’t wrong.”

“Then I will begin as I mean to go on—with a well-educated and well-satisfied wife.”

She set her palm to his chest, the hard muscle making her shiver.

But they must discuss everything. “I’m older than you.”

His smile was wicked. “I know. It doesn’t matter. Let me prove it to you.”

Finding the air to speak was impossible.

“We won’t anticipate our vows.” His grin widened. “Not entirely.” And then he kissed her and without breaking the kiss, pushed the chemise down and let it fall to her waist, stepping back.

“Like Botticelli’s Venus.” Laughing, he picked her up and settled her onto the bed. In moments he was shirtless and shoeless and stretched on the bed next to her, all wide shoulders and lean-muscled chest, with a sprinkling of dark hair leading down to—

“What are you grinning about, my lady?” The tip of one calloused finger swept down from her neck, between her breasts, over her belly, down, down until pleasure jolted her.

When his hand moved, her mind turned to mush.

She smiled, and then laughed as he suckled her breast. Pleasure sparked through her, melted her inside, built in her as it had never before done. She’d heard whispers about the pleasure of coupling. Late to the effort, Glanford had tried, making sure she knew it was always an effort he didn’t enjoy. Her greatest pleasure had always been him leaving her bed.

“How does that feel, my love?”

George was watching her, his hot gaze making her blood leap.

His love. Her love. Love made the difference.

“Don’t stop.”

He grinned and resumed his ministrations, and moments later her world exploded.

SHE CAME BACK to earth in his arms and found him eying her, a smug smile softening his features.

“You’re still dressed.”

“Half-dressed.”

“And unsatisfied.”

“I am in heaven.” His finger lazily circled her breast, sending another jolt of pleasure through her. “Your pleasure, my lady, brings me pleasure.”

“I fear…oh.” He’d touched a particularly sensitive spot. “Oh, George. I fear you were wrong all those years ago.”

“What idiotic thing did I say?”

“You said, ‘It takes a woman more than a minute to liven up’.” She rolled onto her side and set her hand atop his. “But you were wrong. It only takes the right man.”

“And am I the right man?”

“Yes.” She laughed. “Most certainly.”

EARLY CHRISTMAS MORNING, George slipped on his shoes and shirt and carried his coats back to his bedchamber. Quickly washing, shaving and changing into fresh clothing, he made his way to the nursery, which was already abuzz. The maids were busy wrangling the two youngest into their clothes, while the three half-dressed older boys stretched on the playroom floor engaged in the Battle of Waterloo.

“Not dressed yet?” George said. “You’ll want breakfast before church.”

Arthur clambered to his feet. James groaned, rising also.

“Church,” Edward grumbled.

“No church, no gifts. Now go on, Lovelaces, and finish dressing. Arthur, stay a moment. I would speak with you.”

He closed the connecting door to the bedchamber and drew Arthur to the far corner of the playroom, directing him to a stool, and crouching before him.

“I have something to discuss with you—to ask you, really, and I don’t want those nodcocks interfering.”

Arthur’s eyes widened, and he nodded.

“Arthur, I’ve grown to love and respect your mother. I’ve asked her to marry me. She has said yes. And I know she’ll talk to you, but I wanted to speak to you first. If my mother were to remarry, I’d want to have a say in it. Now, I want to know any objections you might have.”

Arthur’s eyes pinched together in a frown much like his mother’s. “You would be my stepfather.”

“That is the way of it. And my brothers, even the two nodcocks you’re rooming with, would be your uncles; my sisters, your aunts; my mother, your grandmother.”

He worried his lip chewing over those facts.

“You will all be marrying into a great noisy family. I’ll treat your mama well, I promise you. You and Ben, also.”

“May I go to school with James and Edward?”

George smiled. “Yes. With your mother’s approval, which I will do all in my power to obtain. Do I have your blessing?”

Arthur’s answering grin displayed a mouthful of healthy white teeth. George shook his hand. “Now, go and get dressed. Your new grandmother expects everyone down for breakfast.”

“What’s going on here?” Sophie asked from the doorway.

“Mama.” Arthur flung himself into her arms. “Merry Christmas, Mama.”

She hugged him and glanced over, her eyes glistening. “Mr. Lovelace has spoken to you?”

He nodded.

“And?”

Arthur’s grin had frozen in place.

Like his own, he realized.

“You have my blessing, Mama. But may I please go to school with James and Edward?”

“We will talk.”

“Mr. Lovelace said he will do all in his power to get your approval.”

She tousled his hair and smiled fondly. “Then we shall certainly find a way. Mr. Lovelace can be quite convincing. Now go and finish dressing and I will see you downstairs.”

George escorted her out and down the stairs, pausing at the landing and pointing up.

“Oh you.” She smiled and rose up on her toes for a kiss that went on, and on, and on.

EPILOGUE

5 JANUARY, 1823

“MAMA.”

Ben burst through the door of Sophie’s bedchamber.

His brother snagged his coattail. “You’re supposed to knock,” Artie said.

“Don’t rumple your mama’s fine dress,” Willa called.

Sophie bent to receive her boys. Attired in coats loaned from the nursery wardrobe, they both looked very fine. “My, but you both are so handsome today.”

“So are you, Mama,” Artie said.

She ruffled his hair and glanced in the cheval mirror, holding the vision she saw there in her heart. The three of them together—she wished she could capture this in a portrait. Her boys looked well, and so did she. The gown, cream muslin with lace points and scalloped trim, shimmered in the soft morning light. Willa had dressed her hair into intricate coils held with Lady Loughton’s pearl-studded combs and laced with blue ribbon.

Something borrowed, and something blue.

But it wasn’t just a matter of their attire—the boys glowed with happiness, and so did she.

Lady Loughton appeared in the open doorway. “Are you ready, my dear? I see that your escorts are here, and the carriage has dropped the last passengers and returned. Everyone is at the church except us.”

She straightened and took in a steadying breath. Since George’s Christmas Eve proposal, her life had been a whirlwind of introductions, and meetings, and even shopping.

The gown was new, made especially for her with her own money.

Something new.

And then there’d been the rushed travel, long days in the cold of this bitter winter, short nights in inns, so that they might reach Loughton Manor by Twelfth Night.

“Come along, dear ones. We’ll wait for your mother downstairs.” Lady Loughton ushered the boys to the door and sent Sophie a wink. “Don’t delay. George is not known for his patience.”

Her boys would forever draw a full share of Lady Loughton’s kindness. It was enough to make her weep.

Oh, but she mustn’t. Not until later.

Willa held up the sky-blue redingote for her to slip into. “There now,” she said, tugging her over to the mirror again. “You look more like a countess now than ever you did before.”

She squeezed Willa’s hand. “And I’ll come home a mere missus.”

“Ye’ll always be a lady, my girl.” Willa’s eyes brimmed, and she turned away.

Sophie squeezed her own eyes tight, gathering her composure. She would not walk down the aisle with red eyes.

When Willa finally spoke, she was her usual bustling self. “It’s time we should go,” she said, coming to stand with Sophie, and smiling at the mirror. “Glad you kept the biggest one. Your da would be that pleased.”

A single diamond in a setting of gold twinkled at her throat.

Something old and very precious.

With Artie and Ben crowded in the carriage beside her, she put aside her own butterflies, and relished their joy. At the church steps, Artie handed her out with grave dignity. In the vestibule, a Loughton Manor footman took their cloaks, then Willa made one final tweak of the gown and slipped through the sanctuary door behind Lady Loughton.

Every nerve in her body came alive and she paused, searching for her composure again. She had no cause to be nervous, and all the reason in the world to be excited.

George, bless him, had secured a common license so they could marry at his village church, with her boys and his family present.

“What are we waiting for?” Ben grabbed her hand.

Artie frowned up at her, his face filled with concern. “Are you ready, Mother?”

Perhaps he was worried she would change her mind. Her serious little earl had already begun asking George about investigating for ore.

“I am.” She kissed both of them, slipped her hand over Artie’s arm, and stepped through the sanctuary door.

Eager faces turned toward her, the pews jammed with people, both great and small. The whole village was in attendance.

And at the altar, George looked her way, a smile blooming on his handsome face, warming her all the way to her toes.

She glanced down at her boys’ astonished faces, and laughed.

And walked down the aisle to her waiting groom.

LATER THAT EVENING…

DOWNSTAIRS, while the Twelfth Night festivities with family, neighbors, and friends continued, George and Sophie slipped away, leaving the boys in the care of their grandmother, and sending Willa back to the party below stairs.

When the door closed on the maid, George shed his coat and pulled Sophie into a kiss, all the while working the fastenings of her gown.

She backed away, laughing, her bodice slipping. “Tired of waiting, are you, Mr. Lovelace?”

He breathed a kiss on her neck that made her shiver. “Are not you, Mrs. Lovelace?” he murmured.

Since Christmas Eve, George hadn’t done more than kiss her, though the kissing had been quite thorough.

She clutched his hand and stepped out of her gown and the stays he’d loosened without her noticing. “Tired of you making me wait, yes.”

“Impatient, are you?” He waggled his eyebrows, unbuttoning his waistcoat, tossing it aside, and doing the same with his neck cloth and shirt until he was down to his trousers. He propped his hands on his hips and puffed out his handsome chest. “Mayhap that was part of my strategy, Mrs. Lovelace.”

Desire simmered along every nerve, squeezed the breath from her lungs, heated and pooled until she was ready to welcome him.

She eased out one comb and then another, and another, watching him, as he watched her.

“Your strategy sir,” she said raking her hands through her hair, “is working.”

In a flash, he shed the rest of his garments—and made hers disappear also, and then carried her to the bed.

“My dear, Sophie,” he murmured, “my dear darling wife.”

And then he kissed her, and there was no more need for words.

The End

ABOUT ALINA K. FIELD

Award winning and USA Today best-selling author Alina K. Field earned a Bachelor of Arts Degree in English and German literature, but prefers the much happier world of romance fiction. Though her roots are in the Midwestern U.S., after six very, very, very cold years in Chicago, she moved to Southern California and hasn’t looked back. She shares a midcentury home with her husband and her spunky, blonde, rescued terrier.

She is the author of several historical romances and romantic adventures, including the 2014 Book Buyer’s Best winner, Rosalyn’s Ring. Though she’s hard at work on her next series of historical romances, she loves to hear from readers!

You can find details of her work at

www.AlinaKField.com

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RESCUED BY A RAKE

by

WENDY VELLA

Miss Ivy Redfern’s life is thrown into turmoil when her brother disappears five days before Christmas, and with him her family’s funds. Determined to find Jackson, she seeks help from his old school friend. Mr. Haddon is everything Ivy is not: popular, socially connected and devilishly handsome! Ivy vows her association with him will achieve only one thing – her brother’s release – and there will be absolutely no chance she will fall in love with him, unlike the other simpering society ladies.

When Rory Haddon agrees to help Ivy Redfern he is determined to do so his own way.  She’s feisty, bookish and opinionated, and is equally determined to question his every move. To his complete surprise, he is soon captivated by her intelligence, gentle beauty and utter disregard for his rakish charm. When he realizes Ivy’s life is also in danger, Rory will do whatever it takes to keep her safe, because she is his future. Ivy is just unaware of that yet.

CHAPTER ONE

MR. RORY HADDON knew that Miss Arantxa Redfern was following him. There were two reasons for this conclusion. The first, because when he left the concert, she’d followed, and second, he’d tested his assumption by wandering up and down floors and in and out of rooms. She’d followed a discreet distance away, but he knew she was there, just not why.

He and his family were attending the Waddell Christmas concert, an amateur production that was extremely painful on the ears. Lord Waddell’s youngest son was hopeless on the violin, and his daughter often sounded like a knife scraping against a plate when she attempted to sing a high note.

However, one thing the Waddell townhouse did have that others didn’t was a splendid view of London high on the fourth floor. A turret room, so that was where he was heading, slowly, with Miss Redfern on his heels. He’d visited this vantage point last season with a friend who had a particular interest in astronomy. Lord Waddell had told Rory he was welcome back there anytime he was in the vicinity.

There was to be a short intermission before the next round of torture downstairs, so Rory had taken the opportunity to wander. Like many attending, this would be his family’s last function before leaving London for Greyton, their estate, for the colder months and Christmas festivities.

Opening the door that led up, he did not pause or look over his shoulder. Would she follow? Perhaps she’d wait at the bottom? Rory didn’t care. He wanted the ice-cold blast of air he’d get up here. The ballroom where the concert was held had been stuffy, with fires roaring and perfumed guests; plus there was Wilimenia Willoughby and her noxious mother. Both seemed to have come to the conclusion he would make a fine member of their family. Rory would rather become a monk.

He climbed slowly. Surely, she would not follow him up here—unless she didn’t know where he was going? Reaching the top, he opened the door and stepped out into the frigid night air. Inhaling, he turned left and took the narrow path that led around the roof line, just far enough away from the door so that if Miss Redfern did appear, he could stop her from leaving before he questioned her. And he would question her, because before today he’d spoken no more than a handful of words with her, and they’d been polite greetings or exchanges about the weather.

Moving back so he was near the roof, he waited and watched. Before him lay the city of London. Sprinkles of light told him the lamps had been lit. It was a magical view, and one he doubted anyone would tire of.

Rory heard the door open because it made a small squeaking sound, then saw a shadowy form appear.

“Good evening, Miss Redfern. Pleasant night for a walk around the turret, wouldn’t you say? Although perhaps a trifle chilly. The fog seems to have eased just for us. You can see a great deal of London from all sides. Some even say it is the best of all views.”

She stood still; so motionless she looked like a statue. A few feet from where Rory was, she had yet to so much as squeak. Her dress had long sleeves, but had to be cold, as she wore only a light scarf and evening gloves.

“Perhaps I can escort you around the sphere, as Lord Waddell calls it?”

“No.”

“But as you sought me out, you must wish for my company?” Rory wasn’t about to make it easier on her. It was highly inappropriate for a young woman to behave this way. If someone found them here alone together, the assumptions would be far from accurate or pleasant for either of them. “Come now, Miss Redfern, what is it you want from me?” Rory moved closer, his intent to see her expression. “Because I have never been a man to enjoy the attentions of a woman I have no wish to pursue.”

She reared back as if he’d struck her. A small, mousy woman, with a narrow pointy face and lips that were usually clamped in a line, she had never struck him as anything but a timid creature who hid around the edges of society functions, yet here she was, still following him.

“I have no wish to pursue you, sir.”

“If that is indeed the case, then why have you done so with relentless determination for the entire evening?”

“In that you are correct.”

“I know.”

“But it is not because I wish a dalliance of any kind with you, Mr. Haddon.”

He didn’t know what to say to that. Her tone had been dismissive, as if he was not worth dallying with, which was of course a direct hit to his pride. Not that Rory was overly boastful or believed he was a touch above anyone, but still. No one liked to hear they were not worthy of a dalliance, especially when there were plenty of women in the rooms below them that would disagree.

“Then what do you wish, Miss Redfern? Because while the view out here is unparalleled, there is no doubting the cold will soon numb our extremities. I have a jacket. You, however, have very little to protect you from the elements.”

“It is a delicate matter. I must have your word you will not speak of this to anyone.” She didn’t stomp her feet, which must be going numb, or rub her arms, just stood there looking at him, unmoving.

Her voice wasn’t displeasing; actually, it had a nice pitch to it, unlike some. Wilimenia Willoughby slipped into his head. The woman could cut glass when she spoke.

“I cannot promise that, as I have no idea what you are about to disclose.”

She made a little huffing sound.

“Well?” He wasn’t normally rude, but it was getting colder the longer he stood still. He could imagine how she was feeling, dressed in substantially less.

“You went to Eton with my brother, I believe?”

“I did.” In fact, Jackson Redfern had been a close friend, and they’d gotten up to no end of trouble together. They’d drifted apart when their school days ended and not mixed in the same circles since. They always acknowledged each other and talked in passing, but the schoolboy bond had severed.

“It is Jackson I wish to speak to you about.”

“I have not seen him this season. Where is he?”

She hesitated, then her eyes turned to look at the view.

“I’m waiting, Miss Redfern.”

“This is not easy for me to speak of. I am attempting to form my words.”

“Just speak them in whatever form they take, then we can get back inside before we become ice sculptures.”

She shot him a look, and he saw the frown on her face.

“I fear my brother is in trouble, Mr. Haddon. In fact, I know he is.”

“What kind of trouble?”

“He has fallen in with nefarious individuals who are holding him against his will.”

“Nefarious?” Rory tried to recall if Jackson had ever said anything about his sister having a flair for drama.

“Yes. He has been missing for two weeks now, and I have failed to ascertain his exact whereabouts.”

“I’m sorry, but I still don’t understand why you are seeking me out, Miss Redfern?” He was completely at sea.

“Jackson said once there were not many people in the world he trusted, but you were one of them. He said you were honorable, as was your family, and if there was ever a time he needed someone to turn to, it would be you.”

“He said all of that?”

She nodded.

“Considering that was many years ago, Miss Redfern, I am impressed that you remembered the conversation so concisely.”

“I have a very good memory.”

“Excellent,” Rory said, because he wasn’t sure how else to reply to that. “We have now established my outstanding character and that you did not follow me up here to secure my attentions. What, pray tell, is it you want from me?”

“This is not amusing, Mr. Haddon. This is serious, and I have gr-grave concerns for my brother.”

He heard the stutter but wasn’t sure if it was from the cold or tears. He sincerely hoped it was the first.

“Forgive me, I did not mean to make light of the situation, but I still fail to see why you have sought me out.”

“I need your help.” The words were spoken in a somber tone. “I have no one else to turn to.”

“To help you find Jackson?”

She nodded again.

“Miss Redfern, I am unsure what it is I can do? Surely there is a friend or family member better suited to aid you in your search? Your brother and I have been no more than nodding acquaintances for some time.”

“I have no family besides an elderly aunt. Our parents passed a few years ago.”

“You have my condolences.”

She waved his words away with the flick of a wrist. “I visited Bastil’s gambling establishment to see if he was there—”

“I beg your pardon; you are not telling me you actually visited that establishment?”

“Of course I did. How can I find my brother if I do not look?”

“You are a young woman of noble birth! Surely you cannot have been so foolish as to step foot inside? Good God, you would have been ruined had anyone recognized you.”

She flicked out her fingers, dismissing his words again, which tweaked his temper. Rory never liked to be dismissed. His brother told him it was because he was the middle child.

“You do realize what could have happened had you been found or mistaken for someone else?”

Who was supposed to be looking after this woman? Surely there was someone other than her brother and aunt watching over her.

“Who?”

“Pardon?”

“Who would I have been mistaken for?”

“Someone who frequents such places,” Rory said, feeling uncomfortable to be mentioning this to a young, innocent woman.

“Women of the night, do you mean? Ladies who make their money hawking their wares to whoever is interested. Women who—”

“Yes, yes, I take your meaning.” Rory could feel the heat rising in his cheeks. “A woman such as yourself should not speak of things.”

“A woman of noble birth who was raised with food on her table and soft bedding, do you mean? A woman who has never had to struggle for—”

“You must be extremely challenging to live with.”

“Because I am aware of more than the end of my nose, do you mean, Mr. Haddon?”

“And I repeat, challenging to live with.”

“It’s true that if I have something to say, I will say it. But I do not find it a fault; indeed it is a strength in my character.”

“Said no one but you, I’m sure, Miss Redfern.”

“But to set your mind at rest, I disguised myself so no one would recognize me,” she added as if he had not spoken.

Rory had only ever given this woman a passing glance, taken no time to discuss anything more than the weather with her, and yet he had to admit, if only to himself, she was suddenly intriguing him. Not many of her standing would speak as she was or stand up to him.

Folding his arms, he waited for what next would come out of her mouth, as clearly something would.

CHAPTER TWO

IVY TRIED NOT to shiver as she looked at the large nobleman standing a few feet away from her. Jackson liked this man very much and once had been his closest friend. In those days she’d trusted her brother’s judgement; that was no longer the case.

“Yes, well, I am not one to mince words, sir.” Her teeth would start chattering soon, it was so cold. She longed for the cloak she’d handed over upon her arrival.

“I can see that.”

He was tall like his elder brother the earl, but his hair was lighter. Not black or brown, but somewhere in the middle. The ends brushed his collar and curled up at the back, which he likely did not realize, but she did as she’d been watching him all evening. Her and plenty of the other women present.

Ivy had deliberately ushered her aunt into the seats one row behind Mr. Haddon and his family for the concert, hoping she could speak with him. The opportunity had not presented itself. She’d watched him laugh with his family; they interacted with the familiarity of those who loved each other very much. Ivy had swallowed down the pain of the memory that she and Jackson had once been like that.

When he got up to leave the room, she followed, at a discreet distance of course.

He had a strong face, according to Lady Brookvale, who had told Ivy’s aunt once that she’d thought him an excellent catch for any young woman, even if he had rakish tendencies as many young men tended too. Her eyes had rested on Ivy when she was saying those words.

“I have followed my brother’s footsteps for the past two weeks, Mr. Haddon. He has not once returned to the house, but has visited the rooms of a friend, and this is where I confronted him. At the time he was extremely agitated and only said he would take care of whatever it is that is troubling him.”

“You went to a man’s rooms?”

“I did, and it had to be done, so please halt any further recriminations regarding my right to be there or what it would do to my reputation, Mr. Haddon. It is of no consequence to me.”

“No consequence? Are you quite mad? It’s of every consequence. You will not find a husband if your reputation is sullied.”

“Yes, because there is surely no greater hope for a young lady than to find a husband, after all. How could any other thought possibly enter her head?” Ivy could do nothing to swallow down the sarcasm.

“And I repeat, challenging.”

“I don’t want a husband and am unlikely to get one, given what is required. They’re extremely taxing and would insist I behave a certain way, which I assure you I will not be doing.”

His bark of laughter sounded loud on the still night air.

“This is not a laughing matter, Mr. Haddon.”

“Forgive me, I just hadn’t realized that Jackson’s words regarding you were quite so accurate. I thought he was embellishing your character, as siblings are wont to do.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Your brother said you were the most annoying sister a brother could ever have because you were devilishly intelligent and could talk your way out of anything.”

“Oh.” Ivy refused to weep. She’d done enough of that in her rooms at night.

“It was a compliment, Miss Redfern. I always knew your brother loved you very much.”

“Thank you, Mr. Haddon, that is very kind of you to say.”

He didn’t say anything further, just watched her. Large and silent, waiting for her to speak again. Ivy was rarely silent or still. It was an enviable trait.

“If you cannot help me, then could you direct me to someone who could? I tried to employ the services of an investigative person, but that failed miserably.”

“Failed how?”

“The man wanted more than money from me. I set him to rights, I assure you.”

“I have said ‘I beg your pardon’ a great deal more in your company than I have in many weeks, Miss Redfern, however it is the only phrase I have for this moment. Could you please explain how you set the man to rights?”

“It all started when I saw an advertisement for an investigative service in the paper. I should have realized by its location and the shabby state of the office that the man was not reliable.”

“Where was the office?”

“Broom Lane.”

“Good Lord, that is not a place you should be frequenting.”

“I had few choices open to me, so that was the one I took. I told the man what I needed. He said payment up-front, which I did not agree to, as I am nobody’s fool.”

“Clearly.”

“So he got angry, then advanced on me, intending to take liberties upon my person.”

“Good Lord.”

“Indeed. I soon alerted him to his mistakes. He will not be walking straight for some time.”

Another loud bark of laughter. “May I ask how you disarmed him?”

“Does it matter?”

“I’m intrigued.”

“I have a footman who teaches me things and accompanies me most places. He was outside the door, so I had to take matters into my own hands.”

“Things?”

“It is of no consequence. Now will you answer my question, please. Do you?”

“Do I what?” He moved closer, and Ivy fought the urge to scurry backward. She never scurried, that was not her way, but still, he was an intimidating presence. Handsome, and she’d noted he smelled good. This she’d deduced from following him; his scent had lingered in the air.

“Know anyone who can help me if you will not?”

“Can I ask first what your brother said to you when you confronted him?”

“As I have explained, he said he would take care of it. I asked what ‘it’ was, why he had not been home, and what was making him behave erratically.”

“And what was his response?”

“He pushed me out the door and locked it.”

“Very wise.”

“How is that wise?”

“He was saving your reputation.”

“I doubt that. I could smell the alcohol on his person!”

“There is no need to shriek, Miss Redfern, I am right here.”

Ivy swallowed down her next words.

“What is it you want me to do?” A dark brow rose. He was now close enough for her to make out every feature on his face, even in the weak moonlight. His eyes were brown. Deep and dark, they seemed to look right inside her, such was their intensity.

“Go to the places I cannot.”

“Miss Redfern, surely your brother is simply doing what many are? High spirits, enjoying his time in London?”

Ivy loathed being dismissed as if she was a hysterical female overreacting.

“It is not high spirits,” she gritted out. “My brother inherited a reasonable income from our father. Unlike other second sons, he refused to simply live off his brother, join the army, or enter the church, Mr. Haddon. He invested wisely, and Jackson was to continue the course my father had set for him and ensure a comfortable life for us all. As we have so far been visited by two people wanting payment for goods they’d delivered, I don’t believe that is the case. I managed to break into his desk and found more unpaid accounts, but as I am a female and therefore clearly an idiot, I cannot go to the bank to check what funds are still available, if any.”

“I can’t imagine anyone being foolish enough to call you an idiot.”

“The point here is I am out of ideas and need help. Will you do so?”

“Help?”

“I have just said as much,” she said, trying not to sound testy.

“Can I ask what you believe your brother is actually doing, Miss Redfern? The man I knew was honorable and intelligent. I can’t see he has changed overmuch.”

This was the part she dreaded. Telling this man who had once been Jackson’s friend what her brother had succumbed to.

“Miss Redfern?”

“I have deduced with what limited information I have thus far that my brother has very possibly fallen for the charms of a woman who has lured him into her gambling establishment, where he is now spending our money.”

“You’ve deduced this by eliminating the places you frequented and speaking to people, one presumes? As surely your brother did not tell you these things if, as you say, he is doing what you suggest.”

“There is no if about it, Mr. Haddon. I have narrowed it down to just two places, but am leaning heavily toward one in particular.”

“Please don’t tell me you entered other establishments like Bastil’s? I fear my heart won’t take the shock.”

“My footman has been helping me and has entered the other premises, as I have realized that in this at least you are right. I should not frequent another establishment such as Bastil’s.”

“I am relieved,” he drawled. “This is the same footman who has been teaching you things?”

She nodded.

“So there is just you and your aunt under Jackson’s protection?”

“Yes. Thus far I have managed to keep most things from her, but that will not last much longer.”

“Devilishly nosey people, aunts.”

She had the feeling he was making fun of her, but as his face was solemn, Ivy couldn’t be entirely certain. Jackson had said he had a wicked sense of humor.

“Well? Will you help me find my brother, Mr. Haddon?”

“I will help you, Miss Redfern. But I must have all the facts and also be made aware of the locations you are traveling to. I will not have your demise at the hands of some scoundrel on my conscience.”

“I am an adult, Mr. Haddon, and have no need of you watching over me. It is Jackson only that must be your main focus.”

“Miss Redfern.” He moved closer still, and it took all of Ivy’s control not to scurry backward. “In this I’m afraid I will not be flexible. You agree to my terms, or I shall be unable to help you.”

Looking at the large nobleman, Ivy wondered in fact if she hadn’t just made a grave error of judgement soliciting his help. He was not a man she would be able to control.

CHAPTER THREE

HE WASN’T sure why he’d agreed. Maybe it was because now that he was closer to her, he could see her desperation. Her shiver had him taking her arm.

“Come, you are freezing and have been out here too long. We shall return to the concert, God save us all.”

“I will play a part in finding my brother, Mr. Haddon.”

“Of course, but you will no longer be playing it alone.” Rory bundled her back inside out of the icy December wind.

She shook off his fingers and faced him. Someone had lit a lamp up here, believing perhaps a few hardy guests would make the trek up to view London by night. He could see her clearly now. Her eyes were light; blue, he thought, or perhaps even gray. Her features were more delicate than pointed, he had to now concede. Small nose, heart-shaped mouth, and pink cheeks. Her hair was pulled back in a bun, and she wore a blue velvet band on her head.

“Good Lord, your lips are turning blue.” Rory took off his jacket.

“Wh-what are you doing, sir?”

“Warming you up before you faint.”

“I have never fainted in my life!” She looked horrified.

“There is always a first time for most things.” He dropped the jacket around her shoulders.

“I can’t wear your jacket,” she said, pulling the edges closer together and huddling into it. “It’s really not done.”

“I will take it from you before we return to the other guests. Now, tomorrow I will call upon you and we will talk. You shall tell me what you know, and I will start from there.”

“Oh.” She blinked several times. “I-I cannot thank you enough, Mr. Haddon. Really, you were my last hope.”

“I doubt that, Miss Redfern. Something tells me you are a resourceful woman.” He took her arm again, urging her toward the stairs.

He’d thought she’d be one of those ladies who chattered when they were nervous, but she simply walked quietly down the stairs clutching his jacket close. When they reached the bottom, he opened the door and nudged her through. Once there she removed the jacket and handed it to him.

“There are a few more floors yet.”

“But someone may see us. Not everyone will be watching the concert. There will be those who have… ah, other things on their minds.”

“Why, whatever do you mean, Miss Redfern?” He shrugged back into his jacket.

“Well… I mean to say that some guests may wish to wander.”

“That was an extremely vague description when what you really wanted to say was that they are seeking secluded places for secret rendezvous.” There was just something about this woman that made him want to tease her. She was wrapped up tighter than a Christmas parcel, and he doubted she unraveled often.

“I’m sure it’s not appropriate to speak to me that way.”

“Just as it’s not appropriate for you to go into brothels and gaming hells, do you mean?”

She sighed. “Jackson said you were devilishly tricky with words and have a sharp intellect.”

“I try.”

“So do I.”

“Excellent, then we shall battle wits and intellect often.”

“Intellect, but rarely wit, I’m afraid, Mr. Haddon.”

They walked down the wide staircase together. It was grand on every scale, from the plush carpets to huge gilt-framed pictures high on the walls.

“You have no wit, Miss Redfern?” He looked at her profile, saw the length of her lashes and determined tip of her chin. She wasn’t mousy, and yet he’d thought her that way because she did not make a statement as others did, but kept to the sidelines. What she actually was, was sweet.

“Very little, I’m afraid. It was a constant source of annoyance for Jackson.”

He laughed, the sound bouncing off the walls around them.

“You have a dry wit, Miss Redfern, vastly different from the non-dry variety, I assure you.”

“Jackson said I used to make him laugh without realizing I was being funny.” She looked sad suddenly.

“We will find your brother, Miss Redfern. Have heart.”

She turned to look up at him, and that look made something happen inside his chest. A tightness he couldn’t explain. She then took another step. He grabbed her upper arm in case she tumbled. “If I may suggest you look where you are going, as we are on a staircase.”

“Yes, another failing, I’m afraid.”

“Not looking where you are going?”

“Clumsiness.” She peeled down the sleeve of her glove, and he saw a bandage. “I walked into the sideboard this morning.”

“Not pleasant, I should imagine.”

“No, but usually not a day goes by when I do not connect with some piece of furniture.”

They arrived at the last step, and he released her, surprised that he was reluctant to do so.

“I will call upon you tomorrow, Miss Redfern. I think it best you return alone to the ballroom.”

“Of course. Thank you, I will be waiting.” She had to tilt her head back to look at him. “I really cannot thank you enough for this, Mr. Haddon.”

“No thanks necessary, I assure you. Jackson and I are friends.” He’d been about to say “were,” but he thought that may have made her sad.

She nodded, then walked away. Rory wasn’t sure why, as he stood there watching her disappear, he felt like something momentous had just happened in his life, but he did.

Following minutes later, he made his way back to his family, who were all still sitting where he’d left them what felt like hours ago. Sliding into his seat, he ignored the looks they sent him.

“Where have you been? You missed the last part of the performance,” his brother Joseph, Earl of Ellsworth, hissed. Large, and some said handsome—Rory would never be one of those—he was a man who wore his title and the responsibility that came with it with ease. At his side was his love, the golden-haired, beautiful Lady Millicent.

Theirs had not been an easy path to love, but they had overcome the obstacles and were now nauseatingly happy, and he could not have asked for more for his brother.

“I went up to the turret.”

“Why? It’s freezing.”

“Bracing,” Rory corrected him.

“Thankfully that is over for another year,” Milly said as the guests all heaved a sigh of relief the torture had ended. “I hope supper is soon.”

“Why are you cross?” Rory asked her. His eyes then circled those guests he could see now standing to find Miss Redfern.

“I am the size of a large heifer, Rory. Why do you think?”

“But an extremely pretty and elegant heifer,” Joe added.

“My feet are swollen.”

Milly and Joseph were expecting their first child in two months, and Rory had to say he was looking forward to greeting his niece or nephew.

“I will rub them later.”

“Oh, that would be bliss.” Milly smiled at her husband, and suddenly it was as if they were alone. Rory looked at his younger brother, Charles, who replied with a roll of his eyes.

Charles and he were friends even though they annoyed each other and bickered endlessly. In fact, he could honestly say his brothers were his best friends.

“Oh lord, that old windbag Harrop is angling for an invite to Greyton. Joseph, do not under any circumstances allow that to happen.” Ellie, his vivacious sister, arrived as they got out of their seats. At her side was her husband, Louis, Viscount Thurston.

“As he has yet to get an invite there at Christmas or any time, I fail to see why this year would be any different, Ellie,” Joseph said.

They were all versions of each other, the Haddon siblings, with small variations, but there was no doubting they were family.

“Just be on your guard. How are you, Milly?” She moved to her sister-in-law’s side and started chatting about babies and swollen feet. The men grouped together as if by mutual consent and tried to ignore the women’s conversation.

“Do any of you know Jackson Redfern?” Rory asked.

“The Redfern whose father is the Marquis of Malvoy’s nephew?” Louis asked. He was a watcher and remembered names.

“The very one.”

“Actually, do you know I haven’t seen or heard anything about him lately. Has he been in London this season?”

Charles looked about as if Jackson Redfern would suddenly appear.

“What are you doing?” Rory asked his brother.

“Looking for him?”

“Why? Louis just said he hadn’t seen him lately, so why do you think he would be ambling past you?”

“Why are you testy?” Joseph asked.

“I’m not testy. I just saw his sister, and my thoughts ran to Jackson naturally, as we were close at Eton.” Rory wasn’t ready yet to come clean as to what he’d discussed with her, but if he needed the support of his family, he would do. Right now he couldn’t be sure if it was just the overactive imagination of a sister. And yet, she didn’t seem prone to hysteria. Having said that, he barely knew her. The odd thing was, he suddenly wanted to.

“He’s hungry. Come.” Milly slipped her arm through Rory’s. “I get testy when I’m hungry, especially now, when I have the appetite of a jungle animal.”

Rory allowed her to drag him toward the supper room while his mind tried to remember everything Jackson Redfern had once told him about his sister.

CHAPTER FOUR

“I’M HOPING there is at least some form of cake. Some of these hostesses insist on slivers of food that have little taste, feeding us tidbits of this and that when in fact what we want are eclairs and cake.”

“Is that the child talking or you?”

“No, that’s all her. Milly has a hunger for cake and eclairs that outshines yours, Rory,” Joe said over his shoulder. “The child has merely made that appetite more ferocious.”

“I shall try not to get in your way then.”

Milly patted his hand. “I will only bite you should there be one eclair left and you reach for it.”

“She’s only half joking,” Ellie said.

Releasing his sister-in-law, he watched her wander to the table with his sister. Looking along the length, he wondered it did not buckle under the weight of everything piled on top of it. He smelled spices and saw large wedges of fruitcake that he would be eating shortly.

More boughs of seasonal greenery hung about the place in here, all tied up with red satin ribbon. He saw some mistletoe, and his thoughts went to Miss Redfern. Had she been kissed under a sprig of mistletoe before? Had she even been kissed?

“Move along, Miss Redfern.”

“You appear to be hungry, Lady Trockler.”

Turning, he found her with an elderly woman, presumably the aunt, and Lord and Lady Trockler. Digging into his memory, he came up with another tidbit Jackson had told him. This aunt had come to live with them after the passing of her son.

She was dressed in lilac from head to toe, and even had a small spray in her hair.

“Good evening, Lord Trockler, Lady Trockler, and Miss Redfern.” Rory bowed. No point in alerting anyone that they’d already conversed this evening. “I hope you are enjoying the ball?”

“No I’m not. The seats are too hard, and the music was over loud,” Lady Trockler snapped. She then stomped away followed by her husband.

“That woman was born mean,” the lady with Miss Redfern said.

“This is my aunt, Mrs. Silver. Aunt, this is Mr. Haddon, he is an old school friend of Jackson’s,” Miss Redfern said before dropping into a curtsey. When she rose, he saw color in her face. Clearly she was uncomfortable seeing him again so soon.

“Allow me to introduce you to my brother, Lord Ellsworth, and brother-in-law, Lord Thurston, and lastly my youngest brother, Mr. Charles Haddon.”

As Milly and Ellie were now at the far end of the table, he left them out of the introductions.

“Oh my, you have all grown into handsome men. Of course I have seen you often at social gatherings, but as I spend most of my evenings seated with friends gossiping, we have never conversed. Can I say how proud your grandfather would have been of you all.”

“You knew him?” Joseph said, taking the gloved hand the elderly woman held out.

“I did. Wonderful man. We were all in love with him, but your grandmother won his heart.”

Moving slightly to the right, Rory leaned down to talk to Miss Redfern. “You need to hurry if it’s an eclair you’re after. My sister and sister-in-law have a ferocious appetite for them.”

Her eyes went from him to the table.

“Go on, you know you want to.”

“I certainly do not. I don’t like eclairs.”

“Oh, come now, who doesn’t like eclairs?”

“I’d much prefer the almond biscuits.”

“I must admit I like them also. Come, we shall endeavor to get one before my family devours everything.”

“Oh, but—”

“No one knows we have conversed or the reasons why. Your brother is an old friend of mine, so us talking or eating together will not raise eyebrows.”

She gave him a curt nod, then walked to the table.

“Miss Redfern, this is my sister-in-law, Lady Ellsworth, and sister, Lady Thurston.”

“Oh, but we are acquainted.” Ellie smiled, and Miss Redfern replied with one of her own. Rory had to admit it suited her. Her face changed entirely. Softened.

Seeing gossip was in her future, he wandered to where the fruitcake and his eldest brother stood.

“She has the look of Jackson. I’d not noticed it until this evening, but then I hardly remember seeing her,” Joseph said.

“I think she’s something of a wallflower.”

“Well, that explains it. Now, do you want to tell me what is concerning you?”

“Nothing is concerning me.” He shot Miss Redfern another look. Ellie was pointing to the eclairs, and she was shaking her head.

“Perhaps I can help?”

His brother always knew when he had something on his mind.

“Very well, but keep what I am telling you to yourself, as I’m not entirely sure as yet there is a problem.”

“You know I will.”

“Miss Redfern approached me earlier. She has grave concerns for Jackson.”

“What concerns?” Joe’s hand beat Rory’s to the final almond biscuit. “You will need to be quicker than that.”

“Yes, well, stop trying to distract me and I will.” Rory’s words were testy as he grabbed the inferior shortbread.

“Continue, and I will eat my biscuit and give you sage advice.”

“She thinks he’s gambling or something equally nefarious. It seems he’s spent a great deal of the family money and creditors have started to call. Miss Redfern said Jackson has been missing for a few weeks now, and while she has tried, as yet she cannot ascertain his whereabouts.”

“Where has she tried?” Joe took a crab patty.

“Bastil’s is one she named.”

“You’re not serious?”

“She’s an extremely determined woman, it seems, but has a footman who accompanies her, and it is now he who enters places she wishes to check.”

“Is that admiration I hear in your voice, brother?”

“No. I told her that she’d risked her reputation by doing what she had, but apparently Miss Redfern feels her disguise was up to the task.”

Joseph choked on the crab patty, which allowed Rory to whack him on the back.

“Will you help her?” his brother said when he could speak again.

“I’ve said I’ll meet with her tomorrow to discuss the matter further.”

“Good. I believe there is only Miss Redfern and her aunt left in the family, besides Jackson, so whatever you can do to aid them is a good thing. However, have a care and don’t step into anything without telling me or Charles first.”

“Manure?”

“Anything but manure.”

“Puddle?” Rory chewed on his biscuit as he watched Miss Redfern chat with Milly and Ellie. Their eyes caught and held briefly. It was she who turned away.

He felt a strange sensation in his stomach. Perhaps he’d eaten that fruitcake too quickly.

“The point I am attempting to make, Rory, is that I have no wish for you to walk into danger because a woman has directed you to.”

“Wrong brother, I believe. It is Charles who does things like that, not I,” Rory said, watching Miss Redfern take a large bite of the eclair she had told him she did not like. No dainty nibbling for her.

“We all are capable of doing foolish things when a woman is involved.”

Looking at his brother, he saw Joe’s eyes were on Milly.

“And yet I feel nothing for Miss Redfern. Her brother, however, was a friend and deserves that someone find out what is going on with him.”

“If you say so.”

“I know so,” Rory said.

“And yet your eyes have stayed on her continually since she entered the supper room.”

“No, they haven’t.” Rory turned his back on Miss Redfern. He then searched for something else to discuss. He watched as Lord Trockler picked up a cake and his wife took it out of his hands and put it on her own plate.

“That woman is nasty. Now, you’ll excuse me, brother. I am standing in the supper room but as yet have not eaten an eclair,” Rory said before he walked away. Taking the long way around the table, he pretended to study the array of food before reaching Miss Redfern’s side.

“I thought you did not like eclairs, Miss Redfern?”

“It is surprisingly good. Your sister urged me to try one.”

“Miss Redfern is a lover of almond biscuits like you, Rory,” Ellie said.

“Is she? Well, that shows she has good taste.”

“Or is clearly uneducated as to which food is superior,” Ellie added.

“Such messy things, eclairs,” Miss Redfern said, wiping her hands on a napkin.

“And where is it you will retire this winter, Miss Redfern?” Milly asked. He couldn’t remember if the Redferns had a country house or not.

“We are to stay in London. My brother has business here.”

Their eyes met and held, and both knew that whatever business Jackson was undertaking, there would be no end result that benefited the Redfern family.

CHAPTER FIVE

IVY HAD LAIN in bed last night for hours agonizing over her decision to tell Mr. Haddon about Jackson. Her worry had not lessened when she opened her heavy lids this morning.

He was calling to speak with her soon, and she couldn’t stop wringing her hands. Ivy never wrung her hands. As far as she was concerned, that was for silly women who should know better. It seemed she was now one of those.

She’d changed her dress twice, and her maid was looking at her strangely, as she never did that either. Ivy was not really aware of fashion like some.

“I am being silly.” She walked slowly around the room and stopped at the window that looked down to the street. He was there again. Every time she left her house, she saw that man. Once he’d followed her up and down Bond Street. Another time he’d walked past the window when she was purchasing her aunt’s favorite toffee.

It had gone beyond coincidence. Why was he watching her? Ivy had a feeling it was to do with Jackson, and the shiver of fear accompanying that thought was not pleasant. Moving away, she clutched the back of her chair. Looking at her things, she tried to focus. She must be alert for when Mr. Haddon arrived.

Could he help her? Had she done the right thing by telling him?

Books sat one on top of the other on her nightstand. Diaries were beside them, and of course Herbertina, her doll, the only one she’d ever owned. It had been given to her by her brother. Seeing the torn left arm, she decided to give it to her aunt to fix.

A tap on her door had Ivy hurrying to answer it. Was Mr. Haddon here so soon?

“A note has been delivered for you, Miss Redfern.”

“Thank you, Parslip.”

Closing the door after the butler left, Ivy sat and looked at the missive.

Was it from Mr. Haddon? Had he decided against helping her? In all honesty, she wouldn’t be surprised. After all, with time and thought he may have decided she was a hysterical female after all.

At some point during those hours she stared at her ceiling, she’d had to acknowledge he intrigued her. Handsome, yes, but he was so much more than that. Jackson had talked about him often when he was home from Eton, and she’d come to like the man as much as her brother, even though they’d never met then.

Opening the note, she read the words.

I have your brother, Miss Redfern. If you wish to see him again, you will do exactly as I say. Gather money and jewelry and await my direction. Tell no one or he will die. Be aware that I am watching you.

Ivy crumpled the note in her hand.

Dear Lord, Jackson. She had to save him.

Rushing to her desk, she dashed off a note to Mr. Haddon. She could not involve him now, not when whoever wrote that note expressly asked her to speak to no one. There was also the fact that she could not live with herself if she put him in the path of danger when he was only helping her.

Walking back to the window, she saw the man was now gone. Be aware that I am watching you.

Grabbing the doll, as it would prove a distraction so her aunt didn’t see her worry, she hurried down the stairs.

“Parslip, please send this to the Earl of Ellsworth’s address.” She handed the missive to the butler. “Ensure it is placed into the hands of Mr. Haddon.”

“At once, Miss Redfern.”

“I will also need the carriage soon and for Timothy to accompany me.”

“I shall see to it at once.”

“I will leave the house within the hour.”

Ivy was certain that her brother was being held at Le Plaisir, a brothel and gambling establishment. Her deductions had all pointed there, so that was where she would start her investigations today. She did not have the time to sit and wait for the demands of the blackmailer. With limited funds, and very little jewelry, she could not offer much, so she had to find her brother and rescue him.

“Your aunt has asked that you attend her in the morning parlor, Miss Redfern.”

“Of course. I shall go there directly.” Hurrying to the small parlor, she entered to find Aunt Bea drinking her morning cup of tea.

“Good morning.” She managed a smile

Aunt Beatrice was her father’s sister. Lively, with many friends, she had lived with the Redfern siblings for many years.

“Hello, darling. Is Herbertina needing more repairs?”

“She is. Now I cannot stop, I must hurry before the lending library closes. Have you any requests?”

“But it doesn’t close for a few hours yet, surely?”

“I have a few other errands to run also. I will take my maid and Timothy with me.” She kissed a soft, pale cheek. Her aunt smelled as she always did, of lilacs. Her silver hair was pinned into the style it always was, and a spray of lilacs were pinned there. When she couldn’t access real ones, she wore silk flowers.

Aunt Bea said the flower reminded her of her late husband.

“Have you heard from Jackson, dear?”

“I have, and he says he will be home any day now. His business is nearly completed.”

“I still don’t understand why he felt he need to hare off to Scotland at such a time. The weather will be far worse than anything we get in London. I hope he packed plenty of warm clothes.”

“I’m sure he did, and I believe the business matter quite an urgent one.” Ivy hated lying, but she must until she could get Jackson home. Her aunt would not suffer because of her brother’s recklessness.

“Pass me that doll. I shall repair her arm before it falls off completely, but one day I fear she will simply disintegrate.”

“I will deal with that day when it arrives.”

“A Mr. Haddon has arrived,” Parslip said from the doorway.

“Didn’t we meet him last night?” Aunt Bea asked. “He was one of the handsome brothers, if memory serves.”

Why is he so early? Her note had clearly not reached him yet, so he must have left early to visit her. She would now have to find a way to tell him she no longer needed his help.

“Bring him in, Parslip. We have not had a man in the house for weeks. It’s most exciting.” Aunt Bea clapped her hands. “And have fresh tea and food brought in. Young men are always ravenous.”

“Perhaps I should see what he wants. He may have called to drop something off. I did ask about a book he had,” Ivy lied.

“We know what he wants, dear.” Aunt Bea winked at her.

Ivy’s stomach plunged to her toes. Her aunt thought Mr. Haddon was interested in her, which of course could not be further from the truth.

“Oh no, he’s not interested in me, I assure you.”

“Of course he is, and who would not be considering how beautiful and intelligent you are,” her aunt said, loyal as always.

“Mr. Haddon,” Parslip said, which caused Ivy’s tummy to flutter.

“Good morning.” He stepped through the door and bowed, appearing larger and even more vital than he had last night. Dressed in a midnight blue jacket and waistcoat, he looked calm and almost like he was just paying Ivy a call, as her aunt had hoped he was.

“Mr. Haddon, we had not expected you.” Ivy needed to play this game carefully to ensure her aunt was not alerted to what was really going on.

“You’ll forgive me for not sending word of my intention to call.” He smiled, which set her aunt tittering. Ivy was made of sterner stuff than that, even if the smile did something special to his chocolate-brown eyes and showed up the laughter lines around his mouth.

“No apology needed at all, Mr. Haddon.” Aunt Bea was beaming. “We welcome a visit from you at any time. Don’t we, Ivy?”

Dear Lord. Her aunt’s jaw would be stuck in that position if her smile grew any wider.

“Of course.”

What was she to do now? She couldn’t very well tell him she no longer needed his assistance in front of their aunt, but if not now, when? What if he brought the matter up in front of Aunt Bea? Panic gripped her.

“As an old school friend of Jackson’s I also insist you call me Aunt Bea.”

“Thank you I would be honored.” He sent her aunt tittering again with another smile before turning his eyes on Ivy. “Why are you holding a doll, Miss Redfern?”

Looking down, she found Herbertina in her hands, and mortification had her cheeks turning a fiery red.

“That’s Herbertina, Mr. Haddon. My niece has not been parted from that doll since my nephew gave it to her many years ago,” Aunt Bea said.

“That’s an interesting name.” He came to stand before her to inspect the doll. Was he close enough to whisper what she needed to say?

“My brother wanted her called Herbert, and I wanted Clementina; this was the compromise.” Ivy walked around him and put the doll on the table. “She needs attention, and my aunt will take care of that. In fact, she is in constant need of repair.”

Shut up, you silly woman, he has no wish to hear about your doll.

“I shall see why the tea is taking so long.” Before Ivy could stop her, Aunt Bea had left the room, but thankfully not closed the door behind her.

“You did not receive my note, Mr. Haddon?”

He moved to her side, so close she could smell the outside on him. A cool, crisp day awaited her beyond the doorstep.

“I did not. What did it say?”

“That I no longer need your help, as the matter is resolving itself.” Not exactly a lie, but not the truth either.

His eyes studied hers, and it took all of Ivy’s skill to keep hers steady. She’d never been a good liar, but she would need to be now.

“Has Jackson returned?”

“No, but I believe he will shortly. So there is no need for you to concern yourself further, Mr. Haddon. Thank you for your kindness. I shall see you out.”

“The thing about telling a convincing lie, Miss Redfern, is that you need to keep your eyes steady. Yours just lowered to my feet.”

CHAPTER SIX

“I BEG YOUR PARDON, but I am not lying.”

“That was also a lie,” Rory said, watching the color in her face darken.

He’d woken early, and his first thought had been for this woman, which was odd for Rory, as his first thought was usually how soon he could eat. He’d washed, dressed, and eaten, and the entire time he’d wondered what Miss Redfern was up to.

Her actions had made him uneasy. She’d entered Bastil’s, and he had no doubt she was capable of doing something equally as foolish. He’d left the house early, deciding to pay her a call.

He’d said last night he would, but perhaps he’d arrived earlier than was polite. The aunt didn’t seem too worried about that. Miss Redfern, however, was not happy at all.

“Now, how about we try this again? Why is it you no longer need my assistance in locating your brother, when last night you were quite desperate I do so?”

“I have told you why.”

He wondered if she knew she was backing away from him. When he’d walked in, she’d been clutching that doll and looking nervous. Wearing a simple day dress, she had a thick blue shawl around her shoulders, and her hair was in a bun at her nape. She was certainly not dressed to entice a man, and yet something about her disturbed him. He felt it again, that tightness in his chest. Perhaps he’d caught something?

“Considering you told me you don’t lie, you have in fact told two in a very short time. Shall we have truth now?”

“How dare you accuse me of lying! I assure you, I am being completely truthful.” She had backed around the small table that sat in front of the sofa.

“Tea is ready!”

“Saved by an aunt,” he said so only she could hear.

Something had happened since he’d seen her last night. Rory knew she could have received word from Jackson that he was returning home, but then shouldn’t she be happier about it? Her gray eyes were troubled, which told him something else was afoot, and he believed it was to do with her brother. The fact she no longer wanted him involved was a further development that niggled at him. What had changed?

Of course he could just let her do as she wished. Really, she was no concern of his, and yet something stopped him from walking away.

He remembered Jackson telling him his sister cared about everyone and everything to the point that he feared one day she’d storm into trouble and he wouldn’t be there to protect her. It seemed he was right. Entering Bastil’s had been the action of a woman who had no regard for herself but a great deal for her brother.

“How do you take your tea, Mr. Haddon?” Ivy’s aunt asked.

“Just milk, thank you.”

“Ivy takes it with honey, and yet she’s clearly sweet enough.” The aunt gave him a sly smile, then turned to look at her niece, which told him she thought he was here because he found Miss Redfern attractive… which he did, but that was another matter.

“Ivy?” He looked from the aunt to Miss Redfern, who was still standing. In fact, she was shifting her weight from one foot to the other, clearly agitated he was still here.

“Arantxa is quite the mouthful for a child, so Jackson chose Ivy, her middle name, and we have called her that ever since.”

“It is a lovely name.” He smiled, but Miss Redfern did not return the gesture. It suited her. There was something sweet about Ivy, and he thought she was definitely that.

“Yes, most adults cannot even pronounce Arantxa clearly, so it was hopeless for a child. Ivy’s father took to calling her Rant, which is not a nice name for anyone, hence Jackson decided on Ivy.”

“Yes, thank you, Aunt Bea, I’m sure Mr. Haddon has no wish to hear more.” Miss Redfern was extremely uncomfortable now.

“Ivy is a lovely name, Miss Redfern,” he said to put her at ease, “as is Arantxa.” He pronounced it perfectly, but only because he’d asked his sister how to do so.

“Oh, well done!” Aunt Bea clapped. “You pronounced that beautifully.”

“Thank you.” He’d always been good with the elderly. They seemed to respond to him, and his brother said that was because he was able to rattle on about a lot of endless drivel for hours. Rory preferred to think it was because he was patient.

“I’ve had Parslip bring a few of those little cakes too. Young men are always hungry. Take Jackson, he is perpetually hollow-legged.”

She didn’t know, he realized. Shooting a look at Miss Redfern—Ivy, as she would now always be to him—he saw the small shake of her head to confirm his suspicions. Ivy was shouldering the burden of finding her brother alone.

“I’ll be pleased when he is back. He’s gone to Scotland, you know, for some odd reason. But Ivy tells me he will return soon.”

They talked, he listened and answered questions, and Ivy sat in what appeared to be silent agony, clearly hoping he didn’t say anything out of place about Jackson. He tried to draw her into the discussion and ease her mind, but she was rigid with tension.

“Ivy studies the stars, you know, Mr. Haddon. She’s written several papers on the matter.”

His eyes went from the aunt to Ivy, who now looked like she was choking on air.

“And have they been published, Miss Redfern?”

She shook her head.

“No indeed. It’s extremely difficult for a woman to get a foothold in something like that. Apparently, we’re all simpletons who should raise children and run households. The fact that we could actually assemble intelligent thoughts on paper is beyond comprehension,” the aunt said.

“Mr. Haddon has no wish to hear this I’m sure, Aunt.”

“Oh, but I do; it is extremely interesting. And may I apologize on behalf of those of us that do understand a woman’s intelligence often outshines a man’s for this shortsighted behavior. Where have you tried to publish your pieces, Miss Redfern?”

“It matters not.”

“Oh, but Ivy, it does. You have long wished to see one of your works in the Stargazers Gazette. Haven’t you tried many times to achieve just that?”

“I have stopped now, Aunt Bea. Now, I’m sure Mr. Haddon would like to get on with his day, so we shall excuse him.”

Clearly she wanted him gone. Rory just wasn’t sure why as yet.

“Thank you for the tea, ladies. It was delightful, as were the cherry cakes. Which I may add are my favorites.” The aunt tittered.

“Parslip!” Ivy yelled, causing her aunt to frown.

“You called, Miss Redfern?”

“Mr. Haddon is leaving.”

He bowed, then left the room gnashing his teeth. She’d neatly outmaneuvered him, and now he wouldn’t have a chance to speak with her as to why she no longer needed his help. He walked along the small path and out to the street, then stopped as a carriage pulled up before the front door. Rory looked left and right, then walked back down the side of the house to wait.

CHAPTER SEVEN

NAVIGATING the path to the street from their townhouse, Ivy let herself through the gate and made for the carriage.

Aunt Bea had been displeased over the way she’d spoken to Mr. Haddon, censuring her on the correct conduct for taking tea with a gentleman who was clearly interested in her. Ivy had attempted to explain she did not return that interest, and her aunt’s blunt response had been “Why?” Ivy was still struggling to come up with an answer.

Why indeed? Her heart had definitely thudded a little harder when he’d entered the parlor, but Ivy had told herself that was due to worry for Jackson, not Rory Haddon’s handsome face. Of course that was untrue; he unsettled her greatly.

“Good morning, Miss Redfern.”

“Hello, Timothy.” Ivy nodded to her footman. “Thank you for accompanying me. Please take me to somewhere I can sell a few pieces of jewelry.”

“Very well, Miss Redfern.” She saw the questions in her footman’s eyes.

Ivy needed money if she was to gain her brother’s freedom, and had selected pieces that had no sentimental value to sell. She just hoped Aunt Bea didn’t notice they were missing.

“Allow me.” A large hand reached around her and opened the carriage door before Timothy could.

“Mr. Haddon!” Ivy’s heart nearly leapt from her chest as she looked at him. Where had he come from?

“I have this, thank you,” he said to Timothy. “In you get, Miss Redfern. And we can have the chat while we travel to your intended destination.”

“I have no wish to chat. Good day to you, Mr. Haddon.” Stepping into the carriage, she waited for the door to close. It did, but with him inside.

“What are you doing?”

“Accompanying you.”

“Get out at once!” He seemed to take up a great deal of space in a carriage that until now she’d felt was adequate for three or four people.

“Where is it you are going, Miss Redfern?”

“That is none of your business.”

His dark eyes were locked on hers, unwavering, focused. Ivy looked away.

“Last night, the most important thing in your life was finding and saving your brother. This morning, it is not. Care to tell me why?”

“I overreacted.”

“Jackson said you tended to do that, but in this situation I don’t believe that is the truth. Therefore I have deduced from your unease and the fact you wanted me anywhere but in your home that your errand this morning is concerning your brother. That led me to believe—”

“Get out of my carriage, Mr. Haddon, or I shall call my footman to remove you!”

“Please do so.” He sat back, folding his arms.

Ivy quite literally had no idea what to do next, which never happened. She always had a plan and a mind that adjusted to any situation as it arose.

“Do you know what I think, Miss Redfern?”

She shook her head, as no words were forthcoming.

“That you have received word on how to find your brother but you are to come alone.”

“You can’t know that!” How had he known that?

“I’m devilishly clever, ask anyone.”

“My cook has no idea who you even are.”

“Anyone but your cook.”

“My maid—”

“Anyone who knows me,” he clarified. His eyes were laughing now.

“I—ah, I’m going shopping.” Ivy looked out the window.

“Are you in desperate need of a new bonnet perhaps? A Christmas gift for your sweet aunt?”

“I knew what you were about in there, sweet talking my aunt, Mr. Haddon. You’re one of those men who has to ensure every woman likes him.” Her mind had started working again and decided that perhaps if she annoyed him enough, he would leave,

“That’s very kind of you to say. I like you too.”

“Not me, I don’t like you!”

“You wound me.” He pressed a hand to his chest, looking hurt, yet his eyes still twinkled. “But let me assure you, I was entirely myself with your aunt. I like people, and people like me because I am a likeable character.”

“I believe the term is unctuous,” Ivy snapped.

His eyes narrowed. “I can be polite when required, but if someone crosses me, then my halo slips, I assure you.”

“You are no saint, Mr. Haddon, no matter what your family think of you.”

“Oh, they know my faults, Miss Redfern, I assure you. And now that you have run out of insults, let me just say that a woman of at least thirty summers should have a great deal more sense than you are currently displaying.”

“Are you being deliberately insulting?”

“I am returning the favor.”

“I am two and twenty. Now, leave my carriage.”

“So young? I had not realized.” He leaned closer to her. “That does go some way to explaining your rash decision making.”

“I am never rash!” Ivy only just stopped herself from shrieking.

A dark brow rose. “I’ll just say one word. Bastil’s.”

“Leave my carriage,” Ivy gritted out.

“While it is moving? How heartless of you.”

“When it stops!”

“Tell me where you are going, and don’t lie.”

“I don’t lie.”

“I’ve caught you out telling three in the space of an hour, so clearly you do. Plus, you said ‘I—ah’ before each.”

“I—ah, oh bother.”

“You did approach me last night, Miss Redfern. You asked me to help, and I am not the sort to simply forget that. I am worried for you and your aunt, and also Jackson.”

“Oh, dear.” She pressed her gloves to her eyes, as suddenly they wanted to leak. “Forgive me, I did not sleep well.”

“Which is entirely understandable, considering what you are having to deal with. Especially now I realize you are doing so alone.”

“I just want my brother back, Mr. Haddon.” The desperation she felt was suddenly overwhelming.

“I know. Let me help you to achieve that, Miss Redfern.”

“Very well.” Pulling out the note from her reticule, she thrust it at him. After all, he was clearly not going to give up, and she had to get rid of him somehow.

He took it and read the words slowly. This she knew as it was not a long note. Clearly he was reading and rereading it. When he lifted his gaze, his eyes now had a decidedly frosty glint. Ivy had the ridiculous urge to gulp and slide across the carriage so she could leap from it, no matter that it was moving.

CHAPTER EIGHT

RORY LOOKED at the woman inching nervously along her seat. She wore a deep gray coat, the color of the foxes he saw at Greystone. It was buttoned to her chin, and her bonnet matched. Around her neck was wrapped an emerald scarf, the only sign of color on Ivy except for her lips, which were tinged blue because it was bloody icy out here.

“Where are you going, Miss Redfern?”

“Why will you just not leave? This is no concern of yours. I have absolved you of it.”

“And that means I’ll simply walk away and forget you, does it? Forget that note suggesting your brother’s life is in danger and that you are about to plunge recklessly into a situation in the hopes of finding him?”

“Yes.”

“You answered yes to all that?”

“Look, Mr. Haddon, there really is no point in discussing this further. I am going to sell some jewelry, then visit the place I believe my brother is at. Please leave so I can do these things.”

“You cannot be that foolish?”

“It is not being foolish; it is being preemptive.”

“You have given no thought to the danger this could put you in, clearly.” Rory felt ill at the prospect of what she could have walked into.

“Of course I have given it thought! I am not a fool. However, I had no other choice. Don’t you see, I could not risk anything happening to anyone else, so it must be me that does this. I am the only one who can help Jackson.”

“I told you I would help.” He wasn’t sure whether he admired her, or questioned her sanity.

“No. I won’t have you involved. I planned to arrive at Le Plaisir, which is the establishment where I believe my brother is being held, with my footman who will be armed, as am I. My driver also will carry a rifle, and be ready should he be required.”

“Leaving out your questionable decision making for the moment and the terrifying fact you are armed. How have you deduced that your brother is at Le Plaisir?”

“My decisions are not questionable and not something I have come to lightly, Sir. This is my family’s problem and as such it falls on me to deal with it.”

Rory felt sad that she had no one but an elderly aunt to turn to at such a time. He’d always had his brothers.

“We will agree to disagree, now continue with your story.”

“The note stated don’t tell anyone, and as you are… someone, I could not tell you.”

“Have you read no novels, Miss Redfern? The notes always say don’t tell anyone and come alone, but no one ever does. You could have been walking into any dire situation.”

“I don’t read those kinds of novels.”

“Let me guess. You read huge tombs of literary works, stargazing gazettes, or Latin compositions.”

“Don’t make fun of me.” She glared at him now.

Her eyes were almost the exact color of her coat. The scarf brought them to life. Fringed by the dark brows and lashes, they were really quite something.

“Let me assure you, I can find nothing amusing about this situation, Miss Redfern.”

“I read extensively on a variety of subjects.”

“But not Miss Primrose’s latest work, I’m sure. I believe it is called The Tomb of Dread?”

“Is it available?” Her hands fluttered about the place. “I so wanted to know when it was.”

“My sister-in-law has just received her copy.”

“Oh! I will have to go to the bookstore.”

“But we digress.” Rory brought the subject back to her reckless actions. “I will move past yet another lie as to not reading those types of novels, as clearly you do.”

She turned to look out the window, and he studied the curve of her jaw and lines of her cheeks and nose. Strange how he’d never noticed her before last night, and yet here she was, beautiful and frustratingly unaware of the danger she could have placed herself in.

“If I am to assist you, Miss Redfern, I must have your word you will not behave in such a reckless manner going forward.”

“I can’t allow you to help, as it will put Jackson and possibly you in danger.”

“He’s already in danger, and I can look after myself.”

“Would you have left the house without telling anyone, were you in my position, if you believed a member of your family was in danger? Would you have gained the funds, then gone to try and secure his release?”

In a heartbeat.

“We are not talking about me.”

“But would you?” she persisted.

“Yes,” he conceded. “But I am a man.” He raised a hand as she opened her mouth. “And bigger and stronger than you. Plus, a man wandering into a brothel would not raise an eyebrow. You would.”

She made a small pfft sound that had him wanting to smile. Rory swallowed it down. The woman had wrung so many emotions out of him, he wasn’t sure if he was standing or sitting.

“I am going to help you, Miss Redfern. Understand that and things will go a great deal smoother.”

She saw the flare of hope in her eyes as she turned to face him once more.

“But before I do, I must have your word you will do nothing without consulting me first.”

Those lips pursed and then she exhaled loudly. “Oh, very well, you have it, and my gratitude that you will help me.”

“Send word if you need me any time. I will come as soon as I am able.”

She nodded. “I am hoping there will never be a next time as my brother will have returned and I can go to him should I need assistance.”

Rory hoped so too; he just wasn’t sure what state Jackson Redfern would be in when they got to him.

“You cannot go into Le Plaisir.” Rory decided this needed to be clarified before they reached their destination.

“What? Why?”

“Because it is a brothel,” he said patiently. “If you are seen in there at such an hour, actually at any hour, it would ruin you. Now tell me why you believe Jackson is at Le Plaisir?”

She inspected her gloves, clearly forming the words before speaking them. “My footman spoke to a young boy who works there. He found him outside, about to enter. Money was exchanged, and Timothy was told that Jackson was there.”

“He could have been lying.”

“The boy said he remembered Jackson because he’d seen him wearing a red and gray waistcoat. My brother wears this particular item often during the winter months, as he believes color makes people smile when we are experiencing dreary weather conditions.”

Rory had seen that waistcoat.

“Very well. I will go on your behalf to Le Plaisir.”

She didn’t like that. Her hands clenched in her lap.

“It is the only way.”

“Sometimes I do not like being a woman.”

Rory had no reply to that.

“But I know you are correct.” Her shoulders slumped.

“Loath as you are to admit it.”

Her smile was small, but he saw the small dimple in her left cheek that just added to her sweetness.

“Mr. Haddon, I am very worried for my brother.” She looked at him again. “He has been a good man for many years. This behavior is not like him. I struggle to understand how it can have happened.”

Rory had no idea what had come over the man he’d once called friend. The Jackson Redfern he’d known would never have put his family’s welfare in jeopardy, which told him something sinister was at foot. As yet, he had no idea what.

“Until we find your brother, we can have no idea what is happening. However, I too know him as loyal and honorable, Miss Redfern, and that would suggest someone else has played a hand in what is happening to him.”

“I love my brother very much.”

“Then we must get him back to being the brother who deserves that love.”

“I would be extremely grateful if we could.” The words were spoken in a solemn voice.

“And clearly your aunt knows nothing?”

“It would destroy her. I cannot allow that.”

“Very commendable, but I doubt the woman I just met would be unable to handle hearing about your brother. She seemed strong enough and would support you through this.”

Her eyes found his. He saw the flare of hope again, which told him she was struggling under the weight of this burden she carried alone.

“Tell her, Miss Redfern. She can handle it.”

“I will think about what you have said. Now, I would like to sell some of my jewelry before we go to Le Plaisir, and have directed Timothy to take us somewhere I can do that.”

“Let us first go there and see what we can find out,” Rory said, opening the hatch above them. He directed the driver to take them to Le Plaisir. When he sat down again, she was glaring at him.

“But I need to sell the jewelry to pay for my brother’s release.”

“If money is required immediately, I carry some, and you can pay it back at a later date.”

“But what if it is not enough?” Her words were a whisper now.

“It will be, Miss Redfern.” Rory had no plans to hand over any money, but she did not need to know that. “Trust me.” He reached over and rested his hand on top of hers. “I promise to get your brother back.”

“Ivy,” she said softly. “My name is Ivy. I would like you to use it, please, as Miss Redfern is very formal considering what you are about to do on behalf of my family.”

“I have no wish to be rude, but your brother is right. Ivy is a great deal nicer than Arantxa.”

“Lord, yes.” She shuddered.

“I am Rory.”

“That’s a nice name.”

“I like it. Apparently it belonged to a great-uncle of mine.”

“It is nice to be named after someone, I think. It gives people fond memories, and that can only be a gift.”

He’d never thought of it like that, but now he did, Rory found he liked it.

“You have a nice family, Rory.”

“I do. Of course, like any family, they have their moments, but for the most part they are good people.”

“What are those moments?”

She wanted to be diverted from her thoughts, and he would do that for her, if only for a few minutes.

“Charles is my younger brother and one of those people who have a quip for every occasion.”

“Aunt Beatrice can be like that; it can be vexing at times.”

“Very. Especially if you show him you’re annoyed. He then tries harder.”

She snuffled.

“My eldest brother, Joseph, can be overbearing and pompous, but it comes with being an earl. He has responsibilities, or so he regularly tells us. But the thing is, Ivy, Charles and I share those responsibilities, and still he waxes on about his.”

Her laugh was louder this time and very sweet.

“My sister-in-law is due to have her first child soon, and Joseph is very managing. She told him just yesterday that she would maim him if he forced her to nap again when she had only risen from her bed an hour earlier.”

“They sound wonderful.”

“They are, but I would ask you not to tell them I said that.”

“Very well.”

He talked, she asked questions, and the tension in her face eased slightly, and then the carriage rolled to a halt and suddenly it was back.

“Rory.”

“It will be all right, Ivy.” He took her hands in his. “I promise I will do what I can to find Jackson. Please trust me.”

“But, Rory, now I shall worry for you also. What if there is danger awaiting you in there? You must take Timothy with you. I insist.”

“Timothy the footman? The one who accompanies you and teaches you how to look after yourself?”

“Yes.” Before he could stop her, she’d opened the window and poked her head out. “Timothy, accompany Mr. Haddon, if you please.”

“Ivy, I don’t need a footman with me. Now get back in here at once, and for pity’s sake, keep your voice down.”

She did as he asked, but only, he suspected, because she wanted to.

“I would rather he watched over you,” Rory said.

“I am not leaving the carriage, you are.”

“You’re extremely strong-willed, aren’t you?”

“It’s my most redeeming quality.”

He snorted.

“But you cannot just enter that place, surely. Or knock on the door. What will you say?”

“That my brother did not return home, and this was the last place he was seen,” Rory said.

She frowned. “That’s actually quite a good reason.”

“I believe we’ve already discussed how devilishly clever I am.” He pulled the curtains closed. “Do not look out this window or let anyone see you. Now, if the interrogation is over, I shall be off.”

CHAPTER NINE

LE PLAISIR WASN’T SOMEWHERE Rory had ever frequented, but he’d heard about the place, and none of the stories painted it in a good light. The one piece of information that had worked its way to the front of his head was the memory of Squire Paulson’s son. The man had never recovered after his time spent within these walls. His doctor suspected he had ingested something that had addled his mind, but the place had not been shut down and no one was charged. Joseph had discussed it at the time and said the woman known as Madam Layla, who ran Le Plaisir, must have powerful men at her back.

Leaving the carriage, he instructed the driver to move it down the street further. Ivy’s face appeared at the window as they started rolling; thankfully she did not open it to demand what was happening.

Not very appealing from the outside, the building was large, with gray stone walls. He knew all the vices that had men flocking here were through those two black doors, locked and likely not due to open for a while yet. Rory approached with the large footman, Timothy, at his back.

“I think it would be better if you stayed with Miss Redfern.”

He wore a hat, beneath which was a shock of snow-white hair. His face was weathered, his body large, shoulders broad. Rory took him for someone in his late forties.

“If you don’t mind, sir, I’ll stay, as it will make Miss Redfern easy if I do.”

“And that’s important to you?”

“It is.”

Rory rapped on the wooden door.

“Have you been in the Redfern employ for long?”

“Two years.”

“And you like it there?”

“I do. They treat me well, sir.”

“I understand you have been accompanying Miss Redfern lately as she searches for her brother. I’m glad she had your support.”

“She’s not one to be deterred, Mr. Haddon, when set upon a course.”

“I can imagine.” Rory knocked again, louder.

It took two more knocks until finally the door opened. The man before him was large, larger than Timothy. His jacket looked like it had been pulled on with haste, as the buttons were done up wrong, and the leg of one trouser was rolled to the calf.

“I wish to speak with the owner of this establishment.”

“You’ll be lucky. No one in here rises till well after midday.” He then yawned loudly. “Come back later, sir, and the women will be ready for you to have some fun afore you leave London.”

“I have no wish to have fun, I wish to find my brother. He has not returned home. I believe he is inside your establishment.”

“Him and others. Come back later, and you can take him home.” The man gave him a sly grin, then slammed the door in his face before he could reply.

He knocked again, this time hammering a fist on the wood, but no one answered.

“That went well. I had hoped to gain entry the polite way. It seems that is not going to happen. Come, Timothy, we shall try the rear entrance.”

Leaving the building, he walked back out to the street. The carriage was parked a small distance away now.

“What is happening?” Ivy was leaning out the window.

“God’s blood, woman get back inside at once!”

“What are you doing?” she said, ignoring him.

“Attempting to enter from the rear. Now stop drawing attention!”

She withdrew with haste, and he saw the curtain close over the window.

“An extremely challenging woman, your employer, Timothy.”

“But the very best, sir.”

They walked down the side of the building and found an entrance at the rear.

“What is your plan, Mr. Haddon?”

“A very loose one, I fear, but I hope to gain entry and look around. Of course, that will not be easy, as most of the beds will be full. My hope is that some poorly paid staff member will be bribed into telling me where Mr. Redfern is.”

“A sound notion, and likely, as most staff are poorly paid.”

Of that he had no doubt. Most of the gentry he knew were terrible nip-farthings, however his sister-in-law had once been a servant, so the Haddons now all paid their staff well.

Testing the door, Rory found it too was locked. The wood was sturdy, and he doubted he could drop his shoulder into it without damaging it and alerting anyone inside that he was there.

“Excuse me, sir.”

Timothy was nudging him to one side. He watched the man produce something to put into the lock. He rattled it about a bit, there was a click, and it opened.

“You must be a handy man to have around.”

“I once earned my living as a criminal, sir. Miss Redfern helped me to change my ways.”

He was now even more curious about her.

“Now is not the time to hear that story, Timothy, but you’ll understand my curiosity and hope that one day you will share the details.”

Rory opened the door wider and slipped through. He found the kitchens empty and made his way along a hall, finding a set of stairs.

He motioned to Timothy that he was going up, and the footman nodded, following. There was no noise. No footsteps or voices raised, but he knew there were many inside the place. He just needed to find one of them. If Jackson Redfern was indeed in Le Plaisir as Ivy suspected, Rory knew something was keeping him here. The question was what?

A woman perhaps, some kind of coercion, or was he unwell? Or could it be they’d dosed him with something like Squire Paulson’s son, to keep him here while they emptied his family’s coffers.

“Are we to open every door?” Timothy whispered as they reached the second floor.

“It’s not my fondest wish, yet I believe it the only option open to us unless that staff member appears.”

The footman didn’t look happy, and Rory had to agree. He pulled out his pistol; behind him, Timothy did the same.

“I think we will start on the top floor.” To his mind, if you wanted to hide someone, you did it in the least accessible place.

It was dark, dank, and smelled of so many things it was hard to identify. Some he had no wish to, but the scent of alcohol was strong. They climbed slowly, stopping every time the floor creaked.

This floor had fewer doors. He tried the first. Inside were two women sleeping in a bed. He closed it behind him. The next held a naked couple. The man’s large white bottom was uncovered.

“Some things, Timothy, you can never unsee,” Rory whispered after closing the door.

The third was a small, narrow room, and a boy lay on a blanket on the floor. He lifted his head as Rory entered. Placing a finger to his mouth, he motioned for the boy to stay silent. Closing the door, he crouched before him, holding out some coins.

“Do you know where a nobleman is? His name is Mr. Redfern, or Jackson. He wears a bright-red-striped waistcoat.”

The boy looked at the coins. Rory pulled out a few more and added them to the ones in his hand. He took them, putting them into his pocket before getting to his feet. Rory watched him slide his feet into a pair of shoes that were too big, and then he walked to the door. He hadn’t uttered a word, but Rory followed.

The boy paused to look Timothy up and down, and then went to the stairs and started to descend. They followed.

“What if he’s tricking us?” Timothy said.

“We are both armed. Stay alert,” Rory whispered.

Once they were on the second floor, they walked to the end of the hall. The boy opened another door. Inside was a hidden set of stairs. This they climbed. At the top was a narrow door with a key in the lock. The boy turned the key, then swung the door open.

“Stay outside, Timothy.” Rory had no wish for them both to be locked in there if they were walking into a trap.

The room wasn’t big, but contained a bed. Moving closer, he found Jackson Redfern lying on the filthy mattress, shivering in a pair of breeches. He was trying to curl in on himself, but his feet were tied to the bedposts.

“Jackson.” Rory touched his shoulder.

He rolled, and the eyes that looked up at him were sunken, but there was a flicker of recognition.

“H-Haddon?” His teeth were chattering.

Pulling a knife from his boot, Rory cut the bonds that held him on the bed.

“Come, there is no time to wait. We must leave now. If you show us the quickest way out of this building, boy, I will reward you with more money.”

“If I’m seen, I can’t stay here,” he said in a solemn voice. The eyes that looked at Rory had seen far more than a child of his age should.

“I will ensure you will be safe. You have my word on that.”

The boy nodded.

Lifting Jackson to his feet, Rory draped one of his arms over his shoulders. Bracing an arm around Jackson’s back, he started for door.

“Sh-she’ll kill you. She’s an evil bitch.”

“Madam Layla?” Rory walked them to the door.

“I-I thought she c-cared b-but—”

“But instead she wanted your money. Save your strength, we can talk later, Jackson,” Rory said, knowing all too well the lure of a beautiful woman.

“Y-yes.”

“I don’t plan on letting her see us. Quiet now.”

Timothy walked behind them down the narrow stairs, bracing Jackson from the rear. The boy scurried ahead, leading them back to the kitchens. They encountered no one. They had reached the door that led back outside when a voice stopped them.

“Stop!”

“No!” Jackson’s cry was desperate.

“Run!” Rory thrust his friend at the footman, then moved in front of them as they hurried out the door. When he turned, he was holding his pistol.

“I said stop!”

“To late, he has gone.”

There was no doubting this was the woman Jackson had spoken of. Dressed in a deep emerald velvet dressing gown, she had an angelic face and golden-blonde hair that hung in thick curls to her waist. Her eyes were blue, fringed by thick lashes and curved brows. Lush, was Rory’s first thought. His second was that such beauty could easily entice a man.

“I presume you are Madam Layla, the evil bitch my friend referred to when I found him shackled to a bed in your establishment?”

“Those words are insulting, sir, and I assure you I do not deserve them.” She pouted before giving him a sultry smile. “Your friend enjoys being shackled to my bed. In fact, he requested it, and I doubt there is anyone who would state otherwise.” She licked her lips, the gesture designed to lure, and yet it did nothing for Rory. He’d much rather have Ivy scowl at him. Where had that thought come from?

“I don’t think so. In fact, the condition he was in told me you lie. That and the fact you sent a blackmail note to his sister.”

If Rory could keep her talking, the others would get safely back to the carriage before he made a run for it.

“I would never stoop to blackmail. I have no need, you see. Money comes to me with very little effort.” She laughed, and even that sounded like a set of melodious chimes.

Those eyes, however, were cold and calculating as they ran over Rory’s body. She yawned, raising one hand to pat her mouth. The other, he noted, held a pistol.

“You do know that it is illegal to hold a nobleman against his will, drug him, and then extort money from his family, don’t you, madam?”

“I have no idea what it is you speak of, sir. Men are enamored by me, and those I dismiss are beside themselves with grief. Mr. Redfern was about to be one of those and extremely unhappy because of it. He merely wished one more night in my arms.”

“This place has a reputation for drugging its patrons and extorting money, but until now no one has been able to supply the proof of what kind of establishment you truly run. I think that is about to change. Even those powerful peers you’ve lured to your side will struggle to get you out of this.”

And just like that, the sultry look was replaced by venom. Her eyes narrowed, and her lips thinned. Ugly rage contorted her features.

“You have nothing on me, only the words of a rambling man and his foolish sister.”

“And me. I am, after all, the one who found Mr. Redfern.”

“I can have you discredited.” She looked smug. “You have no power when compared to mine.”

“Hardly true, considering who I am related to. Shall we see who wins then, madam?”

Anger filled her face with color. “Be careful who you threaten, sir. I am unsure who you are yet, but I will find out, and when I do your family will be in danger, as will anyone who dares to discredit me.”

“I am not afraid of your threats, madam.” But he was. He would be ensuring everyone he cared about left London immediately. “Besides, I doubt even you could get away with murdering a nobleman who is part of a powerful family.”

“Oh, you’d be surprised what I get away with.” Her smile was cunning now.

“I’m sure Squire Paulson and the Redfern family will be happy to help me ensure you are charged for your crimes, Madam Layla.”

“The Redferns are nobodies,” she dismissed, “as are the Paulsons, and no threat to me.”

“We shall see.”

“Tell Miss Redfern to have a care, sir. Virgins pay well in my business.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“As it was likely she who sent you here today, I will make her pay first if you persist in threatening me. I have a long list of men who wish to be the first to bed such an innocent.”

His rage was swift and fueled by the thought of anyone hurting Ivy. “You come near her, and I will hunt you down and kill you myself.” The words left his mouth before he could stop them.

The woman smiled. “Now I understand why you are here. How sweet. It seems more than my clients are interested in the innocent Miss Redfern. I will know exactly who you are and your family connections very soon, sir, and be warned, my retribution will be swift.”

He wanted to shoot her, Rory realized. He could pull the trigger and put a bullet through Madam Layla in a heartbeat because she threatened Ivy. The thought was almost as terrifying as the prospect of being shot by the pistol she now pointed at him.

CHAPTER TEN

IVY HAD SAT with her eye pressed to the crack in the curtains the entire time, the tension inside her escalating with every minute that passed. When did she alert someone that they had not returned? Why had she not discussed this very thing with Rory? How long should she wait?

Even now they could be injured or worse, and it was her fault. She’d sent Rory and Timothy in there.

Three figures appeared suddenly, hurrying down the side of the building from the rear, and Ivy did not hesitate: she opened the carriage and stepped outside.

It was Jackson, slumped between Timothy and a young boy. “No!” She ran to her brother. Ivy’s heart nearly stopped as she took in his condition. Pale and trembling, he looked nothing like the man she’d grown up with. Cupping his cheeks, she kissed his cold face.

“You’re safe now. Where is Mr. Haddon?”

“Still inside. You and the boy take your brother. I must go back before they hurt him,” Timothy said.

“Get my brother in the carriage, then follow, Timothy.” Ivy didn’t hesitate; she simply raised her skirts and pulled out her pistol, then ran. Reaching the rear of the building, she pressed her back to the wall and moved along to the opening.

“It seems we are at an impasse, madam. I have a pistol aimed at you, and you have one aimed at me.”

Rory was talking, which told her he was all right. The relief made her knees weak.

What did she do now? Perhaps a distraction. Picking up a large piece of wood at her feet, she threw it with everything she had. The sound it made hitting the ground was muffled by the hard-packed dirt, and the noise merely a soft thud.

Drat.

“You are outmaneuvered, sir. Perhaps I will simply shoot you and then leave. After all, I have grown bored lately. A trip to the continent at this time of year is nice, I hear,” the woman talking to Rory said.

Ivy raised her pistol as she heard the sound of running feet. Timothy had arrived.

“You three take the left, you four right. Tonks and Brown have two more at the front.” Ivy pitched her voice as gruff as she could as she barked out the orders. She then nodded to Timothy.

“They’re in place and awaiting your command, sir.” Her footman had grasped the situation.

“Stop or I’ll shoot him!” the female inside shrieked.

“I think not. In fact, it is not I who will be shot, madam, but you,” Rory said.

“I’ll make you pay for this, and the Redferns,” the woman yelled.

The sound of movement inside had Ivy rushing through the door and into something hard. Rory’s back.

“Oomph.” He staggered forward several paces before stopping.

A woman turned in the doorway, her eyes meeting Ivy’s. Her beauty was the first thing Ivy noticed. The golden curls, and icy blue eyes—and then she was gone, escaping through the door. “Hurry, we must stop her!” Ivy started in her direction. She got no further than a few feet before a hand grabbing her jacket hauled her backward.

“Where the hell are you going?” Rory yelled.

“After her.”

“No, you are not! We, are leaving.” He gripped her arm and marched her back out the door.

“B-but they hurt my brother!”

“And there are at least fifty of them in this building, whereas there are three of us!”

He forced her down the side of the building at a run.

“You should have stayed with your brother in the carriage! What possessed you to run into that brothel like bloody Boudicca with an army at your back?” He pulled her along beside him.

“I c-came to your aid.” Ivy was struggling to keep up. Thankfully the carriage was close now. “You were alone—”

“No, really, I had no idea.” His words were laced with sarcasm as he stopped, allowing Ivy her first real look at him. His face was set in stone. Teeth gritted, he was in a towering rage.

“There is no need for that tone.” Ivy pulled her arm free.

“There is every need.” He spat out the words. “You are reckless and far too headstrong. God’s blood, have you any idea what could happen to a woman in such a place?” Anger turned his eyes almost black.

“I was not at risk, and am not one of those poor women who are forced to work in there.” She would not be intimidated.

“But what if she’d captured you?”

“Who?”

“Madam Layla, the woman you saw. What do you think would have happened then?” The words were fired at her.

“I would have been locked in a room and money demanded for my return?”

“Lord save me from innocents.” Rory wrenched open the carriage door. Lifting her, he then threw her inside. “We leave at once, Timothy, and take the boy up beside you. He is no longer safe here.”

Ivy scrambled onto the seat next to her brother. Jackson had his eyes closed and rested his head against the seat behind him. She touched his face. It was warmer now.

“Jackson.”

An eyelid rose. “Ivy,” he sighed, and she felt the tears begin to flow. “S-sorry.”

“It’s all right now, brother.” She tucked the blanket securely around his trembling body and then leaned into him, her big brother whom she had loved since the day she was old enough to realize how special he was. “You’re safe now.”

The eyes closed again, and she felt him heave a huge sigh. In seconds, he slept.

Ivy had never avoided what needed to be dealt with, and right now there was an angry man seated across from her. Sitting upright again, she looked at him.

He appeared vastly differed from the man who had taken tea with her aunt earlier. Tension was coiled in his body. Anger was there in the bunching of his jaw muscles.

“I came as you were alone, Rory.”

“Timothy would have come back. You had no notion of what it was you were walking into. And please put that pistol away.” She’d dropped it on the seat beside her when she entered. “I have no wish for you to shoot me.”

“Why would I shoot you?”

“A weapon in the wrong hands is a dangerous thing.”

“I assure you I know how to fire it and am proficient. And I cannot put it away.”

“Why?” He was still testy, the word fired at her.

“It goes in the holster I had made that is strapped around my thigh.”

Something changed in that moment. Suddenly there was another kind of tension that sizzled and snapped in the air. In seconds, she was in his arms.

“You, miss, are reckless.”

She couldn’t have marshalled a coherent sentence if she tried, but as his mouth was now pressed to hers, there was no need to speak… no need at all.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

RORY KNEW he’d made a mistake the minute his lips touched Ivy’s. She felt like heaven in his arms. Emotion still gripped him from his encounter in Le Plaisir, and when combined with his need for this woman, he could not resist. Visions of laying her on the seat and stripping away her clothes to expose the soft skin and lush curves beneath had his body hard with need. She was innocent. He should not be ravishing her, and yet seemed unable to stop. Where one kiss stopped, another started, and Ivy was right there with him. Her fingers dug into his shoulders as if to hold him closer. He couldn’t get enough of her. Parting her jacket, he slid a hand inside. A soft moan stopped him.

Jackson.

He wrenched his mouth from hers, his eyes shooting to Ivy’s brother. He still slept. Releasing her, he watched her fall back to her seat. Her eyes were dazed, lips red from his kisses.

“I’m sorry, that was inexcusable and should not have happened at any time, let alone with you brother in the carriage.” Rory didn’t want to look at her again. His body was hard, and suddenly Miss Arantxa Redfern was his every fantasy.

“I understand.”

“What?” He was a grown man, of course he could look at her. He could control himself, for God’s sake.

“I understand that you were in the grip of strong emotions and needed an outlet. I—ah, I sometimes am the same.”

She was giving him an escape route, and coward that he was, Rory took it.

“Yes, well, perhaps you are right. But getting back to what you did.”

“There is no further need to discuss that, as we are all safe here in the carriage.” She started fussing with her jacket, rebuttoning the ones he’d undone. Watching her neat, efficient movements did nothing to ease the hardness in his body. He wanted those hands on him.

“It was reckless,” Rory said, but his words were no longer thick with anger. What he actually felt in that moment was bewildered. He wanted Ivy desperately.

He’d ravaged her in a carriage with her brother sitting just a few feet away, for pity’s sake. Rory didn’t do things like that, and definitely not with an innocent.

“And I reiterate, we are safe, Mr. Haddon.” How could she appear composed when he was anything but? Had their kiss not affected her as it had him? Had she shared kisses before? The thought was not a pleasant one. He watched Ivy tuck the blanket around Jackson, and noticed her fingers trembled. Cad that he was, he was pleased to see that her composure was a façade.

“Those people need to be brought to justice, Ivy.”

“Yes, they do. What is the best course of action to take?” Her voice was polite, as if they were conversing about the weather and they’d not just shared heated kisses.

“I think you and your family must leave London. I would not put it past that woman to seek retribution, and especially if we start creating trouble for her. She also mentioned your name.”

“In what capacity?”

“In that she is a threat to you.”

“We are not leaving London this year, sir, and I’m sure you are mistaken. What threat could she pose to me?”

So polite, Rory thought. “She held your brother captive and sent you a blackmail note. You don’t think that was a threat?”

“Of course, but we have Jackson back, and surely she is the one who is scared now because we will expose her? I’m sure that man was because of her, but he will bother me no more.”

“What man?”

“Forgive me, I misspoke.” She dragged her eyes from him and looked out the window.

Rory moved to the edge of his seat and grabbed her chin, turning it so their eyes met.

“What man?”

“A man.”

He didn’t speak, just continued to look at her.

“Oh, very well.” She pulled free and pushed her back into the seat to get away from him. “I have seen a man outside the house, and when I leave, he has followed me, I believe.”

“You believe?” Christ, the woman was driving him mad.

“I cannot be sure, really.”

“How often did you see him?”

“A handful of times, no more than five.”

“And yet you still doubt his intention was to follow you?”

She nodded.

“And you didn’t tell me this.”

“I’m not sure when I would have, and to be honest, I was unsure if he was a threat or not.”

“When would you have realized he was a threat? Perhaps when he grabbed you?”

She folded her arms and looked out the window once more. Apparently this discussion was over in her mind.

“You are leaving London.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“We do not have the luxury of owning a country house, and the one we usually go to is full this year.”

“Then you can come to Greystone.” Rory was rarely rash, and most especially when any decision he made involved his family. And yet the words had definitely left his mouth.

“No, thank you. Jackson will not be fit for travel anytime soon.”

“The country air will be good for him.”

“We will care for him in London.” Her chin rose.

“Will your stubborn pride keep your family safe, Ivy?”

Rory didn’t want to leave her in London unprotected. In fact, the thought made him feel nauseous.

“We will not leave the house unless it is necessary to do so, and in that case I will have two footmen accompany me.”

He would not win this battle now, but he would win it.

“I will have a doctor called,” Rory said, looking at Jackson. He would need to be examined and the sores around his wrists and ankles tended.

“I can call a doctor, thank you.”

And there was that pride again.

“I promise we will all show caution going forward, Rory, so please leave London with your family and know that the Redferns will be safe.”

“Ivy—”

“Excellent, we are here.”

Damn, the carriage was stopping.

“About that kiss, Ivy.”

“Think no more about the matter. I assure you, I won’t. Now, if you will just help me get Jackson inside the house, then you can leave.”

“I do not need to leave—”

“We are very aware of what you have done for us, Mr. Haddon. Without you, I doubt I would have seen my brother again alive. Please accept our undying gratitude for what you have undertaken on my family’s behalf.”

“I don’t want your gratitude.” He grabbed her hand, but she shook him off.

“Timothy, excellent. If you and Mr. Haddon could get Jackson inside and take him up the stairs, please. His room is the third door on the left. I must alert my aunt as to what has happened.”

“What is it you wish me to do with the boy, Mr. Haddon?”

“Boy?” Ivy asked her footman.

“He helped us rescue your brother, Miss Redfern, and Mr. Haddon had him accompany us when we left Le Plaisir, as he would be in grave danger had he stayed,” Timothy added.

“I will speak with him.” She stepped from the carriage before Rory could help her.

“Jackson, we are going to take you inside now.” Rory gently woke her brother as Timothy joined him.

“Hello, are you the brave lad who helped rescue my brother? What is your name?” He could hear Ivy talking to the boy.

“Boy, miss.”

“Really? Have you no other name?”

“No, miss.”

“Well, how about we change it to Roy, as boy will no longer suit when you are a man, which is not too far away now. Or do you prefer another name?”

“I like Roy.”

“Excellent. I’m sure you are hungry, so come inside and I will have our cook fix something for you.”

“But where will I go after that, miss?”

Rory climbed out of the carriage and took Jackson as Timothy eased him through the door.

“Well, we need someone to run errands for us. Do you think that would suit until you are ready to move on? A bed will come with it, and I think you’ll like our butler, Parslip. He can be a bit stern, but then I believe most of them are, don’t you?”

Ivy touched her brother’s cheek briefly, then placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder and hurried them up the path to the front door.

They got Jackson up the stairs and onto a bed. The effort had cost him. His breath was now choppy, and his pallor increased.

“He will need washing,” Rory said, pulling up the covers.

“It will be taken care of.” Ivy entered with her aunt. Clearly she’d told the woman what had happened.

“Hello, darling boy.” Jackson’s aunt kissed her nephew’s cheek. “Everything will be all right now.”

Jackson managed a weak smile. He was then fussed over, and the tears in his old friend’s eyes told Rory he was exactly where he’d dreamed of being as he lay there in that filthy bed chained up like an animal.

“I will leave you now, as I wish to visit the magistrate,” Rory said once he knew he was no longer needed. “But I must caution all of you not to leave the house under any circumstances.”

“Of course.” Ivy didn’t look at him, just muttered the words.

Rory accepted the embrace from Ivy’s aunt. She held him tight as she thanked him for bringing her nephew home.

“I will send word when I have any news, Ivy,” Rory said, as he wanted her to look at him.

“Thank you.” She focused on his necktie. “We are extremely grateful.”

He was reluctant to leave, but forced himself to do so. Hailing a hackney, he gave directions to his brother’s townhouse, then sat back to digest what had happened today.

He’d saved Jackson, faced down a pistol-toting brothel owner, and kissed Ivy—and lord, what a kiss. Surprising how it was the kiss that had affected him the most.

“Do you know the location of my eldest brother, Gilbert?” Rory said to the butler upon entering the townhouse.

“Your brothers are in the earl’s study, Mr. Haddon.”

“Excellent. Have food brought there, please.”

He walked through the house he knew intimately. Every painting and step, every rug and room, he’d entered thousands of times.

“Where have you been?” Joseph asked as he walked into this study.

“It is a long story, and I need a brandy to tell it.” Rory fell into the chair next to Charles. Joseph sat behind his desk across from them.

“Did you order food?”

“I did, and enough for you also,” he told Charles.

“Wonderful, now speak.” Joseph rose to pour the brandy.

After the first mouthful, he told them everything.

“You went into that building with only a footman!” Joseph roared. “You should have taken us with you!”

“I have pointed out that I went to call upon Miss Redfern as promised, but she had received the note. There was no time to send word to either of you.”

“You should have bloody well made time! Even now you could be lying in a pool of blood or worse!” His eldest brother was now pacing.

“What is worse than lying in a pool of blood?”

“You,” Joseph jabbed a finger at Charles, “shut up.”

“Sit, Joseph. We need to discuss this,” Rory said. “I am here safe, as are the Redfern family.”

“Again I must ask why you feel the need to help Miss Redfern?” Joseph fell back into his seat. “And I’m not finished yelling at you; I am merely taking a break.”

“She was desperate and clearly has no one else to turn to.”

Joseph looked at him. “So you have already said, but it’s my belief that you like her a great deal.”

“What? No… well, yes, she’s a nice lady, but nothing more than that.” Suddenly his necktie was strangling him. “You’re always waxing on about us being kind. This is me doing that.”

“I agree.” Charles stared at him too. “He likes her. Who would have thought that mousy Miss Redfern would capture the handsome Rory Haddon’s interest?”

“She’s not mousy.” And those worlds should have stayed inside his head.

“And he’s defending her. Interesting.” Joseph was relaxed now and looked smug.

“There is nothing interesting about it.” Strangely, even his boots felt tight now. “The point is, we need to help them, as I fear retribution. If as that vile woman at Le Plaisir says, vengeance will be hers—”

“Very dramatic. What is she like? I’ve heard stories, but of course have never been there.”

“I should hope not.” Joseph now glared at Charles.

“She’s beautiful. Stunning, actually, and cold as ice.”

“Ah, one of those.” Charles nodded. “There are rumors she has control of some powerful men.”

“She alluded to that, actually. Said it would not be wise to take her on, as we’d never win. She then threatened us, our family, and the Redferns if I persisted in causing trouble for her.”

Joseph whistled.

“And this is my concern,” Rory added. “We can leave at once for Greystone and be safe there while we press charges and she is finally held accountable for what she has done. The Redferns have nowhere to run.”

“Invite them to Greystone,” Joseph said.

“I had hoped you would say that.” Rory felt relief. “I just may need your help in getting them there.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

IVY SAT in the chair in her brother’s room the following day. It was cold out, and a fire crackled in the grate. She felt at peace sitting here, knowing that the two people she loved were safe and with her. Perhaps peace wasn’t the right word, as there was that kiss and the danger that hung over them, but she felt better than she had in many days. Lord, was it only yesterday they’d rescued Jackson and she’d been kissed?

“We will need to take a place in Bath,” Aunt Bea said. Seated beside Jackson, she was feeding him broth.

He’d been bathed again when he woke this morning, and now lay in his bed looking rested. He was still pale, and they’d found sores on his ankles and other places, but for all that, he appeared in better spirits.

“I’m sorry that my actions have hurt you both,” Jackson said.

“We will discuss that when you are stronger,” Ivy said. “For now, regain your strength.”

“Lord Ellsworth and Mr. Haddon have called, Miss Redfern,” Parslip said from the doorway.

“How wonderful.” Aunt Bea looked excited. “Tell them we shall be down shortly.”

“We took the liberty of coming to you,” Rory said, entering the bedroom followed by his brother. His eyes settled on her briefly before turning to Jackson and Aunt Bea.

“Oh now, this is nice,” her aunt said. “So many handsome men all in one room.”

Mortified at her aunt’s words, Ivy stood rooted to the spot. Seeing Rory again so soon after that kiss was unsettling. She had touched her lips at least fifty times since that moment. How was it possible they seemed more sensitive? Her first kiss, and Ivy knew she’d never forget it.

“We should go downstairs.” She found her voice. “I’m sure the earl has no wish to stand about in here.”

“Here is fine, I assure you, Miss Redfern. With such beauty on display, any room would do.” The earl went to her aunt and bowed over her hand. His smile had Aunt Bea in a flutter. “You’ll excuse us for calling at such an hour without sending word first.”

“Of course.” Aunt Bea blushed.

“Is everything all right?” Rory moved to Ivy’s side.

“Yes. Jackson is much improved, thank you. The doctor you sent said he will regain full health soon.”

“Excellent.”

“Why have you brought your brother here? Has something else happened, Mr. Haddon?”

“Rory.”

“I think it best if we are formal once again,” Ivy said softly so no one else could overhear.

“I disagree, and I will call you Ivy, so you may as well call me Rory.” His smile did wonderful things to his face. She squashed down the flutter in her belly as he touched her hand briefly before going to see Jackson.

“I can never thank you enough for what you did, Rory,” her brother said.

Ivy watched as the two old friends clasped hands.

“No thanks necessary. I shall call upon you when I need something, and we shall be even.”

Jackson snorted. “It will take more than one thing.”

“Do you feel up to telling us what happened?” Rory asked.

Her brother looked at Aunt Bea and then her.

“We are involved in this, Jackson, and will hear what is said,” Aunt Bea said.

“Very well.” Jackson didn’t look happy but nodded. “Madam Layla is extremely beautiful, and she paid me particular attention. I fear I became enamored with her. She would ply me with drinks, and sometimes I would end up in a bed without even realizing how I’d got there.”

“Do you think she’d put something in your drink?” Rory asked.

“Yes, I’m certain that was what she was doing. And then I overheard her discussing me with someone. She said we did not have a great deal of money, but as we were a family of only three, there would be no complications in taking it.”

“Good Lord.” Aunt Bea looked upset.

“Continue with your story, Jackson.”

“I confronted her, demanded to know what she was about, clearly not a good move on my part, and she had some of her men tie me to that bed.”

“What an evil woman,” Aunt Bea said.

“And on that note, I believe now is an excellent time to inform you of why we have called,” Lord Ellsworth said. “My brother and I would like to extend an invitation to you all. We would love the pleasure of your company over the next few weeks at my estate, Greystone. It will be good for Jackson to leave London, and I believe all of you, considering the threats that woman has thrown about. This will give us time to get these scoundrels locked away.”

Shock held Ivy speechless.

“By jove, that’s extremely generous of you, my lord,” Jackson said.

“No… I mean, thank you, but we are fine here.” Ivy found her voice.

“I believe this is for the best, Miss Redfern,” the earl said. “We cannot be sure it is safe for you to stay in London until this ugly business is dealt with.”

“Oh, I think we will be just fine.”

“How can you say that, Ivy, after what Jackson has just said!” Aunt Bea cried.

“They were just threats, I’m sure—”

“The threat is real, Ivy,” Rory interrupted her. “It’s my belief that the owner of the place where Jackson was held has powerful men she can call upon to aid her in escaping justice. They would do whatever it took to protect her, and as any complaint we make will include Jackson as a witness, I believe removing him and you all from London at this time is the only course of action open.”

“Oh, but—”

“Then surely we must go!” Aunt Bea declared. “I could not sleep knowing there is a threat to my nephew.”

“We don’t—”

“We will leave as soon as we can.” Jackson cut her words off.

“Oh, yes. As soon as possible,” Aunt Bea added, sealing Ivy’s fate.

She was to spend time with Rory at his family home. How would she cope? And this alone was the sole reason she did not want to travel to Greystone, which told her she was being selfish. Her family’s safety was at stake, and all she could think about was herself.

“Excellent. We shall depart for Greystone in two days,” Rory said. “We have a spare carriage you can use.”

“We can hire our own carriage,” Ivy said. Really, she had her pride, and they could afford that at least.

“But as we are not using ours, there is no point,” Rory added with a polite smile that had her wanting to smack it from his face. “I believe it is badly sprung, if that will make you feel better.” Everyone but Ivy laughed.

“And now we must take tea and discuss the details further. Will you come down to the parlor, gentlemen, as I’m sure Jackson wishes some rest?” Aunt Bea said.

Everyone filed out, leaving Ivy and her brother.

“Are you sure you want this, Jackson?” Ivy touched the hand that lay on the bed.

“It’s for the best, and Rory is right. My actions may have brought danger down on all of us, and I could not live with myself were anything to happen to you or Aunt Bea.”

He was exhausted. The dark smudges beneath his eyes told her that.

“Very well. Now you need rest.” She kissed his cheek. “I love you.”

“And I you, Ivy. I’m so very pleased you are determined.”

She laughed. “Just remember that I will always find you, no matter what you are up to.”

His eyes were drooping as she left the room, but what made her heart light was the smile on his lips. Closing the door softly, Ivy rested her palm on the wood. He was safe.

“He will recover.”

She found Rory waiting for her at the top of the stairs.

“Yes, he will. But I fear that he may have nightmares for some time yet.”

“It is likely, but Jackson is a strong, sensible man. He will come about.”

Ivy stopped a few feet from where he stood.

“Just because he is strong and sensible does not mean he will not suffer.” She felt the irrational need to argue with him.

Her life was no longer under her own control. This man had wrestled it from her, and she was scared, off-balance, and not herself.

“No, it does not necessarily equate, but with support from those who love him, and time, he will recover.”

“I’m not sure he should be leaving London so soon. The journey may—”

“Don’t fight this, Ivy. It is important that you leave London and soon. You are intelligent enough to know this. Especially as before we came here, we visited Bow Street and told them everything that had transpired at Le Plaisir.”

“I should have come with you.”

“And yet it is done, and I had believed you would want to stay with your brother today.” The words were reasonable, and yet she felt anything but.

Where was her calm? Where was the rational person Ivy had always been?

“Those in charge of the investigation know where we will all be should they require us.”

“You told them we were going to Greystone without first asking?”

“You are coming to Greystone in two days, Ivy, so stop fighting me. There is danger for your family if you stay, so stop thinking of how you feel and think of them.”

It was a direct hit, and he was right. So why was she fighting this?

The reason, of course, was standing a few feet from her.

“The carriage will arrive in two days, and you will be in it when it leaves London if I have to put you in there myself.”

“I don’t like to be ordered about, Mr. Haddon. I will do as you say because you are right, my family needs to leave London with some expediency, but that does not mean I will take continuous direction from you.”

“Ivy?” He moved closer. So close that all she would have to do was fall forward and she’d be pressed to his chest again.

“What?”

“Stop fighting me.” He slid a large palm around her back and pulled her close, then he was kissing her again. She felt every inch of his chest pressed to hers. His other hand cupped her cheek, and his fingers seared into her skin. She lost all rational thought save one: she wanted this with him.

“At least now I know how to keep you quiet,” he whispered words against her lips.

“I don’t understand this.”

“You will” was all he said before he took her hand in his and led her down the stairs.

She walked because she’d been doing so for most of her life and it wasn’t very taxing, but her head swirled with thoughts. What did “you will” mean? And why did those two words fill her with hope and excitement?

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

THE WEATHER WAS cold with the promise of snow in the air as Rory made his way to the Redfern townhouse. His family was leaving shortly and would meet them at the inn where they would spend the night before journeying together to Greystone tomorrow. He had decided to travel with Ivy, Jackson, and their aunt, to ensure they reached it safely.

Determined that Madam Layla would be punished for her crimes, Joseph and Rory also met with Squire Ringwald yesterday to discuss what had taken place at Le Plaisir. The man was a magistrate, and Rory thought he would help expedite matters; clearly he’d been wrong in his assumptions.

Ringwald had been determined to make light of what happened to Jackson, even stating that young high-spirited men got into all kinds of trouble. Rory had pointed out that as he was the man who had found his friend tied to a bed and then had a pistol pointed at him by Madam Layla, he felt there was a great deal more to it than young men getting into trouble. Things had declined after that.

The magistrate had dismissed the blackmail letter as a woman’s hysteria, which angered Rory, as Ivy was not the type for hysteria. Joseph had pointed out that he was not happy with Ringwald’s defense of Le Plaisir and that he would be taking the matter higher if it was not dealt with to their satisfaction. Ringwald had stormed from the room, leaving the brothers concerned over just how far Madam Layla’s tentacles reached.

Stopping outside the Redfern townhouse, Rory handed over his horse and was soon knocking on the door. He was pleased to see another carriage loaded with luggage waited as well as the one his family had loaned them.

He’d almost expected to receive a note from Ivy stating they no longer wished to leave London, but at least in this she was now showing sense.

Ivy. Rory wasn’t sure how it had happened, but she’d come to mean something to him. As yet, he was unsure what. However, he did know that her lips were soft and sweet, and her body pressed to his made him lose reason. What he wanted to do about that, he was unsure.

“Good morning, Parslip. Is the household ready for departure?”

“Indeed they are, Mr. Haddon. And in a flurry of activity.”

“Excellent.”

“At present they are taking tea in the front parlor.”

He found Aunt Bea and Jackson seated before the fire. Of Ivy there was no sign.

“You look better.” He shook the hand Jackson held out to him.

“Much, thank you. I have slept for two days and eaten constantly and am almost recovered.”

Almost, but not quite, Rory thought. He was still pale, and the shadows were there in his eyes. But he saw the return of his old friend.

“Is Ivy not taking tea?” he asked casually.

“She should be down shortly. I’ll go and find her,” her aunt said, gaining her feet.

“Ivy cannot be rushed and needs to check at least twice that everything she may require is packed,” Jackson said.

“My sister is the same.”

“I really must thank you again, Rory.”

“You have already done so, Jackson. There is no need for more.”

“I told Lord Trockler yesterday what you had done. He came to invite us to his house for Christmas.”

“I believe my sister said he will be alone, as his wife is visiting family and he had no wish to go,” Rory said.

“I wouldn’t want to go with her.” Jackson shuddered. “Horrid woman.”

“Couldn’t agree more.”

“Quite a surprise, him issuing the invitation, but very kind of him. I think Aunt Bea and he get along well.”

“Ivy is not in her room.” Aunt Bea appeared looking worried. “According to Parslip, she and her maid slipped out to attend the lending library.”

“I told her she wasn’t to leave the house!” Jackson growled. “That woman has no sense when it comes to books.”

“The lending library on Knocks Street?” Rory got to his feet, heart pounding.

“Yes, that is the one she visits,” Aunt Bea said. “I’m sure she will be fine. Ivy just wanted a book for the journey.”

“I will walk her home. Excuse me.” Rory made for the door. “When did Miss Redfern leave, Parslip?”

“An hour ago, sir.”

“On foot, I presume, as the carriage is outside?”

“Miss Redfern walks most places, Mr. Haddon.”

I will kill her. He was on the street in seconds. Knocks Lane was left, so he headed that way.

It was blisteringly cold as he struck out along the street with anger dogging his every step. She was a fool… a reckless, extremely disturbing fool. He had no problem with independence—indeed, he was surrounded by independent women—however he had little tolerance for stupidity.

Fear had him soon running down the road. Rory hoped he didn’t step on a patch of ice and end up on his backside.

The lending library was only a few feet away when he saw her. Stopping, he watched her walk out the door, smiling at her maid who was talking. She wore her gray coat and scarf and looked delicate and fragile. Of course, she was none of these things, but the façade presented that way. In her arms were books.

Rory stayed where he was, still some distance away, allowing his heart and rage time to settle before he spoke to her. Because his first instinct was to shake her, then yell. That would get him nowhere.

She was safe.

Something made him look to her right, and he saw the man approaching. In his hand was a pistol. There was no doubt in Rory’s mind that his intent was to harm Ivy. He started running.

“Ivy, run!” She stopped, looking his way. Rory pulled out his pistol, but the man had seen him and fled. He did not bother to give chase, as he would be fleeing down the narrow lanes and alleys in seconds, which he likely knew a great deal better than Rory.

Pocketing his pistol, he took the remaining steps to where Ivy still stood. Grabbing her arm, he hauled her to his side. Her maid was cowering in the doorway behind them.

“Do you not know what run means?”

“You surprised me. What is going on, Rory?”

“You are a bloody idiot!”

He turned and retraced his steps, dragging Ivy with him. Rage dogged his every step, and the words he wanted to spew forth were fighting for ascendancy.

“You are walking too fast, Rory.”

He didn’t lessen the punishing grip he had on her arm, but he did shorten his stride.

“The thing is, Rory—”

“Not one bloody word, Ivy, or everyone in these buildings and on the street will hear exactly what I think of your irresponsible behavior!”

To her credit, she shut up. Looking over his shoulder, he noticed the maid was following at a trot.

Minutes later, they entered the Redfern townhouse.

“Direct me to an empty room, if you please, Parslip,” Rory said.

“Second door on the left, Mr. Haddon.” The butler looked wide-eyed from him to Ivy.

“Please take these books to my room, Parslip.” Ivy threw them at the butler as she passed.

Rory walked, towing her behind him, into the room. He shut the door behind them with his boot.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t think there was any danger in just a brief dash to the lending library.” Her words were falling one on top of the other as she backed away from him, which was not far, as the room was small. Tiny, in fact, and housed only a chair and small writing desk.

“You,” he pointed a finger at her as he advanced, “could even now have been in the hands of someone who wants to harm you! Not just harm, but violate!”

There had not been a great deal of color in her face to start with, but what there was leached away.

“That man wanted to grab you right of the street before me, Ivy, and was likely sent by the woman who kidnapped Jackson. Her threat was that we would be made to pay if we pursued charges against her. It seems she worked swiftly.” Which he would consider soon when he could again think clearly, as surely that strengthened his belief that Squire Ringwald could not be trusted.

“I’m sorry. I did not give the matter enough consideration.”

A gray velvet bonnet framed her face, tied with matching silk ribbons. He felt it again, that pain in his chest, but now it was worse, because just minutes ago Ivy Redfern could have been kidnapped… taken from him.

“I credited you with a great deal more sense than you are currently displaying. Clearly you have been used to doing as you wish without restraint or censure.” He was snarling now, like a rabid dog.

“That’s unfair.” The color returned to her face. “You make me sound brainless and rash. I assure you I am neither.”

He moved closer. “Your behavior today would suggest you are both those things. Especially considering both Jackson and I told you that there was danger.”

She looked like he’d slapped her.

“You could have disappeared, never to be seen again, had I not arrived when I did, Ivy. Do you understand that?”

She nodded, and he saw that the truth was hitting her hard.

“I do not want you to disappear, Ivy.” He closed the distance. “It would upset me greatly.” His anger fled as he saw the tears she was fighting to keep at bay.

“I-I am sorry. I have this furiously determined streak, and it tends to blind me to all else. I can also rationalize everything I should not be doing into something I should.”

Rory barked out a laugh. He then took her in his arms and held her close, as much for her as for him. He needed to feel her, needed to know she was safe here with him.

“Promise me you will not take such a risk again.” He cupped her cheeks.

“I promise.”

The kiss was gentle, and yet held so much. Passion, yes, but also desperation from both of them.

“We need to leave London now, Ivy.”

She nodded, and he saw the questions in her eyes, but now was not the time to answer those. When they were safe at Greystone there would be time to discover what lay between them.

“Come, we must alert your family to what has happened.”

“Oh, but—”

“They need to know, Ivy.”

“Forgive me, Rory, you are right, my behavior was selfish and irresponsible. I am not usually like that. Things have unsettled me, and I am not myself.”

“I understand that, and realize the last few days, weeks actually, have been extremely difficult for you, Ivy. But you must show caution now.”

“I will, I promise.”

“It is only because I care about you that I was so angry, Ivy. You scared me.”

“Thank you for being there, Rory.” She kissed his cheek, then walked past him out the door, leaving him to follow.

I’ll always be there for you.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

HE WAITED in the front entrance while they gathered their things, watching the street for anyone who may be lurking there with nefarious intentions.

As predicted, Ivy’s aunt and brother had let her know exactly what they thought of her behavior when he’d told them what had taken place outside the lending library. Chastened, she’d left the room.

He watched her stop halfway down the stairs as she noted no one but he was there.

“Ready?”

She continued slowly.

“You will like Greystone, Ivy, I promise.”

“It is very generous of your brother to invite us, Rory.”

“I hear a but?”

“I know we need to go after what happened today, and I want us to now. But we usually spend Christmas just the three of us. Often we decorate the house together and observe other traditions.”

“And you have no wish to observe any with my family?”

“It is not my intention to sound ungrateful in the face of your generosity, but surely your family wish to spend this time alone also?” Her face was serious, eyes somber.

Today someone had tried to grab her off the street outside the lending library, and that alone would have been enough to put some of the women he knew in bed for a week. But not Ivy. She was strong and resilient, just two more things in a long list for him to admire about her.

“We often have guests at this time of year. But if it eases your mind, we also decorate, and there are many events and happenings in the village that I know you will enjoy.”

“Of course.”

“Of course, none of those are the real reason you have no wish to leave London with me, are they? It is that you are confused about what lies between us.”

“You are right. I don’t understand what is between us.” She reached the bottom step where he stood, their eyes now level. “This kind of thing,” she waved a hand about, looking flustered, “is new to me.”

“I’m not used to it myself.”

Her smile flashed the dimple. “That’s good to know.”

“Leave it for now, Ivy. We can get to know each other better at Greystone. We will have plenty of time to talk there. Let us start our journey before the snow worsens or someone else finds a way to come after one of us.” Rory ran a finger down her cheek, then kissed her.

“Go and rally the others.”

She didn’t hesitate, just turned and ran back up the stairs to collect her brother and aunt.

Soon they were all loaded inside the carriages. The family in one, and the servants in the other.

“Surely it is too cold and dangerous to ride,” Ivy said as she prepared to step inside the carriage. “You would be best served in the carriage with us.”

“I like to ride.” He could also see if anyone approached them if he was on horseback. “And I have many layers on, so I will be warm. But thank you for your concern.”

She hesitated, then looked at him. “I don’t want anything to happen to you, Rory.”

“It won’t, I promise.” He squeezed her fingers softly. “In you get now, it’s cold out here.”

They rolled out of London without further incident, which relieved Rory. As the miles passed, he had time to think about just what he felt for the very sweet Miss Redfern and decided it was a great deal more than he’d felt for her last week. Added to that, it was a great deal more than what he’d ever felt for a woman before. His fear earlier, when he saw that man and couldn’t reach her, had bordered on desperation. Was that how Joseph felt for Milly?

Whistling softly to himself, he rode alongside the carriage so he could catch a glimpse of her sleeping with her face pressed to the window. Perhaps he was beginning to understand the emotion he felt for Ivy after all.

IVY WOKE as the carriage lurched sideways.

“Dear Lord, the wheel has broken!”

“It’s all right,” Ivy soothed her aunt. “We have Mr. Haddon with us.”

“And me,” Jackson said, throwing off his blanket. “I am not that weak, you know.”

“Yes, you are, and if you stand about in the cold you will be more so. Stay here, and I will see what has happened, although as we are listing to the right, I think it fairly obvious,” Ivy said, opening the door.

The road before them was dappled with snow that had started to fall over the last few miles. Rory had dismounted and was standing with the driver and Timothy, helping to unharness the horses.

“The inn we are to stop at for the night is not far from here,” he said as she approached. “Get back inside where it is warmer, Ivy.”

“It will be some time before that wheel can be fixed, so my aunt and Jackson can squeeze in with the servants and I will wait here—”

“You will not!” Rory glared at her. “You will go, and Timothy and I will deal with the wheel.”

“I can stay,” Jackson protested, having stepped from the carriage.

“You are still weak,” Rory said. “Get your aunt and go to the other carriage. It’s freezing out here. You too, Ivy.”

“I will stay. There are plenty of blankets, and Timothy will keep me company. There is not enough room for all of us to travel in that carriage, as you very well know.” Ivy stomped her feet to keep them warm.

Snow touched the brim of Rory’s hat, and his collars were raised. Cold tinged his face with color, and Ivy felt the funny feeling in her belly again just looking at him. Large and vital, she thought, and extremely disturbing.

“I really won’t fit, Rory,” she said again.

His eyes went from her to the carriage. He then went to investigate himself, clearly not believing her.

“I did tell you I wouldn’t,” Ivy said, joining him in the doorway. Her aunt was pressed to Jackson on one side, and the other was squashed with servants.

“One of the servants can wait, and you can go,” Rory said.

“That’s hardly fair. No, I will stay with Timothy while you find someone to fix the wheel.”

“It’s not about being fair, Ivy.”

“I will not leave any of our servants here in the cold. Melanie has a sniffle anyway, and Lilly is my aunt’s maid and her age. Peter is—”

“I’m sure I could strap you to the roof.” Rory cut off her words.

“Extremely amusing.”

“I will ensure Ivy stays safe, and she has Timothy here also,” he said to Jackson. Before her brother could reply, Rory had closed the door and stepped back, taking Ivy with him.

Rory waved the driver to navigate around their carriage, then looked up. “The snow is getting heavier. I will take you up with me on my horse, and we shall follow. Timothy will have to stay with the carriage and horses. And before you open your mouth to argue, the answer is no. I won’t leave you here on the road unprotected.”

“I’m not sure that is proper.”

“And staying here with three men is?”

Ivy snapped her teeth together.

After ensuring the driver, Timothy, and the horses would be all right, she followed Rory to his horse.

“Will your horse mind?”

“Carrying you?” Rory took her hand and led her closer.

“Yes.”

“No, he likes pretty ladies, and you weigh no more than a child or the gun I strap to my saddle, so the strain will not be onerous.”

She could do nothing to stop the small shriek as he threw her up on top of the horse.

“A little warning, please.”

“Move forward.”

“I will sit behind you.” Ivy shuffled back.

He sighed, looking up at her.

“What?” Ivy quite liked this vantage point, looking down at him.

“Can you not just say, ‘yes, Rory’? Just once.”

“No, Rory. What if someone sees us?”

“Who will be out on such a day? Now move forward.” She did, and he climbed up behind her, and suddenly she was surrounded by him, his big body seeming to wrap around her, leaving Ivy with a very uncomfortable feeling deep in her belly.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

HE ENJOYED HOLDING HER, knowing she was in his arms. She sat before him watching the road dappled in snow, pressed to his chest as the minutes ticked over and Rory thought he could keep walking for hours like this.

“Rory, how will this all end?”

“The threats?”

She nodded, her bonnet touching his chin.

“We have to find people who are not under that woman’s thrall to ensure she is tried without bias. That is, if we can take matters that far.”

“But why am I threatened and not just Jackson?”

He’d thought about that as he rode beside the carriage. Remembered Madam Layla’s threats where Ivy was concerned. For now he would not frighten her with all the details.

“You know that she mentioned your family.”

“Yes. But now we have Jackson back, surely he is the only target, as he can testify against her.”

“Perhaps she sees removing any Redfern will stop us wanting to go after her? And it’s likely she would have extorted money and an assurance to drop all charges for your return.”

“I don’t like that woman, Rory. She must be stopped before she hurts anyone else. The only good thing to come out of that entire horrid event is that Troy is so much happier, and he has only been in our household a few days.”

“Yes, she must be stopped. Who is Troy, Ivy?”

“The boy who left Le Plaisir with us.”

“I thought he was Roy now?”

“Parslip thought Troy more fitting.”

“Why?”

“I believe the city of Troy is now where the boy’s ancestors originate from.”

“And I ask again. Why?”

“Parslip said that Troy had no memory of his parents, or siblings, or anyone in his life, so he made a past for him. He and our cook, Mrs. Boodle, thought it was befitting a boy who had already suffered through too much.”

“That was very kind of them.” His voice only shook slightly.

“Are you laughing at my cook and butler?”

“I’m trying not to.”

“It’s very kind of them. I found a book about Troy, and Parslip is reading it to the boy.”

She moved, twisting her body and pressing her bottom into his groin, which had his eyes nearly crossing, until she could look at him.

“I think it’s sweet.”

His eyes settled on her lips. “I think you’re sweet.”

She leaned in, one hand on his chest, and this time it was Ivy who kissed him. Luckily his horse was well behaved, because in seconds he’d dropped the reins, wrapped his arms around her, and was kissing her back.

Her lips weren’t skilled, she was innocent, and he was on fire in the cool air in seconds. Ivy ignited him like no other before her. As he took the kiss deeper, he thought that he really did know now exactly what he wanted to share with Ivy.

“Ivy.” He breathed her name against her lips.

“I need to be honest.”

“All right.” Rory kissed her quickly because he could.

“I like you.”

“That’s welcome news, as I like you also.”

“Very much, Rory.” She eased back, frowning.

“Again I sense a but.”

Their eyes locked

“I didn’t think that would happen to me.”

“That you would like me, or that I would like you?”

“Both.”

“And yet you are immensely likeable,” he teased her.

“According to Mr. Landish, I am odd.”

“Why does Mr. Landish think you’re odd?”

“He said I was one of those devilishly tricky well-read females no man would ever want as a wife.”

“I may have to seek him out on your behalf when we get back to London and explain that his views are wrong,” Rory said. “In fact, many men like well-read females.”

“I told him that he was one of those devilishly dimwitted men whose only contribution to a conversation was how short in the hocks a horse is.”

“How did he take that?” Rory could do nothing to stop his smile. There was just something about Ivy that made him happy… even when he was angry with her. Which made no sense to anyone but him, so he’d keep that thought to himself too.

“His face turned red and he looked like he was close to apoplexy, so I walked away.”

He tried to muffle the laugh, but it came out as a snort.

“So you see, I am not an easy female to manage.” Her eyes were solemn.

“How do you know I am an easy man to manage? Plus, I have no wish to manage you, Ivy.”

“Oh.” She turned away, completely misunderstanding what he’d said.

“I like you as you are, Ivy.”

“Really?” She turned back, smiling.

“Really.”

Her eyes widened as she looked over his shoulder.

“Rory, men!”

From behind them, five men were approaching. Rory could not outrun them, and if he tried, they could be shot. He thought furiously as he pulled his pistol from his boot. What to do? Had they followed them from London, sent by Madam Layla? He looked down at the woman in his arms. They would not get her; he’d do whatever it took to keep her safe. Because she may not know yet that this was love, but he did.

“Mr. Haddon!”

“That’s a relief, it’s Lord Trockler,” Ivy said.

“Gentlemen.” Rory turned his horse and waited for them to draw near. Wrapping an arm around Ivy’s waist, he held her close.

“It’s just Lord Trockler, Rory.” Her hand patted his.

There was no “just” about it, Rory thought, looking at the nobleman. He remembered Jackson saying the man had offered his country house to them for Christmas. Could Trockler be under Madam Layla’s control also? He couldn’t discount it.

“You’re squeezing me tight, Rory—”

“Be still,” he whispered in her ear. “I can’t be certain, but it is possible Lord Trockler is close with Madam Layla.”

“Surely not?”

“We need to play along, Ivy, until we are sure. Do you understand me?”

She nodded.

“Do what they say for now, but stay alert.”

“I will.”

“Lord Trockler, how lovely to see you,” Rory said. If they were to play this part well, they needed to act as if nothing was out of the ordinary. “What has you out here in this weather?”

“My estate is not far from here, Mr. Haddon. We have been checking on the tenants. My grooms are keeping me company. What about you, Miss Redfern? Why are you with Mr. Haddon, alone?”

The man was scared. It was there in his face, all the signs that he was nervous. Rory had no idea where Trockler’s estate was but doubted it was nearby. Things were not adding up, and that confirmed to him that Trockler was in league with Madam Layla.

“Our carriage wheel broke, so we have sent my aunt and Jackson on, and we are attempting to find someone to fix it.” Ivy’s voice sounded normal, but her body was tense. Her fingers were clutching the ones he held the reins with. “We are to spend time at Greystone with Mr. Haddon and his family over Christmastide. He took me up before him as it was too cold to stay and wait.”

“Oh, well, I can help you there.” Lord Trockler’s smile was tight. “Come along, we’ll head back to the estate, and I will have one of my men fix it.”

“That would be wonderful, as my driver will be cold, as will the horses,” Ivy said.

“Follow us, then.”

There was little he could do for now, so Rory urged his horse in behind the men. Two of them then dropped back behind his horse, hemming them in.

“Stay alert,” he whispered in Ivy’s ear again. Her only answer was to squeeze his fingers.

They wouldn’t harm her. He’d do everything in his power to ensure that they had a long, happy future together, no matter what it took.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

IVY HOPED RORY WAS WRONG. Hoped that in fact Lord Trockler was a good man, and he was not under Madam Layla’s control.

“Not much farther now!” the nobleman called from up ahead.

“Do you think if Lord Trockler is in league with Madam Layla, he had something to do with the carriage wheel breaking?” Ivy whispered.

“I’m not sure something like that could be planned. But I would say they have followed us from London, if indeed Trockler is the enemy.”

Ivy didn’t want anything to happen to her, but the thought of Rory being harmed in any way made panic claw at her insides.

Rory would do what it took to keep her safe, she knew that, and yet he was one man, as she was one woman. They were outnumbered.

“I don’t want anything to happen to you, Rory.”

He leaned closer, his cheek now pressed to hers. “I don’t want anything to happen to you either, Ivy.”

“We have to get out of this.”

“We don’t know Lord Trockler’s intent yet, Ivy.”

“And yet you believe it is bad, don’t you, Rory?”

“I do.” He whispered the words in her ear.

They turned into a driveway and rode along that for a while. At the end was a large stone house.

“I had no idea you kept a place here, Lord Trockler,” Rory said.

“It’s one of a few I have. I come here when I want to be alone,” Trockler said, dismounting. He wasn’t looking at Rory or Ivy, but the house. “I will have someone sent to fix your carriage at once and bring it here to collect you. Come along, we shall go inside and warm up while we wait.”

Rory dismounted, then held up his hands to Ivy. She slid into his arms, and he held her briefly, allowing her to gain courage from his strength.

“Find a place to freshen up, then escape if you can,” Rory whispered. “Find where the horses are and go for help.”

“I won’t leave you. Besides, we don’t know if Lord Trockler is bad or not.”

“Think, Ivy. He came to ask your family to stay with him for a few days. Has he ever done so before, and while his wife is away?”

He had her there.

“You will escape, because it may be the only way we get out of this.” He gripped her fingers tight.

They were ushered into the house and into a small parlor, and the tension inside her grew. What would happen now? Was Lord Trockler intent on harming them?

“My lord, I wonder if I could freshen up?” Ivy said.

“Of course. Haddon and I will take brandy while we await your return.”

She was shown to a room on the second floor. There was a key in the lock that she turned. Hurrying to the window, Ivy opened it. She was at the back of the house and could see the stables. But how did she get down to the ground from here? What if she was overreacting? What if Rory was wrong and Lord Trockler wasn’t intent on harming them?

Bracing her hands on the windowsill, she looked out. A fall from here would break bones or her neck. Climbing onto the ledge, Ivy shuffled along it slowly.

But what if Lord Trockler is not intent on harming us? She could be risking her limbs for no reason.

Ivy reached another window and peeked in. Had she needed a sign, then the sight of Madam Layla seated in a chair, having a maid do her hair, was it. She recognized those golden curls instantly.

Creeping back along the ledge, Ivy went as far as she could the other way. It was cold and icy, so she had to be careful or she’d fall, and then she’d be no help to Rory.

Reaching the end of the building, Ivy found the roof sloped there. If she could get onto that and reach the gutters, she may be able to hang off them and jump the rest of the way.

Gripping the roof, she climbed onto it. The slate was rough, which would stop her from sliding. Clutching the side, she began to ease down slowly.

Would they come looking for her soon? She had to get down before they did. Rory would stay safe until she could get back to him… he had to.

It seemed to take forever, and her gloves were torn, hands raw by the time she reached the gutters. Ivy’s arms ached from holding on, but she’d make it; she had to. Lowering herself over the edge on her tummy, she let her legs dangle, but didn’t dare look down.

Please don’t let me break anything.

The gutter creaked and then bent as she lowered herself further, and then she was falling.

She landed on her feet; they gave way, and she fell onto her bottom, knocking the breath out of her body. Ivy rolled to her knees. Desperate for air, she wondered if she’d pass out, and then finally, the blessed relief. Inhaling large, steadying breaths, she staggered to her feet.

Running as fast as she could, she kept to the trees until she reached the stables. Listening, she heard no voices, only the thud of her heart.

You can do this, Ivy. Rory needs you.

She tiptoed inside. Horses had their heads hanging over the stalls, some nipping at her bonnet as she crept past.

“That Madam Layla, she’s got them all at her mercy.”

The words came from up ahead. Moving forward, she peered around a wall and found four men in a tack room talking. Ivy would never get a horse out of there without one of them hearing her. She saw the door had a lock on it. Could she shut it before they realized she was out there?

“That Lord Trockler will do anything for her,” a man was saying as she crept closer. “It’s like she’s a witch and casts spells over them.”

“Or she’s good at what she does, if you get my meaning. Them noblewomen is all uptight in the bedroom, but not Madam Layla. That’s what lures them to her.”

Ivy was now beside the door. There was a piece of wood to drop, then a key to turn in a lock. Pressing her palm to it, she swung it slowly.

“Hey!”

She slammed it and dropped the wood. Her fingers shook as she turned the key in the lock, then removed it. Running back to the first stall, she looked inside. No horse, only straw. The next had a horse but no saddle. The third had Rory’s horse, still saddled with the rifle strapped in place.

Fists pounded on the locked door behind her as Ivy led the horse from the stable. Mounting, she guided them outside. Rory had told her to leave and get help, but that help would be some distance away in the form of Timothy and the driver. Could she leave him for that long? What would they do to him once they knew she’d gone?

If only Lord Trockler was still in that room with Rory, she could go in there and retrieve him, then leave. She’d locked four men in the stables, but knew an estate this size would have more staff.

Ivy was not usually indecisive, and yet this was surely the most important decision of her life.

Letting go of the reins, she let the horse decide. He made for the house.

“Excellent choice.”

Tying him to a tree out of sight of the house, Ivy dismounted and unstrapped the rifle. Making sure it was loaded, she crept up the front steps and into the house. The parlor that Rory was in was on this floor. Listening at the door, she heard only the hum of men’s voices. Tapping on the wood, she stood back and waited.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

IVY HAD NOT REAPPEARED, and Lord Trockler was getting nervous. He was pacing the room, while Rory drank brandy, pretending to be calm when he was actually wound tighter than a piano wire.

The tap on the door had Trockler hurrying to answer it.

“Miss Redfern!”

Rory was beside the man in seconds.

“Rory, come out here now.”

She stood with a rifle in her hands, and it was pointed at Trockler. His heart nearly stopped beating.

“What are you doing, Miss Redfern?” Lord Trockler demanded.

Rory didn’t hesitate, he pushed the man back into his study, then slammed the door. Grabbing her hand, he ran for the door.

“I told you to leave the house and go for help, Ivy!”

“Your horse wanted to save you.” She handed him the rifle. “He is waiting outside. I locked the men in the stables but am unsure how long the door will hold or how many others there are here. Madam Layla is also here, Rory, and I find that woman terrifying.”

“You do surprise me. I didn’t think anything terrified you.”

The chandelier above their heads shattered. Rory dived at Ivy and carried her with him to the ground.

“You will not move!”

He found Madam Layla on the stairs with a gun in her hands. Raising the rifle, he took aim and fired.

“Run, Ivy!” He didn’t wait to see how his aim was, just leapt to his feet, dragging Ivy with him.

They shot out the front door.

“Horse, that way!”

He grabbed her hand as they sprinted past the house. Rory prayed no one shot at them.

Reaching the horse, he grabbed her around the waist and threw her into the saddle. Untying the reins he then vaulted on behind.

“Go!” Ivy shrieked.

He galloped down the drive and onto the road. Heading right, he hoped they would reach someone who could help them.

“Keep looking!”

She did, checking behind them as he urged his horse on. Only when the inn came into sight did he breathe easier. His family and hers would be inside.

Dismounting in front, he took Ivy with him to the ground, then hurried inside.

“My name is Mr. Haddon. My family is here.”

“They are in the dining room, Mr. Haddon.”

“Thank you. Please see to my horse.” He kept walking, dragging Ivy with him.

“We are safe, Rory.”

He stopped suddenly, then backed her into the wall. Rory cupped Ivy’s face and kissed her. It was savage and urgent, and she met each of his demands with her own. Her hands wrapped around his neck, her fingers grabbing handfuls of his hair.

“I told you to run for help and yet you came back for me.”

“I could not leave you.”

“Ivy.” He pressed kisses to her cheeks. “I love you so much, it terrifies me.”

“Today I realized I felt the same, Rory. It’s not a comfortable feeling.”

“It’s not,” he agreed. “When I saw you leave the room that Trockler and I were in, I realized just how much you had come to mean to me.”

“I realized when I left the stables on your horse. I couldn’t decide what to do. I was so scared they would harm you.”

“I believe my horse decided.” Rory kissed her again. “I haven’t told you how brave you are.”

“I don’t want those people to get us again, Rory.”

“They won’t. Come, we need to see our families, then find a magistrate.” He took her hand again.

“Do you think she’s dead?”

“I think it likely, or injured, as my aim is quite good.”

They entered the room seconds later to find both their families assembled. Rory still held her hand in his and wasn’t about to let it go. They could make what they wished of that.

He loved this woman deeply, and didn’t care who knew that.

RORY WALKED along the halls of his ancestral home, knowing everyone was asleep. In the three days since they’d arrived at Greystone, news had reached them that Lord Trockler had been arrested and Madam Layla was indeed dead. Rory had heard that like Jackson, Trockler believed Madam Layla loved him. Men were fools for love, he thought, smiling. He certainly was.

He and Ivy had talked endlessly about anything and everything. They’d walked for hours over the land at Greystone, wrapped in scarves and coats.

She made him laugh, and he made her sigh when he pulled her into his arms and kissed her, each becoming more heated than the last.

Rory didn’t tap on the door, as he had no wish to wake anyone but the inhabitant of this room. Slipping inside, he allowed his eyes seconds to adjust before making his way to the bed.

She slept on her side, hands under her cheek, and he allowed himself time to just stand there watching her. When she made a small snuffling sound, he smiled. Moving to the fire, he stoked the embers and then placed another log on. Returning to the bed, he bent to kiss her cheek.

She stirred.

“Wake up, Ivy.”

A hand shot out of the darkness and connected with his nose.

“Ouch!”

“Rory?”

“Who else were you expecting?” He blinked a couple of times and waited for his eyes to stop watering.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I just wanted to see you, as I have a question to ask you.”

“And it could not wait until tomorrow?”

“It couldn’t.”

She sat up, resting against the headboard. Her nightdress was white and buttoned to her chin, her hair in a long braid. The love he felt for this woman was fresh and new, and he cherished it.

“Can I share your blankets? It’s cold out here.”

Not hesitating, she moved over, lifting the covers for Rory to slide beneath.

“I’m sure my aunt would be shocked,” Ivy said.

“Very likely. Ivy, tell me you will marry me.”

Her mouth opened, then closed, then opened again.

“I did wonder when you were going to ask.”

“Is that a yes?”

“I may need to think about it.” She had a smile on her lips that begged to be kissed off. Rory eased her back down on the mattress, then took her mouth beneath his. Where one kiss stopped, another started. Sliding his hand under the hem of her nightdress, he touched the soft skin of her thigh. Blood pounded through him as he looked at what he had uncovered. Her skin glowed in the firelight. He wanted to explore every curve he’d exposed. His woman, Rory thought.

“I want you very much, Ivy.”

“Make love to me, Rory.”

His hands shook as he took her nightdress up and off her body. She undid his robe, and Rory shrugged out of it. He was naked beneath.

“I will never hurt you, love.”

“I know.”

He braced himself over her. Her fingers touched his shoulders, then trailed down his chest, and he felt everywhere they landed, as they left a trail of fire in their wake.

Firelight cast her skin in a soft glow. He touched a breast, stroking the curve, watching as she inhaled.

“So beautiful.” Rory kissed the hard peak of her nipple, and the breath shuddered from her body. She responded to his every touch and kiss, as he did hers.

He kissed and lavished attention on her breasts as she writhed beneath him. He licked the length of each of her ribs, then traced wet circles on her stomach.

“Let me kiss you everywhere, Ivy.” He moved lower.

“I don’t understand.” The words turned to a small squeak as he parted her legs and placed his lips there, in the most intimate of places. The tugging on his hair soon stopped, and her fingers fell away to grip handfuls of the bedding. He stroked his tongue along the damp folds and tight bud. His torture was slow and deliberate as Ivy moaned and begged him for something she’d never had before. He slid two fingers inside her, and she came to a shuddering climax.

“Oh, Rory,” she whispered against his lips when he had climbed back over her body. “That was wonderful.”

“There is a lot more, my love, and I will enjoy teaching you.”

Her hands stroked his sides, then over his back. Her touch drove his passions higher, and as he was nestled between her open thighs, he could feel the damp heat of her passion.

“I want you now, Ivy.”

“I want that too.”

“There will be pain.”

“I know.” She brushed her lips over his.

“Feel me, sweetheart, guide me into your body.”

Her hand touched him, fingers circling the hard length, her touch exquisite.

“You’re so hard.”

“For you, Ivy, only for you.”

She guided him in, and Rory pressed forward. She was tight and wet, and felt so good he had to use every ounce of control not to thrust hard inside her. This was her first time. He’d not make the memory a bad one.

He breached her innocence, causing a loud hiss from Ivy.

“I’m sorry.”

“Kiss me, Rory.”

He did, pouring everything he felt into it. His need and love for her. Only when she relaxed did he withdraw and thrust forward once more. Her muscles gripped and released him, and Rory had never experienced anything like this before. Making love to the woman who carried his heart added so much more to the experience. He stroked her breasts as he continued a gentle rhythm until he felt the tension inside her once more. Only then did he thrust harder.

His climax left him breathless, as did hers.

Rory had enough energy to roll off her to his side. He turned her back to his front and pulled up the covers.

“Are you all right, Ivy?”

Her hand patted his face.

“I love you,” she whispered. Seconds later, her breathing slowed. Rory smiled into the darkness, then closed his eyes and slept for the first night of many to come, holding his love in his arms.

The End

ABOUT WENDY VELLA

Wendy Vella is a USA Today bestselling author of contemporary and historical romances that have sold more than a million copies worldwide.

Known for compelling and uplifting stories laced with witty humor, sensuality and intrigue, Wendy has hit the bestseller ranks many times with reader favorites, the Langley Sister series, Lords of Night Street series, Sinclair & Raven series, and contemporary small-town series' Lake Howling and Ryker Falls.

An incurable romantic, Wendy found writing romance a natural fit. When her children were small, she would find writing time in the early hours of the morning, sitting quietly with her grandfather's old typewriter while the family slept. These works, however, she says, will never see the light of day! Wendy joined Romance Writers of New Zealand and started honing her craft, and after years of contests and conferences, she was finally ready to publish her first book in 2013.

Born and raised in a rural area in the North Island of New Zealand, she shares her life with one adorable husband, two delightful adult children and their partners, four delicious grandchildren, and too many cantankerous farm animals.

You can find details of her work at

www.WendyVella.com

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UNWISE BUT NOT DISHONORABLE

by

BARBARA MONAJEM

It won’t be a merry Christmas. Dorothea Darsington plans to show up uninvited at a house party, even if it infuriates her matchmaking mother and risks her virtue. How else can she steal back the St. George medallion her foolish brother gambled away?

Spies don’t get time off for Christmas. Cecil Hale follows the trail of the St. George medallion to a Christmas house party—and finds an unexpected guest, the daughter of his spymaster. She’s beautiful and desirable and very much in the way, and he’s honor bound to protect her.

But Dorothea is in the mood to be unwise. Can she and Cecil work together to unmask a traitor despite the distraction of falling in love?

CHAPTER ONE

DOROTHEA DARSINGTON FROWNED out the coach window at the wintry countryside, doing her best not to brace herself. She hoped that when the “accident” happened, she wouldn’t be flung across the seat into her mother’s lap, or across it into the arms of the shivering maid.

When she’d asked Rigby, their coachman, to arrange for the coach to break down close to the gates of Restive Manor, he’d nodded placidly, as if he did it all the time. Perhaps he did—her father worked for the Home Office and employed a number of spies. He might easily have ordered such subterfuge before. “Happy to, miss,” Rigby had said, without showing the slightest curiosity about her motive. “Easily done.”

It didn’t seem easy to Dorothea. She rubbed her hands, chilly despite her gloves. There were, she realized, so many don’ts: Don’t stare nervously out the window, hoping he won’t drive past the manor by mistake. Don’t cling to the strap as if expecting an abrupt halt. Don’t glance surreptitiously at Mother, wondering if she suspects.

Mother would do more than suspect—and be furious—once the accident happened, but Dorothea would cope with that, as long as they were obliged to spend Christmas at Restive Manor rather than at the seat of Lord Forle, a pompous oaf and mother’s latest candidate to marry Dorothea. His estate was another ten miles away. Fortunately, Lord Restive’s seat was on their route, for she would have been hard put to find another means to get there.

She shivered. The day grew steadily colder, and the hot bricks at their feet had long since lost all their warmth. The coach emerged from between hedgerows to a view of bleak, brown fields, with a church spire in the distance. Almost there.

She must stop looking out the window. Dorothea reached into her travel bag and purposely pulled out Mary Wollstonecraft’s treatise on the rights of women.

“Not in my presence!” Mother trumpeted predictably. “Your father may permit such folly, but when you are with me, you will do as I say.”

“I’ll read poetry, then.” Dorothea stowed the book away and dug for another. “You can’t possibly object to Shakespeare.” Actually, she probably would if she’d read some of his sonnets, but—

A loud thunk was followed by a startled-sounding oath, and the coach lurched to a halt. Dorothea wasn’t flung anywhere. Fortunately, she was looking down at her bag, so she didn’t have to assume a false expression of surprise. She did have to bite her lip against a relieved sigh.

“Why have we stopped?” her mother cried. She banged on the roof, but when Rigby didn’t respond, she turned to Dorothea. “Get out and see what is wrong.”

Dorothea obeyed, opening the door and clambering onto the road without the aid of the steps. She hurried to the front of the coach. The groom had gone to the horses’ heads, while Rigby, favoring one leg, examined the box, one side of which had collapsed.

“What happened, Rigby?” she asked, loudly enough for her mother to hear. “Are you injured?”

“A little,” he grunted, then sketched her a wink. “The box broke under me. Luckily, I felt it giving way and jumped free in time, but one of the traces is torn. Easy enough to mend a trace, but I can’t drive the coach with nowhere to sit.”

“Certainly not.” He had timed it perfectly, only fifteen yards or so from the manor’s gates. “We must get help. Are we near a village?”

“I expect so, miss, but I doubt we’ll get it repaired quickly. Tomorrow’s Christmas Eve.”

“It must be done immediately!” That was Mother’s voice. “Let me out. I shall see for myself what is wrong.”

The groom left the horses to set the steps down and hand Mother out, followed by her maid. Mother stomped to the front of the coach. “Humph. Mend the trace, and then lead the coach to the next village and have the box repaired. We must reach Forle Court tonight. Dorothea, get back into the coach. We cannot stand in the road.”

“Safer out here than in the coach, my lady,” Rigby said. “Lucky we stopped when we did, for I see that a lynchpin is cracked.” He nodded toward one of the wheels. “If it should break, the wheel will fall off.”

Dorothea’s breath misted in the chilly air. “How far is it to the village?”

“Can’t say for sure, miss. I don’t travel this way often. More than a mile. Maybe two.”

“My mother can’t possibly walk that far, and you have hurt your leg, so you shouldn’t be walking either. We must seek shelter.” She gazed about.

“Good thought, miss. It might come on to snow.” That was doing it rather too brown, since the sky was clear.

Mother narrowed her eyes and pointed. “Whose gates are those?”

CECIL HALE and his friend and host, Lord Restive, cantered across the last field in the direction of the manor house. It was cold and getting colder, and apart from that, Cecil would make no headway in his mission of unmasking traitors and spies whilst out riding.

“We’ll make a bowl of rum punch,” Restive said. They topped the rise. Below them on the road stood a coach and pair. Two fashionably dressed ladies hovered whilst the coachman and groom fiddled with the traces.

“Who can this be?” Restive said, and then added slowly, “Damnation. I do believe I know.” They made their way slowly down the slope.

The younger and much slimmer of the ladies, shapely in a blue pelisse, with strands of golden hair escaping from under her matching bonnet, turned and saw them. She waved a gloved hand and broke into a brilliant smile.

“Good God,” muttered Cecil before he could stop himself. He wasn’t cut out for this spying business. One was supposed to be in control of oneself at all times.

Fortunately, Restive took his blurted oath for a comment on the lady’s undeniable beauty. “A diamond, isn’t she?”

“Indeed.” What the devil was the daughter of his employer doing here? This was supposed to be a simple spying mission. He didn’t need the distraction of keeping watch over Sir Frederick Darsington’s beautiful daughter.

Restive grinned. “Smitten, my friend?”

Cecil blew out a breath. Appearing to be a lovesick fool would do very well as a cover, since it was actually true. Fortunately, she wasn’t even aware of his existence—or so he hoped. If she recognized him in the wrong context, it might jeopardize his mission.

By the time he and Restive reined in and dismounted, Cecil had taken in the broken box, the limping coachman examining one of the lynchpins, and the hovering groom.

“A breakdown,” his host murmured, frowning.

Lady Darsington was a stout matron with a massive bosom encased in a pelisse of purple grosgrain. After a narrow-eyed glance at the approaching men, she jabbed a finger at Miss Darsington. “These are Lord Restive’s gates?”

“So it seems,” Dorothea said. “How fortunate.”

“Fortunate indeed!” Restive strode forward with well-practiced charm. “My dear Lady Darsington and the lovely Dorothea. It seems an age since we last met.”

Dorothea tittered. “Silly! It was only a fortnight ago, in London.”

“An interminable one,” Restive said, a hand on his heart.

Dorothea simpered, and Cecil did his best to hide his dismay. Surely Miss Darsington—an intelligent woman who supported worthy causes—knew better than to set her cap at Restive.

“A most distressing accident, but what a pleasure to have your company,” Restive said. “Do please come to my humble abode.”

Lady Darsington frowned at Restive. “Send word to the village to have my coach repaired at once. We must reach Lord Forle’s estate tonight.”

Restive shook his head. “Even if the smith is available—which I doubt, as the entire village is preparing for the festivities—they won’t be able to mend it quite so promptly. However, you’re entirely welcome to spend Christmas with me.”

Lady Darsington turned to her daughter with a scowl. “This is your fault.”

The coachman put a hand over his mouth…to muffle a laugh?

Dorothea sighed dramatically. “I’m sorry it took me such an age to get ready this morning. I simply couldn’t decide what to bring, and then what to wear, and—”

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it,” her mother growled. “You will regret this, Dorothea.”

“How could I?” Miss Darsington said. “Lord Restive is charming, and I’m sure celebrating Christmas here will be delightful.” She shivered, hugging her arms around herself. “And much warmer than out here in the cold.”

Had Dorothea planned this so-called accident? Her flirtatious manner, coupled with the coachman’s amusement, seemed to confirm it. Cecil couldn’t suppress his disappointment. He’d thought better of her.

“Warmer indeed! We are a small party assembled here, so it will be all the merrier for your presence.” Restive smiled at Dorothea, and she fluttered her eyelashes in return.

“So very kind,” Lady Darsington snapped, “but we are already promised to Lord Forle. If the smith cannot oblige, I shall hire another carriage.”

“I’ll see what I can arrange,” Restive said, but Cecil got the impression he would do absolutely nothing. He already had two unexpected house guests—three, counting a cousin—with the result that the numbers were uneven. A beautiful young lady, even with her ghastly mother, would improve the hodge-podge of visitors.

As long as Restive didn’t attempt to seduce her. Cecil did his best not to clench his fists at the thought, which was a foolish one. Restive would do no more than flirt. He hadn’t the slightest intention of marrying. Besides that, he already had a guest who was ripe for seduction—one who wouldn’t expect marriage in return.

Dorothea aimed her beautiful blue gaze at Cecil, and her forehead creased slightly. Had she recognized him? Fortunately, he had an acceptable response for that. He hoped she had the sense to follow his lead, or give him one to follow. She’d always seemed intelligent—until today.

Restive noticed, of course. He was a perceptive sort of man—a necessary attribute for a spy. That didn’t mean he actually was one. “Miss Darsington, are you perhaps acquainted with my friend Cecil Hale?”

“I don’t believe so, and yet…you do look familiar, sir. Have we met?”

Cecil bowed. “Not as such. We both attended Lord Boltwood’s wedding, but I was amongst the humbler folk, so we were never introduced.”

“In that quaint tavern!” Dorothea said with her dazzling smile. “I recall now—you were at the rear with your arm in a sling. Someone told me you had been shot.”

He was flattered that she remembered him, damn his foolish heart, but seemingly she didn’t realize that, on her father’s orders, he’d often kept an eye on her in the year since. “I was a lieutenant of the Customs Land Guard at the time, and was shot whilst pursuing a smuggler.”

“Fortunately, Hale inherited a comfortable property,” Restive said, “so he no longer risks his life chasing bumpkins.”

“Humph.” Lady Darsington sniffed and turned away, making it clear that a property to which a former riding officer might lay claim was far beneath her notice. She turned her glower on the coachman and groom. “You will be fortunate if Sir Frederick does not dismiss you. Go to the village immediately and hire a coach.”

“No need,” Restive said with a dismissive wave of the hand. “I’ll send one of my grooms to see if there’s anything available. Come, let’s get in out of the cold.”

“If you’ll escort the ladies,” Cecil volunteered hurriedly, “I’ll take the horses up and let Lady Alice know guests are on the way.” If his friend was to have the young, beautiful one, he could have the old battle-axe as well.

Restive thanked him and offered an arm to each lady. The maid, having extracted a dressing-case from the coach, plodded wearily behind.

Cecil watched them go and walked over to inspect the lynchpin, which appeared perfectly sound. The traces looked fine as well, and the box lacked only a critical bolt—which he was willing to bet was in the coachman’s pocket. The coachman and groom seemed unconcerned; evidently, their mistress’s threat was an empty one. Cecil blew out a breath. “It’s none of my business what your young mistress gets up to.”

Except that it was. She wasn’t his mission, but he felt responsible for her. A pity, because interfering with her foolhardy plans would likely turn her against him. But what choice was there, when Restive—or one of his guests—might be spying for France?

He directed the coachman to Lord Restive’s stables, then mounted his horse and led the other away.

CHAPTER TWO

DOROTHEA RESTED her hand lightly on Lord Restive’s arm and marveled at her own audacity. She had actually managed to flirt with him! She never flirted. It didn’t come naturally to her—in fact, she found it extremely awkward—but needs must.

Step one of her plan was complete. They were at Restive Court. It was late in the day—too late, she judged, to carry on. If by some chance Lord Restive’s servants found a coach for hire—well, she would suddenly fall desperately ill and declare herself unable to travel a yard further.

She was here to retrieve the St. George medallion and would do whatever it took to remain here and do so. She didn’t think a feigned illness would be necessary. Lord Restive seemed perfectly willing to allow them to stay.

She had the feeling Mr. Cecil Hale disapproved of her, judging by a faint distaste in his expression, followed by the haste with which he’d offered to take the horses. She couldn’t entirely blame him, for her behavior verged on shameless. However, why she cared what one of her father’s minions thought of her was a mystery. He’d been assigned to watch her from time to time when she attended meetings of reformers in London. She wasn’t supposed to know about him but didn’t object, for Papa meant well. Mr. Hale was far less bothersome than previous minions. They’d all been gentlemen born, which seemed to make them think catching her interest was their right, rather than keeping to their assigned roles.

Perhaps her mild chagrin was because she’d been strangely drawn to this particular man, despite his threadbare clothing and rough demeanor—a disguise, judging by his faultless manners and appearance now—whereas he’d shown no interest whatsoever in her.

Heavens, surely it couldn’t be vanity. She didn’t expect every man to fall instantly in love with her. In fact, she wished they wouldn’t.

No, more likely it was embarrassment at Mother’s rudeness. That made much more sense.

They walked slowly up the drive, which was lined with immaculately trimmed yews and hollies bright with berries. How festive! Dorothea loved the Christmas season. Unfortunately, she doubted this visit would be a pleasant one. Not because of Mother—Dorothea was accustomed to constant scolds—but because she was here not to enjoy herself, but rather to search the house. More particularly, Lord Restive’s chambers.

What if he caught her there? He might think she hoped to compromise herself, to force him to marry her. Heaven forbid! He was a charming man, but not at all to her taste. Worse, he might think she merely wanted to seduce him. What a ghastly thought that was.

“You’re too quiet, Miss Darsington.” Lord Restive must have tired of making conversation with Mother.

Dorothea couldn’t manage any more of that dreadful coquettishness and gave him a rueful smile instead. “Merely fatigued.”

“Understandable,” he said with an unamused laugh. After several minutes of Mother’s complaints, did he already regret his invitation? She hoped not. She must stay here for Christmas, even if it meant more tittering, simpering, and fluttering of eyelashes.

Through a gap in the yews, she spied Cecil Hale riding one horse and leading the other up a pathway parallel to the drive. “Have you known Mr. Hale long?”

“Since our school days,” Restive said. “He’s a good fellow, and a bit of a radical, like you. He believes titles are meaningless and that every member of humanity is of equal value, whether rich or poor.”

“That’s wonderful,” Dorothea said, surprised. She had assumed he’d feigned interest in societal reform solely in order to guard her. “We need more such thinkers.”

“What utter nonsense,” Mother cried. “I forbid you to speak to him, Dorothea. He disdains titles merely because he is a nobody. His sort of thinking is dangerous. Just look at what happened in France.”

“Please, let’s not,” Restive said. “I have heard enough about France’s woes from Charles Dufair, one of my guests.”

“A Frenchman,” Mother sneered.

“A young, handsome Frenchman of noble descent,” Restive corrected gently, “and a talented artist. He escaped France with his life.”

“And nothing else, I expect,” Mother said. “He will not do for you, Dorothea.”

Dorothea was accustomed to ignoring her mother’s ceaseless prohibitions, but this was too much. “For heaven’s sake, Mother, I haven’t even met him.”

“You always choose the most unsuitable sorts,” Mother grumbled. “Fortunately, we shall leave here shortly.”

A curve in the drive revealed a beautiful brick structure, Jacobean by the look of it, grand but not overwhelmingly so.

“And here we are,” Lord Restive said in his smooth voice. He was a bit rakish, but not dangerously so. The only other mark against him, so to speak, was winning the St. George medallion from her brother Edgar.

And really, that was a mark against Edgar. He shouldn’t have staked something that didn’t belong to him. Restive had won it in fair play.

Nevertheless, Dorothea was determined to steal it back.

Lord Restive escorted them through massive front doors into a Great Hall. Ahead was a massive hearth; to the left curved a graceful oak staircase, while to the right a doorway led to a drawing room.

Two ladies hastened into the Great Hall. The elder, Lady Alice Turlow, was Restive’s aunt. The younger was a tall, voluptuous, dark-haired stranger.

“My dear ladies, how delightful,” Lady Alice said. “The Contessa and I were just bemoaning the lack of feminine company.”

“So kind of you to take us in,” Mother said with grudging politeness. Lady Alice was the daughter of an earl, so her status automatically ensured her a modicum of respect from Mother. “We shan’t inconvenience you for long.”

“It’s no inconvenience at all,” Lady Alice said. “Do please stay over Christmas. My nephew’s travelling carriage is under repair, and I doubt you’ll find anything better in the village than a gig, which wouldn’t be at all the thing.”

Dorothea shivered at the thought of driving ten miles in an open carriage while cold and darkness drew in. She hoped Mother wasn’t furious enough to agree to that. Dorothea certainly wouldn’t. She dreaded the thought of the public quarrel that would ensue.

Actually, she dreaded the quarrel anyway. As a child, she had got along reasonably well with her mother—but since she’d reached marriageable age, they did nothing but argue.

If only they could have a short truce, just for Christmas. She sighed, knowing it was impossible.

Lady Alice twinkled sympathetically. “Are you ladies acquainted with Contessa Tivoli? Her father was one of my most dashing suitors long ago. Bianca dear, allow me to introduce Lady Darsington.”

Mother bristled at this introduction, as she believed that all foreigners, no matter their rank, were inferior to the English gentry, and therefore the Contessa should have been introduced to her, not the other way around.

“And her lovely daughter, Dorothea,” Lady Alice went on.

“Lovely indeed!” The Contessa surged forward, appraising Dorothea with frank admiration. “A diamond of the first water, as they say, which makes no sense. What have jewels to do with water, I ask? No one answers me, but you, signorina, are magnificent. If I were a modiste, I would beg to fashion your gowns.”

“Thank you,” Dorothea faltered, feeling a blush rise to her cheeks. The Contessa herself was striking, but it wasn’t the sort of thing one said. Oh, why not? Conventions were so tedious. “You are a jewel as well, Contessa.”

Mother scowled, but Lady Alice laughed, bless her. A male voice drifted from above. “Two jewels of such magnificence, one dark and one fair. How superb! I shall sketch you together.”

Lady Alice smiled. “Come and be introduced, Charles.”

The gentleman in question descended the stairs, carrying a sketchbook and a stick of charcoal. His worn cuffs hinted at relative poverty, but his smile was cheerful and his bow perfection.

“Charles Dufair is an old friend of Restive,” Lady Alice said, “and an accomplished artist. One never sees him without his sketchbook. You young ladies might sit for him tomorrow. Ah, here comes our housekeeper.”

She beckoned a spare, kindly-looking woman forward. “Mrs. Bates will escort you upstairs to freshen up whilst we have bedchambers prepared for you.” And thus, with the ease of knowing she would not be gainsaid, she ensured that Dorothea and her mother would remain. It would now be the height of rudeness to refuse to stay.

Mrs. Bates escorted them up the stairs. Tall windows at the landing framed a view of rolling parkland; passageways led to left and right. Mrs. Bates turned left and showed them to a charming chamber where Mother’s maid was unpacking clothing, while a young girl set out jugs of warm water and towels.

“A footman will escort you to the drawing room,” Mrs. Bates said. “The gentlemen will make a punch to ward off the cold—that is Lord Restive’s practice at this festive season—but it will be too strong for ladies. I daresay Lady Alice will order some mulled cider, too.”

“Enough chatter, my good woman,” Mother said. “Leave us be.”

Why must Mother be so peremptory, particularly in the face of kindness? No doubt it was a reaction to being obliged to remain, but why take it out on the blameless housekeeper? It was all Dorothea could do not to apologize, but she smiled and thanked Mrs. Bates, who curtsied and left with the maid at her heels.

The instant the door closed behind them, Mother began her Undutiful Daughter harangue.

CECIL DISMISSED the footman waiting to escort the Darsington ladies downstairs. “I’ll show them the way.” He took a folding ear trumpet from under his coat and set it against the door.

“How dare you arrange a breakdown? It will not serve, I promise you.” That was Lady Darsington.

Dorothea’s softer voice, which he had to strain to hear, replied, “I’m sorry, Mother, but you wouldn’t listen when I said I would not marry Lord Forle.”

“Foolish girl! He is an excellent match, and besotted with you.”

“Many men are besotted with me, because I’m beautiful,” she said in a voice of loathing. “It is the bane of my existence.”

“It is a blessing for which you should be thankful,” her mother retorted. “Coming here was stupid. Lord Restive is not in the market for a wife.”

“I know that. It’s perfectly fine, for I don’t wish to marry him,” Dorothea said.

“Then you should not have flirted with him in that shameless way. He will assume you are setting your cap at him.”

“Heaven forbid,” Dorothea said. “I’m not interested in marrying Lord Forle, Lord Restive, or Lord Anything Else. I don’t know why you’re so set on providing me with a meaningless title I don’t even want.”

“As I have told you time and again, titles demand respect.”

“Not true respect, but lip service,” Dorothea said. “I would rather command respect for valid reasons such as intelligence, kindness, charity, and so on.”

“You will command no respect at all if you don’t change your ways.”

Evidently, mother and daughter had had this conversation frequently, for after a silence, Dorothea merely said, “I would have been perfectly happy to stay home, but we can’t return there either without a coach. We shall have to stay and make the best of it.”

There was a silence. “Very well, Dorothea. Remaining here need not alter my plans, except in one small way.”

Another silence, and then, “No, Mother. No, you will not.”

“I said you would regret it, and I meant what I said.”

Dorothea’s voice rose. “It won’t work. As you just said, he’s not in the market for a wife.”

“Then he will have to change his mind.”

“Mother,” she cried, “I will not marry Lord Restive, no matter what.”

“You will, when the alternative is being shunned by Society.”

Dorothea made a sound of utter fury. Footsteps moved rapidly toward the door, and Cecil stowed the ear trumpet in his coat and backed away toward the head of the stairs.

Miss Darsington flung the door open and stormed out, slamming the door behind her. Flushed and more beautiful than ever because of it, she spied Cecil and came to a halt.

“May I escort you to the drawing room, Miss Darsington?” Cecil said.

She glowered. “Where is the footman who was to escort us?”

“I took his place,” Cecil said. “He has other duties, whilst I am entirely at leisure.”

She digested that, perhaps assuming Cecil was another of her besotted admirers. Which was true, but he didn’t intend to show it. “Is Lady Darsington ready, too?”

“I neither know nor care,” she snapped, and got ahold of herself. “Thank you, but I need no escort. You may wait for my mother.”

“The footman will return for her.” He proffered his arm. “In the meantime, you are clearly overset. Come, let’s go downstairs—slowly, so you have time to calm down.”

CHAPTER THREE

DOROTHEA UNCLENCHED HER FISTS. She didn’t like being treated like a child in a tantrum, but she refused to care what Cecil Hale thought of her. She tried to imitate her mother’s sneer. “You were eavesdropping.”

He had a charmingly rueful expression, drat him. “How could I help it? Your mother has a loud voice.”

She narrowed her eyes. “I believe you dismissed the footman on purpose.”

“Out of concern for my friend Restive,” he said. “Forewarned is forearmed, where matchmaking mothers are concerned.”

She gave a frustrated huff and took his arm. They moved leisurely along the passageway. If only she were a man, she wouldn’t be forced to such ridiculous shifts to retrieve the medallion. She could win it back. Or demand it at gunpoint. Or…

He cleared his throat, and she realized she’d been stewing in silence, which was ill-mannered. Despite his calm demeanor, perhaps he was embarrassed too, for not only had he listened to a private conversation—not that it was truly private, with Mother’s maid in the room—but they were practically strangers. Yes, he’d been ordered by Papa to keep an eye on her quite often, but they had never spoken before today.

She should make polite conversation. “I wonder if—”

“If I understand correctly—” he said at the same time. “I beg your pardon. Pray continue.”

She shook her head. “I merely tried to break an uncomfortable silence with an irrelevancy about the weather—whether it will snow and so on. What were you about to say, Mr. Hale?”

He had such a kindly smile. “I believe it will snow tomorrow, so you are stuck here for at least a few days, if not more—and if I understand correctly, you arranged for the coach to break down because you prefer to spend Christmas here rather than at Lord Forle’s estate.”

She felt her color rising again. “Yes, because my mother would have tried to force me to marry Lord Forle.”

“And now she threatens to try the same ploy with Lord Restive.”

“Yes. He’s not as wealthy as she hoped for, but—” She shouldn’t discuss such personal matters with him. On the other hand, he was Papa’s minion and already knew more about her than he should—and was proving far too easy to talk to.

“She is in a rage and wants to punish you,” he supplied. He was too perceptive as well.

She sighed. “I think she is just fed up with me. She is afraid I will say or do something that will mortify her. Understandably so, for I dispute with her at every turn and am impatient with society’s rules and standards, while she values nothing but titles and wealth.” Dorothea sighed again. “Which reminds me, I beg your pardon for her rudeness to you.”

“You are not responsible for her actions,” he said, “and I have a thick skin, as well as a comfortable notion of my own worth, which I believe to be equal to that of any other rational being.”

“How forward-thinking of you, Mr. Hale.” They had reached the head of the stairs. It occurred to her that he wasn’t much like Papa’s other minions, but since he hadn’t brought up the connection with her father, she hesitated to do so. She’d had to think quickly earlier, when she’d betrayed herself by recognizing him, but his response had been smooth and competent. “Mother will attempt to trap Restive and me in a compromising situation.”

“Surely you can avoid that.”

“I shall try, but you don’t know my mother,” Dorothea said darkly. “She is relentless in trying to marry me off. She wants me to become a dutiful wife with no mind of my own. I have told her that I will not wed Restive—or anyone at all, if I so choose.”

“No one?” he blurted.

She huffed again. So much for forward-thinking. “Why must men believe women are good for nothing but marriage?”

They began to descend the stairs. “I don’t think that, but most women do want to marry, so it’s a reasonable assumption.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Well, I don’t wish to marry, or at least not the titled sort of candidate my mother chooses.” Again, she didn’t want to discuss such private matters—but she did anyway, because the very thought of Mother made her clench her fists and blurt what she shouldn’t. “I shall not let her threats of ruin affect me, even if I am caught in a compromising situation. I am determined to oppose her regardless of the consequences.”

She waited for him to say something obvious about how horrid it would be to be ruined, which she already knew.

When he said nothing, she gave him a covert glance. He looked thoughtful and said at last, “Courageous of you.”

“More likely foolhardy,” she admitted, “but one should stand up for one’s principles. It seems frightfully unfair that a gentleman can’t simply deny any wrongdoing and refuse to be forced into marriage.”

“I daresay, but it’s a question of honor,” Cecil said.

“A question of male stupidity,” she muttered. “Honor has to make sense. I shan’t flirt with Lord Restive anymore, but—”

“Good,” he said. When she stopped to stare, he chuckled. “That was the worst attempt at flirtation I have ever seen.”

She couldn’t help but laugh in return. “I know, I know, I have never been able to flirt. In any event, avoiding flirtation will not suffice. For Lord Restive’s sake, I must warn him.” She bit her lip. “I cannot allow Mother to destroy his reputation as an honorable man, which is so absurd, as she would be the dishonorable one, not he or I.”

Cecil shrugged.

It was always a waste of energy to discuss honor with a gentleman. “Nevertheless, I dare not speak with him privately for even two minutes. Mother will notice and cause an outcry.”

“I’ll let him know to avoid you like the plague,” Cecil said. “I don’t suppose the Contessa will object if he confines his attentions to her.”

“Oh, is she his lover?” Dorothea asked.

AN INNOCENT YOUNG lady shouldn’t know about illicit love, much less speak openly of it, but Cecil wasn’t surprised. She was the daughter of a spymaster and a close friend of young Lady Boltwood, who had once been a smuggler. She attended meetings where the talk was frank and open. She couldn’t help but know a little about life outside the restricted world of an unmarried lady.

One who refused to wed. Did she find gentlemen distasteful? No, she hadn’t indicated that. She wanted to choose for herself, and why shouldn’t she?

Ideally, she would choose him. He should use this opportunity to get to know her better, and vice versa.

When Sir Frederick Darsington had assigned Cecil to keep an eye on her at various meetings—gatherings of avid reformers at which he played the role of a quiet, somewhat grim down-and-out—she was almost always accompanied by another lady and a footman, so he wasn’t really needed for protection. Cecil’s role was to ensure she didn’t develop a tendre for someone unsuitable, without becoming infatuated with her himself. Apparently, all the other fellows assigned this role had failed. God only knew why Sir Frederick had entrusted the job to Cecil; evidently, he was as susceptible as the next fellow. He had fallen in love with her bit by bit, with her intelligence and courage and kindness, while she hadn’t been aware of him at all.

She wasn’t likely to fall in love with him now—but it was worth a try.

“I beg your pardon,” she said stiffly. “I shouldn’t have asked something so improper.”

“Why not? It’s a valid question, particularly if it will save you from being compromised by Lord Restive. Such liaisons are commonplace at house parties…so I expect either she is his lover or soon will be.”

Dorothea sighed. In distaste? Or…some other emotion? He glanced at her profile, but they had reached the drawing room doorway, and she removed her hand from his arm to precede him into the room.

A roaring fire and the voice of Lord Wellough greeted them. “We cornered the little fellow, and my hounds tore him to bits.”

Now her expression was definitely one of distaste.

“It was the best run I’ve ever—” He broke off. “Well, well! Who have we here?”

Lady Alice came forward and performed the introductions. Charles Dufair turned to a new page in his sketchbook and eyed Dorothea with intent; the ruddy-faced Lord Wellough, who was Restive’s cousin, surged forward. “My dear Miss Darsington! Such exquisite beauty!” He grabbed her hand and bestowed a smacking kiss upon it.

The poor girl reddened, but Wellough didn’t notice her discomfort. “How fortunate that you have joined us. Come, ignore that French artist fellow—he sketches everyone—and sit with me. Your Papa is an old friend of mine, you know.”

He would have towed her away, but Lady Alice intervened. “And here is our vicar, Mr. Kelly. Mrs. Kelly will join us later.”

“The parishioners are decorating the church for Christmas,” Mr. Kelly said, “and my wife intends to supervise them to the bitter end or dinnertime, whichever comes first. Welcome to our little village, Miss Darsington.”

She thanked him, but Lord Wellough nudged the vicar aside. “Come now, tell me what your rascally father is doing nowadays. Still catching spies, I hope. But of course he doesn’t discuss such matters with his lovely daughter.” He tugged her to sit next to him on a settee near the fire.

Politely, she complied and accepted a cup of mulled cider from the hovering footman.

“Hard to believe that such an unprepossessing fellow produced a diamond like you, Miss Darsington,” Wellough said. “Where is your mother? I was told she’s here. Not that she’s much to look at either.”

“Wellough, mind your tongue,” Lady Alice said, adding apologetically, “My cousin never had the least bit of tact.”

“My mother will be down shortly,” Dorothea said. “Perhaps someone could escort her?” She looked about, perhaps expecting Cecil to comply, but he had retired to a far corner of the room to pour a cup of punch. He hadn’t the slightest intention of fetching the battle-axe from upstairs.

Lady Alice motioned to the footman to escort Lady Darsington, and Dorothea gazed down at her glass of cider, while Wellough ogled her, talking constantly.

“Poor girl,” Lord Restive murmured. “It serves her right, though.”

“It does not,” Cecil retorted.

“My, my,” Restive said. “You are besotted.”

“I spoke to her,” Cecil said softly. “She didn’t come here to trap you, but to avoid being forced into a compromising situation with Lord Forle.”

“Ah. That explains her execrable attempt at flirtation. Quite a contrast from her usual demeanor, which is aloof and reserved.”

She’d been neither with him, Cecil noted with pleasure. He shouldn’t hug that knowledge to himself, since she’d shown no sign of personal interest in him, but he did so anyway. “However, her mother is incensed and intends to substitute you for Lord Forle.”

Restive eyed him. “She confided all this to you in the space of a few minutes? Impressive work.”

Since he had already complimented himself, Cecil counteracted this with a shake of the head. “She stormed out of an argument with her mother. I merely calmed her down. She asked me to warn you to never, ever be alone with her even for a few seconds.”

“Or all hell will break loose,” Restive muttered. “Perhaps I should move her and her dreadful mother to the nearest inn.”

“No,” Cecil protested. “She deserves our help.”

Restive’s mocking glance met his. “If only one could dispose of the mother and keep the daughter, eh? Her father’s not such a bad sort, though.”

Cecil shrugged, unwilling to confirm or deny his acquaintance with Sir Frederick Darsington. “If you confine your attentions to the Contessa, all will be well. I’m sure that will be no hardship.”

Restive grinned. “What is the purpose of a house party, if not illicit liaisons?”

Or meetings with a fellow spy.

“I have an excellent notion,” Restive said. “You must pay court to the delightful Dorothea.”

Startled—since he had already decided to further the acquaintance—Cecil said, “What?”

“You’re itching to rescue her from my tedious cousin.” He jutted his chin in the direction of Lord Wellough. “You needn’t worry about compromising her. You could probably seduce the chit and still avoid marriage—as long as the old bat doesn’t learn too much about you.” He eyed his friend with an evil twinkle. “Don’t worry, I shan’t reveal your secret. But you wouldn’t want to avoid marriage with her, would you?”

“She shouldn’t be forced to marry anyone,” Cecil retorted.

“Not even you?”

“No one,” Cecil said. “Since I intend to protect her, the question of seduction doesn’t arise.”

“So noble,” Restive said. “You’ve always been an admirable fellow, an example to us all. Still, think what fun to make her ghastly mother fear the worst—that her daughter will be obliged to marry a nobody.”

Cecil couldn’t help but chuckle at that.

“Pay her assiduous court, my friend. Enjoy it while you can.” He shook his head. “With a mother-in-law like that, I pity the poor fellow who ends up marrying the girl.”

CHAPTER FOUR

DOROTHEA SIPPED HER CIDER, doing her best not to cringe. It would be rude to shy visibly, but she was squished up against one arm of the settee, and Lord Wellough took up what was left. Not that he needed to; he was large, granted, but he sat with his knees spread, so his leg brushed her gown. She was accustomed to being ogled, but not so closely. Ugh!

Then his beefy hand brushed her thigh, and she sprang to her feet, almost slopping cider down her gown. “Oh, dear,” she said, thinking to claim that she had indeed stained her dress. Anything to get away from this odious old man—but before she could get another word out, Cecil Hale was there in front of her.

“I’ll carry that for you, shall I?” He appropriated her glass. “Let me show you those books, as promised.”

She tucked her hand in his arm. He whisked her from the drawing room, across the Great Hall, and under the staircase to Lord Restive’s library. It was truly magnificent—shelves upon shelves of volumes, some of them clearly used, not just placed there for show. What a pity she couldn’t remain in here for the duration of their stay.

She released his arm. “Thank you very much.”

“My pleasure,” Cecil murmured.

“Usually I can handle odious men, or Mother does it for me. We are always at odds, but I do recognize her abilities. She is excellent at fending off suitors she disapproves of.” Or mere lechers like that old fogey.

“Then my work is cut out for me,” Cecil said.

Dismay assailed her. Surely he wasn’t another suitor!

“Restive and I decided he will make it plain that he desires the Contessa, while I pretend to be smitten with you.”

Oh. Did that mean Cecil didn’t find her attractive?

“She won’t be able to catch you with him, because he will always be at the Contessa’s side. Your mother will not only realize that her plan won’t work, but she’ll be further occupied with fending me off.”

“I see.” It was a clever plan, so why did she feel slighted?

“If you agree to the deception,” he added. “Since she considers me ineligible, there’s no harm in it.”

Dorothea almost blurted that she didn’t care a jot for eligibility, but that wasn’t the point. He wasn’t actually going to court her, nor did it matter what he really thought of her.

Nevertheless, she was again a little chagrined—perhaps because on the many occasions when he had surreptitiously guarded her, she had been a little attracted to him.

Or, if she were to admit it to herself, perhaps a great deal. He had figured more than once in bedtime fantasies. Now that she was acquainted with him, that would have to stop.

She took a decisive breath. He would make a show of desiring her, and she… “What is my role? Should I pretend to encourage your advances?”

“Only if you wish to, but I expect it would infuriate your mother.”

She laughed—but ruefully. She didn’t like angering her mother and wished there were another option. “I shall tell her that you and I have many ideals in common. She will hate that, as she disagrees with all my radical notions. I shall say that I find your conversation most stimulating. That I simply can’t get enough of it.”

“Excellent,” he said, a little drily, “and now we had best find a book or two to discuss.”

Awkwardness came over her. She resorted to commonplaces. “What a magnificent library.” She strolled about, running her hands over the spines. “I never thought of Lord Restive as a great reader.”

Cecil fingered a few volumes. “He inherited most of this, but he enjoys poetry—everything from Shakespeare’s sonnets to William Blake.”

“I like Blake’s poems very much. They are so different to anything I’ve encountered before.”

“They are indeed.” Did that mean he liked them, or not?

She didn’t care—the measure of a man was not the tastes they shared—but she had to say something. “I also enjoy Mr. Wordsworth’s poetry, when it’s not too mawkish, that is.”

He didn’t respond—because he was perusing the titles on a shelf, or because he felt it would be rude to disagree?

He removed a few slim volumes. “How about the first two parts of Tom Jones?”

“I’ve already read it, but Mother doesn’t know.” She felt herself reddening. An innocent girl shouldn’t be aware of such an improper tale—not that it seemed particularly dreadful to her; the behavior of real people was often far worse. “She will be appalled if she thinks you are recommending it to me.” Dorothea couldn’t help but laugh again. “Poor Mother.”

“She deserves it for cutting up your peace.”

“Dorothea! Whatever are you doing in here?” Mother stormed into the library with Lady Alice behind her. “Lord Wellough claims you deserted him mid-sentence.”

“I can never resist a library, Mother.” She smiled at Cecil. “Thank you for showing me, Mr. Hale. I have heard fascinating things about Tom Jones, but I fear my mother would not approve.”

“My pleasure, Miss Darsington,” Cecil purred, sounding not at all like himself. He sketched a wink, returned the books to the shelf, and left.

“What an ill-mannered man.” Mother glared at Cecil’s retreating back. “How could you go aside with him?”

“I rather like him,” Dorothea said. “He reads poetry.”

“And scandalous novels,” Mother retorted. “Speaking of ill-mannered, how dare you disrespect Lord Wellough? Your behavior mortifies me.”

“He probably deserved it,” Lady Alice said in her blunt, no-nonsense way. “He has had far too much punch for so early in the day, and when he drinks, he loses all discretion.”

“Nevertheless,” Mother said.

Dorothea turned to Lady Alice. “Thank you for understanding, my lady. I don’t wish to speak unkindly of your cousin, but he made me most uncomfortable, for he sat too close, and his hand brushed my thigh.”

“No need to apologize,” Lady Alice said. “I shall give him a good telling-off, never you fear.”

“It was a great relief when Mr. Hale came to my rescue,” Dorothea said.

“Rescue?” Mother scowled. “Nonsense! He is a libertine, seizing his chance to prey on you. If you didn’t see that lascivious wink, I certainly did!”

Dorothea giggled. “It was a lovely, friendly wink,” she said, meaning it. Somehow, with that one wink, Cecil had managed to reassure her whilst alarming her mother.

“I don’t know Mr. Hale well—he’s a friend of my nephew’s—but I don’t think he’s dangerous,” Lady Alice said. “He’s rather reserved, and doesn’t have the predatory air so common in libertines.”

“A fortune hunter, then,” Mother said.

“By what Restive tells me, he inherited a competence recently,” Lady Alice said.

“Bah!” Mother said. “You must avoid him, Dorothea.”

I most certainly shall not.

WHEN IT WAS time to dress for dinner, Mrs. Bates showed them to their rooms. Mother was given the same chamber to which they had been shown upon arrival; Dorothea’s was next to hers down the same corridor. The young maid from earlier had already unpacked her belongings. She curtsied. “Lady Alice says I am to attend you, miss.”

Yet another example of Lady Alice’s thoughtfulness. Mother’s maid was getting on in years and needed what rest she could get. This arrangement also provided Dorothea with an opportunity to get some much-needed information.

“How kind of her. What is your name?”

“Sarah, miss. Oh, miss, you’re ever so pretty! Shall you wear this green gown or the yellow one? Or maybe the blue with scallops along the hem?” Her eyes sparkled as if she were a princess going to a ball, rather than a maid helping a lady to dress.

Not wishing to disappoint her, Dorothea pretended to consider her options. She didn’t care which dress she wore; they all became her. The year before, she’d had several ugly dresses made to see if that would deter amorous gentlemen, but all she’d got was snide remarks from the ladies. Gentlemen didn’t notice one’s gown except to offer meaningless compliments whilst pondering what was beneath it. Or so she suspected—needless to say, she’d never actually asked.

“The celestial blue for tomorrow evening, I think, and the rose for Christmas Day. Tonight…which do you prefer, Sarah? The yellow or the green? Or the figured muslin?”

Sarah grinned, thrilled to be asked her opinion. “The green, miss, it being my favorite color, and the Contessa will choose white or black—that’s all she brought with her, being foreign—so you won’t clash with her. You’re by far the prettier, if you ask me.”

Dorothea thanked her but said, “The Contessa is lovely in an exotic sort of way. Are you attending to her as well?”

“Only to help out her maid. She can’t speak much English, poor thing, and she’s a Catholic. Must be hard, so far from home at Christmastide.”

Dorothea nodded sympathetically. “Is the Contessa’s chamber in this wing, too?”

“Yes, miss, she’s next to yours and furthest from the stairs, for she prefers a quiet room. Closest to the head of the stairs is the dowager’s suite, but since there is no dowager—nor any Lady Restive, for that matter—Lady Alice has that one.”

“Where would Lady Restive’s suite be, if there were one?” Dorothea asked.

Sarah giggled, no doubt assuming Dorothea had hopes in that direction. “In the opposite wing, miss. Lord Restive’s room is first, then his dressing room, which is next to another dressing room and bedchamber. Those will be for her new ladyship, when he marries. His lordship gave Mr. Hale that one at first, them being old friends, but Lord Wellough arrived sudden-like, so he was obliged to give him the larger room and had us move Mr. Hale, who’s an easygoing gentleman and wouldn’t hear of moving the Frenchman, who’s quite handsome but poor as a church mouse, to the room at the very end, but took that one himself.” At this point, she ran out of breath.

Fortunately, she worked quickly, and by now Dorothea was dressed in the green gown. Sarah began to fix her hair.

“All the gentlemen are in that wing,” Dorothea said. How inconvenient, for what excuse would she have if she were caught there?

“Yes, miss. Lady Alice says it’s more comfortable for the ladies that way, but what if they’re hoping for a visit from a gentleman?” Sarah blushed in the mirror. “Beg pardon, miss. Everyone says I talk too much.”

“No, your explanation is most helpful. I’m glad Lord Wellough is not in this passageway. He stared, making me frightfully uncomfortable.”

Sarah giggled again. “Oh, aye, he does look, but as long as he’s not too bosky, he doesn’t paw us maids, not like some gentlemen.” Dorothea’s face must have fallen, for she added hastily, “Not here, miss. Lady Alice won’t allow it, and Lord Restive never touches the help, not even the ninnies who are no better than they should be. But my cousin Lizzie ran away from her master in the dead of night, she was that frightened.”

“How dreadful,” Dorothea said. “I hope she found a better employer.”

“Yes, miss, she got taken on at the Rose and Crown, and last year she married the innkeeper’s son! Now she has the most darling baby you ever saw.”

Dorothea wished to have babies of her own, but that was impossible without a husband. Her thoughts flew instantly to Mr. Hale, who wasn’t attracted to her. How unfair, she thought, and then, how ungrateful of me. She should be ashamed of herself, for along with the advantages of birth and beauty, she would inherit a tidy sum. She didn’t need to marry, and if she had to do without children, so be it. Far better than to find oneself tied to some pompous, unintelligent man.

“Everyone’s betting Lord Restive will go to bed with the Contessa.” Sarah clapped a hand to her mouth, dropping the hairbrush. She bent to retrieve it. “Sorry, miss! But she’s a beautiful widow and he’s a handsome man. I don’t know what Lady Alice was thinking, inviting her here, for surely she knew it would mean goings-on.”

Would Restive visit the Contessa’s chamber, or she his? Hopefully the former, for that would give Dorothea the chance she needed to search his room—but she could hardly ask.

She didn’t need to, for as Sarah put the finishing touches on her hair, she said, “I hope that sort of behavior won’t offend you, miss, what with the Contessa being right next door, so to speak. But the walls are thick, so mayhap they won’t disturb your rest.”

“I’m sure they won’t,” Dorothea said.

AT DINNER, which included some excellent beef and the best pheasant soup Cecil had ever tasted, he was seated next to Dorothea, with the vicar on his other side and his wife on hers. Judging by Lady Alice’s twinkle, she had rearranged the seating on purpose. Dorothea sat across from the polite Dufair rather than her scowling mother; the vicar’s wife was kindly and entirely respectable, and as for Cecil—he was considered safe.

Which he was, at least as far as action was considered, but his mind sneakily conjured images of himself and Dorothea in decidedly unsafe activity. Lord Wellough’s lecherous glances showed he harbored similar thoughts. Fortunately, he was stuck next to Lady Darsington, or perhaps she was stuck with him—either way, it served them both right. Wellough asked Lady Darsington how the spying business was going these days, and she replied huffily that such matters were confidential. Which meant, Cecil knew, that Sir Frederick made sure his indiscreet wife never overheard anything she might disclose in so-called confidence. Meanwhile, Restive and the Contessa made it clear they enjoyed one another’s company a little too much.

Perfect. Cecil made up for almost a year’s worth of lost time by flirting with Dorothea. Gradually, spurts of laughter rewarded his efforts.

He glanced down the table and caught Lady Darsington eyeing both him—which didn’t matter—and her daughter with malicious intent.

“Damnation,” he muttered.

Dorothea turned startled blue eyes on him.

“I beg your pardon,” he said. “I spoke my thought aloud.”

Her gaze flicked to her mother and back to him.

Cecil nodded, surprised at her immediate comprehension. “I thought we had spiked her guns. Now I’m not so sure.”

“I wish it were so easy, but fortunately, I’m as stubborn as she. Thank you so much for trying to flirt with me.” Her sweet lips curved in a shy smile, and his heart turned over. She turned to speak to the vicar’s wife, and Cecil spent the next half hour listening to the vicar explain the difficulties of writing sermons that inspired his parishioners to change their ways. Or rather, appearing to listen, for all he could think about was Dorothea’s smile.

CHAPTER FIVE

IT WAS UNEXPECTEDLY easy to flirt with Cecil—and what fun! How kind of him to worry about Mother’s reaction, but nothing could be done about her. Dorothea must simply get on with recovering the St. George medallion.

What had got into Papa, to take it from the place where it was securely hidden and put it in Edgar’s hands? Legend said it brought victory to whomever held it. She didn’t know whether it really had special power, but belief mattered a great deal in the case of holy relics.

By the time the ladies withdrew from the dining room, she was ready with the excuse of fetching her knitting. The gentlemen were safely downstairs, passing around the port, and with luck all the servants would be elsewhere, too.

When the others went into the drawing room, Dorothea hurried upstairs. The staircase and corridor were lit by sconces, and bedroom candles were ready on a table on the landing. She lit one, glanced both ways, and turned right instead of left.

Resisting the urge to tiptoe, she trod softly to the first door—Lord Restive’s—and peered inside. Welcome darkness greeted her. She went boldly through, as if this were her Mother’s chamber from which she meant to fetch a shawl. If she were caught, her excuse would be that she had turned the wrong way and become confused.

She went first to the bedside table. The drawer contained The Romance of the Forest, a few partial sheets of foolscap, and several keys. No medallion.

A table by the window held a travel desk. It was locked. She hurried back to the bedside for the keys, and with trembling hands tried them one by one. At last one worked, but the desk contained only paper, pens, penknife, ink, and a pounce box. Drat!

She gazed about. The door to the right must lead to his dressing room. Perhaps he had put the medallion with his jewelry. If she weren’t so nervous, she would have thought of that first. She was at the door when she remembered to lock the travel desk and return the keys to the bedside table.

She had just reached the dressing room door again when soft footfalls penetrated from the corridor, halting close by. Heart thudding, she slipped into the dressing room, pushed the door almost shut, and peered through the crack. Lord Restive’s door opened and light shone in. She pushed the dressing room door to and looked frantically about.

There were a couple of clothes presses, coats hanging along one wall, some shelves, a dressing table with a jewel case, a door leading to the passageway, and another to what must be Lord Wellough’s dressing room—and nowhere to hide. More footsteps made the decision for her. She would have to search later. She hastened across the room, snuffed her candle, and went into the passageway, closing the door behind her. She stopped to catch her breath and turned.

Cecil Hale stood only a yard away, looking like thunder. “What the devil are you doing here, Miss Darsington?”

THE INSTANT the words were out, Cecil regretted them.

Dorothea drew herself up, the picture of affront. “I beg your pardon?”

“I apologize for my language, but you should not be here. Your chamber—all the ladies’ chambers—are in the opposite corridor.”

“Is that where I went wrong?” She was definitely flustered. “I counted the doors—I think Mother’s is the second, but—” She pressed a hand to her heart and shuddered. “Then I realized this is a gentleman’s dressing room.”

“Lord Restive’s.” Cecil did his best not to narrow his eyes at her. He had no good reason to disbelieve her; one might easily take a wrong turn in an unfamiliar house, and an innocent lady would be understandably upset at finding she’d entered a gentleman’s dressing room—particularly if she heard someone in the bedchamber it adjoined. “Don’t be alarmed. It’s only his valet.”

“Thank heavens no one saw me but you,” she said breathlessly. She swept past him and hurried off.

He continued to his own bedroom, pondering the night ahead. It was the devil’s own luck that Lord Wellough had suddenly arrived a day earlier, displacing him from the ideal situation next to Restive’s suite. Perhaps he could drug Wellough and eavesdrop from his dressing room. Or hover down the corridor to see if someone sought to speak privately with Restive in the middle of the night—or, more likely, until Restive sought the Contessa’s chamber.

Or until Miss Darsington ventured into this passageway again. But why would she? She didn’t want Restive; no, surely her denial was genuine on that score. She definitely didn’t want Wellough, and she’d shown no sign of more than polite interest in Dufair.

I’m a jealous fool, Cecil told himself. No doubt she really had become lost. He should concentrate on the job to be done—not easy, when all he wanted was to grab every chance to get to know her better.

He fetched a box of cigarillos and left his bedchamber in time to meet Miss Darsington at the head of the stairs. She carried a homespun bag with a skein of grey yarn and two wicked-looking knitting needles poking out the top.

“He won’t sit too close to me now,” she said.

He laughed, suspicion vanishing in the light of her astonishing smile.

WHEN DOROTHEA ARRIVED in the drawing room, Lady Alice and Mrs. Kelly were discussing gardening, with Mother a bored third participant. Dorothea sat next to the Contessa. The foreign lady—dressed all in white, save for black lace trim and a black woolen shawl—was engaged in crewel embroidery. They duly admired one another’s work.

“I cannot knit,” the Contessa said, “but it is a necessary accomplishment for English ladies. Your climate is so chilly—brrr! You are making a…muffler is what you call it, no?”

“Yes, for my father.”

“You are a dutiful daughter,” she said, a hint of sarcasm in her voice as she glanced at Dorothea’s mother.

Did everyone know about their earlier argument? Possibly, for servants heard everything and gossiped about their employers. Dorothea bent her head to her knitting. It would be wrong to discuss her mother with a stranger. She had already said too much to Cecil Hale.

The Contessa interrupted these cogitations with a chuckle. “Do not be too dutiful. That is not amusing for a young and beautiful girl.”

In what way was the Contessa advising her to be undutiful? She could hardly ask, so she pretended she had miscounted her stitches.

“Your papa could not travel with you today?” the Contessa went on blithely.

“No, alas. He is in London, busy with government work.” In what proved to be a vain attempt to turn the subject, she added, “Lady Alice mentioned that your father was one of her favorite suitors.”

“My dear papa is still a handsome man—and virile, too, judging by the testimony of many ladies.” She chuckled again; she had no shame! “Is your papa handsome and virile, too?”

Dorothea was sure she blushed crimson.

“I embarrass you; it is unkind of me, for you are a proper young lady.” The Contessa didn’t sound at all sorry. She smoothed her skirts. “I made the lace for this gown. The fashionable English ladies wear black mostly for mourning. What a waste of an exquisite color!”

Dorothea accepted the change of subject with relief. “It becomes you very well, particularly since you have such beautiful dark hair. You are from Italy?”

“I was born in Corsica, which is now part of France but nevertheless very much Italian. The estate of my husband, the Conte, is near to Roma, but he is dead now, so I may live where I choose.”

“Are you merely visiting England, or do you make your home here?”

She shrugged. “I came for amusement. As long as I enjoy myself, I shall stay.” She cocked her head to one side. “Lord Restive is a handsome and virile man.”

Dorothea gave up on propriety. “Is he your lover?”

“Not yet, but I arrived only yesterday.” She smiled like a cat at the cream pot. “By tomorrow morning, he will be.”

Dorothea sighed, wistfully thinking improper thoughts.

“You want him for yourself? I am sorry, but I cannot give him up yet.”

“No, no!” Dorothea said. “I do not covet Lord Restive. I don’t wish to marry at all, but…”

“You wish to experience the pleasures of the flesh. That is understood.”

“No!” Dorothea protested, and then whispered, “Yes, but not with Lord Restive. In any event, it is not wise for an unmarried maiden.”

“That is true, but if you never marry, what choice do you have? You must not shrivel into old age without the touch of a man.” She paused. “Why do you not wish to marry? Because of the stupidity of husbands?”

“Yes,” Dorothea said dejectedly.

“You must find a reasonable man. My husband was such a one.” The Contessa’s gaze flickered to the doorway. Lord Restive was ushering his odious cousin in ahead of him.

“You shall remain beside me,” the Contessa murmured, “so that old man cannot drool all over you.”

Dorothea stifled a giggle. “Thank you.”

“Unless Mr. Hale rescues you again. He is a virile man, too.”

Must I spend the entire evening blushing? “But not the sort to ruin an innocent lady.” She wondered if he’d begun to like her—he certainly flirted as if he did—but perhaps that was only his way of helping to foil her mother’s plans. He’d been quite rude just now upstairs. “I think he disapproves of me.”

“No, he is enchanted,” the Contessa whispered. “Only look at him!”

Dorothea raised her eyes, but Cecil had turned to speak to his hostess, and the only enchantment in view was on the rubicund visage of Lord Wellough.

“Monsieur Dufair wishes to sketch us together,” the Contessa said. “Perhaps that will make Mr. Hale jealous.”

Dorothea rolled her eyes at this absurdity. The Contessa beckoned to Dufair, who eagerly complied. To Dorothea’s surprise, Mother offered to play piquet with Lord Wellough. That didn’t stop his ceaseless commentary on Dorothea’s beauty and desirability as a wife for some lucky man. Cecil must have tired of flirting, for he spent the evening discussing land management with Restive and the vicar.

The instant Dufair finished his sketch, Dorothea pleaded fatigue and hurried up to her bedchamber. Sarah helped her undress, ran the bedwarmer between the sheets, and bade her sleep well.

Which she couldn’t afford to do yet, so she climbed out of bed, opened a book, and sat by the dying fire—but that made her drowsy, so she took up her knitting, which kept her more or less awake until the ladies came upstairs.

Mother barged into the room. “Why are you still up? How impolite of you to retire early, when there was nothing wrong with you but contrariness. First you forced me to stay here for Christmas, and then destroyed what small pleasure I might have had. Not that I expect anything better from you, Dorothea—not even common courtesy towards our hosts.”

This was nonsense; Lady Alice didn’t blame her in the least for leaving, and Lord Restive didn’t care one way or the other. All the same, a pang of sadness washed through Dorothea. She hated to spoil Mother’s enjoyment of Christmas, which had always been her favorite holiday.

But it was too late for that. She reminded herself that she would have spoiled Mother’s Christmas even more at Lord Forle’s estate.

“Poor, dear Lord Wellough is so taken with you that he can’t keep his eyes off you. To make up for your unkindness, I took it upon myself to play piquet with him.”

“I don’t want his eyes on me,” Dorothea said. “He’s old enough to be my father.”

“Your father, let me tell you, is still in his prime,” Mother said with sudden and rather dreadful primness. “Lord Wellough deserves the courtesy of smiling acceptance of his compliments, but no, you could do nothing but frown.”

That was unfair. “I did not frown. I smiled as best I could whenever he addressed me directly, even though I find him repellent. If I had flirted with him, you would have scolded me for unmaidenly behavior.”

“There is a vast difference between smiling at a rake such as Lord Restive, and I hope you are ashamed of yourself—and an older gentleman who recognizes the bounds of propriety. You made an utter fool of yourself today, for it is plain as a pikestaff Restive means to bed that dreadful foreign woman.”

“She’s not dreadful. I like her.”

“It is all of a piece, you unnatural child, and to top it all off, you flirted with that fortune hunter throughout dinner.”

Dorothea saw her chance. “Mr. Hale is charming and good-looking, too. I could spend hours talking to him. We share a great many ideals.”

“Ideals?” Mother almost spat the word. “Seditious nonsense. Henceforth, you must avoid him. As I said before…”

And on and on. When her mother at last ran out of complaints, Dorothea climbed between the now-cold sheets and bade her goodnight.

CHAPTER SIX

THE GENTLEMEN soon followed the ladies upstairs, urged on by Restive, who said they must rise early to fetch the Yule log. Cecil snorted at this obvious excuse, for judging by the exchange of glances between Restive and the Contessa, he wished to get on with his evening’s private entertainment.

A tryst, certainly—but for mutual pleasure or as payment of a sort? Had the Contessa wangled an invitation from Lady Alice to spend Christmas at Restive Manor, or had it been prompted by Restive? Would the medallion change hands tonight?

Once Restive joined her, Cecil should listen at her door, although the notion repulsed him, but first he would search Restive’s room. If he found the medallion, so far so good—a point in Restive’s favor. It wasn’t treason to win a holy relic at cards.

He returned to pondering Dorothea. Why had she chosen to spend Christmas here? Why had her father’s servants agreed to stage an accident at Restive’s gates? Sir Frederick gave his daughter unusual freedom, but if he had learned of her plan, he could have solved her problem by simply informing his wife that she and Dorothea must spend Christmas at home.

WITH A GROAN, Dorothea climbed out of bed, donned thick stockings, slippers, and a warm woolen dressing gown, and paced back and forth to stay awake.

The house creaked in its sleep, as old buildings often do. What if Lord Restive didn’t go to the Contessa’s room, or vice versa? Dorothea yawned. If they intended to seduce one another, why didn’t they just get on with it?

That led to futile musings about what a seduction would entail, except that the participants in her imagination were herself and Cecil Hale.

Exasperated at her own folly, she tiptoed to her door and listened. Not a sound. She opened the door and peered into the darkness. One solitary lamp burned on the table at the head of the stairs.

She was pulling the door to when light flickered in the distance. She shut the door all but the tiniest crack. Soft but brisk footsteps approached. The owner of those feet wasn’t trying to conceal his progress—and why should he? Everyone knew what was going on.

Lord Restive stopped at the Contessa’s door, and after a soft tap and a swift exchange of whispers, was admitted. The door closed quietly behind him. At last!

How long did a seduction take? Ten minutes? An hour or two? Most of the night? Dorothea wished she weren’t so innocent. The worst she had done (or best, for it had been rather fun) was share kisses and caresses a year ago with Johnny Magee, a darling of a tinker. He’d been gentle and kind, explaining for her future reference how lovemaking worked—but Lord Restive and the Contessa were both experienced and had no reason not to plunge into heated passion, or so she assumed.

She couldn’t afford to wait long. After a few minutes of silence, Dorothea put a candle in the pocket of her dressing gown and tiptoed down the passageway. She hastened across the landing and reached Lord Restive’s door. She pushed it open, meeting more darkness save for the glow of the banked fire. She crept inside, closed the door, lit the candle with a spill, and went straight to the dressing room.

His jewelry case came first, but no medallion lay amongst his rings and cravat pins. She tried the drawers of the dressing table, which contained sundry items such as combs, knives, razors, a leather strop, soaps, handkerchiefs…and no medallion.

Hurriedly, she checked the pockets of three coats and then the shelves. Nothing. Maybe he had hidden it at the back or bottom of the clothes press—although he had no reason to hide it, for he had won it in fair play. On the other hand, given its reputation, locking it up would make sense.

She should try his bedchamber again. Perhaps she hadn’t been sufficiently thorough. What about the other keys in his bedside table? Had she missed a locked case or box in his room? Perhaps one belonged to a cabinet in the library, or a desk elsewhere in the house, or a strongbox.

She crept toward the door—and stopped.

Footsteps again! She opened the door to the bedchamber, dithering. If someone was passing in the corridor, she must wait in one of these rooms. If someone was about to enter the bedchamber or dressing room, she must be elsewhere entirely.

Elsewhere beckoned, in the shape of Lord Wellough’s dressing room—one place she definitely didn’t want to be.

She opened the door and peeked in. Her candle revealed dark curtains covering the window, a few valises in one corner, and a dressing table, with clothing laid over a chair. Silence reigned; Lord Wellough, in the next room, must be fast asleep. She snuffed her candle and went through the door.

An arm of iron grabbed her, and a hard hand covered her mouth. She struggled frantically, and a voice said in her ear, “It’s I, Cecil Hale. I’ll remove my hand if you promise not to make a sound.”

She nodded, heart beating fit to burst her chest, and he drew his hand away, but still held her firmly against him. “I don’t know what in Hades you’re doing here,” he said in the barest whisper, “but it’s not safe. Stay perfectly still and don’t say a word.” His breath was hot on her ear.

She thought he would let go of her now, but he didn’t. With his free hand, he pulled the door almost closed. Then he stilled and did nothing but hold her and…wait.

For what? Was he spying on whoever was in there? Eavesdropping—as he’d done earlier on her and her mother. But she dared not ask; somehow, she felt compelled to obey. It must be, she thought, that I feel safe with him. That if it truly were dangerous to be here—which it wasn’t—he would protect her.

She relaxed into his embrace. Now that she had calmed a little, she began to be not only curious…but excited. She had never, ever been in such a close embrace with a man. She’d hugged her brothers and kissed Johnny Magee, but this was much different.

Cecil’s powerful arm encircled her just below her breasts, which rested upon those strong muscles and tingled as if they relished it. This was pleasant but a bit mortifying, for he wasn’t the least bit interested in her in a sexual way.

But there was no point in being mortified, so since she couldn’t move an inch or say a word, she let her body enjoy his embrace. Unexpected heat coursed through her. The tingling shimmered from her shameless breasts to her private parts. She closed her eyes and reveled in the sensations.

DAMNATION, thought Cecil, how was he supposed to concentrate on work while holding this luscious woman in his arms? His cock reacted in an entirely predictable manner. He mustn’t let her bum brush the bulge in his breeches. She was an innocent and would shrink in dismay. She might even shriek and ruin everything.

Everything being his mission. His personal hopes didn’t stand much chance, judging by where he’d found her tonight.

He peered through the crack in the door, unsurprised when the intruder proved to be Charles Dufair.

SOMETHING IN MR. HALE’S stance changed, and Dorothea opened her eyes. Perhaps he was disgusted at the way she leaned against him. How very lowering.

He pulled back a little. Definitely disgusted. Annoyed at herself, she peered through the crack in the doorway. It wasn’t Restive in the dressing room, but Monsieur Dufair. Heavens, was he looking for the medallion, too? What was Cecil’s role in this? Surely he didn’t want the medallion as well…

Suddenly he moved her away from the door. “Shh.” She glanced about… Oh, no! There was a light in Lord Wellough’s chamber. The old gentleman mumbled something unintelligible, and footsteps sounded. What if he came into the dressing room?

Thank God Cecil was here, for he would protect her from that horrid old man—but he would then find himself in the awkward position of being obliged to marry her. The gentlemen’s code of honor was such a nuisance! She wouldn’t marry Cecil, of course, but for the sake of his reputation, they should leave immediately.

What a pity, for despite his lack of interest, she’d been having more fun than in simply ages. When she tried to turn, he shushed her again. His arm still around her, he backed her not towards the corridor, but to the windows. A second later, they were ensconced behind the heavy curtains.

Like lovers in an alcove. Every other gentleman who had tried to get her into such a situation had seemed a threat, but not Cecil. She should be aghast at the possible consequences. It was utter folly to enjoy this, but she couldn’t help it. She stifled a giggle.

“Hush!”

That made her laugh even more. She put her arms around him and muffled herself against his chest. Then the door to Lord Wellough’s bedchamber opened, and she did her best to stay still.

“He must have gone to that slut’s room by now,” the old man said. “Damn, but I’d like a piece of that!” To whom was he speaking? No one responded, and only one pair of feet padded into the room. He must be talking to himself. “But the young chit’s even better. Gad, that golden hair! Muff must be golden, too.”

That stilled her utterly. She wasn’t sure what that last comment meant, but she could guess. Cecil held her close. “You’re safe,” he breathed, so close that his mouth almost touched hers.

Which distracted her from Lord Wellough and his vile comments. Safe from other men, yes. Safe from herself? Definitely not. She wanted to kiss Cecil Hale.

A moment later, she heard Wellough enter Restive’s dressing room. After several seconds’ pause, he trod onward to the bedroom. He didn’t exclaim in surprise, which meant Charles Dufair had made his escape.

Cecil eased them from behind the curtains, took her by the hand, and led her toward the corridor. He opened the door a little way. Stealthy footsteps sounded, then the closing of a door. “Now’s our chance.”

So much for kisses. He would escort her to her bedchamber, where she would crawl into her cold bed. She resigned herself to warming it with more shameless imaginings.

They hurried silently along the dark corridor, past the all too revealing light at the head of the stairs, and onward to her chamber. He opened the door and stood back to let her pass.

Then he followed her inside and shut the door behind him.

SHE TURNED, astonished and…excited. Heavens, how forward of him. Was he perhaps a little attracted to her after all?

No, he was frowning. “I have no designs on your virtue, but we have to talk.”

How stupid of her to think he might want her. Firmly, she reminded herself that what interest he had shown was nothing but a charade. Now he wasn’t the least bit lover-like. His mien was forbidding, his voice stern. He didn’t want to kiss her at all. He just wanted to talk.

So did she, as a matter of fact. She wanted to know what was going on—after she’d had a chance to kiss him. But that wouldn’t happen, so she said, “How dare you come into my room?”

“Don’t be missish.” He went over to the fire, stoked it a bit and added a log, and lit a candle. He turned, an ill-tempered crease between his brows. “This is a serious matter. I want to know why you were in Lord Restive’s dressing room this afternoon, and why you were in his bedchamber tonight.”

She put up her chin. “That is none of your business.”

He ignored that and went relentlessly on. “Even if you didn’t intend to entrap Lord Restive” —his sardonic tone said he didn’t believe her— “then why did you arrange to spend Christmas here despite your mother’s plans? Don’t give me the same story about avoiding Lord Forle.”

How dare he? “That story, as you put it, is true. My mother would have found a way to catch me alone with him by underhanded means, since I wouldn’t go near him of my own volition.”

“I daresay,” he said dryly, “but you didn’t have to come here to avoid him. You certainly didn’t have to go to Restive’s bedchamber to avoid him. You didn’t have to lie to me about your feelings for Restive—” He stopped in mid-sentence. “You’re right, that’s none of my business. If that’s why you came here, just say so, and I’ll...accept that explanation.”

She balled her fists. He would accept her explanation? He had no right to demand anything of her, much less to judge her, just because he was Papa’s minion and her sometime minder. How horrid of him to imagine she’d hoped to seduce their host! Next he would scold her, just like Mother. Dorothea’s erotic imaginings dissipated like smoke, leaving a sullen trace behind, a reminder of a far from extinguished fire.

Perhaps that lingering desire was why she felt compelled to defend herself. Her fingers uncurled of their own accord. “I didn’t lie to you. I would scorn to trap Restive or any other man.”

“No,” he said with an unamused laugh, “you have so many suitors that you could choose one by the mere lifting of a finger.”

“Yes, and it’s horrid. Do they see nothing but this pretty face?”

CHAPTER SEVEN

ORDINARILY, Cecil would have been embarrassed at his gauche comments, which revealed too much about his own feelings. Fine, he would wallow in mortification later, but for now he must concentrate on his mission—rather than her high color, her quickened breathing, and her ripe, kissable lips.

She wrapped her arms around herself as if aware of his lascivious thoughts. He ordered his libido to desist. “Your beauty is so extraordinary,” he said gruffly, “that they don’t see past it to your intelligence and genuine concern for those less fortunate.”

Her lips parted, but she said nothing. Did he detect a softening in her stance? Perhaps, but he mustn’t soften in return. He had a job to do. “Unfortunately, this is nothing to the point. I repeat: why did you come here? You could have refused to go to Lord Forle’s. You’re not afraid to defy your mother.”

“No, but it doesn’t do any good.” She walked to the window, parted the curtains, and gazed into the night. At last she turned and said wistfully, “I would have much preferred to stay home for Christmas. Mother didn’t want to be elsewhere either, but she’s so set on marrying me off that she deprived herself of her favorite festivities. We deliver baskets of food to all the tenants, and we have a lovely celebration to which all the village comes, and everyone mingles, rich and poor, high and low. It’s no wonder she’s so angry at me now.” Her lip wobbled. “I wish I could make her happy, but I can’t.”

Reluctantly, he dragged his mind back to the mission at hand. If she was telling the truth—and he wanted to believe her—other possibilities came to mind. Sir Frederick Darsington trusted her with covert work. “Did your father ask you to come here rather than Lord Forle’s?”

She stared. “No! No, why would he? Did my father send you here?” He nodded curtly, and she said, “You should have told me.”

“My mission doesn’t involve you—and I didn’t know whether you knew I work for your father.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’ve been watching me on and off for months.”

“So much for dressing shabbily and staying in the background. I tried my best not to be noticeable.”

Her lips curved slightly. “I tried my best not to notice you.”

He took her hand and led her to the sofa. “Come, sit with me. We really do need to talk.”

DOROTHEA COMPLIED, not because he was one of her father’s minions, but because she wanted to, because she needed to, because she couldn’t stop thinking about what he’d said: her intelligence, her concern for others… What an extraordinary compliment. It warmed her entire being.

He released her hand, and she wished he hadn’t. He was truly worth kissing. What a pity he was only pretending to desire her.

Maybe she should try to change that.

Or maybe she should keep to the business at hand.

She tried to gather her thoughts. “At Lord Boltwood’s wedding, just after that smuggler was killed and a traitor unmasked, were you not a riding officer at all?”

“I was, but Lord Boltwood enlisted my aid, and your father chose to keep me on.” He grimaced. “I wasn’t much good as a customs man.”

“Surely that’s not true.” That sounded trite, but she meant it. Or maybe she was trying to butter him up. To ready him for a kiss.

He shook his head. “I’m not ruthless enough. I tried, but I was caught between the smugglers, who had families to feed, and my men, who wanted their prize money. I don’t feel particularly effective as a spy, either. You didn’t have any difficulty realizing who I was.”

“I had seen you with Lord Boltwood, who was working for my father at the time, so it wasn’t hard to guess.” But there was more to it than that. “Also, you didn’t gawp at me. Most men do.”

“That’s why Sir Frederick wanted you to have extra protection, and also so he would be warned if you were exposed to anything too radical.”

Or if I fell in love with the wrong sort of man. Papa wanted her to marry well but was less obvious about it than Mother. “I considered asking for an introduction to you, but that would have meant stepping outside my socially acceptable role. It’s all nonsense, but I would be even less effective at gathering information if I didn’t maintain the distance that is expected of me.” There was more to it, but she wasn’t about to admit to conjuring up fantasies about him. “Very well, I’d best explain myself…”

A delightful notion occurred to her. She shouldn’t…but oh, why not? “At a price.”

“At a price?” He positively glared.

It was her own fault, for indulging in fanciful ideas about love. “Oh, forget it. It was merely a—a notion I had.”

“What price?” He didn’t sound quite so fierce now, but she’d lost her bravado.

“Nothing.” She put her nose in the air. “A fortnight ago, Edgar, my younger brother, lost a valuable medallion while playing cards at a masquerade. My father had let him borrow it, as it completed his costume, but it wasn’t his to use as a stake. It was a precious heirloom from Papa’s mother, who was descended from a cadet branch of the Bourbons.”

“He lost the medallion to Lord Restive,” Cecil said. “I was there when it happened.”

“I wasn’t. Mother won’t allow me to attend masquerades.”

“With good reason,” he said starchily.

She agreed—by what she’d heard, masquerades were an invitation to impropriety—but that didn’t mean she appreciated his remark. Impropriety could be fun with the right person, which he clearly wasn’t. What a relief she hadn’t asked him to kiss her.

“Edgar confided in me. He had no money to redeem the medallion, and Lord Restive wouldn’t take his pledge instead. I don’t blame him, for where would Edgar get the funds? He’s underage, so the money lenders won’t touch him. He’s terrified of what Papa will do when he finds out.”

“You contrived to come here in the hope of retrieving it.”

“Yes, for I thought it would be easy. Lord Restive has no reason to hide it, so it should be with his rings and other jewelry—but it’s not there, nor in his bedside table.”

“Perhaps he does have a reason to hide it,” he said.

CECIL BERATED himself for not guessing why Dorothea had come to Restive Manor. He’d allowed his entirely unwarranted jealousy of Restive get in the way—although, to be just, the last person one would expect a young man on the town to confide in was his sister. He waited, watching realizations cross her face. She knew enough to work some of it out for herself. What a pity he didn’t know enough to interpret her earlier words.

She remembered him. She had even wanted to approach him, despite his disguise as a gentleman fallen on hard times. Or perhaps despite knowing he was one of her father’s men.

More important, what price would she have demanded just now, and why? Merely a notion, she’d said. What notion?

He dismissed these questions as irrelevant to his mission and waited a bit more.

“Why would he hide it?” she asked, more to herself than to him. “Because someone else might try to steal it?”

He nodded, relieved she hadn’t jumped to the conclusion that Lord Restive might have deliberately set out to win it with treason in mind.

“It’s valuable not so much because it’s made of silver, but because it was blessed by St. George and is believed to bring victory to whomever possesses it.” She wrinkled her nose. “I don’t know whether I believe in that sort of magic, but if it exists, surely a saint’s blessing would bestow spiritual victory.”

“One would think so, but St. George was a military saint.”

“It didn’t bring my brother any kind of victory,” she said darkly. “But those who covet it are greedy for power, and even if they don’t believe, they recognize the effect of superstition in motivating their followers.” Somberly, she pondered. “The Bourbons probably want it back, and so perhaps do those who rule France now, while for England’s sake we must keep it here. There may be others plotting to get it as well. How could my father take such a risk?” She shivered.

“Cold?” Cecil stood to stoke the fire again. He pulled a coverlet off the bed and set it around her shoulders.

She thanked him and pulled the blanket close, but shivered again. Had she begun to fret about how very improper this situation was? She must know she was in no danger from him. His lustful thoughts would do her no harm.

He should rid himself of those thoughts, but it was damned difficult. She’d thrown her arms around him behind the curtains and laughed silently into his chest. It had been unbearably erotic—to him.

“It’s unlike Papa to take such a risk, but now that I am here, I must do anything in my power to keep it from getting into the wrong hands.”

“It wasn’t as great a risk as it seems,” he said.

She stared. “How can it not be?”

“The medallion in Restive’s possession is a copy,” he said. “The original is safely in your father’s care.”

Indignation suffused her countenance. “It’s another of Papa’s schemes! He used my poor, foolish brother and his weakness for gambling in a dreadful way, and if that wasn’t bad enough, he didn’t even explain to him afterwards!”

“Maybe he hopes this will teach Edgar a lesson.”

“Yes, and maybe it will give him an excuse to buy Edgar a pair of colors and send him off to war.” She paused. “I don’t think he’s suited to be an officer.”

“Not if his first thought was to run to his sister for help,” Cecil said dryly.

She clutched the blanket close and gazed into the fire. “I see it now. Papa loaned the imitation medallion to Edgar, knowing he would lose what little ready money he had and need something to stake. My father wanted to see what would happen—not only to Edgar, to test him, but to see who showed interest in the medallion. I suppose there have been instances of information going astray, likely from someone in the set of people who were invited to that masquerade, and my father hopes the medallion will lead him to the source—and if not, to something equally useful.”

Cecil chuckled. “You know how your father’s mind works.”

“Yes—deviously,” she retorted. “Perhaps that is why I prefer to be direct and straightforward. Does Lord Restive suspect why you are here?”

“I don’t believe so. We are old friends, and I have spent Christmas here before, so it was easy to get an invitation.”

“Did the other guests know about the medallion? Were they all expected here for Christmas, or did they contrive to get invited, too?”

“You ask the right questions, but I don’t have all the answers yet.” He gave a half-smile. “I see your father’s difficulty. He loves you and wishes to keep you out of danger, while at the same time he prizes your perceptive mind.”

SHE APPRECIATED Cecil’s compliments far too much. Embarrassed at her own neediness, she muttered, “Thank you.”

“There’s nothing to thank me for; I simply stated the facts.” He hoped his smile wasn’t completely besotted. “Being both unscrupulous and protective, your father turns your abilities to his advantage by having you attend reformist meetings. You have reasonable views and are unwilling to compromise your beliefs—in fact, you play into his hands by disagreeing with the status quo, in the person of your mother—and therefore no one suspects you of ulterior motives.”

That wasn’t quite so complimentary, but she couldn’t take offense at the truth. “I don’t like having ulterior motives.”

“Nor I, but in the business of espionage, one has no choice.”

She nodded sympathetically. Despite the charade, they did have a great deal in common. How unusual to like a gentleman and also find him so attractive. It was difficult to keep her mind firmly on important matters, when she kept wondering how it would feel to kiss him.

Much as she wanted to contemplate her growing interest in this man—to allow the warmth inside her to develop into arousal—it would be pointless, since he was concentrating on his mission. He showed no sign of wanting to kiss her.

She set her mind to considering the guests. “Monsieur Dufair may represent the Bourbon cause,” she mused, “or he may be an ordinary émigré. The Contessa may support some other French contingent—or she may simply be…” She broke off. However comfortable she felt in one way, she definitely did not in another. It was unladylike to speak too plainly.

“Bent on seduction for her own pleasure,” Cecil provided helpfully. “Or both.”

“The most easily explained guest is Lord Wellough. He is family and therefore automatically welcome. He insisted on low stakes tonight, so most likely he is short of funds and hoped to find some ready money in Lord Restive’s chamber.” A horrid thought occurred. “What is Restive’s role in this?”

“I don’t believe he’s a conspirator. How would he pass the medallion to his cohorts? Pretend it was stolen? Your father has had him followed since he won the medallion, with no result. That’s why he sent me here, but dash it all, Restive’s my friend.” Cecil blew out a breath. “In any event, you understand the danger now. You must keep to your chamber at night.”

Fine, but she couldn’t sit and do nothing. She would find out more about the various players in this little game of espionage. She had done this sort of work before.

Perhaps thinking about spies would distract her from inconvenient, delightful, dangerous thoughts. Oh, how she wished…

“I must go, but it’s cold in here.” Cecil stood. “Shall I warm your bed first?”

CHAPTER EIGHT

WHAT HAD HE JUST SAID? Cecil groaned and slapped a hand to his forehead. “I beg your pardon, Miss Darsington. I meant with the warming pan, of course.”

“Of course,” she repeated pettishly, standing as well and throwing off the coverlet. “Because I’m safe with you. No, thank you, don’t bother.”

What in God’s name was she saying? That she didn’t want to be safe? Judging by her clenched fists and heaving bosom, she was enraged with him, but why?

After a moment, it came to him: the price. “Earlier, you demanded a price from me.” What did she want? He gave up trying to avert his eyes from her breasts.

“It was mere foolishness. I do beg your pardon.”

He watched her and said nothing. Keeping silent was a proven method of making people talk. She probably knew this, but he could wait her out.

It didn’t take long. “Oh, very well.” She rolled her eyes. “It was nothing—only a kiss.”

Stunned, he asked, “Why?”

THERE, she’d said it. She averted her face. “What a stupid question. Now that you know, just go away.”

“It’s not a stupid question,” he said. “What I meant was, why me?”

She huffed.

“Any man would be happy to kiss you,” he said.

She threw up her hands and glared. “I don’t want to kiss just any man. If you must know, it’s because I like you. Because I find you…appealing. And because you actually noticed something about me besides my face and figure.”

“That doesn’t mean I didn’t notice your face and figure,” he said in the dry tone that was distinctly his. The beginnings of a smile curved his very tempting mouth.

“How was I supposed to know that?” she asked.

“How was I supposed to know you wanted to kiss me?”

This was an entirely valid question. Since she didn’t know how to flirt, he’d had no way of knowing. “Well, now you do.”

LATER, she lay in bed reliving that kiss—or rather, those many kisses. She’d expected something playful and gently informative like Johnny Magee’s kisses, but she’d received passion instead.

Cecil had prowled toward her, taken her face in his hands, and kissed her quickly and hard. “Are you sure?”

She responded by putting her arms around him and kissing him back. He showed no hesitation after that, pressing her close, teasing her mouth open, exploring her hungrily, and his kisses had wandered to her throat, her ear, and back to her lips again. She remembered the pressure of his chest against her aching nipples, the throb in her private parts, the bulge in his breeches that meant he was aroused, too. Thank heavens for Johnny Magee, who had explained it to her. Her mother would have sent her into marriage all unaware.

Now she was all too aware and too eager. Fortunately, Cecil’s hands wandered to her derriere and then…stilled. He kissed her once more, long and lingeringly, and stood back. His chest rose and fell. “This was delightful, Miss Darsington,” he said politely, “but we’d better stop.”

He was right, of course, and extremely kind and proper, for if he’d wished to take advantage…she didn’t know what she would have done. She daren’t risk pregnancy and subsequent ruin.

But how she wanted him! With him, such sensual activity felt so perfect. So right.

At last she fell asleep, and all too soon woke to the apologetic voice of Sarah. “Lady Darsington sent me to wake you, miss. The gentlemen will soon go to fetch the Yule log, and the ladies are to cheer them on.”

On the instant, she was wide awake. Cecil would be one of those gentlemen. She yawned. “Thank you, Sarah.”

The maid opened the bed curtains. “I wanted to bring you a pot of chocolate, but Lady Darsington said there isn’t time.”

“I’ll have coffee at breakfast.” Ordinarily, she would enjoy sipping chocolate in bed whilst reading poetry or a novel, but not when the alternative was lessons in flirtation with Cecil Hale.

She climbed out of bed, had a quick wash with the warm water Sarah had brought, and waited impatiently as the maid helped her don a dark blue woolen walking dress and brushed and tidied her hair.

“Don’t you look a treat, miss!” the maid said. “Much prettier than the Contessa, if you ask me, and her no better than she should be, if what I hear is true.”

Dorothea felt herself flush, feeling more than a little guilty on her own account—and yet, she couldn’t regret leaving her bedchamber last night. “Considering you mentioned betting on the Contessa’s behavior, in which Lord Restive was an equal participant, isn’t it a little unfair to deride her now?”

Sarah hung her head. “Sorry, miss. I daresay it is. We all have urges.”

Dorothea smiled. “Has some handsome footman caught your eye?”

She giggled. “No, miss, but I did fancy one of the grooms for a bit. One of these days I’ll find the right man. And so will you, miss.” She cocked her head at Dorothea in the mirror. “I’d say Mr. Hale has taken quite a fancy to you.”

Now Dorothea was truly blushing. “Mr. Hale is most kind and pleasant, but my mother disapproves of him.”

“Aye, but she won’t be walking into the wood to fetch the Yule log, miss. She and Lord Wellough plan to stay indoors and play piquet. You may as well flirt with Mr. Hale while you can.”

Dorothea hoped to do so, but when they set out for the Home Wood, she received nothing more than a cheerful nod from Cecil. She found herself on the arm of Charles Dufair, who carried his ever-present sketchbook in the other hand. Cecil escorted the Contessa, whilst Lord Restive walked with his aunt.

She suppressed a twinge of jealousy. No doubt Lady Alice had arranged these pairings to minimize the appearance of impropriety, and Cecil could use the opportunity to glean information from the Contessa. Very well, Dorothea would learn more about Dufair. After a few desultory remarks about the weather—snow did seem to be in the offing—she said, “Tell me about yourself, monsieur.”

“There is little to say. I am one of the many poor émigrés taking refuge in England.” He smiled. “I have heard much of you, mademoiselle—that you have unusual views for the daughter of a man who is a staunch defender of the status quo.”

Did he hope to turn the conversation away from himself? “Sir Frederick allows me to think for myself. When it comes to the education of women, he advocates progress.”

“How admirable,” the Frenchman said, a hint of disbelief in his voice.

Ordinarily, she would launch into a defense of these views, but now she merely said, “You don’t sound convinced, but I assure you it is true. What forced you to flee your country? Are you from an aristocratic family?”

“My uncle, God rest his soul, was a minor noble. He and my father supported les Girondins.”

A throaty laugh up ahead caught her attention. Cecil must have said something amusing to the Contessa. Was he attempting to question her or simply enjoying the company of a pretty woman?

She set aside these unworthy and unaccustomed thoughts. She was used to avoiding men, not coveting one. He was assuredly doing his job, and in any event, it was none of her business. They had only shared kisses, after all—at her wanton instigation. She returned to her self-imposed assignment. “Was your father executed?”

He nodded. “Yes, alas. I was not arrested, but I would not have survived the Reign of Terror. I obtained false papers and escaped to England.”

“Do you support the return of the Bourbons?” The dead King’s family might believe the medallion was theirs by right.

He grimaced. “Even if King Louis had agreed to a more limited monarchy, others of his family would have soon sought to return to the old ways. So…I think not.” He shrugged, a graceful gesture that was entirely French. “I do not know how much better the new ways will prove to be.”

Sympathy assailed her. “Do you wish to return to France?”

“Perhaps when this stupid war is over. For now, I am content. I serve as a tutor, which does not pay much, but I have kind and influential friends such as Lord Restive.”

“Have you known Lord Restive long?”

“Since my youth, mademoiselle. We met when his lordship was on the Grand Tour and became friends.”

“It was the highlight of the tour.” Restive’s voice came from behind them. “We fished and shot and played boules. No museums, no formal introductions, no itchy wigs or powdered hair.”

Dufair laughed. “One cannot envy the life of an aristocrat. The boy I tutor now is the son of a marquis and already feels the weight of his heritage.”

Methinks the gentleman doth protest too much, Dorothea misquoted to herself. Was he sincere—or trying to prove his lack of attachment to the Ancien Régime? Exactly how close was his friendship with Lord Restive? Enough to extend to treason? She hoped not.

They reached their destination, and Dufair held out his sketchbook. “Would you be so kind as to hold it for me?”

The three gentlemen strode into the clearing where the gamekeepers had prepared a massive log. They shed their coats, giving the ladies a fine view of their broad shoulders and powerful arms.

The Contessa sighed. “What a pleasant sight.”

Lady Alice didn’t try to take this for a comment on the beauty of the wood in winter. “Whether gentlemen or brawny footmen, they are a delight to female eyes.” She twinkled. “Do you not agree, Miss Darsington? Your mother is not here, so you are free to be yourself.”

Dorothea laughed. “They are indeed a joy to behold.”

“It was kind of Lady Darsington to volunteer to play piquet with my cousin,” Lady Alice said. “I fear he is but an indifferent player.”

Dorothea could only be thankful that Mother hadn’t chosen to join them this morning. She watched the men tug on the huge log—but found herself gazing at Cecil Hale and no one else.

How could she be so obvious? To distract herself—or rather, to appear less captivated—she flipped through the sketches. They ranged from indoor subjects such as Restive and his aunt playing cards to outdoor scenes with a hound barking at a squirrel up a wintry tree.

Then she turned a page and found a drawing of…the St George medallion.

CHAPTER NINE

DOROTHEA GASPED, then feigned a cough. The page contained a detailed representation of the front of the disk, with the saint slaying the dragon, as well as the barest sketch of the back.

She flipped quickly to the next page. Should she confer with Cecil? Their opportunities for private conversation were limited. Conjectures about Dufair’s motives—or perhaps Restive’s—jostled one another in her mind.

The Contessa made a teasing remark, at which both Restive and Cecil grinned. Dufair saw Dorothea looking at the sketchbook and smiled.

That decided her. If he didn’t object to her seeing his sketches, she should just ask him about it. Fortunately, she had an innocent reason for recognizing the medallion.

“Come, Miss Darsington.” Lady Alice’s voice roused her from her thoughts. The gentlemen, with a chorus of heaves, tugged the log over a stone in the path, then rolled it toward the house. “You can look at Monsieur Dufair’s drawings later. Time to cheer them on.”

Dorothea joined in the hip-hip-hurrahs, and after a great deal of pushing, pulling, rolling, tumbling, and uproarious laughter—gentlemen and servants alike behaving like a group of foolish boys—the log finally reached its destination in the massive hearth of the Great Hall. The men collapsed in various poses of exhaustion, but they straightened fast enough when Mrs. Bates and one of the maids appeared with cups of warm cider.

“The villagers will come tomorrow for wassail and Christmas pudding,” Lady Alice said. “It’s great fun.”

“That sounds just like home.” If only Mother would enjoy herself!

Dorothea set the sketchbook on a table and sipped her cider. How could she get Dufair to one side to question him?

“You must all visit Corsica one day,” the Contessa said, “and celebrate with us.”

Lord Restive grimaced. “And eat maggoty cheese? Not I.”

The Contessa looked down her nose at him. “Have you tried our cheese?”

“No, but Hale told me about it. That was enough.”

“You eat fly-blown cheese?” Lady Alice asked faintly.

“It is not the same,” the Contessa said. “These are special maggots, and we do not eat them—only the cheese.”

Cecil grinned. “It’s quite good. I visited Corsica with my father long ago.”

“You visited my island!” The Contessa smiled approvingly at Cecil. “Then you admit that it is superb.”

“The island, the cheese, and its charming inhabitants.” Cecil certainly knew how to flirt when it suited him, Dorothea thought crossly.

Lord Restive snorted, and the Contessa narrowed her eyes at him. “I shall take that as a comment upon the cheese, not the island or its people. You shall try it when you visit me there, my lord.”

“Or else what? Death at the hands of the irate villagers?”

The Contessa cocked her head. “Unless you wish to put yourself at my mercy.”

They all laughed, drank their cider, and made merry with one another. What a pity the threat of espionage—as well as Mother’s anger—hung over what might otherwise be a delightful party.

Which, she admitted to herself, was delightful for her only because Cecil was there.

At last, Dufair retrieved his sketchbook. Dorothea seized the chance to speak to him aside. “Your sketches are charming, monsieur.”

He made a quaint bow. “Merci du compliment, mademoiselle.”

Doing her best to appear unconcerned, she said, “I was surprised to find a sketch of the St. George medallion.”

He sucked in a breath. Uneasiness crossed his face. “That is not my usual sort of subject, but when Lord Restive showed it to me, I…”

Her heart sped up. “Yes?”

He flipped to the page with the medallion. “Are you aware that his lordship won it at play?”

“Yes, from my very foolish brother, who had no right to use it as a stake.”

He tsked. “As you see, I have drawn only the obverse. I had no chance to make a careful sketch of the reverse, but...” He glanced about and said softly, “I must speak to you privately.”

That startled her. “I beg your pardon?”

“Do not take offense, I implore you. This is a matter of great delicacy which I do not wish to discuss with Lord Restive until I know the truth.”

“The truth?” She wondered where this was leading. “About what?”

“Dorothea, there you are!” Mother came into the Great Hall, smiling for once. “You must help put up holly and evergreens.”

This was almost like the time before Dorothea reached marriageable age, when Mother had planned the decorating and made the house beautiful, almost magical, for Christmas.

But now…Dorothea stifled a groan. Judging by the grin on Lord Wellough’s beefy countenance, there would be mistletoe. If she kissed one man under the odious bough, she would be obliged to kiss anyone who asked. “Thank you for showing me your sketches, Monsieur Dufair.” She cast about for help, but Cecil, bless him, was already beside her.

“I excel at decorating for Christmas.” Cecil moved her out of Lord Wellough’s eager reach. He lowered his voice. “And disposing of mistletoe.”

She grasped his arm like a shipwrecked sailor on a spar in a stormy sea. Perhaps, despite seeming oblivious, he’d been watching her all morning.

That was frequently his assignment, after all. She shouldn’t make too much of it.

Cecil escorted her to the drawing room, where piles of cuttings lay upon two side tables, along with an assortment of ribbons and wires. Lady Alice and the Contessa followed, and somehow, there was no mistletoe by the time the greenery was festooned around both the drawing room and the Great Hall.

“What, no mistletoe?” Lord Wellough cried.

“We’re short of it this year,” Restive lied. “It’s too high up in the oaks, and Lady Alice didn’t wish to risk the footmen’s necks for the sake of a few kisses.” Actually, there was plenty of accessible mistletoe in the orchard, but Restive had laughingly agreed to pretend there was none.

“Except this one tiny sprig, which I gathered myself,” Cecil said. He pulled Dorothea close, dangled it over their heads, and gave her a quick kiss. She blushed and laughed. He shoved the sprig of mistletoe into his pocket, dodging easily when Lord Wellough tried to grab it.

What a pity Mother then spoiled the fun with a gaze of fury. Dorothea felt a twinge of remorse—for she had also spoiled her mother’s enjoyment. Only a twinge, though; she shouldn’t be obliged to kiss anyone unless she chose to.

In the early afternoon, tea and substantial refreshments were served, for dinner would be only wassail and Christmas pie. The ladies retired to their bedchambers for a nap. Dorothea was pondering how to get a moment’s private talk with Cecil, when Mother stormed into the room.

“Dorothea, I know full well you kissed that—that nobody to annoy me. You must cease such folly at once. You cannot marry him, and well you know it.”

This was most likely true. Cecil showed no sign of anything more serious than a few kisses, and she’d been the one to start that.

Usually, it was men who made overtures and women who accepted or rejected them. Why shouldn’t it be the other way around? What was the worst that could happen?

For the first time, she felt a pang of sympathy for men who summoned their courage, only to suffer disappointment.

“I kissed him because I like him. He is charming and kind, and as I said before, we share many ideals.”

“Stuff and nonsense. He is a fortune hunter, and so is that Frenchman. They are beneath your notice. Henceforth, you will ignore them.”

“I can’t do that, Mother. It would be impolite, and it wouldn’t serve your purpose either. I have already said I won’t marry Lord Restive—who is enamored of the Contessa in any case.”

“His liaison with that foreign trollop means nothing,” Mother said. “However, if you feel obliged to encourage the company of those two nobodies, you must also encourage that of Lord Wellough. He’s a dear friend of your father and deserves especial respect.”

How typical of Mother to twist things her way. “Papa calls Lord Wellough a tedious old roué. I’m sorry, but I find him repugnant. I wish he would stop leering at me.”

She shut her ears to the tirade that followed, which had mostly to do with the shame she brought upon her long-suffering mother. She whiled away the time by contemplating kissing Cecil again.

The instant she was left to herself, she jumped up and ran to the door. She peeked out in time to see Mother’s door shut with a slam. Perfect…but where would she find Cecil? She hurried downstairs and peered into the empty drawing room, the billiards room, the library…

“Go in,” said a voice behind her. How did Cecil move so silently? He followed her into the library and shut the door.

“Oh, thank heavens.” She flung her arms around his neck. He pulled her against him and kissed her—briefly. As if his mind was elsewhere. As hers should be.

She didn’t care. “Kiss me again. And again.”

He laughed low and complied, and it occurred to her that their kisses were a kind of conversation. A nip here, a lick there, a tangling of tongues, and at times an invasion, a statement of…possession.

Previously, she had balked at the notion of belonging to a man. Now…she quite liked it, if the man were Cecil Hale. And if he in turn belonged to her.

At last he pulled away. “One might think you want to get caught with me.”

She rested her forehead on his chest. “I don’t seem to be able to help myself. Kissing you is such a joy.”

“It is indeed. Kissing you, that is.” He hugged her close, so warm, so strong.

“As long as it’s not my mother, I don’t care if we are caught. I don’t think anyone here would tattle on us, so it wouldn’t harm your reputation.”

“My reputation?”

“Yes, for you would either have to marry me or be shunned by society. You shouldn’t be obliged to make that sacrifice just because I want to kiss you.”

He kissed her hair. “My dear, marrying you would be an honor.”

She frowned up at him. “Don’t be absurd. You scarcely know me.”

“I’ve been watching you on and off for almost a year. I know a great deal about you, all of it impressive.” He took a deep breath, released her, and stepped back. “Kisses aside, I sense that you have information for me.”

She stifled a feeling of loss. Did he actually like the thought of marrying her? He’d said it would be an honor, but that was merely politeness. He enjoyed kissing her, but men were far less discriminating than women. Once again, she mustn’t make too much of it.

She sighed. “Yes, we must talk with Monsieur Dufair. He wants to tell me something about the medallion.” She explained about the drawing. “I don’t think he means any harm, but I prefer not to meet him alone.” She paused, then gave in to temptation. “Did you learn anything from the Contessa?”

“Not really. The only reason to suspect her is that she is here and so is the medallion. From Lady Alice, I learned that she and the Contessa have corresponded for years, that she has a standing invitation to visit here, and that she decided to come for Christmas several days ago—after Restive had won the medallion. If she was at the masquerade, I didn’t see her.”

They found Dufair in the breakfast parlor, sketching robins foraging in the kitchen garden. Cecil shut the door, and Dufair turned from the window with a polite smile.

“You wished to speak to me about the medallion,” Dorothea said.

Dufair frowned from her to Cecil, then nodded. “It is well that you brought Mr. Hale. I find myself on the horns of a dilemma, because you, as a female, might not understand the implications of what I am about to reveal.”

Dorothea let this pass. She was used to this sort of comment, which, she admitted to herself, was sometimes valid.

“But you, sir, as a man of the world, will certainly understand.” He glanced about and lowered his voice. “I am desolated to reveal…that the medallion in Lord Restive’s possession is not the genuine medallion of St. George. It is merely a copy.” He cleared his throat. “Or so I believe.”

Dorothea couldn’t think what to say, but fortunately, Cecil did a beautiful job of acting surprised—but his occupation required dissimulation. She must strive to remember that. “Good Lord!” he said. “Rather awkward, I must say.”

“Awkward?” Dufair cried. “It is a travesty. A breach of honor of the worst kind!”

She managed not to huff. Intellectually, she understood the gentlemen’s code of honor, but practically speaking it was often absurd. “Why do you believe it’s a copy?”

“I cannot be certain, bien sûr, for I had no time to finish my drawing, as Lord Restive and I were about to dine. I must ask him to let me sketch the reverse. Within the intricate design I spied a hidden mark which I am almost sure is that of a London silversmith for whom I design jewelry.” With one of his Gallic shrugs, he added, “A man in my position must find many sources of income. But that is not the point. Lord Restive will rightly be enraged if he learns your brother cheated him. I was not present at the time, but surely a copy is worth far less than the amount of the wager.”

Cecil nodded. “Substantially so.”

“I’m sure my brother doesn’t know it’s a copy,” she said. “My father may have had one made so it could be worn, since the original must be kept locked away—but he is so busy that he may have had no chance to tell my brother.”

Cecil watched her concoct this explanation with a hint of amusement. “I suggest you ask Lord Restive to bring the medallion to the drawing room this afternoon, so you may complete your sketch.” He paused. “No—better yet, ask him when we are all gathered there, so we can agree that it’s a splendid notion. He’s not likely to refuse us all. You may then point out the jeweler’s mark on the reverse. Lord Restive is too much a gentleman to make angry accusations with the sister and mother of the miscreant in the room.”

The artist agreed, looking much happier, and they left him. “Let’s go for a walk,” Cecil said. “We can speak safely outdoors.”

“And we’ll be in full view of the house, so we daren’t kiss anymore.” She attempted a pout, then laughed. “I can’t flirt, can’t pout…”

“You have no idea how delightful you are,” he said. “I still have the mistletoe in my pocket.”

Hoping he liked her as much as he seemed to, she donned her boots, pelisse, woolen cap, and gloves, and ventured with him into the wintry afternoon. They meandered along the paths in the shrubbery and into the rose garden, which was dreary now but must be beautiful in summertime.

“Did you believe Monsieur Dufair?” she asked.

“It explains his sneaking into Lord Restive’s room last night. If he saw Restive go to the Contessa, he knew he had plenty of time to take the medallion, finish the sketch, and return it before Restive returned.”

Well. That certainly answered one of her questions—about how long a seduction would take.

Cecil raised his brows. “What is it? You’re blushing again.”

“Nothing!”

“The last time you said “Nothing!” like that, you wanted a kiss.”

“I always want a kiss, but this is much worse. Or rather, it’s more improper.”

“But not necessarily worse?” He whipped out the mistletoe and dropped a kiss on her lips. “Tell me.”

Heavens! She put her gloved hands to her burning cheeks.

“Or don’t.” His smile teased.

She got ahold of herself and changed the subject. “Why do you want Lord Restive to bring the medallion to where we all can see it and be told it is a copy?”

“Because so far I see no solid reason to suspect anyone. We must watch how Restive and the Contessa react to the news—with disappointment, for example, or anger, chagrin, even uneasiness. A good spy won’t reveal much, but we can always hope.”

“Very well.” How, she wondered, could he switch so easily from personal matters to espionage? She was all a-twist with thoughts of desire, with hopes of love.

They continued through the rose garden, wandered past the stables and around to the kitchen garden, and made their way slowly back. At last it began desultorily to snow.

“Oh, how lovely!” she cried. “It so seldom snows right at Christmastide.” She turned to him enquiringly. “I’ve never asked—where is your home?”

“Farther north, on the Welsh borders.” He looked as if he might say more, but then his brows drew together.

“What is it? What are you thinking?”

His smile, when it emerged, seemed slightly strained. “What wouldn’t you tell me earlier?”

Oh, no. “Please don’t make me blush.”

“That bad, is it?” His smile was genuine again. “You’re more kissable than ever when you’re flustered.”

She huffed, but couldn’t help smiling back. “No, it’s not bad, precisely. It’s just not an appropriate subject for conversation.”

He snorted. “I’d say we’ve crossed that bridge already, Dorothea.”

How sweet of him to use her given name without asking permission. The growing informality between them enchanted her. To the devil with embarrassment. “If you must know, it’s because last night, when I was planning to search Lord Restive’s rooms, I wasn’t sure how much time I would have.” She paused. “Because I had no idea how long a seduction takes.”

“And now you want to find out?”

Yes. “No! It’s unnecessary, because you just told me Monsieur Dufair had plenty of time to search.”

“Ah. What a pity.” He broke into laughter. “If you could see the look on your face, my dear. Much as I would love to seduce you…” He shrugged. “It wouldn’t be right.”

“I thought you would say that. I suppose you’re invoking the gentlemen’s code of honor.”

“You don’t approve of a code of honor?”

“Yes, as long as it makes sense. I understand that a gentleman shouldn’t truly compromise a lady unless he intends to marry her, but what about the sort of thing my mother tries to arrange?” She hesitated, then decided to test him a little. If he were genuinely as reasonable as he seemed… “She tried several times to trap me with Lord Boltwood—once, we were just talking in a corridor—but when I deliberately spent an hour in private with Tinker Johnny, she laughed it off because he wasn’t eligible. Everyone knew I had kissed him, too!”

“You kissed Tinker Johnny?”

Just what she’d anticipated! She removed her hand from his arm. “Don’t you dare make a fuss about it.”

“I’m not fussing, merely surprised. Ladies don’t usually kiss tinkers—but Johnny’s a handsome fellow.” He didn’t look outraged, but maybe he was politely hiding his feelings. She eyed him narrowly. If anything, that twitch of his lips meant amusement. Most likely, he didn’t care whom she’d kissed.

Annoyed now, she planted her hands on her hips and glowered. “Johnny Magee is a wonderful, kindhearted man. Just because he’s a tinker doesn’t mean he’s not a worthy human being. He explained much about—about what goes on between men and women. I wouldn’t have known anything otherwise, so I’m grateful to him.”

“You needn’t defend him. Apart from his involvement with the smugglers, I liked him.”

Why must Cecil be so agreeable? She was used to arguing about senseless social rules, particularly the code of honor, which often led to duels over mere nothings. “Just because a gentleman and lady are alone together for a few minutes, it doesn’t mean they should be forced into a marriage they don’t want.”

“I concur—as long as nothing untoward has happened.”

She huffed. “Even a kiss or two?”

He grinned. “Kisses are relatively harmless.”

Did that mean her kisses hadn’t affected him much? It wasn’t fair, because she longed to kiss him again.

“It’s where they lead that’s a problem.” He tucked her arm in his again, and they headed toward the house.

Humph. She was a problem, was she? Then why wouldn’t he dispute with her? “What if the lady were trapped? What if the gentleman ravished her?”

“Then he’s no gentleman. Her male relatives should force them to wed, spirit her away before he gets his hands on her again, and knock him on the head and throw him in the Thames, thereby solving her problem. She’s no longer ruined and can eventually marry again.”

She gaped. “How very violent of you. I thought you would say it was her fault that he ravished her.”

“Definitely not! A gentleman should control himself,” he said austerely, “whether he wants to or not.”

Did that mean he didn’t want to control himself? Or didn’t want to seduce her? “So…a seduction is acceptable, according to your code of honor, if both parties intend to marry.”

He pondered. “Unwise, perhaps, but not dishonorable either.”

She bit her lip. She’d had enough of being wise, but unfortunately, a lady didn’t propose marriage.

That little voice inside her posed its usual question: Why not? But this time she just couldn’t.

He halted and took her hands. His gaze was full of tender understanding. Or maybe it was just kindness. She wished she didn’t want him so badly.

He leaned in with a smile. She put her hands on his shoulders and put everything in her heart into that kiss.

“Dorothea! Come indoors this instant!”

CHAPTER TEN

THE INEVITABLE INTERRUPTION—LADY Darsington bellowing from her bedchamber window—was almost welcome, for much as Cecil wanted to propose marriage, he intended to do so in private, after disclosing his circumstances to Dorothea.

The place he’d claimed as home was his uncle’s estate, which he stood to inherit. He hadn’t spent much time there growing up, because of the estrangement between his father and uncle; now, he dwelled in London most of the time. After his father’s death a few years earlier, he’d inherited a small property not far from his uncle’s estate in Wales. Cecil had immediately reconciled with the old fellow; he was a decent sort, far more worthy of an honorable position than Cecil’s father had ever been.

Sooner rather than later, his secret must out. He just had to find the best way to reveal it without turning Dorothea against him. She might consider him a hypocrite for hiding his origins. For professing to believe in progress while he stood to benefit from the status quo.

Meanwhile, there was this damnable business of espionage requiring his attention.

He dressed for the evening celebration and left his bedchamber to see what he could do to help with the preparations. The Great Hall must be a-bustle with servants scurrying to and fro…

Utter silence reigned below. Then a furious female voice cried: “I shall marry a plain mister or no one!”

Good Lord. That was Dorothea.

“Now, now,” Lady Alice said, “it’s Christmastide.” Sharply, she added, “Back to work, all of you.”

Movement recommenced, subdued speech broke out, and Cecil proceeded down the stairs. Trestle tables had been set up, and a huge cauldron by the hearth would hold the lamb’s wool, a favorite wassail at Restive Manor.

Lady Alice ushered Lady Darsington away from the drawing room, with Mrs. Kelly following. “You must calm yourself,” she said. “If you cannot stay in the same room with Dorothea without indulging in a shouting match, then I suggest you help Mrs. Kelly serve the lamb’s wool.”

She noticed Cecil and said, “There you are, Mr. Hale. Please go to the drawing room and help Restive with his guests. There is brandy, and also ratafia, I believe, but I don’t have a footman to spare.”

“My pleasure,” Cecil said. She thanked him, but Lady Darsington glared with such hatred that even he was startled. With difficulty, he prevented himself from glaring right back. How dare she upset Dorothea?

In the drawing room, his darling stood next to the Contessa, fists clenched, her complexion blotchy, her eyes moist. She turned away from his concerned gaze. This was his fault; he shouldn’t have kissed her with such passion in full view of the house. Her mother must have given her the worst dressing down of her life.

If only he could sweep her off her feet and ride away with her over his saddle bow. Alas, duty required him to stay.

He helped Restive serve drinks to the vicar and Lord Wellough, and settled them comfortably by the fire. By this time, Dorothea seemed more composed.

“Did your mother scold you dreadfully?” He took her hands and uncurled those clenched fists. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have kissed you out there where she could see.”

“I wanted you to kiss me.” But she didn’t tighten her fists again. “I am used to her tirades, but never before has she shouted at me in public. I can’t believe I lost my temper and screamed at her. I’m so mortified.” She wiped away a tear.

“Why?” the Contessa asked. “It is natural to shout at one’s family. How else can one…how do you say it, clear the air?”

“It didn’t clear the air. It made matters worse. I wish she would just leave me be.”

“She cannot,” the Contessa said. “I have known women like her. It is proper for a mother to interfere, but she must also know when to stop.”

Dorothea nodded bleakly. “I’m getting so tired of it. Whichever way I turn, she tries to trap me into wedding a man of her choice—always a wealthy peer, no matter how stupid or ugly or depraved he may be.”

“She will have to stop once you actually do get married,” Cecil said.

“I believe you’re right,” she said with a tremulous smile. “The only way to—to get past this hurdle is to do so.” She took a deep breath. “Get married, I mean.”

“An excellent notion.” To hell with his expectations; he would put the question to her tonight, confess all, and hope for the best.

“I believe so,” she said. “I wish…”

“You wish…?”

Her eyes met his for a long moment. Then she took another deep breath. “I have an idea, Mr. Hale. Perhaps we should elope and get it over with.”

DOROTHEA’S HEART thudded fit to burst her chest. How she’d summoned the courage, she had no idea, but she’d done it. She’d proposed to him. Albeit in a jesting sort of fashion, but…

“Before or after the Christmas pie?” Cecil shot back.

Dorothea gave a little hiccupping laugh. Was that a yes? Breathlessly, she managed a response. “After. I refuse to elope on an empty stomach.”

“And leave us to deal with your bedlamite mother?” Restive asked, then murmured, “She is in the doorway, listening to us aghast.” He raised his voice again. “For shame, Miss Darsington.”

Dorothea was tempted to whisper, but instead she stood her ground. She was going to marry Cecil. She would not give in, and if Mother scolded again, she refused to let it mortify her. She summoned a titter. “I’m sure you would do perfectly well without us, my lord.”

“Fortunately, my patience will not be tested,” Restive said. “It’s snowing, and every carriage within miles is broken.”

“What about fleeing on horseback?” Cecil asked plaintively. “Surely you have a few hacks to spare, Restive.”

“No, you chose to come here for Christmas, and here you must stay. Cecil, give Miss Darsington some brandy. She needs bolstering.”

Obediently, he poured her a brandy. Their eyes met again, and their fingers brushed as he passed her the goblet. “A pity we can’t abscond, but duty calls,” he said.

WHICH WAS an inadequate effort at reassurance, but Cecil wasn’t about to blurt out everything in his heart with the old besom eavesdropping.

Back to business. Dufair appeared, sketchbook in hand. Cecil turned to Restive. “Monsieur Dufair wants to finish sketching the St. George medallion, and we’d like to see it. I’m sure the others would, too.” With a jut of his chin, he indicated the vicar and Lord Wellough.

“Yes, yes!” Wellough said. “It’s a piece of great historical interest. You’ll appreciate it, vicar, for it’s of spiritual interest too, as it was blessed by St. George himself.”

“Dear me.” The vicar did his best not to look skeptical.

“A holy relic?” the Contessa gasped. “Truly?”

“Yes, the story goes that it brings victory to its owner,” Wellough added. “It’s said that William the Conqueror wore it to the Battle of Hastings.”

The Contessa tutted. “That is not a proper use for a holy relic.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Dorothea said. Her mother hovered with an air of suppressed fury, but Dorothea gave no visible sign of concern. She was full of spirit and courage. How could he not adore her?

“You must lock it away,” the Contessa said. “What if your enemies were to steal it? I shudder to think what my cousin would do if he possessed it.” She grimaced. “He is a soldier in the French Army, and very ambitious. He says he will one day conquer the world.”

If the Contessa wanted it, would she so baldly state her motive? Judging by their conversation on the way to the Yule log, she found politics tedious and wars entirely stupid, interfering as they did with comfort and enjoyment. But if she were sufficiently wily…

“Have no fear, it is safely in England, and here it will stay,” Wellough said. “Where have you been hiding it, dear boy?”

Restive shrugged. “This is all nonsense, but I’ll get it.” He beckoned to Cecil to accompany him. Once they had crossed the Great Hall to the stairs, he said, “My dear fellow, was that a proposal of marriage?”

“I hope so.” Cecil couldn’t contain his smile.

“I couldn’t believe my ears. She’s usually rather reserved.”

“Not with me, she isn’t. My acceptance was entirely sincere.”

“But think of the girl’s mother!”

“I’d rather not.”

“I overheard her trying to convince Wellough to propose. Poor man—he has enough troubles without making a fool of himself over a girl less than half his age. In any event, her dowry isn’t nearly enough to get him out of the basket.”

Cecil shrugged. Fortunately, Wellough’s lack of funds wasn’t his problem.

“You’ll have to tell her the truth about yourself,” Restive said.

“I know.”

“She may not take it well. Did you hear her screaming at the old bitch?” He raised his voice to a falsetto. “‘I loathe the peerage and all it stands for. I will die in a ditch rather than associate myself with it. I shall marry a plain mister or no one!’”

“I am a plain mister,” Cecil said.

“For now,” Restive said.

“I may always be a plain mister.”

“Unlikely,” Restive said. “You’re doomed to inherit a peerage, but you’re incorruptible, so that’s a point in your favor. I doubt you’ll suddenly turn stupid or ugly, and if you’re depraved, you hide it well.” He paused, considering his friend. “Don’t be uneasy, old fellow. Your charm will win you the prize.”

Cecil wasn’t so sure. Dorothea lived by a code of honor—not one he entirely understood, but if she had sworn not to associate with the peerage, wouldn’t she feel obliged to keep that oath?

“Seduce her. Then she won’t have a choice.”

Cecil controlled his temper. Restive was a good friend, but he didn’t understand, and in any event, Cecil had a job to do. He must concentrate on that and woo Dorothea later.

Restive lit a candle from one of the sconces and led the way into his bedchamber. He plucked the medallion on its silver chain from atop several mufflers hanging on the back of the door.

“Hiding it in plain sight?” Cecil asked.

“Why would I hide it? It’s not worth much.” When Cecil raised inquiring brows, Restive said, “It’s a copy, my dear fellow. Not the genuine medallion.”

Cecil let out a breath. “Yes, so I gather. Dufair hesitated to tell you, for fear you would become enraged and demand Edgar Darsington’s blood. I assured him you wouldn’t do it with his sister and mother present.”

Restive blew out the candle and left it on the landing. “How did Dufair know?”

“Something about a jeweler’s mark hidden on the reverse.”

Restive nodded. “Unfortunately, I didn’t notice it until I reached home. A pity, since I made a point of winning it because I feared it would get into the wrong hands. That lad is a fool. Takes after his mother.”

Cecil blew out a breath. Another suspect more or less cleared. Restive might have had plans for the original and changed his mind when he realized he had an imitation—but Cecil doubted it. “I think even the copy should be kept close. When it comes to superstition, what people believe is more important than what is actually true.”

“I daresay. I intend to return it to your future papa-in-law with a polite request for reimbursement.”

In the drawing room, Restive tossed the medallion to Dufair. “You needn’t fret. I already knew about the jeweler’s mark on the reverse.”

“May I see?” The Contessa came forward, wide-eyed and eager. “May I touch it?”

Dufair passed it to her with an apologetic smile. “It is not really a holy relic.”

“Do you not believe?” She cupped it in her hands, closing her eyes. “Surely you didn’t agree with forbidding your countrymen the comfort of the Church.”

“No, but the burden of supporting the corrupt and venal clergy was unacceptable. I don’t know what I believe about the real medallion—it may bring spiritual or temporal victory—but this is merely a copy. A very good one, but a copy all the same.”

Her face fell. “What a pity. One seldom has the privilege of touching what has been blessed by a saint.” She returned it to him.

Lord Wellough pushed to his feet. “It’s a copy?”

“Yes, my father has the genuine medallion,” Dorothea said. She smiled at the Contessa. “Perhaps he would be willing to let you hold it in your hands and say a small prayer.”

“What a generous suggestion,” the vicar said.

“My dear Lord Wellough, whatever is wrong?” Lady Darsington hurried forward with Lady Alice.

They all turned. Wellough had paled to a blotchy mauve and was gasping for breath. He fell back into his chair.

“He’s having one of his turns,” Lady Alice said. “Get his valet.” As Restive left the room, shouting for Wellough’s servant, she took a vinaigrette from her reticule and waved it under the old man’s nose.

Cecil closed his eyes and let out a long, long breath. He had found the spy—or in this case, a traitor.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

THE VALET BUSTLED IN, and the Contessa drew Dorothea over to the sofa to sit next to her. Thanks to some medicinal drops, Lord Wellough’s color improved.

The Contessa, who seemed to enjoy pursuing awkward subjects, said, “Will your mother really cut you off without a penny if you do not marry according to her wishes?”

“No, she has no power to do so.”

“But your father could.”

“I will inherit something from a godmother, but he could refuse to pay my dowry. However, he is quite rational, thank heavens.”

“Even about your lovely young man who has no title?” the Contessa asked.

“I shall cross that bridge when I come to it,” Dorothea said, and whispered, “Or perhaps I shall elope. Do you think Mr. Hale realized I meant what I said?”

“About eloping? Oh, yes. He would flee with you in the blink of an eye.” She chuckled. “Such fun!”

Dorothea was about to admit that, yes, it was tremendous fun—and then she saw Cecil’s face.

Why was he so troubled, after all that lovely banter about eloping? He’d seemed to welcome it…

Maybe she’d been too forward. Unladylike. Ladies didn’t propose marriage. It simply wasn’t done.

Drat and damn, why ever not? She had asked herself that question, come to a logical conclusion, and acted on it.

Well, now she knew why not. Even a man with progressive notions couldn’t accept what she’d done. He’d handled it adroitly, but beneath that charming exterior, he was appalled.

And yet…he had intimated that he would be glad to leave on the instant if duty didn’t require him to stay…

Duty! The crease between his brows said she was right. She should have more faith in him…and in herself. She caught his eye. He responded with the briefest of nods and left the room.

Well! Now that they were more or less engaged, they could speak quietly to one another without causing comment—except from her mother, and about that, Dorothea couldn’t afford to care. She followed him into the Great Hall and whispered, “Have you identified the spy?”

“I fear it’s Lord Wellough, but I have no proof.”

She considered. “He is deep in debt, and he was very upset to learn that the medallion is a copy.” She sucked in a breath. “He came here to steal it. That’s why he searched Restive’s room. He planned to sell it.”

“Will you help me by keeping your eyes and ears open? He may have made a rendezvous with someone here—or with someone else entirely—but I’d rather go to your father with more than a suspicion.”

She nodded, pleased to have something worthwhile to do. She threw herself into the festivities. Darkness had long since fallen, and groups of villagers poured into the Great Hall for wassail and Christmas pie. She ate, drank, and made merry as if she weren’t trying to catch a traitor. She made a point of being kind to Lord Wellough, who still looked pale and drawn. She served him a second cup of wassail, and sat near him—on a chair, though, so he couldn’t touch her. He shifted in his chair, wiped his brow again and again, and his voice was weak and tremulous.

She chatted with the vicar’s wife, the village apothecary, and the innkeeper’s wife. She helped serve lamb’s wool. Lord Wellough stood to watch Dufair complete his sketch. He talked constantly now, more like his usual self. After a while, the artist shut his sketchbook with a snap and gave the medallion to Lord Wellough.

His lordship hung the pendant around his neck, fingering it lovingly. He returned to his chair, looking almost cheerful. Why? What use was a counterfeit medallion?

Dorothea avoided looking at her mother, but inevitably, she glanced to where she now sat by the fire with the vicar’s wife. Mrs. Kelly tried to make conversation, but Mother gave only monosyllabic replies.

Suddenly she looked at Dorothea and smiled.

Dorothea had seen that particular smile before. Mother was planning something horrid…but what?

Nothing, Dorothea decided firmly, except another tirade. There was no one here to compromise her with except Cecil, which was perfectly fine by her. If only she could convince him to do so. He was far too proper, and she appreciated that, but…

Finally, the last of the villagers straggled out. The servants began to tidy up and dismantle the trestle tables. “Billiards, anyone?” Lord Restive said.

“Don’t stay up late.” Mr. Kelly helped his wife with her cloak. “I expect you all in church for morning service.”

At last, thought Dorothea, hoping Cecil would come to her room. She bade everyone good night and headed toward the stairs.

For once, Mother didn’t follow.

NOT ONLY DID her mother not follow—she didn’t come at all. Dorothea rang for Sarah, who helped her undress and prepared the bed. She dismissed the girl and climbed between the warm sheets, wishing Mother would come and get the tirade over with.

She waited. And waited. It was no use going to sleep, for Mother would burst in and wake her up. When Mother was this upset, she always came and scolded. The longer Dorothea waited, the more unnerved she became—which was absurd. Maybe Mother had already gone to bed. Or maybe she was still below, playing piquet.

There was only one way to find out. She donned dressing gown, stockings, and slippers, peeked out her door, and crept toward the head of the stairs.

A few dim sconces lit the Great Hall. She peered over the balustrade. The drawing room was dark, but light shone from the billiard room. Some of the gentlemen were still awake, but Mother must have gone to bed.

With a sigh of relief, Dorothea returned to her bedchamber. She was about to close the door when heavy footfalls approached. Lord Wellough’s ruddy face showed in the light of a candle. He reached the landing, but instead of going downstairs, he continued into the women’s corridor.

What in heaven’s name was he doing here? He passed Lady Alice’s chamber. Hurriedly, Dorothea closed her door. Heart thudding, she waited as his footsteps came closer. He must be passing Mother’s room now. The footsteps stopped. She heard Mother whisper something, followed by the low rumble of Wellough’s voice, but she couldn’t catch the words. Mother shut her door, and Wellough continued on.

God, no. Surely he wasn’t coming here! Her heart thudded. If he came in, she would try to slip out unseen. She closed the bed curtains to make it seem as if she were in bed, grabbed the poker from the fireplace just in case, and hid near the door.

FROM OUTSIDE HIS BEDCHAMBER, Cecil watched Lord Wellough bumble his way down the passage. The instant Dorothea had gone upstairs, Lady Darsington had moved to sit near Lord Wellough. He’d been unable to eavesdrop on their low-voiced conversation, but judging by what Restive had overheard earlier, Cecil assumed Dorothea’s demented mother wanted to force her to wed Wellough—the only other titled gentleman available.

Now, Wellough had a compelling reason to agree. It wouldn’t pay all his debts, but it might save his life. Most likely, he had promised to deliver the medallion to French hands. Since he couldn’t do so, those same French hands, fearing exposure, might do him harm. Marriage to Dorothea would enable Wellough to turn the tables on his employers, for Sir Frederick would protect him rather than face ruin if his new son-in-law’s treason came to light. It was the only solution to his troubles.

Cecil tiptoed after his lordship. As he passed Lady Darsington’s room, her door opened. Cecil was too far away to hear her whisper, but he caught Wellough’s, “Later.”

Later…for what? If he were about to try to compromise Dorothea…but no, he passed her door and kept going.

WELLOUGH’S FOOTSTEPS moved slowly past Dorothea’s room. Feeling a little foolish—she’d made too much of his constant leering—she set the poker down and opened her door the tiniest amount. He tapped on the Contessa’s door.

“Lord Wellough!” the Contessa said. “What do you want?”

“To speak to you privately.”

She made a contemptuous noise. “I am not a whore, whatever you may think.”

“It’s urgent.” He paused. “About my cousin Restive.”

She chuckled. “You needn’t worry. He is an amusing man, but I don’t want to marry him.”

“It’s nothing to do with that. Another matter entirely.”

There was a silence, after which Dorothea could practically see the Contessa’s shrug. “Oh, very well.”

Lord Wellough lumbered in, and the door closed behind him. Dorothea scurried out of her room and put her ear to the Contessa’s door. Was she a spy? She heard Wellough’s voice but couldn’t make out the words. She eased the door slightly ajar.

“No, I do not want that medallion,” the Contessa said. “What would I do with it?”

“Give it to your cousin.” After a pause, he explained, “The soldier who wants to rule the world.”

“What would be the use of that? It is not the genuine medallion, but merely a copy.”

“No, but a good silversmith could obliterate the jeweler’s mark, and then who would know?”

“No one, perhaps, but anything my cousin did with such a holy relic, whether real or a copy, would be unworthy of a true believer.” She snickered. “Poor little cousin. He will be so angry if he ever learns I refused to buy it for him.”

“You can’t refuse! Your cousin is a French soldier. It’s your duty to support the French cause.”

She snorted. “My only cause is my own enjoyment. I am not interested in the affairs of nations.”

“But—your patriotic duty!” Wellough protested.

“I am Corsican, and my husband was Italian, and that medallion does not belong to you. Go away, old man, before I tell Lord Restive that you tried to sell it to me.” She tutted, sounding amused. “That makes you a traitor. What about your patriotic duty?”

“You’ll be sorry,” he blurted. “After I wed the Darsington girl, I’ll have her father arrest you as a spy.”

The Contessa burst into laughter. “You poor, deluded man. Miss Darsington will never marry you. She’s in love with that sweet Mr. Hale.”

“She has to marry me. Her mother promised. The girl will be so compromised that she’ll have no choice.”

The Contessa cursed in Italian. “You are as evil as her mother—no, you are worse! You will not succeed, and if you accuse me, I shall accuse you in return.”

“Who do you think will be believed? A foreigner or an old friend of Sir Frederick Darsington? Think about it, Contessa. I’ll give you until morning to make the right decision.”

“You do not frighten me,” the Contessa said. “Go!”

Dorothea backed into the shadows at the end of the passageway. She dared not wait for Cecil in her own chamber, for she now knew Mother’s ghastly plan. The old man thumped slowly down the passage.

She must find Cecil…but first she should reassure the Contessa. She reached the Contessa’s door just as it opened.

“Oh!” the Contessa whispered. “I was coming to speak with you.”

“My errand is the same,” Dorothea said, “but your room is safer, I think.”

WITH DIFFICULTY, Cecil resisted the temptation to interfere with Dorothea’s eavesdropping. She was doing a fine job of aiding him, and he was available to protect her if something went wrong. He slid into her bedchamber and watched from there.

Wellough left the Contessa’s room, and almost immediately, Dorothea went in. He almost leapt forward to prevent her, but that would give him away to Wellough—too soon, for he didn’t know what Dorothea had overhead.

Damnation. He had confidence in Dorothea—she wouldn’t risk her life if she knew the Corsican lady to be a spy—but suppressing his protective instinct was agony.

The old man passed, muttering under his breath. “No damned choice. But it won’t be all bad. She’s a tasty dish, by Gad.” He opened Lady Darsington’s door and went in.

Caught between two eavesdropping options, Cecil put his trust in Dorothea’s commonsense. He whipped out the folding ear trumpet and listened hard. It didn’t take long. He pocketed the trumpet and proceeded with a plan of his own.

CHAPTER TWELVE

“WHAT DID you want to speak to me about?” Dorothea asked, belatedly realizing she would have to admit to eavesdropping. With what excuse?

“To tell you that your mother and that old man have conspired to compromise you so that you will have to marry him,” the Contessa said.

Dorothea nodded. “Thank you. I thought she was planning something horrid.”

“If you wish to sleep here with me, you are welcome.”

“That’s most kind, but won’t Lord Restive come to you again?” Heavens, she was becoming almost as frank as the Contessa. “I should hate to get in the way of, er, illicit love.”

The Contessa shrugged. “Your safety is more important than a night’s lust.”

“Actually,” Dorothea said diffidently—perhaps complete frankness was still a little awkward—“I believe I shall take refuge with Mr. Hale.”

The Contessa laughed out loud. “That will be far more amusing. But if you did not come to stay with me, what did you wish to speak to me about?”

Dorothea decided on partial truth. “To tell you that Lord Wellough has no influence with my father—in fact, my father dislikes him—and that if he accuses you, I shall tell him it’s not true, and make sure my father knows he is a traitor.” She grimaced. “It’s a frightfully awkward situation, for it will harm innocent family members such as Lady Alice and Lord Restive, but one cannot allow a traitor to go free.”

After a silence, the Contessa said, “It was you who opened my door a little.”

Warning bells clanged in Dorothea’s mind. She’d been a fool to assume the Contessa hadn’t noticed the door was ajar, in which case she also couldn’t be sure the Contessa had told Wellough the truth. What if she were a spy after all?

“I do apologize,” Dorothea said hastily, “but I wanted to know what my mother and Lord Wellough were planning. They had their heads together earlier, and Mother looked at me with the expression that says she intends to do something drastic, and then she didn’t come to scold me. She always scolds!” Was she babbling? Probably. “I couldn’t sleep for fretting. Then I heard his footsteps—thank heavens he’s so noisy—but instead of coming to my room, he passed it and came here! What if he had tried to force you to go to bed with him? I had to be sure you were safe.” She blundered on. “It’s rude to eavesdrop, but I felt it was my duty.”

“Your father is a master of spies, so you understand duty very well.” The Contessa’s voice was cool. “He would be proud of so intrepid a daughter.”

Unnerved but determined not to show it, Dorothea shook her head. “No, he would be furious at me for taking a risk.”

“He would be correct,” the Contessa said. “It is fortunate for you that I am not a spy. But I think I must leave England all the same. In the north of Italy, I possess a villa on a lake. I shall go there and live retired. Perhaps I shall have a lusty gardener to tend to my needs.”

Apparently, the dangerous moment—if that’s what it was—had now passed.

“When this foolish war is over, you and your Mr. Hale shall come to visit me.”

“We should love to,” Dorothea said. “I’d best go now. I wonder if Cecil is upstairs yet. Perhaps I can wait in his room.”

“What a lovely surprise for him. I shall accompany you. You must not pass that old man’s room alone. Perhaps I shall bring my pistol.”

“You have a pistol?” Was this a warning?

“In case of highwaymen. I am a good shot.”

“I have a pistol, too,” Dorothea said. “I always bring one when I travel.”

“The daughter of a spymaster must of course possess one. If that old man accosts you, you will shoot him dead!”

“For a lady who is not a spy, you are very bloodthirsty, Contessa.”

“It is in my heritage.” The Contessa smiled. “We are friends, yes? You must call me Bianca.”

“And you shall call me Dorothea.”

The Contessa picked up a candle, but thankfully, no gun. “Let us go.”

CECIL HEARD Wellough and Lady Darsington coming and slipped under the coverlet on Dorothea’s bed. Her aroma, caught in the sheets, teased his senses. He fully intended to spend the night in her room, but not in the bed. It wouldn’t be easy to resist her, but she deserved respect, not rampant lust.

The door opened, and candlelight shone through the crack between the curtains. Cecil pulled the counterpane over his face, leaving the crown of Dorothea’s frilly nightcap uncovered. Lord Wellough’s heavy footsteps approached the bed.

“Hurry up,” Lady Darsington hissed.

The curtains parted. Wellough breathed a heavy sigh. “She’s asleep.”

“It’s almost midnight. What did you expect?” Lady Darsington said. “Get onto the bed.”

“I’ll need the steps,” the old man said.

Lady Darsington huffed impatiently. “Why must I do everything? Very well, I don’t actually have to find you in the bed.” She yanked back the coverlet. “Dorothea, my dear, how improper of you to arrange a secret tryst with Lord W—”

She shrieked. Lord Wellough cursed.

Cecil rolled onto his back and yawned.

“What are you doing here?” Lady Darsington’s voice throbbed hysterically.

“I was asleep.” Cecil sat up. “I might ask you the same question.”

“Villain! Dastard! Ravisher!” She wailed like a banshee. “How dare you despoil my daughter?”

Cecil blinked and looked about. “I don’t see your daughter in this bed. Do you?”

“Where is she? What have you done with her?”

“Nothing yet, alas,” Cecil said.

Whoops of laughter came from the doorway. Dorothea and the Contessa clutched one another, shaking with mirth. “You look so ridiculous in that nightcap!” Dorothea said.

Cecil preened. “I think it becomes me rather well.”

“What in the name of God is going on?” The commotion had awakened Lady Alice. Attired in a voluminous wrapper, a woolen cap over her hair, she moved the mirthful ladies aside and eyed the scene with distaste.

Dorothea sobered. “Merely a prank, Lady Alice. Boys will be boys.”

“I hoped to spare Miss Darsington further annoyance,” Cecil said, “by having Lady Darsington vent her spleen on me.” He stood and examined himself in the pier-glass. “Lucky I didn’t try for complete verisimilitude, nightdress and all.” He tossed the nightcap onto the bed.

“Tsk,” Lady Alice said. “What are you doing here, Wellough? You’re far too old for pranks.”

“Nothing,” he said. “I’m doing bloody nothing.” He shambled towards the door, fingering the medallion which still hung around his neck.

“But, Lord Wellough—” Lady Darsington tried to stop him.

He shook off her hand. “Stupid bitch,” he muttered. “It’ll never work. I’m doomed.” The ladies at the door parted to let him through.

Cecil raised his brows at Dorothea. She responded with the slightest of nods. “Perhaps you should ensure that Lord Wellough reaches his bedchamber safely. He didn’t look at all well.”

“Good notion.” Cecil left.

DOROTHEA WATCHED HIM GO, thinking how much she loved him.

Mother’s voice recalled her to the present. “Dorothea.”

She braced herself for another public tirade.

“Do you intend to marry that fortune hunter?”

“He’s not a fortune hunter,” Dorothea said through her teeth. “Yes, I intend to marry him. I love him, and I have reason to believe Papa will approve.” A thought flitted through her mind, something she couldn’t quite catch—but somehow, she knew her father would support her in this decision.

“Your father is a sentimental fool. I shall never, ever forgive you.” Her tone was implacable. “Henceforth, you are dead to me.”

Dorothea’s heart twisted. “Mother, I—”

Church bells began to ring, loud and clear, full of good news and cheer. It was midnight.

“Christmas has come!” the Contessa cried.

“This is not the moment for discord and unforgiveness. Off to bed, ladies.” Lady Alice waved the Contessa and Dorothea away. “Come, Lady Darsington. Everything will look better in the morning. We are all fatigued, and we must be up early to go to church.”

She shepherded Dorothea’s mother along the corridor, saying. “Peace on earth, good will toward men. And women, especially daughters as delightful as yours. There is no better start to a marriage than love. Just think—you’ll have grandchildren soon!”

CECIL ACCOMPANIED Lord Wellough to his chamber, attempting to sound solicitous while burning with rage at both him and Dorothea’s mother. Christmas goodwill was proving almost impossible. He opened the bedroom door for the old man and followed him inside.

“I’m perfectly fine,” Wellough said testily. “I already told you I don’t need any help.”

Cecil closed the door. “You need a great deal of help, if you hope to avoid either the gallows or a violent death at the hands of your confederates.”

“What the—”

He moved the traitor none too gently toward a chair. “Sit down. I’ll take that medallion, thank you.”

The old man tried to fend him off. “Who the devil do you think you are?”

“The future son-in-law of Sir Frederick Darsington.” Cecil plucked the medallion over his head and stowed it in his pocket. All at once, his temper got the better of him. He pushed Wellough into the chair. “How could you go along with that witch’s plan? I wouldn’t have put it past her to stand by and watch while you assaulted Dorothea.”

“I didn’t mean the girl any harm. I thought…”

“That Sir Frederick would permit such a marriage? That he would protect his son-in-law? More likely he would have had one of his men murder you in a back alley, ridding the country of a dastard and freeing his much-loved daughter at the same time.”

“I wouldn’t have ravished her,” Wellough protested. “Merely obliged her to marry me.”

“And then bedded her against her will, which, married or not, amounts to rape. Fortunately, she would never have agreed to wed you.”

“She would have had no choice,” he whined. “I would have treated her well. I’m not so very bad.”

“No, you’re considerably worse. You’ve been passing information to the French.”

“Nonsense!” he blustered, trying to stand. “You can’t prove anything.”

“Indeed, I can.” Cecil pushed him down again. “Sir Frederick’s men have been watching you for a while.” This wasn’t true, but Wellough had no way of knowing that.

He was also both stubborn and desperate. “I don’t believe you. Why would he watch me?”

Cecil hoped he had interpreted Dorothea’s nod correctly. “Not only that, Miss Darsington overheard your conversation just now with the Contessa.”

Wellough slumped. His ruddy color drained away.

Cecil pressed his advantage. “Tell me who you’re working for, and Sir Frederick will do his best to hush the matter up. He would prefer not to cause a scandal and embarrass your unfortunate relations.”

“My relations can go to the devil,” Wellough muttered.

“Would you rather take your chances with the French? We won’t interfere if they try to kill you.”

Wellough shuddered.

“Which they certainly will, to avoid exposure, and they’ll make it as unpleasant for you as possible.” This wasn’t true either. They were more likely to knife him—a far quicker death than hanging. “If you give us their names, we’ll arrest them and you’ll be safe.”

Wellough’s chest rose and fell, but he said nothing.

“Dealing with me is a much better option. If you talk now, there will be no need for torture,” Cecil said cheerfully.

The old man choked on his words. “Very well, I’ll tell you.”

DOROTHEA WENT into her bedchamber and shut the door, stunned. She sank into a chair, fighting tears. She shouldn’t be surprised at Mother’s hateful words—and yet she had always hoped everything would turn out well in the end.

The sound of the church bells died away. What a horrid Christmas this was proving to be!

But she couldn’t change her mind about marrying Cecil because of Mother’s vindictiveness. Surely Mother would grow accustomed.

Or maybe she would not.

In the meantime, Dorothea intended to go to his bedchamber. She waited, while Restive and DuFair came upstairs and went to their respective chambers. Now was her chance. On a whim, she took the Contessa’s advice and pocketed her gun. She took a candle and moved swiftly and silently past the landing. She counted doors—Lord Restive’s bedchamber, then his dressing room. Then Lord Wellough’s dressing room and bedchamber. She halted at the murmur of voices within. Cecil was still there.

Candlelight glowed under the door of the next room: Charles Dufair’s. The last one, entirely dark, must be Cecil’s.

She pushed open the door, feeling a bit shy, and lit a branch of candles. The room smelled faintly of Cecil, which comforted her. She shivered in the frigid night air. She stoked the fire, wrapped herself in the coverlet from the bed, and sat down to wait.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CECIL LEFT Lord Wellough and hastened to Dorothea’s bedchamber. He didn’t think Wellough would try to escape. Snow was falling fast, and the roads would soon be impassable. In any event, where would he go?

He wasn’t likely to try to compromise Dorothea either, but one never knew what folly he might embark on out of desperation, and Dorothea’s mother was even worse. Cecil had heard the old bat disown Dorothea just before the bells began to peal. He knew what that felt like. He would sleep on the sofa in her room, giving her protection and, he hoped, a degree of comfort.

Including the opportunity to change her mind about him.

DOROTHEA SAT GAZING into the fire, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief. There was nothing to be done about Mother. She must continue to be strong and determined—and convince Cecil to share his bed with her. To make her his wife in every way possible, short of a marriage ceremony.

The door opened, and she raised her eyes, a smile dawning…then fading with shock.

Lord Wellough stopped short, seemingly as surprised as she. What was he doing here, and where was Cecil? Had Wellough harmed him?

His lordship recovered first. “If it isn’t the lovely Miss Darsington. As much a whore as any other woman, aren’t you, my dear?” He pushed the door to and approached, eyeing her greedily. “You’re not what I came for, but you’ll do just as well.”

She stood, clutching the coverlet. “For what, my lord?”

“To ensure my survival. Hale talked a lot of nonsense, but when it comes down to it, your Papa will protect me as his future son-in-law.” He reached for her. “You’re coming with me.”

She sidestepped. “Don’t be absurd.”

He lunged forward. She dropped the coverlet, and he stumbled on it, but righted himself with surprising speed. She scurried around the other side of the sofa. How could she reach the door? She had to find Cecil, to make sure he was safe.

“Don’t make me force you.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a gun.

She had never been obliged to use her pistol before. Her heart thudded, but with an assumption of calm, she took out her own gun. “Don’t make me shoot you.”

Fury chased across Wellough’s features. He laughed shortly. “A pretty thing like you? Even if you can shoot straight, you don’t have the stomach for it.”

“You may take that risk if you wish.” Drat, her voice was trembling. A movement of the door caught her eye. With an effort of will, she kept her gaze on Wellough. At all costs, he must continue to watch her. If that was Cecil… If Wellough saw and shot him…

He wouldn’t, because she would shoot him first. Meanwhile, she would keep his attention on her. She ducked behind the sofa and put up a hand to fend him off. “I don’t want to kill you, but I shall.”

Wellough laughed again. “You’re shaking all over, girl. You couldn’t hit a stable door at close quarters, much less—

Cecil wrenched Wellough’s pistol hand down hard. The gun exploded, and Wellough screamed.

HALF AN HOUR LATER, the house was quiet once again. The gunshot had brought both Restive and DuFair from their rooms. Cecil had given a curt explanation of Wellough’s infamy, including two attempts to ravish Dorothea. She, in turn, recounted the conversation she had overheard between Wellough and the Contessa.

“My cousin, a traitor,” Restive said bitterly. “I should let him bleed to death.” The old man lay weeping on the carpet, clutching his injured foot. “This will mean scandal and likely ruin for my family.”

Cecil shook his head. “Sir Frederick Darsington will hush it up. It’s bad for morale if our aristocracy is seduced into working for the French. Our story will be that we were comparing guns, and his went off accidentally.”

Restive and DuFair between them carried the old man to his bedchamber, where they fully intended to lock him in. Not that he was likely to escape, with only one sound foot.

Cecil shut the door after them. Dorothea flung her arms around him and kissed him. “You were wonderful! How do you creep so silently? I was so afraid I would have to shoot him.”

“You’re the essence of courage, love. So cool, so calm, in the face of his gun. I was terrified for you.” He closed his eyes and buried his face in her hair.

He should escort her to her room. She wasn’t in danger anymore.

Meanwhile, his cock reveled in their proximity, in her lush uncorseted curves and her intoxicating aroma. Soft, golden strands had escaped her plait. He caressed them despite himself. He kissed his way from her temple past her ear and then to her throat.

She moaned. His cock strained against his breeches. This was getting out of hand. “Dorothea, we shouldn’t.”

“We must,” she said firmly. “I want you to ruin me good and proper, so Mother will have no choice but to accept you.”

“Why do you care what she does? She disowned you tonight.”

“Yes, but it may not mean anything. She has never disowned me before, but she’s not one to give up.” She rubbed herself against him. How the devil was he supposed to resist that?

He tightened his arms about her. Her breasts pressed heavily against his chest. Before he knew it, his hands were on her bum. So much for restraining his desire.

He had to tell her the truth. Then, if she still agreed to marry him… He tried not to think about what her answer might be.

“I love you, and if that means she will never speak to me again…” She sighed. “So be it. I don’t like her much, but she is my mother.”

Cecil understood all too well. “My father was as obsessed with wealth and privilege as she. He hated my uncle—his own brother—for inheriting a large estate, when he had a small one that was perfectly adequate to his needs. He was furious when I became a revenue officer, saying it was beneath me to work for my living. We didn’t speak for the last months of his life. He wouldn’t allow me to visit him on his deathbed.”

“Oh, Cecil.” She hugged him tight. “I had no idea.”

“How could you? I never speak of it. I hope you can reconcile with your mother.”

She rested her head on his chest. “When I was a child, my mother loved this time of year. She organized all the decorating and planned the feast for the villagers, and it was such fun. Then I refused seven offers in my first season and attended reformist meetings in my second, after which she began dragging me from one house party to another, trying to force me to wed. I wish I could make her happy. I wish I could make her enjoy Christmas again…but I can’t.”

“I think—or rather I hope—that you can,” Cecil said.

SHE RAISED HER HEAD, frowning. “How is that possible?”

“It may involve the sacrifice of a cherished principle on your part.”

“What do you mean?” Crossly, she added, “It seems to me that you’re the one with all the principles.” She stretched and moved sensuously against him. His arousal was evident despite his breeches. “It’s freezing in here. Shouldn’t we get into bed?”

He dropped a kiss on her hair. “Yes, darling, I’m longing to get as close as humanly possible, but you’ll have to agree to marry me first.”

“I already have agreed to marry you.” She toyed with the buttons of his breeches, which was terribly forward of her, but she didn’t care. “Or rather, you agreed to marry me.”

“Yes, but you were unaware of something about me when you proposed. I have a confession to make.”

How ominous that sounded. Was he a criminal? An imposter? Inflicted with a fatal disease? She withdrew her hand. “What? Just tell me.”

“It’s nothing particularly dreadful, but it may matter to you.” He turned away to stoke the fire. “I’m the heir presumptive to an earldom.”

“An earldom.” How unexpected. “Why does no one know?”

He added some coals. “Because I don’t tell anyone. Haledon is an obscure Welsh title. My uncle is the current incumbent, but he has only daughters and hopes I will carry on the line. I don’t mingle in society much, so only a few people, such as Restive, know I’m his heir.”

A thought occurred. “Does my father know?” Even before Cecil nodded, she knew the answer. Papa invariably checked into the family backgrounds of his men.

Cecil Hale was the only minion assigned to her who had stuck to his role despite growing to care for her. How could Papa help but approve such an honorable man?

Well. That explained why Rigby had so readily agreed to stage an accident here. Father had given him permission ahead of time, just in case—for he knew her brother might come to her for help. He’d done so all through his childhood, so why not now?

Papa was endlessly devious, but he was also patient and fair. He’d waited until he found the right sort of man for her—but then let her decide for herself.

Cecil turned at last. She placed her palms on his chest. She wanted her naked breasts squashed up against him, her naked legs entwined with his…

Cecil drew away, and she felt bereft.

“You know how I feel about the peerage and its unfair privileges,” he said stiffly. “I don’t want the title, but it will be mine until I die. I’ll be responsible for a sizeable estate and all the tenants and other dependents. I can’t escape it—at least, not honorably.” His voice was distant and strained.

“No, you can’t,” she assured him. “You mustn’t shirk your responsibilities.”

“Perhaps I can do some good as a peer,” he said, as if he didn’t believe it.

She watched him, trying to understand what was wrong. “You can—and must. It’s your obligation.”

“Precisely.” He swallowed. “This evening you swore, loudly and publicly, to marry a mere mister. You have your own code of honor. If you feel obliged to change your mind about me…” He choked on the words. “I’ll understand.”

“You are a mere mister.”

“For now.” He gazed at his hands, which trembled slightly. “I understood your statement to be in the nature of an oath—something about dying in a ditch rather than marry a peer. In other words, a promise to adhere to a principle, come what may.”

“What nonsense! I spoke in anger. I didn’t mean it literally.” She caressed the frown from his forehead. “My code of honor is not stupidly rigid like a gentleman’s.”

He let out a long, slow breath. “Darling Dorothea. Will you marry me for better or for worse, even if worse includes a title?”

She put her arms around him. “Yes, Cecil, I will. I love you, and I would never let something as nonsensical as a title get in the way of love.” She smiled ruefully. “And it will make my mother happy. Christmas will be festive after all.”

“Starting now.” He scooped her up and deposited her on the bed, then flung the coverlet after her. He made short work of his shirt and cravat, stockings and breeches, and peeled his smallclothes down. She gazed at him, enchanted. He was definitely ready for her.

He grinned and climbed next to her, pulling her into his arms. “My sweet, my darling.” He slid his hands under the nightgown to fondle her breasts.

She moaned with pleasure and soon was as naked as he, reveling in the heat and slide of skin against naked skin. They shared hot kisses and intimate caresses, until at last he entered her with a few tender pushes and a fierce thrust. “I love you so much,” he whispered.

She throbbed and ached with pleasure. “We’re joined. We’re one.” She laughed. “And we’re being unwise.”

“But not dishonorable,” he said. Together, with murmured promises of love, they celebrated the arrival of Christmastide.

The End

ABOUT BARBARA MONAJEM

Winner of the Holt Medallion, Maggie, Daphne du Maurier, Reviewer’s Choice and Epic awards, Barbara Monajem wrote her first story at eight years old about apple tree gnomes. She published a middle-grade fantasy when her children were young, then moved on to paranormal mysteries and Regency romances with intrepid heroines and long-suffering heroes (or vice versa). Regency mysteries are next on the agenda.

Barbara loves to cook, especially soups. She used to have two items on her bucket list: to make asparagus pudding (because it was too weird to resist) and to succeed at knitting socks. She managed the first (it was dreadful) but doubts she’ll ever accomplish the second. This is not a bid for immortality but merely the dismal truth. She lives near Atlanta, Georgia with an ever-shifting population of relatives, friends, and feline strays.

You can find details of her work at

www.BarbaraMonajem.com

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MEET ME AT THE MISTLETOE

~ Book 4 of The Matchmaking Earl Series ~

by

DONNA CUMMINGS

After years of pleasurable but temporary pursuits, Desmond Mayfield enlists his friend, the Matchmaking Earl, to find his perfect match, never dreaming he’d find a love to rival his parents' legendary romance. Then he meets a temptress so enchanting, the very idea of letting her slip away is too dreadful to consider. But while Desmond may have fallen fast and hard, his Siren is determined to allow only a brief holiday affair, unwilling to risk a repeat of her previous loveless union.

It will take all the mistletoe Desmond can find—and all the kisses they afford him—to convince her that theirs is a passion to last through every season.

CHAPTER ONE

DESMOND MAYFIELD SET his brandy on the table next to him. It had been quite some time since he had enjoyed the quiet of his London club, but a chance meeting with his friend Martin, Lord Hartstone, had convinced him to while away a few hours there.

It was a bit serendipitous, actually, since Martin's assistance was precisely what was needed in the upcoming holiday season.

"Are you still acting as a matchmaker?"

Desmond tried to make it sound as though he were teasing, masking his genuine reason for the question.

"I suppose I am," Martin answered with a chuckle. "Though too often it has been more inadvertent than intentional. My last attempt came perilously close to being a disaster. Fortunately, it all worked out in the end."

Desmond glanced around, as if perusing the wood-paneled room, but actually intent on determining if anyone were near enough to hear him. Fortunately, every member in attendance was seated at a distance, engaged in conversation with other gentlemen, or consumed with the newspapers they were reading.

Still, Desmond leaned closer before saying, "Perhaps I could enlist your services."

Martin's eyebrows flew upwards. "What need do you have of a matchmaker? By all accounts, your days and nights are filled with attentive females."

"I always suspected you were a fan of the scandal sheets—"

"They are certainly a fan of you," Martin snorted.

Desmond shrugged, his lips twitching. "It is time to give them someone else to speculate about for a change." He added casually, "It would also demonstrate you are not an accidental matchmaker. Assuming you are successful, of course."

"I am tempted to consider your proposition, just for the challenge it would provide."

"You would become the newest darling of the scandal sheets overnight. The Prince Regent himself will wish to seek out your services."

Martin cackled as he settled into the leather chair. "I have no interest in acclaim or the notoriety you are accustomed to. And Prinny's marital woes are well beyond my ability to resolve." His expression turned serious. "Is this newfound interest due to your father? That was a nasty spill he took recently."

"Of course it has nothing to do with him," Desmond fibbed. "He would run us both through if he thought we considered him frail, all because a horse got the best of him." He winked. "It would speed his recovery, though, if he believed I was finally heeding his advice about matters of the heart."

"My mother and aunts still talk about your parents' love story. It was quite the romance in their day. The stuff of legends, to hear them discuss it."

"One that is impossible to live up to, I am afraid."

In truth, Desmond had begun to wonder if his heart would ever be amenable to something as long-lasting as his parents' love for each other. He had relished his numerous lighthearted liaisons, none of them intended to last more than a few months, which suited him and his paramours perfectly. There were no tears or recriminations on anyone's part when it was time to move on to something else.

Still, his parents' undeniable devotion, especially after his father's recent accident, had Desmond wishing for something similar for himself.

Martin's eyes twinkled momentarily. His next words made Desmond think his friend had read his thoughts. "Perhaps my matchmaking prowess will lead you to a woman who steals your heart."

"That is yet to be determined. But even if my heart remains unattached, as is likely, a man knows when it is time to take up his responsibilities to the family lineage, leaving his frolicsome youth behind."

"Frolicsome? Now you are sounding like the white-haired gent in the corner who has not moved from that spot in twenty years." Martin gave Desmond a good looking-over, as if he was examining a pair of prime race horses at Tattersall's. "I wonder who I could possibly convince to attempt a match with a scoundrel such as you."

"I am breathless with anticipation." Desmond could not hold back a smile. "Though, from your previous difficulties, I understand it may require more than one attempt before success is declared."

Martin's eyes gleamed at the unspoken challenge. "Your situation merely requires something a bit different. I think you will enjoy what I have in mind…"

DESMOND STOOD in the lavish ballroom at Hartstone Hall, wondering if he had completely lost his wits. It had been diverting while sitting in his London club, devising a plan to find a woman he could fall in love with at some point.

But now, several days later, standing beneath a cluster of mistletoe, clutching one half of a calling card, waiting for the woman who had the other half to appear…

Yes, he had clearly misplaced his wits. Not to mention his confidence in Martin's matchmaking abilities.

Ah, well, he could at least enjoy the festivities. Martin's country estate was the center of numerous holiday events, making it the best setting for matchmaking this time of year. Every possible surface was covered with pine boughs, and holly, and of course, mistletoe hung in multiple strategic locations. To increase the mystery, Martin had decreed the ball would be a masquerade, so all of the attendees wore masks.

It was a great deal easier to steal a kiss under the mistletoe if anonymity were preserved.

Desmond adjusted his mask and glanced once more at the card. Had the mystery woman changed her mind? Martin had insisted they would be a perfect match. Perhaps she had learned his identity and decided she did not want her name linked to his in the scandal sheets.

It was difficult to convince anyone he was indeed serious about renouncing his scoundrel ways. Even Martin had been stunned by the news.

He would stay for another quarter hour and then take his leave. Fortunately his hunting lodge was nearby, and he could while away the rest of the evening with some brandy, in front of a roaring fire, plotting how to proceed next.

He had not anticipated being Martin's first matchmaking failure. Still, as much as he regretted losing his wits by participating in this scheme, he was even more rueful that he had placed any hope in its success.

LORELEI COLLINS MADE her way through the crowded ballroom, doing her best to memorize every detail, from the decorations and the music, to the guests merrily dancing with each other. Her sister Beatrice had planned to attend, a rare outing since her sister had two small children to care for, as well as a husband off fighting the wars. Unfortunately, the poor thing had come down with a terrible cold. Lorelei had insisted she could not possibly attend without her, but Beatrice had been twice as insistent that hearing about the revelries would surely speed her recovery.

It had been a long while since Lorelei had attended a Christmas masquerade, so it was not difficult to acquiesce to her sister's demands.

Lorelei halted for a moment, grinning as she watched Martin making his way down the line of dancers. He was a handsome man, and cut quite a fine figure, as evidenced by all the wistful female glances thrown his direction.

She would have to find him later and thank him for the invitation. She turned to continue her stroll around the room, but just then a young woman stopped her, pressing a card into her hand.

"I will not be needing this now. You should go in my place."

"What do you mean?" Lorelei glanced at the card, which was torn in half and outlined in red, engraved with the phrase, "Meet me at the mistletoe".

"I was supposed to meet a gentleman, but I've found the most wonderful one on my own!"

Before Lorelei could respond, the young woman darted off with her new suitor, both of them clearly bursting with happiness.

Lorelei felt a pang of envy. She missed that feeling of falling in love, when everything was still filled with promise and possibility…

Why not steal a few kisses under the mistletoe? She could do it anonymously, with the gentleman not aware of who she was. Indeed, she could pretend she was the one he was supposed to meet. Afterwards, she would return to her normal existence, with no one the wiser. She had experienced numerous adventures the past two years as a widow, and was never reluctant to have another.

This would be a perfect way to spend the evening.

She tightened the ribbons of her mask and began to search for this mystery man in earnest. There was a multitude of mistletoe throughout the overheated ballroom. How was she supposed to find the one man waiting for the woman she was pretending to be?

A good many of the mistletoe bunches were occupied by couples, surreptitiously kissing, taking a berry from the mistletoe each time. It was easy to rule them out as potential mystery men. Presumably he would have a card, the other half to hers, so she kept her attention on that aspect.

After another turn around the room, she began to wonder if she had been sent on a fool's errand.

All of a sudden, she saw a tall gentleman underneath a large cluster of mistletoe. How had she missed him before? He had chestnut hair, rakishly long, and an elegant mien. He was perusing the crowd but seemed disenchanted, and Lorelei wondered why. He began to tap a card against one hand—a card torn in half and edged in red.

Her heart thumped with excitement.

She stepped forward, eager to meet her mystery man. She could only imagine what kissing him might be like. The thought made her lose her footing for just a moment. She laughed at her clumsiness but her mirth instantly turned to dismay.

Another woman had swooped in to flirt with him!

CHAPTER TWO

"GOOD EVENING," a woman's voice said. "Are you awaiting someone?"

Desmond had just been about to leave, but he turned, hopeful once more. He gave the young woman his full attention—a lovely figure, a smile that seemed genuine, yet her gaze behind the mask seemed a bit avaricious. He dropped his gaze to her gloved hands.

There was no card.

He clasped his hands behind his back, keeping his own card hidden.

They exchanged pleasantries, and while Desmond managed to maintain a polite demeanor, it was not long before he was wishing he had left earlier. The young woman chattered endlessly on numerous topics, even without his participation, and it seemed she meant to continue until the sun rose.

Now there was little hope of easily extricating himself, unless he found another acquaintance strolling by, or by feigning an ailment of some sort…

"There you are! When you said 'meet me at the mistletoe', I had no idea there would be so many possible venues to search."

Desmond's head lifted sharply, the playful tone of voice catching his attention. In the next instant he was swamped with relief at seeing the red-edged card in the new arrival's hand. The evening had not been a waste after all.

"My apologies." Desmond held his card aloft, adding a grin. "I hoped this proved helpful in narrowing down the possibilities."

"It did, indeed." She sidled closer to him, captivating him with her genuine smile. She placed her half of the card against his so the torn edges fit together. "Perfectly matched."

The other woman quickly comprehended that she had become an unnecessary party. She sighed dramatically and then flounced off, muttering about her misfortune.

"I am indebted to you," Desmond said. "I was in the midst of preparing a dramatic exit and then you appeared just in time to rescue me."

She laughed. It was such a distinctive sound, a genuine expression of mirth, not a practiced trill meant to highlight her feminine wiles. He would have to send a magnificent gift to Martin, extolling his matchmaking skills, the ones he had so recently doubted.

Her green eyes twinkled with mischief. "Perhaps you should keep that dramatic exit in reserve. Our cards were perfectly matched, but we might not be."

"I cannot imagine such a possibility." He lifted her gloved hand to his lips. "It is a genuine pleasure to meet you. What name shall I call you?"

She tilted her head, as if deciding what name she would give him. It gave Desmond time to appreciate the auburn tendrils that had escaped her topknot, as well as the sprinkling of freckles across her pert nose. Her lips lifted in another intriguing smile. "You could call me Lorelei."

This time it was his lips that curved upwards. "How perfect. Lorelei. The temptress."

"A man who knows his mythology. And what name will you use this evening?"

He hesitated. Did he give her a playful answer, as she had so obviously done? He had no doubt he could ask Martin who she was, since he was the one who had ensured they met. He also had no doubt that he wanted to see her again, so he told her his real name.

"You must call me Desmond."

"Desmond. I am overjoyed to make your acquaintance."

She gazed directly at him as she spoke the words. Her boldness was intoxicating. A heady blend of passion and expectation sped through every particle of his being.

He was tempted to ask if she would remove her mask, so he could see her face completely. But he decided to wait. He was enjoying her enjoyment of the moment. There was no need to rush anything.

"Perhaps we should commemorate our meeting with a kiss." Desmond pointed to the mistletoe above them. "It is a tradition, after all."

"It is bad luck to refuse a kiss." She moved closer until her lips were hovering near his. "Once all the berries are gone, there can be no more kisses."

He almost looked up to ensure there was an abundance of the white fruit, but he was unable to tear his gaze away from her. He also wanted to prolong this first kiss, reveling in the anticipation.

Impatience finally got the best of him. He leaned forward slightly and his lips met hers.

He meant it to be a brief kiss, an introduction of sorts, as well as an acknowledgment that they were still in a rather public spot. But she was so responsive that he did not know when he might end it. Her hands rested against his chest. She was not pushing him away, however. One hand clasped his lapel to ensure he did not retreat.

He finally managed to pull away, gratified when she bit her lip in disappointment. He grinned and reached up to pluck one of the mistletoe berries. "There are quite enough here to last the evening without need for rationing. Though I best ensure no one else saunters over for a kiss."

"I am certain I can stave them off. After all, I did rescue you once already."

Indeed she had.

Still, he wanted to converse with her without everyone milling about, tossing curious glances their direction. He also wanted more kisses and he did not want their newfound attraction to become the center of attention.

"Would you be amenable to a more private locale? I see a quiet nook nearby where we can converse."

Lorelei glanced over her shoulder, to the spot he had indicated with a nod of his head. "I suppose this is when I should warn you about unscrupulous behavior."

He pretended to frown. "I appreciate the warning, but I did not expect you to indulge in any sort of unscrupulous behavior."

As he'd hoped, it elicited another of her delightful laughs. Her expression was an intoxicating blend of amusement and indulgence, all of it directed at him.

"You have nothing to fear from me, Lorelei the temptress." He wanted to convince her of his sincerity, yet did not want to appear too serious. "I mean you no harm, and if I ever contemplated such a thing, the matchmaking earl himself would thrash me within an inch of my life."

He had unconsciously placed his hand on his heart during his speech. She lightly placed hers atop his and whispered, "There might not be anything left for him to thrash once I am done with you."

His burst of laughter caught everyone's attention. "Now that I am in fear for my life, I wonder if I dare to ask for another kiss?"

"Bring the mistletoe," she said with a grin, "and we shall determine how brave you can be."

Desmond reached up and removed the greenery from its fastening. He sighed with contentment when he saw just how many berries it contained.

His heart danced with eagerness at the numerous kisses they would share that evening.

LORELEI GRINNED at her handsome suitor as he led her to a nearby niche, intended for just such a lovers' hideaway. There was a small sofa, designed for two, as well as a branch of candles on tables at either side, illuminating while also creating intimate shadows. They could still view the dancers, and hear the orchestra, but tucked away as they were allowed for quieter conversation—as well as kissing.

He held her hand so gently, as if he was carrying a precious gift, and ensured she was seated before he sat down. Her heart fluttered, signaling how amenable it was to commence a flirtatious amour—those delicious moments that made life so enjoyable, brief as they always were.

"I wish I had thought to procure some wine," Desmond said. "Yet I cannot leave and risk that someone else will be attending you when I return."

She bit back a smile. "And I cannot go to seek out refreshment. For if I were to return and discovered you had expired, all because Miss Chatterling was here detailing her latest exploits—"

He pretended to shudder. "No, that will not do at all. We shall have to prepare better the next time."

That sent a frisson of excitement racing along her spine, though she knew how fruitless it was to consider the possibility of a next time. Best to enjoy the moments presented to her now.

A passing footman solved their dilemma. Desmond caught the man's attention and grabbed two glasses of wine, which he handed to Lorelei. Before the man could depart, he removed two more glasses. The footman remained impassive as Desmond said, "I think this should do for now."

Once the servant had left, Lorelei said, "I am not accustomed to drinking two glasses of wine at once."

"Nor am I," Desmond answered with a chuckle. He set both glasses on the table next to him. "Those shall be in reserve, if needed later."

She handed him one of the glasses. "To a most propitious meeting," she added.

He lightly tapped the edge against hers. "Indeed. One that almost did not occur." He took a sip of his wine. "I thought you had decided against it, actually."

"Did you? Because I was late?"

He nodded.

She felt a twinge of guilt. After all, she was not the one he was supposed to meet. But she brushed it aside, remembering the flighty young woman who had left with another man—making this wonderful one believe he had nearly been cast aside.

"It was an unavoidable delay," she said, "but I shall make it up to you." She sat forward slightly, her attention on his lapel. "Oh, dear. It appears as though one of those mistletoe berries is about to fall off."

He looked down at the cluster of mistletoe he had stuffed in his pocket before setting off for their current location. He plucked the errant berry. "Shall I kiss you, or will you kiss me?"

She pretended to ponder for a moment. She tilted her head, and glanced up at the ceiling. "Hmmm." She took a sip of wine and thought about it some more.

Desmond chuckled. "This poor berry will be shriveled until it resembles a currant before you decide."

"I did not want to rush through such an important decision," she said.

"If you contemplate each berry in the same fashion, it will be next Christmastide and we will still be working on this one bunch of mistletoe."

She could not hold back her laugh. She noticed how his eyes lit up at the sound. She suspected he intentionally made her laugh as often as possible, not just for his own enjoyment, but to bring her pleasure as well.

Lorelei touched his chin, holding him as she placed her mouth on his. It was a gentle kiss, longer than the first one they had shared, giving them the chance to explore, to learn what each of them needed in a kiss.

Neither of them were in any hurry to end it. It slowly grew more passionate, building to an intensity that nearly made Lorelei forget where she was.

She halted, leaning her forehead against his lips. He dotted kisses against her skin, which she knew was heated from the intimate contact with him. She did not move away, though.

"Now I can truly appreciate your foresight in hoarding the wine." She felt his smile against her skin, which was quickly followed by a gentle kiss. She tipped her head back. "You must forfeit a mistletoe berry for that kiss."

His eyes twinkled as he reached toward his pocket. "It is only fair." He removed another berry. "I just realized that each time I remove a berry, I still have it in hand. Does that entitle us to twice the kisses?"

"I had not considered that point." She laughed once more, delighted by her mystery man, and thrilled to have even more kisses to anticipate. "Now I cannot think of anything else."

"If that is the case, we might want to fortify ourselves with some wine." He handed her the glass she had set aside earlier, and she took a grateful sip.

The wine was a perfect accompaniment to the numerous kisses. Lorelei lost count of how many they shared. She only knew each one was more intoxicating than the wine, and it was not long before she was completely light-headed.

Desmond held out one last berry, clearly intending to redeem it for a kiss.

"It seems I must bid you farewell," she said. "Once all the berries are gone, remember?"

"Surely we can see each other again," he protested.

"Perhaps." She gave him one last kiss, lingering as long as possible. She finally ended the kiss, enjoying his little moan of protest, and his perplexed expression. "Or perhaps it would be best to say farewell now, before there is a chance of things turning sour."

"I propose we at least finish this bunch of mistletoe." He extracted a strand from another pocket.

"Where did that come from?"

His eyes twinkled with mischief. Instead of answering her question, he said, "It would be a shame for these berries to go to waste. After all, it is their destiny to bring potential lovers together."

Her heart began to beat a little faster at the thought of them as lovers. She knew full well she was not suited for a longer relationship. Her marriage had proved that. But surely a shorter liaison was not out of the question.

"How long do you think the berries will last?" Lorelei bit back a laugh as she watched him calculating what sort of timeframe she might agree to. "I would guess a week or two, at the most," she added. "I cannot promise anything beyond that."

He appeared taken aback by her response. "I have delivered a similar message in the past and never realized until now how disheartening it could be."

She laughed. "You have never been the recipient?"

"No." His lips pursed with momentary pique. "I never anticipated I would be."

"You are quite alluring, of course." She halted before confessing he nearly tempted her to see if it was possible to engage in something beyond a short affair. The wine, the anonymity of the mask, the intimacy of their lovers' nook, all of it was conspiring to make her lose her wits.

"I am gratified you think so." His eyes glittered once more, making Lorelei wonder if he was able to divine her thoughts. "I have been captivated by you since the moment you arrived."

Lorelei's heart pleaded with her to continue with this man. Fate had surely brought them together. After all, he had been intended for another, while she had merely attended so she could regale her sister with the details of the event. Yet now it seemed there was meant to be more for them. How could she possibly resist?

"It would be a shame for all of this attraction, and mistletoe, to go to waste," she said with a smile. "Still, it is only meant to last until Twelfth Night, and legend says it must be burned at that time."

"And if it is not?"

She gave him a brief kiss. "We are bound to quarrel before the year ends."

He wrapped his arms around her, holding her close while he continued to press light kisses to her lips. "I have no wish to quarrel. Unless it is about how many kisses are to be used. We never did come to a decision on that question."

Lorelei slowly disengaged herself from his embrace, while she had the will to do so. "That shall be a quarrel for another day then."

His grin was a delicious one. It invited her to stay longer, but she knew it was best to leave now, when they were both filled with anticipation.

"Farewell, Desmond."

"I cannot say farewell until I know when we shall meet again."

"When I am not yet certain of. But where is easy." She whispered in his ear. "Meet me at the mistletoe."

Before he could ask her anything more, she spun away and raced towards the exit.

CHAPTER THREE

"MARTIN, she is extraordinary. I will admit I had my doubts about your matchmaking skills at first. But I cannot imagine anyone could suit me better."

Lorelei.

She had picked a most suitable name for an alias, because she was beyond tempting. His thoughts had remained on her nearly every moment since she had departed. It was merely hours ago but it felt like an eternity. Especially since he was uncertain when he would see her again.

Desmond continued the stroll with his friend through the local village. Martin had suggested the jaunt, as he needed something from the apothecary, and did not in good conscience want to send one of his servants as they were already so busy with the numerous planned holiday events.

Martin beamed. "I was certain you would be a good match." He halted so he could peer into one of the shop windows. "Shall I invite both of you to tea so you can meet without your masks?"

"Of course. Without delay. I am impatient to see her again."

"We could have both of you arrive wearing your masks, and then there could be a dramatic unveiling—"

Desmond snorted, ready to deliver a blistering retort, but a delicious laugh rang through the air—one he had thought about constantly since he had first heard it the previous evening.

He whipped his head around, his heart thundering in his chest.

It was indeed the beauty from the night before. Even without the mask covering her eyes, he recognized the intriguing smile she had bestowed on him numerous times. That distinctive laugh could belong to no one but her.

In the next instant, however, his heart fell to his toes.

She was chasing after two young children, a young boy and girl, both of whom resembled her.

"I did not anticipate you would match me with a married woman, especially one with young children."

Martin frowned. "But I did not."

It was Desmond's turn to frown. "She is the woman I met last night. She had the torn card in hand as well."

"I do not know how she came to be in possession of it. But," Martin added cheerfully, "I will be happy to make the introductions now."

Before Desmond could decline, the young woman and children were walking by. She laughed at something the little girl said, and it sent a ripple of excitement through him, despite knowing it was foolhardy to pursue this attraction. Even a scoundrel such as he had some standards when it came to affairs of the heart.

"Mrs. Collins," Martin called out. "How are you this fine day?"

She turned their direction, and Desmond saw the pink of her cheeks deepen when she set eyes on him. Would she pretend she did not recognize him?

"I am quite fine, Lord Hartstone. We all are. Though I am second-guessing our decision to walk about the village today. It is a great deal colder than I anticipated."

"I like when it is cold," the little girl piped up.

"I do, too," the little boy added.

"It is no wonder I was outvoted on this excursion. I am surrounded by contrarians."

Martin quickly made the introductions, making no mention of his secretive matchmaking attempts. When Desmond heard her name – Lorelei – he felt a rush of satisfaction. She had not hidden her name from him.

"It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance," Desmond said.

He could see she was debating whether to acknowledge she was well aware who he was. Her lips tilted up into a mischievous smile. "It almost seems as though we have met previously."

His grin widened. "I am glad to hear I am not the only one. Sometimes a bond forms instantly."

She visibly caught her breath, but before she could answer, the little boy said impatiently, "Auntie, we need to visit the shops. Mama will be waiting for us."

Auntie? Never had one word brought such joyous relief.

Martin chose that moment to resume the role of matchmaker. "You must come to a musicale we are having two nights from now," he said to Lorelei. "And your sister Beatrice is invited, as well."

"I would be delighted. Though she has not completely recovered from a terrible cold, so I cannot guarantee she will be able to join us."

"We will hope for the best," Martin said. He tossed a wink towards Desmond, one that only he could see. "Children, did you see the wooden animals in the window over here?"

They scampered to where he'd pointed, and he had to trot to keep up with them. Desmond could hear Martin answering their excited questions, cautioning them to keep their noses from the window, in case they were to freeze there.

Lorelei laughed at their horrified expressions. "I shall hear about this all afternoon."

"I am sorry to hear your sister is ailing. She must be gratified you are able to assist her."

"I am happy to help, since Caroline and Henry are always a delight. I almost wonder if my sister is pretending she has a cold to increase my time with them."

He grinned. "Is deception a family trait then?"

"I hope not. I am unskilled in that area. I am often told I am much too forthright."

"A quality I always admire."

Her expression clouded over. "It is why I must tell you, about last evening—"

His heart sank. He had hoped they would have more time before she cried off, explaining she was not interested in pursuing anything further.

"I was not the original recipient of the card I carried," she continued.

His lips lifted in a satisfied smile. "I just recently discovered that. Martin had agreed to use his matchmaking skills to assist me, only it appears the Fates intervened. I am grateful they did."

She returned the smile. "I am as well. His choice for you was not at all suitable."

"Indeed?"

"Well, she hardly could have been, since she ran off with another, placing the card in my hand."

He shrugged. "Fortunately she chose wisely. If she were here, I would lavish her with praise for that decision."

She tilted her head, and Desmond wondered what she was thinking. Was she pondering when they might meet again? He nearly asked, but her attention was diverted by her nephew calling out to her, waving his arm for her to join them.

She gave Desmond a brief smile and then took a step in that direction. Her foot slipped on a patch of ice, and her arms began to flail as she sought to regain her balance.

Desmond rushed forward, grabbing her from behind and wrapping his arms tightly about her waist, preventing a disastrous fall. Her swinging reticule hit him in the side of the head, but how could he protest? His face was against Lorelei's cheek. Despite the cold, her soft skin was delectable against his.

Desmond knew he would have to release her from his arms soon, yet he relished the impromptu embrace.

"I must thank you for your quick-witted rescue," she breathed, little puffs of air accompanying her words.

"I owed you nothing less after your quick-witted rescue of me last night."

She chuckled, slowly extracting herself, though it seemed her expression was wistful when she turned to look at him. "It is not at all the same. I selfishly wanted to kiss you beneath the mistletoe."

"I would kiss you now, the lack of mistletoe be damned, if we were not standing in the middle of the village, with everyone's gaze pinned on us."

Her eyes sparkled with mischief once more. "You may kiss my hand without causing a scandal."

He lifted her gloved hand to his lips, lingering over the kiss, nearly forgetting they were not alone. She kept her eyes locked with his, daring him to be as bold as he could with the socially acceptable contact. He could feel the excitement racing through his veins.

Somehow he finally ended the kiss, giving her hand a light squeeze. "Lorelei the temptress. I shall always want to cause a scandal with you."

She shivered as she removed her hand, dropping it to her side.

"Auntie, are you cold?"

She managed a bright smile for her nephew. "Yes, dearest, just a bit." Her heated cheeks belied the words. "We should return home. Goodbye, Lord Hartstone. Mr. Mayfield."

"Do not forget the musicale," Martin said.

"I am looking forward to it," she said. She took Caroline and Henry's hands in hers and headed down the street. She turned to glance once more at Desmond.

He tipped his hat in acknowledgment. He hoped she could read the promise in his eyes. He was looking forward to every moment the future brought to them.

The smile she bestowed seemed to say she felt the very same way.

LORELEI SAT on the chair next to her sister's bed. Beatrice was propped up against the pillows, eating a hearty soup Lorelei had prepared for her. The children scampered around the room, impatient to start making paper chains to decorate their house.

"So much for my efforts to reduce some of that excess energy they possess. I was certain the excursion into the village would have that effect."

"It is not your fault. Their supply is endless." Beatrice smiled. "I often wonder if it feeds upon our belief that we can deplete it."

Lorelei grinned. "I am more determined than ever to be the victor in this battle."

Beatrice finished the soup, handing the empty bowl to Lorelei. The children took that as their cue to jump on their mother's bed. They snuggled close to her, ignoring her warnings about catching her cold. "Did you enjoy going to the village today?"

"Yes!" Caroline nodded her head fiercely. "That man was handsome."

Henry's forehead wrinkled with confusion. "Which one? There were two men."

"The one that kept smiling at Auntie," the little girl answered with a giggle.

"Oh, yes," her brother said. "He smiled at her a lot. Especially when he caught her and held on to her."

Beatrice gave her a questioning look, accompanied with a big smile. "Seems like Auntie Lorelei has some interesting tales to tell me."

"There might be one or two." She lowered her voice. "Though I will save the best ones for when it is naptime."

"I am tempted to send them off right now."

"Shh," Lorelei said with a laugh, "you will inspire a mutiny if you do."

Fortunately the children were too impatient to sit still for long and jumped down from the bed, intent on finding another form of entertainment in the next room.

"I want to hear more of this mystery man that has you smiling secretively when you think nobody can see it."

Lorelei instantly removed the smile from her face. "I have no idea what you mean."

At her sister's knowing glance, they both broke into laughter. "You managed to escape my questions last evening—"

"Because you were sleeping!"

"And then you scurried off this morning with the children before I could learn any details about last night's event."

Lorelei narrowed her eyes in a mock glare. "It almost seems as though you do not appreciate my compassion for your illness. I did not wish to tax your strength."

"You are taxing my patience by avoiding my interrogation."

"Perhaps I am," Lorelei admitted with a grin. "I was not entirely sure after last evening that I would pursue anything with Desmond."

"Why not? Were his kisses so terrible?"

"His kisses were utterly perfect. He may have set a standard that all future kisses must be measured against."

"Then what is your hesitation about pursuing more of them?" Beatrice studied Lorelei for a moment, always able to see what Lorelei tried to keep hidden. "And what has changed your mind from last night?"

Lorelei repositioned herself in the chair, taking a moment to bring order to her jumbled thoughts, all because of the intriguing man she had met merely one day ago.

"Do not attempt any stalling mechanisms," her sister warned with a chuckle. "My children have used all of them on me, so I am quite experienced at waiting you out."

"I am not stalling. I am merely trying to determine how to explain myself." Lorelei grinned. "Last evening was delightful. I was an inadvertent recipient of Martin's matchmaking efforts—"

"He has had several successes."

"So I have heard. But he attempted to match Desmond with another young woman, who changed her mind, and I took her place. It seemed harmless enough, allowing me the opportunity to enjoy some kisses. All while memorizing the decorations so I could regale you with the details," she added.

"I would much rather hear about the kisses. Though with my husband gone, it is probably best you do not describe them. I might fall into a jealous rage and stay in my sickbed forever."

They both laughed before Lorelei asked, "He is supposed to return soon, though, before the holidays have ended?"

"That is the hope, but it is not a certainty." Beatrice gave her another knowing look. "And do not think you have distracted me from my purpose."

"I know, I know. You have a repertoire of skills from handling Caroline and Henry. Though I may try to add to their repertoire, just to keep you on your toes in future."

Her sister laughed. "I will start thinking of an appropriate punishment for you. Now, tell me what changed your mind about pursuing Desmond, deliverer of those kisses of perfection."

"You are incorrigible." Lorelei hesitated. "You know I am usually amenable to a flirtation, or an affair of brief duration. In truth, it is my preference."

"Will you ever be amenable to something of a longer duration? Such as marriage? Not all of them are like yours was."

"I understand. I have no issues with the institution of marriage. I am just not convinced I am suited for it. The initial passion is bound to wane, I suppose, but then the daily responsibilities start to wear on everyone until it becomes a chore merely to utter pleasantries. I would much rather indulge in a short amour, taking my leave before it has a chance to descend to that once more. That is one of the prime benefits of being a widow, after all."

Her sister's expression was a bit more compassionate. "I hope to convince you one day that not all marriages follow that particular path. You can see how mine is, after all these years, and there is still a great deal of love." She winked. "Not to mention passion."

Lorelei sighed theatrically. "I am fortunate that your husband is still away, or I might fall into a fit of jealousy at what the two of you share."

"You are even more fortunate that a man whose kisses are the best you've ever experienced wants to kiss you again."

"I am indeed. I plan to kiss him until every bit of mistletoe in this shire has given up its berries this season."

"And afterwards?"

Lorelei winked. "Who knows?"

CHAPTER FOUR

DESMOND STOOD with Martin in the large parlor, watching as Martin's guests milled about while waiting for the musicale to commence. The musicians in the front of the room quietly tuned their instruments. Liveried footmen presented trays filled with wine but Desmond was not interested.

He was impatient for Lorelei to arrive, a fact not lost on Martin.

"I still cannot believe my matchmaking attempt was nearly thwarted. Yet, even though you met with the wrong woman, I shall count this as my latest success."

"I can allow you that, since I am quite pleased with the outcome," Desmond replied. "But I cannot help but wonder—why did you not have me meet her instead of the original one?"

"I did not know she was in town!"

Desmond did his best to soothe Martin's ruffled feathers. "You are forgiven. I am enchanted with everything about her. Her laugh, her teasing banter. I swear I am already half in love after knowing her all of two days."

Martin snorted. "I am well aware your affairs d'amour have a short expiry date. I would caution you not to trifle with her affections."

"Your warning has arrived too late. She has already informed me she has no interest in anything longer than a holiday amour."

"I do not know whether to laugh at such news or console you. Here you are, ready to relinquish your frolicsome ways—"

"You will never cease reminding me of that, will you?"

Martin shook his head, grinning. "Not for some time. Especially since it seems you have found the one woman who enchants you and will hinder your newfound intentions for something more serious. I never could have guessed it was a possibility."

"Nor could I," Desmond answered ruefully. Before he could curse his misfortune, he saw Lorelei enter the room, accompanied by a lovely woman he guessed was her sister. They were chatting happily, glancing about, smiling as they shared their observations with each other.

"Did you just sigh?" Martin teased.

"I shall pretend I did not hear you," Desmond answered, "all while plotting revenge against you if word ever gets out about my heartfelt emotions."

Martin chuckled. In the next moment, Lorelei and her sister were standing before them, and Desmond realized he was holding his breath. He let it out, ignoring Martin's knowing chuckle.

"Mrs. Collins," Desmond said, lifting her gloved fingers to his lips. "Such a delight to see you again."

"Thank you. May I introduce my sister, Mrs. Beatrice Goddard?"

Desmond gave her a brief bow. "It is a pleasure to meet you. I found your children utterly charming."

"You were fortunate to meet them on a day when they were not tired, or hungry, or out of sorts for a reason no one could discern." Beatrice smiled. "They were quite enchanted with you. In truth, I wonder if I can attribute their recent good behavior to that day."

Lorelei pretended to pout. "I was certain it was due to my latent maternal skills rising to the fore."

"There is only one way to know for certain," Beatrice added, her eyes twinkling. "Perhaps you would be amenable to coming round for tea one afternoon, Mr. Mayfield?"

"I would enjoy nothing more."

Lorelei said, "The real test will be when they ask you to assist them with making paper chains. It is their favorite activity at the moment."

"I believe my latent chain-making skills can rise to the challenge."

"Mrs. Goddard," Martin said, "I wonder if I could use your assistance." He held his arm out for her and they moved across the room, chatting as they left Desmond and Lorelei behind.

"He is not so subtle as he believes," Desmond said. "Yet I am grateful for a moment to speak with you alone."

"A pity there is no mistletoe displayed, or the opportunity to put it to good use."

"I have stashed some away for later."

"You are quite prepared."

Desmond smiled, wishing he could kiss her right there. It seemed her eyes were saying she had the same desire. He did not dwell on the impossibility of that. After all, he was content just to converse with her. The moments together made him wish for more, however, a sensation he found both unsettling and thrilling.

"I have come prepared as well," Lorelei said. She opened her reticule to display a large bunch of mistletoe. "I hope I did not crush too many of the berries in the process."

His delighted laughter made her eyes light up. "I know of nothing that says a crushed berry is unable to fulfill its duty where kisses are concerned."

Lorelei smiled, and Desmond's heart began a familiar dance. "I was hoping you would think so. It would be a shame to think they made such a sacrifice for no good reason."

Desmond wanted to take her hand and disappear until they could find a secluded spot to honor the mistletoe's valiant efforts on their behalf. Unfortunately, Martin reappeared at that moment, with Lorelei's sister by his side.

"We should find our seats," Martin said, "as the music is about to start."

"Will you be favoring us with a song?" Lorelei asked Desmond.

"I fear my vocal skills would be deemed terrifying. A few notes from me would empty the room in an instant."

"Surely you judge yourself too harshly," Beatrice said.

"I thought so once," Martin added cheerfully, "but it was after a long night of drinking brandy. The next morning, I did not know if my aching head was from the excess of alcohol or Desmond's vocalizing."

Desmond grinned. "That was also the last time Martin and I performed a duet. We have been warned, by every one of our clubs, that our memberships will be instantly revoked if we ever attempt to sing a single note."

"I wonder if we are not the recipient of an elaborate falsehood," Lorelei said, "to prevent them from being enlisted in participating this evening."

"I suspect you are correct," Beatrice said.

"There is something to be said for appreciating those with talent," Desmond said smoothly. He held his arm out toward Lorelei, and she placed her hand atop his forearm. "Shall we?"

LORELEI WINCED, but managed to keep her fingers away from her temple—or worse, plugging her ears to block the sound emanating from the young woman at the front of the room.

"Are you certain," she whispered to Desmond, "that you cannot be persuaded to deliver a tune? It would be the charitable thing to do in this moment."

He continued looking straight ahead, but she saw his lips twitching with amusement. "I would not wish anyone to believe it was a competition. It might never cease otherwise."

"You are probably correct. I believe this song is nearly finished. Oh, dear. She is repeating the previous refrain."

She started to reach for her temple, to rub at the headache threatening to begin, but Desmond took her hand in his, managing to hold it without calling attention to his action. It was a bold thing to do in a room filled with so many people, surrounding them on all sides.

He turned his head slightly, raising his eyebrows, asking her permission. Her breath caught in her throat but she managed a brief nod. She could not deny he captivated her at every turn. Still, she knew it was a momentary sensation, one that would fade away before too long, and it was her obligation to make sure she had departed before the feelings did.

But for the first time, it seemed Desmond was going to make that a challenge for her.

Her hand was gloved, as was his, so there was not anything entirely untoward. Yet it bordered on scandalous, touching like this, as if they were alone. It made her wish they were. Perhaps she would have to suggest it. They were heading that direction ultimately. Why not head there now?

Desmond slowly stroked her hand, giving it as much attention as if her bare skin was beneath his. She couldn't halt a slight shudder at the mere thought. He stopped momentarily and then gave her hand a quick squeeze, as if to say he felt the same way.

He traced her palm, gliding over her wrist, and then repeated the action several times. Her body responded instantly, even though she tried to suppress it. Her cheeks were heated, as if she were too close to a blazing fire, and she suspected her exposed chest was equally flushed. The portions covered by her silk dress? It was a wonder the fabric had not erupted in flames.

Lorelei was just about to implore Desmond to escape with her to another room, no matter what sort of scandal it might cause, but he unexpectedly removed his hand. She bit back a protest at the abrupt change until she realized he was applauding, along with the other guests.

She nearly laughed at the crowd's enthusiastic reaction to the song concluding at long last. "I cannot thank you enough for the diversion you provided. I did not leave room in my reticule for smelling salts or a headache powder."

He grinned back at her. "It was a diversion for me as well. Though I must confess, I may need a diversion from the wayward thoughts caused by the diversion—"

"I may have just the remedy." She patted her reticule. "Shall we?"

DESMOND FOLLOWED Lorelei as they made their way to the back of the room. He was impatient to have her in his embrace. His caressing of her hand had stirred him in ways he had not expected. In truth, he had meant to entice her, and now he was racing to slake the passion she elicited so easily in him.

They had nearly made their escape when they were stopped by the young woman who had been recently singing. Her very proud mama stood next to her, blocking their exit.

"It seems she is expecting accolades," Lorelei whispered.

"And we shall not be able to pass until it is accomplished. I am rather impressed by her strategy."

"I may employ it in future." Lorelei halted, unable to do anything else. "Mrs. Humphreys, what a pleasure to see you again."

The woman gave a brief smile. "It has been some time since your last visit. So much has changed." She turned her beaming gaze toward her daughter. "You can see how her talents have progressed."

Desmond managed to turn his laugh into a cough. "It is hard to imagine they have not always been at such a level."

Lorelei bit her lip momentarily, and her eyes flashed with humor as she looked his direction. "It was indeed quite a performance. Truly memorable."

Mrs. Humphreys' joy could not be contained. "Can you believe, she has not had a single lesson. Not a one!"

Desmond and Lorelei both feigned amazement at the pronouncement.

"It is true," the young woman squeaked. "Though I do practice every day."

Her mama tossed her an indulgent look. "Nothing brings me greater joy than to hear her going through her scales, and then, once her delicate voice is warmed up, singing the greatest arias as if they had been written for her."

Desmond merely nodded, unsure how to respond. Nor did it seem Lorelei had a reply. Fortunately, none was needed.

"I hope you will not mind," Mrs. Humphreys said with a hint of impatience, "but there are many others who wish to commend my daughter's performance this evening."

"It would be selfish of us to prevent them from doing so," Desmond said.

"Indeed," Lorelei added. "Thank you once again. It is an evening I shall never forget."

They moved away, allowing the young woman and her mother to continue to hold court with her admirers. When they were finally in the corridor, Desmond glanced about, trying to determine which of the doors might be the best choice for the kisses they meant to share.

He finally picked one that he remembered as a small parlor, and peeked inside. He sighed with relief that it was empty, pulling Lorelei in with him and closing the door.

He leaned against the door and drew her into his embrace. She linked her arms behind his neck, and despite the slightly darkened interior, he could see the amusement in her expression.

"I feared the musical performance might have dampened your ardor," she teased. "But it seems it has increased."

He placed his lips on hers, treasuring the softness, as well as the way she leaned into the kiss. He whispered against her mouth. "You can take all the credit for my ardor, Lorelei. Nothing is capable of dampening it."

"That is quite a declaration." She dotted kisses against his lips, exploring him slowly, as he had done with her hand earlier. "I am glad it is impossible to diminish. After all, we have a multitude of mistletoe berries in my reticule, and it may take quite some time to utilize each one."

He grinned and kissed the tip of her nose. "I am too impatient to have you withdraw a berry for each kiss. Could you estimate how many are contained there? We can count them off as we go along."

"An excellent plan. I counted easily a hundred, but there could be more. I had to halt in order to ensure we were not late this evening."

"A hundred?" He nodded as if considering the information. He kissed the shell of her ear, enjoying how she made the most delightful murmur of enjoyment. "We had best begin if we are to accomplish that number."

He wrapped his arms more tightly around her, pulling her into his very willing body, and kissed her with all the passion he possessed.

It was not long before they were both breathless and wanting more. Lorelei began to walk slowly backwards, his arms around her preventing a disastrous tumble. They bumped against the back of a settee.

Lorelei chuckled. "We could make better use of this if we were on the other side."

An unexpected male voice replied, "I hope you will allow me to make my exit first."

Lorelei gasped and then buried a laugh in Desmond's chest. Desmond kept his arms wrapped around her as the gentleman on the sofa slowly sat up, and then rose to his feet to greet them.

"My apologies," he said. "I had nipped in here for a brief respite. My daughter's singing—"

"Is unlike anything we have ever experienced," Desmond answered smoothly, hoping it sounded more like a compliment than it did to his own ears.

Lorelei spun around. "Truly," she added in a solemn voice.

The man grinned. "I love her dearly but the poor mite screeches like a mouse caught in a trap. I know nothing about music, however, so perhaps I am unable to appreciate it the way my wife does."

Once again, Desmond was at a loss how to answer, and Lorelei seemingly had nothing to offer either. Broad smiles were the best they could manage.

The man laughed as he headed for the door. "I shall not interrupt you further with my ramblings. I leave happy in the knowledge my daughter's musical abilities have inspired you."

"Indeed they have," Lorelei said, grinning.

The gentleman left, closing the door quietly behind him.

"Before we utilize any more of those berries," Desmond said, "we should survey the room, to ensure we are quite alone this time."

He took Lorelei's hand in his. They did not make much progress before the door opened once more, displaying another couple looking for a place to be alone.

"Oh, apologies," the young man said. He backed out of the doorway and closed it.

"It seems tonight's musical performance has inspired everyone to new heights," Lorelei said.

"Unfortunately it seems that is the case." He gave her nose a quick kiss. "I hope that mistletoe can last a bit longer, for I am wary of trying to utilize it tonight."

"As am I. What do you suggest?"

CHAPTER FIVE

LORELEI FOUGHT OFF A YAWN. She did her best to hide it but her sister saw it and chuckled.

"I cannot imagine why you could not sleep last night. You spent it alone, not with a handsome man—"

"Shh!" Lorelei said with a laugh, glancing towards Caroline and Henry. They were not listening, embroiled as they were with sorting paper strips that would be used soon, once Desmond arrived.

"Cannot a woman enjoy the anticipation of a new affair?" Lorelei continued. "There is no need to rush through it, especially when it merely makes the end arrive even sooner."

Beatrice rolled her eyes. Lorelei knew well her sister's disdain for Lorelei's philosophy about affairs. She wished she could believe the way Beatrice did, but her own experience made it difficult.

"Anticipation is not meant to be a long-term state," Beatrice said. "It is a part of the cycle of passion, which ends with both of you thoroughly sated, and then, if he is a good lover, it commences anew. Once more you anticipate, but with the knowledge of what awaits you." She grinned. "I know I am not divulging any secrets here."

Lorelei gave her sister a warning look, but a smile peeked out, ruining the effect. "You had best not tease me in this fashion when he arrives."

"I shall do my best to refrain. Though if he appears as drawn as you are, I may suggest the two of you hie off to an inn together. Merely as a medicinal remedy."

Lorelei did not have a chance to retort, for Desmond was being shown into the room. She could feel her stomach bouncing around with excitement, and her heart decided to add its own erratic rhythm. It was a wonder she could speak with any measure of calmness.

His eyes immediately sought her out, as soon as he entered, and his face lit up the moment he saw her. She must have responded in the same way, judging by her sister's chuckle.

They barely had a chance to make their greetings before the children ran to his side, ready to commandeer him for the decorating project.

He chuckled at their enthusiastic greeting. "I have come bearing gifts." Desmond handed her sister a bottle. "It is a medicinal brandy, though it appears you are quite hale and hearty now."

"We will keep it in reserve, in case you are in need of restoration after an hour spent with my boisterous children."

"It might be needed sooner," Lorelei said with a chuckle.

"What is boisterous?" Caroline demanded.

"I don't know. What is that?" her brother chimed in.

"It is exactly what both of you are in this moment," their mother answered. "And what you seem to be the majority of the hours of each day."

The children grinned at each other with pride. All of a sudden, Caroline remembered Desmond had mentioned gifts.

"Did you bring us something?"

Beatrice started to apologize for the impertinent question, but Desmond merely grinned. "I brought some cakes I commissioned for you."

"What does commissioned mean?" Caroline asked.

"There are so many words I don't know today," Henry said with a frown.

Lorelei helped Desmond remove the cloth from the basket he carried. "It means he had these created specifically for you, and nobody else."

They peeked inside and oohed and ahhed at the delicate cakes with the intricate icing and decoration. They began to giggle with delight. "Mama, can we have one?"

"Just one. With your tea. And then we will need to start working on these paper chains."

The children ran to the table to seat themselves, while their mother poured their tea. Lorelei set the basket on the tablecloth.

"Thank you for your kindness to Henry and Caroline," she said.

"It was pure selfishness on my part. I was glad to see the joy it brought them."

Lorelei fought off the temptation to kiss him. It would not do to scandalize her own family. Yet it was difficult to keep her emotion to herself. There was a great deal about Desmond that she liked, and each moment with him merely increased those feelings.

"If we were in a more private setting, I would be kissing you," she confessed.

"I have spent every hour since our last meeting with thoughts of your kisses. In truth, I have become rather adept at imaginary kissing."

"I have as well," she laughed. "I wonder if we were indulging in this imaginary kissing at the same time."

"I would not be surprised." His eyes took on a devilish cast. "Based on the path my thoughts took afterwards—"

Lorelei tried to give him a warning look but failed. Her thoughts were on the same trajectory, based on the heated response of her body just then. She was tempted to make some sort of excuse so they might sneak away for a brief moment…

"Tea is ready," Beatrice announced, her eyes twinkling as if aware of what she had just interrupted.

They seated themselves at the table with the children. Lorelei wondered if it would prove to be too humble for Desmond, but he seemed as comfortable as if he had been a member of their family for ages.

"My mama is already married," the little girl told Desmond. "But Auntie Lorelei is not."

Lorelei nearly choked on the sip of tea she had just taken. Her sister merely shrugged, a smile flitting about her lips.

"I shall tuck that information in my pocket for safekeeping." Desmond made the gesture, pulling his waistcoat pocket out and peeking inside, and then patting it closed. The little pantomime set the child off into peals of laughter. "I will also know where to go for such valuable information in the future."

Henry, not wanting to be outdone, piped up with, "Auntie Lorelei smiles a lot more when she sees you."

"Does she? She certainly makes me smile every time I set eyes on her." Desmond displayed an exaggerated smile that had the children cackling.

Lorelei joined in the laughter. "It is impossible to have any secrets with these two divulging everything."

Desmond said, "I believe they are keen observers, and are merely relating what they see." He gave Lorelei a quick wink. "Another bit of information I shall tuck away to be used at a later date."

Beatrice urged the children to finish their cakes. "Do not forget we have decorations to make."

Soon the table had been cleared of teacups and plates, replaced with brightly colored strips of paper and pots of glue.

"It has been a long while since I have done this," Desmond said. "I hope you do not keep the secret of how it is done to yourselves."

"We can help you," Henry said solemnly.

Caroline nodded. "It is not too hard."

They commenced pasting the ends of the paper together, showing Desmond how to link the next piece of paper before sealing it closed. He watched avidly before attempting it, following their instructions.

"You did it!" the little girl said.

"I had excellent instruction," Desmond replied.

Her brother beamed at the praise.

Everyone joined in, Lorelei and her sister regaling the children with stories of how they had done the very same activity when they were younger.

"Do you remember how we made our own jewelry?" Lorelei asked. She circled her wrist with a strand.

"And a scarf." Her sister wrapped a strand around her neck and then preened for her children. "I am quite dashing, aren't I?"

Desmond pretended to pout. "I feel quite plain in comparison."

Caroline jumped down from her chair, trailing a long paper chain. She stood on her tiptoes next to Desmond. He tipped his head down so she could place the strand about his neck. Henry rushed over to help her arrange it.

"I shall have to give my valet the boot and replace him with this pair." He grinned at Lorelei. "I believe I have never appeared so festive in my life."

"You are indeed a sight to behold," she answered truthfully. His grin broadened.

Finally, all of the paper had been glued together, and numerous chains had been made, and it was time for Desmond to leave. Lorelei could see he was reluctant to depart. He began to unwrap the chain still hanging about his neck.

"No, you must take it with you," Caroline insisted.

"You are certain?"

Henry added his agreement. "We have plenty, thanks to your help."

"I must thank you for your assistance. And now I leave with a token of it."

The children grinned and made their farewells, imploring him to return so they might have tea again. Desmond insisted he would be on their doorstep before they had a chance to notice he was gone. Lorelei's sister also thanked him and then herded the children into the next room.

"I know she did so in order to give us a more private leave-taking," Desmond said. "I wonder if you might be amenable to a short stroll with me."

Lorelei glanced quickly from side to side, ensuring they were quite alone. She placed a quick kiss against his lips. "I would relish a stroll."

She went to fetch her pelisse and bonnet. It was no surprise that her sister was waiting, both items in hand, a grin on her face.

"You know he is perfect for you. I do not know how you continue to resist."

Lorelei donned the pelisse, fastening it quickly, and then ensured her bonnet was perfectly tied. "I am not resisting. I am merely enjoying this phase of the passion cycle, remember?"

Beatrice snorted, gently pushing Lorelei towards the door. "Hurry along. I am impatient for you to advance to the next stage."

Lorelei laughed and went to join Desmond.

DESMOND RESTED his gloved hand atop Lorelei's. He enjoyed the feel of her hand nestled in the crook of his elbow.

"Are you certain you are warm enough?" she asked.

"Of course." He pointed to the paper chain still around his neck. "The scarf we made this afternoon is doing a formidable job."

She grinned. "I feared it was more decorative than utilitarian."

"An easy mistake to make."

Lorelei stopped, standing in front of him. "You quite made their afternoon. I am certain to hear about it endlessly for the days ahead."

"I enjoyed myself immensely. I have no brothers or sisters, so I did not have many of these occasions while growing up. Except when visiting Martin and his numerous siblings." He enjoyed watching the various emotions flitting across her face. "I rather envy you and your sister, and the easy camaraderie you have with the children."

"There were many times when I wished I did not have a sibling," she said with a laugh. "We are so close in age that it often seemed like a rivalry. Now it is hard to imagine we ever felt that way."

They continued strolling again, the crisp air circling them, frosting their breath as they exhaled. The sun was low in the sky but doing its best to emit as much light for the time it had left. Desmond would have been content, though, if it were nightfall or the midst of a blizzard.

Lorelei brightened his surroundings, and his outlook.

"There is a scarcity of mistletoe at the moment," she said playfully. "What do you suggest as a solution?"

Desmond pretended to ponder the notion. "I could give you an IOU, promising to repay you at a future date. Would that suffice?"

"I think it will work perfectly. Otherwise we would have to resort to imaginary kissing."

"No need for that when we are both available for actual kissing."

Lorelei raised up on her tiptoes and pressed a heated kiss to his lips. He responded instantly. He gathered her into his arms, but the paper chain bunched up, crackling in protest and hindering his ability to kiss Lorelei the way he wanted. She grinned and slowly unwound the length from his neck.

"Be careful not to crush it," he said. "I mean to wear it at my next visit."

Her expression softened at his words. Instead of replying, she kissed him tenderly, as if revealing emotions she did not wish to say aloud. He returned the kiss, his own heart feeling similarly. It was not long before the tenderness turned more passionate. Her body pressed against his, stirring more riotous emotions, making him wish they were right then at his hunting lodge.

"I hope to visit it soon," she replied.

"Ah, so I did say that aloud," he chuckled, kissing her once more.

"Does your lodge need decorating?" She held up the chain still in her hands.

He answered with another passionate kiss. "The only decoration it requires is you, Lorelei."

CHAPTER SIX

DESMOND ADJUSTED the reins in his hands. He was thankful it had not snowed for quite some time. The roads were clear, and the cold temperatures had ensured they were not muddy. He stopped the carriage at the Goddard doorstep.

The children must have been watching for his arrival through the window. They bounded out the front door, filled with energy and enthusiasm, as always. Their eyes widened at the sight of the paper chain scarf he wore, a perfect match to the one adorning the horse's neck. He doffed his hat, giving them a ceremonious bow, which set them off into peals of laughter.

"Mama! Come quick!"

"Mr. Mayfield's horse is wearing a paper chain!"

Lorelei and her sister appeared on the doorstep, and Lorelei let loose that rich laugh he adored so much. Her eyes were once again filled with indulgence when she gazed at him. It was a prize like no other. He would go to any length to have her look at him like that every day of his life.

"I should reconsider my attire," she said. "I am not anywhere as decorative as you are."

"You are the ultimate in decoration." He assisted her into the carriage. "I hope you do not mind it being open. I thought we could enjoy the fresh air."

"It will keep you from overheating," Beatrice said mischievously. "Oh, I nearly forgot. I have a few things to send with you."

"I shall be returning before nightfall," Lorelei said, "and I am certain Mr. Mayfield has a cook who can prepare a meal if needed."

Her sister pretended she did not hear and went inside the doorway. She returned with a small valise. "Just a few trinkets. To aid with your decorating efforts."

Desmond stowed the bag in the carriage by Lorelei's feet. "I ensured my staff gathered all of the items on the list Lorelei sent round earlier. There is an abundance of greenery, just waiting for our efforts. But I am certain these will be welcome."

"I am certain they will be, too," Beatrice said, grinning.

"We can help decorate," Caroline piped up.

"We are very good helpers," Henry added.

Desmond knelt in front of them. "I appreciate your offer. I promise I will have you come see our efforts, once everything is completed."

"That would be splendid," their mother answered before they could protest. "Now go inside before it gets too cold."

They obeyed, chattering about the time Martin warned them against freezing their noses against the shop window. Desmond chuckled and ensured Lorelei was settled, before getting into the carriage and gathering the reins again.

Lorelei waved to her sister, and then they were off, Desmond's heart racing as fast as the horse carrying them to the next adventure.

DESMOND WATCHED as Lorelei carefully festooned the mantle with several strands of ivy.

"An interesting choice," he commented.

She turned and bestowed a dazzling smile on him. "I thought we could include Saturnalia in our celebrations."

"I am all for ancient Roman festivities. But where does the ivy fit in?"

"It is intended to cure overindulgence."

He frowned. "I am not sure I believe that."

"About ivy?"

"No, that there is such a thing as overindulgence."

She laughed. "I can see how you would doubt that. You have probably devoted your life to indulging in indulgence."

"Can you think of a better pursuit?" He added a kiss to her very willing lips.

"I wonder if I could be persuaded to your view."

"I wonder that too. We should at least attempt it."

"I agree." She glanced out the window. "What a surprise. It has started to snow."

Desmond turned his head that direction. "I requested it actually."

"In the hopes we would be snowed in here?"

He waggled his eyebrows, eliciting a rich laugh from her. "It is the perfect opportunity to test our theory about overindulgence."

"I agree." Lorelei reached into the valise Beatrice had insisted she bring along. She lifted out a lacy chemise, and a sheer night-rail. "These are not decorations."

"Oh, I disagree," Desmond said. "Most vehemently. I can only imagine how decorative these will prove to be."

"Your staff might be shocked to see my undergarments draped amongst the ivy and evergreen branches."

"Fortunately, I sent them away to enjoy the holidays with their loved ones. We can have the decorations removed long before they return."

"Giving us plenty of occasions to overindulge."

Desmond chuckled. "I only hope we have enough ivy to counteract all of it."

"Let us find out."

THEY HAD FOUND their way upstairs, laughing and kissing, with Desmond answering every one of Lorelei's questions about his home. It gratified her that he did not seem in a hurry to get to his bedchamber, even though she knew he was eagerly anticipating those moments as much as she was.

He closed the door behind them, and Lorelei turned, silently asking Desmond for a kiss. He instantly complied, following the kiss with another, and yet another, until Lorelei was nearly overwhelmed by the ripple of pleasure he produced.

"You are quite good at this," she murmured.

"Can you believe," he said, nibbling at her bottom lip, "I have not had a single lesson."

She chuckled. "Not a one?"

He shook his head, his eyes gleaming with amusement. "Though if I am in need of instruction—"

She doubted Desmond would ever need guidance where her body was concerned. It seemed he knew it perfectly already, before she had even disrobed. He continued the gentle assault on her senses, eliciting another shudder, or perhaps it was caused by her anticipating what was next.

"You are certain we are quite alone?" she asked with a grin.

He made a big show of surveying the room. "The settee is empty," he reported, "which I can confirm since it is facing me. No chance of anyone surprising us there. And the bed is quite empty, too. At least for the moment. I cannot imagine anyone would try to hide in the wardrobe, but just to be certain—"

He pretended to take a step that direction, but Lorelei halted him, laughing at his antics. "They shall have to see to their own entertainment then."

She pulled his head towards hers and he responded with gentle kisses, trailing across her cheekbones and the shell of her ear. It felt as though he were worshipping her. She nearly pushed him away, warning him not to make more of this than it was. Yet the sensations were too thrilling. Her body responded instantly to each new caress. She craved another kiss as soon as the last one ceased.

How could she continue to resist when every cell of her being wanted just the opposite?

Desmond tilted his head back, studying her expression. She shook her head, smiling, not wanting her fears to spoil this moment. She kissed him, deeply, pouring all of her passion into it. He responded in the same fashion.

"I had envisioned a slow unveiling," she teased, "but you are making that a near impossibility."

"I am glad to hear it, since I am experiencing the same."

She stepped back a pace. "Shall I go first?"

"I can thinking of nothing I desire more."

She laughed and pushed at him gently until he was seated in a nearby chair. "In case you find yourself with knees that go wobbly."

He grinned and put his hand at her nape, drawing her towards him for another delicious kiss. "I appreciate your concern. And I promise to return the favor."

He placed his lips on hers. He took his time, nibbling and caressing, urging her to open to him. She sank onto his lap, not even aware at first that she'd done so, but it was the only choice after a kiss that completely stole her breath. It completely stole her wits, as well. She could not think of anything but kissing him, nearly forgetting the intimate contact was a prelude to even more passion.

She rested her forehead against his mouth. "You are fortunate I had the foresight to insist you be seated."

He chuckled, and the rumbling against her skin was comforting, even in the midst of the passion he incited. "Indeed, I am. Is there anything else you recommend I do?"

The wicked gleam in his eyes set her heart fluttering, and the rest of her body became more insistent for his attention. "For now you can remain where you are. I will be sure to ask for your assistance, however, if it is needed."

"I sincerely hope it is. I stand—er, sit—ready for your command."

She gave him another light kiss before leaning back, untying her bodice and letting it fall open. His eyes flickered with obvious interest but he did not reach toward her, as she expected. She tugged at the chemise underneath. "It does not appear to be cooperating."

"I would be glad to offer my assistance," he answered. It took only a moment to remove the offending article, displaying her breasts to him.

Lorelei shivered at the heat in his gaze. He gently cupped his hands around her, smoothing her skin with his touch, watching her expression the entire time. The intensity was too much to bear. She closed her eyes.

In the next instant, his mouth was on her nipple, inciting a riot of passion she had never experienced before now.

It rattled her. This was meant to be an enjoyable diversion, another one to add to previous pleasurable pastimes, yet it seemed Desmond had other ideas in mind.

She did not have the strength to resist these newfound feelings, however. She gave in, telling herself there would be plenty of time at a later date to examine all of it. For now, she wanted to experience everything he was offering.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, ensuring the delicious sensations would not cease. He lifted his head momentarily, to see if she enjoyed his ministrations, and she gave him a brief smile before tilting his head towards the other breast.

She found herself moving about on his lap, recognizing the passion building inside would need a release. She was not ready, though. Desmond did not seem inclined to let her resist. His lips continued their passionate assault while his hand began slowly moving her skirts out of the way. His fingers caressed the bare skin of her leg.

The jolt of excitement nearly undid her. She bit back a moan, but it was followed by another, spurring Desmond to be even bolder. His hand rested for a moment on her thigh. He gave her mouth another deep kiss, drawing her in even deeper, while his fingers began a passionate exploration she had been craving.

"Lorelei," he said almost reverently. His touch was utterly sinful, though. He knew it, too, and he continued the slow caressing while watching her. She wriggled, not entirely sure if she was trying to get away or demanding to have more. She quickly discovered Desmond was not unmoved by their passionate play.

She dropped her hand to his breeches, gliding her touch over the entire length covered by the fabric. She was tempted to make a quip about his unveiling, but his groan of pleasure, followed by another heated kiss, distracted her.

His fingers became more insistent, caressing the knot of pleasure between her thighs until it was nearly unbearable.

"Desmond," she pleaded.

He answered her entreaty with what she craved. His fingers slid inside, slowly at first, and then more insistently. Lorelei opened herself to him, desperate for more of his touch. She moved until she was straddling his legs, her skirts hiked up in the most scandalous fashion, and her head tipped back.

Desmond did not hesitate. He held her tightly around the waist with one arm, and pleasured her until she could not hold back any longer. Her body tightened around his fingers, pulsing and drawing him deeper, and then when she could not bear it any longer, she cried out, shaking with her release.

DESMOND HELD LORELEI TIGHTLY, his heart thundering as she came undone. He had anticipated how exciting this moment would be, yet it had still bowled him over.

He dotted kisses on her temple and across her cheeks, easing her back to the present. She blinked slowly, and then she favored him with a low, delighted laugh. His skin tingled hearing it. The sound had always thrilled him, but now it was elicited by a different sort of pleasure, making it even more intimate. He suspected his desire for that delicious sound would never be sated.

He was tempted to take her right there, in the chair, but it did not entirely suit him. "It appears we need more practice at this unveiling thing," he said. "Wrap your arms about my neck." When she did so, he stood, his arms holding her tightly. She circled his waist with her legs.

He moved towards the bed. He would have hurried, but Lorelei kept distracting him with her kisses and squeezing him with her legs. His knees were feeling a bit wobbly from all the passionate attention. Her laugh told him she was well aware of that fact.

Fortunately, the bed was only a few paces away. Desmond set her on the mattress and then followed when she lay back against it. Though she was temptingly displayed, with her skirts above her thighs, and her bodice covering next-to-nothing, he was still fully clothed.

Uncomfortably so.

He stood once more and began tearing at his cravat, and then his waistcoat. Lorelei lifted herself onto her elbows, grinning as she watched him trying to disrobe. His hands wanted to touch her, too.

"Quite the dilemma," she teased.

"An unbearable one. I almost wish I had another pair of hands—"

She raised hers. "Will these do?"

He leaned forward and gave her a pert kiss. "Yes. I just cannot decide which task they should have."

"I could do this," she offered, sliding his waistcoat from his shoulders. "And of course, this is well within my abilities." His linen cravat was quickly dispatched, and then she tugged his shirt from his breeches. He pulled it over his head and tossed it behind him.

Her eyes lit up with appreciation. Then her gaze dropped lower, and a slow smile appeared on her lips. "If you are in need of additional assistance—"

He removed the breeches in record time. "I have a task in mind, actually."

"It cannot be deemed a task," she said, "not when it brings such pleasure."

Simply hearing her utter the word "pleasure" caused his body to respond in a riotous fashion. She watched his reactions, all while peeling away the rest of her clothing and throwing it aside without any concern for where it landed. He was her sole focus. It was exhilarating.

Desmond raced to her, tumbling them both onto the silk counterpane, his senses reeling from her bare skin melded to his. He moved against her, relishing the feel of touching her everywhere, without any constraints. She pulled his head down for another kiss. This one lasted for an eternity and still was over too quickly.

Yet he needed more than just kisses. Her quickened breaths told him she needed more, too. He lavished his attention everywhere—her lips, her eyelids, her elegant neck. His hands explored every bare inch exposed to his gaze. Her curves enticed him. Her responses incited him.

He moved until his mouth was hovering over the spot that had created such pleasure for her earlier. He lowered his head, while she gently raised toward him. The meeting was a perfect one. He gripped her lush bottom, intent on pleasuring her while trying to keep his own need at bay. It became even more of a challenge with her every moan of delight.

He could feel his need increasing, and did not know how long he could hold off. In the next instant, she broke apart, wailing his name.

He reveled in every moment of her release, his heart pounding, his senses ready to explode. Lorelei reached her hands toward him.

He did not hesitate. He entered her slowly, nearly light-headed from the exquisite pleasure of her heat surrounding him. She circled her arms and legs around him. He rocked against her, pushing deeper, and she tightened, squeezing him and then releasing. Desmond caught his breath. This temptress would be the end of him. He was unable to resist her, though. In truth, he would never try to resist.

It was now his goal to ensure she could not resist him.

He spun them until he was laying on the mattress, and Lorelei was atop him. She continued to rock against him. He increased the pace, thrilled to see the pink flush across her chest, her nipples tightening, too. Her movements became more frenzied, matching his emotions. He rubbed the spot between her thighs while she rode him. She placed her hands on his chest, pressing her bottom harder against him.

He could hold back no longer. He grabbed her nape and held her tightly while he plunged deeper inside. She matched his every move. When she cried out, Desmond did, too, embracing her while swamped with a passionate release like nothing he had ever known.

One he never wanted to know with anyone but Lorelei.

DESMOND WATCHED as Lorelei opened her eyes. They were bright, filled with happiness. The self-satisfied smile she added convinced him of that, as well.

She gave him a kiss. "You have definitely persuaded me."

His heart did a hopeful dance. "Really?"

"I am glad you insisted I exclude ivy from this room. I cannot wait to overindulge again."

He brushed aside the flicker of disappointment. "I can definitely agree with that. I shall need a moment's respite, however. To my surprise, and utter delight, it is quite exhausting having a temptress in my bed."

"Do you need sustenance?" When he leaned towards her, she laughed. "I meant food. And perhaps wine."

"I suppose those will suffice for now. But we will have to find them ourselves. It seemed a good idea to send everyone off, but now, with the snow, they cannot easily return."

"I hope they left us something behind. It would be a shame for you to waste away, unable to satisfy our desires."

Desmond laughed. "I would not worry about that just yet. Come. Let us see what the kitchens have, so we can fortify ourselves for future overindulgences."

Lorelei scooted down from the bed. She grabbed his shirt from its perch on the arm of a nearby chair and slipped it over her head.

"Quite fetching," he said. "Though now I shall have to find something else for myself."

"Your breeches should be sufficient. After all, we are quite alone, so there is no need to worry about causing a scandal."

He pulled her close. "I like causing a scandal, especially with you."

"We shall add it to the list."

"What list is that?"

"Things to do when the mistletoe runs out."

He laughed. "I hope it never does."

She tilted her head, and it seemed that her smile dimmed slightly. "It is bound to. It always does."

Before he could quiz her further, she tossed his breeches at him, pretending to tap her foot impatiently.

"I would hope to see that particular gesture when I am slow at removing them, not donning them."

"I will repeat it when we return, after I have sated my appetite." She laughed at his exaggerated eyebrow wiggling. "For food."

He pulled the breeches on, giving her a mock scowl. "Let us see what sort of food might sate you, Lorelei the temptress. I cannot wait to find out."

LORELEI SAT ON THE SETTEE, facing the roaring fire, yet her attention was split between the tray Desmond placed on a nearby table, and the sight of a near-blizzard outside the parlor's French doors.

"Hopefully there is enough food to see us through this storm," she commented. "I did not expect it to continue this long."

"I believe we shall be fine. This is just a portion of what I found in the kitchens." He had filled the tray with cheeses, and cold meats, and rolls, along with an array of desserts. "Though I am not certain I can utilize the stove, so we may have to content ourselves with this for now."

"I am perfectly content." The words brought a smile to his face, and she worried he might misinterpret the meaning. She was perfectly content, but it did not mean it could be sustained well into the future. She brushed aside the thoughts, sitting forward so she could survey the food. "I shall fill a plate for you if you would find some wine."

"That is easily managed."

She piled his plate with everything imaginable, handing it to him when he returned with a bottle of claret. He set the wine on the table, along with two glasses.

"I did not think I had put that much on the tray," he commented. "Clearly you mean to see that I am well fortified."

She gave him a wink. "And plied with drink."

He took the plate and nestled next to her on the settee. "Now you shall have to pour the wine for us."

She did, and they sipped it, nibbling on the food in a companionable silence. She did not usually care for quiet, afraid it signaled disinterest, as it had happened that way in her marriage. Yet she was surprisingly satisfied in that particular moment.

Was it possible things could be different?

Desmond leaned toward her and motioned for her to open her mouth. "Is that not the best pickle you have ever tasted?"

Her face wrinkled up at the sour taste. "I am not usually enamored of them."

He chuckled, handing her a roll. She tore off a piece and chewed it. When she had swallowed, he murmured, "I must note that pickles are not to be added to the tray next time."

"Are you memorizing which foods I like and dislike?"

He nodded, taking another sip of wine. "I want to know all of your likes and dislikes." He winked. "How else can I sate every one of your desires?"

"I like your strategy. I must know all of yours, as well."

"I shall start then. I prefer beefsteak to salmon, and spring peas to carrots, though what I find most enjoyable is that sound you made when you were about to come apart in my arms. Twice."

She laughed. "I should be blushing at your outrageousness, but I find myself wanting to compete with it."

"Just as I had hoped."

Lorelei grinned, pondering how she should respond. "I prefer salmon to beefsteak, and carrots are superior to spring peas." She took a long sip of wine, relishing his visible impatience. "And when I was imagining kissing you, I did not let my thoughts stop there."

His eyebrows flew upwards. "And?"

"My imagination was paltry in comparison. Though just to be sure, perhaps later—"

"Of course. I quite agree we should see how they compare." He took a bit of cheese and chewed it thoughtfully. "What is it like to be married?"

Lorelei nearly choked on her wine at the unexpected question. She could see that he was quite earnest, however. She was not certain she wished to spend their time together with such a weighty subject, so she quipped, "That was definitely much better in my imagination."

"Truly? Why was that?" When she did not reply, he was instantly apologetic. "I did not mean to pry. I have spent my entire life having my parents' marriage held up as the paragon of a love story. It seems mythically unattainable at times, so I often wonder what others experience when they plight their troth."

Lorelei was fascinated by his answer. It made her confess more than she normally would have. "I wonder if my lack of wedded bliss was due to my expectations of a love story such as you describe."

"I hope you were not miserable."

"No, it was never anything but bland. It almost seemed that once I had pledged my future to him, my husband lost interest." She laughed at the comical look of shock on Desmond's face. "It is true. Granted, it took a few months, but then we settled into this routine of pleasantly describing our plans for the day, and once we carried them out, pleasantly describing them to each other at dinner."

Desmond looked completely horrified. "I cannot imagine wasting my time with you in such a fashion."

His words seemed so genuine that it was tempting to let herself believe he might always feel that way. But experience had taught her well, and she refused to learn that painful lesson twice.

It was best to enjoy the brief time with Desmond she had allotted herself, and, since it was speeding along, there was not a moment to squander. Yet she could not permit him to believe there was any future for this affair.

"Desire must come to an end, I suppose. And when it does…" She shrugged.

"Perhaps there are people who suffer from a deficiency of desire, and you had the misfortune of encountering one of them."

"A deficiency of desire?" she laughed. "You make it seem as though it is similar to a lack of nutrients."

"It is." He gave her a kiss. "And then there are those, you and I in particular, who have so much desire, the ancients decreed the hanging of ivy in a vain attempt to cure our affliction."

"You may have a point," she said. "I think a demonstration might prove useful, to persuade me completely about this endless supply of desire you believe in."

"I am happy to oblige. I must set the scene, to ensure you cannot contest the results at a later date." He removed the shirt of his she had been wearing, exposing her completely to his view. "Such a beautiful display. I nearly forgot what it is I am meant to demonstrate."

She leaned in and gave him a slow, deep kiss, treasuring how quickly he responded. "I have an idea. Would you like to see what I had imagined, when I thought of us like this?"

DESMOND CLASPED A PEACEFULLY SLEEPING Lorelei in his arms. The settee was not built to hold two adults lying side by side, though he wished it had been. Still, they had managed to make it work in their favor earlier, when she had sat atop him, facing the fireplace instead of him. And he had not been able to refuse the invitation when she had scampered to the other side of the sofa, leaning over it in all her naked glory.

Now, though, she slept in his embrace, thoroughly satisfied. He was satisfied, too, though he was slightly troubled by her admissions about her marriage. She had not repeated her earlier words to him, from the night they had first met, about only indulging in short affairs. She had not needed to, because he understood perfectly that was all she was offering, even now.

Normally he could content himself with that. He squeezed her just a little bit tighter. Unfortunately, now he wanted more of her. He would have to persuade her the best he could to see things his way.

"See things in what way?" Lorelei murmured, rubbing at her nose as she tried to wake.

"I was hoping to persuade you it was time to return to my bedchamber."

"Yes! That is something I can agree to."

Desmond helped her to her feet, and they made their way upstairs, giving him plenty of time to wonder if she would ever agree to more.

CHAPTER SEVEN

DESMOND SPURRED his horse into a gallop. The snowstorm had not lasted as long as he had hoped, and it seemed much too soon that he had returned Lorelei to her sister's home. She had thanked him for the visit, yet had not given him any indication she would make room for him on her calendar in the upcoming year.

Why could he not persuade Lorelei to view their affair as something that could last beyond the holiday festivities?

He had chosen to ride hell for leather across the countryside in the hopes he could rid himself of his frustration. Before he realized it, he was nearing his parents' home. He had not intended to stop by, but if his mother learned he had been in the vicinity and had not come to see her…

Which is how he found himself sitting in her parlor, gnashing his teeth against the delicate teacup, wishing it contained something a lot stronger.

"Darling, why are you making those dreadful growling sounds?" His mother's words might have been chiding, but her tone was nothing but concern.

His father chuckled. "I'll wager he is biding his time until he can depart, without causing you to rail at him for leaving so quickly."

"No, it is not that…"

His parents, seated next to each other, watched as he tried to come up with an answer that would not provoke another round of questioning.

"I am a bit disgruntled about something that does not concern you."

"It always concerns me," his mother said, "especially if it involves your happiness."

His father lifted her hand and gently clasped it in his. It was a tender gesture Desmond had seen hundreds of times while growing up, yet today it irritated him, since it seemed to demonstrate he might never have that with Lorelei. At one time, the lack would have been because of his resistance, but now he was on the receiving end.

"I would rather hear how the both of you are faring," Desmond said, changing the subject. "You are recovering rather well, I see."

His father bristled at the mention of his recent injury, but finished with a grin. "Yes, I am doing quite well. A good reminder that I wish to remain here for many years to come." He lifted his wife's hand to his lips, pressing a deep kiss to it. His mother returned a smile that was not exactly beatific.

Desmond's lips twisted wryly. "It is a mystery why I do not have any siblings."

His mother chuckled. "You are as impudent as ever."

"I fear I am. And you two are even more devoted than before. I did not think it possible."

"A life-threatening injury will do that, I suppose," his mother added.

"It was not life-threatening," his father protested. "It did prevent me from some of my favorite activities for a while—"

Desmond held up a hand. "Please, try to remember this is your son you are conversing with."

"You are out of sorts," his mother said. "Perhaps you need a new amour."

Desmond did his best to halt it but the sigh escaped anyway.

"Yes. Of course," his father said. "He has a new amour, but there are complications. Surely we can assist you with these troubles."

Desmond grinned. His parents were avidly devoted to each other, and had been their entire lives. He imagined they would spend their afterlife equally enthralled with each other. Yet they loved their son just as much, if not more, and could not bear that he might be unhappy.

"Your love story is one that everyone still talks about. I cannot believe you know the first thing about complications when it comes to matters of the heart."

His father snorted, while his mother burst into laughter.

"It has been nothing but complications," she said. "Your father can be so maddening there are days it would have brought me great joy to toss him from his horse."

"It is true," his father said, nodding sagely. "And there were times I was ready to throw myself from my mount because she had caused me no end of frustration."

Desmond sat forward, eager to hear more. "Yet that has only been recently."

"Not at all. I was frustrated beyond belief when we were first courting." His dad's gaze stayed pinned to his wife's face. "She did not believe my intentions were honorable…"

"He was the most renowned scoundrel," she added tenderly. "How could I believe he meant to be anything but scandalous? Women everywhere were throwing themselves at him."

"I fought my way out of that crowd, only to see you surrounded by a bevy of rogues and roués."

Desmond chuckled. "I feel I am hearing the outline of a Drury Lane production."

His father gave him a mock glare. "I can only hope you never experience such agony, knowing the woman who has your heart thinks you are merely trifling with her. Though it seems now you have."

"It was only to be expected," his mother said. "With Desmond's reputation."

Desmond winced. He had spent several years being a bit of a scoundrel, a man who could be counted on for a short affair, filled with enjoyment, but nothing beyond a few weeks or months. Now he had met a woman who viewed love in the same fashion—the way he had until he had encountered her.

"I do not think it is my reputation that is the problem," he confessed. "The woman I—uh, Lorelei—she seems to believe love cannot endure for very long. I am unable to persuade her otherwise, though I have done my best to do so."

"Oh, that saddens me," his mother said. "Why does she feel that way?"

"Her own experience with love, as well as marriage. She is a widow, and determined to remain unattached."

"I cannot believe she is able to resist you," his mother said.

His father chuckled. "I doubt she does. Yet it seems she is able to sidestep what Desmond now wants—a long-lasting love."

"Any suggestions for me?" Desmond tried to keep the question light, even though he was eager to hear what they could offer, hoping it would help to change Lorelei's mind.

"I have one or two," his mother said. "But I believe your father has more that will prove beneficial, based on his experience." She stood and walked to where Desmond sat, kissing his forehead. "Do not despair just yet."

She left, and Desmond watched his father gazing at the love of his life as though he could not believe his good fortune. It had always bemused him, their unabashed love for each other, yet now he felt bereft. Would such a love be forever out of his reach?

"Your mother is correct," his father answered. "Do not despair just yet."

"I have a few stages to go before I completely descend into despair," Desmond laughed. "Though I would not mind avoiding it entirely. I much prefer the happier phases."

"Tell me how you came to meet this woman. It will perhaps give us a clue as to how to proceed."

"A chance meeting with Martin started it. I asked if he was still involved with matchmaking, and asked him to assist me."

"That sounds like a promising beginning."

"It was, and then it took a bit of a twist." He explained how Lorelei was not actually the woman he had meant to meet, yet he could not imagine anyone suiting him more perfectly. "I think I lost my heart that very evening."

"I can sympathize. Though it does not tell me what we should do next."

Desmond grinned at his co-conspirator. "Martin will be dismayed that I am relying on a different matchmaker."

"He will not need to know. Besides, I am merely his assistant, working behind the scenes to ensure his matchmaking reputation continues intact." He paused. "Perhaps it might help if we determine how you were able to change your mind."

"That is quite brilliant," Desmond said. "Yet I am not certain I can articulate it. I was slightly predisposed to the notion when I first spoke with Martin. Then I met Lorelei."

"Martin could try to speak with her, I suppose." His father grinned. "Though I wonder if we might have more success if she comes here for a visit."

Desmond pondered that as well. "I like that idea." Everyone was so inspired by his parents' enduring love affair. Surely it would inspire Lorelei, possibly even convincing her it was possible for her, with him.

It was worth a try. He had spent his entire life believing the same as Lorelei when it came to love, yet once she had caught his eye, he had quickly seen how wrong he had been. It gave him hope that she was amenable to change as well.

His mother came back into the room, followed by a servant carrying a tea tray. "I thought you might need some refreshment while plotting."

Desmond grinned. "I believe we have finished our plotting and have moved now into the execution phase."

"I am delighted to hear it! We shall meet this paragon soon then?"

"Yes, quite soon. I propose we invite her sister, as well as her niece and nephew."

"Oh, that would be wonderful," his mother said. "It has been too long since there have been young children here, especially at the holiday season."

"They are a delight," Desmond answered. "It has been a joy to spend time with them recently."

His mother raised her eyebrows, giving his father a knowing look. "Then yes, they must be included in the festivities."

His father grinned. "At least let us have the party before you send notices to the papers, my love."

She clucked her tongue. "Silly man. I plan to invite the vicar instead."

They all laughed, and discussed the plans for the upcoming party, everyone's heart lightened by the thought of ensuring Desmond's future happiness.

"I SWEAR you are fidgeting more than the children," Beatrice said.

Lorelei clasped her hands piously in her lap. "I was merely adjusting my gloves—"

"And your bonnet, and the buttons of your pelisse, and a stray tendril of hair," her sister teased. "Why are you so nervous?"

She came close to confessing she was anxious about seeing Desmond's family. She would have declined the invitation, had he not insisted his mother was eager to have young children in the house again. It would have been churlish to refuse her, and Caroline and Henry would have been so disappointed.

Yet it all seemed too momentous. How could she continue to believe her brief affair with Desmond was simply that, when he was including their families, expanding the number of people she would likely disappoint when she called an end to their holiday amour?

"I am not nervous," she fibbed, pasting a big smile on her face.

Her sister gave her a mock glare.

"Fine, I am nervous at the thought of meeting his family. It has been a long while since I have done something similar, and I am a bit out of practice."

"It is a simple holiday gathering, not a prelude to a marriage settlement. Though if that is required," Beatrice added with a grin, "I will be happy to assist with the negotiations."

Lorelei did not have a chance to reply, for they were turning onto a long gravel driveway, heading towards Mayfield Manor.

"Mama, is that where we are going?" Caroline's eyes were wide with amazement.

"Yes, it is."

"I want to live there!" Henry exclaimed.

"I do, too!" Caroline added.

"Let's not pack our valises just yet," Lorelei said with a laugh. "Or at least wait until you have been introduced to the Mayfield family."

Her words fell on deaf ears, for the children were making all sorts of fantastical plans, merely from seeing the outside of the building. She had to admit it was impressive. It was likely hundreds of years old, the stone face a lovely golden color, the entire thing sitting in the midst of rolling hills. It was meant to display wealth, yet it also exuded stability, and longevity, and family.

She did not allow herself to ponder that. They were at the front door, the carriage Desmond had sent for them slowing and then drawing to a halt. Desmond was waiting. A smile brightened his face as he opened the carriage door.

"Welcome! We have been waiting impatiently for your arrival."

"We have been waiting too," Caroline said. She launched herself from the carriage, and Desmond quickly caught her and swung her around before setting the squealing child on her feet.

"It is my turn now!" Henry leapt, as if he had been ordered to abandon ship, yet Desmond was prepared. He tossed the boy into the air and caught him deftly, grinning as Henry cackled gleefully.

"Mama, are you going to jump, too?"

"I do not think I will." Beatrice stepped down from the carriage, carefully placing her foot on the step, and then making her way to where her children stood. "But maybe Auntie will."

Lorelei narrowed her eyes at her sister, but it had no effect, especially since the fiend joined with the children, chanting, "Yes, yes, yes!"

Desmond stepped closer to the carriage door. "How would you prefer I catch you?"

"Preferably in such a way that I do not tumble to the ground," she laughed.

"I can promise that will not happen. After all," his eyes gleamed with mischief, "though I have not had a lesson, not a single one, I do practice every day."

She burst into laughter. His playful manner always warmed her heart, and today it inspired her to toss her fears aside as well.

She placed her hands on each side of the open door. "You have the better of me then, for I have not practiced alighting from a carriage like this. I shall likely screech the entire way."

He grinned. "We had planned the musicale for later this evening, but we can rearrange the schedule to accommodate you." He wriggled his fingers. "I am ready."

It was not supposed to be a momentous occasion. Yet it was hard not to view it that way. Desmond was asking for her trust, and she was taking a leap of faith, believing in his ability to keep her from a precipitous fall.

Lorelei gave her head a little shake. She removed her hands from the doorway, and jumped. She was in Desmond's arms in an instant, clasping her hands around his neck, while his were tight around her waist.

He slowly twirled them a few times, his gaze locked with hers the entire time. Lorelei felt her heart beating in an erratic fashion. It took all her strength not to place her mouth against his, especially since his lips were inviting her to do just that.

Too soon, even though it felt like an eternity, Desmond set her down. She started to fuss with her bonnet or her pelisse, but stopped to glance at her sister, expecting a teasing remark about fidgeting.

Instead, her sister was dabbing her forehead with a handkerchief as if overheated. She tossed Lorelei a sly wink.

Desmond chuckled. "Let us go inside and continue the festivities there."

DESMOND STOOD JUST inside the entryway of the blue parlor. He could see the grandeur of the place was making Lorelei and her sister a bit nervous, while the children gaped at the opulence on display. He began to wonder if this had been such a great idea. He had not wanted them to feel out of place.

"Oh, Desmond, what lovely children!" His mother crossed the room and stopped in front of Caroline and Henry. "Aren't you perfectly wonderful?" Her voice dropped to a whisper. "I hope you like tea with lots of sugar, and cakes with icing piled on top."

"I do," Caroline said, her head bobbing vigorously.

"I do, too!" Henry beamed as if he had just been given a prize.

His mother held her hands out to them and they each grabbed one. "I have all of those things right over here." She led them to a small table Desmond could not recall seeing there before, and remembered it was something from the nursery, which his mother had likely had brought down for just this occasion. She seated herself with them in one of the child-size chairs and chattered happily as if they were friends from long ago.

"You have brought my mother immeasurable joy," he said to Lorelei and her sister. "Do not be surprised if she refuses to let them leave."

Beatrice chuckled. "Do not be surprised if my darling children send me home to gather their things. They were plotting to take up residence here the moment we headed down the drive."

"I will be happy to give you a tour of their new residence," he said with a grin, "but I can see my father is glaring at me for taking too long to introduce you."

His father had approached them slowly and now stood there, pretending to be put out with his offspring. Desmond made the introductions, adding, "Do not heed any disparaging comments he makes about me. I am his favorite son—"

"You are my only son!"

"A perfect specimen. That is what you told me when I clamored for a sibling. You said there could not be another child to rival my perfection."

Lorelei and Beatrice laughed at his father's mock dismay. "How could I have known you would prove me so wrong?"

His father grinned, not hiding his affection. He turned his attention to Lorelei and Beatrice. "Two beauties in the same family. Your parents must praise the Fates each and every day."

"When we were younger, they likely wondered why they had been cursed with two hellions." Lorelei linked her arm with her sister's. "We did our best to be merciful, with one of us attempting to be angelic when the other was not."

"It was only fair," Beatrice said, "to give them a slight reprieve. Imagine if we had both been on our worst behavior at once."

"Now I must pester you to hear some of these tales," Desmond said.

"I agree," his father said. "Perhaps we should fortify ourselves with some tea." He motioned them towards a nearby settee. "Mrs. Goddard, will you join me?"

"Of course," she said with a pert smile.

That left Desmond and Lorelei the sofa facing them. Once she was seated, Desmond sat next to her, wishing he could move even closer. He did not want to give his father any satisfaction in his patently obvious attempts to play matchmaker, however. He would be insufferable otherwise.

They had barely taken a sip of tea before Caroline and Henry came running over. "Mama, you have to come see what Mrs. Mayfield has given us."

Caroline grabbed her mother's hand, while Henry took Lorelei's. "You, too, Auntie."

"Of course," she said, giving Desmond an apologetic look.

"You must tell me every detail when you return," he insisted.

"I will."

He watched her hurry across the room, trying to keep up with her nephew, her rich laugh ringing throughout the room.

"If mother had not agreed to marry you," Desmond said, turning towards his father, "what would you have done?"

"I cannot even consider the possibility." He gave a theatrical shudder.

"But if she had withstood your entreaties—"

"Which she did for quite some time."

Desmond gave him an exasperated look. "I had hoped you would be able to advise me in my current predicament, but I might have better luck consulting the cake plate on the table."

His father chuckled. "I sympathize with your situation. I truly do. I despaired of convincing your mother to tie her future to mine. In truth, I was forced to give up—"

"What do you mean?" He had never heard this before. His parents had teased recently about becoming exasperated with each other over the years, but he had assumed—wrongly, it appears—they had fallen in love and gotten married and that was it.

"Desmond, it took me a while to admit I could not force the one I love to feel the same. I pleaded my case, let her know my love would never fade, and then asked her to tell me what she desired. When she was ready to do so."

"That was quite a gamble."

"Indeed it was. After I delivered that speech, I left, trying to keep my knees from buckling, desperate to give off an air of confidence I was not yet feeling."

"How long did you wait?"

"An eternity." He grinned. "It was only a matter of weeks. I was tempted to woo her, with a posey or daily poem. But I refrained, wanting her to make up her own mind. And she did. Never has a man been more grateful that a gamble paid off."

Desmond watched Lorelei from across the room. A chance meeting—one that should not even have occurred—and he was in danger of losing his heart forever.

"What would you have done if she had not changed her mind?"

His father's expression was sympathetic. "I would have loved her forever, sad that she did not wish to unite her future with mine, yet buoyed by the belief I had done what was best for her. That is the essence of love—caring for the other's wellbeing, even if it is at your own expense."

"Yet I have grown up believing love is to be shared, not experienced from afar." Desmond hesitated. "I have also spent my years believing a love such as yours was beyond my reach. I am dismayed to discover it truly is, only I did not learn it until after losing my heart."

"Love is filled with many surprises. It may surprise you again, just when all seems lost."

Desmond was unable to reply, because Caroline and Henry were racing his direction, eager to tell him something important. Lorelei followed closely behind. He could scarce tear his eyes away from her, even though the children were clamoring for his attention.

He heard a deep chuckle from his father. "Children, have you heard of a game called Snapdragon?"

They shook their heads in unison, while Henry asked, "Is there a real dragon in this game?"

"Not quite," his father answered, leading them to the other side of the room. "Although there is fire involved."

"Your family is wonderful," Lorelei said when they were alone again.

"I am realizing just how wonderful they are," Desmond admitted. He had learned a great deal about his family's history, and how it affected his own future. "They are quite enamored of your family."

"They may change their mind when they discover the boundless supply of energy my niece and nephew possess."

He grinned. "I have no doubt they shall recommence their lament about not having grandchildren, and prodding me to give them the opportunity while they are still able to chase after them."

"Until you are able to do so," she said, her eyes twinkling, "please assure them these imps are available to visit at any time."

CHAPTER EIGHT

LORELEI TOOK her time donning her clothes. She had tried to pretend this day would never arrive, and yet it had, and she was not even the slightest bit prepared. The past week in Desmond's arms had been a test of her resistance, for he had done his best to prolong her eventual leave-taking.

One night he made love to her with a fierceness that left her craving him even more than before, followed by an evening of lovemaking so tender it caused an ache knowing it would soon be at an end. Yet throughout he was playful, and teasing, doing everything possible to elicit her laughter, and happiness.

She would miss that as much as anything else.

Once she was dressed, she turned to give Desmond's bedchamber one last glance. He stood there, a lone mistletoe berry in his palm.

"The last one," he commented.

"Yes."

"No more kisses after this berry has completed its service." He gave her a hopeful look. "We could save it for the New Year."

She shook her head, trying to keep a lighthearted mien, but it was a challenge. "What about quarreling?"

"I am not in favor of it generally, but if it pleases you—"

She laughed. "No, if we do not rid ourselves of the berries before the New Year, we are bound to quarrel, remember?"

"We are quarreling now," he reminded her with a grin, "about whether to save the berry for a later time." His grin faded. "And whether to continue our affair."

"We are not quarreling about that. I have made up my mind. It is best, for both of us."

"I do not agree that it is best." His lips twisted wryly. "Still, I have given a similar speech many times in the past, so I am well aware of how this will proceed. You never did mislead me as to your intentions. It was my own vain hope that led me to believe I could change your mind."

"The reason I am intent on leaving now is to ensure all of the memories remain good ones."

She could not bear the thought of weeks or months into the future when Desmond had tired of their affair, knowing she could have prevented that moment, but hadn't, succumbing to her unceasing desire for him right now.

"I can provide every assurance possible, Lorelei, that good memories are still available to us in the future. I sincerely believe that is true. Yet in the end, you will have to assure yourself."

Lorelei shook her head once more, and then plucked the berry from his hand. Desmond's expression was morose as he gazed at her. He lowered his head towards hers.

She expected this last kiss to be a passionate one, a last attempt to change her denial to an acceptance. Instead, it was a tender, gentle kiss, as if he wanted to remember this aspect of their affair, and to remind her of the possibilities they could share.

Before she was ready, Desmond stepped back, though she could see he did so with reluctance. "Goodbye, Lorelei the temptress." He lifted her hand to his lips. "The mistletoe berries may be gone, but I shall have the imaginary kisses, which will be a balm to my heart."

He turned and headed for the doorway. Lorelei's heart grew heavy with every step he took, putting distance between them. She had not counted on experiencing these emotions. In truth, this was usually the moment when she felt relief, along with a sense of freedom as she contemplated her next plans.

Why did she feel as though she had just done something horribly wrong?

LORELEI DUG DEEPER into the covers. Why did she not feel better? It was two days since she had sent Desmond on his way. She had made the only choice that made sense, the one that confirmed what she already knew: best to leave before the situation deteriorated, and then became intolerable.

Except it felt intolerable now.

She tried to bury a groan in the pillow.

"Are you not feeling well?" Beatrice asked, standing at the doorway.

Lorelei turned slightly so she could look at her over her shoulder. "I think I may be catching a cold." She added a sniffle or two that sounded rather convincing.

"It came on so suddenly." Beatrice approached the bed, her eyes widened with concern. "Do you have a cough? I could check your temperature to ensure you do not have a fever."

"No, there is no need. I am sure I shall be better in another day or two."

Beatrice plopped down onto the bed next to Lorelei. "You shall feel better even sooner," she said, all evidence of concern dissipated, "once you admit the real reason you are feeling so poorly."

Lorelei sat up until her back rested against the headboard. "I had expected a small measure of sympathy from you—"

"While I expected a large measure of common sense from you."

Lorelei sputtered. "Whatever do you mean?"

"You are ensconced in this bed, pretending you have a cold. I would say you are heartsick, except you are convinced your heart is immune to such ailments."

"I do not consider myself immune. In truth, I do all I can to prevent such ailments from occurring."

"Too late, it appears. Fortunately, you have caught it in the early stages, so it can be cured quickly."

Lorelei rubbed her chest absently, the spot where a dull ache had taken up residence. "I cannot believe there is a quick cure for this." It was hard not to wonder if the ache would ever cease.

"It should not take so long. We merely need to clear your mind of anything related to Desmond. That is the last time we shall utter his name." She dusted her hands as if she had just successfully banished him. "I also recommend you do not recall any of the moments that brought you joy." Beatrice added a wink. "And never, under any circumstance, let your mind dwell on every single one of those moments of passion."

"The cure seems exceedingly harsh," Lorelei grumbled. "Especially as I am the one who ended the affair. Why cannot I revel in memories at least for a short while?"

"Because, you ninny, the more you think about him, and what you enjoyed, the more you will want to see him again, to hear his voice, and feel his touch—"

"Cease!"

Lorelei wanted all of those things, and more. She had never ended an affair while feeling this way. Was it possible she had misjudged what she had experienced with Desmond? She had insisted on viewing it as yet another diversion instead of recognizing it for what it was—the chance for a long-lasting love she secretly desired but was too afraid to believe in.

"I suppose it is possible I made a mistake," she began.

Beatrice scoffed. "Impossible to imagine." She softened the rebuke with a fierce hug. "There are always going to be mistakes, Lorelei. Life is filled with them."

"I am well aware, as I have made my fair share. Yet you seem to believe the solution is to choose between which mistake is the most bearable."

"Or the most enjoyable." Beatrice grinned. "I know which I would prefer." Her expression became more indulgent. "You are accustomed to taking bold steps, even if they do not ultimately turn out the way you hoped. Why are you so fearful this time?"

"I am not fearful," Lorelei protested. "I just do not want to see love fade away, and then slowly die."

Beatrice studied her for a moment. "So instead, you made Desmond feel like a cicisbeo."

"A what? A chi—"

"I do not know how to pronounce it."

"What precisely is it?"

"A paid companion," Beatrice said, "but of the male persuasion."

Lorelei laughed. "Where did you ever hear such a word?"

"I have only read it, which is why I am not sure of its pronunciation. It is not a word that is tossed about in polite company."

Lorelei gave her sister a considering look. "I wonder if I should review your reading material. Particularly if it gave you the notion that I treated Desmond as a," she waved her hand, "paid companion."

"I did not say you paid him to be your companion. But your insistence on a brief affair after knowing his wish for a long-lasting love…particularly after seeing his parents, and what he was raised to expect. I wished you had treated your husband this way instead."

"You have become more outrageous by the moment," Lorelei said. "So I should have treated my husband as a paid companion—"

"Instead of marrying him. I could see then you were not wholeheartedly committed. It is no wonder the passion did not last. I wish I had said so at the time, for it has warped your notion of love, and marriage, ever since. To your detriment."

"It may be the only time you held your tongue," Lorelei teased. "I wish I could persuade you to do so now."

Still, she could not dispute her sister's words, much as she wanted to. Lorelei had been young, and susceptible to a whirlwind romance. Before she could entertain second thoughts, she was married, wishing she had never agreed to become a bride, spending her days and nights with someone she barely knew. Sadly, he cared little about getting to know her, to discover whether she liked pickles, or preferred salmon to beefsteak…

She sat back so she could look at Beatrice. "Perhaps this just proves I should only engage in a brief affair, because I am rash, and reckless—"

"Who better to explore love than you?" Beatrice laughed, as if she were speaking to a simpleton. "Lorelei, love is a daily adventure, one with no map. There is no recipe to follow, no guidebook to lead you where you think you want to go. The outcome cannot be determined at the outset."

"That is what makes it such a daunting prospect."

"Yes, but it is also what makes it so exhilarating. No day shall be precisely like the one before it. But there is always that underlying assurance that no matter what challenges arise, love will ensure they are bearable, and manageable. I can attest to that."

Lorelei grinned. "I am beginning to wonder if your husband's absence is what makes your marriage work so well."

Beatrice rolled her eyes. "Fine, consider any marriage but mine. Desmond's parents. Our parents."

"Our parents were quite happy to go back to their research manuals and papers and what-not, leaving us to become the terrors of the nursery."

Yet there had been no lack of love or affection, between them as a couple, or for their unruly children. There were also the parents of the songstress at the musicale, making their marriage suit their needs even when they viewed the world so differently.

And Desmond's parents—it was easy to see how theirs was a love for the ages. They also shared a genuine friendship, a camaraderie. She could not imagine them politely discussing the day's events over dinner. No, they would be laughing and teasing, doing their utmost to entertain each other in every way possible.

Much like she and Desmond did. Or used to do.

"It seems my rash, reckless nature has caused me to rashly and recklessly throw away the very happiness I have been seeking."

Beatrice grinned. "Surely we can use those qualities to your benefit."

"I would hope so! Here is what I have in mind…"

"THERE SURE IS a lot of ivy everywhere," Martin commented, gazing about the room. "Any reason for that?"

Desmond merely shook his head. He was a bit too heavy-hearted at the moment to explain its significance. Seeing it made him miss Lorelei even more, which is why he should remove the blasted greenery. Yet he knew if he did, he would regret not having the constant reminder of something they had shared.

Not that she ever left his thoughts.

"I feel I should apologize for being your first failure," Desmond said. He had tried without success to change Lorelei's mind, teasing and seducing, thoroughly enjoying himself, and she obviously had, too. "I was convinced I could use my persuasive abilities to my advantage, but it appears I was mistaken."

"And what about her advantage?" Martin asked.

"What do you mean?"

"You are speaking as if this were some sort of conquest—"

"It is nothing of the kind!"

Martin shrugged. "I know it is not. After all, I have listened to you bemoaning your ill fortune through two bottles of your finest claret." He grinned. "I just wonder if Lorelei views your efforts as some sort of campaign."

Desmond sat back against his chair. "It is very possible. And it is the very thing she is trying to avoid, having experienced it previously." He ran a hand through his hair. "What am I to do now? Is there anything I can do to change her mind?"

"It is not easy to change anyone's mind," Martin said with a chuckle. "If it were, we would have everyone doing our bidding whenever we wanted."

Desmond gave him a sour look. "I am changing my mind about your title. I will call you the unmatchmaking earl from now on."

"That is not necessary! Though I admit, I may take a respite from these activities. It takes a lot out of a chap, especially when the parties work so hard against my efforts."

"Mayhap it is time for you to find a match for yourself," Desmond mused. "It will give you a new appreciation for what it is like from this side of things."

Martin grumbled, taking a sip of wine. Before he could retort, a footman appeared, extending a salver toward Desmond. He reached for the envelope sitting atop the silver tray. "Thank you, Hastings."

The servant left, closing the door quietly behind him. Desmond turned the envelope over, taking a moment to study the wax seal.

His heart began to beat faster as he realized the figure pressed into the wax was a mermaid.

No, a Siren.

Lorelei. The temptress.

He quickly opened the missive, and saw a card—or more precisely, half a card. In very elegant script was written, "Meet me at the mistletoe", along with the time, two hours' hence, and the location, her sister's home.

Desmond could not keep the grin from his face. He tucked the card inside his coat. "Martin, it seems you are not a failure at matchmaking after all."

"Indeed? Yet what have I done?"

"I am not certain. I just know it was brilliant."

Martin laughed, shooing Desmond out of the room. "Let me know when we shall commence the celebrations."

"I pray it will be soon."

Martin snorted. "You have to plead your case first. I cannot believe my reputation rests in your hands. I would do better to speak with Lorelei myself."

Desmond tilted his head back and laughed heartily. "I shall do my best to ensure that is not necessary."

Martin grinned and raised his glass in salute. "To our success!"

CHAPTER NINE

LORELEI PACED THE SMALL ROOM, the very one Desmond had sat in, gleefully making paper chains with her and Caroline and Henry. Occasionally she glanced down at the card sitting atop the table, the other half of which she had sent to Desmond.

Would he decline her invitation? Perhaps he would believe she was merely explaining her position once more, and he had heard it many times already.

She took another turn around the room. Fortunately, she was alone. Her sister had taken the children with her into the village, giving her cheek a kiss as she left, promising Lorelei she was doing the right thing.

The suspense of waiting was proving more debilitating than she had anticipated. She needed a bit of air.

She raced to the front door and opened it, ready to step outside.

To her surprise, and utter delight, Desmond stood there.

Her heart fluttered, then raced, and then halted for a brief moment. Time seemed to stay put, too. It gave her a chance to study Desmond's expression: the hopefulness he tried to keep at bay, the genuine joy as he gazed upon her, the certainty that she was the one to make his future an unending delight.

He held up the card so she could see it.

"I was not sure you would come," Lorelei admitted.

"I cannot resist when this Siren calls to me."

She laughed. "You know the Siren calls men to their doom."

"Perhaps, at least in mythology, but it does not seem that way now."

"Desmond, I could very well be your doom. I have no experience with an amour that lasts beyond a few months. I am not certain I have the ability to remain even that long. It is not as though there are lessons on this topic."

"Not a one," he agreed with a grin. "Though we could practice every day. Surely that would help."

"I would hope so. Yet what if you wake one morning and I have departed without a word?"

"I would mourn your leave-taking, and thank the Fates I had you in my embrace as long as I did, while praying that you found happiness wherever it might be."

Her eyes welled up with tears. "You are too gracious. How can you be so when I have just confessed I am very likely to cause you heartache?"

"It will cause me heartache if you bid farewell now. If you do so later, I will have hopefully many weeks to enjoy every moment with you."

"It seems grossly unfair to you."

"Lorelei, I had begun to believe my heart would never feel these stirrings. Of course I hope it will be a lifelong experience, like that of my mother and father." He paused for a moment. "What if you woke one morning and I had departed without a word?"

Lorelei's heart gave a sharp pang of protest. "I cannot bear to even consider it. Who would I tease each day? Who would I cradle in my arms each night? Who would make me laugh about the smallest of oddities we are bound to encounter?"

"Surely there are others who have filled that role."

"There were others who tried, and who managed it briefly, but none who made me crave it for the rest of my days." She placed a hand over her heart. "I have let my doubt obscure what my heart knows full well: I only want these from you, and with you."

"You are certain?"

"I am." Her voice faltered for a moment. "Are you?"

He picked her up in his arms, kissing her until she was light-headed. "I have never been so certain in my entire life. I have been certain since the moment you rescued me that first evening…"

"I adore you, Desmond." She placed another kiss on his lips, treasuring the happiness she saw shining in his eyes.

"I adore you, Lorelei the temptress. I always will."

"I do not want to fail at this, and not for my own sake. I could not bear if your life became one of drudgery, making you wish to leave or, worse, become a mere shadow of yourself."

"Drudgery is not possible with you, Lorelei. There is always something new to explore and laugh about."

"So you will tell me if I become boring or tedious or stultifying?"

"I will not hesitate." At her mock glare, he added, "I will of course do so gently, and with humor, because I would rightly fear for my life otherwise."

"I cannot believe you consider me so fearsome. But I may see how to put this knowledge to good use in future." Lorelei snuggled into his embrace, her heart filled to overflowing. "I had always thought this was impossible. It is still hard to believe."

"It is. But then Fate put us together, despite Martin's well-meaning attempts. Clearly this is the proverbial match made in heaven. How can we go against what the angels have decreed?"

"That is quite the fanciful speech, Desmond."

"And every word is the truth."

She kissed him. "I propose you deliver it each year, to commemorate the fanciful way in which we met. And to celebrate another year of happiness."

"I agree. And we shall give Martin credit. Oh, and there must be mistletoe, of course."

"Of course. I hope you have some now."

He pulled out a bunch, laden with white berries. "This should prove to be a good start."

She grinned, tugging on his hand, leading him towards the nearby settee. "Indeed. A very good start."

EPILOGUE

ONE YEAR later

Lorelei tucked a sprig of mistletoe into the bandeau holding her curls in place. She had festooned the house with the greenery, but chose to leave ivy out of the decorations. She had become quite fond of overindulgence, thanks to Desmond. He had insisted no amount of the flora could possibly keep him from pleasing his bride over and over.

She turned as she heard him entering the room. Her heart did the same excited jig it always did when she saw him. How had she ever believed it would be different?

He approached her slowly, his eyes filled with appreciation. "Our guests are due to arrive shortly, yet you are inspiring the most devilish thoughts."

She gave his lips a light kiss. "I could drape myself with strands of ivy."

"It would only inspire me more." He wrapped his arms around her. "Reminding me of the first time you decorated my home. Now it is our home."

"A home which will soon be filled with children—"

"I am looking forward to Caroline and Henry coming round."

Lorelei took his hand and placed it against her stomach, pressing lightly against the small bump hidden by her dress. His eyebrows shot up as he realized what she meant.

"See what our overindulgence has wrought?" she teased.

He kissed her lovingly. "I have always been convinced it was a wondrous quality. Now you have proved it true." He sighed before pulling her even closer. "I love you, Lorelei the temptress. Every day I tell myself my life is absolutely perfect, and I marvel at how I can be so fortunate."

"I love you, Desmond, more than I ever dreamed possible."

He glanced at the mistletoe in her hair, counting how many berries it contained. "I wonder how many of those will be remaining when everyone else arrives."

"I would guess not many. But I have tucked several sprigs about the house, in case we should need to replenish them."

Desmond grinned. "I shall know where to meet you then."

"And I will always be waiting for you there."

The End

ABOUT DONNA CUMMINGS

I have worked as an attorney, winery tasting room manager, and retail business owner, but nothing beats the thrill of writing humorously-ever-after romances. I reside in New England, although I fantasize about spending the rest of my days in a tropical locale, wearing flip flops year-round, or in Regency London, scandalizing the ton.

You can find details of her work at

www.AllAboutTheWriting.com

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WHILE YOU WERE ROGUISH

~ An Everly Manor Happily Ever After ~

by

SAMANTHA GRACE

She’s making a list…

When Lady Hadley answers the call to help prepare her cousin’s newly inherited house for Christmas, there is much to do. Hire staff, dust every corner, hang garland… Handling a half-naked man found rummaging in the kitchen is not on her list. When Bess realizes he’s foxed and learns he has a reputation for being wild, she decides to teach him a lesson. Instead, he reignites a fiery passion in her that almost led to her ruin years ago—and threatens to consume her now.

He’s in the naughty column…

Lord Julius Everly is in danger of freezing when his horse dumps him in a creek during a brutal winter storm. Fortunately, his lady neighbors are the hospitable sort. Not only is he given shelter and a warm bed to pass the night, it appears he and the lovely widow making calf-eyes at him the next morning made good use of it. It’s too bad he can’t remember a thing, including asking her to marry him. When Bess’s guilty conscience forces her to confess to lying, Julius can’t deny the truth. She is his other half, and he’ll risk anything to have her.

CHAPTER ONE

“RAISE YOUR CUPS, CHAPS.” Julius Everly thrust a pewter tankard overhead. Ale sloshed over the side and soaked his jacket sleeve, but he barreled on with his toast. “To Clive, may your bachelorhood rest in peace.”

“Huzzah!” The Sleepy Owl Inn and Tavern erupted as the proprietors stomped their feet or hammered fists against a scarred slab table that stretched more than halfway across the room. The floor shuddered from the thunderous ruckus.

Clive’s chiseled jaw was firmer than usual as he flicked bored glances at their drinking companions. “Chaps? Do you know any of these men?”

“No man is a stranger when the drink flows freely,” Julius yelled above the din.

Clive cursed into the tankard before taking a long swig. Julius laughed. His older brother hated being made into a spectacle. Julius, on the other hand, had grown accustomed to being the subject of gossip. Sometimes he started the rumors himself for a lark when he grew bored in London.

In the pastoral village of Chiddingstone, a few miles west of Everly Manor, teasing his brother into a better mood was the only entertainment to be had. Julius’s playful pokes, however, did not indicate a lack of sympathy for Clive’s predicament. The poor man hadn’t been allowed a moment of peace since their parents’ house party guests started arriving two days ago. Julius’s older brother would be unbearable by Twelfth Night unless he took control of the situation.

“I’ve always found the direct approach to work well with the ladies,” Julius said.

A tussle broke out between two men across the table. An elbow banged against the edge, spilling Clive’s drink. “Make them go away,” he growled at Julius.

“Our parents’ guests or our drinking companions?”

His brother allowed his glower to speak on his behalf.

Julius stood and snapped his fingers. “Go, all of you. The barkeeper will serve one more round.” He caught the tavern owner’s eye; the man acknowledged the request with a sharp nod.

No one complained about the rude dismissal as they lugged themselves from the benches. With the bulk of men crowding the bar, the noise level improved. The same couldn’t be said about Clive’s disposition. His brother's frown was something fierce to behold—a trait he’d inherited from their Danish mother.

“I hope you have enough to cover the expense,” Clive said. “I’ll not share the blame if Father must pay for your generosity.”

“You worry too much. I had a windfall at the gaming tables my last night in London. Allow me to spread my ill-gotten gains however I see fit.” Julius shifted on the bench to face his brother and propped his arm on the table. “If you want to discourage the ladies and their mothers, you should treat them to one of your frightening glares. Why should I be the only one to enjoy them?”

“I don’t want to be impolite to our parents’ guests.”

“Perhaps you should be,” Julius said, “or at least correct their misconceptions about you being in the market for a wife.”

Gossips had dubbed last year’s house party ‘Lord and Lady Seabrook’s private marriage mart’, and as was the case with most rumors, it was stitched together with a thread of truth. A cultivated list of guests were invited to spend the holiday at Everly Manor last year to simplify the task of husband hunting for Julius’s twin sisters. The party resulted in a love match for Ammie, who was expecting her first child with her doting major. Now every young miss with stars in her eyes believed Everly Manor was a magical place where love blossomed. Clive, the heir to the marquessate, was the target of their affections.

“I’ve always found honesty to be the best course of action,” Julius said. “Ladies appreciate when a man is direct.”

His brother’s mouth pinched. “Your experience is limited to widows. I’d not expect an innocent to be as resilient when confronted with the truth.”

“Indeed. There could be tears.” Julius shuddered.

Clive smiled for the first time in days. “Speaking of being direct, when are you going to ask Father about using the land for your racecourse?”

“In due time. I hope to enlist another investor before approaching him. Unless I plan for every contingency, it would be a waste of time. Father doesn’t allot any more value to carriage races than he does gambling and drinking. It’s all the same to him, the acts of no-good rabble-rousers.”

“You have an eye for these types of opportunities. Not even Father can deny you have a gift.”

“He allows me to dabble,” Julius said. “Joining the Four Horse Club is not the same as building a track and organizing a carriage racing club.”

Julius had even designed a new carriage for the sport, but the fact that his ideas could save lives held no sway over his father. In Lord Seabrook’s way of thinking, gentlemen shouldn’t get up to such foolishness. Father forgot a drive to conquer flowed through a younger man’s veins.

The greener the man, the stronger the urge.

If one was prohibited from proving himself on the battlefield, he created his own tests of courage. No amount of lecturing stopped youthful folly, but a carriage impervious to tipping could see that more reckless men reached old age.

“Assuming you do not fall heels over arse for Miss Chambers-Wallace or one of the other hopeful young misses,” Julius said, “you should return to London with me after Twelfth Night. I’ve grown bored with the usual faces.”

“You would grow tired of mine soon enough.”

“This old mug?” Julius patted his brother’s cheek. “Who says I’m not already tired of it? After seven and twenty years, who wouldn’t be?”

Clive flashed a rude gesture in response, but he was finally laughing. Julius recognized and loved this version of his brother. With only fourteen months separating them, he and Clive were the best of friends. They’d squabbled at times as children, but always stuck together when faced with a foe.

“Let’s have another ale and forget our troubles.” Julius signaled for the barmaid and sat on the bench once more.

His brother lifted his palm. “I’ve had enough. It is time to return to Everly Manor. Mother is expecting us for supper, and she will wonder what is keeping us.”

The yule candle Clive and Julius had been sent to retrieve from the chandler lay on the table between them.

“You and your sense of duty.” Julius clicked his tongue and shook his head. “There are six days until Christmas and twelve more following. We won’t be missed for one meal.”

Clive braced his hands on the table and pushed to his feet. “You might not care if you earn Mother’s wrath, but I prefer to keep her happy.”

The barmaid plopped two tankards in front of Julius.

“Run along without me if you must. This ale will not drink itself, and you know how I feel about waste.” He cocked an eyebrow to reiterate his earlier argument about not wasting the young ladies’ time. “Be direct; be fair.”

His brother sighed as if weary from defending himself, but damnation—Julius was a good brother. He refused to look the other way while Miss Chambers-Wallace and her sister employed every trick possible to trap Clive in the parson’s noose. Had Julius not intervened earlier that afternoon when the young lady stumbled upon Clive reading alone in the library, his brother might be betrothed already.

He deserved the same love and devotion their sisters had found with their husbands, and what their own parents enjoyed with each other. If the young lady set Clive’s heart afire, he wouldn’t have jumped on the invitation to ride into the village with Julius. Miss Chambers-Wallace was like a powder puff on a lady’s dressing table. Soft and perfumed but on the inside, she lacked substance. Hopefully, Clive would rally the gumption to put her in her place before it was too late. Until death do you part was a hell of long sentence with the wrong woman.

Clive nodded toward the two tankards. “Any number of men would be happy to take those off your hands.”

“I said one more round only, and a man must keep to his word."

“Yes, he must.” Clive grabbed the yule candle and warned Julius not to be too late returning home.

Once alone, Julius sighed and lifted one of the tankards. The men returned to the table before he had a chance to grow lonely. Their jovial mood was infectious. Julius drained both drinks in rapid sequence between belting out a ghastly version of The Twelve Days of Christmas followed by We Wish You a Merry Christmas.

At some point, another tankard was placed in front of him. Or was it two? When the men sang every carol within their repertoire twice and started on folksongs, Julius was ready to go.

He surged to his feet; his head swam. As he left the tavern, the doorway shrank. He rammed into the doorjamb. Rubbing his shoulder, he stumbled into the night. Overindulging and missing supper left Julius good and foxed. His mother would have his head when he arrived home—unless he could slip into Everly Manor without anyone noticing. Congratulating himself on his cleverness, he set off with a wobbly gait to retrieve his horse.

“Gads!” The heels of his new boots were uneven. He’d pointed out the minor difference to the cordwainer in London to no avail. The man had been making boots for Julius’s father for years and was personally affronted by Julius’s observation. Not wanting to cause trouble for his father, he dropped the matter. He wouldn’t make that mistake again.

Diffuse light from lamps mounted to the weathered Tudor buildings illuminated the dirt lane as he made his way to the mews. Nightfall had come earlier than Julius expected. As he neared at the mews, a northerly gust whipped the tails of his greatcoat. He smashed his hat lower on his head to keep from losing it and greeted the stable master watching over the livestock.

“A storm is coming this way, Lord Julius,” the older man said. “Do you deem it wise to ride for home tonight? The missus would make you a bed if there are no rooms to be had at the inn.”

“Thank you for the kind offer, Hudson, but do you believe a few snowflakes frighten me more than my mother?”

“The marchioness’s a fearsome lady, that she is.” The weathered lines around the stable master’s eyes were magnified when he smiled. “If I let you ride off in this weather, I fear I’ll feel the sting of her sharp tongue following services Christmas morn.”

“After church, indeed. Mother would meet you at the front door.”

“Oof!” The stable master winced and chuckled. He was an affable chap who’d worked at the mews since Julius was a boy and knew his family well.

“Lady Seabrook has a heart of gold,” Hudson said. “Lots of good she does for the village.”

“She is a good mother, too, but like you, I’d rather she not hear I risked life and limb to get home tonight.” Julius tapped a finger against his temple. “I have a plan.”

Hudson, having fulfilled his duty, shook his head and disappeared into the mews. The sweet scent of hay and richness of leather escaped through the opened door. Julius waited. His damned uneven boots made him sway side to side. He glowered at the mud-splattered excuse for footwear and threatened to toss them in the bin at Everly Manor if they didn’t behave.

A moment later the stablehand led Julius’s horse outside to the mounting block. The Welsh Cob’s mahogany coat glimmered in the lantern light, and his pale blond mane lit like a halo. His name was fitting. Torch. If Julius believed riding home posed a danger, he wouldn’t risk an injury to his beloved horse.

Julius pulled a piece of carrot from his greatcoat pocket and spoke lovingly to the gelding. Torch sniffed the offering before gently taking it. The treat wasn’t a bribe but an appreciation of his patience.

“Not much longer until you are back to your warm stall,” Julius murmured. “I promise, a bucket of oats awaits you.”

Hudson cleared his throat; Julius startled. He’d forgotten about his audience. Julius’s brothers always teased him whenever they caught him talking to the horses, but he saw it no different from their sister Ammie chattering to her dogs. If the older man thought the behavior was odd, he never gave a hint of it. Julius dug into his purse for an extra coin to thank him.

“Godspeed, my lord."

As Julius rode away from the village with its glowing lamps and cheerfully lit windows, darkness engulfed him and his horse. A full moon fought to penetrate the inky clouds creeping across the sky, but its valiant efforts were for naught. When Torch wanted to trot on the rutted road, Julius held him back. Anything other than walking was too risky, even if his horse could see better than him.

He couldn’t be certain how far he’d traveled before a vicious gust tore through the bare trees. The first few stinging icy pellets caught him by surprise, but not nearly as much as the flash of blue light that illuminated the sky. A distant rumble followed.

His horse tensed beneath him. Julius leaned forward to pat Torch’s neck and speak soothing words, but another bright flash and clap of thunder caused the gelding toss his head and snort. Torch danced sideways; Julius gripped the horse’s sides to keep his seat. A loud crack of thunder ripped the sky open and frozen rain pelted them. Torch whinnied, on the verge of bolting. Julius managed to hold him at bay then loosened his grip to ease the horse’s sense of feeling trapped.

“Easy, now. Easy. Let’s seek out shelter.”

At Julius’s urging, Torch took a few jittery steps. Lightening struck a tree a hundred feet away.

“Damnation!” The bright blast blinded him. Torch whirled on his hind legs. Julius tightened his hold on the reins a second before his horse shot into the forest. Julius wobbled on the saddle as the gelding wove through trees and dashed under low hanging branches. He ducked before a fir limb unseated him, but it clipped his hat. A white shroud of snow and rain obstructed Julius's view. Icy shards, sharp as needles, struck his face. He closed his eyes to protect them as Torch raced into a culvert. He yelled for the gelding to stop. The horse tensed beneath him and sailed over a creek. Julius’s reflexes were too slow. He bounced on the saddle, becoming airborne. The reins ripped from his grasp.

He hit the frigid shallow water hard. The air was sucked from his lungs. Torch’s hoofbeats grew faint. Julius lay staring into the night sky, waiting to learn if he was still alive.

CHAPTER TWO

BAM! Bam! Bam!

Lady Elisabeth Hadley jumped. “What in the world?"

“Miss Price! Miss Price!” A thunderous commotion came from the corridor as if a herd of wild horses ran loose in her cousin’s country cottage. The young maid burst through the sitting room threshold with the front of her apron gripped in her fists. Her twin brother careened into her when he sprinted into the room. They stumbled but didn’t fall. Their identical chestnut brown eyes were as round as mincemeat pies.

Bess’s cousin frowned. “How many times did Papa tell you not to run in the house?”

Anne, thin cheeks red from exertion, stammered an apology, but Gemma was a stern mistress tonight and wouldn’t allow the transgression to pass. “He would be cross if he were here to witness such carrying on.”

“A man’s out back,” Robbie blurted and pointed in the general direction of the back of the house. “He’s banging on the kitchen door.”

Gemma dropped her needlepoint in the basket at her feet. “Who is he? What does he want?”

“To come inside,” the servants said in unison.

Anne’s chin quivered. “What if he’s come to murder us?”

“Utter nonsense. I will speak with him myself.” Gemma pushed from the plush pink armchair and headed toward the threshold. She stopped long enough to wag her finger at the twins. “And no more scary stories before bed for either of you. I didn’t teach you to read so you could fill your minds with rubbish.”

The adolescents bobbed their heads. “Yes, ma’am.”

Bess popped from her seat. “Gemma, wait.” On a night when the wind howled through the shutters and thunder rolled across the sky, no sane man would dare to venture outdoors. “Let’s go together. We will keep the door barred until we know who it is.”

Bess suggested the servants wait by the fire so they wouldn’t catch a chill and followed Gemma into the corridor. At the bottom of the stairwell, a splintering crack echoed through the cottage. Cursing came from the kitchen followed by a crash that shook the floorboards.

Bess’s heart lodged in her throat. Gemma gripped her arm.

“He’s inside, Bess. What should we do?”

Glass shattered. “B-bollocks!”

A man’s form filled the threshold, not five feet away. His back was to them. Icicles clung to his dark hair, and shivers wracked his body. He stumbled against the doorframe. “D-damnation.”

With a shrug of his shoulders, his greatcoat crumpled at his feet. His jacket followed. When he ripped off his gloves with his teeth and fumbled with his waistcoat, Gemma issued a tiny squeak and pulled Bess into the dark butler’s pantry.

“There is a naked man in my house,” her cousin whispered, on the verge of hysteria.

Bess stole a peek around the doorjamb. The intruder’s waistcoat and cravat had joined the pile. He was tugging his shirt over his head.

Not quite naked yet. Although he would be in a moment unless she acted quickly.

She felt around in the dark for a weapon and grabbed the first item she touched—a large candlestick. Brandishing it like a cricket bat, she murmured, “Stay here.”

Gemma gripped Bess’s waist and shuffled behind her.

“I said stay.” Bess hushed command left no room for argument.

Her cousin released her. “What are you going to do?”

“Shhh.” Bess had no idea, but she would figure it out. When she’d accompanied Gemma to Davensworth Cottage to help her set up house, she hadn’t imagined one of her duties would involve ousting a nude man from the premises. Better her than Gemma, though. As a widow with five years of marriage to her credit, Bess wouldn’t see anything she hadn’t seen before.

When she peeked from her hiding spot once more, he’d disappeared. Another clatter came from the kitchen. She hurried along the corridor with the candlestick raised above her head. Taking a deep breath to shore up her courage, she ran into the kitchen, hollering loud enough to wake the dead.

The man, who was stoking the fire in the kitchen hearth, bolted upright, smacking his head on the mantle. He dropped the iron poker; it landed on his foot. A roar like nothing she’d ever heard ripped from his throat. His nearly black eyes were ablaze when he spun toward her. His muscular chest heaved and fell with mesmerizing regularity.

Bess gaped.

He’d stripped to his drawers, and the garment clung to him like a second skin. Oh, how wrong she’d been. Her previous marriage hadn’t prepared her at all for such a vision. He was a man in his prime, seemingly chiseled from marble with extra attention paid from God himself.

He frowned. “What’s the meaning of this? Screaming like a banshee and scaring a man half to death?” He advanced on her, bobbled a step, and knocked his hip against the butcher’s block. “Hellfire!”

“Y-you—” Bess’s mouth was dry. She moistened her lips. “You are trespassing. Gather your clothing and be gone.”

He crossed his arms, his biceps bulging. A roguish smile eased across his handsome face. “It is cold outside, love. Don’t be inhospitable.” He weaved side to side. His eyelids were heavy over bleary eyes.

“Law, you are foxed,” Bess said.

“Not enough for the night I am having.”

Bess heard a gasp behind her. “Lord Julius, oh my heavens!” Gemma’s hands were over her eyes; the apples of her cheeks were flushed bright pink. “What brings you to Davensworth on such a night?”

“An unfortunate turn of events, miss.” He slurred his words, confirming Bess’s suspicion. “My horse spooked and dumped me in Fairrigan Brook.”

“That cannot be, my lord.” Her cousin carried on as if covering her eyes and conversing with a half naked man in her kitchen happened every day. “Fairrigan Brook is east of the village, toward Everly Manor. You must have fallen into Murkwood.”

“Did I?” He scratched his temple. “Yes, you must be right. I couldn’t have traveled from Fairrigan on foot in such a short time. Must have become turned around.”

Bess propped the candlestick on her shoulder, lowering her guard. “Gemma, how do you know this rogue?”

“Lord Julius Everly at your service, Miss.” With a ridiculous flourish of his hand, he bowed low over his leg. The momentum knocked him off balance, but he braced a hand against the wide-plank floor before he crashed face first. When he righted himself, he winked. “And I am no ordinary rogue. My father is the Marquess of Seabrook.”

“Well, forgive me, my lord. I had no inkling I was in the presence of greatness.”

He laughed and swayed on his feet again. “Do you know this vexing she-devil, Miss Price?”

Gemma—a woman of four and twenty—giggled. Her hands were still over her eyes. “Bess is my cousin, the dowager Countess of Hadley, and she has graciously traveled to Davensworth to assist me with setting up my household, now that Father is gone.”

His expression sobered. “My condolences, Miss Price. Your father was a fine man and extraordinary brewer of ale, as I can attest to this evening.”

Bess wasn’t surprised he was familiar with Uncle Roger’s brewery. Even a dunk in the creek couldn’t wash the yeasty scent of ale from him. The smell should be off putting, but mingled his own masculine fragrance, the combination was pleasant. Bess found him infuriating.

“Thank you, my lord,” Gemma said. “I hope I can honor my father’s name and maintain the brewery’s reputation as its new proprietress. Bess, retrieve a blanket for Lord Julius while Anne and I prepare a bed for him.”

“Don’t go to any trouble, Miss Price. Once my clothes dry by the fire, I will be on my way, if you will allow me to borrow a horse. Mine is likely halfway to Everly Manor stables.” He mumbled under his breath, “I hope.”

“Nonsense, my lord.” Gemma was already striding from the kitchen. “We’ll not send you out in inclement weather. That would be unneighborly.”

“How kind of you, Miss Price.” He aimed a smirk at Bess. “She is a lovely young woman, your cousin.”

“Not vexing like I am?” Bess lowered the candlestick to her side. “I’ll return shortly. Stay here and do not move a muscle.”

In an act of defiance, he flexed his chest—right, left, right—and grinned.

She narrowed her eyes. “Does anyone find you charming?”

“If you must ask, I’m not trying hard enough.”

“Save your effort. Men like you have no effect on me.” She spun on her heel and stalked from the room, her racing heart proving she was a liar. After all this time, she was not immune to a handsome scoundrel, even when he would bring her nothing but trouble.

Gemma met her at the landing above stairs and shoved a blanket into her hands. “Lord Julius will stay in my father’s bedchamber. We uncovered the furniture. Anne is making the bed, and Robbie is building a fire. Please, direct our guest to the room.”

“He requires a keeper,” Bess said. “Did you see the mess he made in the kitchen? The man is inebriated.”

“I’ve heard rumors Lord Julius has a wild streak. It appears the gossips were telling the truth.” Gemma bustled toward her father’s old room. “Provide him with an escort if you prefer.”

“I don’t approve of him staying here.”

Bess’s cousin stopped at the threshold and leaned against the doorjamb. “That is the benefit to being an independent woman. I require no one’s approval but my own.”

She blew a kiss and sashayed into the chamber. Hearing Bess’s own words parroted back elicited a smile of admiration. Her cousin was coming into her own.

When Gemma first came to stay with Bess while in mourning, she’d blushed every time Bess looked her way. She spoke in a near whisper, and rather than admit a preference for anything, she would suffer. A year of Bess’s companionship turned her into a bit of a rebel.

Upon returning to the kitchen, Bess found it empty. The lord’s clothes littered the floor by the fire, and he’d secured the door from inside. The evidence of his continued presence eased her worries about him having wandered off into the storm. She took a moment to hang his clothes on a rope strung across one end of the kitchen and grabbed a lantern to search the house.

Lord Julius made it as far as the servants’ dining hall before collapsing in a chair by the dying fire. The icicles melted soon after he came indoors, but his hair was damp. “Wh-where are the Christmas b-boughs and m-mistletoe?” Shivers continued to torment him; his lips were light blue. With a sigh, Bess set aside the lantern and draped the blanket around his shoulders, tucking it beneath his chin.

“We only arrived at Davensworth Cottage yesterday,” she said. “There has been no time to decorate.”

Bess, Gemma, and the two servants had spent the entire day setting the kitchen back to rights while the cook met with merchants in the village to replenish the pantry and conduct interviews to hire an assistant and scullery maid. Some goods were delivered that afternoon, but Mrs. Mills wasn’t expected back until tomorrow. Bess’s shoulders drooped. She had anticipated an early bedtime before Lord Julius’s arrival caused an uproar.

He grabbed the edges of the wool blanket to keep it in place and leaned his head against the seat back, his eyelids sinking to half-mast. If he fell asleep in the chair and woke with a sore neck and a chill, it would be what he deserved.

“Come to bed before you pass out.” She wrapped her arm around his shoulders and urged him to stand.

“It’s not Christmas without greenery and mistletoe,” he mumbled as he complied with her orders.

“From what I’ve heard, my lord, mistletoe and you under the same roof would be a grave mistake.”

He laughed and allowed her to shepherd him toward the stairwell. She held the lantern aloft to light the way.

“Who has been gossiping about me?” he asked. “Surely, the lovely Miss Price isn’t spreading tales.”

“Gemma didn’t believe the rumors at first, but your behavior tonight has caused her to reconsider.”

“If you are referring to me stripping my wet clothes, I did what any reasonable man would to avoid freezing to death. Do you fault me for having survival instincts?”

“I blame you for getting yourself into the predicament in the first place.”

They trudged up the stairs together, and although it appeared he could manage alone, she kept one arm around his back for her own peace of mind. Surely, some woman somewhere would be grateful to Bess for saving his neck.

At the landing, she nudged him toward Uncle Roger’s old bedchamber. Gemma and the servants had vacated the room. A log crackled in the hearth as a wavering flame warmed the bark. To combat the chill, Gemma had procured a nightshirt and cap and placed them on the bed. The linen shirt would be too short for their unexpected guest, but it would have to do.

Bess’s father had once described his brother-in-law as a tiny man with an enormous opinion of himself. She suspected Father’s judgement of his sister’s husband was based solely on the circumstances of their union. When Aunt Esther defied her parents and eloped with the man she loved, her family disowned her. Bess’s father followed suit and never relented, even after their parents passed away. Bess and Gemma might have never known each other if Bess’s late husband hadn’t encouraged a correspondence between them.

The rich Aubusson carpet cushioned her steps as she crossed to the bed and held up the nightshirt. “I trust you are capable of dressing and putting yourself to bed, my lord?”

“Are you offering to be my valet if not?” He joined her at the foot of the bed, standing much too close as he examined the nightshirt. She swallowed a wistful sigh. As a young woman, she’d had a weakness for devil-may-care men like Lord Julius. He was the perfect height for her to rest her head on his shoulder and nestle her face into the crook of his neck. His strong arms would cradle her, his hands gentle on her back as he caressed her.

She cleared her throat and thrust the nightshirt toward him. “Will you please take it?”

A furrow formed between his brows. “You cannot expect me to wear this abomination.”

“I suppose the new cotton is more to your liking?” she asked sweetly before shaking the nightshirt in his face. “This is not Bond Street, sir. The selection is limited.”

He examined the garment, his dark eyes crinkling with amusement, and made no move to accept her offering. The arrogance of pampered lords never failed to stoke her temper. Merrick had been the same, rarely sparing a critical word for those he’d deemed gauche. She had been too infatuated to recognize his poor character at the time, but she was no longer a naive girl of eighteen.

As if to prove it to herself, she adopted a stern tone and spoke with the authority of a governess. “Don the nightshirt, crawl beneath the covers, and I don’t want to hear another word from you.”

When Lord Julius grinned, shallow dimples formed in his cheeks. “Has anyone ever told you how beautiful you are when you’re riled?”

“You are so deep in your cups, my lord, you cannot see straight.”

“That is untrue.”

Closing one eye, he tipped toward her. She caught his shoulders to stop his forward motion before they both ended up on the floor.

“I can see both of you perfectly.” Laughing at his own joke, he released one side of the quilt. It slid to the floor to reveal his well-formed chest again. Her heart sped at the glorious sight.

He reached for the nightshirt. His lips twitched in an effort to suppress a smile. “Hand it over, She-devil.”

She passed it to him, pleased by his compliance at last.

“I don’t wear nightshirts.” He winked and tossed it over his shoulder. The garment landed half on the footstool, half on the floor.

His action was audacious, his insinuation scandalous and absurd.

Scowling, she marched to where the nightshirt lay and snatched it from the floor. “Wear it, don’t wear it. It makes no difference to me, but if you catch a chill, you will only have yourself to blame.”

His eyes glittered in the firelight as if he found everything she said humorous. They were the richest brown color, ringed with sooty lashes. Such a gorgeous man. It would be a shame if sickness claimed him before some optimistic young lady had a chance to try and tame him. Bess knew better. Reforming a rogue before he was ready was a hopeless cause. He’d toy with her heart then toss her aside when he tired of playing and would seek a wife more to his liking.

“Please, my lord, I don’t want you to become ill.” Impulsively, she touched his arm. His skin was warm and irresistibly smooth. She swallowed hard, the sound as loud as a cannon in the small space between them. “Please.”

He hesitated before taking the nightshirt and resting his hand on her hip. “If you are worried about my health,” he murmured, “you are welcome to join me beneath the sheets to keep me warm.”

His seductive smile caused a flutter in her belly. Every rational thought urged her to withdraw, but she swayed toward him as if drawn by a magnetic pull. “A gentleman would never ask a lady to engage in such scandalous behavior.”

“Not an innocent to be sure, but you are a widow, Lady Hadley. Surely, I’ve not shocked you.”

No, she shocked herself by considering his offer. Although it was generally acceptable for a widow to take a lover if one was discreet, Bess had never embraced this aspect of widowhood. It felt crass, flitting about from bed to bed. She’d liked being married and having a partner by her side—a companion. “I fear you have misjudged the type of lady I am.”

He studied her, the wheels of his mind moving behind his mesmerizing eyes. “Have I? Tell me, what type of lady are you?”

“The marrying kind.”

“Hellfire!” He dropped his hand from her waist. “Are you serious? Do you want another husband?”

“Why Lord Julius”—she batted her lashes—“a proposal seems premature, but how could I refuse? My very own incorrigible scoundrel for Christmas. Won’t the ladies be jealous?”

He laughed, tossing back his head. The heartiness of his laughter lightened her heart. Not many men appreciated her sardonic sense of humor. She’d honed the skill as a child, growing up with six younger brothers. She couldn’t match them in brawn, so she’d outmatched them in wits.

“You are an amusing woman.” Lord Julius wiped tears from the corners of his eyes. “Perhaps I will propose someday to see how you might wiggle your way out of it.”

“Perhaps I will accept to spite you.” She took a step back to put distance between them before she did something foolish, like peck a kiss to his cheek and wish him goodnight. “Do as you’ve been told and go to bed. I will return early tomorrow to rouse you and send you on your way.”

He was grumbling under his breath about country hours when she pulled the door closed behind her. Gemma met her in the corridor outside of her bedchamber. “Is our guest settled?”

“I don’t think we will hear any more from him tonight,” Bess said. “Would you have a cup of tea with me? I find I’m not ready to retire yet.”

“After all the excitement, neither am I.”

Below stairs, Bess examined the broken lock on the delivery door just outside of the kitchen. “I hope his lordship is handy with repairs. Did you see the damage he has done?”

“Have a little compassion. I cannot say I blame him with the weather.” Gemma was swinging the kettle over the fire when Bess re-entered the kitchen. “Have you ever seen such a sight?”

“Never,” Bess admitted. “He is exceedingly well-formed.”

Her cousin giggled. “I meant the thunder snowstorm.”

“Oh!” A flood of heat washed over her. She busied herself with readjusting Lord Julius’s wet clothes on the line.

Gemma took mercy on her and changed the subject. “I will send Robbie for the locksmith tomorrow.” The young servants had been ordered to bed so they could rise early to attend to Lord Julius.

Bess and Gemma moved to the servants’ dining hall with the pot of tea and sat at the long oak table. Bess questioned her cousin about their unexpected guest and his family.

“The Seabrooks are a close knit brood,” Gemma said. “They will come looking for him when he doesn’t arrive home.”

“What a pity. I thought I might keep him,” Bess said, poking fun at herself.

“I wish you luck. No lady has been able to catch him, much less keep him.”

Bess knew the type well and made a habit of keeping her distance from his ilk.

When Bess and Gemma retired for the night, all was silent on the second floor. Lord Julius was unlikely to stir before morning, given his state of inebriation. Nevertheless, Bess instructed her cousin to turn her lock as a precaution, and she did the same.

By midmorning the next day, Lord Julius still hadn’t made a sound. Bess was growing concerned. “Robbie, was his lordship sleeping when you last fed the fire in his chamber?”

“Yes, milady.” The boy didn’t look up from his task of shoveling ash from the sitting room hearth and dropping it into a metal bucket. “He snores something fierce.”

Gemma, who was knitting winter hats and mittens for the youngsters, cleared her throat. “Robbie?”

“I am not telling tales, Miss.”

Gemma raised her eyebrows. “Are you embellishing?”

The boy dropped his head, his face red. “Not a lot,” he mumbled.

Bess hated to see the servant called out for being a typical boy. “I’m sure it sounds louder in a quiet room,” she said.

“Yes, ma’am. That must be it.” Robbie returned to his task with a shy smile.

“Shall we look in on Lord Julius together?” Gemma asked.

“I suppose we should.” Bess set the dusting cloth aside. “Then we can determine if he snores like a bear.”

Robbie snickered.

Gemma crinkled her nose at Bess, but her eyes sparkled with mirth. “Don’t encourage him.”

Bess led the way to Uncle Roger’s bedchamber and pressed her ear against the door.

“I can’t hear anything,” she whispered.

“Should we wake him?”

Bess shrugged. She’d threatened to wake Lord Julius early, but she hadn’t had the heart to carry through. He’d had a rough evening, and even though it was his own fault, a few more winks wouldn’t hurt him. Nevertheless, she wanted reassurance he hadn’t turned ill in the middle of the night. She eased the door open to peek inside. The counterpane was pulled over his head. If not for the dark spikes of hair poking above the covers, it could have been anyone in the bed. The heavy quilt rose and fell steadily, providing no cause for alarm.

Robbie had done a fine job of keeping the room toasty and had taken it upon himself to drape his lordship’s drawers over a chair by the fire to dry. Satisfied, she backed from the room. A puddle of white on the carpet caught her eye.

Is that the nightshirt? Of all the— He was nude beneath the counterpane.

Bess huffed and pulled pins from her hair.

Gemma gasped. “What are you doing?”

“Teaching the rogue a lesson,” she hissed. “Hold these.” She pressed the pins into her cousin’s hand, tousled her own hair, and marched into the bedchamber.

CHAPTER THREE

JULIUS WAS HAVING A MARVELOUS DREAM. Silky soft fingers tunneled through his hair and stroked the rim of his ear. Nails lightly caressed his back. Cool air touched his skin, slowly rousing him from sleep. He murmured as heaviness settled between his thighs. He’d always fancied a morning tup, but he was certain his bed partner was a figment of his imagination.

A she-devil with hair the color of honey, lips like plump cherries, and a tart tongue he’d been tempted to quiet with kisses last night. The encounter with the provocative widow was hazy in his memory, but he recalled holding her close. Her warm hand had splayed on his chest as her eyes heated with desire. He’d seen the look many times from other women. Sometimes, if both parties were agreeable, it resulted in a night of shared pleasure.

“Are you awake, my love?”

Julius yelped and flipped to his back, jerking the covers to his chin like a virgin spinster. “Lady Hadley, what are you—”

“It is Bess, my lord. Elisabeth, actually, but everyone calls me Bess.”

Gooseflesh raised on the back of his neck. The widow gazed at him with tender green eyes, her expression dreamy. Her mussed hair fell loose around her shoulders, and her cheeks boasted a rosy glow as if she’d been thoroughly tumbled. Lying on her stomach, she propped her chin in her palm. Her bare legs were bent at the knees and her shapely feet dangled in the air.

The heaviness in his groin throbbed. “Er…” He licked his lips; his mouth was as dry as if he’d stuffed it with cotton. “Did we…uh…”

“Oh, yes, my love!” She scrambled to a seated position, folding her legs beneath her like a child and clasping her hands to her bosom. “We are betrothed.”

Betrothed? Julius gulped. No, he would remember if he’d done anything that stupid. “I believe I misheard you, my dear lady. Did you say an arrangement exists between us?”

Her bottom lip drooped into a pout. “Surely, you haven’t forgotten. You asked me what type of lady I was, and I declared I was the marrying kind.”

The marrying kind. A vague recollection of a conversation floated just out of reach.

“You offered for my hand last night,” she said. “I accepted. Don’t you remember? I called you my very own scoundrel for Christmas.”

The words crystalized in his memory. Egads! She had said those exact words to him.

He sat up too fast and his head spun. His fate stretched before him like an icy lake. A foreboding crack was snaking across the surface, racing toward him. He would be lost in the water below, trapped. Every plan he’d made over the last two years, every pound saved, would be for naught. Sagging against the headboard, he tried to remember how to breathe properly.

She sighed. “Julius, you cannot have forgotten. Not after we—” Her gaze strayed to his lap and blood rushed to her cheeks. “I needn’t tell you. You were there, all three times.”

Three? No, he would remember if they had been intimate—even once, wouldn’t he?

“Please say something, my love. You are frightening me.” She touched his thigh.

“I believe there has been a misunderstanding.” He tossed the covers aside and crawled from bed, bare as the day he was born.

“Good heavens!” She averted her eyes, blinking several times.

Where the hell were his clothes? His discarded drawers were on a chair by the hearth, which meant his pants had to be here somewhere. While he searched the floor, she pleaded with him to cover himself. He ceased the hunt to gawk in her direction, perplexed by the rising panic in her voice. It was too late to be acting missish now.

Her chest rose and fell with agitated breaths.

Faith, is she going to cry? He felt helpless when ladies cried, which had been a frequent occurrence with five sisters at home. Before any tears fell, he’d always made it a practice of exiting the room. A retreat was impossible, however, when one didn’t have his trousers.

“Wh-where are you going?”she asked.

He looked under the bed. There was nothing there. “Apparently, nowhere.” He marched to the chair to grab the still damp drawers and pulled them on. “Could we clear up this matter after I’ve had a cup of tea? I cannot think at the moment.”

“I don’t understand. You promised”—her voice caught—“You didn’t mean a word you said last night. How could I be so stupid?” She buried her face in her hands and sobbed.

“Now, see here.” He approached her side of the bed, compelled to offer comfort and having no idea how to go about it. “I’ll not listen to you insult yourself.” He patted her back harder than intended.

“Ow!” She angled her body away.

“Sorry. Uh, I’m sorry.” Hesitantly, he reached for her again, feeling like a clumsy oaf. “Please, don’t cry. We will figure this out.”

“What is there to figure out?” Her voice was muffled, but the sobbing had stopped. “We have an understanding.”

Taking a deep breath, he managed to suppress his mounting alarm. She needed a rock right now. He would be that for her, since this mess was his fault. He must have been much drunker than he’d realized.

“As it appears we are the only ones who know what occurred last night,” he said, “there is still time to salvage the situation. Surely, you have no desire to remarry. Think of the freedom your status allows. How happy could any woman be when she is tied to one man for life?"

“Ha!” She raised her head; her eyes were dry. “I knew you were the type of man who would try to weasel out of a promise. I was right about you.”

“Damnation, woman. You haven’t shed a single tear.”

“My heart is crying.” She smirked. “My eyes didn’t receive the message.”

Julius gasped. Never had a woman spoken to him in such a manner. His muddled brain couldn’t decide if he was more offended or awed by her gall.

She took advantage of his gobsmacked state to scoot from the bed opposite him. “Your view on marriage is disturbing, Julius Everly. Tying up women? Is that what you believe a husband does?”

“No, of course not.” Julius was too tired to make sense of the conversation. “You are twisting my words, purposefully assigning a literal meaning.”

“I will have you know Lord Hadley was the kindest, most encouraging man I have ever known.” Her hand landed on her hip, her expression smug. “I became my own woman after we married, something I was never allowed to be in my father’s house. My husband was my dearest friend.”

He frowned. His mother said much the same about his father. From Julius’s observations, it was a sly way of saying a man was henpecked. His mother was the undisputed ruler at Everly Manor, and his father never went against her wishes.

“I pity any woman unfortunate enough to find herself tied to you, Lord Julius, and your outdated ideas of marriage.”

“I don’t understand.” He scrubbed a hand down his face, wishing the cobwebs would clear from his head. “Are you saying you don’t wish to marry me?”

“That is exactly right.” She jutted her chin to punctuate her message and bit out each word. “Not even if my life depended on it.”

He should be relieved to be released from his promise, but her tone and saucy attitude was offensive. “I will have you know I am a catch.”

She scoffed. “A catch, my big toe.”

“You are insufferable. Are you baiting me on purpose?” He stalked to the side of the bed where she was standing. Her green eyes widened. When her breath hitched, the tops of her small breasts peeked above the neckline of her dress. She was gorgeous up close with color high in her cheeks and her tousled hair framing her narrow face.

Her gaze lowered to his bare chest, lingering but a second before returning to look him in the eye. His anger dwindled as desire surged through his veins. She wet her lips, then perhaps realizing the enticing picture she presented, clamped them tightly. Damn him for overindulging last night. Memories of their night together would have sustained him through the holiday.

“Is this remorse speaking, my lady, or do you have a true objection to me?”

“Remorse? Me?” She sputtered and couldn’t maintain eye contact. “I’ve done nothing wrong, but you— For heaven’s sake, you disrobed in the kitchen. Your behavior is scandalous and unacceptable.”

Good old regret it is.

No doubt she had fancied herself incorruptible before he led her down the path of wickedness. Julius made it a practice of avoiding paragons of virtue. If he had been in his right mind last night, he never would have bedded her.

He wouldn’t be surprised if she had fabricated the proposal to ease her guilt after a night of hedonistic pleasure, and now she was instigating a row to cover her lie. Perhaps he would make her squirm; she’d had no qualms about doing the same to him a few moments ago.

“I recall you knew of my reputation before you accepted my proposal and joined me beneath the sheets.” He allowed a seductive smile to ease across his face. “Was it three times, love?”

He hadn’t thought it possible she could blush any harder, but her face was bordering on plum.

“I am afraid you’ve misjudged me, my lady.” He clicked his tongue. “I am wounded to have you think so poorly of me. I never would have tumbled you had I realized you played me false and never intended to make an honest man of me.”

“Th-that is a lie.”

He shrugged. “I suppose we will never know since I did, in fact, propose before bedding you.”

A squeak of protest was cut off when she snapped her mouth closed. She bristled, and her eyes burned with an intensity that threatened to singe him. If she was less of a lady, he was certain she would hurl curses at him.

He derived immense pleasure in vexing her.

“It is time to take care of your man, wife-to-be. Fetch me a pot of tea.” He swatted her behind, expecting she’d retaliate. She did not disappoint.

“Get it yourself.” Like the she-devil she was, she stomped his toes as she marched past.

He laughed when she slammed the door. Revenge was a sweet dish, served hot or cold.

After searching every corner of the chamber without unearthing his trousers, his merriment turned to dread. Parts of his memory were returning in flashes. He’d been frozen to the bone, his clothes turning to ice. His fingers had shaken and he’d fumbled with the front fall of his trousers. He’d left them below stairs, along with his greatcoat.

“Faith,” he muttered and collapsed on the side of the bed. He and Lady Hadley had failed to use protection last night.

CHAPTER FOUR

BESS RETREATED to her bedchamber to splash cool water on her face before storming to the hightop dresser. The reflection in the looking glass startled her. On first glance, she didn’t recognize herself. The woman staring back with parted lips and eyes glimmering with feverish intensity looked feral—a woman driven by strong passions and prone to foolish choices.

Destined for ruin. Her stepmothers’s sad proclamation echoed in her memory.

“No,” Bess murmured. She wasn’t that same young woman she’d been at age eighteen. She had turned her back on that reckless girl long ago and mended her ways before any lasting damage occurred.

Except to your pride.

Unbidden and unwelcome, a memory bubbled up from the dark well of her past. She couldn’t meet her own eyes in the mirror as old humiliations resurfaced. Once upon a time, before Bess was a respectable countess, she’d listened to the lies of a scoundrel. Sweet words whispered into her ear, promises of an eternal love.

Lies and more lies.

She’d been naive and smitten in those days. To deny Merrick Bradshaw anything, had been inconceivable. A wild drive through Hyde Park with her clinging to his arm. Saving every waltz for him, spinning and laughing from the sheer joy of being near him. Steamy kisses in the Eldridges’ garden. Merrick had been the sun and her, a seedling stretching for his warmth. Bess sickened at the thought of what might have become of her if the scoundrel hadn’t lost interest overnight and turned his attentions toward courting another.

“Let it go,” she said through gritted teeth and jerked open the dresser; her pins and brush went flying and banged into the back of the drawer.

Lord Julius might have awakened that foolish girl, but Bess knew how to control her now. Once she collected herself and he came below stairs to break his fast, she would reveal the truth about last night—just like she had planned before he stormed around the bed and scrambled her thoughts. Law. She was truly featherbrained to think she could teach the rogue a lesson.

He was shameless.

Rather than pulling her lady’s maid from work for a simple task, Bess twisted her hair high on her head and stabbed a pin into the knot. Quinn, agreeable woman that she was, had offered to work alongside Anne in the kitchen until the cook returned. The two servants formed a bond soon after Bess’s cousin arrived at the dowager house in Mayfair with Robbie and Anne in tow. At Bess’s urging and with Gemma’s blessing, Quinn was training young Anne to become a lady’s maid, too.

After setting herself back to rights and donning a new pair of stockings, Bess went in search of her cousin. Gemma was at the writing desk in the drawing room, sorting the large stack of post that had been waiting for her return. It was the only piece of furniture in the room not covered with a sheet. Sunlight filtered through the window at her back, creating a halo around her dark blonde hair. When they had met for the first time, Bess had been shocked by how much they resembled each other.

Gemma glanced up with an envelop and brass letter opener in her hands. “We received a letter from the agency. They found a housekeeper with excellent references and wish to know if an interview should be scheduled. Did you expect a response this soon?"

“I was hopeful.” Bess moved behind her cousin to read the inquiry over her shoulder.

Two weeks before the journey to Davensworth Cottage, Bess had spoken with the most reputable service agency in London about the need for a butler, housekeeper, and stable master. She’d reasoned once the senior positions were filled, the head servants could hire their own subordinates.

“There is no mention of other candidates.” Gemma frowned as she concentrated on breaking the seal on another letter. “Will it be difficult to find manservants? I don’t know how long we can manage without a butler and footmen. Robbie isn’t much stronger than you and I, and we cannot keep sending for your men in the stables.”

“Not all men are opposed to female employers,” Bess said. “Tripleton has been with me for years. Someone will be pleased with the opportunity for advancement.”

“I trust your experience in such matters.” Her cousin sighed and dropped the correspondence on the desk. “I wish Papa had better prepared me. It is a lot of responsibility running a house and owning the brewery.”

“I understand, but rest assured, I will remain at Davensworth Cottage to assist you until you demand that I go home.”

“I am more likely to beg you to stay.”

The poor dear had experienced a rough go of it after Uncle Roger’s death. Bess, herself, had been lost after her husband’s death. Without guidance from Hadley’s nephew and heir, she couldn’t imagine how she would have made decisions with the fog of her grief clouding her mind.

Bess gave her cousin’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Since your father’s man-of-affairs reported all is well with the business, I believe it is safe to turn our attentions toward hiring a housekeeper. Write the agency and take the interview.”

“Of course, although I’m unable to frank a letter today. Last night’s storm made the lane impassable. No one will be coming or going for days, including Lord Julius.”

Bess gasped and hurried to the window to push the ivory sheers aside. The hills. The trees. Everything appeared to be encased in glass. The rain and snow mix had turned to deadly ice overnight. How had she not thought to check the weather earlier?

“No-no-no.” Bess flapped her hands against her thighs in frustration. “Why?”

Her cousin joined her at the window. “It’s a marvelous sight, is it not? Marvelous and treacherous.” The descriptions could apply to Lord Julius as easily as the landscape.

“Gemma, he was supposed to leave today. What are we going to do?”

“You can start by taking a breath before you faint.”

“I’m too level-headed to faint,” she grumbled. Her body chose to betray her at the exact moment. Her head spun and she swayed into the window.

Gemma put her arm around her shoulders, smiling. “I can see you are perfectly balanced.”

JULIUS WAITED a bloody long time for a servant to respond to the bell pull. It took even longer for the boy to return with his clothes. After dressing in haste, Julius scrounged up toothpowder from the late Mr. Price’s belongings to prepare for an audience with Lady Hadley.

Elisabeth? Bess? Yes, she prefers Bess.

Her name was the total sum of what he knew about her.

Wincing, he rubbed the space between his brows where an ache lingered. It wasn’t like him to fall into bed with a woman upon their first meeting. Wooing a lady was half the fun and made the reward sweeter in the end. He also preferred remembering the deed. Had Price’s ale always been so potent?

“Upon my word,” Julius muttered, “never again.”

Not that his oath changed the situation. He’d been careless last night, and given Bess’s poor opinion of him this morning, he didn’t know how to proceed.

Had he truly promised marriage before they were intimate, knowing he had no intention of honoring his word? If so, the ale he drank did more than addle his brain. It had turned him into a despicable cur, a man he didn’t recognize.

His reputation for being a hellion hadn’t been earned from being reckless with another’s heart. He craved the rush of adventure and satisfied it with racing. His mother believed the hunger was in his blood, inherited from her Dane ancestors. Everyone in his family accepted this explanation without question, including Julius. He couldn’t rid himself of the hunger anymore than he could lob off his own arm or leg.

Despite his lack of clarity on what had occurred overnight, he went in search of the lady. His honor as a gentleman was at stake. If their liaison resulted in a child, he could never deny his flesh and blood. He and Bess must reach an understanding—in whatever form she deemed appropriate—before he returned to Everly Manor.

He didn’t encounter a single servant on the upper level to request an audience with the lady, nor was a soul in sight below stairs. It was the oddest of circumstances. Deducing the help was congregating in the kitchens, he followed the scent of bacon and drew up short in the doorway. “Lady Hadley, what in the devil are you doing?”

The three women cried out in surprise. More aptly, two women and one girl. The servant frying bacon wasn’t old enough to hold a position above scullery maid, and Bess appeared to have taken over her duties.

When the occupants simply gaped, he entered the warm kitchen. The delicious fragrance of sweet bread baking in the oven and salty meat wrapped him in a comforting embrace.

“Where is the cook?” he asked. “Has something happened to her?”

The elder servant, a willowy young woman with high cheekbones and meticulously neat appearance, recovered from the shock of his sudden appearance. She bobbed a curtsey. “The weather has delayed her, my lord.”

“I see.” Her explanation did little to clear his confusion. Why was the cook away from Davensworth Cottage, and how had Bess been recruited to wash dishes? “And the other servants, Lady Hadley? Have they fallen ill?”

Bess’s mouth thinned. She lowered the dish she was holding into the washbasin and dried her hands on her apron. “I will speak with Lord Julius privately, Quinn. If you will continue to assist Anne, I would be grateful.”

“Yes, my lady.” The young woman moved behind Bess to release the apron ties. “I am pleased to be useful.”

“You are a godsend.” Bess’s smile was soft when she spoke to the servant. All traces of kindness were replaced with cool detachment when she looked at Julius. “Let’s retire to the library. Gemma is occupying the drawing room.”

She swept past him, expecting him to follow. With quick, efficient steps, she navigated the corridors; he adopted a more leisurely pace. It allowed him to study her while sending a message he was not amenable to being led nor handled by anyone. His will was strong, his path determined. She needed to know what she was getting into if their lives were forever entwined. He hoped being clear now would eliminate any conflict between them in the future.

The furniture in the library was covered in sheets. She whipped one off a chair and gestured toward it. “Sit.”

“I’m not a circus dog.”

“Should I not retrieve the flaming hoops then?”

He chuckled; his defensiveness evaporated without any conscious effort on his part. “You continue to surprise me, Bess. I like that quality in a woman.”

“Possibly one other person shares your opinion.”

He shrugged. “I don’t require validation from others."

“What a rare bird you are.” Her smile seemed to be given begrudgingly. “If you would like to have a seat, please be my guest.”

She remained standing, so he did as well. The circumstances of their unconventional meeting last night might have given her the wrong impression. Julius was a well-bred gentleman, from the top of his head to the tips of his Wellies.

He aimed a frown at his shiny boots. “These were caked in mud last night. Did you polish them?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” She crossed her arms and leaned her shoulder against the end of a bookshelf. “Robbie cleaned them for you.”

The servant boy who’d attended him earlier. Julius ran his fingertips over the covered furniture as he sauntered toward the bookshelf where she stood. “What is going on at Davensworth Cottage? Why did I find you washing dishes?”

Bess sighed. “Under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t share my cousin’s plight, but I don’t see how we will hide it. The butler resigned after my uncle’s death and took most of the male staff with him. He thought it was beneath him to be employed by an unmarried lady. He believed the estate should have gone to a male relative, no doubt one of my irresponsible half-brothers.”

“It was none of the manservant’s concern,” he said, “as long as his salary continued.”

Her eyes widened as if he was capable of surprising her as well. “My thoughts exactly, Julius.”

To hear his name fall nonchalantly from her lips did something strange to his insides. His initial reaction was pleasure, but dread followed closely on its heels. If he broached the topic of their night together, would they quarrel again? He didn’t have the stamina for another round before breakfast.

“In the end, it is for the best.”

Julius realized she was still talking and tried to focus.

“Gemma will require a loyal man under the roof.”

“Er, a man?”

“A butler to hire footmen,” she said. “A house this size requires adequate staff. ”

“This explains the lack of male staff, but not the reason you were elbows deep in dish water.”

“I suppose it doesn’t.” She caught one side of her lip between pearly teeth as if measuring her words before speaking. “Davensworth Cottage had more than its fair share of tragedy last year. After the butler resigned, the housekeeper took charge. She did a fine job of running the household, but a month later, she died suddenly.

“The rest of the servants abandoned Gemma afterward. Only the housekeeper’s children remained, and neither Anne or Robbie have much experience. I insisted Gemma bring them when she came to stay with me. The poor dears had their own grieving to do, and who would look after them if they stayed behind?”

Beneath her steely exterior, a kind heart resided. The image of her gazing up at him with concern crinkling her brow flashed through his memory. Something about a nightshirt? It evaporated like mist rising from the pastures at sunrise, but the warmth of the moment lingered.

“Had I anticipated Gemma's wish to be home by Christmas,” she said, “I would have sought candidates earlier. It is her first year without her father, so I anticipate it will be difficult. It would have been better to have the house ready for her return, and you were right about the greenery.”

“Pardon?”

“Last night you commented on the lack of greenery and holiday cheer.” She glanced around the room, shaking her head. “There is much to do before Christmas.”

He smiled ruefully. “I was a regular magpie, and I cannot recall most of what I said.”

“Yes, well…” She dropped her gaze to the floor and toyed with her earlobe as a becoming blush lent color to her cheeks. “While you are a guest, I ask for your patience with the slower service. We are doing our best under the circumstances.”

“I understand and promise not to impose upon your cousin’s hospitality beyond requesting the use of a horse from her stables. I’ll see it is properly cared for and returned. Before I take my leave, however, we should have a conversation.”

“Do you not know, my lord? An ice storm came in the night. You are stranded at Davensworth Cottage.”

“Oh!” An unexpected development, but perhaps it would work for the best. He hadn’t favored a rushed discussion, and any decisions affecting their future association shouldn’t be made in haste.

“Blast,” he muttered to himself. “There will be no way to send a message to Everly Manor.”

“Will your family be worried for you?”

“Worried, no, but my brother will miss my protection.”

When Bess's eyebrows arched, he explained about his parents’ house party and how most of the guests thought it was a ploy to find a bride for Clive.

“Would it be horrible if everyone was right?” she asked.

“Are you suggesting our parents have started a new holiday tradition?” He chuckled. “Some families light the yule candle. The Marquess and Marchioness of Seabrook gift their children with spouses.”

Bess pushed away from the bookshelf. “You are hardly a child, Julius, and neither is your brother. He is the heir, is he not? It is right for your parents to steer him toward an acceptable spouse. Now, if you will excuse me, I have much to do.”

A small frown played across her lips when she snatched the edge of a sheet and whipped it from a sturdy table with thick legs. Julius had witnessed a magician perform a trick once at a house party. The table had been laden with food, dainty crystal goblets, and precious bone china with gilded rims.

When the man jerked the table cloth, the hostess screamed, but nothing on the table was disturbed. Every plate, every fork and knife, every piece of glassware stayed in place. Applause had erupted in the room, and conversations were forgotten. The magician was skilled at using distraction and performing sleight of hand tricks.

Julius couldn’t help wondering if Bess was doing the same. Whether she was distracting herself or him, he couldn’t decide. Perhaps it was best not to draw attention to her tactic now. After all, he would be at Davensworth Cottage until the ice melted or a heavy snowfall made it safe to take a horse from the stables. They would have time later to discuss their future association, if there was to be one. Perhaps they could get to know each other in the meantime.

He picked up the discarded sheet she’d removed from the chair.

“What are you doing?” Displeasure was clear in her tone.

“Helping. You said there aren’t enough servants.”

“You are a guest, my lord.” With an exasperated exhale, she plopped the folded sheet on the table and marched forward to snatch the other from his hands. “Breakfast will be served in the breakfast room. Shall I ring for Robbie to show you the way?”

His temper flared, but he controlled the burn. He was not an idle man, nor was he agreeable to being told what he could and couldn’t do, but she would learn that about him soon enough. “Thank you, but I can find it on my own.”

CHAPTER FIVE

INSTEAD OF SEEKING out the breakfast room, Julius headed toward the kitchen, passed the butler’s pantry with a dusty desk and dull silver bells mounted to the wall, and eventually stumbled across the servants’ dining hall. The young women from earlier and the sole male servant were seated at one end of a long table better suited for a staff of twenty. Two extra places were set with plates and silverware, but the chairs were empty.

Robbie noticed his intrusion first and sprang to his feet. “Sir!”

The females followed suit. All three of them could boast posture to make an etiquette instructor proud. The senior servant lowered her head in deference. “My lord, we didn’t hear you ring.”

“Step lively, Rob.” The late housekeeper’s daughter snapped her fingers. “Show Lord Julius to the breakfast room.”

Julius waved them back to their seats. “Finish your meal.” When they appeared reluctant, he infused his tone with authority. “I insist. Eat.”

The servants exchanged confused looks before sitting.

“Please forgive my interruption,” Julius said, remaining in the threshold so as not to spook them. Members of his class could be terrible brutes to those they deemed beneath them, but Julius had never been one to puff up like a rooster and peck at the help. “I realize it must be awkward to have a stranger in your midst, never mind that I have ventured into your domain.”

“Not at all, my lord.” The elder servant couldn’t meet his eyes when she uttered the lie.

“I believe Lady Hadley referred to you as Quinn?”

Her face turned bright red. “Yes, my lord. Felicity Quinn. I am Lady Hadley’s maid.”

Her answer surprised him. A lady’s maid did not engage in kitchen duties. All the cottage occupants were lending a hand, which solidified his decision. He gestured to one of the empty plates. “May I?”

The youngsters stared at him with wide eyes. Quinn answered in the affirmative. He stood at the table to fill his plate with bacon and bread, and gathered the silverware.

“I’ll not make a nuisance of myself any longer. Which direction is the breakfast room?”

“Up the staircase and to the left,” Anne said. “Are you certain you do not want Robbie to show you?”

“I am, miss.” He walked into the corridor and swiveled on his heel to face them again. “By-the-by, I intend to make myself useful while staying at Davensworth Cottage. If Lady Hadley can learn to wash dishes, I imagine I am not a hopeless cause. Robbie, please come find me once you have eaten your fill.”

BESS JERKED to a stop at the top of the stairs. Air whooshed from her lungs as if she collided with a wall. Coming up the flight with an armful of split logs was none other than Lord Julius. He practically bounded up the stairs as if he carried a load of feathers. In a large house, avoiding him should have been an easy task, yet here he was again underfoot.

“Good day, Lady Hadley.”

His chipper greeting eased the tightness in her chest. Perhaps he was the jovial type who would have a good laugh when she admitted to fooling him, although it might be at her expense. She didn’t mind being the butt of a joke, but what if she was wrong about his forgiving nature? Surely he wouldn’t hold Gemma accountable. Bess would impress upon him that her cousin played no part in the pretense, just as soon as she screwed up enough courage to tell him.

He stopped on the top step. His brown hair was damp at his temples, dark and glistening like a raven’s wings.

“We meet again, my lord.”

“Always a pleasure.” A devilish twinkle in his eyes caused her insides to quiver with excitement. “I expect we’ll see a lot of each other over the next few days.”

And that was the problem—seeing too much of him. He’d discarded his jacket and waistcoat since their last encounter, and the translucent fabric of his shirt did nothing to hide the definition of his flexed biceps. It was challenging not to ogle. Had she not seen much more of his impressive figure on two previous occasions, the sight of him in his shirtsleeves would have come as a shock. She was beyond being scandalized, but she wasn’t immune to him.

Fanning her face to cool her overheated skin, she said, “I thought we established you are a guest at Davensworth Cottage. Why are you performing a servant’s duties?”

He tipped his head. “Your cheeks are flushed. Are you overtaxing yourself?”

“No, not in the least.” She dropped her hands at her sides, embarrassed he had noticed her involuntary reaction.

He narrowed his eyes. The intensity of his inspection made her self-conscious. She reached for her earlobe. “Mm-hmm,” he muttered. “Have you stopped working since you woke?”

She inhaled slowly to calm her churning breath. One quick shake of her head acknowledged she had not.

“I’d wager you haven’t had a morsel of food either.” His thick brows were like stern slashes hovering low over his eyes. “There is no harm in having a lie down.” His harping should have irritated her, but his concern for her wellbeing was touching, albeit unnecessary.

“I don’t need a rest, my lord, and you are a guest. You shouldn’t be performing manual labor.”

A dimpled grin transformed his face in a flash. “Should I leave it to the mice to do?"

He was teasing again, so she took no offense. “The troubles at Davensworth Cottage are temporary,” she said. “We cannot risk having it known you were asked to perform chores. Additionally, we are vermin free.”

“No mice? All the more reason you need my help, I say. Besides, I volunteered my services.”

“Out of necessity. Do you know how that sounds? Gemma’s reputation—”

“You needn’t worry about Miss Price losing her social standing. What happens under this roof does not concern the neighbors.”

With a sigh, she met his gaze head on. She’d always read people through their eyes, assessed their intentions, ascertained the truth in their hearts. Julius’s hazel eyes were open windows, warm and shining with sincerity. A large chunk of the wall she’d erected to protect herself crumbled. Like it or not, she needed help if there was any hope of restoring order to the house before Christmas.

“Very well, I accept.”

“Splendid.” Julius adjusted the logs in his arms. “I wouldn’t enjoy tying you to a chair to force you to slow down, despite your belief to the contrary."

A fresh wave of heat swept over her. She’d been cheeky earlier, accusing him of plans to tie up his future wife.

“Heavens, I’m in your way.” She stepped aside to allow him to pass. “Your load must be heavy.”

“A little, but I don’t mind.”

He paused at the landing and studied the end of the corridor. The house was a maze of passageways. Throughout the years, new additions had been tacked on to the original house in a haphazard manner. Bess liked the unpredictability of not knowing what was around the next corner, although it made navigation difficult.

“May I help you find something?” she asked.

“Robbie said I should replenish the supply in Miss Price’s chambers, but I’ve forgotten his directions.”

She laughed. “Is Robbie giving the orders now?”

“I insisted.” Julius’s wide grin was a testament to his good nature. “Have you seen the lad split wood?”

She shook her head.

“Neither have I.” He cocked an eyebrow. “But he gave a good effort before I took the ax away. It’s a wonder he hasn’t lost a foot.”

“Well, thank you for intervening.”

Lord Julius had been splitting firewood, which explained his disheveled appearance. Of course, it hadn’t occurred to a man of his station to use the servant staircase to carry the logs above stairs.

“Come with me,” she said. “I’ll show you the way.”

After the firewood was delivered to her cousin’s chambers, he smacked his hands together to clear the dust and debris. “What shall I do now? I am your humble servant.”

She considered sending him back to Robbie for orders, but decided it was the coward’s way. Eventually, she must tell the truth about last night and face the consequences.

“The drawing room hasn’t been touched,” she said.

“Lead the way."

She and Lord Julius settled into a comfortable partnership and worked side-by-side into the afternoon. His assistance made the work less grueling, but Bess was still exhausted when they stopped to take tea. It would have been the perfect time to clear the air, but Gemma joined them a few moments before Robbie arrived with the tea cart. Gemma, who’d been helping Anne polish the silver and organize the butler’s panty, looked as wilted as Bess felt.

“I noticed a pianoforte in the drawing room,” Julius said. “Do either of you play?”

Gemma nodded.

“Me, too.” Bess wrinkled her nose. “But I have no talent, much to my mother’s chagrin. She is my stepmother, actually. She married my father when I was very young.”

Julius dipped a sliver of sugar in his tea. “Evil or good?”

“Pardon?”

“Your stepmother. Was she evil or good? I’ve heard tales.”

“She was kind, but stricter with me than she was with her own children.” Bess shrugged. “It might have something to do with them being boys. Males tend to be given more leeway.”

“Not in my family,” Julius said. “Our mother treats all of us the same. She refers to us as her minions.”

Bess laughed. “The marchioness has a sense of humor, I see.”

“I don’t think she is joking.” The twinkle in his eyes said he was, though. “I learned to play the pianoforte. It was meant as a punishment for interrupting my older sister while she practiced. I enjoyed the lessons. I continued them longer than Mercedes.”

“You played for the annual Christmas pageant one year,” Gemma said. “You were marvelous.”

He met Bess’s gaze. “We should have a sing along once all the work is done. Nothing gets everyone into the spirit of Christmas like carols.”

“Yes!” Gemma’s teacup clattered against the saucer. “What a lovely suggestion. The Christmas spirit is just what we need.”

Bess smiled at Julius, communicating her gratitude. After Gemma’s uncharacteristic irritability with the servants last night, Bess had begun to question if her cousin was truly ready to observe her first holiday at the cottage without Uncle Roger.

“How much longer will it take to get everything in order?” Gemma asked.

Bess mentally ticked off items from her list. “With our combined efforts, perhaps by tomorrow evening.”

“Don’t forget to add a day to gather Christmas greenery and decorate,” Julius said. “Once all the housework is done, I will venture out to see what I can find.”

He could handle the task alone, but Bess would benefit from a breath of fresh air after being cooped inside. “If you’ll welcome the company, I would like to join you.”

CHAPTER SIX

“HOLD TIGHT.” Bess squeezed Julius’s hand as he coaxed her into taking her first step onto the frozen ground. “Take it slow.”

She’d skated as a child, but walking on ice was nothing like gliding around the pond on blades. She felt as uncoordinated now as she was during her first dance lesson with the most ill-tempered instructor her parents could have found.

Her stepmother had attended every lesson, sitting on the sidelines with a soured pucker of her lips while Mr. Livingston barked at Bess and flicked his hand to strike the top of hers whenever she displeased him. It reminded her of a game her brothers played. The sting often brought tears to her eyes.

Once, he’d stopped mid-lesson to bellow at the ceiling, fists clenched at his sides. The girl has chicken claws for fingers. Red-faced and sweaty, he’d raged to her stepmother. Utterly devoid of grace. You will never be rid of her.

Priscilla turned him out on the spot and earned Bess’s undying devotion. Father, who took no interest in Bess’s affairs, hadn’t lowered the news sheet when Priscilla announced the decision. He left Bess’s rearing to his second wife and didn’t wish to be bothered. Her next instructor was much kinder and restored her confidence.

Bess released Julius’s hand and cautiously scooted her feet along the ice. She wobbled, flinging her arms to the side for balance and laughing. “Had I known we would be risking our necks, I wouldn’t have agreed to this foolishness,” she lied. The cold on her cheeks and element of danger was invigorating.

“It’s not too late to turn back,” Julius said. “I can do this alone.”

“Never.” Truthfully, she enjoyed his companionship too much return to Davensworth Cottage.

Julius shifted the ax to his other shoulder and held out his arm.

“We might both end up on our backs if I lose my footing,” she said.

“I arrived on your doorstep in the middle of a storm, my dear. I am not averse to risk.”

“Indeed.” Any woman of quality should find his cocky grin and devil-may-care attitude alarming. For Bess, it conjured exciting possibilities.

When they passed the stables, her coachmen wandered outside. The men were in work clothes and held grooming tools. Ted, who’d been with her the longest, scratched his cheek. “Is there something we can do for you, my lady?”

His words were polite, but his expression suggested he thought she and Julius were mad as hatters.

“We are gathering greenery for the mantle,” she said.

“How is my horse?” Julius called.

The night of the storm, his beloved horse also found his way to Davensworth Cottage. Bess’s driver had spotted the gelding hunched under the branches of an evergreen to escape the storm and used a bucket of oats to entice him into the stables.

Ted grinned. “Torch is treated like a king, if you ask me. Will you be by later to tell him a bedtime story, my lord, or should I put him to bed?”

“If Torch is king, you must be the jester,” Julius shot back without animosity. He’d ingratiated himself to her servants in no time with the loving care he showed his horse and developed a friendly banter with them.

“I think it is sweet you talk to Torch,” she murmured and squeezed his arm.

The coachmen were still lingering outside when she and Julius entered the woods. They hadn’t walked far before Bess found a tree to suit their purpose. It was small enough for Julius to tote back to the house with full branches they could strip for garland.

“There.” She pointed. “It’s perfect.”

She moved to a safe distance while Julius swung the ax. After several whacks, the fir toppled. Bess thanked him again while he chopped off the lower branches to make it easier to transport. “You’ve gone the extra step for my cousin.”

“No one around here would think twice about doing for Miss Price.” Julius buried the ax in the trunk and walked toward Bess. He was breathing harder from exertion, but no worse for the wear. “Your uncle was the largest employer in the county. His brewery kept roofs over the heads of many families. It still does. And your aunt? No finer lady walked the earth.”

She leaned against a large oak with one arm hugging it keep her sliding sideways. “I never met my aunt, but I imagine Gemma is a lot like her.”

“Her mother was more like you, actually.”

“Was Aunt Esther a she-devil?”

He chuckled. “You are never going to forgive me for that moniker.”

“I was never offended, but it is fun to needle you.”

“You hide it so well,” he teased. “I was referring to your aunt’s kind heart. The way you took in your cousin and her young servants. That is something Mrs. Price would have done.”

“Family always comes first.” She was repeating what she’d heard from others. Her own family never ascribed to the belief.

“Your aunt didn’t limit her charity to family,” Julius said. “I remember stories of her visiting the homes of sick or injured workers with food for their families. On St. Stephen’s Day, for many years, your aunt saw to it every servant and worker received a goose and pudding for their tables.”

A lump formed in Bess’s throat. Throughout her childhood, she’d longed to hear stories about her family, but her father rarely spoke about the past after her mother died. He’d married Bess’s governess, filled his nursery with sons, and never looked back. Bess, on the other hand, had struggled to figure out how she fit into his new life. Julius was presenting her with a precious gift.

“Thank you,” she murmured.

“I have no idea what I’ve done to deserve your appreciation, but you are welcome.”

“The easiest explanation is I am complicated,” she said.

“I’ve always enjoyed a good puzzle.” She hadn’t noticed how close he stood until his fingertips touched her chin. “Look up.”

She tipped her head to find a bundle of green growing on a branch high above her. “Is it mistletoe?”

“Don’t play coy, Bess. You know it is.” His playful tone coaxed a smile from her. “I’d wager you saw it before I did.”

“I did not. It is an accident I find myself standing in this spot.”

“Mm-hmm.” He rested his forearm against the tree by her head. His body heat chased away the chill. “Just a happy accident.”

Anticipation fluttered beneath her breastbone. “Are you going to kiss me?”

“Do I have a choice? If word spread that I ignored tradition…? Well, that would be rude.”

“Mercy,” Bess said with a hint of breathlessness. “We wouldn’t want the neighbors to think you have no manners.”

“Thank you for understanding.” Dimples winked from his cheeks; the flutters spread to her belly. “Is that a yes, my lady?”

She bit the corner of her mouth. One tiny peck in observation of tradition was harmless. Releasing her hold on the tree, she rested her fingertips on his shoulders. “Yes, you may kiss me.” She offered her cheek.

He cocked an eyebrow. “A cheek? After our night together?”

“Oh, be quiet and kiss me.” Gripping his shoulders, she tugged him against her. His lips were cool when they first touched hers, but heated quickly. His weight held her snug against the tree trunk. The bark was rough at her back and solid even as the world around them faded to nothingness. It was just Julius and her, the clean scent of soap, a cold breeze on her cheeks, and the seductive caress of his hot tongue. She parted her lips, welcoming him further across the line she’d already overstepped.

The kiss was no longer about mistletoe or quaint Christmas traditions. She was taking what she’d wanted from the moment she laid eyes on him, chiseled and glorious in the fading kitchen firelight.

Julius’s hand slid up her waist, resting high on her rib cage. He tore his mouth from hers to kiss a path along her neck. She arched her back, moaning as his thumb traced the underside of her breast. Through all her layers, the sensation was dulled, but it still set her aflame.

“Forgive me, love,” he whispered into her ear. The wisp of breath caressed her sensitive skin. A driving pulse through her veins heightened every sensation. “I promise to remember the sweetness of your lips forevermore.”

His words were like a dousing with frigid water. She stiffened. He sensed the change in her and drew back. “Did I say something wrong?”

She swallowed hard. For two days, she had been waiting for the perfect time to confess her transgression. This wasn’t it. Nevertheless, he deserved to know the truth before they travelled any further down this path. Common sense told her to wait until they were back at Davensworth Cottage where others were near in case he flew into a rage. But in her heart, she knew he was kind and gentle.

“Bess, I didn’t—” A shadow of disquiet dimmed his eyes. He cupped her cheeks with such tenderness it caused the backs of her own eyes to sting. “Was I courteous with you?”

“Oh, no-no-no! Please, strike the thought from your mind. You would never hurt a woman.” She brushed his hands from her face. She was undeserving of his tenderness. “It is I who should apologize. We aren’t… We never—”

She pushed from the tree, free of his embrace. Her feet flew out from under her, and she landed on her bum. The impact jarred her bones; her teeth to gnashed. She was too stunned to make a sound when pain exploded in her mouth and filled with a metallic taste.

“Bess!” Julius kneeled beside her. Small drops of red splatted onto her pelisse, soaking into the lavender fabric. “You are bleeding. Let me see.”

Never had a punishment come so swiftly or been more apropos. She’d bitten her own tongue for lying.

CHAPTER SEVEN

JULIUS GRUMBLED under his breath when Bess, groaning and holding her back, crawled from the buckskin leather chair. “Sit down, woman. How many times must we tell you?”

“There is too much greenery on this end.” She pointed to Julius’s side of the mantle, the movement causing her to wince.

“For heaven’s sake, Bess.” Miss Price abandoned the task of dressing the mantle to scold her cousin. “You can barely move, and Lord Julius is doing a fine job. Back to your chair.”

Bess’s chin jutted in mutiny. “It hurts to sit.”

Or walk, or sleep, or move in any way. Julius had suffered enough injuries to recognize the look of misery on her face. By some miracle, she’d avoided cracking her head on the ice, but she would be sore for a few days.

He snatched a feather pillow from the settee and approached her. “Direct me from your seat.” When he extended his hand, he was prepared for more arguing, but she leaned on him and hobbled back to the chair.

“There are too many branches,” she muttered. “It’s uneven.”

“I will follow your every command.” He wedged the pillow behind her back. “How does that feel?”

“It’s too high.” Her sulky tone made him smile.

He bent over her to adjust the pillow behind her lower back and brushed a kiss to the silky crown of her head. Too late, he recalled they weren’t alone. He swung his head toward Miss Price to see if she’d noticed, but she was busy tucking sprigs of holly into the evergreen branches.

“I’m sorry you are in pain.” Julius caressed Bess’s cheek with the backs of his fingers before straightening. “How is your tongue?”

She puckered her lips as if she might stick it out at him. She was a surly invalid, but he suspected she was used to tending other’s needs rather than having her own met.

“It only hurts a little,” she finally admitted.

“Rest assured, it will be in top order soon and as sharp as ever.” He winked before sauntering to the sideboard to pour a finger of brandy into a snifter. Miss Price had brought out her father’s best bottle earlier, although Julius was loath to touch anything stronger than a cup of tea since overindulging at the Sleepy Owl. He returned to Bess’s side to hand her the glass. “A few sips should dull the pain.”

She accepted the drink, cradling the bowl of the snifter in both hands. He stood at attention while she took her first sip. Her nostrils flared and eyes misted, but she managed to swallow the fiery spirits without choking. She slanted a disgruntled look in his direction. “Do you plan to stand over me all night?”

“That depends. Are you going to listen this time?”

“She most certainly will,” her cousin lobbed over her shoulder while redoing Julius’s side of the mantle.

Bess sighed and took another sip. This one went down even easier. Her shoulders lost some of their tension, and she sank into the chair. Julius grabbed a cushioned footstool and encouraged her to elevate her feet. She didn’t argue for once.

With her settled, he returned to assisting her cousin with decorations.

It wasn’t like him to play the role of nursemaid to anyone, but he couldn’t help but have sympathy for Bess. Admitting she lied about the proposal had taken courage. The fall added another level of embarrassment and injury he wished he could’ve spared her. Therefore, he’d chosen not to dwell on the matter. She said it. He heard it. They were at peace.

If circumstances forced a union between them in a few weeks, he would adjust with little difficulty. Part of him thrilled at the prospect honestly. Bess was unlike any woman he had ever known. She was unpredictable, brazen, and passionate. That last kiss had nearly knocked him on his arse. He’d never been with a lover that initiated amorous interludes, and her boldness was a potent aphrodisiac.

Miss Price finished with the holly and was placing pinecones among the greenery. “Why not have a seat yourself, my lord?”

Chuckling, he raised his hands in surrender. “I understand. Leave the artistry to the ladies.”

The apples of Miss Price’s cheeks pinked, a telltale sign he’d been right about her motivation.

A glance in Bess’s direction reassured him that plying her with brandy was the right decision. She slouched in the chair, her eyes at half-mast and a half smile curving her plummy lips. The empty snifter sat on the side table.

“All better now, she-devil?” he asked.

“You promised Christmas carols.” She pronounced Christmas as Chrisht-mas. Whether it was from her swollen tongue or the effects of the liquor, he couldn’t say. It was endearing either way.

“Only if you sing along.” He sat at the polished pianoforte and ran through the scales to warm up his fingers. “Do you have a request?”

When she didn’t answer, he played one of three pieces he’d memorized. It was the only Christmas song in his repertoire. The other two were popular with a certain crowd he’d known at University, and inappropriate for present company. He attacked the stanza, belting out the first verse. “Joy to the world.”

Miss Price sang along, both of them serenading Bess, who struggled to keep her eyes open despite the lively performance. She did, however, applaud them at the end.

“You play beautifully,” Miss Price said. “Will you treat us to another?”

Julius admitted he hadn’t memorized any other Christmas pieces. Bess’s cousin solved the problem by retrieving a stack of sheet music from the bottom drawer of the sideboard. He scooted to one side of the bench, and she plopped beside him.

“We’ll have to look through these to find Christmas music,” she said. “Every year I intend to organize these, but I never do.”

“Don’t say that too loudly, or we will be locked in another battle to keep her in her seat.”

Bess had fallen asleep, her face soft like an angel in repose. One would never guess what a spitfire she was when she was conscious.

“I should take her to her chamber before she falls into a deep sleep and cannot be roused,” her cousin said.

Julius stopped her with a brief touch to her shoulder. “She is comfortable now. Allow her to rest. I will carry her to bed if need be.”

“Considering the contentious beginning of your association with my cousin”—Miss Price shuffled through the music sheets—“I find your offer magnanimous.”

“She would do the same for me. She did do the same.” He vaguely recalled Bess’s arm around him as they’d climbed the stairs his first night at Davensworth Cottage.

Her cousin presented the music for Silent Night; her golden brown eyebrows drifted toward her hairline, posing an unspoken question.

“A perfect choice,” he said.

She placed the sheet on the music rack, and he played softly. Lost in their own thoughts, they missed the cue after the intro. Miss Price didn’t seem to notice, so Julius kept playing. “I blame myself for her fall,” he said.

Her head snapped toward him. “Bess said it was an accident.”

“One that could have been avoided if I’d insisted on going alone.”

“Once Bess sets her mind to something, one would have more luck stopping a tempest.” Miss Price’s shoulders drooped as if defeated. “We should have stayed in London.”

His fingers froze over the keys. He didn’t know whether to look at her or pretend he hadn’t heard the sad undertones beneath her words. Her head was bowed, and she absently picked the edge of a fingernail. “I thought I would miss Papa less, but Davensworth Cottage isn’t the same without him.”

An unexpected lump formed in his throat. His own parents were the heart of Everly Manor. He couldn’t imagine the family home without picturing one or both of them in their favorite rooms. The young woman’s sorrow hung heavily on the air.

“I am sorry, Miss Price. Truly, I am.” The words themselves rang hollow, but the sentiment filled his heart.

“In London, there would have been parties to serve as a distraction,” she said. “Instead, we are stuck in this empty house, and no matter how hard Bess tries to make it feel like home, it is lonely without Papa.”

Fat tears splattered the sheet music in her lap.

Once again, he was faced with a lady’s tears, and he was no more prepared than he’d been in the past. He shot a wild look in Bess’s direction, but no help would be forthcoming. She’d slumped lower on the chair; a faint smile graced her lips as if she was wrapped in the arms of a pleasant dream.

Miss Price plucked an embroidered handkerchief from her sleeve. “Forgive me. These waves of melancholy come over me without warning.”

He wet his dry lips and calculated the possible reactions he might receive if he voiced an idea.

Faith. It couldn’t get worse than tears. He stood and swiveled on his heel. “Return to Everly Manor with me—you and Bess. My parents are hosting a house party to celebrate Christmas, and it is sure to be as diverting as any party in London.”

“Oh!” She blinked and wiped her eyes again. “Wouldn’t it be impolite to arrive without an invitation?”

“I am extending an invitation, Miss Price.”

“But—"

“Is my word not good enough? I can put it in writing if you prefer,” he teased. “Retrieve a quill and paper.”

A reluctant smile tweaked her lips. “Your word is enough, my lord, but I cannot abandon Davensworth Cottage.”

“Are you worried about the young ones? Bess told me about their mother. It must be a difficult Christmas for them, too.” He smacked the top of the pianoforte as he made a decision. “We will bring them. The servants have their own celebration before leaving to visit family on Boxing Day. Robbie and Anne will have fun, and your cook will appreciate an extended holiday.”

When it appeared she might argue, he rushed to add, “If you will not agree for your own sake, do it for them.”

She cried out. “What a manipulative trick.”

He shrugged one shoulder. “When you have as many siblings as I, you learn to use whatever weapons are available to win an argument. Bess will run herself ragged to give you the perfect Christmas. Do it for her.”

“Oh, you are a rat!” She fluttered her arms like a cat trying to swipe him. He danced out of reach, both of them laughing.

“Do you call that fighting? Stand up. Every lady should know how to deliver a proper facer.”

She dropped the handkerchief on the piano keys and allowed him to drag her from the bench like he would one of his sisters.

“Raise your fists.”

She mirrored his movements. He corrected her stance. When he encouraged her to swing, her fist arched through the air.

“Put some strength behind it, Miss Price.”

She followed his instructions, throwing her fists in his direction repeatedly.

“Oof!” He pretended she landed each punch and made silly faces.

The sadness that had overtaken her earlier retreated. Her grief was still there, buried beneath her smiles, but he was pleased he could distract her from it, even temporarily. It seemed like something Bess would do.

“What happened to the music?” Her voice was husky from sleep, and she gazed at them in drowsy amusement.

“Miss Price disagreed with my song choice and challenged me to fisticuffs.”

Bess’s cousin doubled over with laughter. He didn’t think his comment deserved such a robust response, but Miss Price likely needed the release.

Bess’s jade green eyes emitted a soft warmth that penetrated his chest and infused his heart. Her gratitude was tangible, her pleasure a hard-won prize.

I could fall in love with this woman.

The thought stunned him. He needed to sit. He staggered to the settee and plopped on the cushion.

What madness is this? We are strangers.

Yet, when he looked at her, he couldn’t stop his subconscious from making another declaration. She could be the one.

“Faith,” he muttered and drove his fingers through his hair. Exhaustion was playing tricks with his mind. “Ladies, if you will excuse me, I am ready to retire for the evening.”

Miss Price squinted at the pendulum clock on the side table beside him. Lamplight reflected off the glass dome designed to protect the gears and inner workings of the clock. Four brass orbs twirled back and forth with mesmerizing grace.

“It is barely nine o’clock.”

“How odd.” Julius blinked, breaking the clock’s spell over him. “It feels later. I hope you can forgive me for being a dull guest.”

Bess adjusted her position in the chair so she was no longer slumping. “No one would ever accuse you of being dull.”

“I should say not.” Miss Price was beaming. “Rather the opposite, I think. I’m loath to see the evening end.”

“Lord Julius deserves a good night’s rest,” Bess said. “Sleep well, my lord.”

Since she appeared more alert and less in need of his assistance finding her way to bed, he sketched a bow. “Sleep well, ladies.”

Miss Price was talking about the invitation to Everly Manor as he exited. He didn’t linger outside the door to hear what Bess thought of the change in plans. Part of him hoped she would kick up a fuss and refuse; the other half would be terribly disappointed if she did.

CHAPTER EIGHT

JULIUS SLOWED the four person sleigh at the crest of a hill. His cheeks were pink from the thrilling ride, and his eyes held a feverish gleam. He was in his element. “Have you ever driven one of these?” he asked.

Bess shook her head.

His younger sister Octavia groaned in the back seat. “Here we go, another lesson.”

Calliope, who was two years younger, shushed her.

“No heckling from the back”—Julius tossed a wry smile over his shoulder—“or you will receive a lesson in mucking stalls when we reach Ammie’s house.”

Octavia scoffed. “You are full of empty threats, as usual.”

Bess chuckled. She admired the girl’s gall and hoped it served her well once she was unleashed on Society in a few years.

Bess hadn’t expected to see much of Julius once they arrived at Everly Manor. The morning after their kiss and her embarrassing fall, he was in a somber mood when he announced the roads were safe for travel. He certainly hadn’t been the same jovial man who worked without complaint alongside her at Davensworth Cottage or chased away her cousin’s blues with his antics.

Any hope of furthering their association were quashed when he chose to ride on the box with the driver.

He is angry with me, she’d confided to Gemma on the journey to Everly Manor. Perhaps I should return once you are settled at the party.

Lord Julius is not one to harbor a grudge, Bess. You will see once you know him better.

Bess had thought her cousin’s view of men was naive, a consequence of unique upbringing. In her own experience, men were fragile creatures who sulked when their pride was bruised or blustered when outright insulted. Even her husband, who’d been good and decent, stopped talking to her for days whenever he’d felt slighted.

Julius shattered all of her preconceptions. Whatever was bothering him vanished after his audience with his parents soon after his return home yesterday. This morning, with his good humor restored, Julius and Bess had resumed their friendly banter.

“Tell me you’ve at least driven a buggy,” he said.

Bess shook her head again. She’d never had cause to learn. If she’d needed transportation, she always had a coach at her disposal, or one of her brothers claimed the reins.

Julius’s sigh was dramatic and noisy. “What are young ladies being taught these days?”

“How would I know? I’ve been out of the school room for years.”

“It couldn’t have been a very long time.”

“Oh, but it has. I’m twenty-six.”

“Egads, twenty-six?” He clucked his tongue. “Before you know it, you’ll have a head of grey hair and need an ear trumpet. We best get on with it before it is too late.”

“Get on with what?”

“Your first lesson.” He draped his arm on the back of the seat they shared. “Every lady should know how to drive a sleigh.”

“Are you serious?”

He extended the reins.

A giddy laugh bubbled at the back of her throat; she accepted the sturdy leather straps.

“Hold the ribbons firmly,” he said. “Don’t allow any slack.”

“Throwing a punch. Driving a sleigh. You have unusual thoughts on what skills a lady should acquire.”

“He just wants someone who can bring him home whenever he’s foxed,” Octavia piped up.

“What did I say about cheeky comments from the back?” Julius playfully lunged at his sisters. Octavia and Calliope squealed, bumping against the sides of the sleigh and laughing as they evaded his wiggling fingers.

Julius and his siblings teased one another relentlessly, but there was no malice between them. Bess envied their easy camaraderie. Her brothers had always gawked at her if she were an oddity, and they still addressed her like a child, even though she was their elder.

The mare moved forward. Bess startled. “Whoa!”

With a grin, Julius dropped back on the seat and rested his arm behind Bess again. “I thought this was new to you.”

“This might come as a surprise, my lord, but I have ears. I heard you giving commands.”

“Is that true?” He slid his hand beneath her quilted bonnet and cradled her earlobe, gently rolling it between his gloved fingers. A thrilling shiver raced through her. His eyes darkened and a lazy smile lifted one side of his mouth higher than the other. “Indeed, Lady Hadley. You do have ears.”

“At least one,” Octavia said. “Can we go now? It’s cold."

Calliope snickered.

“Remind me why we invited them along.” Julius winked at Bess and dropped his hand to his lap. “It is a straight path from here, but if you want Daisy to go right say gee. Left is hey. Are you ready?”

“Yes,” she said on a wisp of breath. She couldn’t stop smiling. “Daisy, walk.”

The leather creaked and vibrated as if it were alive. All that power at her fingertips sent a rush of exhilaration through her veins. She urged the mare into a trot.

On the horizon, a quaint Tudor-style house came into view. It was nestled between a grove of evergreen trees and a frozen lake. Smoke rose from two of the three chimney stacks, and a ringed fire blazed on the bank. Several of the Seabrook’s offspring had made their way onto the ice. Off to the side, two women were conversing with a peddler hawking his wares.

Calliope squealed. “Look! The gypsies are back.” Julius asked her not to scream in his ear anymore, and he’d allow her to select a new ribbon. She squealed again then slapped her hand over her mouth. “Sorry,” she mumbled.

As Bess drove the sleigh into the yard, a spotted spaniel with floppy ears ran to greet them.

“Mr. Perkins!” Calliope scrambled from the sleigh as soon as it stopped and crouched on the ground to ruffle the dog’s ears.

Bess sought out her cousin and discovered her skating with one of Julius’s brothers. Max, perhaps?

She had worked hard trying to memorize all of Julius’s siblings’ names at breakfast. It was a daunting task, and three sisters hadn’t been present. The only name she remembered with certainty was Hugh’s. The youngest Seabrook boy was rambunctious during the meal and was scolded often. Bess thought the boy was just excited for a fun day with his brothers and sisters where he didn’t have to watch is manners as closely.

Julius’s sister was lying in wait for the birth of her first child. Therefore, she and her husband were not attending the house party. Reportedly, Major and Mrs. Rowland preferred the quiet of the cottage and the company of their dogs anyway, so it was no hardship for either of them. Julius had suggested his brothers and sisters take the party to Ammie and her husband instead. Hence, the impromptu Christmas Eve gathering.

Bess suspected she and Gemma had only been invited because Julius felt an obligation to entertain them since they were his guests. His motive didn’t concern her overmuch. She was thrilled to be included. Since Julius’s arrival on Davensworth Cottage’s doorstep, Bess woke each morning with an unbearable eagerness for his company, like her insides couldn’t settle until she saw his face.

A stablehand came to unharness the mare. Julius extended his hand to Bess. “I imagine you prefer to observe rather than venture onto the ice so soon after your fall.”

“You imagine wrong, my lord.” Placing her hand in his, she climbed from the sleigh. “I want to grab every moment of pleasure this day has to offer.”

CHAPTER NINE

JULIUS PRESSED a mug of warm chocolate into Bess’s hands and returned to the sideboard to retrieve one for himself. She laughed at one of Clive’s stories about the time he, Julius, and Max climbed onto the roof at Everly Manor and became stuck. When they yelled for help, Ammie and Laurel thought there were ghosts in the attic stuck in the afterlife. The smokey sound of Bess’s laughter melted his insides. He loved the rich, sultry tone.

His sister Ammie sidled close to him. Without her hooded cape to hide her condition, her belly appeared even larger than it had that afternoon. He poured a cup for her; she accepted it with an arched brow.

“How thoughtful, Julius.”

“Are you surprised?”

“Yes,” she admitted then shook her head when he frowned. “Not about being a thoughtful brother. You’ve always come to my rescue. I meant the way you are with Lady Hadley. I’ve never seen you dance attendance on anyone. I am filled with optimism.”

“Optimism.” He chuckled under his breath and poured himself a mug. “I hope you haven’t cornered me in order to ask if I’ll place a bet for you at Ascot.”

“It was one time,” Ammie said with a huff. “If you had granted my wish, we would have had winnings to split. I promised I would share.”

“Only because you knew Mother would kill me when she found out. Then you wouldn’t have to hand over a single shilling.”

Ammie grimaced and clutched her stomach.

His heart jumped into his throat. “Are you in labor?”

Ammie shushed him. “You will upset Phillip. The baby is kicking again.”

Julius’s alarm ebbed. “An active one, eh? Mother would claim it’s the Danish blood.”

“Maybe she is right. I am beginning to worry my child will take after his Uncle Hugh,” she said. “I thought the boy would mellow with age.”

Julius glanced over his shoulder to observe the scene in the other room. Their twelve-year-old brother was hopping on one foot and waving his arms to gain Ammie’s husband’s attention. “He is still obsessed with the major, I see.”

“Phillip is very patient with him. I don’t know how he bears it. All those questions about the military… They are never ending.” Ammie’s favorite spaniel, Mr. Perkins trotted into the room and sat at her feet. She broke off a piece of a biscuit and fed it to him. “I noticed you changed the subject. Why are you different with Lady Hadley? And don’t bother denying it. Your face becomes all soft when you look at her.”

“It does?” Julius touched his cheek. “Faith, did anyone else notice?”

Ammie shrugged. “No one has said anything to me, but they weren’t prohibited from going on the ice. I had little to do besides pay attention.”

Julius should deny her claim, at least until he sorted his feelings for Bess. In his family, secrets were as real as unicorns. They didn’t exist. But it was Ammie. If anyone would understand, she would. Besides, he wanted to confide in someone.

“I think I love her,” he whispered, “but it’s too soon. Isn’t it too soon?”

“I had the same worries about Phillip.” Ammie placed her mug on the sideboard and held her lower back with both hands. “Who falls in love in a matter of days? It is madness.”

“It could just be a strong attraction,” he said.

“You’ve been attracted to ladies in the past. Does it feel the same?”

“No,” he murmured. “Nothing has ever felt this way. I want to be with her all the time. Am I losing my mind?”

“If so, I lost mine around the same time last year.” His sister met her husband’s eyes and smiled. “My heart knew the truth before my head. You don’t need your little sister telling you what to do, but you might want to listen to what your own heart has to say.”

He would be a fool to ignore her advice. Major Rowland adored her. There was no other reason he would tolerate Hugh firing questions at him that he’d answered a hundred times already.

“For my second act of kindness,” Julius said, “I will rescue your husband.”

“You are destined for sainthood, dear brother.” He didn’t miss the touch of irony.

Julius snatched a needlepoint pillow from a rocking chair as he returned to the drawing room. “Hugh, come here. Let’s play a game.”

He instructed his brother to stand in the middle of the room. “I will throw the pillow to Clive, and if you miss it, Major Rowland will give you orders.”

“What if I catch it?”

“If you catch the pillow,” Ammie’s husband said, “I will allow you one question.”

Hugh liked the idea and threw himself into the activity, and sometimes onto the floor. When William, three years Hugh’s senior, joined the game, Julius couldn’t hear anyone over the racket the boys made.

Ammie motioned to her sisters from the doorway.

Laurel raised her voice to invite Bess and her cousin to follow. “It is quieter in the dining room.”

The ladies retreated with their chocolate and gathered around the table. Julius’s attention strayed to the adjoining room. Ammie was asking Bess a question. When Mercedes took over the interrogation, Laurel and Ammie shared an enigmatic smile. The twins were plotting something. They had a knack for communicating without saying a word.

If his sisters were spying to report back to Mother, they were wasting their time. Their parents were aware he was considering a proposal, although he hadn’t revealed that Bess could be with child. Why should he? It was no longer a determining a factor. He’d fallen for her with a speed that left his head spinning and his heart pounding.

I realize it might seem rash after knowing her only a short time, he’d said in anticipation of an argument, but his mother dismissed his concern.

You’ve done everything fast your entire life, Julius. Why would falling in love be any different?

Why, indeed? He slanted another look toward the dining room. Ammie was talking again. Bess leaned toward her as if she couldn’t bear to miss a word. If his sister was talking about him, telling his secret…

The pillow smacked his face. He flinched. Hugh whooped and grabbed it from the floor. William tackled him. Julius left the boys to wrestle while he went to investigate.

“Her publisher released the collection last month,” Laurel was saying.

“I wouldn’t know where to start when it comes to writing a book,” Bess said to Ammie. “The thought of reading your stories to your own child soon must be thrilling.”

Ammie beamed. “Very.”

Tension drained from Julius’s shoulders. They were discussing the children’s stories Ammie had written about her dogs.

“The book sounds charming,” Bess said. “I would love to read it.”

Julius interrupted. “There is a copy in the library. Come with me, Lady Hadley, and I will show you.”

When Bess accepted a hand up, Calliope popped from her seat. “I’ll come, too.”

Ammie yelped and grabbed her belly. “The baby is kicking.”

Calliope’s high pitched squeal could shatter every window in the house. She hurried to Ammie’s side to touch her stomach. “Where? I want to feel.”

Ammie guided her hand to another spot and smiled at Julius. With his youngest sister distracted, he whisked Bess toward the library.

“I am impressed by your sister’s accomplishment,” she said as she proceeded him inside. A fire in the hearth was the only source of light.

“We are proud of Ammie. She pursued her dream.”

Wisps of Bess’s hair had slipped from the pins and created a golden halo around her head. Her face was in shadow.

“I overheard you and Major Rowland talking about a racing club. Is that your dream?”

His gut clenched. She’d judged him when they met, and he didn’t expect she approved of gambling any more than she did drinking. He crossed his arms. “I am considering building one.”

“For carriages?”

“Yes.” He moved past her to reach the hearth and chase away the sudden chill in the air. She turned to face him. Firelight flickered in her eyes and cast a warm glow over her skin.

“My brother returned from America a few months ago,” she said. “Carriage racing is very fashionable there. He said the stands are full for every heat. How brilliant and forward thinking to bring the sport to England. Bravo.”

He dropped his hands at his sides.

She chuckled. “What? Have I shocked you?”

“I didn’t expect a favorable reaction, to be honest. Gambling is a past time for rogues and wastrels.”

“It’s not about gambling for you, though. I have ears, remember?”

“If only every set of ears came with an understanding mind…” He smiled. “Would you like to sit?”

“May I look around instead?”

He retrieved a taper and stooped to light the wick in the fire. She was already wandering toward the bookshelves when he placed the candle in a holder. She trailed her fingertips over the book spines; he followed in her wake.

“Are you seeking investors?” she asked.

“I’ve considered taking on one or two more. I had hoped to keep it within the family.”

She reached for a book. “I want to be one.”

Family? Julius stopped in his tracks. The flame wavered.

He held his breath as she peered over her shoulder while reaching for a book. “A racing club is exciting. Is it a sound investment?”

“Yes.” He swallowed against the bitter disappointment rising at the back of his throat. “I believe it is.”

She left the book on the shelf and faced him with her arms behind her back. “Then allow me to invest.”

“That would make us partners.” There was a note of warning in his voice. “Are you certain you won’t be ready to be rid of me by Twelfth Night?”

“Hmm, I’m not sure. Perhaps by Easter?” She swayed back and forth, her grey wool skirts brushing the tops of her slippers. “Surely by grouse season.”

He grinned. “If we last until grouse season, maybe we should hold out until next Christmas to make it a full year.”

“Are we negotiating?”

“That is what partners do.”

She closed the distance between them, her arms still behind her back. “Is that what you want, to be partners?”

Hell, yes. In every way. Unfortunately, he was uncertain their wants were aligned. He cleared his throat, measuring his words. “What I want is not a factor. You are assuming the risk. You must make the decision.”

“Do you trust me to make my own decisions?”

“Of course.”

“Havers, Julius Everly.” She captured his wrist, her fingers cool against his feverish skin. She drew his arm with the candle toward her puckered lips. She blew. A single puff extinguished the flame. “Do you have any idea how irresistible you are right now?” she asked in that sultry voice that made him instantly hard.

The woman knew how to set him aflame. He took a deep breath to slow the searing blood flowing through his veins. “Bess, what is it you want? I will abide by your wishes.”

“I want us to be partners.” A flicker of a frown touched her lips. “But it is your decision, too.”

Damnation! Were they discussing business or love? She had him twisted up inside, tense and vibrating with anticipation. He slid the unlit candlestick into an empty nook between books and raked his fingers through his hair. “My answer is yes. Yes to everything.”

“My answer is yes to everything. Now that we’ve reached an agreement…” Her green eyes appeared black in the dim light. Creases appeared at the corners of her eyes when she smiled and raised a twig of mistletoe above his head. She’d been hiding it behind her back. “It appears I must kiss you, to be polite, of course.”

He cradled her face, a chuckle rumbling deep in his chest. At every opportunity, she caught him by surprise. Was it any wonder he was smitten with this beautiful, maddening woman? “Not if I kiss you first."

When their mouths met, it was like the lightening strike that had brought her into his life. It shook him to the bones. She clutched his shoulders, her soft body pressing against him. Their tongues greedily explored one another. The kiss was hot, sensual, and bold. When she cupped him through his trousers, he ripped his mouth free as a moan slipped past his lips. She tore at the buttons to release the front fall. Bess loved with every ounce of her being. No hesitation, no wavering confidence. She took and gave with enthusiasm equal to his own. She was his partner in every sense of the word.

He spun her so her back was to him. They stumbled into the bookshelf. A book fell on its side with a bang. Laughing, she twisted halfway in his arms. Her mouth sought his. He splayed his fingers on her jawline and chin. Her chocolate laced kisses were addictive.

Grabbing a handful of her skirts, he raised them high on her hips.

“Yes,” she sighed when he touched her. Lovingly, intimately, he stroked her until she grew restless. “Yes, yes.” Her breath was thready, her body tense.

He kissed her neck, nipped her ear. She climaxed, arching her back and gripping the shelf while making the most arousing noises. As the echoes of her cries faded, he wrapped his arms around her waist. She sagged against him. The sprig of mistletoe was still clutched between her fingers. He placed a kiss to her temple, closing his eyes and breathing in her scent. He wanted to memorize everything about her—about this moment when he no longer questioned his heart. She was the one.

“That arousing little sound you make?” He nuzzled her ear. “I must have been really foxed not to remember.”

She gasped and spun in his embrace. “Julius, I told you I lied about that night. Nothing happened.”

“Is that what you meant?” He laughed. “I thought you’d lied about the marriage proposal.”

“But you believed we made love?”

He shrugged. “Why wouldn’t I?"

She cast her eyes upward. “Did you hear him? He thinks he is heaven’s gift to women.”

“Your words, not mine.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “Did you like your um…gift?”

“I’d not refuse it if you wanted to give it to me again sometime.” She aimed a mischievous smile at him and pecked a kiss to his lips. “And again, and again…”

“The work of a generous man is never done.”

CHAPTER TEN

BESS CAUGHT a glimpse of Julius from the corner of her eye as he returned from retrieving two glasses of mulled wine. An overwhelming wave of relief and cheer swept over her. A longer than expected jaunt to the refreshment table was the only time he’d left her side all evening. The strength of her wistful longing during his absence was embarrassing, and yet, completely out of her control.

“For you, my lady.”

“Thank you.” Bess accepted Julius’s offering as guests weaved around each other on the ballroom floor of Lord and Lady Seabrook’s great hall.

“Merry Christmas.” Julius saluted her with his glass. “May this holiday be the catalyst for many years of happiness ahead.”

“Cheers.” She clinked her glass against his without meeting his eye, pretending intense interest in the unfamiliar country dance. She couldn’t look at Julius without smiling like a daft school girl, so she did her best to direct her attention elsewhere.

It was a failed endeavor.

She stole another peek at him, and her heart soared. Up and down. Up and down. It had been like this all day. Her emotions were as intricate as the steps of the dance. With no experience with secret affairs, she didn’t know how to behave. Every time someone glanced their way, her face flushed with heat.

Gemma waved from the dance floor before linking hands with her partner. Her apricot silk skirts swirled around her ankles when they spun in a circle.

Julius moved his head close to Bess’s to stare at the dancers as if trying to determine what she found so mesmerizing. “Are you trying to memorize the choreography? I could teach you the steps if you like.”

Steeling herself, she turned toward him with a smile already sneaking across her lips. He was impossibly handsome dressed in white breeches, dark blue double-breasted jacket, and gray damask waistcoat. Much like the navy gown her lady’s maid had embellished for the Christmas ball, his attire was elegant and understated. Perhaps Quinn and Julius’s valet had coordinated their efforts, although she couldn’t imagine how either servant would know about their association.

“Have you added dance instruction to your list of talents?” she asked.

“I couldn’t be any worse than your first instructor.”

“One would hope.” She laughed, reveling in the pleasure of another person sharing in her disdain for Mr. Livingston and his barbaric teaching methods.

When their party returned to Everly Manor late last night, she and Julius hadn’t been ready to part ways. She’d sent Gemma to bed and held his hand as he led her through the empty corridors of the Jacobean mansion. First to the kitchen to retrieve a tin of shortbread biscuits, on to the wine cellar, and finally ending their journey in the family wing.

The sitting room was secluded but cozy. Red embers glowed in the hearth and easily ignited with a gentle stir and dry birch logs to feed the fire. Seated side-by-side on the velvet settee with a knitted blanket thrown across their legs, she and Julius shared the buttery biscuits and washed them down with a bottle of vin de Constance. Feeling free and at ease, she’d sipped from the bottle. The sweet wine left her lightheaded and loosened her tongue.

They exchanged stories about their siblings from when they were children and laughed over funny predicaments they had encountered over the years. When she ran out of good memories, she’d simply listened. While Julius spoke about his family, she imagined how her life might have been different if her mother had lived. Speculations of these kind often filled her with loneliness, but with her shoulder touching his, everything felt right, like she’d found where she belonged.

Her cousin and her partner spun in a circle before grabbing hands and skipping to the end of the line.

“Who is the gentleman dancing with Gemma?” she asked.

“A distant cousin on my father’s side. Mother said a dozen more guests arrived yesterday afternoon. I believe his name is Roscoe, or is it Rufus?” When Bess pursed her lips, he lifted his hands, the glass of wine clasped loosely in his fingers. “I have only seen him once before today. It didn’t seem important to remember his name.”

“Do you make it a habit of only remembering the names of important people?”

He whispered in her ear, “Yes, my darling Bess.”

Her name rolled from his tongue like a caress, his breath like the flicker of a butterfly’s wing. Gooseflesh raised along the back of her neck as she was transported to the library again. The raw excitement. The flood of sensations ravaging her. His strong arms supporting her while she savored the aftershocks from him bringing her to pleasure. She’d never known intimacy could be that way, like it was with Julius.

“You make it difficult to be cross with you,” she murmured.

“What is this you say? I thought you were impervious to my charm.”

She snorted softly. “You did not.”

“Not after last night, no.” His wicked grin caused her heart to skip. She laughed from sheer happiness and reached for his hand hanging at his side to hook her pinkie with his in a discreet show of affection. Whatever they’d found together was rare. It could lead to something real and lasting. Or she hoped it could. Perhaps Julius felt passion and a deep sense of connection at the start of every new affair, but she’d not dwell on it. For now, she would cherish what they had.

When the country dance ended, he beckoned for a footman to take away their half empty glasses. “I have it on good authority a waltz is next,” Julius said. “Will you dance with me?”

“My pleasure.”

Since Gemma and Bess were last minute guests, neither had dance cards to sign. This detail didn’t pose much of a barrier. Bess had no desire to dance with anyone besides Julius, and Gemma wasn’t given a chance to catch her breath between sets before one of his brothers or cousins led her back on the floor. Her effervescent giggles suggested she didn’t mind.

Julius’s hand rested lightly on Bess’s upper back while they waited for the quartet to play. “You look beautiful tonight,” he murmured. When his hungry gaze locked on her and glittered like obsidian in the light of the chandelier, she felt like a goddess—desirable, wanted.

A slight change in pressure on her back signaled her that the dance had begun. She’d missed the opening bars of music. As he guided her around the floor, their movements were natural, as if they had been partners for years. How odd that it felt like they had known each other a lifetime when they were strangers only a week earlier.

Bess delicately cleared her throat. “I never thanked you for inviting us to spend Christmas with your family.”

“I assure you”—he drew her closer and smiled—“my motive was selfish, love.”

She knew it wasn’t true. Gemma said he’d been compassionate and kind when she cried at Davensworth Cottage. He was a good man, even if he didn’t want it acknowledged.

Instead of challenging him, she said, “I enjoyed spending time with your family yesterday. They made me feel welcome.”

“The feeling is mutual. My mother even complimented you.” A wry smile twisted his lips. “She finds it admirable that you took in your cousin and her servants.”

“I did what anyone would for family.” Or should.

“Believe me, Mother agrees with you. She values family above all else.”

Bess smiled. She expected no less from a woman who had inspired her son’s respect for the fairer sex. “I am pleased I met with her approval.”

“As long as you recognize her authority at Everly Manor, you will remain in her good graces.” He grinned. “I wouldn’t advise taking me to task within earshot, even if I deserve it. She can be fierce when defending her offspring.”

“In that case…” Bess cocked an eyebrow, teasing him as he often did to her. “If I were you, I would be careful not to cross me.”

“I offer no promises.” The waltz came to an end. He threaded her hand through the crook of his elbow and murmured, “You are irresistible when you’re passions run high.”

She shushed him, although no one was close enough to eavesdrop.

“I have a gift for you.” He drew her toward an arched door at the end of the great hall. “I know a quiet place where we can talk.”

The music and merrymaking faded as they walked along the corridor. A footman came into view. He inclined his head as they neared. “My lord, the room is as you requested.”

“Very good, Ned. Thank you.” Julius kept his gaze focused straight ahead and led her inside. A fire blazed in the hearth, and candelabra glowed from the mantel. Bess strolled to the middle of the formal drawing room. It was a feminine space with ornate furniture upholstered in pastel floral fabrics, thick coordinating carpets, and gilding everywhere. The decor was tasteful, but designed to impress. She imagined Julius’s mother, the Marchioness of Seabrook, receiving important guests in the room. Clove studded oranges were nestled into a crystal bowl with sprigs of holly and filled the room with the quintessential scent of Christmas.

The sound of the door latching caught her by surprise. She spun on her heel and discovered she and Julius were alone. He sauntered toward her with a wicked twinkle in his eyes.

“Julius, there are dozens of guests on the other side of that door.”

“No one will disturb us. Ned is keeping watch.” He gathered her in his arms, leaning his forehead against hers. “I’ve wanted to kiss you all evening.”

She twined her own arms around his neck and lifted to her toes. He held her securely against his chest. “I’ve wanted the same,” she admitted.

Over the last few days, Bess had come to accept that she was a woman who took risks. She always had been, even when others attempted to stifle her nature. Passion flowed through her veins, as steady and constant as the River Thames. She couldn’t change who she was any more than she could reverse the river’s current, and she refused to pretend otherwise any longer.

Julius placed a sweet kiss on her lips before releasing her. “That must satisfy us for now. Have a seat on the sofa. I said I have a gift for you.”

With a groan of protest, she dropped her arms and trudged to the sofa. “I don’t have anything to give in return.”

He opened a drawer in the side table and aimed a smile at her. “When I am with you, what more could I want?”

She rolled her eyes. “You really are a silver-tongued devil, you know. It is unfair to ladies everywhere.”

“You didn’t find me charming when we first met.”

“I was in possession of my faculties back then,” she teased. “Although I am much happier now that I’ve lost them.”

He extracted a small leather box tied with a blue ribbon from the drawer, plopped on the sofa beside her, and offer it to her as if delivering it on a serving tray.

“What is it?” She shook it gingerly next to her ear. “It sounds like metal.”

He propped his arm across the back of the sofa and crossed his ankle over his knee. “You can guess all night or open it. Your choice.”

His relaxed posture suggested he meant it. It felt strange to be afforded power to make her own decisions, and it was intoxicating. She dropped the box on her lap and captured his face for a big smacking kiss on his lips. “Thank you.”

He laughed. “You haven’t opened it yet.”

“I know.” She grasped the edge of the ribbon and untied the bow. Inside the box, lying on a bed of red velvet, was a familiar cameo set in gold.

“I saw you admiring it yesterday when the peddler came around,” he said.

Gypsies had an encampment on the far reaches of Lord Seabrook’s estate. The family had been coming for years, according to Julius, and as long as the gypsies didn’t poach on the neighbors’ property and caused no trouble in the village, Lord Seabrook saw no reason to summon the magistrate.

Bess had asked the peddler where he acquired the piece, and he’d told a fanciful tale about Caesar having gifted it to Cleopatra. When she challenged his story, he narrowed his eyes and slipped the necklace into a pocket before she could examine it.

“Do you like it?” Julius asked.

She nodded and traced the lady’s milky white profile before flipping the pendant to view the back. It was a blank oval with no engraving. In her heart, she’d known it couldn’t be her mother’s necklace. It had been years since Bess’s father had stolen the piece from her jewelry box and vowed she would never see it again. She’d dared to defy him, so he punished her by taking away the only evidence her mother once existed.

He’d destroyed her mother’s portrait and sent her clothing to charity days after her death. Years of suppressed heartache and frustration swelled beneath Bess’s breastbone. Scalding tears flooded her eyes.

Julius inhaled sharply and sat upright. “Bess, have I done something wrong?”

She shook her head, not trusting herself to speak for fear the ugliness of her past would spew from her like acid and erode the happiness of their last few days together.

He lovingly rubbed his palm in a circle on her back and pushed a lock of hair behind her ear. “Sweetheart, something has upset you. Won’t you confide in me?”

She bolted from the sofa. “It’s not you, I promise. I-I need a moment.”

The footman posted outside jumped when she burst through the door. She darted around him in her haste to escape.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

BESS HURRIED TOWARD THE STAIRCASE, intent upon reaching her guest chamber to regain control of herself. She kept her gaze trained on the pale green and ivory Aubusson carpets lining the corridor as she passed other guests chatting with one another away from the noisy ballroom. When she reached the great hall doorway, she tried to catch a glimpse of Gemma, but a broad shouldered gentleman with tawny hair stood in the middle, blocking her view. He must have sensed her presence, because he turned.

“Elisabeth!”

Her wince was involuntary, a reaction to encountering something unpleasant.

“I’d heard you were a fellow guest,” Merrick said.

“Lord Aberglen, it appears you are better informed than I. I’ve not heard your name mentioned since season’s end.” And she preferred it that way.

The Earl and Countess of Aberglen were darlings of Society. Beloved by all. Lauded for their fashionable parties. Admired for their attractiveness and charming offspring. The unending adoration for the rogue was enough to make Bess nauseous. The saying about reaping what one sows was a lie. Liars like Merrick rarely received what they deserved.

“How do you know Lord and Lady Seabrook?” he asked.

She suppressed a sigh. Engaging in chitchat with the man who’d once toyed with her heart and humiliated her was too much to ask. “They are recent acquaintances.”

Merrick spoke in a conspiratorial whisper, “Lady Aberglen’s sister has come to meet Lord Treyhurst in the hope of bringing him up to scratch. The ladies in the family set their sights high, do they not?”

Bess almost rolled her eyes while he laughed at what he apparently thought made him seem clever. Had he always been arrogant or was she too blinded by the sheen of first love to see him clearly?

“My wife traveled to Everly Manor last week as her sister’s chaperone. I only arrived yesterday evening.” He flashed the winsome smile that set hearts aflutter in the ballrooms. It did nothing for her anymore. “I couldn’t bare to spend Christmas away from family.”

“You’ve brought your children to the house party?”

“A house party is no place for children. God’s blood, Elisabeth, think.” He pinched the bridge of his nose as if it pained him to have to explain. “The children are under the care of their grandparents.”

“I see,” she murmured.

“May I speak with you in private?”

Without waiting for consent, he grasped her upper arm and propelled her along the corridor in the opposite direction from Julius. He dragged her into a room around the corner, releasing her before she gathered the wherewithal to react.

She crossed her arms and put distance between them. “Leave the door ajar.”

“Darling”—his laugh was mocking—“that ship has sailed.”

Her palm ached to slap the smugness from his chiseled face.

“I am a married man, or have you forgotten?” He echoed the words she’d uttered years earlier when he’d had the gall to suggest their relationship need not end due to a change in his marital status.

“Address me as Lady Hadley,” she snapped. “I, too, was married.”

“Indeed. I was sorry to hear of Lord Hadley’s passing. I understand the union resulted in no children?”

“Again, you are well informed. One might think you have been keeping abreast of my affairs.”

“You know how gossip makes the rounds,” he said.

The blackguard was probably congratulating himself on avoiding catastrophe by choosing another bride, but the lack of issue with Hadley was a result of her husband’s inability to father children. He had been honest with her before she agreed to marry him. A childhood illness left him infertile. He’d had no children with his first wife either.

“What do you want, Merrick?” He’d been a mere mister when he’d courted her, and in her frustration, his name slipped out. “You have less than a minute before I leave.”

He sobered and cleared his throat. “Sally spotted you with Lord Julius and his sisters in a sleigh yesterday. She said all the siblings left the house party. No one saw them all day.”

“How does this concern you or Lady Aberglen?”

“Sally believes seeing you is a sign it is time to mend the rift between us.” He shrugged, trying to appear sheepish. “Shall we? In the spirit of Christmas?”

Law. If agreeing would end the conversation… “It has been eight years,” she said, “but why not revive old grudges that are already forgotten? You are absolved of any wrong doing.” She flicked her fingers as if sprinkling him with holy water. “Now, go revel in your happy marriage with Lady Aberglen.”

Bess attempted to leave, but he blocked her escape. “You are still angry.”

Actually, she wasn’t. If he had come for her the night they planned to elope, her father wouldn’t have caught her outside looking for him. Father wouldn’t have arranged her hasty marriage to Hadley to save her reputation after she burst into tears in public when Merrick announced his betrothal one day after abandoning her. If Hadley in turn hadn’t been kind and encouraging, she wouldn’t have built a dear friendship with her cousin. She never would have been staying at Davensworth Cottage on a stormy night when Julius, her one true love, arrived on the doorstep.

She cocked her head, studying him. Merrick didn’t require punishment for justice to be served. It came in the form of her receiving what she deserved. Her life was better, richer, as a result of his betrayal.

She dropped her arms at her sides. “The truth is I am apathetic towards you.”

“You are lashing out. I understand; you are still hurt. I am sorry for the injury I caused.”

To believe any woman would nurse a wounded heart all this time was ludicrous and a testament to the scoundrel’s arrogance. “I’ll try to bear the pain,” she drawled.

He failed to recognize the sarcasm. “Perhaps it will help to hear that I did not set out to mislead you. I wanted to marry you, Elisabeth. I loved you.”

She sighed and glanced toward the exit. If she walked around him, would he follow her into the corridor? His gaze darted toward the doorway as if he read her mind.

“It was your father’s fault,” he blurted. “He called the day we were leaving for Gretna Green. He threatened to withhold your dowry and ruin me if I insisted on pursuing you.”

This, she could believe. “Are you implying you loved my assets and not me?”

“No! You dishonor me with your feckless accusation.” Once, she’d thought it adorable the way the ball at the end of his nose turned scarlet whenever he was upset. Now, she felt nothing but mild interest in the biology behind his red snout.

“I withdraw my accusation, my lord. May I go?”

“If anything, I loved you too much,” he snipped. “How could I damn you to a life of poverty?”

A snort proceeded her laughter. She covered her mouth, but it was too late.

“I am telling the truth.” Merrick threw his hands in the air for emphasis, as if strength of emotion verified his claim. “What choice did I have? I was third in line to inherit my uncle’s title. If I could predict the future, I would have stood my ground with your father. I set aside my own wants and desires to ensure your happiness.”

“It sounds like I should thank you.”

His bluster died a quick death. He blinked several times as if trying to decipher her sincerity. “Yes, well, you are welcome. One must practice gallantry to be deemed a gentleman.”

“Indeed.” She slanted her head for one last assessing glance. What had she ever found appealing about him? He was a shallow, arrogant, and petty man. She was ashamed to have ever believed Julius was anything like him.

“Very good then.” She skirted around him. “I will be off.”

“Elisabeth, if I may ask a favor.”

She owed him nothing, but curiosity got the better of her.

“Since you are a friend of the family,” he said, “Sally wonders if you would speak with Lord Treyhurst about her sister, Miss Mary Chambers-Wallace. Perhaps you could recommend her to him? Mary is a lady of quality with a sweet disposition. Invite her to tea and you will see for yourself.”

Finally, the motive for his faux apology made sense. Merrick was henpecked. If his sister-in-law was anything like Lady Aberglen, Julius’s brother should run in the opposite direction.

“Lord Treyhurst does not require my advice on marriage,” she said. “Lord and Lady Seabrook will provide all the guidance he needs to choose the perfect bride.”

“Wise.” Merrick tapped a finger against his temple and winked as if they shared a secret. “I will suggest Sally cozy up to the marchioness.”

“You do that.” Bess swept from the room and paused. Now, which direction led to Julius? She gathered her bearings and went left.

As she neared the ballroom, Julius shot into the corridor and came up short. He exhaled; the worry lines between his brows disappeared. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you. I thought I’d lost you.”

Heavens. She couldn’t adore him more. Flashing a bright smile meant only for him, she linked their arms. “You found me.”

A gong sounded from the ballroom.

“It is time for supper,” Julius said. “Do you need another moment?”

“Right now, this moment. It’s perfect.” She leaned her head against his shoulder as they strolled toward their place in line for the procession.

A gentleman pulled Julius aside to ask a question. Bess retreated to a few feet away while they discussed horses. She loved how animated Julius became when he spoke about a topic he found stimulating. He noticed she was no longer at his side and motioned for her to join them. She shook her head. “I will wait for you.”

Julius’s mother approached. Her towering height and regal bearing could be intimidating, but a smile softened her face. “You and my son appear to be having a merry Christmas.”

“It is the best Christmas I’ve ever had, my lady.”

“How splendid to hear.” Lady Seabrook flicked her gaze toward her son. “I see Julius has been waylaid. Did he present you with his gift?”

“Yes, and it is lovely.” Bess smiled, hoping she’d not hurt Julius’s feelings. The necklace was a thoughtful gift. “I asked him to keep the cameo safely tucked in his pocket until the festivities end.”

Lady Seabrook nodded in approval. “A sensible young woman. Lord Seabrook will be pleased to know Julius has partnered with a lady such as yourself.”

Bess assumed she was referring to their business venture, because no mother would speak casually about a son’s romantic affairs.

“I am looking forward to a long and prosperous future together,” Bess said.

“Thank heavens. This might be my best Christmas.” Lady Seabrook, whom Bess had been told rarely smiled, laughed. One could describe her as giddy. Too many glasses of mulled wine perhaps?

“If you will excuse me, Lady Hadley, I must allow the Duke of Foxhaven to escort me to supper before our guests grow restless.”

Julius returned to Bess’s side shortly after his mother left. Bess scrunched her nose when he met her gaze.

He chuckled. “What have I done wrong now?”

“You had me afraid of your mother with all your tales.” She linked their arms. “I find her delightful.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

JULIUS STOLE another glance at Bess before spearing a Brussels sprout with his fork. She was engaged in pleasant conversation with his uncle seated on her right, and one would never know she’d been in tears less than an hour earlier. The situation was puzzling, and her refusal to confide in Julius came as a blow to his confidence.

Last night they had talked until dawn about everything—her favorite books, trips she’d taken with her husband, the harmless pranks her younger brothers had played on one another. Had Julius missed a clue that could have predicted her reaction to the necklace?

His sisters often claimed he was incapable of noticing subtle nuances, but their accusations were bollocks. He’d mastered the skill of reading others at Oxford when he and his classmates had gambled with homemade sweets and risked losing them on a hand of vingt-et-un.

With his sisters, he chose to ignore signs one or more of them was upset. Otherwise, he was dragged into a conflict that did not involve him. In the end, he always came out the loser when the quarreling sisters teamed up to accuse him of showing favoritism. He tried hard to read Bess, though. He wanted to learn the meaning behind every mannerism and champion her causes whenever she was wronged.

He slanted another look in her direction and was treated to a view of the back of her head. He suppressed a sigh of frustration.

“I’ve never seen Uncle Gunther say more than a few words to anyone,” his sister Mercedes said. “I think he has taken a liking to Lady Hadley.”

Julius’s older sister was seated on his left and hadn’t missed his growing agitation with their uncle monopolizing Bess’s attention. He was under no allusions Ammie had kept his secret, at least not from their eldest sister or her twin. There was a chance the two youngest didn’t know he was heels over arse for Bess, but he wouldn’t gamble on it.

He lowered his voice to minimize others overhearing. “If Gunther wasn’t twice her age and still chasing after Lady Kelynen’s skirts, I would be jealous.”

“Now Julius”—Mercedes performed a perfect imitation of their mother, complete with pinched mouth—“as you are aware, Uncle Gunther and the dowager viscountess enjoy a dear friendship and nothing more.”

“A special friendship,” he countered. “Mother always calls it special.”

“Oh, that is right.” Mercedes’s dark eyes glittered under the chandelier light. She, like all of his sisters besides Ammie, shared his coloring. “I assume the word is a euphemism?”

His sister assumed correctly. Their bachelor uncle’s friendship with the widow spanned two decades and was exceedingly friendly. Julius caught Gunther sneaking from the lady’s bedchamber last night after escorting Bess to her door. His uncle startled then told a rambling story about sleepwalking.

Julius had winked and said, “I haven’t seen a thing, Uncle. I’m sleepwalking, too.”

Gunther chuckled, slapped him on the shoulder, and mumbled, “Good boy.”

Julius’s father stood at the head of the table and raised his goblet of wine. It was time for the traditional Christmas toast. Conversation around the table faded as guests shushed one another. All heads turned in his direction.

“We are grateful to be among family and friends as we share these bountiful blessings set before us. Lady Seabrook and I have much to be thankful for on this day of celebrating the birth of our Lord and Savior. You may have noticed the absence of our daughter Ammie and her husband Major Rowland.”

“She is the redheaded one,” Gunther hissed to Bess.

She offered a polite smile and returned her attention to the head of the table.

“The couple is expecting their first child,” Father said, “and our family is eager to welcome the newest member.”

Congratulations were offered around the table as people raised their glasses and drank to Ammie and Phillip. Bess touched Julius’s knee. Her eyes were shimmery, as if she might start crying again. He interlaced his fingers with her and silently vowed to be her rock if she needed one. His father met his mother’s eye at the other end of the table. She inclined her head, giving him a nod of encouragement. He cleared his throat.

“We are doubly blessed to be expanding our family even more through marriage.”

Whispers traveled around the room. Julius spotted several disappointed faces from young ladies and their chaperones. Surely, his older brother hadn’t succumbed to the charms of Miss Chambers-Wallace. He narrowed his eyes at Clive across the table.

‘You?’ he mouthed.

Clive shook his head.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” their father said, “please raise your glass in honor of the newly betrothed couple—to Julius and Lady Hadley.”

Bess tensed. Her round eyes reflected his own shock. She released his hand and shifted on the chair, withdrawing from him.

“Hear, hear,” someone said.

When the toast was finished, footmen arrived with the final course. They paraded around the table with dishes of Christmas pudding, silver stands bearing various cakes, and serving trays of gingerbread and shortbread biscuits for all the guests to admire. Mother always made a grand production of everyone’s favorite part of the meal.

Bess’s face was pale. He felt a sickening tumble in his gut. He suspected they had both lost their appetites.

“Meet me in the floral sitting room,” Julius whispered. “I will leave first and you follow after a bit.”

She froze like a rabbit who’d spotted a hound. He dithered. Should he stay until the end of supper and whisk her away before well-wishers bombarded them, or trust her to follow? He settled on taking his chances and left the table.

He paced the perimeter of the sitting room and checked the mantle clock every few seconds. If the betrothal announcement had scared her away, he would have harsh words for his parents. Her marriage to Hadley had been arranged, which meant she’d not been given a choice. Julius would never place her in that situation again.

Hellfire. He wouldn’t do that to himself. He needed her to want him, too.

The door drifted open. He snapped his head toward the movement. Bess slipped inside, closed the door, and leaned her back against it. “Julius, I have no idea how your parents heard about what happened at Davensworth Cottage. Gemma was the only other person I told. I cannot imagine she would say anything. She knew I played a trick on you. I am so sorry for the trouble I’ve caused.”

Her words ran into each other in her haste to apologize. Her show of nerves agitated the butterflies in his own stomach.

“Come, sit with me,” he said.

“Tomorrow I will request an audience with your parents to explain there has been a mistake. If they want me to leave, I will understand. Law, what will we tell the other guests?”

“Nothing.” He crossed the room to gently take her by the shoulders and walked her to the sofa.

“Yes, of course. Maintaining silence is wise. No need to draw more attention to the matter.”

“Please, sit, Bess.”

She lowered to the edge of the cushion and gazed at him with eyes so green, he was stunned by their vividness. “Perhaps I should take a trip abroad?” she said. “I would need to hire a traveling companion, but a discreet inquiry with an agency shouldn’t raise suspicions. After a few months, everyone will forget a wedding should have taken place.”

He sat beside her and cradled her hand between his two. “Could we slow down before we settle on a plan?”

“Indeed.” Pink brightened her cheeks. “I am sorry. I have a bad habit of rushing into situations before giving the consequences proper thought. I needn’t tell you, though.”

“No, you don’t.” He lifted her hand to place a kiss on her palm and smiled. “I’ve charged into many situations with little forethought, and more often than not, trusting my instincts has worked in my favor.”

“It never works that way for me.” She withdrew her hand; the worry lines crossing her forehead deepened. “That morning with you I… I reacted. I drew conclusions about who you were, and I thought you needed to be put in your place, but you did nothing wrong. I wanted to punish a different man—or maybe every man in my life that did as he pleased and never suffered for doing whatever he wants. I don’t know. It sounds mad when I say it aloud.”

“You are not mad, and you don’t need to explain.” He understood enough to realize she’d been hurt in the past.

She dropped her gaze to her lap and picked at her skirts. “You don’t deserve to be dragged into a scandal I created or become trapped into marrying me. This is my mess to clean.”

He captured her chin and urged her to look at him. “Will you do something for me, love?”

“Yes, anything.”

“Take a deep breath and clear your mind.”

Her mouth pinched. A flash in her eyes was a reminder of how hot her temper could burn—how passionate she could love.

“If you must blame someone for the announcement,” he said, “blame me. I had an audience with my parents this morning to discuss my future. My father remains unsure about my business venture, but he and my mother gave their full blessing for me to propose to you today.”

She gasped. The butterflies had battering rams now.

“I realize it might seem too fast, but I know you are the one for me.” He tapped the place over his heart. “In here, I have no doubts. You are a good woman who values the wellbeing of her family over her own comfort. I’ve witnessed your generous heart with your cousin, and I know about your sacrifice in marrying Hadley.”

“It wasn’t like that.”

“It was, Bess. My mother shared a close friendship with your Aunt Esther. When she married for love, she was no longer valuable to your grandfather. He couldn’t use her to become more influential or increase his wealth, so he disowned her. Your family sees ladies as commodities.”

She shook her head. “It was different with me. My marriage was meant to break my willful spirit. Father said my reckless behavior made me worthless. He increased my dowry to entice Hadley to take me.”

“Bollocks!” He’d like to punch her father’s teeth from his lying mouth. “The union with Hadley helped garner support for one of your father’s men to win a seat in the House of Commons. You are not worthless, far from it.”

A hint of a smile tweaked her lips. “I never said I believed him. It is an accurate recitation of what he said, but Hadley was honest about the arrangement. He wanted to ensure I wasn’t being coerced into marrying him. After that conversation, I entered into the union willingly.”

“I’m happy you were not broken, Bess. Your spirit is what I love most about you.”

“Do you love me?”

“I haven’t reached that part of my speech yet, but yes, I love you, Bess. I’ve known since our first kiss.” He stood then bowed on one knee. “With every ounce of my heart, I know you are the only woman for me. Will you marry me?”

“Julius—”

“Please, don’t think about it. Just say yes.”

“Are you—?”

“Yes, I am.”

She huffed. “You don’t know what I was going to ask.”

“No questions,” he teased.

“Oh, for Pete’s sake. Am I allowed to make a speech at some point?”

“None needed. I don’t require a bunch of pretty words. Just one, and it starts with the letter Y.” He waggled his eyebrows.

She laughed. “Yes! Are you happy now?”

With an undignified whoop, he bolted from the floor and lifted her in a hug, raining kisses on her face—plump mouth, cheeks, stubborn chin, the tip of her nose. Every lovable part of her. When he lowered her feet to the floor, she held on. Her nails caressed the back of his neck, sliding into his hairline. He closed his eyes to bask in the warm tingles spreading down his back.

“Will you allow me a few more words?” she murmured.

He pressed his lips to her forehead and inhaled the familiar scent of her soap. “Always, my love.”

He sensed her smile rather than saw it. “I love you, too.”

A slow, lingering kiss filled with promise sealed their fate.

“I should find Gemma and explain,” Bess said when the kiss ended. “She will be wondering why she didn’t hear about our betrothal before the toast.”

“To be fair, she learned about it the same time you did. Perhaps my parents can host a surprise wedding, too.”

She chuckled as he opened the door to escort her into the corridor. He collided with Clive; Bess squeaked.

Julius’s brother stepped back and tugged his ear, as was his habit when surprised. It was the reason he never won at cards, and Julius and their siblings argued over who had to partner with him—all in good fun, of course.

“Er, sorry to interrupt,” Clive said. “A, um… A rider arrived with a message. Ammie is in labor. Mother charged me with gathering family. We leave in half an hour.”

Bess squeezed Julius’s arm. “I should search for Gemma. Come see me when you return. I’m eager to hear if you have welcomed a new niece or a nephew to the family.”

Her answer gave him and Clive a small jolt.

“Bess,” Julius said, “you will learn the sex at the same time we do. I’m not leaving without you.”

Clive agreed. “Mother said to gather family. If you don’t come, she will send Julius back for you.”

“But…” She worried her bottom lip. “If the marchioness said family, surely, she didn’t mean me.”

Clive feigned a glower aimed at Julius; a glimmer of mischief brightened his eyes. “I did find it odd that a fine lady such as yourself would agree to marry my brother. Tell the truth. Is he blackmailing you?”

A laugh burst from Bess. Julius uttered a mild curse directed at his brother.

“I assure you, Lord Treyhurst,”—she leaned into Julius and smiled into his eyes—“I am a willing participant.”

Clive shrugged. “There is our answer. You are part of this family whether you like it or not.”

“I like it. Immensely,” she said. “I must gather my pelisse and leave a message for my cousin before we go.”

Julius, unable to take his eyes off his betrothed as she walked the empty corridor with her quick efficient steps, remained in her thrall until she disappeared around a corner.

“A Christmas baby, eh?” Julius mused. “Ammie will have a hard time besting this year’s gift for her husband.”

“Speaking of gifts—” Clive drove his fist into Julius’s upper arm.

“Ow!” Laughing, he rubbed his throbbing shoulder. “What did I do to deserve such vile treatment?"

“After the hard time you gave me about becoming trapped in the parson’s noose, I should have been the first to hear about your betrothal.”

Julius didn’t dare admit his brother had been first to learn the news—along with Bess, Julius, and every other person at the table.

He crossed his arms. “You must have me confused with someone else. I would never disparage the holy sanctity of marriage.”

They bickered back and forth until Bess reappeared at the end of the corridor with her pelisse draped over her arm.

“You see, dear brother,” Julius said. “Unlike you, I am the marrying kind.”

Clive scoffed. “Since when?”

Julius nodded toward his captivating, challenging, kindhearted Bess. “Since her.”

EPILOGUE

Bess held her breath. Julius’s mouth was agape, and his comically wild eyes were fixed on the fist headed for his nose.

Contact was made.

“Boing!” Julius’s booming voice startled Graham, their darling six-month-old nephew. His vivid blue eyes—the same shade as his father’s—flared before he erupted into deep belly laughs.

Bess’s heart expanded with love until she thought it might burst. Julius, her extraordinary husband, never ceased to amaze her. From one moment to the next, she couldn’t predict what he would do, but she always knew she would fall deeper in love with him because of it.

Bravely, from his mother’s lap, Graham extended his chubby and undeniably slobbery hand to bop Julius’s nose again. Her husband jumped as if surprised. “Baa!”

Graham, squeezing his eyes closed and laughing, rocked forward then flung himself backward as if his uncle was the funniest man in the world.

Julius’s sister cradled her son, slowing his descent and saving him from cracking his head on the sofa’s armrest. With a satisfied sigh, Graham stayed on his back, staring up at his mother with a one-toothed grin.

“You are full of mischief and mayhem, aren’t you?” Ammie swept his auburn hair from his forehead and bent forward to kiss his plump baby cheek.

Julius met Bess’s gaze across the room and raised his eyebrows. “I might want one of these someday. Who knew babies were fun?”

Ammie touched the tip of Graham’s nose.

“Dah!” The baby’s screech turned into more peals of laughter.

“If you think he’s fun now”—Julius’s sister raised her voice to be heard—“return at midnight when he is ready for a night on the town. I’ve forgotten what it means to go to sleep at a decent hour.”

Her husband Phillip entered the room after having let out the dogs. He gathered his squirming son from her lap and tucked him into the crook of his arm. The baby gurgled with delight and grasped a handful of his father’s dark curls.

“Ambrosia is an attentive mama,” Phillip said with admiration. “If our son is awake, so is she.”

“I cannot have Graham thinking his mama won’t be watching his every step whenever he is old enough to be out on the town. I have brothers.” Ammie shot a wry smile in Julius’s direction. “I know what type of trouble they can get into when one isn’t looking.”

“Poor Graham.” Julius came to sit on the arm of Bess’s chair and rested his hand on her shoulder. His fingertips grazed the back of her neck, sending a tantalizing shudder up her spine. “He will never be allowed a misstep with six Everly ladies around to keep him on the strait and narrow.”

“Seven,” Bess interjected, including herself. “Lord knows with even an ounce of Everly blood, he will need as many eyes watching him as possible.”

Julius winked at her. “You mean if he is roguish like his uncle, but I learned my lesson. That is what happens when one tangles with a she-devil.”

Her face heated whenever she recalled how terribly she’d misjudged him. Her apologies were always waved away. Julius found the situation humorous and often said he loved her boldness more than any of her other good qualities.

She laid her hand on her husband’s knee, her heart expanding again when she gazed into his hazel eyes. She’d grown comfortable with Julius’s sister and brother-in-law and felt no need to hide her affection, as brazen as it might be.

Graham wiggled in his father’s arms, growing fussy. “How are the workmen coming along?” Phillip began bouncing with his son. Graham settled. “I’ve not had cause to ride that direction lately.”

Bess and Julius had stopped to inspect the site of the new racecourse on their way back from London.

A few days after the wedding, Lord Seabrook summoned Bess and Julius to his study; Lady Seabrook was waiting as well. Without ceremony, the marquess announced his decision to allow Julius to use a swath of land west of Everly Manor to establish his carriage racing club.

I will grant the request upon one condition, Lord Seabrook said. You must build a house on the land.

Bess had been overwhelmed by the generous offer.

Julius’s mother, realizing Bess brought property to the union, had been fretting over seeing her son as often as she wanted and implored her husband to find a solution. As was his habit, Lord Seabrook catered to his lady’s wishes. Julius’s mother had failed to comprehend the depth of Julius’s love for his family. He might seek adventure from time to time, but he would always return home.

“The house is near completion,” Julius said, “and the men have broken ground for the stables. With any luck, we could have our first race next year, assuming I am able to drum up interest in the club.”

Bess doubted it would be a challenge. She and Julius had recently observed their first Season in London, and the constant interruptions at the theatre, balls, and even on morning walks through the park tried her patience. Young men loved nattering on about their horses and carriages. Julius, however, was adept at disengaging from lengthy conversations without offending anyone, much to her relief.

“Our mother hen does not allow us chicks to wander far from the nest,” Ammie said with a teasing smile, “but I am happy you will be close.”

As was Bess. She would be close enough to her cousin to see her often. Davensworth Cottage was staffed now, and under Julius’s tutelage, Gemma had gained a better understanding of the brewery’s finances and operations. She no longer needed Bess’s or Julius’s help, but Bess liked knowing they would only be half an hour away.

“We should be on our way.” Julius stood and offered his hand to Bess. “Father and Mother are expecting us.”

Ammie and Phillip walked with them to the entry hall. When their manservant opened the door, two spaniels trotted inside. Driver Ted was waiting with the travel coach to carry Julius and Bess to Everly Manor. After handing her into the carriage, Julius settled on the bench beside her.

“I have something for you.” He reached for his brown leather satchel on the opposite bench and dug inside. “I hadn’t decided when to show you, but now seems as good a time as any. Close your eyes.”

Bess smiled and followed his directions. He was always surprising her with small gifts. “What have you done now?”

“First”—he slipped a hand around the back of her neck to cradle her—“this.”

His warm lips leisurely nipped hers. Wishing to prolong the kiss, she angled her head and leaned into it. Her heart sped as the tip of his tongue teased her upper lip before he caught it gently between his teeth. He released her abruptly, and she groaned in disappointment.

“You are too distracting, love.” His chuckle was airy, as if she had stolen his breath. “Close your eyes, and keep them closed this time.”

She rolled them for good measure before complying. “Your surprise better be worth it.”

“Open.” In Julius’s palm was an oval-cut emerald ring set in gold. Six diamonds surrounded the precious gem—one diamond to represent each of her brothers.

She reached for her stepmother’s ring and frowned. “Why do you have Priscilla’s ring?”

“She gave it to me.” Julius wet his lips, revealing his nerves. “I hope you will forgive me, but I called on her yesterday. It never sat right with me, the way your father missed supper that night.”

Soon after Bess and Julius arrived in London for the Season, one of her father’s footmen delivered an invitation for a celebratory dinner party with her family. Bess had written to Priscilla after the wedding to announce the change in her marital status, and her stepmother responded promptly with felicitations from her and Bess’s father. She and Priscilla continued their correspondence throughout winter, so the invitation to dine with her family was not unexpected. Her father’s decision to miss the party came as a blow, though.

On the drive home, Julius, furious over her father’s poor treatment of Bess, had threatened to drag him from his club and force him to apologize. Bess persuaded him not to bother. She stopped hoping her father would change years ago.

Julius had known about her strained relationship with her father before their arrival in London. She’d owed Julius an explanation after her tearful reaction to his Christmas gift, so she revealed all—her father’s indifference, lack of empathy, his selfish cruelty when he destroyed her mother’s belongings.

She held her husband’s hand. “I am not angry, but I don’t understand. Why did Priscilla give you her ring?”

“I, uh…” He cleared his throat. “I told her about the cameo your father stole. How it was the only piece of your mother you’d had left. She remembered the day and vowed she tried to stop him, but she said he cannot be reasoned with when he goes on a tear.”

Bess sighed. She’d always known Priscilla tried to buffer her from the worst of it.

“She also said it wasn’t true that all your mother’s property was gone. Look at the inscription.”

Bess held the ring close to the window. Sunlight glinted off the gold, blinding for a moment, then the words took form. “Dearest Lizzie, you are the center of my world,” she murmured. Tears pricked the backs of her eyes. “This really belonged to my mother.”

“It did.” Julius pointed to the gem. “Your mother was the emerald. Surrounded by diamonds, but she outshone them all. Your stepmother said your father only ever loved your mother. She believes he gave her the ring as a reminder she could never hold his heart.”

“Poor Priscilla must regret ever marrying him.”

“She has no regrets.” Julius swept a lock of hair behind Bess’s ear. “She knew he would never love her. Her thought was for you, my love. You needed a mother, and she longed to ease the pain of your loss.”

Tears blurred her vision as the ring took on new meaning. It was a symbol of two mothers—the one she never was allowed to know, and the one who’d chosen her.

“Oh, my sweet Bess.” Julius gathered her against his chest and tucked her head beneath her chin. “Please, don’t cry. I am hopeless when you cry. I haven’t a clue about how to comfort you.”

She hugged him, chuckling through her tears. “You are doing a fine job of it nevertheless.” When at last she drew back and lifted her face, her tears were gone. “Thank you for speaking with Priscilla. This is a gift I will cherish forever. I love it almost as much as I love you.”

And then she kissed him, the man at the center of her world.

The End

ABOUT SAMANTHA GRACE

USA Today bestselling author Samantha Grace’s storytelling has received starred reviews from Publishers Weekly and critical acclaim from Booklist and Library Journal. She has written over fifteen Regency historical romance books and enjoys using her degree in behavioral psychology to create engaging, multidimensional characters. Her novel IN BED WITH A ROGUE earned her a RITA nomination, and LORD MARGRAVE’S SECRET DESIRE was nominated for a RONE award. A lifelong romantic, Samantha first caught a case of the warm fuzzies while watching Disney’s animated version of Robin Hood at age four. She has never looked for a cure. Samantha lives in Wisconsin with her real life hero, daughter, and Holo the Husky.

You can find details of her work at

www.SamanthaGraceAuthor.com

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WEDDED TO THE WELSH BARON

~ A London Lords Novella ~

by

SASHA COTTMAN

One ruined castle. Two lonely souls. A chance for love.

With little more than a ruined castle in Wales and a title to his name, socially awkward, Rhys Morgan is finding it hard to secure himself a wife.

When he unexpectedly inherits an English estate, Rhys hopes that all his problems might finally be solved.

But not only is Kington House a rundown disaster, he is shocked to discover it is being managed by a woman!

Wister York has been stuck at Kington House for three years. With no money and no prospects, her greatest fear is that when the mysterious Lord Carno arrives, he will throw her out.

But Rhys, is nothing like what she had been expecting. The shaggy Welsh baron sets her pulse racing and stirs within her deep desires.

Rhys in turn is fascinated by the dark-haired temptress. Feisty and clever Wister is like no woman he has ever met. When she is near him, he can barely think straight.

Passion and steamy temptation soon burn between these two lonely souls.

In the snowy ruins of Carno Castle, Rhys and Wister will have to overcome their pasts in order to secure a chance for love.

CHAPTER ONE

CARNO CASTLE

Wales

THE CARRIAGE finally disappeared over the hill and was lost from sight. Rhys Morgan, Baron Carno, swore quietly under his breath before turning away from the window of his study.

Two. Two valets had quit his employ in the past six months—three if you counted this latest one. But he hadn’t even bothered to set foot inside Carno Castle. Instead, the man had merely taken one look at the semi-ruin and got promptly back into his travel coach and departed.

“You are having a bit of a bad run when it comes to servants. Anyone would think you might take it personally.”

He gifted his cousin and best friend, Deri Hughes, Baron Ruthin, the merest hint of a tight smile. “Thank you for stating the bleeding obvious. I really appreciate it.”

Deri chuckled. “Oh, come now. We both know that the wilds of Carno are not for everyone. It takes a rare man to appreciate the foreboding mountains and almost constant rain.”

“Not helping,” replied Rhys.

Deri set down his glass of whisky and rose from his chair by the fire. “Perhaps you need to place an advertisement in the London papers seeking a valet who likes wintery climes. One who doesn’t mind a spot of weather. Did I mention that it rains here a lot?”

They were in Wales—of course it rained. It wasn’t his fault that potential valets couldn’t see the rugged beauty of a Welsh winter. People could say what they liked, but this place was in his blood. Rhys Morgan was a son of the land of Saint David.

Gallai fod yn oer ond dwi'n caru'r wlad hon.

Rhys scrubbed at the rough beard on his chin. The prospect of wielding the cutthroat razor once more made him shudder. Under his two-week old growth were a disappointing number of self-inflicted nicks and cuts. “It’s not my fault if these soft Englishmen cannot handle a spot of weather. It doesn’t rain here every day.”

Deri put an arm around his shoulder and softly chuckled. “Carno average annual rainfall—fifty-five inches. You do know this was the place were Noah practiced building his ark before the great flood? And considering the current length of your beard, you could easily pass for him.”

Rhys grimaced. Carno Castle had been built in the thirteenth century right in the middle of an area hotly contested by several would-be kings. Many a bloody battle had been fought over the imposing Norman fortress. It was said that the castle’s outer walls, which had once been twelve feet thick, had not been built to withstand invaders—rather they had been designed to keep out the bitter Welsh wind.

“All jests aside, what are you going to do?” asked Deri.

Now there is the question I have been asking myself just about every waking moment for the past few weeks. What am I going to do?

“Well, I could put another advertisement in The Times and see if I can get someone new. Though The Cambrian in Swansea might at least get me a valet from Wales—someone who will stay for more than a few months,” he replied.

Deri huffed. “I meant about Kington House. I would have thought a near-bankrupt estate would be higher on your list of priorities than getting that fur removed from your face.”

Kington House. Now there was a whole other hairy problem. What was he to do with the sudden and unexpected inheritance which had recently landed in his lap? His father’s second cousin, somewhat removed, had passed away a few months ago, leaving Rhys as the new owner of an estate just over the border in Herefordshire, England.

Rhys’s initial glee at this supposed windfall had soon turned to disappointment. His man of business had ventured to Kington to look over matters, and quickly returned bearing news of a badly rundown estate and empty coffers.

Now he had two millstones around his neck. One a mismanaged English property, the other his family’s semi-ruined ancient castle. He would likely never have enough money to rebuild Carno Castle, but a substantial country house in England might just give him a place where he could reestablish the Morgan family fortunes. Or at the very least it would be something which he could sell to allow him to live out his days somewhere warmer, like London.

“I’m thinking of making the trip over to Kington before Christmas to see just how bad things are. If the estate cannot be salvaged without a large injection of funds, I may just as well be rid of it,” he replied.

Deri frowned. “That’s not like you to walk away from a challenge. I would have thought you would relish saving a rundown place. Lord knows you have performed enough financial miracles to keep this one going.”

And I am tired of praying constantly for divine intervention.

The land around Carno barely managed to support a few small herds of Welsh mountain sheep. The castle’s long-suffering tenants paid but a token amount of rent to their lord. “Truth be told, I just want a quiet life. It’s lonely out here. If I could find a way to make one of the estates pay for themselves, I might be in a better financial position to take on a wife.”

As things currently stood, other than an ancient title and a rundown castle, he had little to offer to a prospective bride.

“It’s funny, you know. I have been having similar thoughts myself. We are both not seeing another birthday in our twenties again and the idea of having a family has become more appealing to me over the past year,” replied Deri.

Rhys was grateful that his cousin didn’t bother to mention that Ruthin Castle was a fully functioning estate, one which would hold some attraction to a potential wife. Any woman who came to reside at Carno would find herself living in the cramped small rooms of the old gatehouse—the only part of the castle which remained inhabitable.

Rhys crossed to the small stone fireplace and using the edge of his boot, lifted a log which had fallen out of the grate, placing it back into the flames. It was a pointless exercise at best. The fire gave out little heat. At this time of the year, he didn’t bother to take off his heavy woolen coat even when inside. “Is the thought of a wife the reason why you have been keeping a steady stream of secret correspondence with Miss Sophie Gerald these past few months?”

Deri had the good grace to blush. “I was not aware that you were aware, but yes, we have been writing to one another.”

Rhys wagged a finger at his cousin. “If you get your mail directed to my home, there is a good chance that it will cross my desk at some point. And Miss Gerald uses the family seal on the wax, so it was easy enough for me to put two and two together.”

He couldn’t begrudge Deri any kind of happiness. If he was able to secure a union with the lady, at least one of them would not die a lonely old bachelor. “So, is there any news you may wish to impart on the marital front?”

Deri shook his head. “Not yet. But if our correspondence is anything to go by, I have reason for quiet hope.”

Resuming his seat by the fire, Deri picked up his whisky glass. “Why don’t we both make the trip over to Kington next week? I can stay for a day or so before heading off to London. I have to endure the obligatory pre-Christmas time with Mama and the rest of my family, but I should be able to come back to Kington House. We could celebrate another of our orphans’ Christmas suppers together.”

“You are not technically an orphan. I doubt your mother would appreciate hearing you say that, and why aren’t you spending Christmas with her? And what about Miss Gerald?” replied Rhys.

Deri’s mother had remarried after his father’s untimely death and had created a second family.

“I intend to see Sophie when I am in town. And you know full well how uncomfortable I am about sitting down to dine on Christmas Eve with all my half brothers and sisters. Nice people, but I never feel quite one of them,” said Deri.

Rhys didn’t want to mention how much he would love to have another family he could spend Christmas with. Even a half sibling would be nice, but he could understand Deri’s position.

“I tell you what. Come to Kington, but I won’t hold you to any orphans’ Christmas promises. If you decide to spend the time with others I shall understand. I expect I will be busy sorting estate matters right through to the new year anyway.” The idea of heading across the border to England and seeing Kington House for himself grew more appealing by the minute. “Between now and Christmas, I should be able to have a good look over things and decide if the place is worth keeping.”

“Do we know why the estate is in such poor financial condition? From what I have seen, the land around Kington makes for excellent grazing and crop cultivation. Your new property should at least be able to maintain a good head of sheep. It doesn’t make sense as to why it would not be a solid earner,” said Deri.

It was a question Rhys had asked himself. Estates didn’t tend to fail on their own. There was usually a very good reason—or, to be more accurate, a bad one. “You know how these things go. Waste, wagering and wenches,” replied Rhys.

Deri nodded sagely. “I wonder if the old codger had a gambling problem. Too many nights at the card table, with a busty wench on his knee perhaps.”

Rhys quickly crossed to his desk, which sat in the corner of the room. He rummaged through some papers, searching for the report about Kington House which his man of business had prepared. After finally locating it, he gave the paper a quick perusal. The mention of females had triggered something in his memory. “I’m not sure about the cards, but you might be onto something when you say he could have had a thing for the ladies,” he replied.

The third paragraph of the report had briefly made mention of the current estate manager. At the time he had first read it, Rhys had simply skimmed over the name, looking to get to the report’s conclusion. Now, as he stood staring at it, the cogs of his mind slowly began to turn. Kington House had been managed for the past year and a half by a Miss York. “When can you be ready to leave for Kington?” asked Rhys.

“Why?”

He brandished the report in the air, annoyed with himself that he hadn’t thought of it sooner. “Because the silly old fool let a woman run the estate and she is still there. Any wonder it’s a bloody mess.”

CHAPTER TWO

WISTER YORK LIFTED her head and attempted to release the crick in her neck. Her efforts did little to loosen the tight knot of muscles. She glanced back at the books of account, but the numbers swam before her eyes.

I just wish I could pay you all this month. I hate having to scrimp with money like this—it is embarrassing.

She would much prefer to be out taking a long walk in the woods than continue to wade through the mess that was Kington House’s finances, but the creditors wouldn’t wait. Lord Kington had been dead and buried some three months, and the letters of demand kept rolling in. The coffers were almost bone dry.

With a tired sigh, she picked up the latest pile of unopened correspondence on her desk and slowly thumbed through it. She could tell which letters were from the most frustrated creditors by the tight way they had been folded and sealed.

At the bottom of the pile she found one specifically addressed to herself. She set the other letters quickly aside. Slipping her letter opener under the seal, she muttered, “Please. Please. Please.” Wister scanned the first paragraph of the letter. “Damn.”

The wording was not exactly the same as all the other rejection letters, but the message was. Yet again, she had been unsuccessful in securing a new position as a lady’s companion.

As had been the case now for over a year, she was still stuck at Kington House, unable to move on with her life.

I am surely cursed to remain here forever. My ghost will haunt the halls of this place.

Rising from her desk, she ignored the rest of the mail. Like death and taxes, they would be here when she came back tomorrow. She stepped out from the dank, cold study and headed downstairs to the kitchen.

“Oh, that’s better,” she said, stepping into the warm and cozy space. A fire blazed in the hearth. Over the crackle of burning wood came the soft steady cadence of snoring. Polly the cook cum housemaid cum gardener was slumped over the kitchen table.

Poor love.

“Polly, I am going to go for a walk in the orchard. I shall keep an eye out for any old weathered apples that may be hiding in the trees. If I find one or two, we might be able to cobble together enough ingredients to make an apple pie,” she said.

She got a tired wave of the hand in response. Overworked Polly had been up long before the dawn and was taking a well-deserved nap.

Wister dropped a friendly kiss on the top of her head. “Why don’t you go and have a kip in one of his lordship’s beds? It’s not as if anyone is going to come and scold you for it.”

Polly shook her head. “No. This place is blighted enough. The last thing I want to do is to go and sleep anywhere that that horrible old codger might have laid his head.”

Wister softly laughed. It was either that or having a bloody good cry. Here she was, twenty-seven years old. No money. No prospects. And she was stuck as the de-facto, unpaid manager of a rundown estate in a far-flung corner of Herefordshire.

She grabbed her coat from a nearby hook and put it on, not bothering to remove her apron. Once outside in the overgrown orchard, she found some solace. At least the clean country air was better than living in smoke-filled London or grimy Manchester, and there was no landlord knocking on her door asking for this week’s rent. She should count her blessings.

Walking between what had once been neat rows of apple, plum, and walnut trees, she stopped every so often to search the treetops for signs of fruit. Wister sighed. There was not a scraggy apple to be seen.

“Oh, for goodness sake, stop being such a misery guts. Your luck has to change soon,” she muttered.

“Wister! Wister!”

She turned at the sound of her name being called and saw young Rupert Weld, the son of the local tavern owner, running toward her. A letter was held high in his hand. “This came with the mail coach this morning. Papa said I had to bring it over straight away.”

I expect George thinks that letter is someone writing to offer me a new position. One which will take me far away from here. Your father is more of an optimist than I am.

Wister took the letter, glanced at the back of it, and was about to tuck it into her apron pocket when she stopped. She rechecked the wax seal. It was a rampant lion on a shield. Under the seal, the name Morgan had been written.

“Oh,” she muttered.

Her mouth went dry. The only thing that could be worse than a rejection letter was a notice of dismissal from the new owner of Kington House before she had managed to secure another position. One that paid.

“Thank you. I shall read it later,” she said.

Rupert waved goodbye and scampered off toward the lane which led back into the nearby village. Wister broke the seal and opened the dreaded missive. Her heart sank as she read Baron Carno’s letter.

“He is coming here for a visit. That is all I need,” she whispered.

How long would it take for this Welsh baron to decide that she was not up to the task of managing the estate and give her formal notice? And then where would she be?

On her own. No money, and with nowhere to go.

Wister stuffed the letter into her pocket. She swallowed deeply, fighting back tears. This day had always been coming. The minute Lord Kington drew his last breath, the clock had begun to tick down.

She toyed with the silver ring on her right hand. The green garnet glistened in the midmorning sunlight. It had been a gift from her late parents, one of the few things she had managed to hold onto over the years, and it was her most precious possession.

But if Baron Carno did have in mind to rid himself of her from Kington House, the ring would be one of the first things Wister would have to sell. Food and a roof over her head had to be more of a priority than keeping a cherished family jewel.

With all thoughts of apple hunting now gone, Wister wandered off down the long walk between the trees and into the nearby wood.

I may as well enjoy the last of my rambles through Kington Wood. Who knows where I will be this time next month?

In a matter of days, the new lord of the manor would be arriving. And no doubt after having taken one look at the financial mess of his estate, she would be given her marching orders.

CHAPTER THREE

RHYS CLIMBED SLOWLY down from the travel coach, hesitant to set foot on the stone drive of Kington House. If the view out the window on the approach from Kington village was anything to go by, he was in for a long day of disappointment.

The fields were devoid of livestock, and apart from a small patch of ground close to the main house, there didn’t appear to be any crops in the ground.

Just what I need—another estate that sucks my purse dry.

Deri climbed down after him, then leaned in close. “Just look for the positive signs, Rhys. The land is well drained and while those fields are now fallow, from the look of them, at some point in the recent enough past they supported crops. And it isn’t raining.”

Thank god he had brought his cousin with him. Deri Hughes could always be relied upon to find the good in any situation. Rhys had a sinking feeling he was going to need every cheerful comment from him to get through the next day or so.

“Let’s stick to the basics. Remember to cover the fundamentals. If the estate has solid feet, I can rebuild,” muttered Rhys.

His father’s old mantra played in his head. The last Baron Carno had been a pragmatic Welshman to his bones.

I miss you every day.

He missed both his parents, and never more than today—the third anniversary of their deaths. Their absence weighed heavily on his shoulders this morning.

Rhys puffed out his cheeks and forced himself to focus on the task at hand. That being Kington House and what he was going to do with it.

The main house appeared to date from the early Georgian period, not particularly old but most certainly badly maintained. From its peeling paint and general dilapidated state, it was clear he was going to have to make some hard decisions—the first of those being what to do with the clearly incompetent estate manager. No respectable servant would have allowed the property to fall into such obvious disrepair.

He took a step back and, shielding his eyes from the glare of the morning sun, surveyed the roof. Even from where he stood, the signs of broken guttering and missing roof tiles could not go unnoticed.

If the roof is not protected, I dread to think what damage the rains have caused inside. How can anyone, have let things go to such an extent?

He huffed. A woman—that was who. She was probably too busy worrying about stitching samplers to notice the place falling down around her ears.

“Lord Carno?”

Rhys dropped his gaze and spun ’round on his heel. From out the front of the house a woman had appeared and was making her way over to him. Deri let out a low, appreciative whistle, which Rhys did his best to ignore. He was not in the mood for flippancy.

“If that is your Miss York, I think we might have already uncovered Lord Kington’s problem. Too much time in bed with her,” whispered Deri.

He could understand where Deri was coming from. This woman wasn’t anything like how he had imagined a Miss York would look—not that he had put too much thought into the matter. His man of business had told him the estate finances were a mess and that was where Rhys’s concerns had been solely focused.

Now his mind was captured by the stunning dark-haired beauty who was fast closing the distance between them. Deri gave him a sharp jab in the ribs and nodded toward her.

Rhys stirred. “I am Lord Carno. Are you Miss York?”

“Yes. Welcome to Kington House,” she said.

Rhys frowned as a smiling Miss York held out a hand in greeting. He wasn’t used to women offering to shake his hand. When he didn’t move, she dropped her arm, leaving it to hang awkwardly by her side.

He did his best to shift his gaze from her long, slender fingers back to her face, but only got as far as her slim waist and rounded breasts. She cut a fine figure of a woman. Perhaps Deri was on the mark when it came to why she had been appointed estate manager. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time a man had let his cock do the thinking when it came to be dealing with a woman.

“How was your journey from Wales?” she asked.

Say something, man. Don’t just stand here. And for crying out loud, stop ogling her. She is a bloody servant.

“Fine,” he managed.

A scowl appeared on her face. Her gaze shifted from him to Deri.

To Rhys’s relief, Deri quickly offered her his hand. “Baron Ruthin.”

“Oh, so two barons? I was only expecting one,” she replied.

Rhys broke from his stupor and nodded. “Baron Ruthin is my cousin. He is coming to stay with us for a few days to help me look over the estate and its finances,” he said.

She winced, and his heart sank. Miss York clearly knew things were in a bad way.

“No,” she said, shaking her head.

Rhys did a double take. He wasn’t used to servants arguing with him. “What do you mean no?” he demanded.

She held out both hands, fingers splayed. “My apologies, Lord Carno. I meant no offense. What I meant to say was that your man of business reviewed the books when he was here. He seemed to have a solid grasp of the numbers before he left, so I don’t understand what a second review is going to reveal,” she replied.

Rhys saw red. Who the devil did this woman think she was to question him? Was this the sort of attitude that had allowed her to get away with ruining the estate? If it was, he wasn’t going to stand for it. He would have her packed and out on her ear before the day was ended. “I will look at the books for as long as I bloody well please. Just because you have had plenty of time to make the numbers such a disgrace doesn’t mean I should be too hasty in checking them.”

If Miss York had been a man, he would have had her by the scruff of the neck and be shaking her. Anything to get some sense into her head.

“Rhys.”

His vision was suddenly filled by his cousin’s worried face. Deri held him by the shoulders and stared hard at him. “Take a deep breath and calm down, Rhys. It is not good form to lose your temper in front of the household staff. Nor to accuse them of incompetence.”

Footsteps crunched on the stone path, and he glanced over Deri’s shoulder. Miss York was making her way back toward the front door. The impertinent chit had taken her own leave.

He opened his mouth to protest her rude behavior but stopped when Deri shook his head. “Are you going to behave like a baron and go into the house, or are you going to get back in your coach and go home? Because I am telling you right now, I am not standing out here in the middle of a cold Herefordshire morning while you carry on,” said Deri.

Rhys sighed. He had let the pain of today’s anniversary chafe at him so badly that his chest ached. What it had done to his mind was far worse. His temper had been on the verge of firing long before he got out the coach. Miss York had just happened to be the unfortunate person who was in the way when it finally went off.

“You know what today is, don’t you?” said Rhys.

Deri nodded. “Yes, how could I forget? And it is exactly the reason why I am trying to stop you from saying or doing something you may later regret. You have to give Miss York at least the opportunity to explain things before you dismiss her.”

All the fight fled from Rhys. Making the estate manager the target of his ire and pain was out of character. Shame now piled on to his heavy emotional load. “I need to go for a short walk. Let me get my thoughts straight in my head and then I will come inside and speak to Miss York.”

“Good idea,” replied Deri.

Rhys started toward a small path which ran down the side of the house, eager to get away from people and stretch his legs. As he rounded the corner of the triple-storied, grey rendered building, he spied an orchard at the end of the garden.

Perfect. He was in desperate need of somewhere to go and spend a few minutes alone. A place where no one else could see his tears.

CHAPTER FOUR

“BLOODY. BLOODY. OH!” Wister wasn’t normally one for swearing, but the rudeness of Baron Carno had pushed her to saying things that her late mother would have taken her to task over.

The dreadful man. How dare he accuse her of incompetence? He had no idea what she had been through, of the sacrifices she had made just to keep the fires of Kington House burning.

Baron or no, she wasn’t going to stand there and be insulted. She marched straight back in the front door, through the kitchen, and out into the garden without breaking her stride.

Pompous ass of a male.

Polly raced after her. “Should I put the kettle on? Will they be wanting some tea and toast?”

Remembering her manners and her place, Wister stopped and faced Polly. “Yes, please. We should offer Lord Carno and Lord Ruthin some refreshments after their long journey. Though I am not sure if they are the sort of nobles who would lower themselves to partake of such humble things.”

While Polly went back to the house, Wister kept going, heading for the orchard.

“I hope you bloody well choke on your tea and toast, Lord Carno,” she grumbled.

As she drew near to the end of the orchard, she slowed her steps. Tempting though it was to head into the nearby Kington Wood and disappear for several hours, it wouldn’t help her cause. She would have to face the new owner of the estate at some point.

Hot tears of frustration and anger filled her eyes. She had been a fool to think that he might give her a fair hearing. From the way Lord Carno spoke, it was obvious he had already made up his mind. Of course, his man of business had told him the shambles that the estate was currently in. And the baron had conveniently found someone to blame.

Me.

She slumped to the ground under one of the bare apple trees, her mind and heart in turmoil. With her arms wrapped around her knees, Wister stared back at the house. If Lord Carno’s behavior was any indication, she would be lucky to survive another day at Kington House.

“It’s your own silly fault. What were you thinking, talking to him like that?” she chided herself.

Being a lord, she probably should have curtseyed to him. Or not.

Does one curtesy to a Welsh baron?

Her mother, God rest her soul, would likely be turning in her grave at the notion of her only daughter not showing all due deference to a nobleman. But when it came to men of rank and title, experience had taught Wister not to hold them in high regard.

Lord Kington had shown her that a man may have all the wealth and position that he could want and still be lacking in honor. But he was dead, and she now had to deal with the new lord of the manor.

Speak of the devil.

Baron Carno appeared from around the side of the house. She froze, hoping to avoid his notice. The last thing she wanted right now was another confrontation with him.

As he walked, he wiped at his face. His steps continued in her direction. Blast. There was no way he could fail to spot her sitting on the ground. She closed her eyes and rested her head on her arms.

The rustle of leaves being crunched under foot grew louder as he approached. “Miss York?”

Wister waited a moment before lifting her head and meeting his gaze. What she saw took her by surprise. There was no mistaking the red which rimmed the dark green of his eyes. He had been crying.

“Lord Carno.” To her further amazement, he tucked the bottom of his coat under his knees and sat next to her on the damp grass.

“The apple trees look well-tended. What else do you grow in the orchard?” His voice had lost much of its hard edge from their earlier encounter. If she had to describe it now, Wister would have said it was almost melancholy. There was a sadness to him.

She pointed toward a row of trees close to the far side of the orchard. “Plums. Lemons. A couple of walnut trees. And we have a blackberry bush at the end of the lane just before you step off into the wood.”

“No cherry trees?”

She shook her head. It would have been nice to have had the time and money to plant more fruit varieties in the orchard, but she had learned to make do with what they had.

“Pity. My mother had several cherry trees at Carno Castle. They used to produce the most beautiful fruit,” he said.

“What happened to them?”

“The trees died the year after she did. A bacterial canker took them—the flu claimed her and my father.”

Wister nodded. Lord Carno appeared upset, and she didn’t want to add to his misery by offering up her own tragic story. She barely knew the man and they had not got off to a great start. “I am sorry,” she replied.

“So am I.”

They sat for a few minutes, neither saying a word. Wister finally turned as Rhys got to his feet. To her surprise, he held out his hand. “My cousin has gone inside looking for someone to make him a cup of tea. How about you and I join him?”

Wister reluctantly accepted his offer of assistance, and Rhys drew her up to stand alongside him. A soft, shy smile was briefly exchanged.

He slipped his hat off and Wister got her first glimpse of his rich brown hair. When Rhys ruffled his fingers through his lengthy locks, she wished for nothing more than to be able to stuff her hands in her pockets. It was either that or offer to finger comb his hair.

The green-eyed Welsh devil was delightfully shaggy.

“I don’t suppose you have a gentleman’s barber in the village, do you? I could do with a cut and a shave,” he said.

She could simply say no and leave it at that, but Wister had been raised in a good home where manners were valued. “We don’t, but I’ve a fine pair of sharp scissors in the house and I know my way around a cutthroat blade. I could give you a trim and free you of that beard.”

He gave her an unsure look. Not five minutes ago he had berated her, and now she was offering to hold a blade to his throat.

“Is this the part where I apologize for my rude behavior?” said Rhys.

Wister nodded, offering reassurance. “Trust me, Lord Carno, you are not the first noble to raise his voice to me. If I can survive working for Lord and Lady Kington, dealing with someone who simply wants answers about the estate will be a positive delight. Besides, you have every right to examine the books and question the staff. I overstepped the mark with my earlier comments. It is I who should be offering an apology.”

She gave a quick check of her skirts, brushing off a couple of damp leaves, then started toward the house. Rhys followed. At the back door, Wister stopped and scraped the wet leaves from the soles of her boots.

“Speaking of servants, how many do we have here at Kington? So far, I haven’t seen anyone other than yourself,” said Rhys.

The baron’s man must have failed to mention the issue of servants and the lack thereof in his report. A grand estate such as Kington House would normally retain a full retinue of staff.

Brace yourself, Lord Carno. This is going to be the first of many disappointments.

“Including Polly and myself, you have the grand sum of two.”

CHAPTER FIVE

“THE BOOKS themselves have been kept in good order. It’s just the figures which are so bloody horrible.” Rhys closed the last of the account ledgers and pushed back from the desk.

Deri was seated on a nearby couch nursing a glass of red wine. They had made a thorough search of Lord Kington’s study and private rooms but not found a single drop of whisky or brandy. Any delight they had in discovering the bottle of red wine had quickly dissipated as soon as it was opened.

“Speaking of bloody horrible, I don’t think I can finish this,” said Deri. He screwed up his face and set the glass down on a side table. Things had to be really bad for a house to not have at least one decent bottle of wine in the cellar.

Rhys wandered over to the window and looked out at the orchard and the fast fading light of the early evening. “Tomorrow I shall ride into the village and see what the local store and tavern can offer in the way of wine and vittles. We need supplies.”

If he was going to remain at Kington House for Christmas, the cellar would need to be restocked. He made a mental note to write to his wine merchant in London and have several crates of good French reds delivered.

“Of course, you could ask your estate manager if there is any booze around the place. She seems handy enough,” offered Deri.

Rhys shot him a warning look. Miss York had done a decent job in rustling up a midday meal for them, but he didn’t want her to get too comfortable with him. Chances were, he was going to be asking for her resignation very soon. She was easy on the eye, he could admit to that, but her good looks wouldn’t help to solve his immediate problem—that being the terrible state of Kington House’s bank balance.

No. They would have to make do for tonight and then come to some arrangement with a local supplier who could offer favorable terms of credit in order for them to quickly have something decent to drink.

Rhys peered out at the apple trees. There were still a few leaves on the topmost branches of some trees. The rest lay scattered about the orchard floor.

I wonder when the first snow will fall. It can’t be far off if the chill winds are any indication.

Deri rose from his chair and came to Rhys’s side. “Don’t trouble yourself about getting anything for me. I won’t be staying. I have decided to travel on to London tomorrow morning. The weather might close in and I wouldn’t want to be on the road if it did.”

Rhys sighed. “I thought you might stay on for a few days at least. Or did you suddenly become possessed of the burning need to see Miss Gerald?”

The prospect of being here on his own was not particularly appealing. Rhys raised an eyebrow as a sheepish look appeared on his cousin’s face.

“Out with it, man. I can see you are like the cat that got the cream,” said Rhys.

Deri grinned. “I wasn’t just intending to see Sophie when I head to London. The relationship is more serious than I had led you to believe in Carno.”

“And?” replied Rhys, raising both eyebrows.

Deri broke into a soft chuckle. “And I am planning to ask her to marry me. I thought I could manage a few days here, but it’s killing me. If I don’t hightail it to London and propose to her, I shall go mad. I know it’s terrible of me to abandon you to the charming Miss York, but it has to be done.”

This was the most excellent of news. Deri had always wanted a wife and a brood of children. “I am beyond happy for you, and never let it be said that I stood in Cupid’s way. I just hope the poor unfortunate girl has the good sense to accept.”

“I have already confessed my affections, and the letter I received from Sophie just before we left Carno confirmed that she feels the same way about me. With luck, we will be wed early in the new year,” replied Deri.

Rhys clapped him on the back, then took one look at the mostly full bottle of wine. This was a moment for celebration. “Come on. Let’s get our coats. We can walk into the village and have a pint or two and some supper at the Royal Oak Inn. Your future happiness should not be toasted with gnat’s piss.”

He was truly happy for his cousin and would dance long at his wedding. If only his own problems could be so easily overcome. As the owner of two near-bankrupt estates, he wasn’t exactly a prize catch.

What a pity that the only woman I have got within five feet of in the past six months is the same woman I am about to send packing.

CHAPTER SIX

DERI DEPARTED from Kington House the following morning, leaving Rhys to deal with the question of what he was going to do about the estate and Miss York. After another morning spent going through the estate records and not being able to make complete sense of them, Rhys finally decided it was time to talk to his estate manager.

“Have a seat please, Miss York,” he said.

Wister stood in the doorway of the sitting room, lips pursed, clearly nonplussed at being summoned by him. When he motioned to the chair in front of the desk where he currently sat, she gave a derisive sniff.

She walked over and stood between the desk and the chair. After placing a piece of paper in front of Rhys, she stepped back and stood with her arms crossed, glaring at him. She was definitely not in a convivial mood. “If you are going to dismiss me, could you please just get it over and done with? The coach for Birmingham passes through the village at midday and I wouldn’t want to miss it.”

Rhys gritted his teeth, doing his best not to get angry over her defiant stand. Someone had to be the adult here. He glanced at the note. On it was written a number which made him decidedly uncomfortable. One hundred and fifty guineas.

“That is the total of my outstanding wages. If you pay me, I will go immediately to my room and pack,” she said.

Wages? She was the estate manager. Why hadn’t she been paying herself?

He picked up the note, examined it closely once more to confirm the number, then frowned. “You haven’t been paid in over three years? I don’t understand.”

She sighed. “Lord Kington wasn’t one for taking care of his estate or his staff. That is why there is only the two of us remaining. Polly takes most of her wages as eggs, milk from the cow, and some of the food that she bakes.”

But if Miss York hadn’t been paid in all that time, why had she stayed? No sensible person would have remained while not being compensated.

“You are wondering why any servant would stay here when they were owed money,” she said.

He nodded.

“If you look closely at my note, you will see that it covers the two roles I have occupied during my time at Kington House. The first two years were as the late Lady Kington’s companion, while the last year or so was—”

“You were employed as a lady’s companion?” Rhys interrupted.

“Yes. But after Lady Kington passed away, I was asked to take on the role of managing the house and land. That led from one thing to another, and I have been more or less keeping the place going single-handedly since then,” she replied.

Her words had Rhys sitting back in his chair, more than a little surprised. He hadn’t realized she had been managing things for all that time. He had assumed she had taken on the role as a temporary measure when Lord Kington’s health had begun to decline. Women didn’t run estates—it simply didn’t happen.

Of course, there was the occasional mature-aged chatelain who oversaw the workings of a grand house, but not the entire estate. Females, in his experience, didn’t know enough about crops and livestock to be able to handle the role. “And you haven’t had the services of any male servants or staff during the past year?”

When she met his gaze this time, he caught the hint of discomfort on her face. Miss York clearly wasn’t used to people asking difficult questions—ones which might expose and undermine her.

Her employment history was interesting enough, but it still didn’t answer the question as to why she had remained at Kington House when the tight-fisted Lord Kington had not seen fit to pay her. She was a young woman, attractive, and she seemed to have a degree of intelligence. So why would she stay?

And then a cold sliver of dread slipped down Rhys’s spine.

Could she have had other reasons to want to remain here? With him? And just who was using who? Lady Kington has been gone for well over a year, and I suppose these things do happen.

Had an invisible line been crossed between Lord Kington and Miss York—an employer and employee relationship transforming into a sexual liaison? It certainly would make sense of many of Rhys’s private concerns.

The thought made him feel ill. From what Rhys had been able to gather, Lord Kington had not been a feebleminded old man who could have been easily manipulated. Which left him now considering the other unsavory possibility. Had a young, vulnerable woman been placed in a position where she had been forced to give up her virtue in order to keep a roof over her head?

This could be very awkward. How the devil am I going to ask her that sort of question?

“Do you know why Lord Kington decided to give you the job of estate manager? You had been employed as a lady’s companion, so you must see that this whole arrangement appears a little unusual. Were the two of you close?” he ventured.

Rhys watched as realization dawned on Wister’s face. He steeled himself for harsh words of retort. If she did tear into him, he couldn’t blame her. He had basically just asked her in a polite and slightly vague way if she was a whore.

Her bottom lip immediately began to quiver. Tears quickly followed. Wister sucked in a shuddering breath, and it was all Rhys could do not to get to his feet and haul her into his arms and apologize profusely.

“No, we were not in the least bit close. Lord Kington originally told me he intended to sell off much of the estate and move permanently to London. This was supposed to be a short-term engagement of a month or so, at the end of which I would be paid for my services from the proceeds of his late wife’s jewels. I waited a respectable time and then pressed him for the money. But he had changed his mind by then and decided to keep Kington House. I have been trying to leave ever since.”

With a dejected sigh, Wister dropped into the chair. She covered her face with her hands and her whole body shook as she sobbed.

Oh no. This is terrible.

The poor girl had been left to run an estate with no support. No staff. No money. No wonder the place was a rundown shamble. She had done her best with next to nothing.

HOW MANY TIMES had Wister played this conversation out in her head, knowing that someday someone would ask why she had remained at Kington House when Lord Kington clearly had no intention of ever paying her? The shameful truth was, she’d had no choice.

She didn’t know the first thing about Lord Carno, but there was something about the Welsh baron which made her want to trust him. Those deep green eyes of his seemed incapable of holding a lie.

There was nothing to lose in telling him the whole truth of things. She didn’t particularly care for his pity, but she was determined to have his understanding—even a modicum of respect for all her hard work. Much that it pained her, she could understand why Baron Carno would think that she and Lord Kington might have been more than simply servant and master.

“I have tried to leave. Even accepted that I may never see my money but getting another position has proven a difficult task. Over the past year, I have applied for dozens of positions as a lady’s companion, but not been successful with any of them,” she said, wiping her tears away with the back of her hand.

There was a growing pile of rejections sitting on her bedside table—a constant reminder of her failure to escape. She had the right background, breeding, and experience for the job but no one in London wanted to employ her. Her lack of a reference from her previous employer was the only reason Wister could fathom for not being granted even an interview. Lord Kington had consistently promised and then failed to provide her with one.

“So, if I paid you and you left, where would you go?” he asked.

Wister sniffed as her gaze fell to the threadbare brown carpet. The truth was, money was only part of the problem. Even with a purse full of coins, she had no particular place in mind as to where she would travel.

Please. Please don’t throw me out.

Hot tears slowly rolled down her cheeks. She was not one for crying, but the past year had seen one heartbreaking setback after the other. Even the death of Lord Kington had not freed her from her troubles.

“If I had enough money, I might go somewhere and try to start again. To be honest, I don’t have any real plans,” she said.

I have never dreamed that far in advance.

Her hopes for his support dimmed as Rhys folded up the piece of paper and placed it into the desk drawer. Legally, he was not compelled to pay her. The debt for her outstanding wages should have been settled by Lord Kington’s solicitors. Instead, they had taken the money and paid their own account. The lawyers were no fools. Few courts would support the petition of a young woman asking to be paid for having acted as the manager of an estate.

“What if I were to offer you to stay here and help me over the next month? I need someone to be able to explain the workings of the estate, and to be honest, to show me where all the money has gone,” said Rhys.

Wister wiped away another tear. She too would like to know where the hundreds of pounds that should be in the estate coffers had disappeared to over the past few years. They most certainly had not made it into her hands.

“What about money? I mean, not just the wages I am owed, but will you pay me for the next month as well? I need funds to begin my life over,” she said.

He nodded. “I will write to my banker this week and organize your money. If you agree to see out the rest of this calendar year in my service, I will not only pay you for the extra month, but I shall add in a bonus payment. You could use that money to go and see your family,” he replied.

Wister closed her eyes and let out a slow breath. Three years, eight months, and eleven days. Time, they said, was a healer, but it still hurt to say the words.

“Lord Carno, I have no family. And I have no home.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

RHYS HADN’T DEALT with many young women over the years. He knew a few in polite society, but they were either sisters of his friends or relatives. Time spent trying to build up the finances of his family estate in Wales meant he had not made much headway when it came to the fairer sex.

Unlike Deri, he didn’t have a functioning castle with which to tempt a possible wife. His was little more than a ruin with a cold, drafty gatehouse. When Miss York said she had no home, he could somewhat understand her predicament.

Her request to have until the following morning to consider his offer of extending her employment was less clear in his mind. But, not wishing to put her in a difficult position, Rhys had reluctantly agreed.

As the day finally drew to a close, he decided it was time to venture over to the Royal Oak and sample some more of their simple but hearty fare. It was just the way he liked his food—nothing fancy.

He headed up to his room, intending to freshen up before taking a stroll into Kington. At the top of the narrow staircase, he met Wister coming out of another room.

Is that her bedroom? I need to get a better idea of the layout of this house.

“Good evening, Lord Carno. Are you ready for your supper?” she asked.

“I was going to go into the village to eat. There is no need to cook just for me,” he replied.

Surely Polly wouldn’t have cooked for one, with Deri having taken himself off to London?

The disappointed expression on Wister’s face told him he was mistaken.

“Oh. Well, have a nice evening. Give my regards to George the tavern keeper.” She hurried down the stairs and quickly disappeared from sight, leaving Rhys to ponder her response.

Once inside his bedroom, he changed into a clean shirt and brushed his badly-in-need-of-a-good-cut hair. An unappealing beard stared back at him from his reflection in the mirror and he screwed up his face.

Miss York said she could cut hair. And she said she could wield an open razor.

Leaving his jacket and coat still laying on the bed, Rhys made his way downstairs in search of Miss York and her sharp scissors.

After a good ten minutes of wandering in and out of various rooms on the ground floor, he finally found her in the kitchen, seated at a long wooden table. A large pot of something delicious simmered on the stove, filling the room with an enticing aroma. Rhys’s stomach growled.

She put down her spoon and rose from the table. “Lord Carno, I thought you were going to the village.”

He took another long, deep breath, his nose picking up the distinct notes of chicken, herbs, and garlic. “That smells heavenly. What is it?”

“Chicken soup and potato slice. Would you like some?” she replied.

On the table in front of Wister was a half-eaten bowl of what he guessed was chicken and vegetable goodness. A plate sat to one side. On it was a small, thin brown cake.

On the other side of the table, a bowl and plate had been set. Miss York had been expecting company for supper. Him.

And you brushed her off with plans to go into the village. You dolt.

“This is deeply embarrassing. I didn’t realize Polly had already cooked,” he said.

To his immediate and immense relief, she gifted him with a soft smile. “Polly usually makes a large pot of something in the afternoon and then takes whatever is left home with her the next day. There is plenty of it if you would like some. I can bring it up to you in the dining room if you wish.”

Rhys pointed to the place setting opposite hers. “Or I could remember that I am a gentleman and come and sit with you. One should avoid eating alone.”

“Please, have a seat. I shall get you some supper,” she replied.

While he slid his long legs under the table, Wister picked up Rhys’s bowl and carried it over to the stove. She returned momentarily. The bowl was now full of steaming hot soup.

To his surprise, she didn’t resume her seat. Rather, she went back to the stove and added some wood to the fire. She turned and pointed to his soup. “Eat it while it’s still hot, Lord Carno. I will have your potato cake ready in a minute.”

Rhys picked up his spoon and took a sip of the piping hot soup. It tasted as delicious at it smelled. But while the chicken and vegetables went down easily, he still sensed a lump in his throat. Miss York was cooking his supper.

The heady aroma of fried potato soon drifted to his nose. While he watched, Wister went about the business of frying up the cake, sprinkling a little salt and pepper over it as she worked.

A few minutes later, she slid the cake out of the frying pan and onto a plate, then brought it over to the table and set it down in front of him. It was only then that she finally resumed her seat. “Mind your tongue on the potato. It is hot.”

“Thank you. But I feel terrible now that your supper has gone cold,” he replied.

She waved his concerns away. “Whereas I feel bad because we don’t have any onions or bacon to put in the cake. I find they make it much tastier.”

Rhys saw an opening. A chance to break down some of the awkward barriers which his lack of manners had helped create between them. “Did you know that potato and onion cake is a Welsh delicacy?”

“Yes, my godmother was Welsh. Mama always had our cook bake onion cake when she came to visit.”

Rhys broke a piece of the cake off and popped it into his mouth.

Who are you, Miss York, and where did you come from?

The cake was good. Really good. Fried potato was one of his favorite foods. The soft middle was a perfect complement to the slightly burned edges. When he finished his mouthful, Rhys set down his fork. “Mae hynny'n fwyd da,” he said.

Fool, she is English. You cannot speak Welsh to her.

“Sorry, I forgot where I was. I meant to say, this is good food.”

“Diolch yn fawr iawno,” she replied with a smile.

His eyes grew wide. Miss York had understood him. He didn’t meet too many people outside of Wales who knew anything of the language. “You speak Welsh?”

Wister held up a hand. “No, just the occasional phrase here and there. I learned them to please my godmother.”

This girl was fascinating. Every time he thought he was beginning to get a clear idea of her, she surprised him. Miss York was a woman of many talents.

“May I ask how you came to be here? I mean, from the way you carry yourself, you clearly come from a good family. You should have had options in your life—ones that did not include becoming a lady’s companion. I just find it all a little odd,” he said.

She fixed him with a puzzled scowl. “Why? Why would you want to know anything about me? Or are you just making polite supper conversation?”

Rhys had to think about that for a moment. Why did she intrigue him? From the first time he had set eyes on her, there was something about Miss York. Something he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

Yes, she was attractive. Those warm brown eyes that still held his were the kind that a man could easily lose himself in. “I suppose it is a bit of a mix of both. I am trying to be a little nicer to you than I was yesterday, but I must confess to also being curious.”

She picked up her spoon and took another mouthful of her soup. Her gaze drifted from him to the other end of the table. “I was born in Manchester. My family were well-to-do in shipping and textiles. And yes, I did have a privileged upbringing. I had a governess, and fine clothes. My father used to rent a town house in London for the season.”

She closed her eyes and rubbed at her temple. Rhys was torn. He really should be a gentleman and seek to change the topic, but the need to know more about the intriguing Miss York kept him silent.

“And then a winter illness came, and it was all gone. Creditors soaked up what money might have come to me, and I was left having to go into paid service. A friend of a friend knew that Lady Kington was in need of a companion and secured me the position. It paid a pittance, but it was better than…excuse me.”

She put a hand to her lips. When she looked back at him, there were tears glistening in her eyes.

Rhys knew the pain of loss only too well. “It’s a life-changing thing to bury your parents.”

“Yes, it most certainly is.”

Deri and he had talked about the two of them sharing an orphans’ Christmas, yet here was someone else who had as much if not more right to a seat at that unhappy gathering than his cousin did.

He reached across and touched his hand briefly to hers on the table.

Wister blinked back tears. “Sorry.”

“Miss York, you don’t have to apologize for your grief. It’s the only thing we have left to give to our parents.”

His title had never bothered him before, but Rhys was in sudden need to shake it off—to set this relationship on a different footing, dare he think a more friendly one. “If we are to work together, I would like you to call me by my name. I am Rhys.”

Wister lifted her hand, but he quickly placed his other one on top of hers.

He was now holding her hand between both of his. “Please, Miss York, stay at Kington House until the new year. Work with me. Not as my servant, but as my advisor.”

Her gaze lifted from where he held her hands and settled on his face. He caught what at first glance might be seen as a hint of mistrust, but quickly decided it was more likely guarded wariness. He couldn’t blame her for that.

“Alright, Rhys. But you must understand that if I am to act as your advisor, I will offer up opinions that you may not particularly like, nor even agree with. As long as you are prepared to treat my thoughts as something worthy of your consideration, I will accept the role,” she said.

He grinned at her. “Thank you, Miss York.”

She slipped her hand free of his grasp. “Wister. My name is Wister.”

At the sound of her name, all thoughts of asking Miss York to shave his beard and cut his hair fled Rhys’s mind.

He wouldn’t be going anywhere tonight. Sitting alone with this enticing and thoroughly charming young woman was far better than anything the Royal Oak tavern had to offer.

Wister. Why am I not surprised that such an enchanting woman has a magical name?

CHAPTER EIGHT

IF SHE HAD KNOWN that all it took in order to get a man to actually listen to her was to fry him up a spot of supper, Wister would have taken up cooking long ago. As it was, the potato cake was one of only a handful of recipes in her limited kitchen repertoire.

But it didn’t matter. She had a job. A formal appointment to a role she felt she could fulfil. Lord Carno…no, Rhys had asked for her assistance. For the first time since her arrival at Kington House, Wister held hopes of being valued by someone.

The following morning, she met Rhys downstairs. After a quick, but hearty bowl of oats and sliced dry apple, they made their way out the front door.

She ignored his sly grin at her notebook and pencil as they came to a halt a few yards from the house. Rhys stood, hands on hips, and pronounced his opinion about the main residence.

“The guttering needs repairs. The windows a good lick of paint.” He glanced at her still closed book and cleared his throat. “You might want to take some notes, Wister.”

Keeping her composure, she opened the book and let a long piece of paper unfurl and fall over the side. She had been taking notes. Pages and pages of them over the past year. “I think I have those already on the list,” she replied.

He muttered something under his breath, and she turned her head away while she stifled a titter.

“It’s pleasing to see you have already done some homework,” he said.

Her chortle turned to a wry grin. “I assume you know the ancient folktale of Aladdin? Well, I call this notebook the book of a thousand and one wishes, because I figure it will take a magic genie to make all of them come true.”

“Once again, I have underestimated you, Wister. If you do happen to find that genie, could you please ask him for a large sack of gold coins but tell him he can hold off on the magic carpet,” replied Rhys.

They shared a moment of silence while a lightness hung in the air between them. Even a little banter with Rhys was worth its weight in magical gold coins. Lord Carno was fast becoming a person she had a lot of time for. A man who seemed to not only care about people but who wanted to salvage Kington House.

“I could recount the details from the notebook as we work our way around the estate today. When we are finished, I can add in anything else that you feel needs to be included. Would that work in with your plans, Rhys?”

“Why yes, Wister, that sounds like a sensible idea.”

Wister swallowed deeply at hearing him speak her name. Her pulse began to quicken at the prospect of the dozen or so wicked things she would like to do with him. All of them naked. She quickly averted her gaze and studied the notebook.

What are you doing? You have only just met the man.

She sent a prayer of thanks to heaven for having had the good sense to wear a heavy coat this morning. Under her gown, her nipples peaked as primal urges stirred. Just standing this close to Rhys did things to her body that hadn’t happened in a very long time.

Not since him.

She pushed the thought of a certain gentleman and what he had done to her some two years past firmly to the back of her mind. A summer affair which had eventually revealed itself to be a major mistake on her part, and for which she had been made to pay many times over.

“Shall we?” Rhys said.

Only a day ago, she had been worried that he was going to dismiss her from his employ, and she would be homeless. The world had spun a mere half day forward and she now found herself picturing him without his jacket, waistcoat, shirt and…

Keep your mind on what you should be doing and stop thinking wicked thoughts of Welsh barons. He is rather striking, but he is not for you.

Her lustful body was not so easily dissuaded. Following Rhys, Wister indulged in a private study of his broad shoulders and his enticing brown hair which peeked over the collar of his coat. Her thoughts continually ran to all the wrong places. Dangerous places.

What sort of lover would you be? If your gruff, sexy manner is anything to go by, I can imagine you would be superb.

Wister gritted her teeth. This job had seemed easy. Now she wasn’t so sure. Rhys might well be giving coins for her advice, but she too would be paying a price over the next month or so.

Resisting her growing attraction to this ruggedly handsome Welsh baron was going to cost her greatly.

CHAPTER NINE

THE LIST inside the notebook grew steadily over the next few days. Each morning Wister and Rhys would meet to discuss what else needed to be done in order to get Kington House operating as a fully functional and money-generating estate once more.

They also settled into a comfortable routine of supping together in the kitchen each night. Rhys noted but did not make mention of Polly’s increasingly earlier departure time as the days wore on. Wister was still de-facto estate manager and therefore in charge of the kitchen. If she wanted to have a word with the cook about her hours, that was up to her.

As far as Rhys was concerned, if Polly finished her work early in the afternoon, she was welcome to go home and leave Kington House to Wister and himself.

Closing the book, he pushed back in his chair and stretched out his arms. Across the desk from him, Wister did the same.

“It’s a pity we don’t have a decent wine cellar. I could do with a drop of brandy or even a whisky,” he said.

She nodded at the notebook. “That should go on the list. I am sure I polished off the last of the decent brandy a couple of months ago, but you never know what you might find in the cellar under the house. Could be worth taking a look.”

Rhys narrowed his eyes at her. This was Wister talking, and from what he had already discerned about her, there was a better than even chance that she knew exactly where every single stray bottle of alcohol was hidden in the house.

It could be fun to help her go down into the cellar and find them. Who knows what might happen in the dark? She could trip on something and you would have to take a firm hold of her…What am I thinking?

Being alone with Wister was becoming a dangerous thing. She might be an advisor, but she was still in his employ. First name basis or not, he had no right to be letting his quietly growing lust for her get the better of him. “I tell you what, let’s go to the village. We can have a couple of glasses of the local ale, then come back here for supper.”

She grinned at him somewhat sheepishly from her side of the desk. They hadn’t known one another for very long, but he already knew that look. “What?”

“I have a bottle of wine. Polly brought it with her from the village this morning. So, rather than us go into Kington, I was going to suggest that I cut your hair and give you a shave. We can share the bottle of red,” she replied.

For Wister to get close enough to give him a proper shave, her breasts would be mere inches from his face. He wasn’t sure how he would be able to deal with such temptation.

When his manhood twitched and offered up its own opinion about the matter, the decision was made. “Perhaps another time.”

She got to her feet. “No time like the present. I shall go and put some water on the stove and get some clean towels. The kitchen is nice and warm so you can strip off your shirt and not be uncomfortable. I will see you shortly.”

Blast. What was I supposed to say to that? I am only a mere male.

Rhys remained in his chair as Wister’s footsteps faded downstairs. He took a long, deep calming breath and tried to get his body to relax.

“She is a paid employee. You can’t go lusting after her,” he muttered.

The previous owner of Kington House had taken advantage of Wister by not paying her. By thinking of her in such a lecherous way, was he any better?

He wanted her—no longer able to deny that immutable fact. But he was determined that if anything of a sexual nature were to happen between him and Wister, it would have to be with her full consent. And the written acknowledgement that he would pay out her contract in full if at any time she decided to leave.

Rhys quietly cursed himself for not having taken the time to venture over to the larger town of Leominster and gone to a gentleman’s barber. Now he was going to have to suffer Wister’s feminine attentions.

And her inviting body being so damn close.

WISTER PACED BACK and forth in the kitchen. “Not so brave now, are you?” she muttered.

In a matter of minutes, Rhys would be coming downstairs, fully expecting her to not only cut his hair but to give him a close shave.

She had done it plenty of times for Lord Kington. The tight old codger wouldn’t part with the coin for a valet when at home, but this was different. Her previous employer was a crotchety man whose facial hair only required a small amount of upkeep once a week and who had long ago gone fully bald.

Rhys, on the other hand, was in possession of a gorgeous, if slightly unruly head of hair. Wister longed to tease her fingers through it. She was certain that the mere notion of cutting his dark brown mop was a sin.

From out of the kitchen drawer, she reluctantly took a pair of long scissors and placed them on the table, then stood staring at them.

I wonder how he normally has his hair cut. Please, lord, not a tight Bedford crop. I couldn’t stand it.

No matter his wishes or indeed protests, she was not going to cut Rhys’s luxurious mane anything close to his head. She would throw the scissors in the fire before she did that.

After checking the kettle and making sure there was still plenty of hot water, Wister gathered towels and flannels from the nearby linen cupboard and stacked them on the table. Next came a large bowl, some shaving paste, and finally the open razor.

“I hope that is nice and sharp,” said Rhys.

Wister held the razor out in front of her as he stepped into the kitchen and closed the door behind him.

“You can run your finger along the blade if you like, but I can assure you that it is very sharp. The village blacksmith used to sharpen it for me every week. A dull blade doesn’t give a clean shave,” she replied.

He waved her offer away. “I shall have to trust you. You don’t want to know the mess I made of my face each time I tried to do the job myself.”

“Hopefully I will draw less blood. Jacket and shirt off please, then wrap the towel around yourself,” she replied.

Giving a command to a man such as the devilishly handsome Baron Rhys Morgan set Wister’s pulse to a fast clip. She turned away as he stripped.

How am I going to spend the next month trying to resist the urge to touch him, to kiss him? And if he tried to kiss me, I would melt in his arms.

Wister pulled out a chair and motioned for him to take a seat. She quickly tucked the end of the large towel over, secretly regretting not having sneaked a peek at his naked torso. Standing behind him, hairbrush in hand, she began to smooth Rhys’s hair in readiness for a cut. “I was thinking we could go with a Brutus. It would allow you to have the sides closely cropped, but with a nice unruly style of hair on top. A little wax each day will hold it in place. What do you say?”

Rhys harrumphed. “You would have me looking like Beau Brummell? And then take up a spot in the bow window of White’s club while watching and judging the world as it passes by? No thank you.”

Wister laughed. “You don’t follow London’s finest dandy? I thought you chaps considered him to be all the kick.”

“The man is a pompous waste of money and effort. No, I haven’t the time nor inclination to put wax in my hair. How about we go with a Bedford, nice and short?”

Wister stopped brushing, leaned in close, and spoke softly in his ear. “How about you trust me?”

CHAPTER TEN

WISTER MIGHT WELL HAVE WISHED for him to place his faith in her, but it was his body Rhys wasn’t prepared to trust. His lust was doggedly fighting him at the end of its tightly held leash. If she had the slightest inkling as to the effect her standing this close was having on him, she would drop that hairbrush and go racing up the stairs, pack her things, and flee. His secret thoughts and desires of her were fast turning scandalous.

Rhys’s bone-deep ache for Wister was something he had never experienced with another woman. The scent of her perfume made his heart pound. His cock was throbbing so hard, he was sure there was no blood left in the rest of his body. When Wister brushed her fingertips on the side of his neck, he almost came on the spot.

“Cut my hair however you wish,” he said, then swallowed deeply.

Hidden under the large towel, his hands were both clenched in tight fists. Heated lust and need coursed through him at a furious rate. At least the evidence of his arousal was concealed from sight.

Count backwards from one thousand.

Nine hundred and ninety-nine. Nine hundred and…Oh god.

As he counted in his head, the only sound in the room was the snip, snip of the scissors. How long he sat there Rhys had no idea—every second was constant, delicious torture.

“Yes, I think that looks good. What do you think?”

He blinked. Wister was standing in front of him holding up a hand mirror. On her face sat a hopeful grin.

He examined his reflection in the glass and was pleasantly surprised by what he saw. Wister had cut neatly up both sides, leaving a soft mop of wavy hair still sitting on the top of his head.

The cut wasn’t the over foppish look of a full Brutus. She hadn’t left him as a poor imitation of a dedicated follower of fashion. She had actually given him a surprisingly good haircut. He liked it. “It’s perfect.”

She clapped her hands together with unrestrained glee. “You really like it?”

He found himself laughing and smiling along with her. The haircut was the best he’d ever had, but it was her open and generous nature that set his heart all aflutter.

If Deri could see me now, he would be chuckling. I am at this woman’s mercy.

“Yes, Wister, I sincerely do like what you have done with my hair. It doesn’t need anything else. You are quite a talented lady.” He studied the joy on her face, and it occurred to him that Wister was a woman not used to receiving warmth or praise. She had lost her family and then been forced to live an empty existence at Kington House.

What if she didn’t have to be lonely anymore? If you offered her the chance to explore what could be possible between the two of you?

“Thank you. I am pleased you like your hair. Now, are you ready to trust me with an open razor and your throat?” she asked.

He replied without hesitation. “Yes.”

Wister busied about the kitchen. She topped the large ceramic bowl with more hot water before carrying it back to the table. “Lay your head back a little please. I want to soften your bristles with a hot cloth.”

While Wister mixed the shaving paste with some water, Rhys savored the pleasant sensation of a warm, damp face washer over his beard and whiskers. After removing the washcloth, Wister came to stand behind him once more and lathered the shaving mix over his facial hair in gentle circular motions, humming to herself while she worked.

“Now, the secret to a good shave is for you to stay perfectly still,” she said.

Rhys wasn’t going to argue the point with a woman holding an open razor in her hand and simply nodded.

Wister chuckled. “Nodding one’s head is not keeping still.”

Tingles rippled through him as Wister placed her finger under his chin and tipped his head farther back. The first scrape of the razor against the side of his face had Rhys closing his eyes and trying his best to become like a statue. The sexual tension running through his body a constant reminder to him that he was most certainly not made of stone.

She worked methodically, humming that same soft tune as she shaved both the sides of his face and the delicate area under his chin. With her slender, feminine fingers gently stretching the skin up, the blade moved smoothly, never catching or nicking.

“You can sit upright now. I just need to shave your lip line,” she said.

As Rhys righted himself in the chair, Wister handed him a clean wet cloth. Freeing his hands from under the towel, he proceeded to wipe the rest of the shaving paste from his cheeks and neck.

“This is always the tricky part. I have to get very close to do it right,” said Wister, pulling up a three-legged stool and taking a seat right in front of Rhys.

She was so close he was able to study the color of her eyes in great depth. He had thought they were pure brown, but now caught glimpses of gold and pale brown flecks. It seemed that every time he got near to Wister, Rhys discovered something new about her.

“Rhys?”

Blinking he came back to the real world. Twice now he had lost himself in thoughts of her.

He silently chided himself. That was a lie. He was often thinking about Wister. His interest was fast becoming a secret obsession. “Sorry, I was woolgathering,” he replied.

Wister set the blade of the razor gently to his face, a half inch above his lip, then dragged it down. After wiping the shaving paste and facial hair on a spare towel, she repeated the motion, slowly moving from right to left. A quick rinse of the blade in the bowl and then she was back giving a final touch up. “I think that should do.”

Rhys picked up the hand mirror once more and checked her handiwork. He was not the least surprised to see that there was not a cut or a drop of blood anywhere on his face.

Wister retrieved the first cloth she had used and leaned forward to wipe the remains of the shaving paste from Rhys’s face. Gentle strokes of the flannel had Rhys holding his breath.

She was so damn close.

“Beau Brummell will be quaking like an aspen leaf when he sees you, Baron Carno,” she said.

Rhys grinned at her cheeky quote from Chaucer, though he seriously doubted that London’s prince of fashion would give him a second glance. It was her sultry use of his formal title which set his pulse racing ever faster.

In the matter of a heartbeat, he had taken the cloth from her hand, tossed it onto the table, and reached for her.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

RHYS’S strong hands cupped Wister’s face. For a moment their gazes met, and a silent understanding quickly took place. They both wanted this.

He captured her mouth with a gentle, tender kiss. Once. Twice. He brushed his lips over hers. She sensed his hesitation but also his need. As an unwed young woman, she had much more to lose from this encounter than Rhys did. When he drew back, his lips parted. She feared he was about to apologize. She would die if he did.

“Rhys,” she whispered.

When he leaned in again and took her mouth, she silently exalted. This time, he kept nothing back and she gave the kiss her all. Tongues danced over one another, fingers speared into hair—it was all she could do not to grab hold of the towel and cling to dear life in order to make sure he didn’t try to escape. Wister groaned as Rhys grabbed the front of her apron and held fast.

As he claimed her lips, her faint resolve wilted. If Rhys wanted her, she would let him strip her naked and take her right here and now on the table. She didn’t need to touch herself to know she was more than wet and willing for him. The kiss grew ever deeper, more frantic. She reached for the towel, silently cursing herself for having made such a clever knot that it remained firmly in place. Her desperate craving for his heated skin quickly overcame what remained of her sense of decorum.

All those cold, empty nights longing for the caress of a man—to be held and loved.

Please. I will do anything to have you.

Rhys broke free of the kiss, panting heavily. Her gaze took in the scowl which now appeared on his brow, and all Wister’s hopes for sharing a night of passion with him evaporated.

Damn. He regrets it.

She got to her feet and without a moment’s thought for the chill of the evening or the rain, which was now steadily falling, Wister flung open the kitchen door.

As she ran out into the night, Rhys’s voice echoed behind her in the darkness. “Wister, wait. Come back!”

You fool. You bloody fool. You should never have kissed him. Now he will want you gone.

CHAPTER TWELVE

RHYS WAS WAITING at the front of the main house as Deri’s travel coach came to a halt the following morning. He wasn’t used to him being the one to greet his guests when they arrived, but with Wister having disappeared to lord knew where the previous evening, the task had fallen to him.

He had searched in vain for her in the dark, then returned to the house, dressed, and waited. Wister still hadn’t come back.

Why did you kiss her? Now you have frightened her off. She will never trust you again.

The door of the coach swung open and Deri jumped down. Rhys shook his head. His cousin hadn’t even bothered to wait for his coachman to lower the steps.

“Thank god for that. I do hate the bumpy roads of England. Please tell me you have a decent brandy waiting for me. Nice haircut. You almost look human,” said Deri.

“Come on inside,” replied Rhys.

Deri glanced at the house. “Where is your Miss York?”

“I am not sure. She disappeared out the back door last night and I haven’t seen her since. I think I may have offended her. I asked Polly where she might be, but she either doesn’t know or isn’t prepared to tell me.”

Rhys had quickly discovered that while Polly might well be in his employ, she was fiercely loyal to her mistress. He planned to give the cook a special bonus at Christmas to thank her for supporting Wister.

But I still need to know where Wister is.

“Oh dear. That doesn’t sound good. I am not sure if I want to ask what you might have done to upset Miss York,” replied Deri.

They headed into the house and upstairs to the comfort of the cozy drawing room. Rhys said nothing as Deri’s discerning gaze took in the tattered curtains and faded sofas. At least the place was clean, and considering the state of the estate coffers, it was about all anyone could expect.

“You really are going to have to spend some money on this place if you decide to keep it. But enough of that. What did you do to make the delightful Miss York disappear?”

Rhys hesitated for a moment before replying, “Wister cut my hair last night, and then things got out of hand.”

A raised eyebrow greeted his words. “Wister? What happened to Miss York?”

He steeled himself for a well-deserved lecture on the perils of getting too familiar with servants. A lecture he could have done with a few days ago, before he crossed those fateful, invisible lines. “I engaged her as an advisor. And we have been working closely together. And we became friendly. And…I kissed her.”

Deri fell silent for a moment, for which Rhys was most grateful. Though when Deri shrugged out of his coat and put a hand on his shoulder, Rhys noted a perceptible change in the mood of the room.

“You really do have a particular gift for being able to stuff things up when it comes to women. But…I shall leave it up to you to untangle that particular mess. Now what about that brandy, because you might need a stiff drink when I tell you what I discovered about your Miss York when I was in London,” said Deri.

Rhys shook his head. “Brandy, yes. Sorry, no.” He hadn’t had time to go looking in the cellars this morning.

Deri sighed. “I thought that might be the case, so I topped up the whisky before I left town. We have to celebrate my betrothal with something.”

Rhys wrapped his cousin up in a huge hug. “This is wonderful news. I am so happy for you, and I can’t wait to meet your fiancée. Sophie sounds perfect.”

“She is. I can’t wait to make her my wife. I am going to continue on home to Wales in the next day. I have to tell everyone at Ruthin Castle of my betrothal. After that I will probably head back to London for Christmas. Sorry, old chap, but I will have to stand you up for our orphans’ Christmas Eve supper.”

He fished around in his coat pocket and withdrew a hip flask. After pouring each of them a small dram of whisky, Deri made himself comfortable on one of the green floral monstrosities which sat in the middle of the room. His long legs were stretched out before him, his arm slung lazily over the low back of the sofa.

Rhys took a seat on the other ugly sofa, his whisky glass resting in the palm of his hand. He was excited over Deri’s news, but he also was desperate to hear what he had discovered about Wister. “If I promise that you and I will have a slap-up drunken night to celebrate your betrothal, will you tell me what you know of Wister?” he said.

Deri downed his drink and righted himself, setting the glass on the floor. “Of course, but it had better be a messy drinking session, and I expect as my best man that you will also ensure that my stag party is the stuff of legend.”

Rhys held out his hand and they shook on it. “I swear that when I am done with you, you won’t look at a bottle of whisky for a very long time.”

“Excellent. Well…I happened to mention Miss York to my mother. Wister is an unusual name, so it was not a surprise that Mama knew of her,” said Deri.

“Go on.”

“Long story short. Miss York came to Kington House some three years ago to be a lady’s companion to Lady Kington. After Lady Kington died, Lord Kington kept her on to manage the estate,” said Deri.

Rhys nodded. Wister had told him all of this already. “I am aware,” he replied.

“Ah, but what you don’t know is why your Wister is still here,” said Deri.

She wasn’t his Wister, though he was well past wishing she was. The memory of touching her, that soft skin…I am in so much trouble.

If Deri didn’t hurry up and put him out of his misery, he might have to abandon his cousin and retreat to his room.

“Lord Kington kept that poor girl here and made certain that she couldn’t ever leave. The story in town is that she applied for many positions over the past year or so, but that she was rejected due to her loose morals. She was considered unsuitable for any good homes to employ,” said Deri.

Rhys shot to his feet. Whisky sloshed onto the carpet. “What?!”

This didn’t sound the least like the Wister he knew. His Wister had fled after he had kissed her.

“It all sounded a little odd to me, but then Mama showed me a letter. Apparently, Wister applied for a position in her household a little while back. Mama would have considered her for the role except for the fact that she had already received a letter from Lord Kington informing her that Miss Wister York was not of good character.”

Rhys was stunned. Now things made clearer sense. Wister had been doing everything she could to leave Kington House, and his distant cousin had done his all to scupper her plans. Right now, he would dearly love to go out to the family burial plot and kick Lord Kington’s headstone over.

All that time, she had been given no other choice than to do her best to manage the estate and go unpaid. Rhys took in a long, deep breath, hoping it would calm his burning temper. It didn’t.

“There is a final, bitter piece to all this. Something that explains the condition of the estate and house. Remember when you said estates failed over three things—women, wagering, and waste?” said Deri.

A chill slid down Rhys’s back. Whatever Deri was about to tell him, was not going to be good. “Go on.”

“Well, I did a little digging around in the ton, and it transpires that Lord Kington not only had a serious gambling habit, but that he kept not one but two money-hungry mistresses. Little wonder the coffers are almost empty.”

Rhys downed the remainder of his whisky in one go, then stood slowly shaking his head. He now knew where all the missing money had gone. Lord Kington had spent it. And poor Wister hadn’t done a terrible job in trying to keep Kington House afloat—she had performed a bloody miracle.

Regret and self-loathing now took the place of his rage. Wister had been a virtual prisoner here. She had worked her fingers to the bone in an endless, thankless job. And what had he done? Accused her of everything from gross mismanagement to outright theft.

And don’t forget you kissed her. You are not much better than Lord Kington in taking advantage of a vulnerable young woman.

He had to set things to right. To reframe his relationship with Wister. To make her understand that she meant more to him than just an advisor.

You should be thanking her for everything she has done to keep this place going.

And he would do just that, but first, he had to find her.

Then I need to make her want to stay.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

LORD KINGTON HAD WRITTEN to prospective employers and warned them off taking Wister into their homes. Rhys could understand that by doing so, the blackguard had managed to effectively keep her as his own personal serf. Without money or means, she would never be able to leave Kington House.

But what occupied Rhys’s mind later that morning as he walked into Kington village, was how Lord Kington had known which families he should write to in order to stop Wister leaving. His aunt had received one of Lord Kington’s warning letters, and from what Deri had told him, his mother hadn’t known either Lord or Lady Kington.

The sight of the mail coach pulling away from the whitewashed Royal Oak Inn had Rhys frowning. Any letter which went to London would have had to be handled by the owner of the inn. He hurried to the front door, slipping his hat off as he stepped inside. Rhys closed the door behind him. If his suspicions were proven correct, someone was going to pay.

The inn’s owner appeared from a side room and bowed low in greeting. “Lord Carno, good morning. You just missed the mail coach if you were planning on sending something to town. If you like, I can hold onto your mail until Thursday when the next coach is due.”

Rhys gave a quick check of the place. It was early and no one would be looking for a pint at this hour. “A word if you don’t mind, George?”

“Of course.”

If Rhys had learned anything from his misstep of accusing Wister of having been incompetent, it was to choose his words carefully. The last thing he wished to do was to go throwing accusations of mail theft at one of the locals. “How did you used to handle the mail from Kington House when Lord Kington was still alive? Did everything in and out go via his lordship?”

George Weld’s face turned ashen. Rhys held his gaze, determined that he would get the truth. The innkeeper slowly shook his head, then sighed.

He headed to the front door and turned the key in the lock, then flipped the Open sign to Closed. His shoulders rose and fell as he took a deep breath and turned back to face Rhys.

“Does Miss York know?”

Bloody hell.

Now was not the time for a long, drawn out conversation. Rhys was barely keeping his temper under control. He slapped his hat against the side of his coat several times, all the while wishing desperately to take the innkeeper firmly by the throat. “Just tell me the truth. All of it,” he demanded.

“On Lord Kington’s instructions, all letters which I received from Miss York for mailing were to be handed over to him for inspection. He would then give me another letter which I had to send with the next mail coach. Her letter, meanwhile, would sit here for a week and then be sent on.”

Rhys clenched his fists, crumpling the edge of his hat. “And, of course, both letters were always to the same person on each occasion?”

George’s gaze shifted from Rhys’s hand to his face and he nodded.

Any wonder Wister had never been able to escape her life in Kington. By ensuring that her applications had been sent, Lord Kington made certain Wister would receive letters of rejection. She would then think herself to blame for her lack of success.

“If it is of any comfort, I am sorry. I like Miss York. She has always been kind to me and my son. But Lord Kington was the local squire. I couldn’t defy him,” said George.

Rhys knew the power that being a noble or even a minor lord held in both Wales and here in England. The villagers of Kington would have been hard pressed to say no to him. It still didn’t make what George Weld had done anything close to being right. “I hope you are able to sleep at night knowing that you were party to keeping a young, vulnerable woman captive.”

George’s head dropped. “Lord Carno, I have sat up many a night wondering what I could do. In the end, when I face my maker, that is when I will be held accountable.”

Rhys’s ire rose. “Yes, you will be judged on what you did. But you are wrong about it only being when you die, because this lord is determined to also wield his power. I am going to tell you what you are going to do, and it will be before this very day is out.” He shook his fist in the tavern keeper’s face and George flinched.

“And what’s that?” he replied, a tremble in his voice.

“Get on your bloody knees and beg Wister for mercy. Lord knows you don’t have the right to ask for forgiveness!”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

WISTER WANDERED in from the nearby Kington Wood a little before eleven. She would gladly have stayed away all morning, but there was too much work to be done around the house. As she made her way between the apple trees in the orchard, she tapped the side of her skirts with the long, thin twig she had picked up earlier under a silver birch tree. There was an almost calming beat to the swish and flick. Almost.

She had slept little last night, her mind in too much of a whirl over the events of the evening. How could any woman be expected to sleep after having been kissed so thoroughly by her employer?

The sight of a travel coach standing in the drive did little to lift her mood.

“Oh, wonderful. Baron Ruthin is here. Just what I need—another bloody Welsh baron,” she muttered.

She slowed her steps. Delaying the inevitable meeting with Rhys was a tad childish, and perhaps even petulant, but Wister was still in two minds as to what she should say to him when they did eventually cross paths. As her pace reduced to a mere toddle, she lifted her gaze and searched the trees. There must be an apple or two still high in the branches overhead waiting for her to spot.

“There you are,” she said.

A tiny red ball peeked out from behind a patch of leaves. Perfect. All that now remained was to address the problem of getting the apple down without bruising it. Her collection of whacking sticks was in the barn and even then, Wister doubted any of them would be long enough.

She did a quick check of the lower limbs of the apple tree. They were broad and sturdy, enough to support her weight.

With skirts tucked up and a scandalous amount of stocking-covered calf on show, she put one foot on the bottom branch of the tree and lifted herself clear off the ground.

“If you break your neck, I am going to be very angry.”

Gripping a higher branch, Wister glanced over her shoulder. Standing a yard or so away was Rhys. He did not appear the least impressed with her climbing skills.

“I wanted to get that apple,” she replied.

He huffed angrily and marched over to the tree. “You will get my hand on your backside if you don’t get down this instant.”

The thought of being laid across Rhys’s knee while he spanked her sent heat racing to Wister’s cheeks and other more delicate parts of her body.

Before she had the opportunity to argue any further, strong hands were placed either side of her hips and Wister was hauled out of the apple tree and deposited safely back on solid ground. Rhys put one large boot on the limb where her foot had been only a moment before and clambered up into the branches. “Look out below!” he cried.

One. Two. Three apples dropped out of the tree, followed by a large Welsh male.

Wister quickly picked up the manna from heaven and placed them in the pocket of her apron. “Thank you.”

Rhys dusted his hands but didn’t reply. Taking that as her cue to leave, Wister turned ready to head back to the house. She had got no more than a foot or so away from him before a strong hand took hold of her arm and pulled her back to him.

“No,” said Rhys.

Her gaze met his deep green eyes. They held a warmth, a kindness which almost took her breath away. He really was a handsome devil. The sort of man who a woman could make a fool of herself over and secretly never regret it. “What do you mean no?” she asked.

His gaze dropped to where he held her firmly by the arm. He immediately let go of her. “I am not much of a wordsmith, so I know I am going to make a mess of this. Which is why before I say anything else; I have to say I don’t regret anything which happened last night.”

“You…you don’t?” she stammered

“My only regret is that you disappeared before I had the chance to talk to you. A woman of your breeding should not be pawed at by a man. You should be introduced to the ways of seduction by a gentler route.”

It was tempting to tell him a lie, to let Rhys think she was innocent. But Wister had never been one for falsehoods. She believed in honesty in her dealings with others. And that included lovers and potential lovers.

“Rhys, I am not unaware of the ways of the world. Of what happens between a man and a woman. I had a romance two summers back. He promised me marriage, but then turned out to be a blackguard. He even told Lord Kington of our affair and he was most displeased.”

He needed to know the truth of who she was. The whole issue of her sexual experience was irrelevant to her way of thinking, but she still knew that those sorts of things mattered to men of rank.

Rhys brushed the back of his hand over her cheek and leaned in close. Wister shivered as a soft kiss was placed on the side of her neck. A second kiss which followed, had her knees trembling. He slipped a hand around her waist and drew her against him. The hardness of his erection could not be mistaken.

“Thank you for telling me. It means a lot that you trust me with such a personal matter. I am grateful for your honesty. It also makes sense of something Deri discovered in London. Lord Kington wasn’t just displeased with your affair, he used it against you,” he said.

How had Lord Kington used her love affair against her? And what had Baron Ruthin uncovered in London? A sense of dread settled over Wister.

“Have you ever wondered why you have been unsuccessful in gaining a new position as a lady’s companion? Why every application you ever sent has come back as a rejection?”

Her anxiety rose ever higher. These were questions Wister had mulled over in her mind in the past but had never quite got clear. “Of course, I have thought about why no one has wanted me. I just assumed that without a reference from Lord Kington or better social connections, people decided I wasn’t suitable,” she replied.

He shook his head. “It wasn’t anything you’ve done. George Weld used to give your letters of application to Lord Kington. He in turn would write to prospective employers and tell them that you were not suitable. I have seen one of his letters, and it seems he was more than happy to let others know that he considered you a fallen woman.”

Wister flinched and pulled away. The words struck at her the same as if a fist had landed a heavy blow. Rhys stepped forward but she held up her hand, fending him off. Her heart was thumping hard. How could Lord Kington have done such a thing?

“Please, I don’t want to be touched. In fact, I think I might well be ill.”

Lord Kington had deliberately laid waste to her plans to leave. He had kept her here, made her a virtual prisoner.

Rhys stuffed his hands into the pockets of his coat. “I spoke to George a little while ago. Confronted him and he confirmed my suspicions that Lord Kington had intercepted your correspondence. Mister Weld will be coming to see you today to apologize. He knows full well that if he doesn’t and I have to go back to the Royal Oak to remind him, that I won’t show mercy.”

When Rhys made a second attempt to move toward her, Wister stepped back again. If she let him wrap his strong arms around her, she would crumble. The utter sense of betrayal was the worst pain she had known since the death of her parents. How could George have been a party to such a terrible deception? A man she had thought a friend.

“I am going to go into the house now and start my chores,” she said.

She headed toward the door. Her need to run inside, lock herself away in her room, and let the tears come, was stopped only by the concern that if she did start to cry, she may never stop.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

RHYS WAS IN TWO MINDS. Did he go after her, or did he march into the village and find George Weld again? He feared what he might do if he did walk out the front gate of Kington House.

The sight of the Royal Oak innkeeper making his way up the laneway had Rhys sighing with relief. Whether George was here through fear or a genuine sense of remorse, he didn’t really care. Wister deserved justice and he would see she got it.

Rhys stood and waited, slowly curling and uncurling his hands into fists. He was not a man of violence, but the thought of what this man and Lord Kington had done to Wister made him question himself.

“Lord Carno.” George got to within a yard or so of Rhys and dipped into a low bow. The expression on his face couldn’t be described as anything other than shame.

Good. You are finally beginning to comprehend the evil you have done.

“Mister Weld, I take it you have come to see Miss York?”

George gave a brief nod. He retrieved a letter from out of his coat pocket and offered it to Rhys. “This came in the mail sack this morning.”

Rhys took the official-looking note and glanced at it briefly before pointing toward the house. “Miss York is inside. I suggest you knock at the door and speak to Polly. I have just explained the way of things to Miss York, so your visit is most timely. Hopefully she will see you.”

“And if she won’t?”

He gritted his teeth at the hint of hope in the innkeeper’s voice. The man was a fool if he thought he was going to get off that lightly. “Then you will come back here every day until Miss York is prepared to hear your apology. Until that time, you and I still have a major problem. Have I made myself crystal clear, Mister Weld?”

“Yes, Lord Carno.”

After George had disappeared into the house, Rhys opened the letter.

“Bollocks.”

When he had written to his bank instructing them to prepare a bank note made payable to Wister York for wages owed, it had been with the idea of seeing her off the estate and her debt settled. Now the note represented something else—the certain and worrying knowledge that she would soon be leaving Kington House.

He lingered in the garden, not wishing to disturb the difficult conversation Wister was likely having with George somewhere in the house. When Wister herself appeared only a few minutes later and began to make her way over to him, Rhys steeled himself. Her face was as black as thunder.

“How did it go?” he asked.

“It was brief and to the point. Suffice to say I won’t be spending any coin at the Royal Oak in the next month or so,” she said.

“But George did offer up a groveling apology?”

“Yes, and in return I assured him that the matter shall remain a secret between the three of us. He doesn’t need the villagers turning against him because he did something at the behest of Lord Kington. While he finds you intimidating, he does seem to respect you—something which few people did with your predecessor.”

As far as Rhys was concerned, she would have been well within her rights to yell at George. He had helped ruin her life. But Wister was the bigger person here. The Weld family had to live in the village and be able to face their neighbors.

As he searched her face, Rhys’s heart was filled with pride. Wister had shown George Weld a degree of good grace of which he was not deserving, and which Rhys suspected he did not have within himself.

Her eyes were clear and bright. There was not a hint of tears. This woman was strong. She was a true survivor.

He could only hope she didn’t decide she wanted to stand completely on her own. The letter in his hand now tested his resolve. He had to give her the money, but he also wanted her to stay.

I am not bloody Lord Kington. This woman has the right to decide her own life’s path.

She pointed to the letter in his hand. “Is that another notice of demand? I can add it to the pile in the study if you like.”

He held it out to her. “Actually, it’s a bank note payable to you. It covers the money you were owed for your time under the previous owner of Kington House.”

Wister took the letter and briefly read it before tucking it into her pocket. “Thank you, Rhys. You have no idea how much this means to me.”

It means you have the money to be able to leave Kington House, to leave me. Bloody hell, I am going to lose this woman if I don’t do something.

“It gives you options,” he replied.

The second she began to fiddle nervously with the green stone ring on her hand, Rhys knew he hadn’t put things as eloquently as he should have done. His mind had an unfortunate tendency to go blank in moments of social awkwardness. “I mean, you could stay here. With me, after your advisor role is complete,” he added.

Is that clear enough, or am I still making a hash of this?

“So, it would be some sort of arrangement?” she replied.

That wasn’t quite how he would have phrased it. Rhys was still searching for the right words when Deri appeared from out of the nearby wood and hailed them.

Blast. Deri, your timing couldn’t be worse. Can’t you see I am trying to woo her?

Wister raised a hand in greeting. Rhys could have sworn he caught the edge of a sigh of relief from her as she stepped past him.

“Lord Ruthin, how lovely to see you once more.”

Oh hell. I don’t think she understood what I really meant. Of course, she didn’t. You just offered Wister her old job back. What did you expect?

Rhys gritted his teeth. Yet again he had proven himself to be hopeless when it came to women. He found it difficult to ask them to dance. Found it even harder to conduct a conversation which held their interest for more than a minute. How on earth was he expected to make Wister understand that he was falling in love with her?

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

IT WASN’T EXACTLY the sort of offer Wister had been longing to receive from Rhys. At the least she was looking for a declaration involving some kind of emotional attachment. An arrangement sounded all too cold and distant.

She had been hoping to talk to him further about the kiss they had shared in the kitchen, but with Lord Ruthin now in the house and taking up most of Rhys’s attention, Wister was forced to leave the subject alone for the time being.

Rhys had told her he didn’t think it proper for a man to kiss a woman in the fashion that he had, but she was left with the uncomfortable worry that he had decided his need for her to remain as his advisor was more important that anything. That perhaps his interest had never been more than a moment of fancy, something which had now cooled.

He had paid her the wages she was owed and if that was all he wished to offer her; she should at least be grateful. Rhys was right in one thing—with money she now had options. Armed with the knowledge of what Lord Kington had done to her, she could tackle the problem of finding another position. There had to be other well-to-do houses in cities such as Manchester or even Edinburgh where a lady’s companion could find an opening.

The thought of her future being yet again in someone else’s home rather than her own brought her to tears more than once over the rest of the afternoon. George Weld had not been able to make her cry, but the prospect of only ever being Rhys’s employee did.

At supper that evening, she sat quietly at the dining room table while Deri, as she had been invited to call him, regaled the small gathering with tales of the happenings in London society. While she listened, her gaze continually drifted to Rhys—the dashing brown-haired rogue who had stolen her heart.

Even before that toe-curling kiss she had been falling for him. Her hopes that Rhys might feel something for her had soared for the briefest of moments earlier that morning when he mentioned her having options.

Because you were fool enough to let him know that you were not a virgin, it all crashed to earth. Of course, he is now looking to take you on as his mistress. You are a sexually experienced woman. That’s all he wants.

She had little money or prospects so a man such as he would be unlikely to look to offer her more. He no doubt would want a wife who brought a dowry with her marriage settlement. Nobles were always on the hunt for money. Deri’s fiancée Sophie came from a well-to-do family, so it made sense that Rhys would do the same.

If she stayed on at Kington House and took a place in Rhys’s bed, she would be giving up her own chance of marriage. At least for as long as she remained.

Staying on here might not be a bad thing. If he pays me, then at least if things do become problematic for my heart, I will be able to resign my position and start afresh somewhere new. I wonder how much it would cost for me to set up a small shop…

“Wister?”

She stirred from her thoughts as Rhys held a bottle of wine above her glass. He nodded, offering to pour some more. Wister shook her head. “No thank you. I have had enough. Making it downstairs after more than a glass or two can be difficult,” she replied.

He set the bottle down and turned back to Deri. Baron Ruthin was, from what Wister could gather, sharing with them all the juicy tidbits about an ugly encounter at a society ball. Rhys was lapping it up.

“The duchess had no sooner flicked open her extravagantly expensive fan when the countess did the very same thing, only for the two of them to realize they had the exact matching fan. You would have thought one of them had stolen the other’s first-born child from the way they carried on. I swear, at one point the duchesses’ footmen were taking bets as to who was going to throw the first punch.”

Rhys roared with laughter. Wister raised an eyebrow. She had heard enough rumors over the years not to be surprised by the outrageous behavior of the ladies of the ton. It was ironic that these were the very same women who felt superior enough to sit in judgement of her.

“Excuse me, gentlemen. I shall go and see how our pudding is fairing.” Wister rose from the table, leaving Rhys and Deri to talk. She and Polly had managed to cut the apples from the orchard up small enough to make a pie and it was baking in the oven.

The pie was the best excuse she had to get out of the room. Wister needed a few minutes alone to get her constantly swirling emotions firmly back under control. Being in the same room as Rhys when she felt this way about him was torture—the prospect of only ever being his mistress an impossibility.

AS SOON AS Wister’s footsteps disappeared downstairs, Deri set his glass of wine down and stared at Rhys.

Rhys sighed. He didn’t need to look at his cousin to know that a good old- fashioned lecture was in the offing. “What?” he asked, eyes still cast down at his now empty supper plate.

“I am not going to say anything until you have the manners to grace me with your attention,” replied Deri.

With pained reluctance, Rhys shifted his gaze once more to the other end of the table.

“Thank you. Now, what have you done to resolve matters with Miss York? Don’t try to tell me that it has all been smoothed over, because the two of you have been assiduously avoiding one another’s gaze all night, while at the same time sneaking sly glances. Not to mention that neither of you has said more than two words. I have had to carry the whole conversation.”

“I told you I kissed her,” said Rhys.

Deri rolled his eyes. “Yes, and?”

“Well, I stopped the kiss. I told her that she deserved to be treated better. I didn’t want her feeling like I was just using her, that I was abusing my position. Wister has suffered at the hands of one manipulative male—she doesn’t need me holding sway over her.”

Deri picked up his wine glass, took a sip, then set it back down. Rhys hated the vast silence. He was going to have to tell his cousin the rest of what had happened, what he had done this morning. And how, despite his best intentions, he had managed to make a mess of things once again with Wister.

“This morning I gave her the money she was owed, and I asked if she wanted to stay here. For us to come to an arrangement. I meant it as an offer to further our romantic relationship, but instead I think I might have somehow managed to upset her again. To be honest, I’m not sure what I did wrong.”

The words had no sooner left his lips than Deri stood, marched over to where Rhys sat, and gave him a solid slap to the back of his head. “Why didn’t you just propose that she become your mistress and make your insult of the poor girl complete?”

“I would never do…what?”

Blast. I really have messed this up, haven’t I?

He raked his fingers through his hair, angry and frustrated with himself. He just couldn’t find the right words when it came to be dealing with the female sex. The whirling emotions inside him only compounded the situation. “What am I going to do, Deri? I really like her. I don’t want her to leave.”

Deri started back to his chair, then stopped. “Like? Would you like to consider using another word to describe your feelings for the delightful Miss York, or shall I give you another smack over the head? It’s entirely your choice.”

Rhys got to his feet. He didn’t need any more sense knocked into him. It was time to screw his courage to the sticking place and go tell Wister he wanted her. “I’m going down to the kitchen right this minute to talk to her, which means you may not get any of the apple pie,” said Rhys.

Deri picked up Rhys’s wine glass and downed its contents. “Then I shall have plenty of room for wedding cake. The question being, whose will I be eating first, yours or mine?”

He went back to his chair, finished the rest of his own drink, then followed Rhys out of the room. “I am off to the Royal Oak. It will give the two of you some privacy. But just try and do things properly this time, Rhys. Girls like Wister only come along once in a lifetime.”

Deri was right. Rhys was in love with Wister. He wanted a life with her, a future as husband and wife. At the bottom of the stairs, on the ground floor, he stopped. Any possible offer of marriage would come with some hard decisions, ones which were hers to make.

Wister hadn’t seen his crumbling ruin of a home. Nor had she spent time in Wales during the bitter depths of winter. At the moment, he had little to offer other than his name and two cash-strapped estates.

If I push the romance side of things and she agrees to marry me, what happens if she decides that she cannot live that life?

If he took Wister to be his wife and she hated living in Wales, she would have simply swapped her miserable life at Kington House for another damp, cold prison.

And you would lose her forever.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

WISTER ROSE from her chair near the stove as the door to the kitchen opened. “I was just waiting a few more minutes for the top of the pastry to brown,” she said.

He crossed the floor in an instant. He hauled her into his arms. A breathy ‘oh’ escaped her lips.

“I am so sorry, Wister. I made a pickle of things last night and again this morning,” he said.

She wrapped her arms around him, holding on with all her might. When Rhys brushed a wayward curl back from her face, Wister closed her eyes and softly sighed.

Please. Please kiss me.

“I am going to kiss you, Miss York, but I am warning you, I am not going to apologize afterwards. In fact, I intend to kiss you for quite some time, and you are simply going to have to suffer my attentions,” he said.

She opened her eyes and grinned up at him. “I am ready to suffer all and any kisses you feel necessary, Baron Carno.”

As his lips met hers, Wister’s heart melted. He did want her. Rhys speared his fingers through her hair and cupped her head gently in his hands. His tongue slipped into her mouth, where it settled to play and tease against hers. It had only been a day since he had first kissed her, but it felt like an eternity.

She gasped as he slipped a hand over her ass and pulled her roughly against him. His hard erection leaving her in no doubt as to how this moment was affecting him. Heat pooled between her legs—Rhys was not alone in being aroused. The thought of him touching her, of being naked in his arms, set Wister’s heart racing.

The tiny voice of reason whispered in the back of her mind. Is this what you want? Are you prepared to settle for being his mistress? You will never have a life of your own if you do.

No. She couldn’t do it. But before she could pull away, Rhys broke the kiss and drew back. Her gaze immediately dropped to the floor and she steeled herself for the hard words she would have to say. To tell him that despite all that she felt for him, her self-respect would never allow her to become a kept woman.

A finger touched under her chin, lifting her head. A green-eyed Welsh god stared back at her. “I’ve reconsidered the offer I made to you this morning.”

Her heart stopped beating. “Yes.”

“I don’t need an estate manager—well I do but that’s not what I have in mind for you. I want you to be something else.”

She slowly shook her head. Rhys really did struggle with his words at times. But she sensed that his heart was in the right place. He screwed up his face, as if still searching for the right words.

“I know this sounds all rather strange, but before we settle on your future, I need you to understand a little more about me. About my life. That’s why I want you to come to Wales. Stay at Carno Castle, learn more about my family’s heritage, then we can talk,” he said.

Wales. She had never thought to actually venture across the border. Her travels thus far had only got her as far as London and now Kington House.

Things were still not clear and settled between them, but her heart told her she had to take this chance and go with him. If she didn’t, she may spend the rest of her life wondering and regretting. Forever asking herself…what if?

He leaned in and kissed her once more. Rhys appeared to have a plan set in his mind. As she opened her lips and let him deepen the kiss, Wister let go of her worries. She would have to trust whatever he was thinking. Her heart had already proclaimed it wanted a future with him.

She just had to get him to put the right words in the right order at some point. This journey to Wales would settle things once and for all. She had to believe that Rhys’s heart was pure and that he would offer her a life standing beside him as his wife. As a full partner in everything.

If not, she would take her pride and leave.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

RHYS PACED BACK and forth across the front door of Kington House. He was still huffing when Wister finally made her way downstairs. At the sight of her travel bag, he stopped and quickly came to her side. “Here, let me take that. Have you finished packing?”

It was midmorning two days later and they were making ready to leave for Wales. She had never seen Rhys so tense before.

Is he always like this before he sets out on the road?

With Deri having traveled on to Ruthin Castle the previous day in order to announce his future marriage, she didn’t have the opportunity to ask Rhys’s cousin as to his odd behavior.

“Yes, I think I have everything. Polly kindly packed us a basket with various things to pick and peck while on the road. It’s in the travel coach,” she replied.

Rhys started for the front door, then turned when it was clear Wister hadn’t followed.

He may well be wanting to wait until they were in Carno to talk further, but she wasn’t going to delay having this conversation. “Why are you in such a rush to leave? It will only take us a few hours to reach Crossgates. Or are you not a good traveler?” she asked.

“I am perfectly fine in a coach. I have decided that we are to make for Newtown today, which is a good deal farther on than Crossgates. I want your first view of Carno Castle to be in the early hours of the morning, which staying at Newtown will allow. That’s, of course, if the snow is not too far on the ground. It’s always a bit touch and go this close to Christmas.”

She scowled. What possible difference could there be in seeing a castle in the hour after dawn or in the middle of the day? “You Welsh do have some odd habits,” she replied.

Rhys took a hold of Wister’s arm and led her toward the door. He held it open for her, stealing a quick kiss on her cheek as she stepped through.

“Aros nes I chi wel hud Cymru,” he said.

“What does that mean?”

“Wait until tomorrow, then you will understand.”

THE MAGIC OF WALES. As she took in the view of the heavy morning fog swirling around the top of the old keep of Carno Castle, Wister finally understood what Rhys’s words meant. It truly was a magical place. She could just imagine what the old castle would have looked like when it was still fully intact.

Now all that remained was the gatehouse and the snow-dusted ruins.

Rhys had gone into the nearby Carno village to let the local villagers know that he was back, and to organize some supplies for them. Wister meanwhile delighted in wandering about the castle grounds.

In the center of what had obviously been the main bailey was now a space carpeted with green grass, topped with a thin layer of overnight snow. High stone walls rose up on three sides. The remains of the old wooden beams which at one time had supported two levels of floors could also be seen. “I wonder what happened here?” she mused.

“A furious fire, followed by a spot of slighting by some Parliamentarian soldiers.”

She smiled as Rhys came to stand beside her. His footsteps had been silent across the soft white of the lawn.

“My forebears picked the wrong side during the English Civil War. In 1644, Newtown fell to Cromwell’s forces. The Morgan family were on the Royalist side, so Carno Castle suffered. They burnt it and then took to it with heavy canons to make certain it wouldn’t be rebuilt,” he said.

Rhys’s words were delivered matter-of-factly, but Wister caught the hint of pain in them. The war had seen his family’s home of some four hundred years destroyed, lost forever.

He offered her his hand. “Come. Let me show you the rest of the site, then we can go to the gatehouse and have something to eat.”

Carno Castle itself was not large, but it still dwarfed everything in the surrounding area. At the back of the keep there was a small, narrow set of steps. Wister and Rhys climbed up them and then stopped at what she surmised had once been the entrance to the first floor of the main building.

“We cannot go any higher, but this at least affords you a view of Carno valley,” said Rhys.

Below them stretched out a low land, nestled under snow clouds. It had been snowing lightly since they arrived, but Wister was pleasantly surprised to discover Carno was not cold. The wind was barely above a slight breeze.

“It’s a speckled wonder of green and white from up here,” she said.

Rhys came to stand behind her. Wister lay her head back against his chest as he wrapped his arms around her waist. They had only made the first step from being friends to possibly something else over the past few days, but already she was comfortable in his embrace.

“All of Wales is green—though they do say that Carno is a hundred shades of verdant emerald. You should see it in the Spring. Legend has it that Saint Patrick picked up a piece of Ireland and gifted it to Saint David on this side of the Irish Sea, and that is where Carno began.”

She chortled softly. “I think you might have just made that story up.”

He gasped in feigned outrage. “Are you saying we Welsh are tellers of tall tales?”

Wister turned in Rhys’s arms and grinned up at him. “Not exactly. I just think you are trying to impress me, Baron Carno.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Am I succeeding?”

She paused for a moment, suddenly unsure of herself. There were many things she wanted to tell him, but the fear of uncertainty over her future with Rhys held her back. What was she to say?

Her bravery faltered. A change in subject the only way out. “Why did you bring me to Wales?” she asked.

The frown on his face immediately told her that Rhys didn’t like her answering his question with a different one.

Hold fast now, Wister. Don’t let your foolish heart allow you to make a fateful decision that you later come to regret. Rhys has to be prepared to give you everything. Settle for nothing less than what you deserve.

He loosened his hold and she took a step back. “Wister, I brought you here because I have two major life-changing decisions to make, both of which require your opinion. The first being, what am I to do with Carno Castle? Do I sell Kington House and put all my money into restoring some of the ruins here, which means remaining in Wales? Or do I give up my ancestral home and try to make the other estate pay?”

She could understand why Rhys was torn. The decision was a difficult one. “I don’t know if I can give you an answer to that question. Well at least not right now.”

Rhys met her gaze and held it. “Wister, please. Take a walk around the grounds. Look at the place. You have been running Kington House for over a year, so you have a good idea as to how much things cost. I value your opinion highly and would like to know what you think.”

She considered his request. It was a difficult decision and she could appreciate why he would wish for a second opinion. “Alright, I will do some sums and then give you my considered thoughts. But I will also take into account your family’s heritage and ties to this place as part of my recommendations. This is Morgan land and your bloodline will forever be bound to Carno Castle.”

After leading her back down to ground level, Rhys left Wister in the castle grounds while he went to check on arrangements at the gatehouse. He had given her a tough challenge, but she felt more than up to the task.

Wister took a deep breath as Rhys disappeared out of the main part of the castle ruins, leaving only his footprints in the snow. Alone with her thoughts, she pondered the conundrum he had set for her. Carno Castle was Rhys’s spiritual home, but it was also a shattered ruin. Moving to Kington House would mean him leaving Wales and setting up in England. Not a small ask.

She turned and slowly tracked her gaze around the ruins of Carno Castle. This was a decision not just for today, but for future generations of the Morgan family. A family that she desperately wished to make hers.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

FROM THE UPPER floor of the stone gatehouse, Rhys watched Wister. She stood for a short while where he had left her. Her hand was to her mouth, which he took to be a good sign. Wister always adopted that particular pose when she was deep in thought. It meant she was taking her time and giving serious consideration to his question.

Carno Castle had been in the Morgan family’s possession for over six hundred years, but what had once been a powerful fortress was now little more than a crumbling ruin. Rhys loved the place—it was part of his soul. Morgan family blood had been shed on Carno’s dark soil.

He cracked open the window and let the chill air in. Down below, Wister was now pacing back and forth across the old castle bailey. Her steps, marked out in the snow, were even and measured.

What on earth are you doing?

When she stopped and pulled out her trusty notebook from her coat pocket, he smiled. She was doing exactly as he had asked. Measuring, checking, calculating how much it would cost to bring the castle back to life.

His smile disappeared as she slowly shook her head and put the notebook away. She had barely written in it.

Rhys had his answer.

Your history lies in this land, but your future is elsewhere

CHAPTER TWENTY

WISTER MADE her way up the narrow winding staircase to the top floor of the gatehouse. She took her time, knowing that as soon as she and Rhys were together again, he would press her for an answer. Carno Castle or Kington House?

He was waiting for her in the doorway of the grand hall. Rhys ushered her inside and closed the door. From the hooks and markings on the wall, she guessed this had once been the main living quarters for the castle guards. The room itself was not much bigger than the dining room at Kington House.

He shrugged as their gazes finally met. “When the family moved here following the castle’s destruction, some wit decided this room was large enough to be called grand.”

If she had not been in such a pensive mood, Wister may have thought the remark worthy of a chuckle. But she was more concerned with Rhys’s reaction to what she was about to say. “Before I offer up my opinion, I want you to understand that I do not have an attachment to either here or Kington House,” she said.

“Exactly. That’s why I want your opinion. It won’t be clouded with emotion.”

Wister pulled the book from out of her coat pocket and set it down on a nearby table. She opened it and placed her finger in the middle of the page where she had written but a scant number of notes. “If you sell Kington House and try to restore Carno Castle, it will likely bankrupt you. The money from your English estate will barely cover the costs to restore the outer walls, roof, and possibly the first floor. It will also leave you with little to no income.”

Rhys nodded. “Go on.”

“Having worked at Kington House for over three years, I know it has solid potential. If you could get the estate to generate an ongoing cashflow, it would allow you to fix up the house. That does not mean that you would abandon Wales completely. You could use some spare money, if and when you have it, to keep up the maintenance on your Carno holdings.”

It all made sound business sense to her, but it would mean Rhys having to give up on his dream of restoring his ancestral home. Only clear logic would help to soften that blow.

“I’m sorry, Rhys. I can tell by the way you talk about this place that it means a lot to you. And if it were my family home, I too would want to save it. But the reality of the ravages of time has to be faced. You cannot saddle future generations of the Morgan clan with the expense of trying to maintain Carno Castle.”

If Rhys took that prideful route, it would make the castle a burden for his children. As Wister saw it, he had a duty to preserve their financial inheritance and give them options. She knew a great deal about living a life without choices.

“Thank you, Wister. As always you make clear and reasoned sense. So, we pack up most of my things and take them back with us to Kington House. Our new life together will be in England.”

Wister closed the notebook. The time had come to force Rhys’s hand. He either finally confessed his love for her or she gave notice. She refused to ever again live a half-life. “I can help to get Kington House back in order, after which I will leave. You need to marry at some point, Rhys, and it wouldn’t be fair on your wife, for me to remain at Kington House. I love you, but not even for you will I live the life of a fallen woman.”

He sighed. “Once again I have muddled my words and made them come out all wrong. Wister, I am not offering for you to be my mistress…Just a minute…Did you just say you love me?”

Wister nodded. “Yes, I did. You baffle me at times, but I love you, Rhys Morgan.”

He quickly rummaged around in his coat pocket, then finally produced a small brown box. He handed it to her. “I love you too, Wister. Perhaps this will make things clearer.”

With tremulous fingers, Wister took the box. Her pulse began to race as hope flared in her heart.

He loves me.

“Open it,” he said.

The box and its top were joined by a spring which creaked as Wister lifted the lid. Inside was a round silver brooch of ancient design. She ran the tip of her finger over the top of the markings which decorated the jewel.

“The pattern is meant to represent the Welsh dragon. If you look closely, you can see the dragon’s scales,” said Rhys.

“It looks very old,” she replied.

He gently took the box back from her and removed the brooch. Wister fought back tears as Rhys opened her coat and pinned the trinket to the top of her gown.

“It is a priceless Morgan family heirloom. My mother used to wear it.”

“Oh, Rhys, I love it.” A soft kiss met her lips.

“And I love you. I should have said it before we left England. I just wasn’t sure how you would take hearing those words, and then they got all tangled up in my mind.”

Rhys dug into his pocket once more and went down on bended knee before her. He held up a ring. Wister placed her hand over her heart at the sight of the incredible piece of jewelry. The band might have been plain gold, but the glistening emerald which sat atop it was nothing short of stunning.

“Marry me, Wister. Be my baroness. My wife.”

Wister slowly blinked, mesmerized by the fiery glow of the green stone. “Yes. Yes. Oh, forever and always, yes,” she finally replied.

Rhys took hold of her hand and slipped the ring onto her finger. He got to his feet, softly chuckling. “I finally got something right.”

Hot tears sprang to her eyes as the heady mix of relief and joy course through her. “Yes, you did. Everything is perfect.”

Rhys wrapped her up in his embrace and held on tight. Wister sent a prayer to heaven that he would never let her go. This man was the one thing she had been waiting all her life for—her soul mate. She would never again be alone in the world.

Wister glanced at the ring on her finger. The emerald was set above a gold flower. Like the brooch, it was old—another Morgan family treasure.

Rhys wrapped his hand around hers and lifted it to his lips, placing a soft kiss on her skin. “The flower is a daffodil, the national flower of Wales. This ring has been in my family for some three hundred and fifty years. Every baroness during that time has worn it. It was one of the few things that the Morgan family managed to salvage when the castle burned.”

“I hope to do it honor,” she replied, her voice shaky with emotion.

“If there is one thing, I know about you, Wister York, it’s that you do everything with integrity and grace.” As another kiss found its way to Wister’s lips, Rhys released her hand and slipped his arm around her waist. He nuzzled against her neck and whispered, “Thank you for your wise advice about the castle.”

She pulled back and their gazes met. “I hope you can see my reasons. If we had the money, I would love to see this place reborn, but it would take a king’s ransom.”

“Yes. In fact, it was basically the decision I had already come to, but I wanted your unbiased opinion. You are right. If I try to rebuild the castle, I will effectively ruin the Morgan family. All that I will have left to pass on to our son will be a worthless title.”

Children. She had pushed the dream of having a family to the dark corner of her hopes. While she had been trapped at Kington House, the chance of Wister finding a loving husband had been slim.

Or so she’d thought. Until the morning a Welsh baron had walked into the orchard and sat down beside her. From that very moment, he had stolen her heart.

“Once we get Kington working properly again, then we should look to see what we can do for Carno. Repairs to the tenants’ houses and perhaps building something for the village. A schoolhouse or a moot hall? You are still their lord and we need to remain connected to this place,” she said.

“Which is why I want us to be married here in Carno. Part of the old chapel still remains in the castle grounds, so we can hold the wedding ceremony here. We just need to make a trip back to Newtown to obtain a common license from the archdeacon. He will be available this coming Thursday and has already agreed to perform the service.”

Wister rose up on her toes and placed a soft, enticing kiss on Rhys’s lips. The fact that he knew where and when to get a license meant that his marriage proposal wasn’t just a spur of the moment thing. He had been thinking about it since before they left Kington House. It meant a great deal to know that despite his muddled words, Rhys had already chosen her as his future wife.

“That sounds wonderful. Though I don’t know what Deri will make of it when he discovers that you have beaten him to the altar,” she replied.

“We will have a proper wedding breakfast with him and Sophie in London at Christmas. It will be in place of our annual orphan’s Christmas supper which I am more than happy to retire. I want to take you to town and buy you all the things you will need as Baroness Carno. And to show you off to people.”

Rhys tightened his arms around her once more and Wister felt the telltale hardness of his manhood jutting against her stomach. She was not going to ignore it this time. They were alone in the gatehouse. The nearest people were a good hundred yards or so away in the village. There was no one to disturb them. She rubbed her body against him and gave him her best sultry smile.

He brushed a lock of her dark hair back from her face.

“That is for the future. Right this minute I want to concentrate on us, and the fact that you have far too many clothes on,” he said.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “What are you asking for, Baron Carno? I will have you know I am a betrothed woman. I am certain my fiancé will have something to say about your wickedness.”

“Rest assured, your fiancé knows all about being wicked.”

A deep, sexy chuckle was the reply. Rhys nipped at her earlobe and all of Wister’s resolve melted away. There was a ring on her finger, a marriage agreed, and nothing to stop them. It was time to claim him as her very own.

She swiped a hand over the bulge in his trousers and gave a gentle, inviting squeeze. “Rhys. Take me to bed. Make me yours.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

HER FUTURE HUSBAND may well have had his moments of indecisiveness, but now was not one of them. No sooner had the words left her lips than Rhys had scooped Wister up and was carrying her toward the bed.

She was more than happy to let him take the lead. He made swift work of the buttons on the front of her gown, then took her gently into his arms and kissed her. Soft, tender kisses which held a thousand secret promises.

She helped him out of his coat and jacket before toying with the ties of his cravat. “You know this is not my first time. If that is a problem for you, please tell me now,” she said.

He shook his head. “Wister, there is one thing you have always been with me, and that is honest. I am glad you trusted me enough to share your past. But no, it is not a problem for me. It never will be. Besides, it means that you and I can become lovers without either of us having to worry about you being inexperienced.”

She tugged the long white linen of his cravat free and tossed it on the floor, earning herself another long, slow kiss for her efforts. Their mouths fused in a toe-curling encounter that set her pulse racing. There was something about Rhys that she couldn’t get enough of, an attraction she had never felt toward another man.

“Lift your arms,” she whispered.

Grabbing the sides of his shirt, Wister slid it up his body. Rhys helpfully bent and allowed her to pull the garment over his head. When he righted himself, she got her first full view of his naked torso.

No towel to keep your magnificence from my gaze.

Her mouth went dry.

The light dusting of dark hair on his chest had her fingers itching to touch. As she reached out her hand, he shook his head. “No touching until I get to see your breasts. Then you can do with me all you wish.”

Her eyes grew wide and she gasped in mock indignation. “Why, Baron Carno, what would make you think I am going to allow you to view my naked skin?”

“This,” he replied.

He placed a hand either side of her unbuttoned gown and tore it open all the way to the waist, baring her breasts. Before she had time to react, he yanked the skirts down, leaving them to pool at her feet.

Her thick, woolen, and very functional stockings were all that remained.

Wister laughed. “And here was me worrying that you Welsh might be a little reserved when it came to sex.”

He chuckled deeply. “Mae'r holl ddyddiau glawog hynny'n golygu ein bod ni'n treulio llawer o amser y tu mewn.”

“Which means?”

“Lots of days spent inside because of the rain. Fear not, my love, we Welsh know how to spend a long time in bed, and what to do.”

Rhys lifted Wister clear of her gown and lay her on the bed. He then knelt on the floor beside it. Firm hands dragged her bottom to the edge of the mattress. He draped her legs over his shoulders. Heat raced to her cheeks at the prospect of him staring straight at her sex.

“Lie back,” he commanded.

Wister had some sexual experience, but this was something entirely new. Her stockings were peeled from her legs, their warmth replaced with Rhys’s hot lips.

Slowly he worked his way up, crisscrossing kisses back and forth. When the heat of his breath touched the edge of her sex, she gripped the blankets and held on.

Her hips bucked off the bed the instant his tongue touched her sensitive nib. A hand was placed on her stomach, pushing her down. He was going to make her submit to his sexual torture.

“Oh, sweet lord. Rhys,” she finally managed.

With arms wrapped around the tops of her thighs, he drew her legs farther apart. Any sense of modesty was gone the second he delved his mouth and tongue into her liquid heat. It was all she could to lie back and take the pleasure that he gave. Every lick, suck, and deep kiss sent shivers of ecstasy racketing through her body.

Slowly, but surely, she began the climb toward the peak. When Rhys flicked his tongue back and forth across her clit, Wister cried out. “Rhys, please!”

“Ssh, I am not done with you. Not by a long shot,” he replied.

Every nerve in her whole being thrummed with desire. The aching need to reach her climax was constant. When his hands released their grip on her legs, Wister thought she would die.

Rhys got to his feet, and in a flurry rid himself of his boots and trousers. Wister swallowed deeply as he turned back to her and she caught her first glimpse of his hard, erect cock. He was long and large. And she craved to have him inside her.

“Move up on the bed,” he said.

She whimpered. “I think my legs are broken—they won’t move.”

He leaned over her and their mouths fused once more. She would never tire of his kisses. When he touched the inside of her thigh, she braced herself, ready for him to shift her over and climb onto the bed. Instead he slipped two fingers deep into her heat and began to stroke.

Her need for release, quickly rose again. She reached for him, her fingers clutching onto his arms as he held her at his mercy.

“That’s it, give in to me. Let your man command your body,” he murmured.

She wasn’t sure how much longer she could last, forcing herself to take a long calming breath when Rhys finally withdrew from her. This time, he did lift her along the bed, then climbed on and rose over her. This was what she craved. What she needed.

He filled her with one deep thrust, and Wister’s world exploded in a blinding orgasm. “Rhys!”

Kisses rained down on her face as he continued to work his cock into her throbbing sex. She lifted her legs and took him deeper, hooking her ankles together. Her efforts were immediately rewarded as Rhys let out an intense groan of pleasure and picked up the pace of their encounter.

He stroked hard into her with a strong rhythm that kept her climax rolling on and on. Every nerve in her body tingled with pleasure.

And just when Wister was beginning to wonder how much longer he could keep going, Rhys suddenly slammed into her with a series of short, frenzied thrusts which shook the bed. He buried his face in the crook of her neck and groaned, “I love you. I will never let you go.”

Wister wrapped her arms around him as Rhys collapsed on top of her in a sweaty, panting, and clearly sated heap.

He was hers. And she was going to hold on to him forever.

EPILOGUE

“HURRY UP, woman. I want to be on the road before dark.”

Wister ignored Rhys’s protests. Her husband was one for wasting the time of other people, but he was not so patient when it came to his own.

“I am coming,” she replied.

Heavy footsteps pounded up the grand central staircase of the house, stopping just outside their bedroom door. She chuckled at the silence, knowing full well that Rhys would be nodding his approval of the new set of stairs before coming in to nag her to finish packing.

She closed up her travel bag as Rhys stepped into the room.

“I was just giving you time to admire the staircase once more,” she said.

He wagged his finger at her. “Don’t be impertinent. It was money well spent.”

Wister bit down on her bottom lip. If he kept trying to play lord of the manor with her, the only place they would be going before nightfall was bed.

“But you like me being impertinent, Baron Carno,” she purred.

Rhys leaned over and picked up the bag, stealing a kiss as he did. The wicked glint in his eyes betrayed him. She knew that stormy look only too well. It would take only a touch of her fingers on his cheek and he would have her on her back.

“We need to leave soon if we are going to make it to Newtown before dark.” He took hold of the edge of her cloak and pulled her to him, slipping his hand around her waist. She loved it when Rhys handled her firmly. It was usually the precursor to an hour or so of lovemaking.

Wister brushed a hand over Rhys’s freshly shaven face. His new valet was a man of many skills, but on occasion she had slipped him a coin and told him to make himself scarce so she could give her husband a close shave.

The work at Kington House had kept them busy for many months after their wedding—repairs and new crops the priority. With the money that flowed once more into the English estate, attention had now turned to Wales.

Wister was eager to visit Carno once more. To see the local inhabitants and admire the new village hall Rhys had commissioned. While Baron Carno was now based permanently at Kington, she was proud that he was still determined to fulfil his role of landlord and protector of his Welsh tenants.

“I can’t wait to see the castle again. To share in the Morgan family heritage.”

The castle would never be rebuilt. Instead its ruins and gatehouse were to be preserved for future generations.

Rhys’s hand moved over the swell of Wister’s belly and their gazes met. “My heart and soul will always be in the lush green valleys of Wales, in the ancient legends of my homeland. With this baby, the Morgan family, our family, continues.”

Tears pricked at her eyes. At times it seemed like Rhys had appeared from out of the mists of the ageless past and stepped into her life. Her very own Welsh warrior who had saved her.

“I love you,” she whispered.

There could be no greater gift in her life than to be wedded to the Welsh baron.

The End

ABOUT SASHA COTTMAN

USA Today bestseller Sasha Cottman was born in England but raised in Australia. Having her heart in two places has created a love for travel, which at last count was to over 55 countries. A travel guide is always on her pile of new books to read.

Sasha lives with her husband, daughter and a cat who demands a starring role in the next book. She is always seeking new hiding spots for her secret chocolate stash.

Sasha’s novels are set around the Regency period in England, Scotland, and Europe. Her books are centred on the themes of love, honour, and family.

You can find details of her work at

www.SashaCottman.com

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ONCE UPON A KISS GONE HORRIBLY WRONG

~ Prequel to the Once Upon a Kiss Series ~

by

BREE WOLF

England 1801: MISS ANNE THATCHER ought to choose a husband. That, however, is easier said than done for no man manages to capture her attention, her interest, her heart. The only man she has ever loved is Tobias Hawke, her childhood friend who has always been like an older brother to her, troublesome but loyal.

Anne cannot think of him without remembering how he used to hide frogs in her bed when they were children. He is her friend, not a suitor, and yet, lately, whenever she finds herself looking into those chocolate-brown eyes of his, Anne cannot help but wonder…

…what if he kissed her?

TOBIAS HAWKE, brother to Viscount Barrington, no longer sees the little girl he once knew when he looks at his childhood friend Anne Thatcher. To him, she’s no longer Little Annie, and the thought that she might still think of him as Little Toby disturbs him greatly. Yes, she is his confidante, his friend, the one woman who knows him like no other, but…

…what if he kissed her?

Neither one of them dares to risk the friendship that connected them since childhood…until Christmas arrives, and they find themselves pushed under a sprig of mistletoe.

What if?

PROLOGUE

SOMEWHERE IN ENGLAND, Winter 1790 (or a variation thereof)

Eleven years earlier

THE SNOW CRUNCHED under her feet as eight-year-old Annie Thatcher raced across the white meadow after her best friend, Tobias Hawke, second son to Viscount Barrington. Small flakes clung to her dark curls peeking out of her hood and settled on the tip of her nose, making her sneeze. Still, Annie pressed on even though her legs began to ache as she fought to keep up with Toby.

When he reached the edge of the frozen lake, he jumped in the air, a wide grin upon his red face. He roared in triumph and pulled his woolen hat off his head, throwing it in the air. “Yes, I made it. I told you I’d be faster than you, Annie.” He gulped down a lungful of air. “You still have some growing to do.”

Pulling to a halt, Annie fell to her knees into the snow, panting. “But I wasn’t far behind. I almost had you.”

Walking over, Toby nodded, then held out a hand to help her up. “Yes, you did good. You’re getting faster every day.”

“You truly think so?” Annie asked, gazing up into his smiling face. “Truly truly?”

Toby laughed, and his chocolate-brown eyes shone with warmth. “Yes, Annie, truly truly.” He kept tossing his hat in the air, catching it a mere second before it hit the snow. “But why do you want to be faster than me?”

Annie shrugged. “It looks like fun.” She regarded him curiously. “Don’t you always try to outrun Phin? He’s older and taller than you, but still you race him. Why do you try if you know you won’t win?”

Toby shrugged at the mention of his older brother. “Well, I don’t know I won’t win. It’s unlikely that I will, but not impossible.” Again, he shrugged before once more tossing his hat in the air as high as he could. “So I keep racing him, and perhaps one day I’ll win. Perhaps one day I’ll best him.”

Annie couldn’t quite understand Toby when it came to this competitiveness between the two brothers; however, that didn’t matter. If it was important to Toby, it was important to her. It was as simple as that. “And that’s why I race you,” she decided. “To help you practice.”

A warm smile lit up his face. “That is so kind of you, Annie. Thank you.” Again, his hat flew up in the air, but this time a strong, icy wind caught a hold of it and carried it off.

Toby’s eyes widened as he stared at his woolen hat, dancing through the air until it caught on a barren branch of an oak tree high above the ground. “Oh, no.” His voice was faint as he trudged through the snow, closer to the tree. “Mother will be furious. She specifically told me not to lose this one, too.”

Indeed, Toby had lost, torn or otherwise ruined countless hats while Annie had lost, torn or otherwise ruined countless ribbons. “Then let’s get it down,” she suggested and marched closer to the tree, her eyes travelling upward along the branches.

“I can’t.”

Turning around, Annie saw Toby shake his head as he stared at the tree as though it were a giant meant to do him harm. His face had gone pale, and his hands balled into fists. “I can’t.”

“I’ll get it,” Annie offered with a shrug.

Toby shook his head. “No, you can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because…because…” Toby’s mouth closed and opened a couple of times as he squinted against the brilliant winter sun, trying to figure out what he wanted to say. “My father always says a gentleman is to look out for a lady.” He glanced at the tree, and a shiver went through him. “You’re a lady. You’re not meant to look after me. I’m meant to look after you.”

Annie frowned, never in her life had she heard such nonsense. “I’m not a lady, Toby,” she told him, hands on her hips. “I’m your friend, and we look after each other.” She reached out and grasped his hand. “All right?”

Inhaling a deep breath, Toby once more glanced up at his hat, then nodded. “All right. But you need to promise me to be careful, Annie.”

“I promise,” Annie vowed and then turned to the tree. “Give me a hand, will you?”

Linking his hands, Toby gave her a push so Annie could reach the first, low-hanging branch, pulling herself up, feet braced against the trunk.

“Careful, Annie.”

“Don’t worry.” Pulling herself up onto the branch, Annie held on to the trunk and then pushed to her feet, reaching higher for the next. Step by step, she made her way up the barren branches, unobstructed by the tree’s usually dense foliage. “I’m almost there.” Only one more branch and she reached out her hand to grab Toby’s hat. Her fingertips were almost touching it. “Only a little farther.”

“Annie, careful!” Toby called the moment Annie tipped forward. Her feet slipped off the branch below as her right hand grasped another one higher up. For a heart-stopping moment, her feet dangled in the air, her body suspended by her right hand alone.

Below, she heard Toby suck in a sharp breath. He called out to her, but she couldn’t answer, her main focus on holding on as panic slowly snuck into her heart. What was she to do now?

And then her hand began to slip. “Toby!”

“Hold on, Annie!”

“I can’t!” And then she was falling, her eyes pinched shut in terror.

When the landing finally came, it was nothing as Annie had expected it. She’d expected a hard thud, perhaps even broken bones. What happened was a rather soft plop!

“Are you all right?” came Toby’s panicked voice a moment before Annie felt his hands on her shoulders. Then his pale face and wide open eyes appeared in front of her. Never in her life had she seen him look so terrified.

“I’m all right,” Annie confirmed as her eyes ran over her arms and legs, uncertain if she was speaking the truth. All seemed to be fine though.

Then she noticed the heap of snow she had landed in. “Did you do this?”

Still panting, Toby nodded. “I couldn’t think of what else to do.”

Annie smiled at him, then held out her hand so he would help her up. “This was brilliant, Toby!” She brushed some snow off her coat, then surveyed the heaps of snow Toby had pushed under the tree to soften her fall. “Thank you. You saved me!” Then she flung herself into his arms and hugged him as she had never hugged him before.

“I was so afraid you’d die, Annie,” Toby whispered as he held her tightly. “I was so afraid I’d lose you.”

Blinking back a tear, Annie stepped back. “You looked out for me,” she told him with a deep smile.

Toby nodded. “And you looked out for me.” He bent down to pick up his hat that had to have slipped off the branch when Annie had. “As friends do.” He grinned at her.

“As friends do,” Annie echoed, taking his hat and pulling it back over his head.

Friends.

Forever.

CHAPTER ONE ~ A PLAN IS HATCHED

BARRINGTON HOUSE, England, Autumn 1801 (or a variation thereof)

BARRINGTON HOUSE with its tall columns and wide-open land held a special place in Anne’s heart. She had spent many wonderful years here as a girl, sliding down the banister in the great hall, catching fireflies at dusk and stealing biscuits from the kitchen. She had loved following the Hawke boys on their adventures, exploring the haunted attic or the gloomy library where a whispered word would echo among the rows upon rows of books. She knew every nook and cranny of this place, and whenever the sun began to set and its golden rays drifted in through the ceiling-tall windows in the salon, Anne could not help but sigh in bliss.

Indeed, Barrington House had always been nothing short of heaven for her.

But not today.

“Is he still looking at me?” Anne asked in a tense whisper, forcing herself not to glance over her shoulder, but to keep her eyes fixed on her two cousins, Louisa and Leonora Beaumont, daughters to the Earl of Whickerton.

Dark-haired Leonora frowned at Anne’s pinched expression, then cast a questioning look across the ballroom, crammed with guests at this year’s ball. “Who?” she asked, her brows drawing down in concentrated observation.

Her sister laughed, “Well, Lord Gillingham, of course.” Unlike Leonora’s, Louisa’s brows rose in a show of triumph as she met Anne’s gaze. “Why are you so intent on escaping his company?” There was a teasing note in her voice, and Anne could not help but feel that her beloved cousin was enjoying watching her squirm much.

Louisa and Leonora−or Lou and Leo as family and friends called them−were like night and day. Anne could not say which of her cousins she liked better for they both had such endearing qualities; unfortunately, they also both possessed the ability to rob her of every bit of patience with but a few well-aimed words.

Leonora was reason personified, always coming up with theories about how and why something happened. She was known to ask a thousand questions when something piqued her interest and was rarely seen without a notebook and pencil in hand. Fortunately, it seemed she had not brought them to tonight’s ball.

Louisa, on the other hand, often acted on impulse, rarely taking the time to think things through, which frequently aggravated Leonora. Still, Louisa had a way of seeing the truth regardless of its trappings and she never feared to speak her mind, her exuberance intoxicating.

Anne sighed, knowing that neither one of her cousins would accept a half-truth. “Well, he…he simply makes me…uncomfortable,” she finally admitted, tucking a stray curl of her dark brown tresses back in place.

“Why?” Leonora asked with a frown as she once more squinted her eyes, no doubt running them over Lord Gillingham to determine the problem. “Is it his breath? Does he smell odd? Does he have sweaty palms?” She glanced down at Anne’s gloved hands. “However, that shouldn’t affect you. Does he spit when he speaks? Or−?”

“He wants to marry her,” Louisa threw in with a sideways eye roll at her sister. Then her inquisitive, green eyes settled back on Anne. “Does he not?”

Anne heaved a deep sigh, “He didn’t say as much, but…every time he looks at me I cannot help but feel that…” Her voice trailed off. “What do I do?”

“So, he has neither bad breath nor sweaty palms?” Leonora enquired for knowledge’s sake.

Anne shook her head. “Not that I noticed.”

“Then why do you object to him?” Again, Leonora ran her eyes over the admittedly dashing lord. “He is tall with thick hair and a symmetrical face. He comports himself with elegance and dances with the necessary proficiency. As far as I know, his family possesses a sizable fortune as well as a reputation free from scandal.” Her mouth closed and she blinked, her blue eyes moving to meet Anne’s. “Where is your objection?”

Anne shrugged. “I don’t know.” However, whenever Lord Gillingham drew near, there was that part of her deep down that all but told her to run. She could not explain it. It felt like a sense of dread, of reluctance as though she simply was not where she ought to be. As though she was walking in the wrong direction.

“What kind of man do you wish for?” Leonora enquired; her hands moved as though they were reaching for her notebook and pencil, ready to take notes. When she discovered them absent, the look in her eyes was one of deepest regret.

“Oh, I can tell you what kind of man she wishes for, dearest Leo,” Louisa exclaimed, her lips curled into a smile that made Anne squirm even more. “I can even tell you which gentleman it is who’s standing in the way of her seeing Lord Gillingham−or any other−in a favorable light.”

While Anne felt her insides twist and turn in dread, wondering what kind of fantastic story Louisa had cooked up this time, Leonora’s jaw dropped in curiosity. “Who?”

Louisa smiled devilishly. “Him.” Without turning her head, she let her eyes dart to the wide arch through which more and more guests were entering the ballroom.

Holding Louisa’s daring gaze, Anne raised her chin, fighting the urge to turn her head.

Leonora, however, did not hesitate for a second. Her head snapped to the side, and a moment later, the hint of a frown began to crease her forehead. “Lord Barrington?”

Anne felt herself pause, then frown. “What? That’s ridiculous!”

Louisa rolled her eyes at her sister. “I quite agree. Phineas Hawke is the last man in the world who would capture a woman’s attention.”

“You truly ought to call him Lord Barrington,” Leonora chided. “It’s a question of respect. After all, he inherited his father’s title more than four years ago.”

Louisa shrugged off her sister’s comment as though it were a ludicrous demand that did not make the slightest sense.

While Anne had grown up with the Hawke brothers, their families’ country estates closely situated, Louisa and Leonora had only occasionally spent time in their company. However, for Louisa, that had been enough to come to detest the eldest Hawke brother Phineas; and it seemed the feeling was mutual. “No, I meant Mr. Tobias Hawke,” Louisa clarified with a smile in Anne’s direction. Then she turned and her eyes sought out the man in question.

“Toby?” Anne exclaimed, wondering how on earth Louisa had come to that conclusion. “You must be jesting.” Her gaze followed Louisa’s and she found herself looking at her childhood friend. As though he felt her looking at him, his head rose, and a second later, his chocolate-brown eyes found hers. A small smile touched his lips, and he winked at her.

“See?” Louisa exclaimed in triumph. “You cannot tell me that he means nothing to you.”

Anne stared at her cousin in utter confusion. “Of course not. Why would you think that? He’s my dearest friend. Of course, he means something to me.”

Louisa crossed her arms over her chest and regarded Anne in that way of hers that said she didn’t believe a word Anne was saying.

“Truly,” Anne insisted. “He’s my friend and nothing more. To me, he’ll always be Little Toby, the boy who pulled on my braids and hid frogs in my bed.” Still, she could not help but smile at the memory, for she’d gotten back at him by hiding his homework, which had gotten him in trouble with his tutor. Toby had been furious when he’d realized it had been her, and he hadn’t simply misplaced it.

“Well, he’s not Little Toby any longer,” Louisa remarked with a sideways glance at Tobias’s tall stature, “and neither are you Little Annie.” Her green eyes became thoughtful for a moment before she took a step toward Anne. “I dare you, dear cousin, to look at Tobias not as the boy you knew but as the man you could marry.”

Anne’s heart stumbled in her chest. “Marry?” she exclaimed, not certain if in horror or something other; something she couldn’t quite name. “I could never marry him!”

“Why not?” Leonora interjected curiously, her watchful eyes going back and forth between Anne and her sister. “I must admit that he, too, possesses most amiable qualities. Judging from both your characters, I’d say the two of you would suit.”

Louisa rolled her eyes at her sister yet again. “Marriage is not a science experiment, Leo,” she snapped, then sighed before a slow smile spread over her face. “It should be about passion. You should choose someone who sets your blood on fire and steals your breath away.” Her smile deepened as she looked at her sister. “Have you learned nothing from Mother and Father?”

Indeed, Anne’s aunt and uncle had gone against convention, against their parents’ wishes and gotten married because they’d been in love. And even today, after thirty years of marriage and six children, they still looked at one another like love-sick youths.

It was…inspiring?

“Lou, I don’t disagree with your notion of passion in marriage,” Anne stated, “however, Toby is my friend. He’s like a brother to me. I could never marry him.”

Louisa laughed, “A brother?” Her gaze moved to her sister and then back to Anne. “Well, considering you don’t have a brother, I can understand that you have no frame of reference. Still−”

“You’re beginning to sound like Leo,” Anne pointed out with no small measure of enjoyment.

Louisa rolled her eyes in annoyance. “Don’t try to distract me, for it will not work. I love you dearly, and I will not see you married to a man who will no doubt make you miserable. You need to follow your heart in all truly important endeavors, or you’ll come to regret it.”

“But my heart tells me that−”

“Does it?” Louisa challenged. “Truly? Or have you simply never looked at Tobias in any other way but through the eyes of the little girl you once were?” Her eyes lit up. “In fact, I dare you to look at him right here, right now, and see him as a man grown, not as a boy.” She came to stand at Anne’s side, her gaze pointed across the ballroom to where Toby and his brother were conversing with a group of gentlemen. “Look at him,” she whispered in Anne’s ear, “and ask yourself if you truly see him as Little Toby still.”

Anne drew in a shuddering breath, reluctant to do as her cousin bid her. Still, her gaze moved over her childhood friend, and she knew that she loved him. She loved that teasing spark in his dark brown eyes. She loved the way his gaze strayed to hers every so often. She loved the confidence that existed between them. Always had she known his secrets. Always had he confided in her as she had confided in him. His smile warmed her heart and made her feel special as though it was for her alone.

She loved him.

But did that mean she was in love with him?

Clearing her throat, Anne turned to look at her cousin. “I don’t know what you hope to accomplish, Lou, but Toby is my friend. He’s always been my friend, and−”

“He could be your friend and your husband,” Louisa pointed out. “One does not exclude the other.” Her gaze narrowed. “Have you ever kissed him?”

Anne’s eyes flew open. “Of course not!” The thought alone was ludicrous…wasn’t it?

“Well, then I think you should,” Louisa stated, “to…” she paused and cast a somewhat annoyed look at her sister, “to test your theory.”

Leonora’s face brightened at the thought of an experiment. “Indeed, a kiss would prove quite telling in determining how you feel about him. It will certainly tell you whether or not you love him as a brother.” Again, her fingers moved as though they longed to grasp that elusive pencil and jot down the parameters of Louisa’s proposed experiment.

Panic welled up in Anne’s heart, and she shook her head vehemently. “You’re mad!” she exclaimed in a hushed voice, looking from one cousin to the other. “You cannot truly suggest I walk up to him and kiss him? I’d be ruined!” More than that, it would forever alter the friendship between them. If she kissed him, they could never be Little Toby and Little Annie again. What if she lost him?

The thought was too terrifying to bear!

“You’re right on that account,” Leonora pointed out reasonably, the tip of her forefinger tapping against her lips as she thought. “We need some kind of pretext.”

“How about a mistletoe kiss?” Louisa suggested, wiggling her brows as she looked at Anne.

Anne huffed out an annoyed breath. “It’s not Christmas.”

“It will be soon,” the two sisters said as one. Why was it that the second her cousins finally found some common ground, it was to her disadvantage?

“The Archibald Christmas house party is not far off,” Leo pointed out, her eyes slightly squinted as she no doubt counted out the days.

Louisa’s face brightened. “I like how you think, Sister.” Now, that was a first!

“You cannot be serious,” Anne stated feebly, getting the disquieting feeling that no matter what she said she could not win this.

Smiling gently, Louisa reached out to tuck another stray curl behind Anne’s ear. “Listen, you know that I’m right even if you cannot admit it right now. You care for him, and you need to know how much before you make a decision to marry anyone.” Her green eyes were soft and kind, and Anne knew that despite Louisa’s tendency to push people into something they did not want to do, her actions sprang from a deep sense of concern. She cared, deeply, and Anne loved her for it.

“What if…?” Anne began, not certain what it was she wanted to ask.

“If the kiss makes you think of Little Toby hiding frogs in your bed,” Louisa said with a smirk, “then you laugh it off and continue your friendship as before. If, however,” her cousin’s gaze grew imploring, “it makes you want to swoon into his arms and never let go, then I think it’s fair to say that you do not see him as a brother.”

“I agree with that assessment,” Leonora threw in, an equally sympathetic smile on her face as she stood shoulder to shoulder with her sister, her clear blue eyes looking into Anne’s.

Not knowing what to say, Anne stared at her two beloved cousins. She could not deny that what they said made sense; however, there was one aspect neither one of them had considered yet. What if Tobias would forever see her as Little Annie? What if their kiss would prove that she loved him, but he would forever see her as the little sister who’d discovered his secret hiding place for the biscuits they’d stolen from the kitchen and eaten them all? What if Tobias could never see anything more in her?

What if kissing him would break her heart?

CHAPTER TWO ~ A DISASTER WAITING TO HAPPEN

NEAR WINDMERE PARK, England, December 1801 (or a variation thereof)

A few days before Christmas

ANNE WAS TEMPTED to throw herself out of the moving carriage. No doubt, the heaps of snow covering the countryside would dampen her fall, allowing her to emerge from such an admittedly drastic measure unscathed. Then she could pick herself up, dust herself off and begin walking back the way they’d come.

Back home.

Away from Windmere Park.

Away from Louisa and Leonora.

Away from…Tobias.

Admittedly, she might freeze to death; however, at present, Anne couldn’t say that the thought bothered her overly much. Indeed, any place seemed preferable to being locked up in a moving carriage with her two beloved cousins as well as their snoozing grandmother on her way to Windmere Park, Lord Archibald’s Christmas house party and all that it entailed looming in her future. Why on earth had she agreed to attend? She had to have been mad; after all, this couldn’t end in anything else but utter disaster.

Louisa and Leonora would make certain of that.

“How soon would you say we perform this experiment?” Leonora asked her sister as she tapped the back of her pencil on the notebook in her lap. “I do not believe it wise to rush things.”

Seated next to a squirming Anne, Louisa laughed, “Oh, I wouldn’t mind pushing them both under the mistletoe the moment we arrive.” She grinned at Anne’s shocked expression. “The sooner, the better.”

Leonora frowned. “It ought not be too obvious,” she pointed out. “After all, no one ought to know what we’re about. If indeed Anne realizes she sees him as a brother, it needs to be clear that the only reason they kissed was because they happened to end up under the mistletoe. Nothing more.”

“Should we make a wager?” Louisa suggested with a wide, wicked grin, her strawberry blond curls tucked under a fur-lined hood. “Brother or no brother?”

Leonora frowned. “Ladies are not to wager,” she pointed out; still, a hint of intrigue rang in her voice.

Anne heaved a deep sigh. “Would it make any difference if I objected to this?” she asked, looking from one cousin to the other.

“To the wager or the experiment?” Leonora asked to clarify.

“Both.”

Louisa shook her head, laughing. “Not in the slightest. After all, you agreed to this.”

“Did I?” Anne asked with a frown. “I don’t recall that I did. What I do recall is objecting to this from the start.”

Pencil balanced between two fingers, Leonora placed the tip of her forefinger on her lips, her blue eyes thoughtful. “She’s right,” she told her sister. “She never agreed.”

Louisa shrugged. “A minor detail.” She grinned at Anne. “One to be neglected. Now,” her gaze moved back to Leonora, “how do we do this? I’m willing to wait a day or two, but that’s all I’m willing to concede.” She eagerly rubbed her hands together, a gesture that made her look almost villainous. “If we can’t push them, then we need to lure Tobias.” She looked at Anne. “You’ll be waiting under the mistletoe, and we’ll make up some excuse to send him your way.”

Anne was about to object−again!−when Leo stilled, pencil frozen in mid-air. “What if, before Tobias can reach her side, another gentleman happens to step under the mistletoe with her?”

Louisa frowned, clearly displeased to have a flaw pointed out in her plan. “Then we simply have to time it well.” She looked at Anne. “The second you see him move toward you, you step forward and under the mistletoe.” She sighed rather exasperatedly, “Seriously, ladies, it cannot be that hard. Countless people get kissed under a sprig of mistletoe every year.”

Leonora nodded. “Yes, but perhaps not by the right person.” Her blue gaze shifted to Anne. “I hear Lord Gillingham will be in attendance as well.”

Anne groaned…without knowing why. After all, the young lord was perfectly amiable. There was no good reason for her to dislike him.

“Very well,” Louisa exclaimed, her gaze moving from Anne to Leo and back. “This is what we’ll do. Anne, you wait near a conveniently situated mistletoe. Leo, you then fetch Tobias while I make certain that no other gentleman interferes.”

Leonora frowned. “How?”

“I don’t know,” Louisa replied with a nonchalant shrug, not the slightest hint of doubt or concern in her voice. “I’ll think of something. If I must, I’ll trip them.”

For a second, Leonora looked horrified, her gaze momentarily darting to their sleeping grandmother seated beside her, before she inhaled a deep breath−clearly, her sister’s exaggerations were nothing new to her−and asked, “What would you say is a conveniently situated mistletoe?” The tip of her pencil came to rest on a blank page in her notebook, ready to jot down notes.

Unfortunately, Louisa merely shrugged. “I’ll know it when I see it.”

Leonora sighed in disappointment.

Leaning back in her seat, Anne looked out the window as she spotted a large estate on the horizon. It sat snugly surrounded by tall-growing trees on one side and wide open expanse on the other. Powdery snowflakes drifted down to settle upon the evergreen trees standing like sentinels around the cream-colored estate, its darker roof in stark contrast to the white landscape. The path leading up to the front of the house snaked in wide curves through the snowy blanket around them, and Anne spotted another carriage a little way ahead of them.

No doubt Lord Archibald’s house party would once again be well-attended, and the thought of countless people witnessing what would no doubt be one of the most embarrassing moments of her life made Anne contemplate flinging herself out of the moving carriage once again.

“Don’t even think about it!” Louisa warned, her eyes oddly penetrating as she looked at Anne.

Frowning, Anne turned to her cousin with an innocent face. “What? What are you talking about?”

“I can see what you’re thinking,” Louisa stated with confidence. “You’re thinking of running off, which is why I feel compelled to tell you that you won’t succeed.” A warm smile spread over her face before she reached out and gently patted Anne’s hand. “Don’t worry. We’re only doing this to help you.”

Anne sighed. “I simply don’t think−”

“Fine, try this,” Louisa interrupted. “Close your eyes and−” Her brows drew together in disapproval. “Close your eyes!” When Anne finally complied, she continued, “Now, imagine you’re standing in front of Lord Gillingham.”

A shudder shook Anne, but she forced her eyes to remain closed, knowing she would never hear the end of it if she didn’t.

“Now, picture him smiling at you, taking your hand,” Louisa whispered, her voice now soft and oddly melodious as though she sought to lull Anne into a deep slumber. Unfortunately, with the image of Lord Gillingham in mind, Anne couldn’t bring herself to relax. “Now, he’s leaning down, his lips aiming for yours and−”

“Ugh!” Anne couldn’t help it for the thought made her queasy. Her eyes flew open and she shook her head.

Again, Louisa’s brows rose in triumph. “I think that’s very telling.” She looked at Leonora. “Don’t you?”

Leonora nodded in agreement before she lowered her gaze to the notebook in her lap and began to write. “Indeed, that was very telling. A quite forceful reaction if I may say so.”

“Now, to compare,” Louisa continued, her green eyes sparkling as she looked at Anne. “Picture Tobias standing in front of you, holding your hand and−” When Anne failed to react, Louisa’s brows rose. “Well?”

“I was just thinking how sad it is that your family fell ill so short before Christmas,” Anne lamented perhaps a bit too forcefully. “Your parents always enjoyed the Archibald house party, and poor Grandma Edie.” She looked at the peacefully snoozing woman. Although of small stature, Grandma Edie was a force of nature, a no-nonsense kind of woman, who spoke her mind whenever it pleased her and turned a deaf ear just as often. “It must be hard to be away from home at such an advanced age, especially around Christmas. Will your family not miss you all? How will they make do without you?” She looked from one cousin to the other.

Leonora’s pencil paused, and her gaze rose. “Oh, they’ll be fine. Jules will see to them as she always does.” Indeed, the eldest Beaumont sister had all but taken on the role of companion for their elderly grandmother. She was the heart and soul of the family, always seeing to everyone and ensuring that all was well.

“But you already know this,” Louisa told Anne, a knowing look in her watchful eyes.. “Therefore, it is only too obvious that you only seek to distract us with your concern.” She glanced at her grandmother. "Grandma Edie will enjoy the diversion and I'm sure Jules will cherish not playing the companion for a little while. There, happy now?"

Anne grinned sheepishly. “A girl can try, can’t she?”

Louisa chuckled, “I suppose that’s true. Now,” she reached out and brushed a hand over Anne’s face, urging her to close her eyes. “Simply…think of him.”

Sighing, Anne leaned back in her seat, determined to think of anyone but Tobias. However, her wayward thoughts wouldn’t comply, and she found herself remembering the first ball after her coming out. She’d been terrified by the crush of people, like a gazelle watching a stampede heading its way.

And then Tobias had appeared out of nowhere. He’d taken her hand in his and pulled her onto the dance floor. “Look at me,” he’d whispered with that endearing half-smile curling his lips, “and breathe. They’re more afraid of you than you are of them.”

Anne had laughed then, and the tense knot inside her had come undone. She’d been able to breathe, comforted by the warmth in his chocolate-brown eyes and the way his hand held onto hers, a reassuring pressure, assuring her that she wasn’t alone.

That he was there.

And always would be.

Indeed, she loved him. She loved him with all her heart and soul. Anne had always known that. But…was she in love with him? Was that possible without her even noticing?

That night, Tobias had not left her side, his presence a safe anchor. They’d laughed and teased each other and then retreated behind a long row of tall, potted plants, secretly poking fun at the most snobbish of ladies to walk by their hiding place.

And then, shortly before midnight, there’d been a moment when Tobias had looked at her, his brown eyes warm and lingering, before he’d reached out, catching a stray curl of hers between his fingertips. He’d gazed at it in a deeply stirring way and then slowly tucked it back behind her ear, the tips of his fingers gently brushing against her skin.

Anne had barely been able to breathe in that moment, an odd sensation dancing across her skin that she could not help but wonder about now. She remembered it well. It had been a moment that had been burnt into her memory…but why? Would she have welcomed a kiss then and there? Or would she have refused him, certain that he was a brother to her and nothing more?

Cursing her meddlesome cousins, Anne realized as the carriage finally pulled to a halt that a part of her did want to kiss Tobias after all.

Indeed, curiosity suddenly surged through her, making her wonder what it would feel like to have him look at her again as he had then. To feel him move closer? To feel his hands on hers? And…and…?

Nevertheless, the thought of kissing Tobias with Heaven knew how many witnesses watching them with hawk’s eyes still turned Anne’s stomach. What she wanted was to be alone with him, to retreat behind a row of potted plants, invisible to the world, and see nothing and no one but him.

Unfortunately, knowing her cousins, Anne was certain that she wouldn’t get her wish.

CHAPTER THREE ~ FRIENDS OF OLD

TOBIAS HAWKE, second son to the late Viscount Barrington, stood in the entryway of Windmere Park like a fool and stared at his childhood friend, Miss Anne Thatcher, as she and her two cousins climbed out of their carriage.

Snowflakes, sparkling like diamonds, drifted down to settle in her mahogany tresses. Still, they could never outshine the glow in her deep azure gaze, warm, and yet, deeply stirring as they swept over their destination. The moment they fell on Tobias, the air seemed to thin, and for a second, he feared his heart would stop. Then a dazzling smile claimed her lips, and she looked at him in that way that was uniquely hers.

As though her day had brightened now that they were back together.

As though she had longed to see him ever since their last meeting.

As though her heart beat as fast as his own.

“You’re staring, Brother,” Phineas hissed beside him, a teasing chuckle following his observation.

Clearing his throat, Tobias forced his gaze away from her, then shifted on his feet to look at his brother. “I’m merely happy to see her again. It’s been a while. That is all.”

Phineas had always possessed a devilish streak, his eyes such a dark shade of brown that they seemed almost black, giving him a bit of a wicked allure, at least as far as young debutantes were concerned. Tobias, however, would have preferred a less roguish brother for Phineas enjoyed nothing more than seeing him squirm.

Lately, it had become his brother’s most favored pastime.

“Certainly,” Phineas replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm, “and Father and Uncle Henry stopped by last night for a game of cards.” Laughter rumbled in his chest, and Tobias inhaled a deep breath, willing himself not to respond for it would only spur Phineas on.

Casting his brother a cautioning gaze, Tobias moved toward the three young women as well as the cousins’ grandmother, offering a formal bow. Given her advanced age, he was rather surprised the Dowager Lady Whickerton was in attendance; however, he could not deny that there was steel in the way her watchful gaze moved from him to Phineas, whispering of a sharp mind. “I’m delighted to see you are in attendance as well.” For a moment, his eyes lingered on Anne and continued to do so for yet a moment longer. Then he rather abruptly turned to the dowager. “Do you remember my brother, Lady Whickerton?” Indeed, who could ever forget?

“Of course, the wicked one,” the cousins’ grandmother chuckled, her pale eyes sizing up Phineas without difficulty before they briefly came to rest on Lady Louisa. “Have you acquired manners since last we met?”

Phineas laughed. “I thought I had; however, I’m afraid I might have misplaced them once again. I’ll inform you immediately should I succeed in locating them.”

The dowager chortled. “A wicked one, indeed.” Shaking her head, she slowly hobbled toward the front hall, leaning heavily upon her walking stick. “Give me a head start, ladies,” she told the three young women over her shoulder. “I’m certain you’ll catch up with me at the landing.”

“Little Annie,” Phineas greeted Anne with a sideways glance at Tobias. “How long has it been? Ten? Twenty years? I must say I hardly recognize you.”

Shaking her head at Phineas, Anne still smiled at him and her smile lit up her eyes in a most beautiful way. Tobias couldn’t help but dislike his brother for it. “How are you, Phin?”

Winking at her, Phineas cast his brother another sideways glance. “I am fine now that you’re here, Annie. I must say I missed you dearly.” Tobias wanted to kick him.

Fortunately, Anne merely chuckled and shook her head at him, well-versed in interpreting Phineas’s odd comments. “Are you ever serious, Phin?” she asked. “A man of your age should have learnt to comport himself well, should he not?”

Phin frowned. “Are you calling me old?”

“No, simply immature.”

His brother laughed. “That, I can live with.”

While Lady Leonora frowned at his brother, Lady Louisa looked ready to strangle him. “I had not realized,” Lady Louisa began, open censure in her voice, “that you would accompany your brother to this house party. I’d heard you had decided to remain in Town.”

Cocking his head to the side, Phin regarded her, a touch of amusement visible in the way his lips twitched. “Did you now? Well, my dearest Lulu, I must say you sound displeased to see me. Have I done anything to wrong you?” He cast her a sickeningly sweet smile, which made even Tobias want to hit him over the head.

Lady Louisa was fuming, “Do not call me that!” she hissed as she stepped toward him, her chin raised and her eyes shooting fire. “I’ve told you so before, and I’m saying it again. I am not a poodle, and you’re not to call me that! Is that clear?” Before Phin could answer, she spun on her heel and marched inside, Lady Leonora following on her heel.

“Was that truly necessary?” Anne chided him. “You used to be such a charming boy.”

Phin chuckled, “What can I say? Your cousin brings out the best side of me.”

Anne shook her head at him. “You truly ought to apologize, Lord Barrington.” Her brows rose and, to his utter surprise, Tobias found his brother sigh and then hasten after the two sisters.

He looked at Anne. “This won’t end well,” he told her, offering her his arm. His own began to tingle when she slipped her hand through, her breath brushing over his cheek as she turned to speak to him.

“I suppose there are two possible outcomes,” she said with a chuckle. “Either my cousin kills him in a fit of anger before the year is out or…” She stopped in her tracks, and her deep blue eyes looked up into his as though looking for something.

“Or?” Tobias asked, overwhelmed by her sudden nearness after almost a month apart. Had it truly been that long?

Anne drew in a bit of a shuddering breath. “Or they’ll fall madly in love with one another.” Her words hung between them as they stood in the entry hall and looked at one another.

Tobias swallowed. “I admit I’m hoping for the second possibility for despite his shortcomings I’m rather fond of my brother.”

“You admit it openly?” Anne teased, that smile of hers once more melting his heart.

Tobias laughed, although the sound did come out a bit strangled. “Well, he is my brother and, although I hate to admit it, he’s also my best friend.”

A teasing frown played over her face. “I thought I was your best friend. After all, I know all your secrets.”

Except one, Tobias thought, wondering how Anne would react if she ever learned what he thought about when he looked at her. “Indeed, you are,” he assured her. “Especially when Phin is acting particularly boorish. Then, there’s truly no competition.” Sighing, he marveled at the strange stirrings in his heart when those deep blue eyes looked into his own. “You’ll always be the dearest friend I’ll ever have, Annie.” The moment the words left his lips, Tobias could have kicked himself. Although he hadn’t lied, he had to admit that he no longer saw her as the friend she’d once been to him…and the thought that she might think of him thus was utterly disheartening.

For a second, her smile seemed to falter before it returned with greater force. “Well, so long as we remain the best of friends, I shall have nothing to complain about.”

But I do, Tobias thought the moment her eyes moved from his to look over his shoulder. He felt her arm tense and her breath shudder past her lips. “Are you all right?” he asked, noting the tinge of red that came to her cheeks.

When she failed to answer, he turned to look…and instantly wished he hadn’t.

Stepping into the entry hall was none other than Lord Gillingham, a polished, sickeningly perfect, young gentleman who seemed to fancy Anne as of late. More than once, Tobias had seen them dance, the young lord’s eyes glowing in admiration as he’d smiled down at her.

And every time, Tobias had had to fight the urge to cut in then and there and stake his claim. But he hadn’t for he had no claim on her.

That was the disheartening truth.

Anne was his friend, certainly; however, beyond that, they had no understanding and, if he never managed to work up the nerve to ask for more, they never would.

Perhaps this house party was the perfect opportunity to broach the subject. But what if she refused him? What if he lost her? After all, she was the best friend he’d ever had, and he could not bear the thought of losing all they were to each other.

Always had they stood as one, even as children.

A smile teased his lips as he remembered a hot summer many years ago. They had been no older than ten or eleven and had both been invited to attend his mother’s annual garden party as official guests as she had told them with a wink. It had been an honor, and it had made them feel grown beyond their years.

As always Phineas had not been impressed at all; instead, he had concocted a plan to ruin his little brother’s big day. With a ruse, Phin had lured him to the lake and then shoved him in, soaking Tobias’s elegant wardrobe.

He’d looked like a drowned rat.

As though to make amends, Phineas had offered to guide him back into the house unseen so Tobias could change. He had, however, led him straight into the arriving guests’ path.

Tobias could still remember the sound of their approach as he had stood in the hall, dripping onto the floor, their footsteps echoing along the parquet on the other side of the door.

Closer and closer.

Tobias had been frozen to the spot, unable to move, tears starting to brim in his eyes.

And then he’d spotted Annie near the garden doors, her eyes wide as she had stared at him, her gaze gliding over his soaked clothing.

What had happened then would forever be burned into Tobias’s memory.

With a swiftness her dress shouldn’t have allowed for, Annie had moved toward him the second the entrance door had swung open, allowing in the guests. He could still feel her little hand as she had shoved him aside, then darted into the hall and pulled to a halt at the last second.

The moment the guests took note of her, her eyes rolled back in her head and she had collapsed onto the floor in one of the best feigned faints Tobias had seen to this day, giving him the time he had needed to slink upstairs and change.

Never would Tobias forget what she had done for him. How she had stood by him, no questions asked. After all, she was his friend, his best friend, and he could not imagine a life without her by his side. Could he risk addressing his regard for her? How it had changed over the course of the last year?

Would it be worth it?

CHAPTER FOUR ~ A DEDICATED COUSIN

“HE’S AN INSUFFERABLE…!” For a short moment, words failed Louisa. Then, however, something wicked sparked in her eyes and she instantly clamped her lips shut to contain the no doubt highly inappropriate comparisons that now lay on the tip of her tongue.

“Who?” Leonora asked as the three of them ventured through the downstairs rooms. Everything glowed in red and gold, and the smell of fresh-cut evergreens lingered in the air, mingling with the delicious aromas of hot tea and warm pastries as well as the smoky tinge of lit firewood, earthy and fresh. Ice crystals clung to the outside of the windowpanes, and the soft glow of the snow made everything look unbelievably peaceful.

“Who?” Louisa gasped, incredulity in her eyes as her hands rose to settle on her hips. “Have you even been listening to a word I’ve said?”

Blinking, Leonora sighed and then looked up from the notebook in her hand, which held a rough sketch of Windmere Park’s ground floor. “Pardon?” she mumbled before her gaze moved over the room once more. Then her fingers twitched, and a moment later, she made a small X on the page, marking the doorway leading into the drawing room, where a handful of guests had assembled, discussing their plans for later that day.

Louisa rolled her eyes. Then her shoulders slumped and she looked at Anne. “I cannot help but wonder how two brothers can be so vastly different. While one is charming and kind and utterly handsome,” Anne could not deny that her heart skipped a beat at the thought of Tobias, “the other is…is the devil incarnate.” Louisa huffed out an exasperated breath before she suddenly stilled and a deeply concerning smile came to her lips. “Do you think it’s possible that that devilish man is not who he claims to be? Perhaps he’s an impostor. Or he was adopted. Or the late Lady Barrington had an affair and that devilish man is not the late lord’s true son.” She shrugged, clearly taken with the idea. “It could be anything.”

Anne chuckled, taking one of Louisa’s hands into her own. “Whether you like it or not, I’m afraid Phineas is who he says he is. After all, I’ve grown up with him. He’s never been different.”

Louisa’s shoulders slumped, and she all but glared at Anne for destroying her hopes. “But there has to be a reason? Tobias is so…so…and that brother of his is…” She grimaced, then shook herself.

Anne laughed, grateful for this small distraction. Perhaps there was a way to dissuade her cousins from shoving her and Tobias under a sprig of mistletoe by ensuring that Louisa’s thoughts were focused on something else.

Or rather someone else.

And Phineas proved to be quite captivating for Lou!

“There,” Leonora exclaimed as she turned to face them, the faraway expression gone from her eyes. “I think I’ve got them all.”

This time, it was Louisa who frowned. “All of what?”

Leonora paused, her eyes darting to the sketch in her notebook and then back up to her sister. “The sprigs of mistletoe. I’ve taken down all the locations…as we discussed.” She stepped closer and turned the book in her hands to show the other two what she’d noted down. “Of course, most are found in highly frequented areas, in doorways as well as near the pianoforte. Which one would you say is the one most conveniently placed?” she asked her sister.

Anne sighed, “I’m telling you here and now, I will not step under one of those dreadful things with a dozen people around to stare at me.” Her brows rose for emphasis as she looked from one cousin to the other.

Louisa chuckled, “You sound as though you agree to our plan,” she pointed out. “And here I thought you were opposed to the whole idea. Has seeing Tobias changed your mind?” She wiggled her brows for good measure.

Anne paused. Had it?

Indeed, seeing Tobias again after almost a month apart had stirred something within her. She’d barely been able to keep her eyes off him, off that teasing smile, off those chocolate-brown eyes that seemed to see right through her. They’d touched no more than was considered appropriate, and yet, the feel of his arm under her hand had all but stolen her breath. What did this mean? Had she truly come to care for him beyond the measurements of their friendship? Or was she simply feeling self-conscious at the thought of a mistletoe kiss with him?

“Oh, look, Leo, she’s blushing!” Louisa observed delightedly before she turned to her sister. “I think we have our answer right here.”

“Great!” Anne cried, seizing this opportunity. “Then we don’t need that dreadful mistletoe kiss after all. I−”

“Oh, no! You’re not getting out of this.” Shaking her head at her, Louisa chuckled, “Why are you so reluctant? I should think you’d want to know how you feel about him.”

“I do know how I feel about him,” Anne hastened to assure her meddlesome cousin.

“Truly?” Louisa asked with a doubtful look in her green eyes.

Anne sighed, “Perhaps.” Her spirits sank as her short-lived hopes fell into the dust at her feet. “But why now? Why here?”

“Why not?” Louisa countered. “Are you not worried that he might agree to a match elsewhere if he thinks you indifferent? Has that not ever crossed your mind? After all, he’s got his father’s title to consider.”

“You mean, his brother’s,” Leonora corrected.

Louisa rolled her eyes, ignoring her sister’s objection. “He might need to father an heir and−”

“Lord Barrington needs an heir,” Leonora corrected once again, her frown deepening. “You do know how this works, do you not?”

Louisa’s nose crinkled as though she smelled something rotten. “That man is a disgrace, and I do not believe for a second that he’ll ever find a woman foolish enough to marry him.” She scoffed, “The thought alone is ludicrous. No, after that man’s no doubt untimely passing, Tobias will need to assume the title and provide an heir. Therefore−”

“That is quite harsh!” Leonora objected. “It is poor form to speak of him thusly.”

Anne nodded, unable to hide the grin that stole onto her face. “Indeed, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say…you liked him.”

Louisa’s jaw dropped; however, she quickly recovered, her eyes narrowing. “You must be mad! I hate that man. No, hate is not a strong enough word. I loathe that man.”

“Why?” Anne asked simply. “What on earth has he ever done to you?”

Louisa’s lips clamped shut. Now, this looked promising!

“It cannot simply be because he calls you Lulu.”

Her cousin’s nostrils flared, but for once in her life, Louisa remained quiet. Very telling! Very telling, indeed.

“I agree,” Leonora threw in, earning herself a dark glare from her sister. “Even taking your effervescent character into account, I cannot imagine that anyone would be riled in such a way by a simple dislike to a nickname.”

“Indeed,” Anne chimed in, enjoying that it was finally Louisa’s turn to squirm. “Therefore, I assume that you do like him for your reaction is as telling as mine.” Anne swallowed hard when she realized what she’d just admitted to.

Of course, her slip of the tongue had not escaped Louisa, whose face instantly brightened. “I was right!” she declared triumphantly. “You do like him.”

“Perhaps,” Anne croaked.

“Would you stop saying that?” Louisa huffed, a hint of exhaustion coming to her features. “Why can’t you simply admit that you care for him? He clearly adores you. Why are you so afraid to kiss him?”

“Why are you so certain he’s the one for me?” Anne countered in a hushed voice, worried that someone might overhear as they were standing in the hall with new guests coming and going every now and then.

“Very well,” Louisa said after a long breath. “I admit I’m growing tired of this discussion. So, how about this? You kiss Tobias under some mistletoe, and if I’m right, if he actually is the one for you and you end up marrying him, then I promise I’ll kiss…that man.” Her jaw tightened, but she did not drop her gaze.

“You’ll kiss Phin?” Anne asked, staring at her cousin.

“Yes.”

“Under some mistletoe?”

Louisa shrugged. “I don’t care. Wherever you like.”

Anne felt her eyes go round before she looked at Leonora, who appeared equally shocked. “You heard her say it, too; didn’t you?”

Leonora nodded. “Are you serious?” she asked her sister. “Why would you agree to kiss someone you detest?”

“Because I want to see her happy,” Louisa told her sister with a sideways glance at Anne, “and I’m convinced she’ll never be happy with another. As I’m unable to convince her of it, I suppose this is the only way to get her to agree.” She turned to Anne, holding out her hand. “Do we have a deal?”

Swallowing, Anne stared at her cousin. “You’d do that for me?”

Louisa smiled at her. “Of course. I may not appear as the most compassionate person, but I do love you, dear cousin, and I want to see you matched with the man who holds your heart.” She sighed, “If you believe nothing else, can you at least believe that?”

Blinking back tears, Anne nodded. Then she grasped Louisa’s hand. “Deal.”

With rather unblinking eyes, Leonora looked back and forth between them. “I think we could all do with a bit of a distraction. Do you not agree?”

Both nodded before Louisa smiled that rather disconcerting smile of hers. “Perfect because I believe I just glimpsed Lord Gillingham enter the drawing room.”

Anne barely managed to stifle the groan that wanted to escape her lips. “Well, then, let’s have some tea. I admit I’m rather parched.”

Louisa snickered before she drew Anne’s arm through the crook of hers, and the three of them headed down the corridor to join the other guests as well as Grandma Edie in the drawing room.

Oh, dear, what had she just agreed to?

CHAPTER FIVE ~ SIMPLY KISS THE GIRL

THE SOUND of laughter echoed up the stairs to the first floor as Tobias and his brother left their chambers and made to head downstairs to join the other guests. Was Anne among them? Tobias wondered. At the thought of seeing her, his heart skipped a beat. Had it always done that? Had he simply never noticed? Or had something changed over the course of the past year?

Ever since that ball when they’d hidden together behind that row of potted plants, something had been different.

Felt different.

“I’ve glimpsed at least three sprigs of mistletoe thus far,” Phineas remarked with a chuckle as they made their way downstairs. “Would I be wrong to assume that you do not have any immediate plans of collecting a few kisses? At least not by a variety of ladies?” His brows rose inquisitively as he looked at Tobias.

“Why would you assume that?” Admittedly, the thought of kissing Anne was overwhelmingly enchanting! Of course, beyond that, his brother was right.

Phineas chuckled, “Do you truly need me to say it, Brother?” They stepped off the last stair and turned toward the drawing room. Stopping in the doorway, Phineas leaned in conspiratorially. “A blind man could see how utterly besotted you are with our little Annie.”

Tobias cringed at his brother’s observation−not that he could fault it, for his gaze instantly found and settled upon the enchanting woman with the deep blue eyes who’d been nothing more than his dearest friend since the day they’d first met.

Now, however, he felt his palms grow moist with nervous excitement at the thought of addressing her. Not long ago, they’d conversed with such ease about every subject imaginable, and now? Now, it seemed a simple greeting might tie up his tongue.

“Ah!” Phineas exclaimed in a hushed tone. “The competitor!”

“What?” Frowning, Tobias looked at his brother before turning in the direction Phineas indicated with a subtle nod of his head. His eyes fell on Lord Gillingham as he greeted Anne and her cousins, bowing formally to all three ladies. His gaze, however, remained locked on Anne.

Tobias’s insides twisted painfully.

“He seems to have taken a special interest in our little Annie,” Phineas mumbled with a smirk on his face. “Would you say they’re suited to one another?” He turned to look at his brother.

Tobias wanted to kick him. “Why are you doing this?” he hissed under his breath.

Phineas shrugged. “I’m only trying to help you along, dear Brother. After all, there is no point in me pointing out charming ladies to you when your heart has already chosen. Would you not agree?” His brows rose in question.

Gritting his teeth, Tobias remained quiet, uncertain what to do or say. After all, Phineas tended to act without thinking, and the last thing Tobias wanted was for his brother to say something to anyone, least of all to Anne, that Tobias wasn’t yet ready to become known.

“Will you at least admit that you no longer see her as our little sister?” Phineas dared him. “You’ve been talking about little else these past few months. It’s always been ‘Anne here’ and ‘Anne there’. Quite frankly, if you don’t make up your mind soon and ask for her hand, I’ll do it for you.”

Tobias didn’t know if he wanted to sink into a hole in the ground or stride across the room, toss Anne over his shoulder and carry her off. “What if she doesn’t want me?” he whispered, shocking himself by discussing this with his brother of all people. “What if she wants…him?” He all but glared across the drawing room to where Anne was nodding to something Lord Gillingham had said.

“I doubt she does,” Phineas replied with a shrug.

“How do you know?”

“Call it a sixth sense. It’s in the way she looks at him.” He chuckled, “Or rather in the way she doesn’t.”

Tobias felt his hopes rise. “What do you mean?”

His brother sighed, “Well, she looks at you in the same besotted way as you look at her.” Again, he chuckled. “I’d say you’re a perfect match.”

Tobias sighed, afraid to trust his brother’s observational skills. “Honestly, how much can you truly tell from a look? I don’t see a difference in how she looks at me and at him.” Was that true? Or was he simply afraid to hope that there was?

“Well, if indeed, you’re right and she cares for Gillingham,” Phineas stated with a tinge of amusement in his voice, “then you have two options.” Here, he stopped and wouldn’t open his mouth again until Tobias begrudgingly asked him to continue. “One, you can stand by and wait until she agrees to marry Gillingham.” Indeed, Tobias had never encountered a thought more terrifying. “Or, two,” Phineas turned to meet his brother’s gaze, “you could change her mind.” A roguish grin spread over his face.

Running a hand through his hair, Tobias tried to think of anything to say that would distract his brother from his current line of thinking. “What about Lady Louisa?” he asked, noting the way she cast bone-chilling glares in Phineas’s direction. “What happened between the two of you?”

Grinning at her, his brother shrugged. “Nothing.”

“So, she hates you for no reason?”

“I’m certain she has one,” Phineas replied, turning to look at Tobias with that utterly innocent expression on his face that made women swoon at his feet without realizing the danger they were putting themselves in. “However, I’m not aware of it.”

“Why do you call her Lulu? It seems to rile her.”

His brother chuckled, “That is precisely why I do it.”

“Pardon me?”

Phineas heaved a somewhat exasperated sigh, “Have you never known the joys that come from fighting with a woman?”

“Joys?” Tobias asked, eyeing his brother through narrowed eyes. “Are you honestly saying that you enjoy her reaction?” He paused. “Do you care for her?”

For a split second, a muscle in Phineas’s jaw tensed before he shook his head laughing. “No one can deny that she’s a beautiful woman,” he stated, that wicked smirk back on his face, “and spirited as well.” He shrugged. “Of course, I wouldn’t mind stealing a kiss. No one in their right mind would. The lady has a very tempting mouth.” His brows wiggled, suggesting the directions of his thoughts−not that they were in doubt. “Perhaps the two of us meeting here this Christmas will provide such an opportunity.” He glanced at the sprig of mistletoe hanging near the pianoforte. “Do you think she would slap me if I pulled her under that bit of greenery there and kissed her?” Phineas asked with a chuckle as he looked at the lady in question, completely unimpressed by the hateful glare she sent his way.

Tobias laughed, “Oh, please do so for I do believe the lady will do much worse to you than grant you a simple slap.” He grasped his brother’s shoulder and met his gaze. “I cannot rightly say that you would not deserve it.”

Phineas grinned devilishly. “I admit I’m thoroughly tempted.” His eyes moved back to Lady Louisa, and for a terrible moment, Tobias truly thought his brother would stride across the room, drag the lady under the mistletoe dangling near the pianoforte and steal a kiss. Fortunately, Phineas was no fool. He often pretended to be one, but Tobias could see his brother’s thoughts churning behind those dark eyes.

Phineas turned back to Tobias. “What about you? Do you think Anne would slap you if you dared to kiss her?”

Tobias cringed.

“Ah!” his brother exclaimed as though he’d just solved a most fascinating riddle. “I see, you’ve wondered about it yourself.”

Swallowing hard, Tobias linked his arms behind his back, trying his utmost not to look at Anne, who was still−to his utter regret−speaking to Lord Gillingham.

Beside him, Phineas sighed, “Simply kiss the girl,” he whispered before his black gaze met Tobias’s, a wicked gleam coming to his eyes, “or I shall do it for you.” His brows went up and down in challenge before he turned and walked away without another word.

Shocked, Tobias stared after him, worried what his brother might do. For although Phineas was no fool, he’d more than once proved to be a rogue of the worst kind.

CHAPTER SIX ~ UNDER THE MISTLETOE

FOR THE LIFE OF HER, Anne could not find a polite way to rid herself of Lord Gillingham’s company. The man had been all but stuck to her side ever since he’d arrived earlier that day. Fate also saw them seated next to one another during supper, refusing to grant Anne a short reprieve.

By the time everyone returned to the drawing room, Anne was exhausted.

“The venison was exquisite,” Lord Gillingham commented as they stood near the pianoforte at a safe distance from the nearest sprig of mistletoe. Thanks to Leonora’s diligent observations, Anne knew well which areas to avoid. “This has indeed been a splendid evening.” He smiled at her, and she could see his blue eyes light up with delight. “I’ve enjoyed your company very much.”

“You’re too kind, Lord Gillingham,” Anne urged herself to reply. After all, he was not only polite and attentive, but also a perfect gentleman. Moreover, Anne had been unable to note any of the objections Leonora had inquired after at the Barrington ball a few weeks back. All in all, there was no reason why she ought to object to his company.

But she did.

In truth, Anne had spent most of the evening trying not to stare at Tobias. He had been seated not directly across from her, but a few chairs down the table on Lord Gillingham’s side next to Grandmother Edie. Fortunately, that had granted her an excuse to turn her gaze in his direction as she did her best to follow Lord Gillingham’s retelling of his last trip to the Continent.

Still, Tobias had been the only one on her mind. She’d stolen glimpses at him as often as inconspicuously possible. His gaze had been distant, his jaw somewhat taut as though something plagued him. Then he’d looked up, and their eyes had met for a split second before Anne had dropped her gaze in utter panic. She’d felt herself blush profusely, unable not to think of her cousin’s plan in that very moment.

What would a kiss feel like?

Tobias’s kiss?

“Would you care for a refreshment?” Lord Gillingham asked her in that moment, jarring Anne from her wayward thoughts. “Or perhaps a turn about the gardens?”

Anne was about to decline when she stopped. Perhaps a brisk walk through the snow would finally chase away that lingering blush that grew each time her eyes fell on her childhood friend. Indeed, it seemed whenever she lifted her gaze this night, Tobias was there, his brown eyes finding hers without fail. Was she simply imagining his presence? Or was it her cousin’s blasted plan that made her overinterpret everything?

“A turn about the gardens sounds lovely,” Anne told Lord Gillingham. “I must admit I feel a bit flushed.”

Immediately, the young lord offered her his arm, and they strode out into the hall.

“Pardon me,” someone spoke out from behind them, and Anne cringed at the sound of Louisa’s voice.

Stopping, Lord Gillingham turned back to look at Louisa. “Yes? Is there something I can help you with, Lady Louisa? Perhaps you would like to join us in the gardens?”

A gentle but somewhat insincere smile came to Louisa’s face. “What a lovely idea,” she told Lord Gillingham with a sideways glance at Anne that made Anne want to sink into a hole in the ground. “However, I’m afraid I need to speak with my cousin about a matter of importance. Would you excuse us?”

A matter of importance? Anne knew that at present there was only one important matter on Louisa’s mind, and she wished her cousin would simply forget about it.

Knowing Louisa, Anne was certain that hell would freeze over before that happened though.

“Of course,” Lord Gillingham replied without hesitation, the look on his face one of deepest concern. “Please, if there is anything I can do.”

“You’re too kind,” Louisa said as she slipped her arm through Anne’s and pulled her back toward the drawing room, where a number of guests had collected around the pianoforte, singing Christmas carols. Joy stood in their eyes as their voices echoed through the room, adding to the warm atmosphere.

Anne, however, felt as though trapped in a block of ice.

“Where did you think you were going?” Louisa demanded under her breath.

“To get a bit of fresh air,” Anne replied, trying to maintain an innocent face. “Why?”

Louisa chuckled, “As though you didn’t know.”

A cold shiver ran down Anne’s back and her eyes widened in panic. “Now?” Her gaze swept the room, but for once Tobias was nowhere to be seen. “You said you’d wait a day or two. Why now?”

Louisa shrugged. “Why wait?” Then she all but delivered Anne into Leonora’s care before hurrying off with a whispered, “You know what to do.”

Tucking a strand of her dark tresses behind her ear, Leonora looked at her with compassion in her eyes. “She means well.”

Anne heaved a deep sigh, wondering if Leonora would truly try to stop her if Anne made to walk off. “I know, but that doesn’t mean this’ll end well.” Looking about herself, Anne felt her palms begin to sweat. This was a disaster waiting to happen! “What now?” she asked Leonora. “What do you…what does she have planned?”

As though you didn’t know. Louisa’s words echoed in her head.

Leonora cast her a warm smile, linking her arm with Anne’s. “You are to wait here with me until the clock strikes ten.”

“And then?” Anne asked, wondering why she even bothered.

Leonora hugged Anne to her. “Why are you fighting this?” she asked gently. “I saw the way you looked at him over supper. Louisa is right. You don’t look at him the way she or I look at Troy. Tobias is not a brother to you, is he?”

Closing her eyes, Anne sighed, “But what if he thinks of me as a sister?” she whispered, knowing full well that not even Leonora with her sharp mind and formidable observational skills could answer that question to Anne’s satisfaction.

RETURNING from Lord Archibald’s study after a glass of brandy, Tobias and his brother were walking down the hall toward the drawing room when they spotted Lady Louisa hurrying from one of the adjoining rooms to the next. Opening a door, she peeked inside before closing it with a rather exasperated huff and then hurrying on to the next, grumbling something unintelligible under her breath.

Beside him, Phineas chuckled, “I admit I’d love to know what goes on in that devilish head of hers.”

“That is no way to speak of a lady,” Tobias chided his brother. Admittedly, he, too, was wondering about Lady Louisa’s rather odd behavior; however, considering Phineas’s poor manners, Tobias could not afford to let an opportunity to reprimand his brother slip by unused.

As expected, Phineas merely laughed, “Believe me, Brother, it was meant as a compliment.”

“I doubt the lady would see it as such,” Tobias protested when the lady in question spotted them.

For a second, she froze on the spot before her eyes widened, and she came charging toward them. “There you are,” she exclaimed, a hint of disapproval in her voice as though they’d failed to meet her at an agreed upon time.

“It’s a delight to see you again, Lulu,” Phineas greeted her with a wide grin. “Are you looking for something?” The left corner of his mouth twitched. “Or rather someone?”

The implication that dripped off Phineas’s voice was not lost on Lady Louisa. For a second, Tobias feared her head would explode as her eyes shot daggers and her cheeks turned a darker shade of red, steam all but coming out of her ears. “You are an utterly despicable man,” she hissed, her hands balled into fists.

“You don’t know the half of it,” Phineas laughed, his dark gaze daring her to make good on the threat that stood in her eyes.

“Will you be quiet!” Tobias snapped at his brother before he turned to Anne’s cousin. “I apologize, my lady. My brother has no manners to speak of.”

Lady Louisa huffed out an annoyed breath. “That is obvious.” After a final glare in his brother’s direction, she seemed to put Phineas out of her mind and turned to him. “Mr. Hawke, do you have a moment? My cousin wishes to speak to you.”

“Anne?” Tobias croaked as a sudden jolt went through him at the mention of her name.

Lady Louisa’s face softened. “Yes, Anne. Would you come with me? I’ll take you to her.”

“Of course.”

When Phineas fell into step beside him, Lady Louisa stopped. “Not you, Lord Barrington.” Indeed, on her lips, it sounded like the worst sort of insult.

Of course, Phineas’s response to such a challenge was laughter. “My dearest Lulu, when will you finally realize that I hold you in the highest esteem?”

Lady Louisa’s brows rose as she regarded him like one would look upon an insect that had crawled onto one’s dinner table. “Coming from you, that is far from a compliment.” Then she spun on her heel and headed back toward the drawing room.

Phineas sighed rather wistfully as he leaned back against a marble column, his legs crossed at the ankles. “That is some woman.”

Tobias shook his head at his brother and then hurried after Lady Louisa, curious what Anne wished to speak to him about.

Thus far, her time had been largely monopolized by Lord Gillingham, and Tobias had been hard pressed not to interfere in a manner that would have been considered impolite. However, he feared that he would trip over his words if he were to attempt a conversation in his current state. Had anything changed since supper? Tobias rather feared it had not.

Inhaling a deep breath, he stepped into the drawing room and spotted Anne and Lady Leonora standing near the pianoforte, a few steps away from a group of caroling guests. Both looked a bit tense. While her cousin, however, appeared no more than a tad nervous, Anne looked ready to faint. Her eyes were wide, and she was wringing her hands in a very agitated manner.

“Is something wrong?” Tobias asked, but Lady Louisa merely smiled at him.

With his eyes on Anne, Tobias watched as she took a bit of a hesitant step forward. Indeed, her whole demeanor suggested that she disagreed with whatever was happening here, and he immediately hurried to her side. “Are you all right?” he asked, running his eyes over her, trying to determine the source of her unease. “You look a bit pale.”

Anne swallowed, and her lips parted as though she wished to speak. In that moment, however, Lady Louisa exclaimed, “Oh, look! They’re standing under some mistletoe!”

Tobias froze as the caroling stopped and encouraging cheers went up around them. When he lifted his head, he spotted the bit of greenery dangling above their heads that Phineas had commented upon earlier that day. Indeed, he ought to have paid better attention.

His heart slammed to a halt as the implication of his situation became clear to him and a sense of dread began to crawl up his spine. Not that he’d mind kissing Anne−far from it!−but not with all these people around, staring at them.

Dimly, he wondered where his brother was. After all, Phineas would have loved to watch him squirm like this. Had he and Lady Louisa conspired to force their hand? While Tobias wouldn’t put it past his brother, he rather doubted that Lady Louisa would have been able to set aside her hatred for Phineas long enough to cook up this plan. No, it had to be a coincidence.

Inhaling a deep breath, Tobias moved his gaze from the small crowd around him and looked down at Anne. Her head was slightly bowed, and she was still wringing her hands. Had she known this would happen? Had it truly been a plan to manipulate them under the mistletoe? Had Lady Louisa acted alone?

Tobias tried to swallow the lump in his throat when he realized that Anne clearly had not approved of her cousin’s idea. Indeed, it seemed he finally had his answer.

Anne did not want to kiss him; that much was clear. Perhaps she truly only saw him as her friend.

When she finally lifted her gaze, Tobias felt the urge to strike something or someone for her eyes barely met his, darting left and right in a nervous fashion. “You have every right to refuse,” he whispered to her, pained by the thought that she would force herself to endure his kiss.

A small smile flitted across her lips, and her eyes finally met his. “It’s all right,” she whispered before her gaze once more strayed from his. “Louisa would never forgive me.” A breath shuddered past her lips. “You do know that this was not my idea, do you not?”

Tobias gritted his teeth, then nodded. This couldn’t possibly get any worse!

CHAPTER SEVEN ~ AN ALMOST PERFECT PLAN

FOR THE FIRST time in her life, Anne was certain she was about to faint.

Bright spots danced before her eyes, and the room appeared rather unsteady, spinning in lazy circles, as she tried her best to focus her attention on the man standing in front of her.

Tobias.

Her childhood friend.

A man she’d loved all her life.

A man who suddenly managed to make her insides dance and jump and do somersaults whenever he drew near. Was that why her heart was racing as though the devil himself were after her? Was that why she couldn’t seem to draw a deep breath into her lungs? Perhaps, the dizziness was of her own making. Perhaps, she simply ought to…

No, there was nothing simple. There was only Louisa’s insane plan and that small little voice deep inside, urging Anne…closer.

Because, yes, she wanted this kiss.

More than she had realized.

Still, excited whispers from the guests watching them with rapt attention echoed to her ears and sent a cold shiver down Anne’s back. It was, however, the look of reluctance as well as distaste on Tobias’s face that made her want to run from the room. For despite her cousin’s conviction as to their compatibility, he did not want this.

When he’d first stepped up to her, Tobias had looked confused and utterly blindsided. Then Louisa’s joyous exclamation had drawn his attention to the sprig of mistletoe above their heads. Anne could still recall the way his eyes had widened. The way his jaw had tensed. She’d watched him through lowered lashes, afraid of what she might see.

And her fears had been justified.

Still, Anne had been unable to grant him a way out when he’d told her she had every right to refuse. Selfishly, she still wanted him.

Wanted this.

And so, she’d hidden behind Louisa, forcing his hand, for he would not abandon her. He would not walk away despite his own objection and shame her. After all, he was her friend.

Anne’s hands were still clenched around one another, held in front of her as though to ward him off, when Tobias moved closer, bridging the small gap still between them. His gaze was unsteady, and a muscle in his jaw moved, clenching and unclenching.

Her breath caught in her throat when his right hand settled on her own, warm and comforting. Her gaze rose and met his, finding his familiar chocolate-brown eyes looking down into hers. “I’m sorry,” he whispered before he lowered his head to hers.

Anne felt like the worst friend in the world for forcing him into this situation. She’d only thought of herself, her own heart, her own fears, neglecting to contemplate how Louisa’s plan would affect Tobias.

Do it fast and be done with it! Her mind urged. Perhaps then it won’t be so bad.

Lifting her head, Anne pinched her eyes shut and…felt the tip of her nose collide with his. His hand on hers tensed, and she could hear a soft snicker from somewhere behind him. Her eyes fluttered open a fraction, and she could see him angle his head, his lips taut. Undoubtedly, he’d heard that snicker as well.

Had there ever been a worse kiss in history?

And they hadn’t even kissed yet.

Determined to see this done, Anne leaned closer. Unfortunately, Tobias seemed to have the same idea.

Once again, their noses collided before she felt his lips briefly brush the corner of her mouth.

It sent a jolt of awareness through her, but it was far from the kiss she’d been hoping for ever since Louisa had first spoken of this ludicrous idea.

Restrained laughter erupted around them as the assembled guests offered a round of applause. Both their eyes flew open, and Anne could see embarrassment darkening Tobias’s face. His jaw clenched as his gaze dropped from hers in what she could only think of as resentment. Oh, what had she done?

“I’m so sorry,” Anne whispered as her eyes swept the small crowd around them. Most had turned away, whispering on the quiet to one another about the worst mistletoe kiss of all times.

Only the suddenly wide-awake face of her cousins’ grandmother held a measure of sympathy as she watched them from her seat near the fireplace. Oh, why couldn’t at least she have slept through this disaster!

“That looked…interesting,” Louisa commented with a rather contrite look on her face as she stepped up to them and pulled Anne’s arm through the crook of hers. “Excuse us.” She cast Tobias an apologetic smile and then pulled Anne out of the room. “What on earth was that?” her cousin whispered, a flabbergast expression upon her face when they were finally alone.

Casting uneasy glances up and down the thankfully empty corridor, Anne shrugged, then looked at her cousin. “This is what comes from all your meddling.”

Louisa’s eyes widened. “Don’t blame this on me. I−”

“Are you all right?” Leonora asked as she came rushing down the corridor, her green eyes full of concern. “That looked awful.”

Anne swallowed, “It felt awful.”

“Perhaps you simply need more practice,” Louisa suggested in that helpful way of hers.

Anne felt her stomach plummet. “You’re not suggesting that−”

“Of course, practice makes perfect.”

Shocked, mortified and furious, Anne stared at her cousin, uncertain which emotion to express first. “He didn’t even want to kiss me,” she then hissed under her breath, her finger pointing accusingly down the corridor toward the drawing room, the place of her greatest humiliation. “Did you not see his face?”

Leonora nodded, her gaze going back and forth between Anne and her sister. “He looked very tense,” she confirmed. “A bit angry, too.”

Anne swallowed as the magnitude of Louisa’s plan washed over her. “He’s my friend,” she told her, “or at least he was.” She drew in a deep breath. “I cannot lose him over this. I can’t.” She shook her head as panic washed over her. “I need to speak to him.”

The thought of losing Tobias terrified Anne like no other ever had. Always had Tobias been a fixture in her life. Always had she been able to turn to him. Always had he been there. But would he after today?

Closing her eyes, Anne remembered the morning after her mother had passed away. She had been eight years old at the time, and the loss had struck her like a club wielded by a giant. Pain and grief had gripped her in an iron vice, shaking her mercilessly.

She had been Annie then, Little Annie, and she had not known what to do with herself, how to fill that gaping hole in her heart, how to soothe that boiling anger that made her grit her teeth until they'd ached.

Her father had been beside himself as well. He had been no help to her. Neither had her governess or Cook or Mary, the upstairs maid. No one had known what to say. All had avoided meeting her eyes.

And then Toby had found her in the stables, curled up with her kitten in the straw. He'd heard what had happened and he'd pestered his father until Lord Barrington had agreed to take him over to the Thatcher family's small estate.

And then he'd sat with her all day until the sun had gone down on Annie's first day without her mother. Toby had sat with her, his little hand on her shoulder, warm and comforting.

And he'd returned the day after that.

And the day after that.

Toby had helped her with her anger and her grief. He'd told her to yell at her mother for leaving. He'd held her when she'd succumbed to tears. He had urged her outside, made her flip pebbles across the lake and pick flowers in the meadow to place on her mother's grave. He'd thrown apples at her, forcing her to move when despair had threatened to overwhelm her. He'd pushed her in the lake and tickled her until her sides had ached. He'd told her that it was all right to be happy again.

Even without her mother.

Toby had been the one to help her through her mother's loss, the one to help her find peace again. Anne knew she could not have done it without him. She needed him. He was her friend, her best friend. She could not lose him.

Not now.

Not ever.

Blinking away the tears, Anne made to rush back to the drawing room. "I need to speak to him."

“Not now,” Louisa objected, her hand closing over Anne’s arm, holding her back. “You’re not in your right mind now and neither is he.” A hint of regret shone in her blue eyes. “You need to calm down. Come, we’ll take a walk in the gardens before we retire.” She looked at Leonora, who nodded in agreement. “You can speak to him tomorrow.”

Allowing her cousins to pull her along, Anne sighed, “Lord Gillingham invited me to take a stroll through the gardens. If only you hadn’t dragged me away.” She met her cousin’s gaze. “None of this would have happened.”

“I’m sorry,” Louisa whispered, and the look in her eyes proved that she was. “I never meant for this to go wrong.”

Anne heaved a deep breath. “I know,” she whispered, wishing she’d had the courage to throw herself out of the moving carriage when she’d had the chance.

UNABLE TO BEAR the snickers a moment longer, Tobias disappeared through the side entrance, wanting nothing more but to put as much distance as possible between himself and those who’d witnessed the moment of his greatest humiliation.

Still, he couldn’t fault them for whispering. If the kiss had looked as awful as it had felt, then he should consider himself fortunate that people hadn’t broken down laughing so hard their sides ached and tears streamed down their faces.

Indeed, this couldn’t have gone worse.

Raking his hands through his hair, Tobias spun around when he heard footsteps echoing up from behind him.

“What the hell was that?” Phin asked chuckling as he moved closer with large strides. “For it sure as hell didn’t look like a kiss.”

Hanging his head, Tobias let himself fall back against the wall. “You saw?”

His brother laughed, “I can’t explain it,” he replied with a mocking tone. “Something called to me, and I walked in the door the moment your noses collided.” He laughed again. “I’m afraid to ask, but…you’ve done this before, haven’t you?”

Heaving a deep breath, Tobias glared at his brother. “Are you only here to mock me?”

Phineas shrugged, a wide grin still on his face. “That, and to ensure you don’t turn and run.”

“What else would you have me do?” Tobias asked, unable to forget the tense look on Anne’s face.

Leaning against the opposite wall, Phineas looked at him. “Well, as they say, if at first you don’t succeed, try again.” His brows rose with meaningful innuendo.

Tobias scoffed, “Are you mad? Did you not see the look of horror on her face? She didn’t want this!” He shook his head in utter disbelief. “It seems reasonable to assume that it was Lady Louisa who cooked up this plan. That’s why she came looking for me. That’s why she used that pretext to push me under the mistletoe with Anne.” He ran his hands over his face. “It was her doing, not Anne’s. Anne never wanted this.”

Phineas chuckled, “I admit I suspected something when she suddenly sought you out.”

“Then why didn’t you warn me?”

His brother shrugged. “More fun this way.”

Tobias’s teeth ground together in barely restrained anger. “You should leave,” he hissed, pushing off the wall and proceeding farther down the corridor.

Undeterred, Phineas followed. “What makes you so certain our little Annie didn’t want to kiss you?”

Tobias’s feet jerked to a halt. “How can you ask that?” His eyes swept his brother’s face. “I thought you saw. I even told her she was free to…refuse,” again, he ran a hand over his face, remembering the slight tremor that had run through her, “but she said that her cousin would never forgive her if she did. It was Lady Louisa’s plan, and Anne did not give her consent. There? Is that answer enough?”

Sighing, Phineas grasped his brother’s shoulders, his dark eyes seeking his. “And did you not wonder why my dear Lulu would cook up such a plan? Why she would force the two of you to kiss?” His brows rose, his eyes watchful, waiting for an answer.

Tobias was stumped. “I…”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, dear Brother,” Phin began in that rather condescending way of his, “but Anne and her cousins are fairly close, aren’t they? They care for one another. Correct?” Phin’s brows rose, demanding his brother acknowledge the truthfulness of his words.

Tobias nodded.

“Now, would you then consider it reasonable that my dear Lulu did what she did to spite Anne? To see her humiliated? To force her to do something she despises?”

Tobias cringed at his brother’s words; still, the logic behind them gave him hope. “You think…?”

Phin nodded. “Our little Annie cares for you, and in my humble opinion, she is just as worried that you might not care for her as you are that she doesn’t care for you.” He rolled his eyes. “If you ask me, it’s all fairly obvious. However, since you’ve been rather blind as of late with regard to these matters, I’ll spell it out for you.”

Tobias shrugged off his brother’s hands. “Do you have to be such an ass?”

“Is that any way to speak to a man who’s trying to help you?” Clucking his tongue, Phin shook his head.

Tobias heaved a deep sigh, willing himself to remain calm.

“Now, the only reasonable explanation for Lulu’s plan is that she knows Anne cares for you, and she’s just as annoyed with her inability to speak her mind as I am with yours.” He fixed his brother with a pointed stare. “So, she thought what better way to end this little dance you two do around one another than to have you kiss.”

Tobias frowned. “But it didn’t solve anything. I still−”

“I admit Lulu’s plan wasn’t perfect. She−”

“Do you have to call her Lulu?” Tobias demanded, wondering about his brother’s sanity. After all, despite Phineas’s feigned disinterest, he seemed to care for the meddlesome Lady Louisa. Why on earth would he constantly aggravate her?

“Yes,” was all his brother cared to say on the subject. “She failed to consider the strain of being observed by a bunch of obnoxious tattletales. If you want my advice−”

“I’m not certain I do.”

Phin chuckled, “Believe me, you do.” He slapped his brother on the back. “Find our little Annie alone and kiss her again. But do it right this time, or you might truly frighten her off.” Grinning, he patted Tobias on the shoulder a couple of times before he turned to leave. “I’d suggest the library,” he remarked over his shoulder. “Even you should be able to think of a pretext to lure her in there.”

Watching his brother walk away, Tobias once more leaned against the wall at his back, his heart beating fast with this new revelation. Could it be true? Could Phineas be right? Did Anne genuinely care for him? What if he took his brother’s advice, kissed her again and she…?

Tobias gritted his teeth and nodded to himself. “There’s only one way to find out.”

CHAPTER EIGHT ~ IN THE LIBRARY

ANNE BARELY SLEPT a wink all night for her mind chose to torture her by replaying the moment under the mistletoe again and again. And every time, she cringed at the sight of Tobias’s taut face, the hard look in his eyes, his set jaw.

Oh, what had she done? Would he still be her friend today? How would they meet after what had happened? Was it possible to simply pretend that it never had happened?

As sleep proved elusive, Anne rose early. She donned a simple dress, not bothering to wake her maid, and ventured downstairs. She had no destination in mind but found herself wandering the hallways rather aimlessly. Her eyes were blind to the softly glistening snow outside as the sun began to peek over the horizon, announcing a new day. Her feet moved on their own, her gaze gliding over paintings of Lord Archibald’s ancestors as well as his extensive collection of Greek urns. She heard her footfalls on the marble floors and noted their absence as she stepped across the threshold into the library. Here, a large carpet covered the floor where a sitting area had been set up near the large fireplace. Flames danced in its grate, sending out their warmth like waves rolling onto a beach.

Walking up to the window, Anne stared out into the white gardens of Windmere Park, her thoughts still lingering on what to say, how to apologize, how to right the wrong she’d done Tobias. Ought she tell him the truth about her cousin’s ludicrous idea?

The thought sent a shiver down her back for Anne knew without a doubt that it would destroy her if Tobias laughed it off as she herself had pretended to more than once. For the truth was that Louisa was right. Heaven help her, but her cousin was right.

“He’s no brother to me,” Anne whispered into the stillness of the early morning. “Nor is he simply a friend.” Still, Anne would be forever grateful if only she did not lose his friendship. A life without Tobias was one she could not even begin to imagine.

“You’re up early.”

At the sound of Tobias’s voice, Anne spun around, her eyes wide and her cheeks burning hotter than the fire in the grate. Had he heard what she’d just foolishly said out loud?

Standing in the doorway, he looked at her, his warm gaze familiar and comforting. Although there was a hint of tension on his face, he seemed more relaxed than the day before. “Are you all right?” he asked as he stepped toward her, and for one precious moment, she found herself looking at the friend she knew.

Always had he looked out for her, his gaze watchful, easily detecting even the smallest concern that rested upon her mind. He’d always known the measurements of her heart, been a confidante to her fears and dreams. And never had she looked at him and not felt utterly at peace.

Except now. “I couldn’t sleep,” Anne managed to say despite the rapid beating of her traitorous heart. Why on earth did she have to do something so foolish and fall for her best friend?

“Nor I.” Holding her gaze, Tobias crossed the carpet in front of the fireplace and came to stand beside her, his gaze moving to the snow-covered grounds. “I came to find you,” he told her without looking at her.

Anne swallowed and turned to stand shoulder to shoulder with him, her own gaze directed out the window as well. “Why?” she dared to ask, afraid that their friendship was at a crossroads, that they would never again be able to speak openly with one another as they always had.

A muscle in his jaw twitched. “I thought we should speak.” He inhaled a slow breath. “About…our kiss.”

Cold panic crept up Anne’s back, and she had to fight the urge to wrap her arms around herself. “What about it?” she asked through gritted teeth, forcing a bit of a chuckle into her voice. “I was hoping we could pretend it had never happened.”

Tobias turned to look at her. “You did? Why?”

Too nervous to face him, Anne kept her gaze fixed on the glistening snow outside. “I admit I’m embarrassed.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see him frown at her. “Because of the onlookers?”

“Because…because it was my first kiss.” She chanced a look at him. “I suppose I…I did it wrong, judging by the snickers it−” He stepped toward her and she almost flinched, her eyes swinging around to meet his.

“You did nothing wrong,” Tobias told her gently; still, a hint of anger laced his voice. “Your cousin ought not have fabricated the moment.”

Anne felt her jaw drop. “You know she…?”

“I guessed as much.”

“I’m so sorry,” Anne stammered, feeling like a fool. Her eyes were beginning to brim with tears as she looked up at him. “Please, let us forget it ever happened.”

His gaze swept over her face and his features gentled. “You said it was your first kiss.” He took a step toward her and, suddenly, his fingers were tracing the line of her jaw until they gently grasped her chin, slightly tilting it upward.

Anne almost dropped to the ground with shock at the soft touch, at his nearness, at…the look in his eyes. “What are you doing?” she whispered breathlessly. “Why…why are you looking at me like that?”

A slow smile teased the corners of his mouth upward before his eyes dropped from hers. She could all but feel his gaze trace the line of her lips and her heart stumbled in her chest. Her knees grew weak, and she had to draw in a deep breath to focus her thoughts.

“Do you object?” Tobias asked, his meaning unmistakably clear as he moved closer still.

Anne knew not what to think…or do…or say. “But…I…We…we’ve tried and…and it was a disaster. Why−?”

A surprised chuckle rumbled in his throat, “A disaster? That’s a bit harsh, wouldn’t you say?”

Anne frowned as a bit of the old ease that had always existed between them re-emerged. Her lips curled into a smile. “What would you call it then?”

Closing his eyes briefly, Tobias laughed. “Very well. It was a disaster.”

“Precisely.” Bolstered by the sense of normalcy that washed over her, Anne stood a bit taller. Still, Tobias’s fingers continued to linger on her chin, and her skin tingled with the touch. “Then why try again?” she demanded boldly. “There’s nothing to be gained.” Deep down, a little voice screamed at her to shut up and accept what he was offering. Because what he was offering was a kiss, wasn’t it?

A kiss to make up for the one that had so horribly gone wrong. A kiss without onlookers. A kiss on their own terms. A kiss Anne wanted with all her heart.

“I disagree,” he replied, his gaze now serious as his fingers on her chin tightened. “Close your eyes.”

A weak breath shuddered past Anne’s lips. “Are you serious?”

“Close your eyes,” he demanded, not allowing her to distract him.

“But…?”

A small smile teased his lips, and he shook his head ever so slightly. “Close…your…eyes.”

Terrified, and yet, utterly tempted, Anne finally did as he bade her. Her eyelids fluttered closed, and to her great dismay, the memory of their noses colliding instantly resurfaced.

Only this time was different.

This time, Anne felt him lean closer, the warmth of his body reaching out to her like the fire in the grate. She felt his breath brush gently over her skin, tickling her lips, parting them as a small gasp escaped her. Her lids began to flutter, urging her to peek, to see that he was truly there, that she had not strayed into a dream.

“Don’t you dare,” he growled against her lips, a hint of humor in his voice.

“I cannot bear the suspense any l−”

His mouth claimed hers swiftly, and despite everything that had led up to this moment, it was thoroughly unexpected.

Her heart and mind were reeling from the sensations that rushed through her body. Everything felt foreign, new, utterly unfamiliar, but so very right. The gentle pressure of his lips, the soft grasp of his fingers upon her chin, the way his other hand brushed down her arm and then settled upon her waist.

Pushing closer, Anne responded to his kiss on instinct alone, wondering how she suddenly knew what to do. Nothing felt awkward as it had before, and her hands snaked up his chest, her fingertips coming to rest against the side of his neck. His pulse beat as fast as her own, and she wondered if he too felt unhinged and at peace at the same time.

Unlike their mistletoe kiss from the day before, this kiss was everything Anne had dreamed of and more and she sank into Tobias’s arms on a contented sigh.

CHAPTER NINE ~ THE COMPETITOR INTERVENES

RESISTING the urge to deepen their kiss, Tobias held her close, overcome by the strength of this sudden need for her. He’d loved Anne all his life, and yet, this felt different.

Her lips were soft and curious under his own, and her skin felt velvety and warm to his touch. Her heart beat fast as she leaned into him, welcoming his kiss, his touch…

…welcoming him.

Our little Annie cares for you, his brother’s voice echoed in his mind and, in that moment, Tobias wanted nothing more than to believe it. To know that it was true. Was there more between them than friendship? Could Anne truly love him? Not like a brother, but−

Footsteps echoed up the hallway outside the library, drawing closer to the door Tobias had foolishly left ajar.

Anne had to have heard it as well for she stilled, then broke their kiss, her blue eyes wide. “Did you hear that?” she whispered before her gaze darted past his shoulder.

Grabbing her hand, Tobias pulled her behind the tall bookshelf, separating the sitting area from the main part of the library. “Quiet,” he whispered as they hid behind tall volumes filled with archeological expertise.

Staring into each other’s eyes, they heard the door swing open quietly before soft footsteps proceeded into the room. “Miss Thatcher, are you in here?” came Lord Gillingham’s voice, and Tobias felt a worrisome urge to pound the man into the ground well up in his chest.

Anne’s hands tensed on his, and a warning look came to her wide eyes before she shook her head at him.

Tobias gritted his teeth, wondering if she simply knew him too well or if his murderous thoughts were written all over his face.

Peeking above the rim of two particularly thick volumes, Anne frowned, then drew in a deep breath and met his eyes. She pointed at his chest and then at the ground, urging him to stay where he was.

Tobias raised his brows, asking what she planned to do.

With two fingers, she imitated someone walking in the direction of the door, namely herself.

Tobias gritted his teeth against the objections that rose in his heart. Still, she was right. They couldn’t be found together. It would compromise her, and even though their second kiss had been life-altering for him, Tobias could not be certain how Anne felt about it. And he would never force her hand.

Nodding, he took a step back and allowed her to pass, returning the smile she cast at him over her shoulder as best as he could. Then he watched her take a deep breath and step around the tall shelf. “Lord Gillingham, is that you?”

A large smile came to the man’s face, and Tobias’s hands balled into fists. “Good morning, Miss Thatcher,” Lord Gillingham greeted her with a bow. “I’d hoped to find you here after your cousin told me that you’d risen early. I remembered you mentioning your fondness for the written word and decided to try my luck.” He offered her his arm. “It would seem Fortune smiles on me. May I escort you down to breakfast?”

Smiling at the man, Anne slipped her hand through the crook of Lord Gillingham’s arm. “Yes, thank you. I admit I’m rather famished.”

A few steps brought them to the doorway where Lord Gillingham paused. “Did you choose a book you wished to read?” His gaze returned to the tall-standing shelves. “I apologize if I interrupted you.”

“I couldn’t decide,” Anne told him. “I’ll come back later.” Then she made to step across the threshold but stopped when Lord Gillingham failed to move.

Tobias frowned as the man smiled at Anne in a rather odd way, then pointed upward. “It would seem we find ourselves under some mistletoe, my dear Miss Thatcher.”

Tobias’s heart almost beat out of his chest as he stared at Anne. She had stilled at Lord Gillingham’s words and was now slowly raising her gaze. When her eyes fell on the small branch, she drew in a slow breath. Her jaw tensed, and he thought to see a hint of reluctance come to her face.

Lord Gillingham chuckled, “I’ve heard of yesterday’s unfortunate encounter.” The man’s gaze sought Anne’s. “Perhaps you’ll have better luck with me.”

Red hot jealousy burnt in Tobias’s veins, and he could barely keep himself from charging out of his hiding spot. If he’d still needed an answer as to how he felt about Anne, it now seemed perfectly clear. Still, he could not allow her to be compromised, which was exactly what would happen if Lord Gillingham learned that Anne had not been alone in the library.

Nevertheless, the thought of another man kissing his Anne turned Tobias’s stomach. It was wrong.

Simply wrong.

She was his, was she not?

At least, he wanted her to be. But what was he to do now?

“Lord Gillingham, perhaps…,” Anne began as the young lord stepped closer, intent on claiming his prize. Her eyes flitted over her shoulder, and for the barest of seconds, they met Tobias’s before she lifted a hand to stop Lord Gillingham’s approach. “I do not believe it wise to−”

The man’s hand grasped Anne’s, pulling her toward him. “I admit I’ve been hoping for such an opportunity.”

“My lord, I−”

“There you are!” exclaimed a familiar voice a moment before Lady Louisa appeared in the door frame. “We’ve been looking all over for you.”

Lady Louisa’s gaze moved from Anne to Lord Gillingham and then, with no more than a glance, she took note of the mistletoe above their heads. Instantly, her jaw set, and her eyes met Anne’s. “You must excuse us once more, Lord Gillingham,” she said with an utterly sweet smile. “But I require my cousin’s aid in a most serious matter yet again.”

Lord Gillingham sighed, clearly displeased with Lady Louisa’s interference. Tobias, on the other hand, breathed a sigh of relief. Never in his life had he been this grateful for Lady Louisa’s meddlesome tendencies.

Indeed, it was good to know she was on his side.

After Anne and her cousin had walked away, Lord Gillingham’s footfalls also retreated, and silence once more fell over the library. Running a hand over his face, Tobias stepped out of his hiding place, his gaze gliding over the peaceful gardens, slumbering under a white blanket.

He’d kissed her; and she’d kissed him back. The thought brought a smile to his lips, and Tobias hardly knew how to contain the joy that surged through his heart.

“I see you took my advice.”

At the sound of his brother’s voice, Tobias closed his eyes. “Why is it that you always appear when it’s least convenient?”

Phineas chuckled as his feet carried him to his brother’s side. “It is my special talent, I would say.” Leaning casually against the wall, Phin looked at him, the look in his eyes one of inquisitive watchfulness. “I assume you were successful.” His brows rose in meaningful innuendo.

Tobias exhaled a deep breath and turned to look at his brother. “And why would you assume that?”

“Because you look like the cat who got the cream, that’s why,” Phineas replied with another chuckle. “Will you now finally admit that you love our little Annie?”

Unable not to, Tobias smiled. “There’s no point in denying it now, is there?”

Phineas shook his head. “Very little. But then, you’ve always been a bad liar.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

His brother shrugged. “I suppose that depends on your perspective.” He pushed off the wall and came to stand in front of Tobias. “So, when will you ask her?”

Tobias frowned. “Ask her?”

“To marry you!” Phineas rolled his eyes. “Please, don’t tell me I’ll need to talk you into this as well.”

Tobias turned to leave. “I’ll not discuss this with you, dear Brother.” After all, who knew what Phineas would do with the information obtained? First, Tobias needed to speak to Anne−alone!−and find out where her heart was.

If it beat for him…or not.

If she’d merely been taken with her first−or second−kiss…or if she felt that awareness between them as well.

Tobias could only hope that she did, for he could not bear the thought of losing her to another.

At least, it seemed that Lord Gillingham did not hold her favor. That was encouraging!

CHAPTER TEN ~ A BLIND FOOL…

LOUISA’S HAND felt like an iron vice around her arm as she dragged Anne back down the corridor toward their chambers. Just as she pushed open the door, Leonora came rushing around the opposite corner. Upon spotting them, her eyes widened, and she quickened her step, hastening to their side. “Oh, you found her!” Her gaze moved to Anne. “Are you all right? We were quite worried when we found you gone this morning.”

Shooing them all into her chamber, Louisa then closed the door. “I found her with Gillingham under some mistletoe,” she snapped, open disapproval in her voice. “I knew that man was up to something.”

Leonora’s jaw dropped. “Did he kiss you?”

“I−” Anne began; however, she didn’t get any further.

“I do believe I got there just in time,” Louisa rushed to say, and her blue eyes swiveled to Anne. “Didn’t I?”

Anne nodded. “You did. Thank you.” A grateful smile came to her lips, for after kissing Tobias, the last thing she would have wanted to do had been to share a mistletoe kiss with Lord Gillingham.

Louisa patted Anne’s shoulder reassuringly before she began to pace the length of the room, her eyes moving fast as words poured from her mouth. “What happened proves that you were right about Lord Gillingham. He clearly has certain intentions toward you.” Her gaze rose to meet Anne’s. “And that means that you’ll need to make up your mind about our dear Mr. Hawke.”

The mere mention of Tobias brought a flutter to Anne’s stomach, and she couldn’t help a deep smile from spreading over her face.

Instantly, Louisa’s eyes narrowed. “What happened?” she asked, hopeful suspicion in her voice that made Leonora turn and look at Anne with renewed interest.

Anne sighed contentedly. “He kissed me.”

“Lord Gillingham?” Leonora asked, her eyes going wide. “But I thought you said−”

“Not him!” Louisa interrupted with a wide grin. “She’s talking about our dear Mr. Hawke.”

Leonora clasped her hands together. “He kissed you? How? Why? When? Where?”

Anne nodded, loving her cousins for their excitement.

Louisa put a finger to her lips. “I’d say, when and where are easy: a few minutes ago, in the library, am I not right?” Biting her lower lip, Anne nodded. “How? Well, judging from the look on your face, I think it’s safe to assume that this kiss went significantly better than the last.” Anne felt her face turn as red as a tomato. “Then, there is the question of why?” Louisa took a step toward Anne. “Why did he kiss you?”

Needing a bit of space, Anne ventured over to the window and looked down at the frozen grounds. “He found me in the library, and I apologized for our kiss. I told him that…it had been my first and−”

“Your first?” Louisa exclaimed, and as Anne turned to look at her over her shoulder, she found her cousin’s eyes as round as plates. “Well, that certainly explains yesterday’s disaster.”

A weak breath shuddered past Anne’s lips as the word reminded her of the moment she’d shared with Tobias only moments ago. Still, she could not deny that there was a bit of a dark cloud hanging over that precious moment. Why had Tobias kissed her? Why indeed?

Sighing, Anne turned to look at her cousins. “I don’t know why he kissed me. I was so nervous, but then suddenly, it felt like…us again.” Her gaze moved from Louisa to Leonora. “Do you think he only kissed me to make amends for that awkward mistletoe kiss? Because he knew that it had been my first? Did he feel guilty? Did he pity me?” The thought made her insides twist and turn.

Louisa chuckled, “You know I love you, do you not?” she asked as she stepped forward and grasped Anne’s hands.

Anne nodded.

“Therefore, saying this hurts me more than it hurts you, but it must be said.” Louisa inhaled a bit of an overly dramatic breath and then met Anne’s gaze head-on. “You’re a fool.”

Anne stilled. “Pardon me?”

“Well, it’s either that or you’re blind.” She lifted a hand and held it up to Anne’s face. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

Anne frowned, staring at Louisa’s hand before moving her gaze to her cousin’s face. “What on earth are you talking about?”

Louisa shrugged. “Well, you must be as blind as a bat if you cannot see that that man loves you.”

Anne’s jaw dropped, and her heart stumbled.

“You cannot know that,” Leonora threw in as she stepped forward, giving up her observational post for a more active one. “Although I do hope you’re right, we cannot know if Mr. Hawke did not kiss Anne for any of the reasons she listed.”

“Oh, he didn’t!” Louisa objected vehemently.

Leonora crossed her arms over her chest. “How would you know?”

“I simply do,” Louisa insisted. “I was right before, wasn’t I?” She looked from Leonora to Anne, a challenge in her wide blue eyes. When neither one of them objected, she turned to Anne. “You do not see him as a brother, do you?”

Smiling, Anne shook her head. Indeed, here and now, that thought seemed ludicrous. How could she ever have thought of him as a brother?

“Then trust me now,” Louisa pleaded as she once again grasped Anne’s hands. “Go claim that man before Lord Gillingham manages to spoil everything.”

Anne swallowed, now more terrified than ever before to have been mistaken. To lose Tobias despite her cousin’s reassurances. No longer would she be satisfied with his friendship. No, now, she wanted more. A curse of her own making. But did he as well?

“I promise I’ll speak to him,” Anne mumbled, at a loss as to how to breach such a sensitive subject. “Perhaps tomorrow or−”

Louisa groaned, “At your pace, I’ll die of old age before you two finally tie the knot!”

Anne stared at her cousin. “How can you be so certain?”

“I simply am,” Louisa told her with a gentle smile. “If you were me and you’d seen what I’ve seen, you would be as well. Trust me, dear cousin, and don’t wait too long. Or you’ll forever regret it.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN ~ LADY LOUISA’S MOMENT

WITH TWO DOZEN guests staying at Windmere Park, breakfast was a rather loud affair. Cheerful voices echoed up and down the table as plans were discussed, discarded, altered and ultimately agreed upon. Tobias, however, only had eyes for Anne.

Never in his life had he been as oblivious to the world around him as he was now. He barely noticed what he put in his mouth and chewed for his focus lay with the bewitching, young lady two seats down on the opposite side of the table.

So close.

But still, too far away.

Fortunately, this morning, she was flanked by her two cousins. They whispered to each other confidently, and occasionally their eyes looked across the table at him. While her cousins’ eyes swept over him with a somewhat less restrained directness, Anne only ever glanced in his direction, quickly dropping her gaze back to her plate the moment their eyes met.

Tobias smiled at the somersault his heart did whenever that happened, and he could not wait to speak to her again.

Perhaps even kiss her again.

Would she want him to?

If only he knew.

After breakfast, many headed outside to the frozen lake. The sun shone brightly, and the air was brisk and refreshing. Snow had stopped falling overnight, but now lay in thick layers upon the ground. Footmen had cleared it off the frozen lake, though, and people were gathering on its banks, strapping on skates.

“I assume you have yet to speak to her,” Phineas remarked as he came to sit next to Tobias on one of the benches that had been set around the small lake, “for she is over there and you are here.” His brows rose, demanding an answer.

“I fail to see how this is any of your business,” Tobias replied defensively as he strapped on his own skates. “I will speak to her when the time is right.”

Phineas scoffed, “Then you’ll be waiting forever, dear Brother, for I have no doubt you’ll always manage to conjure a reason to delay.” His hand settled upon Tobias’s shoulder. “Speak to her. Now.” His other hand gestured across the lake to where Anne and Leonora were skating near an overhanging willow tree. “Before it’s too late.”

Tobias tensed the moment he caught sight of Lord Gillingham. The man’s gaze was fixed on Anne as he skated closer, the intent in his eyes unmistakable.

Phineas chuckled, “I wonder whose idea it was to hang one of those kissing boughs upon the tree there.” He laughed, his eyes moving to settle upon Tobias. “Lord Archibald seems oddly dedicated to uphold this charming tradition.”

Swallowing hard, Tobias noted that his brother was right. Not far from where Anne was skating, a bright green mistletoe sprig dangled from the tree above. “Bloody hell!” Tobias cursed when Lord Gillingham reached the cousins’ side, greeting first Leonora and then Anne.

The man offered her his arm, and she reluctantly accepted it, unaware that he was urging her closer to the kissing bough.

Tobias would have jumped to his feet had he not been wearing skates. As it was, all he could do was surge upward, his gaze fixed upon his greatest fear when his brother’s tense voice cut through his thoughts. “What the hell is she doing?”

Looking up, Tobias found Phineas staring at Lady Louisa who came skating over from the other side of the lake with lightning speed. Her gaze was locked on Anne, and she didn’t appear to have any intent of slowing down.

Meanwhile, it seemed Anne had finally realized Lord Gillingham’s intention for her face flushed red and she seemed to be looking about herself as though searching for a way out.

Tobias’s heart warmed at the thought that once again she did not wish to kiss the persistent lord. Still, sometimes persistence won out!

Not today, though.

EVERYTHING HAPPENED IN A BLUR.

One moment, Anne felt her stomach drop at the sight of Lord Gillingham drawing closer for a kiss−for the second time that day no less!−and in the next, Louisa crashed into her, knocking her down onto the frozen lake. The air rushed from her lungs, and her right hip throbbed a bit where it connected with the ice.

Louisa ended up sprawled on top of her, her blond curls tickling Anne’s nose. “Oh, I’m so sorry, dearest,” her cousin exclaimed, deepest concern in her voice as she made to scramble back onto her feet. “I tried to stop but…” Her voice trailed off, an apologetic look in her eyes.

“I’m fine,” Anne assured her as Lord Gillingham helped her to her feet.

“Are you sure?” Leonora asked as her eyes swept over Anne, no doubt looking for injuries. “That looked awful.”

“She truly ought to lie down,” Lord Gillingham insisted, rather unwilling to relinquish his hold on Anne’s arm. “I’ll have Lord Archibald send for the doctor.”

“I’m fine,” Anne insisted with equal vehemence, starting to become vexed when the man refused to release her arm. “Do you mind?” she asked with a pointed stare. “I’m quite capable of walking on my own. I’ve been doing it for almost twenty years.”

Louisa chuckled, and when Anne turned to look at her cousin, she thought to see something there that made her pause. “I quite agree, Lord Gillingham,” Louisa said with a serious face; still, Anne could not help but notice the slight quirk in her cousin’s lips. “Leonora, would you help her back to her room and see to her?”

Nodding, Leonora took Anne’s other arm and pulled her toward the bank and the bench situated not far off. “Come. We’ll head inside. You could use something warm to drink.”

Anne glanced back over her shoulder and noticed not only a fallen expression on Lord Gillingham’s face, but also a rather triumphant one on Louisa’s. “This was no accident,” Anne mumbled before she turned to look at Leonora. “She crashed into me on purpose.”

Leonora paused and looked back at Lord Gillingham. “Would you rather she hadn’t?”

Anne drew in a deep breath, and her gaze moved to the other side of the frozen lake where Tobias stood. His posture seemed tense even from a distance, and Anne allowed herself to believe that he too was grateful for Louisa’s interference. “She did it to protect me from Lord Gillingham,” Anne whispered to herself.

Beside her, Leonora nodded. “She can be quite troublesome at times, but she’s also a fierce ally to have.” Love and admiration swung in Leonora’s voice, and when Anne turned to look at her cousin, she found a warm smile on her face.

Anne sighed, “I always wanted a sister.”

“Careful what you wish for,” Leonora chuckled as they sat down on the bench to remove the skates from their boots. “Gratitude can be quickly replaced by annoyance.”

Anne laughed, believing every word. Still, she would thank her cousin for her interference. After all, Tobias was the only man Anne wanted to kiss.

That, at least, she was certain of now.

CHAPTER TWELVE…OR TWO

RELIEVED, Tobias watched Anne and her cousin, Lady Leonora, return to the house, leaving behind a somewhat desolate-looking Lord Gillingham.

“That was close,” Phineas remarked beside him. “I hope you’ll heed my advice now and not delay any further.”

Tobias sighed and nodded, “I should speak to her.”

“Indeed, you should,” said a slightly annoyed voice to his right.

When he turned, Tobias found Lady Louisa standing on the bank, her arms akimbo and a bit of a frustrated glare in her blue eyes. Without him noticing, she had made her way across the frozen lake, then removed her skates and was now watching him with great displeasure.

Intrigued, Phineas approached her, his dark gaze raking over her in open admiration. “You’re quite a menace, my dear Lulu.”

Her jaw tensed as she looked past him, ignoring Phineas as best as she could. “I know you care for her,” Lady Louisa said to Tobias without preamble, her eyes watchful, no doubt noting the way he all but sighed at the mere mention of Anne. “Why then do you stand idly by and allow another to steal kisses?”

Tobias tensed. “What ought I have done? I was too far away.”

Lady Louisa’s lips curled into a wicked smile. “Not this morning in the library.” Her brows rose in challenge. “I interfered and prevented the worst as I did again just now. However, I won’t be able to keep Lord Gillingham away from her indefinitely.” She took a step toward him, but then flinched, sucking in a sharp breath. “You need−”

“Are you hurt?” The easy smile slid off Phineas’s face as he grasped her hand, his gaze falling to her right foot.

“I’m fine,” Lady Louisa snapped, jerking her hand out of his. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t touch me, Lord Barrington.” Her voice was icy, and Tobias did not fail to notice that it seemed to cut his brother as few things ever had before.

“Why?” Tobias asked. “Not that I’m not grateful for your interference, but why?”

Lady Louisa sighed, a rather indulgent look coming to her eyes. “Because I want to see her happy and because I believe you’re the one to achieve it.” Her gaze warmed. “She loves you, and I feel deeply confident in my conclusion that you love her as well. Is that not so?”

Staring at Lady Louisa, Tobias barely heard the remainder of her words as her first three continued to echo in his mind. She loves you.

Lady Louisa exhaled an exasperated sigh, “Apparently, you’re as blind as she is.” She took another step closer, cringing once again as she put weight on her right foot. “How can you not see it?” She shook her head in disbelief. “Be that as it may, if you no longer think of her as Little Annie, then you need to act. Fast.”

Phineas scoffed, “That’s precisely what I said.”

Shock came to Lady Louisa’s face as she turned to look upon him for the first time. “You did?” Her lips thinned in something resembling disgust.

In answer, Phineas wiggled his brows in that deeply annoying way. “Believe me, it came as quite a shock to me as well that we actually agree on something. A grave sign, indeed, for it surely prophesies the end of the world as we know it.” Then he laughed.

Rolling her eyes, Lady Louisa returned to ignoring Phineas, which was generally sound advice. Again, she took a painful step toward Tobias. “Well? What do you intend to do?”

“You should have a doctor look at your ankle,” Tobias advised, equally determined not to discuss his plans with Lady Louisa. The woman was as intrusive as Phineas. Why the two of them didn’t get along was beyond him.

“Don’t try to distract me,” Lady Louisa hissed, annoyance darkening her face. “You−”

“I’m not trying to distract you,” Tobias insisted. “However, I do believe you’re in significant pain. You should−”

“He’s right,” Phineas exclaimed, and without another word, he swept Lady Louisa into his arms and marched back toward the house.

Tobias couldn’t help but laugh as the lady protested not only loudly, but also with severe-looking smacks to his brother’s upper body−anything within reach! Phineas, however, seemed to find her reaction deeply amusing as his hold on her never wavered.

Perhaps Anne was right. Perhaps those two would either kill each other before the year was out or fall madly in love.

Tobias sighed, “Anne,” he whispered to himself, loving the sound of her name for it conjured her beautiful face. “Will you marry me?” he mumbled, imagining what it would be like to have her by his side for all the days to come.

Would she say yes?

“TRULY, LEO, I’M FINE,” Anne told her cousin after they’d returned to her chamber. “I’ll probably have a bit of a bruise on my hip, but other than that I suffered no injury.”

“I’m glad,” Leonora replied, both of her hands wrapped around a warm cup of tea as they sat in Anne’s chamber, trying to warm up. “I admit it looked quite horrifying the way she crashed into you.”

“That’s Louisa for you,” Anne remarked with a smile. “She never does anything half-heartedly.”

Leonora grinned. “No, she doesn’t. Sometimes that worries me for I fear that−”

“You foul-mouthed oaf! Put me down this instant!”

Both cousins froze, their eyes widening as they heard Louisa’s booming voice echo through the closed door to Anne’s chamber. “What is going on?” Anne asked as she hurried to cross to the door, then pulled it open.

“Miss Thatcher, Lady Leonora,” Phineas greeted them with a smirk on his face as he walked by, a struggling Louisa in his arms. Ignoring her protests, he carried her a few steps farther, then pushed open the door to her chamber and walked inside.

“What happened?” Leonora asked, her eyes wide with concern as both cousins hurried after them.

“He won’t put me down!” Louisa snapped, once more shoving against Phineas’s chest. “This poor excuse for a man won’t−”

“She twisted her foot with that little stunt of hers,” Phineas explained over his shoulder. “I asked to send for a doctor, but I suggest you cool her ankle until he arrives.”

Leonora nodded and immediately darted off.

“Put me down!” Louisa hissed yet again as Phineas moved to settle her upon the bed. However, another one of her abrupt shoves against his chest promptly made him lose his balance.

Anne stared as Phineas with Louisa in his arms tipped forward and they both fell onto the bed. Phineas barely managed to catch himself with one outstretched arm, their faces now close enough for a kiss. “If you wanted me in your bed,” Phineas whispered with a grin, “all you had to do was ask.”

Anne bit her lip to keep a grin from showing on her face for the look in Louisa’s eyes spoke only remotely of annoyance. Indeed, there was something there that whispered of temptation and desire held in check. Perhaps Anne was not the only one hesitant to admit where her heart truly lay.

“Get off me!” Louisa hissed, once she’d recovered her wits. “Or I swear I will end you!”

Chuckling, Phineas rose to his feet, “Charming as always, dear Lulu.” His gaze moved to her ankle, and the expression on his face sobered. “For once, take care of yourself.” Then he turned, smiled at Anne and walked out the door…

…right past a very curious looking Grandma Edie.

Pushing herself up into a seated position, Louisa glared at the door. “That man is despicable! He had the nerve to−”

“To carry you to your chamber all the way from the lake,” Anne interrupted as she came to sit beside her cousin. “Is that not so?”

Closing the door, Grandma Edie settled into an armchair in the corner, her pale eyes watchful. “He carried you inside?” She chuckled with a glance at the door through which Phineas had left. “Perhaps he discovered some manners after all.”

“I didn’t ask him to!” Louisa snapped defensively. “Quite on the contrary, he refused to set me down!”

“But it was kind of him to do so,” Anne insisted, sharing a bit of a complicit look with Louisa’s grandmother. “To carry you back to your chamber.” She marveled as she glimpsed a moment of contemplation flit over Louisa’s face. However, it passed before it could linger.

“Who knows why?” her cousin hissed. “I have no doubt he’ll mock me about it endlessly.” Her teeth ground together before she finally managed to shake off the thoughts that riled her. “Let’s forget about that odious man and talk about our dear Mr. Hawke.”

Anne inhaled a deep sigh, “I promised I would speak to him and I shall.”

Leaning back against her pillows, Louisa reached for Anne’s hand. “He loves you. He all but admitted as much.”

Anne tensed as a sense of foreboding washed over her. “What did you do, Louisa? Please tell me you didn’t…” She couldn’t bring herself to say the words, but her head moved from side to side as though the movement could undo what Louisa had so foolishly done.

Louisa patted Anne’s hand. “I’m sorry, dearest, but it slipped out.” She sighed, “Truly it had to be said.”

Anne stared at her cousin. “You told him I loved him?” she asked in horror.

Grandma Edie chuckled. “Well played, my girl.”

Louisa cast her grandmother a warm smile before her gaze returned to Anne. “Why don’t you want him to know?”

“Because…because…” Lost for words, Anne knew not what to think, let alone say.

“I can see that you’re afraid,” Louisa replied, her hands settling on the mattress before she pushed herself back against the pillows into a more erect position, “and I understand why you would be. But if you allow that fear to hold you back, you’ll spend the rest of your days dreaming of a life with Tobias instead of living it. Is that what you want?”

Anne closed her eyes. “But what if he doesn’t love me?”

“He does,” Louisa insisted.

“He does,” Grandma Edie agreed as she settled deeper into the armchair, her head coming to rest against the upholstery.

“How do you know?” Anne demanded, looking from one to the other.

Exhaling another exasperated breath, Louisa grasped Anne’s hands anew, a rather impatient insistence in her grip. “Have I not been right about this from the start? Why are you so afraid to trust me? To trust yourself?” Her blue eyes looked deep into Anne’s. “When he kissed you, what did it feel like?”

A smile teased Anne’s lips. However, she could not help but feel a bit uneasy discussing this with her cousin’s grandmother seated only a few steps away. Fortunately, a rather uneasy glance in Grandma Edie’s direction confirmed that the dowager had once again dozed off as she often did quite unexpectedly.

“See?” Louisa declared triumphantly, interpreting Anne’s smile for what it was. “Now, would you stop worrying and go and speak to him? You’re giving me a headache!” Sighing, she rubbed her temples.

A part of Anne wanted nothing more but to seek out Tobias and see Louisa’s words confirmed. Another part, however, still would not let go of the what ifs, fearing she could not gain anything from revealing her feelings, but would instead lose the best friend she’d ever had. “You had no right to tell him,” Anne squeaked, well-aware that she was merely stalling for time. Her hands were trembling, and she feared her heart would beat out of her chest at the thought of facing Tobias.

Louisa, of course, saw right through her. “Stop trying to distract me,” her cousin snapped gently. “What is done is done. Now, stop hiding and go speak to him.” She waved her hands, shooing Anne off the bed. “And avoid Lord Gillingham for I won’t be there to save you another time.” Her brows rose, and she gestured to her ankle.

Anne smiled at her. “Thank you…for saving me.”

“What is family for?” Louisa replied with a devilish grin. “I admit it was fun!”

“But your ankle,” Anne insisted. “You−”

“Out!” Louisa snapped, a warning glare in her eyes. “Now!” Her right arm snapped outward, and her forefinger pointed at the door. “I mean it! Go!”

Inhaling a deep breath, Anne complied, hoping despite her jittery nerves that this day would end as promising as it had begun.

With another kiss!

From the right man, of course.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN ~ OUT INTO THE SNOW

PULLING on a dry pair of boots as well as her heavy winter cloak, Anne headed back outside.

The cold air felt wonderful upon her heated cheeks as her eyes swept the grounds, looking for Tobias. Many guests were still ice-skating while others had begun a snowball fight near the maze in the western half of the garden. The tall hedges provided a good shield behind which one could duck when another missile came flying at one’s head. Laughter echoed across the glistening snow, reminding Anne of the joyful winter days she’d shared with Tobias and Phin when they had been children. Was there any chance they could hold on to this bond now that they were grown?

“Are you looking for someone?”

Looking over her shoulder, Anne found Phineas standing only a few feet away. “I might be,” she replied as a nervous shiver snaked down her back. It would have been easy enough to blame it on the cold; however, Anne knew that she could no longer hide from the truth.

Louisa would never let her.

Phineas grinned. “Am I right to assume that you’re looking for my brother?” He moved closer, his dark gaze watchful and…knowing.

Oh, so knowing.

Anne swallowed. “Perhaps.”

Phin laughed, and his large hands settled upon her shoulders as his eyes looked into hers. “You’re as bad as he is, dear Annie,” he said gently, humor teasing his voice. “I’ll go and fetch him for you, but you have to promise me that you won’t let him get away.”

Anne inhaled a shuddering breath. If only it were that easy! After all, Tobias did have a say in what would come of…of their kiss, of that deep, unsettling, all-consuming feeling that made her heart race and her breath lodge in her throat. It was not merely her decision, but his as well.

“Promise me!” Phin insisted.

Anne nodded, unable to utter a single word.

Phineas grinned, giving her shoulders a slight squeeze before he walked away in the direction of the lake, a soft chuckle echoing after him.

Anne inhaled a deep breath, rubbing her hands together against the cold. Her thoughts were racing as much as her heart, trying to conjure the right words to say. Never had she been good at expressing what lived in her heart. Somehow it had always simply been a known truth between her and Tobias. They’d been friends, almost family. She’d always loved him, and he’d always loved her. They’d never said it, never spoken about it, and yet, they’d known.

They’d simply known.

How on earth was she to tell him what lived in her heart now? Was she simply to blurt it out?

Her feet carried her around in little circles, her gaze drawn to the other guests still engaged in a snowball fight, laughing, their faces flushed with excitement. Oh, if only she could join in and ignore the nagging fear that lingered in her chest!

“Miss Thatcher, what a surprise to see you!”

Anne almost groaned at the sound of Lord Gillingham’s voice behind her. Her eyes closed, and she inhaled a calming breath before turning to face him.

“I’d thought you’d remain indoors after your ordeal,” he remarked as long strides carried him closer. “Are you well?” His gaze swept over her.

Anne felt a shiver run down her spine; and this shiver was not of the teasing, tingling kind; the kind that stole one’s breath and quickened one’s heart. No, this shiver spoke of reluctance and unease. “I am well,” Anne told him, annoyed that he’d found her again. “As I’ve said before. Is there a reason you don’t seem to believe me?”

A hint of surprise came to his face at her harshly spoken words. “Not at all. I’m merely worried.”

Anne sighed, “I appreciate your concern; however, it is not necessary.”

“Would you like to take a stroll around the gardens?” Lord Gillingham asked, stepping closer and offering her his arm.

Anne glanced over her shoulder. “I’m afraid I cannot. I’m waiting for a friend.”

Lord Gillingham’s smile faded. “It seems we’re always interrupted.” He moved closer, and his gaze sought hers in a way that made Anne want to turn and run. “I lost not one, but two chances to kiss you today.” His gaze drifted lower to touch upon her lips. “But perhaps a third will present itself.”

Repelled by his frank words, Anne took a step back. “You’ve been very kind, my lord,” she told him, doing her best not to sound as repulsed as she felt, “but I feel compelled to inform you that…my heart beats for another.” There, she’d said it! Not to Tobias, but at least she’d managed to tell Lord Gillingham how she felt.

Thus far, Anne had been reluctant, hoping that the man would come to understand her short, indifferent answers and lack of interest for what they were. She’d hoped he would realize that she did not care for him and bestow his attentions elsewhere. However, it would seem open words were needed after all.

Lord Gillingham’s face darkened. “That cannot be true.”

“But it is,” Anne insisted, wishing he would simply take his leave and go. “My heart beats for another and has for a while.”

His lips thinned. “You’ve misled me,” he gritted out on a hissed breath.

Anne frowned. “I’ve done no such thing. I’ve spoken to you as a friend, no more and no less. But I am sorry if you’ve misunderstood my intentions.”

The look in his eyes remained hard and, instead of taking a step back, Lord Gillingham took one closer. “You−”

“I must insist you leave!” Anne objected to his inappropriate approach. No longer concerned for his feelings, she drew back her shoulders and lifted her chin. “Now!”

Lord Gillingham tensed, but he kept his distance. Still, he seemed more than a bit reluctant to comply, no doubt another accusation on the tip of his tongue. However, before he could give it voice, a snowball hit him hard on the side of his face, sending him sprawling into the snow.

“SHE’S LOOKING FOR YOU.”

Lost in thought, Tobias flinched at the sound of his brother’s voice. “Pardon me?” He turned to look at Phineas and found him cutting his way in-between the leafless trees surrounding them. After seeing Anne almost kissed by Lord Gillingham for a second time that day, Tobias had walked off, his thoughts in need of peace and quiet.

Still, Louisa’s words continued to echo in his head.

Yes, she was right. He needed to speak to Anne. But how? What ought he to say? Tobias shook his head, for whenever he thought of addressing her, his mind went blank as though all words had tumbled out of his ears. It was a strange sickness indeed! Did all men suffer from it when they lost their hearts? Or was it only him?

In truth, Tobias could not imagine his brother ever at a loss.

“Anne is looking for you,” Phineas elaborated, the look in his gaze watchful.

“I thought she’d gone inside with Lady Leonora.”

Phineas shrugged. “Well, since she’s free to come and go as she pleases…” His voice trailed off and his brows rose into arches as he looked at Tobias. “Can we focus on what’s truly important here? Anne is looking for you and,” he looked Tobias up and down, “she looks about as nervous as you do.” The usual chuckle followed that observation.

Tobias tried to ignore the somersault his heart performed in that moment. “Where is she?”

“Near the maze,” Phineas told him. “You should go and find her.”

Indeed, he should. But what then?

“And you should hurry.”

Tobias tensed. “Why?”

Grinning, his brother leaned a shoulder against a tall tree trunk. “Because I saw Lord Gillingham move toward her when I stepped away, and we all know what his intentions are, do we not?” His brows wiggled meaningfully.

Tobias wanted to slap that smug smile off his brother’s face. Instead, however, he cursed under his breath and rushed past him. His feet moved with a swiftness he would not have thought possible, and his gaze darted past the lake the moment he stepped out of the grove. The tall-growing hedges on the other side of the large house were easy enough to spot, people rushing in and out, shrieking and laughing as snowballs flew in all directions.

Quickening his steps, Tobias crossed the snow-covered lawn before his eyes fell on Anne standing on a small slope near the maze with none other than Lord Gillingham. Tobias could have groaned as a physical pain shot through his middle and then reached up to squeeze his heart, holding it in a painful grip as another breath struggled past his lips.

While Lord Gillingham seemed to edge closer, Anne was all but leaning away from him. Her chin rose and she squared her shoulders in a way that made Tobias smile and sent a sense of pride through him. She was indeed beautiful and breathtaking, but also brave and bold and−

His heart faltered in his chest when Anne took a step back but was immediately pursued by Lord Gillingham. The man’s face looked tense, and he appeared more than a bit reluctant to respect Anne’s demand for more distance.

Gritting his teeth, Tobias suddenly felt a snowball whir past him. His head flew around, his eyes sweeping over the many guests still playfully engaged in a wintry war before they returned to Anne.

Then he stilled, and a dark smile came to his face as he sank down and scooped snow into his hands, packing it tightly into a hard, unyielding ball.

By now, Tobias was no more than a few dozen feet away, and while he certainly could have called out or simply rushed over, in that moment he chose option three.

Pulling back his arm, he took aim and then sent the snowball flying.

Of course, years had passed since he’d last hurled such a missile; however, it seemed Fortune smiled on him that day. His aim was true, and the snowball hit Lord Gillingham square on the cheek, knocking him off his feet.

Anne looked momentarily taken aback. However, when her gaze found his, such a luminous smile spread over her face that Tobias wanted to kiss her then and there.

Instead, he rushed up to her, held out his hand and said, “Come with me.”

Without a single glance at the man on the ground, Anne grasped his hand and then followed him into the maze, laughter spilling from their mouths as they hurried through the snow.

Away from Gillingham.

Away from Phineas.

Away from Lady Louisa.

Away.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN ~ MINE TO KISS

ANNE THOUGHT her heart would pound out of her chest as she followed Tobias through the deep snow. The hem of her skirts was soaked and her feet felt chilled, but she didn’t care. All she cared about was her hand in his, warm and safe.

With each step, the rest of the world fell away as the sounds of laughter and shrieking dimmed. The tall, snow-covered hedges hid them, wrapping them in a place of their own as though no one else existed but them.

Still, they moved onward until they reached the center of the maze, a stone bench flanked by two oak trees, standing like sentinels on each side. The snow on the ground looked untouched, their footprints the first to leave their marks. Stillness lingered as soft flakes began to drift downward from the heavens. Only a few: one here, one there, dancing in the chilled air.

And then Tobias stopped and turned to look at her, his hand still holding hers. She could see his warm breath like a puff of smoke as it mingled with the icy air around them, his cheeks flushed red. His eyes looked darker than they usually did, the clear, bright snow putting them into a stark contrast. Still, the same familiar warmth lingered in his gaze as he looked at her. “Is it true?” he asked then, and his hand tugged on hers, urging her a step closer.

Anne swallowed, noting the change in the way he was looking at her. “Is what true?”

He inhaled a deep breath, and the pad of his thumb brushed over her knuckles, sending another one of those teasing, tingling shivers down her back. “Do you love me?”

Anne’s heart stilled in shock. “But, of course, I do,” she laughed, afraid to be the first to say it out loud. “How can you not know that? I’ve loved you all my life.”

Tobias’s lips thinned, but the right corner of his mouth quirked slightly, telling her that he understood without a doubt what she was doing. That she was afraid. “I meant,” he began, once again urging her a step closer, “are you in love with me?”

Anne could not help but wish the ground would open and swallow her whole. Instead, heat rushed to her cheeks as mortification burnt through her. Please, do not let him laugh at me!

A smile teased his lips. “Your cousin suggested that…”

Curse Louisa! “She simply meant that I care for you greatly as I always have.”

Slowly, Tobias shook his head. “That is not what it sounded like. Indeed, she made it unmistakably clear that you−”

In a near panic, Anne withdrew her hand from his and took a few steps backward. “I do believe a more pressing question is why you attacked Lord Gillingham with such viciousness. The poor man was knocked off his feet!” Anne knew very well that she didn’t care about Lord Gillingham. Nor was she concerned with Tobias’s anger toward him. What Anne did know was that while Tobias had inquired after her feelings, he had yet to confess his own.

If indeed they existed!

Tobias’s gaze narrowed and his eyes darkened. The warm chocolate-brown disappeared, replaced by a menacing black that made Anne wish she’d not said a word. Still, there was no turning back. At least, now, they were speaking about something other than her affections toward him. “You’ve always been such a kind and respectful man. Why were you so aggressive toward Lord Gillingham?”

His jaw tensed. “Because of you.”

“Me?” Anne all but stammered, her gaze locked on his as he began to move toward her.

“You,” Tobias confirmed, following her step by step as she retreated. “I loathe that man because whenever I see him, he’s near you, asking you to dance or escorting you to supper or taking you for a stroll around the gardens.” The words shot out of his mouth like bullets fired, their impact almost deafening. His gaze was sharp, harsh even, reminding her of a wolf stalking its prey. “Twice today, he tried to kiss you,” he growled out, “and from the way he was looking at you just now, he−”

Anne shrank back for never in her life had she seen Tobias like this. He frightened her, but he also gave her hope. “What is it to you?” she demanded, daring him to answer. “Why would you care who kisses me?”

Tobias surged toward her, his hands gripping her upper arms as her back collided with one of the oak tree’s unyielding trunk. “Because you’re mine to kiss,” he whispered against her lips, his eyes holding hers, open and honest, and yet, searching.

Anne drew in a shuddering breath. “Am I?” she asked as her heart began to dance in her chest. She felt a small tug on her lips and noted Tobias’s hard gaze soften when he saw it.

“Yes, you are,” he replied with a smile, the look in his eyes whispering of the same overwhelming emotions Anne felt course through her own veins. “You’ve always been.”

“And yet,” she pointed out, savoring the way he held her close, “you’ve never kissed me before today.”

His gaze drifted to her lips before returning to meet her eyes. “I’ve been a fool,” he whispered, and his left hand brushed along the line of her jaw and then slipped into her hair. “I, too, have loved you for as long as I can remember, but…” He sighed. “Something changed that night at the ball.”

Without asking, Anne knew which ball he meant. “For me as well.”

A relieved breath whispered past his lips. “Is it true then?” Tobias asked, deepest longing in his gaze. “Do you love me?”

Anne smiled, no longer afraid. “I’ve always loved you, but lately…”

“Lately?” His breath came fast as he looked down at her.

Feeling bold and daring, Anne pushed herself up onto her toes and pressed a kiss on Tobias’s lips. It was no more than a soft pressure of mouth on mouth until he pulled her deeper into his embrace, his hand angling her head. He returned her kiss then, gentle and tentative, as they took the first steps away from the friendship that had connected them for as long as they could remember.

It was a daring leap, filled with uncertainty, but it also whispered of promises.

His lips teased hers apart as his hands slid under her cloak, touching her in a way a friend never would. She felt his caresses through the thick fabric of her woolen gown as his hands brushed up her back, then down and to the front, running over her ribcage before settling on her waist. He held her close, their warmth mingling, as he deepened the kiss, taking it far beyond what they had shared earlier that morning in the library.

It felt as though a lifetime had passed since then.

Eager for more, Anne trailed her hands upward, sliding her palms over his broad chest and up to his shoulders. Her fingertips danced along the side of his neck, feeling warm skin as well as a pulse that beat as fast as her own. Her hands slipped into his hair as she pulled herself closer. In answer, his arms wrapped around her, holding her tightly, promising to never let her go again.

When they finally pulled apart, they were both out of breath, but the joy they saw on each other’s faces was palpable. Never had Anne seen Tobias’s eyes as bright nor his smile as radiant as they were in that moment.

And it was for her.

Because of her.

As hers was because of him.

“Promise me,” Tobias began, a smile on his face, but his voice heavy with emotion, “that you’ll never let that man anywhere near you ever again.” He said it lightly, and yet, Anne understood the depth of his fears.

The thought that she could be lost to him.

Brushing a hand over his cheek, she smiled up at the man she loved, the man who’d been her friend all her life. “I never cared for him. Surely, you must know that.” She felt his chest rise and then fall as a deep breath rushed from his lungs. “Besides, I can think of a fairly simple way to ensure that he’ll never come near me again.” Her brows rose teasingly, and Tobias laughed.

“Would you consent to marry me then, Friend?” he teased as he lowered his head, leaning his forehead against hers. “So, I may call you Wife? Darling? Beloved?”

Anne could have sighed hearing these endearments from his lips. “I must say you make marriage sound so very tempting.” Her eyes held his for she needed him to hear her, to truly hear her. “But the reason I agree is simply because I happen to be in love with you.”

His heart skipped a beat−she could feel it against the palm of her hand−before his lips claimed hers in a quick, but lingering kiss. “I love you as well,” Tobias whispered, his breath uneven. “I love you like a man loves a woman, and I want you now and forever.”

“Now and forever,” Anne echoed before she sank into Tobias’s arms once more. The world around them disappeared as thousands of snowflakes began to dance around the tall, unyielding oak as though in celebration of their love.

Attending Lord Archibald’s house party had been a wise choice indeed.

EPILOGUE

BARRINGTON HOUSE, England, Spring 1802 (or a variation thereof)

ANNE’S HAND felt warm and soft within his own as Tobias tugged her through the door and then pushed it closed with a kick of his boot.

“We will be miss−” she objected before he pulled her into his arms, sealing her lips with a deep kiss. His hands slid over her gown, feeling her tempting curves beneath, wishing the day had already come and gone. “You’re making it very hard for me to keep my wits about me,” she sighed when he trailed kisses down her throat.

Tobias chuckled, nipping gently at her skin, “I’ve waited long enough for this day.”

“As have I,” Anne replied as she pushed him back, her deep blue eyes finding his. “But this is our wedding day. What will our families think when we simply disappear from our wedding breakfast?”

A wicked grin came to his face.

Laughing, Anne slapped his shoulder. “I never knew you possessed such roguish tendencies, Mr. Hawke,” she chided him. “I must say I’m discovering all new sides to you now that I’m your wife.”

“Are you disappointed?”

A slow smile spread over her lovely face. “I didn’t say that, now did I?”

Impatience burnt in Tobias’s veins as he pulled her into another deep kiss, overwhelmed by how life had changed in the past few months. While Anne was still his friend and they continued to tease and laugh as they always had, she was now so much more than that as well. There was a deeper understanding, a bond that went beyond what they’d previously shared. Every day, they discovered something new about one another and, every night, he fell asleep with a deliriously happy smile upon his lips.

“Ah! There you are!”

Cursing Anne’s meddlesome cousin, Tobias reluctantly released his vice-like hold upon his wife and took a step back. He hadn’t even heard Louisa approach, let alone enter the room; however, judging from the disapproving look on Anne’s face, his wife had been equally oblivious.

“What are you doing here?” Anne asked her cousin, her hands quickly moving to right the wrinkles Tobias’s hands had left upon her gown.

“Looking for you,” Louisa replied with a self-evident look in her eyes. “After all, it is your wedding day, and you cannot simply disappear without it being noted.”

Anne cast him a meaningful look.

“Very well,” Tobias relented, offering his wife his arm. “We’ll return to share in the festivities.”

“I think that is advisable,” Louisa remarked as she stepped closer and tucked a loose strand behind Anne’s left ear, a knowing grin upon her face. “I do love to see you two so happy,” she told them then, her blue eyes moving from Anne to him before returning to his wife. “You must admit you’re quite fortunate to have me as your family. After all, without my assistance, I doubt we’d be here today celebrating your union.” Her brows rose meaningfully.

Tobias laughed, “Are you fishing for a compliment, dear cousin?”

Louisa smiled at him. “A thank-you will do, dearest Tobias.”

Sighing, Tobias offered her a formal bow. “I’m offering you my deepest gratitude for your wisdom in urging us to recognize the bond between us.” He smiled at Anne as she squeezed his arm, her eyes warm and glowing. “Your determination and selfless sacrifice shall never be forgotten.”

Rolling her eyes at him, Louisa sighed, “I must say that is a very unbecoming quality,” she miffed, her nose slightly wrinkled. “You sound just like your awful brother.”

“That reminds me,” Anne said as a slow, somewhat wicked smile came to her lips. “You have yet to fulfill your end of our bargain.”

For a second, Tobias frowned before he remembered what Anne had told him about everything Louisa had done during their visit to Windmere Park to make the two of them see what was truly between them. Not only had she tackled Anne to the ground and given Tobias a good talking-to, but she’d also promised to kiss Phineas if Anne and Tobias ever were to tie the knot.

Now, they had.

“Will you forfeit?” Anne dared her.

Louisa’s gaze hardened, and her jaw set in determination. “Never.”

As though on cue, footsteps echoed to their ears from down the hall, and a moment later, Phineas poked his head into the room. “What are you all doing in here?” he asked, looking from one to the other.

Louisa groaned and turned back to glare at Anne. “You did this on purpose!” she hissed.

Anne merely shrugged, an innocent smile upon her face.

Tobias tried his utmost not to laugh.

Huffing out an annoyed breath, Louisa spun on her heel and marched up to a rather bewildered-looking Phineas. “Don’t read anything into this,” she told him before her hands seized his face and pulled him into a kiss.

Tobias couldn’t help but stare at them, and neither could Anne, her hand now like an iron vice upon his arm.

Phineas seemed momentarily caught off guard as Louisa’s lips claimed his; however, he quickly recovered, returning her kiss with utter enthusiasm. His hands settled on her waist, holding her to him when she made to pull away.

“I told you not to read anything into this,” she snapped at Phineas, shoving him away with another annoyed eye roll. Then she turned to Anne, one brow arching upward. “There. Satisfied?”

Anne opened her mouth to reply; however, Phineas was faster. Tobias watched with wide eyes as his brother pulled Louisa back into his arms. “Far from it,” he answered her question, a wide grin on his face. Then he dipped his head and kissed her again, cutting off her startled gasp.

Anne turned to her husband then, clutching his arm. “Your brother and my cousin?” she whispered, her eyes wide and her lips twitching as she grinned up at him.

Tobias chuckled, “I thought you suspected them from the start.”

“I was merely jesting,” Anne mumbled as her eyes darted back to the other two in the room. “But now…”

“Do you think they’d ever admit that they care for each other?” Tobias asked, surprised by his brother’s strong reaction to Louisa. Was it possible that Phineas genuinely cared for her?

Anne shook her head. “Not in a thousand years. They’re far too stubborn. Both of them.”

Again, Louisa tried to free herself from Phineas’s hold on her, her hands curling into his lapels and giving him a slight, rather feeble-looking push.

Tobias frowned. “Should we…interfere?” He glanced at Anne. “Should we…save her?”

Anne shook her head, grinning. “Oh, she’s more than capable of saving herself. If she doesn’t, perhaps she simply does not wish to be saved.”

Smiling, Tobias pulled his wife into his arms. “This was to be our day,” he whispered before he placed a gentle kiss upon her lips.

“It still is,” Anne pointed out, a deeply seductive smile curling up the corners of her mouth. “Perhaps we should find another room.” She glanced at Phineas and Louisa, who seemed to have forgotten the world around them. “One with fewer people in it.”

Wrapping an arm around his wife’s waist, Tobias pulled her from the room and out into the hall. “That is an excellent idea, Wife.”

“Thank you, Husband,” Anne laughed as they sneaked down the hallway, leaving the other two to figure this out on their own.

After all, what could happen?

The End

ABOUT BREE WOLF

USA Today bestselling and award-winning author, Bree Wolf has always been a language enthusiast (though not a grammarian!) and is rarely found without a book in her hand or her fingers glued to a keyboard. Trying to find her way, she has taught English as a second language, traveled abroad and worked at a translation agency as well as a law firm in Ireland. She also spent loooong years obtaining a BA in English and Education and an MA in Specialized Translation while wishing she could simply be a writer. Although there is nothing simple about being a writer, her dreams have finally come true.

"A big thanks to my fairy godmother!"

Currently, Bree has found her new home in the historical romance genre, writing Regency novels and novellas. Enjoying the mix of fact and fiction, she occasionally feels like a puppet master, forcing her characters into ever-new situations that will put their strength, their beliefs, their love to the test, hoping that in the end they will triumph and get the happily-ever-after we are all looking for.

You can find details of her work at

www.BreeWolf.com

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A ROGUE AND SOME MISTLETOE

~ Book 5 of The Rogue Chronicles ~

by

LANA WILLIAMS

Lucy Gray lost everything just after her sixteenth birthday—her parents, her home, and her future. Since that terrible time, she’s lived with her great aunt in the quiet countryside. But an invitation from her cousin, Emma Waverly, to join their Christmas house party, along with a request to help Emma choose between several suitors, proves irresistible, even if it brings forth bittersweet memories of Christmas past.

Hugh Raybourne is pleased to be invited to a holiday house party at the fabulously wealthy Waverly’s country estate. The time has come to set aside his roguish ways and marry. Emma’s fortune would more than provide the money he needs to make his dream of breeding horses a reality. But meeting her cousin Lucy, with her quiet beauty and true heart, cause him to rethink his future and the man he wants to be.

Lucy soon realizes she’s falling for Hugh, but she has no fortune to offer him, and she’s too frightened of losing everything again to reach for a chance at happiness. With the help of some mistletoe, can Hugh convince the lady to take a chance on him?

CHAPTER ONE

LINCOLNSHIRE, England

November 1815

“YOU SIMPLY MUST COME. It wouldn’t be the same without you.”

Lucy Gray stared at her cousin, Emma Waverly, with guarded suspicion. From experience, she knew some other purpose was behind this personal request to attend the Christmas house party that Emma’s parents were hosting.

“We’re just surprised you came all this way to ask us,” Lucy said. A glance at Aunt Edith—her great aunt, actually—who sat in her favorite chair before the fire in the sitting room, suggested she was astounded as well.

The invitation had arrived in the post two weeks ago, and Aunt Edith had already sent their regrets. Given her delicate health—whether real or imagined—she preferred the comfort of her own bed in her small home where she could rest when she wanted.

Yet Lucy couldn’t deny the invitation had filled her with an unexpected longing. In their youth, she and Emma, who was a year younger, had spent many holidays together. Days filled with ice skating and bough gathering, the lighting of the Yule log, and games of snapdragon and blindman’s buff.

Lucy’s parents had been alive then, the world bright and full of promise. The painful clutch that gripped her chest as memories flooded her had Lucy drawing a deep breath to ease the ache. After all, her parents had died over seven years ago, when her father lost control while driving their phaeton with his wife at his side, just after Lucy’s sixteenth birthday. But she still missed them so much, still grieved all the moments they hadn’t been able to share.

Based on Aunt Edith’s thoughtful expression, she was considering Emma’s request, much to Lucy’s astonishment. Edith Penrose, Lucy’s mother’s aunt, had been a widow for well over twenty years but rarely ventured out since Lucy had come to live with her. Lucy barely remembered Uncle William, who’d left his wife without children but with enough funds that she hadn’t been forced to remarry to survive.

“Perhaps we might come for a few days.” Aunt Edith looked at Lucy with one brow raised. “What say you, Lucy?”

“Please say you will.” Emma stared at Lucy imploringly with her large blue eyes, which only made Lucy more suspicious as to what her cousin’s true motive might be.

Yet the idea of spending the holidays with only Aunt Edith and the servants for company held little appeal. Aunt Edith rested in her bedchamber a good portion of the day, and while Lucy kept her company much of the time, the rest was filled with only needlework, letter writing, and reading. The servants were kind, of course, but the cook was much older, the housemaid much younger, and the footman, who also served as coachman, had family in the area. Lucy didn’t have any close friends, not the sort one shared confidences with while snuggled under the covers before blowing out the candle at night.

Lucy adored Aunt Edith but caring for her each and every day was a burden she hadn’t expected to bear at such a young age or for this long. As an only child, everyone in her extended family thought her the ideal candidate to care for Aunt Edith upon her parents’ deaths. In the passing years, no one had asked if she would like a Season in London or suggested they share in the caring of her aunt.

Especially not Emma.

As the beautiful daughter of a wealthy landowner who lived at a grand estate several hours to the north, Emma lived a charmed life. She had enjoyed two Seasons in London, caught the eye of several suitors, and her attire was always the height of fashion. With golden hair, wide blue eyes, and an engaging smile and manner that charmed everyone she met, her company was much sought after.

Lucy resisted the urge to smooth a hand along her simple blue woolen gown that had served her well the past three winters. She’d changed the lace collar and added ribbons to update its appearance, but little could be done to hide the worn cuffs and hem. Buying new gowns seemed an unnecessary expense when much of their time was spent at home.

With dark hair and brown eyes, she felt much like a country mouse when compared to Emma. Though she loved her cousin, it was impossible not to look at herself and her situation next to Emma’s and feel a certain lack.

Lucy reminded herself she had much to be grateful for and smiled as she reached over to pat her aunt’s arm, her heart hopeful that this Christmas might be different. “Wherever you will feel most comfortable.”

“You are a dear, Lucy.” Aunt Edith gripped Lucy’s hand. “Whatever would I do without you?”

Her appreciation was part of what kept Lucy at her side. Besides, where else would she go? What else would she do? Her parents’ home had gone to her father’s younger brother, who had a family of his own to raise along with his wife’s siblings.

In truth, after all these years of living a quiet existence in the country interspersed with only a few family gatherings and one trip to the coast to visit her aunt’s friend, reaching for more filled her with trepidation.

A rare gleam of excitement sparkled in her aunt’s brown eyes and lit a similar feeling in Lucy. “Christmas will soon be upon us,” her aunt said, “and it’s been years since we celebrated with the rest of the family. I think we should go.” She glanced at Emma. “If it wouldn’t be too much trouble to have us.”

“Not at all.” Emma beamed at them and clapped her hands twice. “We would be delighted if you came.”

“We must decide what to pack, Lucy.” Aunt Edith tapped a finger on her chin as she contemplated her choices.

“Pack something warm as the farmer down the road insists we’ll have snow this Christmas,” Emma advised. “Father is having the ice-skating pond prepared this weekend, so bring your skates as well.”

Lucy wondered if she still had hers. It had been a long time since she’d skated, but she used to love gliding over the ice and had been quite good at it.

“Will the gathering be large?” Aunt Edith asked.

“The house will be full to the rafters,” Emma said. “Several guests are staying nearby and will come for many of the parties.”

“Oh my.” Her aunt’s delight made Lucy smile.

“There will be a Christmas Eve ball, of course, so bring a gown for that,” Emma added.

Lucy considered her limited wardrobe. Though she’d attended a few local balls over the years, she well knew her cousin’s would be much more formal.

Her concern must’ve shown on her face, for Emma waved a graceful hand in dismissal. “You and I are of similar size, dear Lucy. You’re welcome to borrow one of mine.”

“There won’t be time to have one made I’m afraid,” Aunt Edith said with a shake of her head.

The few gowns Lucy owned were a result of the annual visit from the local dressmaker. Her aunt lived a modest life as a widow, and while she never seemed to worry over money, neither did she spend much.

“What day will you come?” Emma asked.

They discussed the details then Emma rose. “I should return home. There’s much to be done before the party and Mother needs my help.” She bid her aunt goodbye with a kiss on her cheek, and Lucy walked her down the stairs to the front entrance.

“I’m still surprised you journeyed all this way,” Lucy said, curious as to why her cousin was so adamant that they attend.

“I knew Aunt Edith wouldn’t allow you to come on your own,” Emma said, her tone low to keep their conversation private, “and I so wanted you to join us. It’s been too long since we spent the holidays together. We used to have such fun, remember?”

“Yes,” Lucy agreed. “We truly did.” Perhaps she’d imagined Emma’s motivation, thinking the worst when it wasn’t deserved.

“I’m so pleased you’ll be there.” Emma leaned close. “I’m going to need your help.”

“Oh?” A trickle of concern ran along Lucy’s skin.

“You see, several gentlemen are pursuing me.” She gave a mischievous smile. “I have yet to determine if I wish to be caught. Mr. Hugh Raybourne is a terrible rogue, but charming and handsome in a rugged manner. Then there’s Viscount Jameson who is fine to look at and daring. Mr. Charles Barnes has a shy, polite manner I find infinitely appealing.”

“How would I help?”

“All the gentlemen have accepted our invitation. I intend to spend time with each one before I decide who I want to court me.” Emma squeezed Lucy’s arm. “I’d like your opinion, and I also need your help to arrange an intimate moment with each gentleman so I can choose which one will make the best husband.” She bit her lip, looking much like a cat about to devour a mouse.

“That sounds rather dangerous.” Not just for Emma but for Lucy as well. How was she supposed to keep not only the other suitors but Emma’s parents occupied? “If you’re caught, the result could prove disastrous.”

“Then you see why I need your assistance. The physical side of a relationship is as important as the other aspects. My friend, Lady Frances, is newly betrothed and has told me much about how one should feel when in love.”

“Love or merely lust?” Though Lucy was far from experienced, she was well-read. Her aunt’s taste in books included many romances, even a few that bordered on explicit as to the details of what happened between a man and a woman. From what she’d learned, people often became confused between love and lust. One could last a lifetime, but the other tended to be short-lived.

“I want both,” Emma said. “But in order to know, I am going to conduct a few experiments. A chaste kiss in an alcove or under the mistletoe simply won’t do.”

“Please tell me you intend to take care.” Lucy stared at her cousin in dismay. “You’re playing with fire.”

“I hope I am, cousin.” Emma’s predatory smile almost made Lucy feel sorry for the men involved. “I dearly hope I am.”

With a hug and a wave, Emma and her maid departed.

Lucy watched as the coach rolled down the drive, wondering what it would be like to catch a suitor’s eye, especially the different men Emma had described. The idea was equal parts intriguing and concerning.

Yet she couldn’t deny the excitement that filled her for the first time in a long while. This was going to be a wonderful Christmas.

WAVERLY HOUSE, mid-December

HUGH RAYBOURNE CLOSED the bedchamber door behind him, having freshened his appearance after the long drive from London with the assistance of James, his valet. Could he find his way to the billiard room where his host had directed him to join the other male guests? He glanced up and down the corridor then turned left, hoping he remembered correctly.

Hugh couldn’t believe his luck at receiving a coveted invitation to the house party. Many of the guests had already arrived with more expected throughout the day, and he looked forward to the activities over the coming ten days.

John Waverly was a wealthy member of the landed gentry, with more land than most lords. His fortune was legendary and, from what Hugh had seen thus far at their sizable country estate, the rumor had merit. The massive home was decorated lavishly. Waverly loved horses and had a large stable, and Hugh itched to get a close look at it.

The journey from London had been uneventful and left him time to plan his pursuit of Emma, Waverly’s only child. Hugh had first noted her at a ball near the end of the Season and admired her beauty. Though she had no title, that mattered little to Hugh as he didn’t have one either. But the fact that her father had horses held great appeal.

Hugh’s older brother, Graham, was the Earl of Carlington. Their father had passed nearly nine months earlier, but Hugh felt only minor grief. The man had been a tyrant most days and impossible the rest, especially after their mother died of apoplexy.

His father and mother claimed to have had a love match, but somewhere through the years, what love they shared—if any—died a painful death, leaving them both miserable. Thomas, the youngest, had borne the brunt of their father’s displeasure, though both Hugh and Graham had done what they could to shift his attention from Thomas.

The earl had refused to buy any of them a commission so they could join the war, insisting their duty was at home. Anger and resentment were a big part of the reason Hugh and his brothers had earned the reputation of rogues, overindulging in drink, gambling, and women. Anything to annoy their father.

But those days were at end. Graham had married Charlotte and continued to wade through the mess their father had left. Thomas had recently married Annabelle, who suited him perfectly, and he ran the publishing house their father had started but more profitably than the late earl had ever managed.

The time had come for Hugh to settle down as well, at least according to Graham. Thus far, Hugh had avoided emotional entanglements and planned to keep it that way. He’d sworn never to fall victim to love or lust—the two L’s—ingredients that ruined many lives, including those of his parents.

Hugh’s only requirements for marriage were wealth and enough passion to keep life in the bedchamber interesting. His dream of breeding horses required money. With a little luck, his charm, and family ties, he’d be able to convince the right lady to marry him and that might just be Miss Waverly. The invitation to the Christmas house party was a major coup and suggested he had an excellent chance at winning the lady’s hand.

He managed to find the stairs after making only one wrong turn and soon arrived in the front entrance where a footman stood in blue and yellow livery. “The billiard room?”

“This way, sir.” The servant bowed and led the way down a corridor toward the back of the house, passing several closed doors before pausing at an open one. “Here you are.”

“Thank you.” Hugh stepped into the large room with a bank of windows and not one but two billiard tables as well as several groupings of dark leather wingback chairs and tables. An elegant sideboard stood along one wall with a variety of decanters and glasses should a man acquire a thirst. Two other tables stood at the ready for cards or dice games.

Hugh hid a smile, not wanting to appear overly impressed with his surroundings. No need to look like a country oaf unused to the finer things in life.

A glance at the men gathered near the French doors that led to the rear gardens showed several familiar faces.

“Raybourne.” James Trenton, Viscount Jameson, crossed the room to offer his hand. “Good to see you.”

“Jameson.” Hugh shook his hand and dipped his head. “I didn’t know you were coming.” He’d known Jameson since their university days and considered him a friend of sorts. But the realization that he’d be competing against the viscount for Miss Waverly dampened his previous good spirits.

“Sounded like a delightful way to spend the holiday.” Jameson grinned, suggesting he was well aware of Hugh’s thoughts. “Especially since Miss Waverly urged me to attend.”

Hugh did his best to mask a scowl. While he knew the lady was popular and had watched her dance with Jameson, he had thought himself the only one lucky enough to have her extend a personal invitation to the party. No matter, he reassured himself. He’d bested Jameson on several occasions in the past and knew he could do so again.

“The estate is larger than I had realized.” Jameson kept his voice low as he glanced about. “Quite grand, eh?”

“Indeed.” Hugh was relieved he wasn’t the only one amazed by the place.

“This should prove an interesting time,” Jameson added.

Hugh followed his gaze and saw the viscount wouldn’t be the only competitor for Miss Waverly’s attention. Several men his age followed Mr. Waverly over to greet them.

After introductions and an exchange of pleasantries, a few decided to play billiards, and others started a card game, giving Hugh a moment alone with Waverly.

“Thank you again for the invitation,” Hugh said. “The estate is truly impressive.”

“We enjoy our time here. Always good to get out of the city and breathe fresh air.” Waverly moved toward the sideboard. “Care for a drink?”

“Certainly.” The hour was early for spirits, but Hugh didn’t want his host to drink alone. However, he intended to keep his wits about him during the party. His objective was to win Miss Waverly’s hand along with her father’s approval. Drinking and gambling in excess wouldn’t gain him either.

“Beautiful country.” Hugh gestured toward the view out the tall window nearby as Waverly poured them glasses of whiskey.

The lawn fell away from the house in a grand sweep. Woods were visible in the distance in one direction and farmland stretched the opposite way.

“You’ll have to see it in the summer months when the gardens are at their peak,” Waverly said, with a look of pride as he handed Hugh a glass.

“I’d like that.” Hugh was pleased to think he’d have a chance to do so.

“If the weather holds, you are welcome to ride in the morning.” Waverly turned to study him. “We plan to have a day of hunting as well, depending on the weather.”

“Wonderful.” Hugh was thrilled as he dearly wanted a closer look at the stables and the horses. “That was a fine pair of bays you recently bought.” Hugh considered it a nod from fate that he’d happened to be at Tattersalls, the popular horse auctioneer, with a friend when Waverly had made his purchase.

“Then you must know horses.” Waverly enthusiastically recounted the horses’ attributes.

Hugh enjoyed the conversation, grateful to have something in common with the man. The hours passed quickly and twilight soon darkened the view, marking the time to dress for dinner. A brisk wind had kicked up, giving a bone-chilling feel to the air, according to the newly arrived guests. The men dispersed, and Hugh found himself alone in the foyer, wishing a servant was there to direct him to his room. Hopefully, his memory would serve him well, and he turned toward the stairs.

A knock on the front door gave him pause. He didn’t want to leave guests standing on the doorstep in the foul weather. Surely whoever had arrived would have the good sense to open it themselves. As if those arriving had read his thoughts, the door rattled, suggesting someone tried but failed to open it.

Hugh glanced around but no one else was in sight. With a resigned sigh, he hurried to the door and opened it wide.

Two figures bundled in hooded capes and scarves stood on the doorstep with bags beside them. The coach in the drive pulled away toward the stables.

“Good heavens,” the shorter bundle declared in a feminine tone as she stepped inside with the aid of a cane in one hand and her companion on the other side. “What took you so long? It’s freezing out there.”

“Thank you,” added the other bundle as the pair moved forward.

“Don’t just stand there with the door open. Bring in our things.” The woman thumped her cane on the floor with her demand.

Hugh did as he was bid, not bothering to explain that he was a guest. He set the bags inside and closed the door against the cold wind that now held bits of stinging sleet.

“Do you need to be told everything?” The woman with the cane pushed back her hood to glare at him. “Show us to our rooms.”

“Unfortunately, I don’t know where they are.” Hugh hoped the butler or a footman would return to assist the unhappy woman and her companion.

“Why not?”

Hugh frowned at her demanding tone then glanced at the silent woman to find a pair of large brown eyes just visible between a red scarf and the drooping hood that covered her hair. The apology in those lovely eyes was amusing. Did she think the older woman’s request had insulted him?

“Aunt Edith, please,” she said in a soft tone as she glanced at the older woman. “There’s no need to berate anyone.”

“I wish I could be of assistance, but I’m a guest and unfamiliar with the house,” he replied then bowed. “Hugh Raybourne at your service.”

Those brown eyes widened in surprise, making him wonder why. His fingers twitched with the urge to remove her wrappings so he could better see who lay beneath. Based on her beautiful brown eyes, he had to think Miss Waverly also had some competition among the guests.

Hugh was left with his burning curiosity unfulfilled as the butler and a footman hurried into the foyer to assist the new arrivals. He could only hope the woman would join the party for dinner so he might have the chance to see her face and learn her name.

CHAPTER TWO

LUCY CHECKED her appearance in the cheval glass that evening after she’d dressed for dinner. She didn’t bother to look too closely. Not when she’d be with Emma.

The pale pink wool was her best gown and flattered her slim figure though she hoped its classic lines weren’t too out of fashion. A deeper shade of pink velvet marked the high waist and the neckline. Her stomach danced with excitement at the thought of joining the other guests in the drawing room before dinner. It had been a long time since she’d attempted to make conversation with strangers. What if she’d forgotten how?

She pressed a hand against her racing heart at the thought of seeing Mr. Raybourne again. Emma had been highly entertained by the details of their arrival and how Aunt Edith had assumed he was a servant. The situation had been terribly embarrassing with Aunt Edith being at her worst after travelling. The older woman had taken it as a personal affront that no one had greeted them at the door.

Mr. Raybourne’s kindness and humor had surprised her, given her aunt’s poor behavior and the fact that Emma had described him as a rogue. Lucy didn’t think she’d ever met one and was curious. Did he indulge in debauchery or lechery? Was he dishonest in some manner? She had difficulty believing any of those, considering Emma’s interest in him and that Uncle Andrew and Aunt Jane had invited him to the party.

He was certainly handsome, his rough good looks well suited for a battlefield. A small scar near his eye and a slight bump on the bridge of his nose suggested he lived an active life. Golden hair swept carelessly to the side framed his face and sideburns a shade darker emphasized his firm jawline. His wide blue eyes with long lashes several shades darker than his hair sparkled with good humor as if he found life amusing.

And that smile—smiles like that should come with a warning to inexperienced ladies. His white cravat had been tied in an intricate knot and his tall collar should’ve looked ridiculous but hadn’t.

She gave herself a mental shake. Admiring the man was the last thing she should be doing, especially since Emma was interested in him. Of course, she was also attracted to two or three other men in attendance.

Lucy had her work cut out for her if Emma had her way, though she still didn’t understand what exactly Emma wanted her to do. She already looked after Aunt Edith and wasn’t certain how much free time she’d have. However, Emma had been kind enough to lend her several gowns as well as offering the maid’s sewing skills to lower the hem so they would better fit Lucy. The least Lucy could do was assist her with her plan.

She’d spent well over an hour making certain Aunt Edith was comfortable in her room just down the corridor, then requested her aunt’s dinner be sent up on a tray. The coach ride had tired her more than they’d expected. Lucy hoped all the older woman needed was a good night’s rest to recover her spirits. Lucy dearly wanted to partake in some of the festivities and wanted Aunt Edith to enjoy her stay as well.

She opened her bedchamber door to find Emma with her hand poised to knock.

“I was just coming for you.” Her cousin looked her over with a smile. “You look lovely.”

“Thank you. Collette does excellent work.” The lady’s maid had twisted strands of Lucy’s long, brown hair then coiled them around her head along with a string of seed pearls. A few shorter strands curled in tight ringlets around her face. Lucy hadn’t taken so much time with her appearance in an age. “You look wonderful as well.”

“Thank you.” Emma’s gown was white with a small band of pink silk roses adorning the high waist and the capped sleeves. Her pale hair held several strands of crystals, which added an extra sparkle to her appearance.

Emma looped her arm through Lucy’s. “I’m so pleased you’re here. It’s been too long since we spent the holidays together.”

“I’m looking forward to it.” Lucy smiled with genuine excitement. “I just hope Aunt Edith will enjoy it.”

“Mother is visiting with her now and brought her favorite dessert.”

“How thoughtful of her.” Aunt Edith’s sweet tooth was well known among the family despite her petite figure.

“Now then,” Emma began as they made their way down the stairs. “I should like you to meet each of the gentlemen this evening and speak with them individually over the next few days. I want your opinion.”

Lucy was flattered. Normally her cousin was independent and a bit headstrong, as she knew from their frequent letters, and rarely bothered with other people’s advice.

“We shall start with Mr. Raybourne and try to seat you together at dinner.”

“Do you think that wise?” Her stomach tightened at the thought of conversing with the man after their unfortunate initial meeting. “I worry whether he’s forgiven us for the confusion earlier.”

“If he hasn’t, then he isn’t the type of man I want as a husband.”

“True enough.” Lucy was relieved to think Emma wasn’t solely basing her selection of a husband on the physical experiments she intended to conduct.

“I want to hear anything the men say and do that might help me decide. I’m depending on you to help me.”

Lucy pushed aside a pang of hurt that it hadn’t crossed Emma’s mind that Lucy might hope to marry. Yet how could she with Aunt Edith to care for?

“Smile,” Emma whispered as they neared the drawing room where the sound of the guests conversing spilled out. “This will be fun.”

Lucy smiled despite her nerves, pleased when Emma kept a tight hold on her arm as she paused to introduce Lucy to some of the others. Was her outgoing cousin nervous or did she simply want to put Lucy at ease? Whatever the reason, Lucy appreciated it.

They slowly made their way around the room, visiting briefly with many.

Viscount Jameson was another of the gentlemen Emma was considering. The lord was handsome with dark hair and a narrow face. He had an air of watchful reserve about him when he looked at Emma that suggested he was well aware of the game she was playing. As far as Lucy was concerned, that was a point in his favor.

Mr. Charles Barnes and his sister, Prudence, were nice but both seemed slightly ill at ease among the others. Mr. Barnes watched Emma with a hunger in his eyes that Lucy didn’t care for. Was that look for Emma herself or her fortune?

Her cousin hadn’t mentioned Viscount Comerford, but Lucy wondered if he was also a potential suitor. He raked a practiced eye over them that Lucy found distasteful. He leaned forward when he spoke, lending an intimacy to his manner that she didn’t appreciate. But Emma seemed to find him pleasant.

At last, they came to Mr. Raybourne. Lucy felt her cheeks heat while Emma made the introduction.

“I would recognize those eyes anywhere,” he said with an engaging smile that had Lucy’s stomach quivering. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“Please accept my apology for the misunderstanding upon our arrival,” Lucy began, forcing herself to meet his blue eyes. Was it embarrassment that caused the flutters within her or something else?

To her dismay, Emma stepped away to speak with someone, leaving Lucy on her own.

“Think nothing of it,” Mr. Raybourne said. “I’m certain your aunt won’t be the last to assume I’m a servant.”

“I hardly think anyone in their right mind would take you for a footman.” Her cheeks grew warmer as she took in his tall form and broad shoulders, only to see he could easily fill the role of a footman, who were prided for their good looks and fine physique. Too late, she realized her mistake. His remark hadn’t been an invitation to ogle him. Would she ever gain her footing with this man?

“I would be happy to assist you anytime.” His suggestive smile sent her heart racing even as her stomach dipped.

Her hope of putting their awkward beginning behind them was dashed. Good heavens. How did Emma flirt so effortlessly?

Before she embarrassed herself further, she smiled politely then turned to rejoin Emma. How was she going to manage an entire meal seated next to the man?

PLEASURE FILLED Hugh as he sat beside Miss Gray at the long dining room table for dinner. He hadn’t expected to sit next to Miss Waverly but feared he’d be stuck with Mrs. Penrose or the like. Luckily, the grumpy woman wasn’t in sight.

He reminded himself not to be too forward with Miss Gray. His earlier remark had obviously made her uncomfortable. “Hello again.”

“Hello.” She smiled politely but kept her gaze on the table.

“I’m famished,” he said in an attempt to put her at ease as he adjusted his chair.

Lucy Gray was much different than her flirtatious cousin in both looks and manner. With dark hair, creamy skin, a hint of rose in her cheeks, and that shy smile, she was a gentle beauty rather than displaying Emma’s brightness. Her watchful eyes reminded him of a colt, uncertain whether to bolt or come forward to investigate.

He realized he very much wanted her to do the latter even if he was out of practice in dealing with shy ladies. He avoided them at London balls as they came with matchmaking mamas looking for the slightest infraction to pounce on an eligible bachelor.

“How is your aunt?” he asked as chestnut soup was served.

“She’s resting. I hope she’ll recover from our journey and join some of the activities on the morrow.”

“I gather from what Miss Waverly said that you watch over her?”

“Yes.” Her lips twisted to the side as if she debated what more to say. “My parents died several years ago, and I’ve lived with her since.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. How kind of you to stay with her.” The notion of this beautiful lady living with an elderly aunt in the country didn’t please him in the least. She must be missing out on much of what life had to offer.

“Aunt Edith was kind to take me in.”

Why didn’t Miss Gray live with Emma and her parents? Yet Miss Gray didn’t seem the least bitter about her circumstances.

He turned the subject to the activities planned for the coming days before he slipped up and shared his opinion. It wasn’t any of his business and without knowing the details, he shouldn’t pass judgement.

The lady seated on his other side addressed him as the second course of Mackerel with fennel along with roasted beef and pickled vegetables arrived, and he turned his attention to her as he ate. But that did little to diminish his growing fascination with Miss Gray whom he could see out of the corner of his eye.

He soon found himself speaking with her again, partly for the pleasure of watching her. Her wary brown eyes seemed to notice everything and everyone. The graceful movement of her hands as she enjoyed the meal. The way her guarded expression shifted as she considered how to answer the various questions he asked.

Her cool reserve unexpectedly stirred him. What would it take to loosen her hold on her emotions so her true feelings would show?

“Do you enjoy living in London, Mr. Raybourne?” she asked. She met his gaze, the sincerity of it suggesting she truly wanted to know.

Her genuine interest was refreshing, so different than other people, including her cousin. Miss Waverly hadn’t asked him any questions that he remembered. In fact, he couldn’t remember the topic of their last conversation. Their exchanges tended to be flirtatious but meaningless. Perhaps he should rectify that. How would he know if Miss Waverly would suit him when he didn’t truly know her?

“I enjoy parts of the city,” he responded after considering her question. “But I would prefer to spend more time in the country.” His own answer surprised him, for he hadn’t admitted the desire to himself, let alone anyone else.

“Oh?” She tilted her head to the side, those lovely eyes holding on him, obviously expecting him to share more—as if she wanted to know more.

“In London, one tends to see the same people who talk about the same things. The country offers more variety in many ways.” He spoke of how he’d enjoyed long days spent riding and working with horses in his youth.

“Do you have family?” she asked as a raspberry cream trifle was served.

“Two brothers, one older, one younger.”

“You must’ve had an interesting childhood.”

He couldn’t resist telling her about one of the times they managed to escape their tutor to go fishing. Then he shook his head, realizing the meal was nearly over, and he’d dominated the entire conversation. “My apologies for rambling on. You’re very easy to speak with.”

She blinked at his compliment as if surprised. “The pleasure was mine. I’ve enjoyed our visit.”

The gentleman on her opposite side asked her a question, leaving Hugh a moment of quiet. He didn’t understand himself. Why had he told her all those things? He glanced at Miss Waverly who sat near her father at the end of the table. She was speaking to Jameson, her expression animated. Obviously, Jameson was one of her suitors. The viscount’s title would make vying against him for her hand difficult. Was this a competition or did the lady simply wish to get to know them better?

Regardless, Hugh was pleased he’d spent the meal beside Miss Gray. Her pleasant company allowed him to relax and not watch each word that passed his lips.

The ladies rose to return to the drawing room, leaving the men to converse with glasses of port. Jameson seemed to be doing his best to monopolize their host’s attention. Hugh knew he needed to put his best foot forward with Mr. Waverly at every opportunity if he wanted to win his daughter’s hand. But doing so on the morrow would suffice. For now, he was content to talk with the other gentlemen and enjoy himself.

They rejoined the ladies, and Hugh found himself searching the room for Miss Gray. The realization unsettled him. The goal of this house party was to win Miss Waverly’s eye. Her wealth was ideal if he wanted to pursue his hope of raising horses. Without funds, the dream would never come to pass.

His objective stood near the cheerfully burning fire, conversing with Edward Barnes and his sister. Barnes didn’t worry him overmuch and now was his chance to spend more time with Miss Waverly.

Hugh moved in their direction only to have Emma’s father clap his shoulder.

“Raybourne, are you enjoying yourself?” the older man asked.

Hugh turned with a smile. “Indeed, sir. The meal was delicious and the conversation lively.”

“Excellent. We’ll be playing billiards and a few hands of cards shortly if you have a mind to join us.”

“I’d be pleased to do so.” Hugh hid a satisfied smile as best he could. Gaining the man’s approval was nearly as important as gaining his daughter’s.

Yet as Mr. Waverly stepped away and Hugh joined his daughter and Barnes to converse, his gaze followed Miss Gray. She moved slowly about the room, speaking with the few people who seemed ill at ease.

She bent low to place a hand on Mrs. Robard’s arm where the elderly woman sat on the settee with a grim expression and soon had the woman chuckling. Then she moved on to a young man Hugh had yet to meet but who continually tugged at his cravat as if it were too tight. The look of gratitude on the man’s face was nearly comical. She even took the time to introduce a young lady with a plump form and a friendly smile to the man and stayed to converse with the two of them for several minutes before moving on. Based on the way the pair continued to speak, Miss Gray had found a common interest for them to share.

“Isn’t that right, Mr. Raybourne?” Miss Waverly’s question took him by surprise.

“My apologies. I was woolgathering.”

She frowned as she glanced over to see who he’d been watching. Luckily, Miss Gray had moved on to visit with someone else and no longer stood in his line of vision.

“I suggested we wait until mid-day before we go skating with the hope the temperature warms.”

“A wise idea,” he agreed. “Do you enjoy skating?”

Her pleased smile suggested she appreciated his interest. “I adore it. I hope you do as well?”

“I haven’t had the pleasure in several years, but I skated frequently in my youth.”

“What of you, Mr. Barnes?”

The conversation continued, but Miss Waverly didn’t bother to include Miss Barnes. The other lady appeared distressed based on her frown.

Did Miss Waverly truly not realize she’d left out the woman or did she not care? He didn’t like to think she was purposely rude.

“Lucy?” Miss Waverly called out to her cousin who was passing by. “Do you remember what fun we used to have on the ice?”

“Such fun.” Miss Gray smiled as she took in each member of the conversation, her gaze holding on Miss Barnes. “What of you, Miss Barnes? Do you skate?”

“I do, though I might need a partner for the first round or two on the ice. It’s been some time since I’ve done so.”

Hugh smiled at Miss Gray, amazed at how quickly she smoothed Miss Barnes’s ruffled feathers. Her thoughtfulness warmed him though he couldn’t say why as that was a trait he rarely considered. He gave himself a mental shake. Why was he allowing a pair of lovely brown eyes and kindness to shift his focus? With a stern reminder to himself, he moved his attention back to Miss Waverly.

CHAPTER THREE

LUCY ROSE EARLY the next morning, eager to start the day before Aunt Edith woke. This was Lucy’s favorite part of the day as her aunt normally slept late. Once she woke, she took most of Lucy’s time, but these few precious hours were a gift.

Emma’s decision to delay the skating until mid-day had been disappointing. By then, Lucy would be with Aunt Edith, reading, or writing letters, or whatever task her aunt wished.

But for now, her time was her own.

One look out the window confirmed exactly what Lucy had hoped—the wind had died down and the weather was perfect for skating.

After washing her face and tidying her hair, she dressed in several layers followed by her warmest wool gown. Then she put on her cloak and grabbed her muff, scarf, gloves, and the skates that strapped onto her half-boots and headed out the door with a friendly greeting to the surprised footman on duty.

The ice-skating area was within walking distance, and she looked forward to gliding over the ice in the peaceful quiet.

The evening had been enjoyable, but she’d forgotten how exhausting it was to make conversation. She hadn’t been able to keep from helping the other guests to enjoy themselves. Some needed a nudge in the right direction.

The air was crisp and removed the last dregs of tiredness that nipped at her as did excitement at having the ice all to herself. She walked briskly, pleased to see the smooth sheen of ice beckoning her.

Her uncle had placed benches for the skaters to sit and fasten their skates, and she pulled off her muff and gloves to strap on her blades. Soon she was taking her first stilted glides, finding her balance after a couple of turns around the frozen pond.

The skating area wasn’t a true pond, only a low spot her uncle flooded for the purpose of skating. It was thick enough to provide a good surface but shallow enough to easily freeze given the cold temperatures of the past fortnight. There was no worry over skating on a thin spot and falling through.

Lucy picked up her speed, the cold wind stinging her nose and cheeks. To test her skills, she managed an awkward turn and then a smoother one, feeling more graceful as she moved across the ice.

Oh, it was truly delightful. How she’d missed this feeling. The freedom was thrilling. She couldn’t imagine a dance being this enjoyable.

She’d been skating for half an hour when she saw a tall figure striding toward her. Resigned to having her solitude disturbed, she slowed and approached to greet him, her displeasure fading as she recognized Mr. Raybourne.

“Good morning,” he called, his hands buried in his greatcoat. “You have a talent for skating.”

“Thank you. Emma and I used to skate in our youth.”

“And you’re an early riser.”

“You must be as well.” She was surprised as many of the men had played billiards and cards late into the night. None of the effects of a late night were visible on his countenance.

“Seems a waste of the country air to remain abed on a fine morning.” His gaze took in the fields before returning to her, giving her heart a little bump.

“I agree.” She hesitated then asked, “Did you bring your skates this morning?”

“No, I was out for a walk when I saw you.”

“I won’t be joining the party later, so I decided to skate while I could.” She backed up slightly then skated forward again, unable to stand still.

“Perhaps tomorrow morning I’ll join you if you don’t mind some company?”

“I’d be delighted.” And she realized she would. If one of the guests were to join her, Mr. Raybourne was the ideal choice. Conversation with him was relatively easy though she couldn’t deny the awareness she felt when in his presence.

Even now, she felt warm from the inside out, and it had little to do with skating. Was this how Emma felt when she was with him? The thought sobered her. She needed to remember her purpose here. Skating with him would provide a chance for her to form an opinion about him.

“I look forward to it.” With a dose of that smile and a touch to the brim of his hat, he turned and continued his walk, his broad shoulders a sight to behold.

Lucy bit her lip, excited at the prospect of skating with him come morning. How was she going to curtail her feelings and keep her purpose in mind?

HUGH SORELY MISSED Miss Gray’s presence during the ice-skating outing later in the day. She’d looked so happy before he’d interrupted her that he was almost sorry he had. Almost.

Now as the group bundled into the wagon that would return them to the house where warm beverages awaited them, he was pleased he’d had time with her earlier.

He hadn’t been able to resist questioning Miss Waverly about her whereabouts, but his inquiry had been met with a vague response. “I’m sure she’s caring for Aunt Edith. That’s how she spends every day.”

Hugh didn’t understand the family. Why wouldn’t they take turns with their aunt, especially when they were all staying under the same roof? Why did it fall to Miss Gray?

Miss Waverly sat by him in the wagon and the brief interlude was enjoyable. But he had no doubt the skating excursion would’ve been more fun for everyone if Miss Gray had been there. She’d made certain all the guests were enjoying themselves last evening. But today, several had regained their awkwardness and skated alone, something Miss Waverly either didn’t notice or didn’t care about.

Hugh frowned. Why was he suddenly aware of other people’s happiness?

“You’re a fine skater, Mr. Raybourne.” Miss Waverly placed her gloved hand under his arm while the wagon bumped along toward the house.

The contact surprised him, but when she smiled up at him, her blue eyes sparkling, he was even more surprised to realize he felt nothing.

“As are you, Miss Waverly.” This was his chance to flirt. To say something charming. But his mind was blank. The reserve he felt with her was puzzling.

She smiled, seemingly unaware of his internal debate. Her gaze dropped to his mouth, and he was shocked at her forwardness since they weren’t alone.

“I hope we have the chance to do so again.” She leaned closer.

“As do I.” He patted her hand on his arm. Still, nothing clever came to mind, much to his dismay.

They arrived at the house, saving him from further conversation. Emma walked up the front steps with another guest. But as everyone doffed their outer garments in the entrance hall before moving en masse upstairs to the drawing room, she stared at him for a moment before stepping into the small reception room off the entrance.

Hugh paused. He knew an invitation when he saw one. Did he dare accept it? He reminded himself that she was the reason he was here. After lingering briefly in the foyer, he joined her where she stood before the fire in the small room, holding out her hands toward the flames.

“Cold out there, wasn’t it?” he asked as a way of announcing his presence as he forced himself forward.

“Terribly,” she said with a smile. “My hands are still freezing.” She held them out as if to show him.

“I’m sure you’re chilled to the bone.” He glanced at her hands but didn’t take them, deciding to keep his distance. With his luck, someone would come upon them.

She dropped her hands with a slight pout. “I’m cold everywhere.”

“Shall I add more wood to the fire?”

“I can think of a better way to warm.” She batted her lashes several times.

Her invitation was clear but holding her wasn’t worth the risk. Not when her father was beginning to like him. A trickle of unease ran along his skin, and though he couldn’t pinpoint the cause, he always listened to his instincts.

“What is it?”

“We should join the others.”

The twist of her lips suggested disappointment. “I suppose so.” She stepped close to tap a finger on his lapel. “But be on the lookout for mistletoe. One never knows where it might appear.”

Then with a flirtatious smile, she took her leave.

He sighed as he watched her go, wondering what was wrong with him. Since when did he have to be talked into a tête-à-tête with a beautiful lady?

“YOU TRIED to convince him to kiss you?” Lucy stared in disbelief at Emma, who sat on the settee beside her in Aunt Edith’s bedchamber later that afternoon. Her whispered words were louder than she intended but their aunt continued to snore gently.

“I don’t have much time and few opportunities,” Emma insisted. “I must take advantage of each one.”

“What did he say?” Lucy had yet to kiss anyone. The thought of doing so caused her mouth to dry. Or was it the idea of kissing Mr. Raybourne that caused it?

Emma heaved a sigh which spoke clearly of her disappointment. “Only that we should rejoin the others. If he likes me, why wouldn’t he take my hint?”

Lucy glanced again at Aunt Edith, but she still slept soundly despite their whispered conversation. “It sounds to me as if he acted as a gentleman should.”

“But he’s a rogue. One would think he’d take advantage of the moment.”

Lucy smiled. “Perhaps you’ve been reading too many romances. Besides, it’s not just a kiss that matters. It’s the moment before the kiss. It’s about how you feel when he looks into your eyes.”

“I felt a lovely flutter as we stood there alone.” Emma’s eyes narrowed as she analyzed the moment. “Have you experienced that as well?”

“I couldn’t say.” Not when the only times she’d felt that had been with Mr. Raybourne. When his eyes had held on her as if nothing else in the world mattered. The memory was enough to cause another flutter.

“Hmm. I suppose it could’ve been nerves. The idea of Mother or Father walking in worried me.”

“As it should. Do take care.” Lucy had to warn her.

“Of course.” Emma waved her hand. “I shall try Mr. Barnes next. Though it will be a challenge to find a moment alone when his sister is forever at his side.”

“Miss Barnes doesn’t seem to make friends easily.”

“Which is why I’ll need your help. If I give you a nod, it means you should lure her away from her brother’s side.”

Lucy hid a sigh. While she was grateful to be here with her family, she didn’t care for the games Emma was playing. “You do realize a moment alone with a man might be all it takes to find you betrothed.”

“I shall be careful. Besides, it’s a thrill to attempt a moment of passion.” She placed both hands over her heart as she spoke.

“A moment of what?” Aunt Edith asked with a frown, suddenly wide awake. “What did you say?”

“Poison,” Emma quickly supplied as she dropped her hands. “We’re discussing a book I’m reading. The heroine has to find poison.”

“Humph.” Aunt Edith considered Emma for a long moment as if unconvinced. Then she closed her eyes once more.

Lucy waited a breath before whispering, “Your recklessness might not end well.”

“You sound like my mother. Where is your sense of adventure, Lucy?” Emma shook her head. “You’ll be a spinster if you don’t find it.”

The thought was a sobering one. Though she loved her aunt, she had no desire to spend the rest of her life living such a solitary existence. Would she have a chance for more? And if that chance came along, would she have the courage to take it?

HUGH ARRIVED EARLY in the drawing room before dinner, hoping to find Miss Waverly. After much thought, he was certain that coming to know her better would be the solution to the absence of a connection he felt when they were together. He might appreciate her beauty, but physical attraction would only last so long.

Yet as he searched the guests, he realized he was looking for dark hair. More specifically, the dark hair of Miss Gray. With a muttered oath, he reminded himself of his need for a wealthy wife if he wished to pursue his dream of raising horses. He could admire Lucy all he wanted, but marriage was a serious business. His future was at stake.

He and his brothers were doing what they could to pay off the debts their father had left and refill the family coffers. Thomas, his younger brother, was doing a fine job at the publishing house with the help of his wife, Annabelle, and her successful books.

Graham, the eldest and the Earl of Carlington, was working to make their entailed properties more efficient as well as bettering their tenants’ lives.

Now it was Hugh’s turn. Unfortunately, the one idea he felt he’d be good at and would eventually provide an income required significant funds.

With renewed determination, he searched for Miss Waverly and turned in time to see her entering the room with Miss Gray and their aunt at her side. He hadn’t seen Mrs. Penrose since her arrival when she’d mistaken him for a servant.

He moved forward to greet them before his competitors could do so. “Good evening, ladies.”

“Mr. Raybourne,” Miss Waverly returned his smile. “I hope the evening finds you well.”

“It does now,” he said as he held each of their gazes in turn. Why was it that his chest tightened when his gaze reached Lucy?

Mrs. Penrose narrowed her eyes as if suspecting he was up to no good. “And why would that be?”

“Because I have the pleasure of speaking with the three most beautiful ladies in the room.”

“Few others have arrived, so your attempt to compliment us has failed,” Mrs. Penrose announced. She turned to Lucy. “Let us find a seat.”

“May I fetch you glasses of sherry?” Hugh offered, deciding to ignore Mrs. Penrose’s comment. One had to assume she was always in a grim mood.

“That would be lovely,” Miss Waverly said. “So kind of you.”

“Quite nice,” Miss Gray agreed with a stern look at her aunt. “Isn’t it, Aunt Edith?”

“Yes. An effort worthy of praise, I’m sure.” Mrs. Penrose gestured toward the settee. “Now I’d like to sit if we’ve all decided how kind Mr. Raybourne is.”

Miss Gray’s look of apology made Hugh long to tell her all was well. She need not worry that her aunt would offend him. Besides, he had no doubt he’d eventually win over the woman. With a bow, he stepped away to pour the sherry.

In short order, he returned with three glasses, pleased to see that none of the other gentlemen had arrived to steal Miss Waverly’s attention. “Here we are.” He handed each of them a glass.

“Thank you.” Lucy looked at him from under her lashes. That simple glance sent awareness prickling under his skin.

“Did you have an enjoyable day, Mr. Raybourne?” Emma asked with a secretive smile.

Did she think their brief time together had made it so? Her confidence was annoying at times. “I did indeed.” He glanced at Lucy. “From the very start, it was enjoyable.”

Her dark eyes, the color of coffee beans, widened, and a delicate blush stole up her cheeks. She truly was beautiful.

Emma glanced at her cousin then at him, obviously puzzled by the silent exchange.

“A delightful day all around.” He forced himself to meet Emma’s eyes and offered a charming smile, hoping she’d ignore his remark. What was wrong with him that he’d risk annoying the woman he hoped to court? Nor did he want Lucy to become a target of her cousin’s ire because of him.

Emma smiled then sipped her sherry. “Tomorrow will be great fun as well. We have an afternoon of games planned.”

“Games?” Viscount Jameson joined them with a drink in hand. “What sort of games?”

“Good evening, my lord,” the ladies said in unison.

“All sorts of games, but I refuse to share details now,” Emma continued after greetings were exchanged. “I want them to be a surprise.”

Lucy glanced away, and Hugh realized at once the reason. She would no doubt again be spending the afternoon with her aunt and not participate in the fun. Didn’t Emma realize this? Why had they bothered to invite Lucy if she couldn’t join the festivities? It seemed a cruel gesture in his opinion.

He intended to do what little he could to make certain Lucy enjoyed her free time. Someone needed to assist her, especially if her family wasn’t going to. He told himself it was the unfairness of the situation that bothered him, but that didn’t ring completely true.

CHAPTER FOUR

LUCY DESCENDED the stairs early the next morning, excited at the prospect of skating again. To her surprise, Hugh already stood in the entranceway wearing his greatcoat. She hadn’t been certain if he would rise early again to skate when he’d skated the previous afternoon, but here he was, prepared to brave the cold.

“Good morning.” His warm smile sent awareness tingling along her skin as she joined him.

“And to you.” A tiny part of her longed for this moment—to have a handsome man waiting, eager to spend a few minutes with her no matter the time of day. But in reality, she knew Hugh was simply being polite. His true focus was on Emma, and she couldn’t forget that.

“Good morning.” Emma descended the stairs a moment later, wearing a fur-lined cloak, matching muff, and looking lovely despite the early hour.

If Lucy hadn’t been watching, she would’ve missed the brief frown marring his brow.

“My cousin decided to join us,” Lucy said to explain Emma’s presence.

When Emma had demanded an explanation for his remark in the drawing room, Lucy told her about their brief meeting at the ice-skating area earlier and their plan to skate again. Of course Emma wanted to join them. While Lucy knew it wouldn’t have been appropriate for them to be alone, she now felt like the chaperone. But the outing wasn’t to be wasted, and she set her mind to enjoy it, regardless of the details.

Warmly bundled with skates in hand, they left the house. Low clouds hung in the sky, making the air feel even colder.

“Do you think it might snow?” Emma asked from the depths of her hooded cloak. “Christmas would be perfect if it did.”

Lucy sniffed the air, trying to detect the hint of moisture that often accompanied snow. “It might.”

Hugh chuckled. “We rarely have snow for the holiday, but I have no doubt if both of you ladies wished it so, the weather will cooperate.”

“If only we had that power.” Lucy shared a smile with Emma. There were many things she’d wish for if she could. To spend one more holiday with her parents. To have a family of her own. To find love. But such wishes were both impractical and impossible. For now, she hoped for a pleasurable morning of skating.

If there was one lesson she’d learned over the past few years, it was to appreciate the small moments. This promised to be a particularly fine one, and she wanted to enjoy it fully then tuck it away to pull out on a lonely night yet to come.

They reached the ice-skating pond and excitement filled her. Not that she’d have the chance to glide across the ice on Hugh’s arm. His escort would be for Emma to enjoy. But just the image of skating with him made her smile.

“You must truly love to skate, Miss Gray.” He bent to assist Emma to strap on her skates, much to her cousin’s delight. “That is a bright smile for so early on a cold morning.”

“Yes, I do,” Lucy said. “There’s nothing like the feeling of freedom it brings.”

Hugh paused to study her, making her feel as if she’d shared a secret she hadn’t realized she’d been keeping. She supposed that was one way of coming to know each other, exchanging preferences and dislikes. Would she have the chance to do the same of him?

“As do I,” Emma added as if not to be left out. “Isn’t it grand? Even at this ungodly hour.”

“We won’t have any sun today it seems.” Hugh finished assisting Emma and turned his attention to Lucy, but she’d already buckled on her skates.

The idea of him holding her foot, even with her boot on, rattled her thoroughly. He offered his hand to help her stand and guided her onto the ice then repeated the gesture for Emma.

Lucy was pleased Emma seemed to be in good spirits as she knew her cousin didn’t care for early mornings. They skated together, going around the pond while Hugh put on his skates.

He quickly joined them, proving to be a natural on the ice, even managing to skate backward in front of them, claiming he wished to see their beauty as he skated.

His outrageous flirting soon had both Emma and her laughing so hard they had to slow their pace.

“Mr. Raybourne, please,” Lucy begged as she pressed her muff against her middle. “My stomach hurts from laughing.”

He feigned a hurt expression. “Why you find my compliments amusing is beyond me. I meant them all.”

“Even the one about the moon rising with each breath we take?” Emma shared a look with Lucy, and they both were in stitches once again.

Hugh heaved a beleaguered sigh then skated between them, offering his elbow to each. “My skills at charming beautiful ladies have obviously grown rusty with disuse.”

A glow of happiness settled around Lucy as they continued circling the pond in companionable silence. The touch of his arm wrapped with hers made her feel like champagne with tiny bubbles of joy rising to the surface. She caught the faint scent of musk and forest, a very manly smell, so different from the lily scent Aunt Edith wore. The only sound breaking the quiet was the swish of their skates as they glided in unison.

The moment was perfect, and she closed her eyes briefly to hold it tight, imprinting it to her memory with all her senses.

“You are lucky to have such a wonderful place away from London,” Hugh said, his gaze sweeping over the rolling hills. He looked content as he admired the view.

Lucy was again surprised a gentleman like him would find pleasure so far away from the frantic pace of the city.

As if sensing her perusal, he looked at her, a gentle smile in his eyes. She returned it, realizing she now held one of his secrets—a fondness of the countryside. The warmth of that knowledge filled her. Perhaps they had more in common than she realized.

“Shall we race?” Emma asked, breaking the fragile moment.

Lucy blinked to clear her thoughts, reminding herself that she was only supposed to become acquainted with him because Emma had asked her to, not for her own pleasure.

“Of course,” he agreed then raised a brow at Lucy. “Shall we?”

“Absolutely.” What could she do but agree?

“Go!” Emma rushed forward, but Lucy and Hugh soon caught up with her.

The three shouted encouragement to each other as they raced to the opposite end.

Lucy had no doubt Hugh allowed Emma to beat him, and she followed suit, holding back to allow the two the victory.

Emma pretended to suddenly lose her balance, and Hugh caught her in his arms. Lucy forced a smile as they laughed, still holding each other. They made a beautiful couple.

Mr. Raybourne was the best of the suitors her cousin had, though Lucy had yet to spend much time with the others. But the thought of sharing her opinion with Emma had Lucy turning away.

AFTER DINNER THE FOLLOWING EVENING, once the gentlemen had rejoined the ladies in the drawing room, Hugh watched from across the room as Emma gave Lucy a pointed look. With a reluctant nod, Lucy approached Miss Barnes who stood next to her brother, as always. The woman rarely left his side and acted quite uncomfortable when she did.

He couldn’t hear the conversation, but he had a guess as to what was being said. It proved correct as Miss Barnes followed Lucy a short distance away to join Mrs. Waverly, leaving Emma to speak alone with Mr. Barnes.

Hugh scowled at Emma’s behavior. The more he came to know her, the more he realized she was used to getting her own way with everyone, including Lucy. Emma used her cousin for whatever purpose she needed. That annoyed Hugh in no small measure. Lucy was too nice to her. From what he could tell, Emma never returned the favor, though he supposed he shouldn’t be so quick to judge on such short acquaintance.

Before he realized what he was doing, he walked across the room to join Lucy, Mrs. Waverly, and Miss Barnes.

“Mr. Raybourne, we were just sharing how pleased we are that it’s snowing,” Lucy said as her aunt excused herself and stepped away.

“I confess I’m pleased as well,” he offered. “Quite festive, don’t you think, Miss Barnes?”

“Quite.” The lady blinked several times as a ruddy blush filled her cheeks. She seemed to have a difficult time finding the courage to meet his gaze. The guarded way she acted suggested she feared he’d ravish her while everyone watched.

Her behavior annoyed him, though he couldn’t say why. He supposed he preferred the way Lucy treated him as if she enjoyed their conversations.

“The snow might make our attempt to gather greenery on the morrow more difficult.” He glanced at Lucy, wondering if she’d be able to join in the fun.

“I wonder how much we’ll get,” she said, her brown eyes gleaming with delight.

“Greenery or snow?” he asked, hoping her excitement meant she would indeed be accompanying them.

“Both.” She smiled as she met his gaze and a warm sensation filled him. Did she realize what a gift her smile was?

He chuckled. “I assume you’re hoping for a significant amount.”

“I am.” Her quick admission amused him. “It would be lovely if it snowed several inches. Then we could take the sleighs to the woods. What of you, Miss Barnes? Do you wish it to snow?”

“It would make a special Christmas,” the lady said even as her brow wrinkled. “Though I worry it would make travelling home difficult.”

“We might all be snowed in together until the weather clears.” He said the words jokingly, but the expression of alarm on Miss Barnes’ face suggested she truly feared that might come to pass.

Lucy patted the woman’s arm. “Have no worries. We rarely receive that much snow here, especially this early in the year.”

The lady’s look of relief was comical. As if concerned they’d take offense, she added, “It’s lovely here, of course.”

“You prefer your home though.” Lucy nodded. “That’s a benefit to travelling. It makes one appreciate home all the more, don’t you think?”

“True,” Miss Barnes answered, though her response lacked conviction.

Lucy’s gaze held on something in the distance, but he had the distinct feeling she saw something else entirely. A memory of her own home prior to her parents’ death? He wanted to reach out and squeeze her arm, anything to let her know he was sorry for her loss. To lose both her mother and father at such a tender age must’ve been terribly difficult.

“What of you, Mr. Raybourne?” Lucy brought her attention back to the conversation. “Are you anxious to return to London?”

“Not especially.” His apartment served as a comfortable place to live but little else. Graham, his eldest brother, and his wife would be celebrating the holiday with her family. Thomas and his new wife would do the same. Hugh would’ve been an extra no matter who he spent it with. “Though I would hate to wear out my welcome here. How is Mrs. Penrose feeling this evening?”

“She’s well, though a bit out of sorts at being in a strange place with a different routine. She prefers her own home and schedule.” Her quiet yet wistful smile said so much. She exhibited endless patience with the demands of both her aunt and her cousin.

He was beginning to see her many admirable traits as she once again changed the topic with the hope of drawing out Miss Barnes.

As the two women spoke, he glanced over to where Emma and Barnes conversed. Emma batted her eyes at something he said, making Hugh wonder how often she’d done that to him without him realizing it. The movement as well as her expression seemed contrived from this distance. He’d have to pay closer attention next time he was with her.

“Were you speaking about the snow?” Viscount Jameson asked as he joined them, his gaze holding on Miss Barnes.

Was there something between the pair, Hugh wondered? That would be ideal as it would leave more time for Hugh to spend with Emma. Yet when the viscount’s gaze shifted to Lucy, irritation slid through Hugh. Lucy treated him in the same warm, friendly manner she displayed with everyone. She was too kind for her own good.

He berated himself at the thought. How easy it was to forget his purpose here when he was with Lucy. He needed to worry more about Emma and less about her. To that end, he excused himself from the group and circled the room until he arrived at Emma’s side. Barnes appeared less than happy to see him.

After finding a way to compliment Emma, he kept the conversation on her, hoping to learn more about her. He had yet to select a gift for her or her mother as he wanted to have a better idea of what they might like before making a purchase. He’d brought a fine bottle of port for Mr. Waverly that he was sure the man would enjoy. Hugh intended to journey to the small village to find something for the ladies there in the coming days.

Yet his gaze continually wandered back to Lucy, despite his best intentions. If only he was free to make choices about his future based on his heart rather than money, this would be a perfect Christmas. But if he wanted something more in his life that provided both a purpose and an income other than gambling, he needed to marry well. With a resigned sigh, he turned away.

CHAPTER FIVE

“OH MY.” Lucy stared out the window the next morning, delighted to see the snow was still falling. Large flakes swayed gently down, creating a peaceful scene, and a significant amount had fallen during the night. Perfect for their plan to gather greenery as it meant they could take the sleighs to the woods.

Thank goodness Aunt Edith had given her approval. The thought of missing the outing was too painful to consider. She had fond memories of collecting holly, mistletoe, and boughs of evergreens in years past.

She and Aunt Edith had done little to celebrate Christmas in the past few years other than have roasted goose for Christmas dinner, attend church services, and give gifts to the servants on Boxing Day. If Aunt Jane and Uncle Andrew had invited Aunt Edith and her for Christmas during that time, Lucy hadn’t known about it. Already this had been a delightful holiday.

Never mind that a good portion of the reason was Hugh.

Had Emma managed more time alone with Mr. Barnes? Lucy hoped so, or it meant Lucy would be visiting with Miss Barnes again. She liked the lady well enough but preferred to spend time with whom she chose. While she understood Emma’s wish to make certain she married the right man, Lucy didn’t think it would require a kiss for her to know.

She closed her eyes and rested her forehead against the frosted windowpane, her thoughts filled with Hugh. The same emotions arose whenever they were together. If only she could halt the tumult of her feelings for him. Emma must never know of her attraction. But hiding what she felt was becoming more difficult.

She hoped Emma didn’t select Hugh. And she hoped Emma didn’t ask her opinion. It was impossible to be objective about the other two gentlemen when they paled compared to Hugh.

She gave herself a mental shake. Her feelings didn’t matter. She had nothing to offer him. Nor could she leave Aunt Edith. Besides, the idea of growing to love someone was too frightening.

When her parents died, everything had been stripped away. She couldn’t bear to endure that again. Caring for another meant opening herself up to the chance of heartbreak once more. She simply couldn’t do it.

The realization calmed her, easing the yearning that had crept over her. In a week, she’d go home with Aunt Edith and life would return to normal. She should enjoy every moment of the party to gather memories for the days ahead. She might be lonely at times, but lonely meant safe.

With renewed determination, she washed and dressed, then looked in on her aunt to find her sleeping peacefully. She went downstairs to the dining room for breakfast only to stop short in the doorway, the longing that speared through her bringing her to a halt.

Hugh was the only one in the room and sat at the table with a heaping plate and a steaming cup of coffee before him. He stood at the sight of her, a smile on his face. “Good morning, Miss Gray.”

“And to you, Mr. Raybourne. I hope the day finds you well.” She reminded herself to hold tight to her defenses and shoved away her awareness of him.

“Indeed.”

“Please continue with your meal,” she requested and turned to the sideboard to help herself to the offerings. After selecting coddled eggs and sausage, she took a seat two places down from Hugh on the opposite side. Far enough to protect herself but not so far as to be rude.

A footman brought her a cup of warm chocolate, a treat to which she was becoming accustomed. Aunt Edith only drank tea and saw no need to have anything else.

“The snow will make our outing this morning quite the challenge,” Hugh said before sipping his coffee, his attire impeccable as always.

“We’ll take the sleighs to the woods.” Lucy couldn’t stop her smile.

“The cold doesn’t seem to bother you.”

“I wouldn’t want to stay outside the entire day, but there’s something fresh that comes with the snow.”

“My favorite part is when we return to enjoy a warm fire.”

Lucy chuckled. “I like that as well.”

If only he wasn’t so easy to converse with. Viscount Jameson was nice, but he didn’t go out of his way to amuse her the way Hugh did. Mr. Barnes’ shy manner might appeal to Emma, but Lucy found talking to him required too much effort.

Emma had yet to express a preference for a specific suitor. Mayhap that was why she was determined to kiss them all. Thank goodness Emma hadn’t kissed Hugh...at least not yet.

More guests joined them for breakfast and soon everyone finished. They returned to their rooms to don their warm outer garments, including Lucy. She also checked on Aunt Edith, finding her sitting up in bed with a breakfast tray.

“Good morning, Lucy. It will be a snowy outing for you.”

“It’s still falling and so pretty.”

“Pretty but cold.” Aunt Edith smiled. “I don’t envy you, though I have no doubt the young people will enjoy it.”

“You have everything you need? I’m not sure how long we’ll be.”

“Have no worries. Your Aunt Jane and I are going to visit. Enjoy yourself.”

Relieved, Lucy returned to the entryway where the other guests were gathered as three sleighs arrived, pulled by horses. She held back to see who Emma chose to sit beside. Her heart gave a tug when Emma looped her arm through Hugh’s, and they walked toward the front sleigh.

That was for the best, Lucy told herself. She needed a little distance from the handsome gentleman. Miss Barnes stood near the back of the group, and Lucy moved toward her.

“Won’t this be fun?” she asked as she gestured for the lady to walk with her to the last sleigh.

“It will be a new experience,” Miss Barnes said warily.

The ride was delightful. The drivers took the long route to the woods, travelling over hill and vale. With so many guests piled into each conveyance, everyone was warm and in high spirits. Eventually, they arrived at the area where they’d gather greenery.

“I’ve never done this,” Miss Barnes said. “I’m not certain what I’m looking for.”

“We’ll go together, shall we?” Lucy suggested as they alighted. “I believe I remember where to find what we’re looking for.”

“Do you do this every Christmas, Miss Gray?”

“Please, call me Lucy. And no. I haven’t been here during the holidays for several years. It’s normally just my aunt and me.” Why did remembering the past often hurt so much?

“You must call me Prudence.” She pulled her hand from her muff to pat Lucy’s arm. “I’m sorry if I said something wrong.” The look of sympathy on her face made Lucy realize memories had filled her with melancholy.

“Not at all.” She shook her head. “The last time I was here for Christmas my parents were alive. I still miss them.”

“Of course you do,” the woman exclaimed. “And here I am bringing up the subject. My apologies.”

“For what are you apologizing, dear sister?” Mr. Barnes joined them, having ridden in another sleigh.

“I’ve placed my foot in my mouth once again.”

“Please,” Lucy said as she forced a smile, wishing to change the subject. “Pay me no mind. Allow me to guide us to the greenery.”

With a gallant bow, Mr. Barnes offered his arm to each of them. “Please do.”

They waded through the snow with a few others. The rest of the group was led in a different direction by Emma who still walked with Hugh. Laughter and carols filled the air, lifting everyone’s spirits.

One of the gentlemen in her group carried a saw from the sleigh and soon they were cutting boughs of greenery.

“It smells delightful, doesn’t it?” Prudence asked as she sniffed the boughs in her arms. “What of the holly and mistletoe?”

“They grow deeper in the woods,” Lucy advised. “Shall we go in search of them?”

Several agreed while the rest offered to carry the greenery back to the wagon that had arrived to haul all they found to the house.

Though it had been a long time since Lucy had been in the area, she was pleased her memory served her as she easily led the group to a copse of bare-branched trees where the mistletoe grew.

She directed two of the others to where they’d find the holly bushes then turned to see Mr. Barnes staring up at the mistletoe warily.

“That’s rather high,” he said. “Do you think the tree is safe?”

Lucy tested one of the branches. “I believe so, but we can send one of the footmen to collect it instead.” If Mr. Barnes didn’t feel comfortable climbing the tree, surely it was better if he didn’t.

“I shall see if it will hold my weight.”

The awkward way he clambered made Lucy wonder if he’d missed that part of his childhood.

“Do be careful,” she called out. A glance at Miss Barnes suggested she also worried about her brother.

At last, he reached the mistletoe. One of the men handed him a saw, and he cut several pieces before declaring his mission complete.

Lucy studied the small pile he’d managed to cut but didn’t protest. They barely had enough for two or three kissing boughs. However, Mr. Barnes was obviously uncomfortable with the task. The weather conditions were worsening with the snow falling even harder, and the wind was now blowing as well. The sooner he returned to solid ground, the better.

She breathed a sigh of relief when he finally stood brushing off tree bark and debris from his greatcoat. With his sister’s assistance, Lucy gathered the mistletoe.

The group headed toward the sleigh with Mr. Barnes and one of the other gentlemen, Mr. Johnson, who carried the holly, in the lead. Based on the conversation Lucy overheard, Mr. Barnes seemed quite pleased with himself for having cut the mistletoe.

It was all she could do not to shake her head. Her opinion of him was not improving.

They were nearly back to the sleighs when Prudence halted. “Oh dear. I’ve dropped my scarf. I’ll return directly.”

“I’ll go with you,” Lucy offered.

“No need. Your arms are full. It won’t take me but a moment.”

Before Lucy could protest, Prudence hurried away. With a resigned sigh, Lucy continued forward. Surely no harm could come to the lady when she need only follow the tracks to stay on course. A few minutes later, they arrived at the sleighs, and she placed the mistletoe in the wagon beside the holly and greenery.

“Is that all mistletoe you gathered?” Emma asked as she joined her.

Lucy glanced about to make certain she wouldn’t be overheard. “Mr. Barnes wasn’t comfortable climbing the tree.”

“Hmm. I shall consider that a strike against him,” she whispered. “Didn’t Miss Barnes accompany you?”

“Yes, but she went to look for her scarf. I’m surprised she hasn’t returned by now.” She was even more surprised Mr. Barnes hadn’t accompanied her since he’d watched her walk back into the woods. “I’ll assist her if you want to take some of the guests to the house. Several are getting cold, and the weather is worsening.”

“Excellent idea.” Emma stepped away to advise the others, and Mr. Barnes joined her, despite glancing in the direction his sister had gone.

Lucy trudged back through the snow toward the copse of trees, searching. It wasn’t until she’d reached the area with the mistletoe that she spotted her. “Prudence?”

The lady was sitting on the ground with her hands braced behind her, legs stretched out, and her scarf on her lap. “Thank goodness you came. I fear I twisted my ankle on a log.”

Lucy knelt beside her, noting her face was pinched with pain. “Does it hurt terribly?”

Prudence blinked back tears and nodded. “It does.” She drew a shuddering breath. “Give me a moment, and I’ll see if I can stand.”

Lucy silently cursed Prudence’s brother. If he’d accompanied Prudence to find her scarf, he’d easily be able to get her to safety. Although from the ungainly way he’d scaled the tree, perhaps Lucy overestimated his physical prowess.

The flakes were coming down harder than ever, limiting visibility, the wind howling. Already the snow nearly covered their tracks. The sooner they returned to the sleighs, the better.

Prudence shifted and Lucy placed an arm under hers to help her rise. But that small victory was lost when the lady cried out the moment she placed weight on her ankle.

“I’m sorry. I need a moment longer.” Prudence wiped away her tears.

“I’ll get help.” Lucy released her arm to straighten.

“No! Please don’t leave me.” Prudence gripped Lucy’s arm with both hands. “I just need a few minutes.”

Uncertainty filled Lucy. Prudence was already shivering, and the weather was a concern. Yet how could she leave when the woman was so clearly frightened?

HUGH GLANCED around the guests for Lucy, though the blowing snow made it difficult to see. Two of the sleighs as well as the wagon had already departed. Had she been on one of them? He told himself it didn’t matter. His goal for the outing had been to spend as much time with Emma as possible. And he’d succeeded.

Not only had he ridden in the sleigh beside her, but he’d also traipsed through the woods with her arm tucked under his. He’d had more time with her than he’d hoped. She seemed to appreciate his attention.

But that didn’t keep him from thinking of Lucy. She was ever in his thoughts. The harder he tried to not think of her, the more he did.

“We’re waiting for Miss Barnes and Miss Gray,” Mr. Johnson, one of the other guests, said.

“Where are they?” Hugh asked.

“Miss Barnes lost her scarf, and when she didn’t return, Miss Gray went to assist her. They must be having difficulty finding it.”

Though no one else appeared concerned, something niggled at the back of Hugh’s mind. The snowfall was increasing steadily as was the wind. “Which direction did they go?”

“That way.” Johnson pointed toward the trees.

“I’ll see if I can find them. If I don’t return in a few minutes, send someone after me.”

Hugh waded through the deepening snow, searching the ground to ensure he followed the most recent tracks. The wind gusted, making the task even harder.

“Miss Gray?” he called out, though he feared the wind carried his voice away. “Miss Barnes?”

He shielded his face with his gloved hand to block the blowing snow to better see the tracks only to realize they veered in two directions. The set on the left looked more recent, so he followed those, pausing to call out often.

“Here!”

He squinted into the now blinding snow to see a figure waving in the distance. He hurried forward and found both ladies on the ground.

“Miss Barnes twisted her ankle,” Lucy explained, pitching her voice above the howling wind. “She’s in terrible pain and can’t put weight on it.”

“If you’ll allow me, Miss Barnes, I will carry you.”

She nodded jerkily.

Lucy assisted the lady to stand then Hugh lifted her in his arms. “Can you lead the way?” he asked Lucy.

“Yes.” She followed his tracks, adjusting course when needed.

Progress was slow given his burden and the weather. Miss Barnes shivered in his arms. “We’ll have you warm and dry in no time,” Hugh said as he adjusted his hold. Luckily, she wasn’t heavy, but between wading through the snow and carrying her, he was soon winded.

What should’ve taken ten minutes took double. The sound of shouts caught his ear, and soon dark shapes were visible, coming toward them.

Others hurried forward with offers of help, but Hugh shook his head. They had nearly made it and handing Miss Barnes to someone else might cause her additional pain. He left the explanation of what happened to Lucy and focused on keeping his footing.

Soon they were loaded in the sleigh and returning to the house.

“Thank you,” Lucy said from his side.

He turned to see her large brown eyes filled with gratitude.

“I don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t come,” she added, her voice difficult to hear.

He smiled. “As resourceful as you are, I have no doubt you would’ve thought of something. I’m sorry you had to worry for even a moment.”

She nodded but said nothing more.

The ride back to the house seemed to take forever. When they arrived, several men were returning to a sleigh to search for them, including Mr. Barnes.

“Prudence?” he asked as he looked among the bundled-up occupants of the sleigh.

“She’s twisted her ankle.” Hugh hopped down and turned to assist Lucy along with the others.

Within minutes, Miss Barnes was carried to her room, her brother visibly distressed for not having been there to aid her.

After Hugh told the story more times than he cared to in the drawing room, he left in search of Lucy. With all the attention on Miss Barnes, he wanted to make certain Lucy was none the worse for the fright and cold she’d experienced. Though she might be in her bedchamber or with her aunt, he looked in a few likely places, the last one being the small sitting room at the end of the second floor and found her.

He stood in the doorway unnoticed, taking a moment to admire her. She sat alone on the settee before the fire, reading a book. The image she presented caught his breath. Her dark hair was swept back into a loose chignon. Her creamy complexion made him long to touch her cheek to see if it was as soft as it appeared. Did she prefer to be alone or was it a habit from her solitary existence?

“I hope I’m not disturbing you.” He kept his tone quiet, not wanting to startle her.

She glanced up, her eyes rounded in surprise. “Not at all.” She hastily set aside the book to stand, but he held out his hand to stop her.

“Please, don’t rise on my account,” he said as he drew closer. “I wanted to make certain you were well.”

“I’m fine. It seemed as if Miss Barnes had plenty of people to care for her, so I came upstairs to check on my aunt.”

“Did you tell her of your heroic efforts?” he asked with a smile.

“Good heavens, no.” She shook her head. “She was napping, but I didn’t do anything heroic. You’re the one who rescued Miss Barnes. I should be asking if you are well.”

“I’m fine. I hope Miss Barnes quickly recovers.” He held out his hands toward the brightly burning fire, but Lucy’s presence was what kept him there. He liked her far more than he should.

“As do I.”

“Your cousin seemed unhappy that she missed all the excitement.”

Lucy smiled. “She detests missing out on anything.”

She detests not being the center of attention, he wanted to add but held back his opinion.

He knew he should leave Lucy to her privacy but couldn’t bring himself to do so. The quiet room with the warm fire and her presence were too hard to resist. He bent to place another piece of wood on the fire as he searched his mind for a reason to stay.

“I believe Mr. Barnes was more upset by the events than his sister,” he said.

Lucy chuckled. “No doubt he’s feeling guilty for not being at her side like he normally is.”

“Those two seem inseparable.” Hugh glanced at the settee. “Do you mind if I join you?” At her nod, he sat beside her.

She stared into the fire, before glancing at him as if uncertain what to say.

“Your efforts today were admirable.” He couldn’t imagine Emma acting as calmly as Lucy had. “Miss Barnes would’ve been much more frightened without your comforting presence.”

“I was pleased you came when you did.” A hint of the worry she must’ve felt glimmered in her eyes. “I didn’t want to leave her, but we needed help.”

“If I were injured, I can’t think of anyone I’d rather have at my side.” He held her gaze as he reached out to take her bare hand from the tufted cushion, hoping she didn’t think him too forward.

Her mouth parted in surprise even as her fingers curled around his. She blinked then licked her lips, causing desire to smolder inside him. “Thank you. I confess that I was relieved to see you coming to our rescue, Mr. Raybourne.”

“Please, call me Hugh.” At her nod, he added, “May I call you Lucy?”

“Of course.” Her chest rose as if she had trouble catching her breath. Funny as he felt the same way.

“There’s something I’ve wanted to do since the moment we met,” he began. He realized how forward he was behaving, but the house party would end soon, and he had to know more about his feelings for her.

“Oh?” Lucy’s eyes held on him and gave him hope she might be thinking the same.

He shifted closer. “May I kiss you?”

Her brow rose, suggesting she was shocked he’d asked. But something about Lucy made him want to be a gentleman, to rise above her expectations of him.

“I would like that very much.”

“As would I.” Then he leaned close, savoring the moment. Her sweet scent teased him. The heat of her body beckoned him. The flutter of her lashes as she closed her eyes was more appealing than he could’ve guessed. Then he pressed his mouth to hers, amazed at the passion that spiraled through him—as if a spark deep within had been lit and now burned brightly.

CHAPTER SIX

LUCY FELT her body awaken as if her entire being had been dormant all this time, waiting to be brought to life by this man’s touch. Guilt slid through her at the thought of Emma, but her cousin still didn’t know which, if any, of the gentlemen she liked. Then her feelings took over, pushing aside the worry.

Hugh’s mouth on hers was firm and sure, and she had an unexpected appreciation for his knowledge of how to properly kiss. His lips teased hers, enticing her to do the same. He tightened his hold on her fingers, and she placed her other hand on his upper arm, enjoying the firm muscles beneath the smooth wool.

The kiss was more than she’d imagined a kiss would be. How could the mere touching of lips make her feel so much? The heat gathering in her body shocked her even as desire rose.

When Hugh eased back, she went with him, unwilling to stop when they’d only just begun. With a groan, he took her mouth again. “So sweet,” he muttered between kisses.

Sweet? Her foggy mind considered the word. No. Definitely not. Spicy, perhaps. Hot, certainly. Then all thoughts fell away when his tongue pressed against the seam of her lips, requesting entry. She parted them, both awed and confused at how the simple invasion sent a pang of need through her.

This was not simple passion. This was something more. And it frightened her.

She jerked back, breathless, unable to meet Hugh’s gaze as heat filled her face. He must think her an immature girl rather than a woman of three and twenty to react this way to a kiss.

His gentle hand along her cheek had her panic easing. “Lucy, you are so beautiful. Kissing you is magical.”

That had her meeting his gaze, searching to see if he could possibly feel the same way she did. Though passion and tenderness were visible in his expression, surely his world hadn’t shaken the way hers had.

She’d known before their lips touched how special the kiss would be, but her expectation fell short. That didn’t mean she was ready for more. Besides, she had to think of Emma and what she might want. What if Hugh turned out to be her choice?

“I-I must check on my aunt again.” Lucy latched onto the excuse to escape so she could collect her thoughts. Another few minutes alone with Hugh, and she’d forget all the reasons they couldn’t be together, including Emma.

“Of course.” But he didn’t release her.

Lucy knew she could easily move from his embrace, but his reluctance to let her go tugged at something deep within her. She’d never had anyone hold her like that. In fact, she rarely received affection since her parents had died. The lump forming in her throat jolted her to her feet to escape the lure of him before she made a fool of herself.

“I can’t do this.” She shook her head, not certain to what she referred. Kiss? Share intimacy? Or allow herself to care for this man and risk her heart?

Unable to answer her own questions, she hurried from the room, wiping away her tears as she escaped to her bedchamber.

HUGH CURSED himself as he dressed for dinner that evening. He shouldn’t have pressed Lucy for a kiss. He should’ve been satisfied with the tender moment alone with her. Anyone could see the innocence shining in her eyes despite her age. From what he knew, she’d spent the past seven years living with her aunt in isolation. Of course she’d bolted when he’d become amorous. What had he been thinking? Then there was Emma to consider. She was the reason for his presence at the party. Why did he have such difficulty remembering that?

“May I?” James, his valet, stood beside him, eyeing the wreck Hugh was making of his cravat.

With a frustrated sigh, Hugh dropped his hands and turned to face the man. “I don’t know why a knot has to be so elaborate.”

“Nor do I. But fashion dictates that it must. As do the ladies.”

Hugh smiled as James had meant him to. Within a few short minutes, James had worked the knot into perfection. Hugh moved to stand before the looking glass. “Will I do?”

“You will do very well, sir.”

Yet another sigh escaped him. Would Lucy even be at dinner? He should hope she wasn’t. Then perhaps he could focus on his goal of spending more time with Emma. He had nothing to offer Lucy, other than himself. Therefore, he had no business thinking of a future with her.

Was that what he was doing? Considering a future with Lucy? He shook his head at the startling thought. That hadn’t been part of his plan. If only he’d remembered that before kissing her.

“You don’t care for the knot?” James sounded terribly affronted.

“The cravat is perfect, as always.” Hugh frowned. “A certain lady is causing my frustration.”

“I see.” He looked as if he were about to say something only to hold back.

James chose wisely, for Hugh had no wish to talk about Lucy or Emma. Neither lady was making him happy at the moment. Or rather, his feelings for them weren’t. Even his thoughts made no sense.

He attempted to clear his mind as he made his way to the drawing room where the guests had gathered before dinner.

Mr. and Mrs. Waverly were among those conversing, but Emma hadn’t yet arrived. The relief he felt nearly had him scowling. He walked to the sideboard and poured himself a drink so he had time to bury his dark mood before anyone noticed.

“Raybourne, I understand we have you to thank for rescuing Miss Barnes.” Mr. Waverly clapped him on the shoulder. “Well done.”

“It was nothing, sir. Miss Gray was the true hero. If not for her skills of observation as well as her ability to reassure Miss Barnes, the situation might’ve been worse.”

Waverly turned to his wife who joined them. “Did you hear that, dear? Lucy assisted more than she told us.”

“Lucy is a dear,” Mrs. Waverly said with a smile. “She has already shown her selflessness by taking care of Aunt Edith. What would we do without her?”

Hugh clenched his jaw to keep from asking why the entire family didn’t share in their aunt’s care. It seemed as if they expected Lucy to do so because it was convenient for them. Had anyone asked her what she wanted?

“There she is,” Waverly turned and gestured for his niece to join them. “Our heroine for the day.”

Lucy smiled politely as she joined them. She had yet to look at Hugh. “Good evening.”

Her woolen gown was the color of red wine and made her creamy complexion glow. Her upswept hair left her delicate neck bare, tempting Hugh with its graceful lines.

“Far more than a day, I should think.” The words escaped Hugh before he could halt them.

“Oh?” Waverly turned back to Hugh with a brow raised.

Hugh forced a smile as Lucy finally looked at him. “Her tireless care of her aunt seems as if it should be applauded as well.”

“Absolutely.” Mrs. Waverly squeezed her niece’s arm. “I was just telling Mr. Raybourne that I didn’t know what we’d do without you.”

“Aunt Edith is a dear.” Lucy smiled, but the tightness in her expression convinced Hugh he was right.

She might love her aunt, but no young lady should waste years seeing to the wishes of a woman who had one ailment after another.

Even Emma had mentioned that their aunt had a “delicate constitution”. Hugh knew exactly what that meant as he’d had an elderly spinster aunt who’d acted in much the same manner.

Mr. and Mrs. Waverly’s attention were taken by one of the other guests, leaving Hugh standing with Lucy.

“Please accept my apologies for causing you upset earlier,” he began.

“The fault is mine.” Lucy glanced about as if to make certain no one overheard before meeting his gaze. “My emotions got the better of me.” Her long lashes swept down and hid those eyes once more.

Surprise kept Hugh silent. Her honesty was refreshing, and the vulnerability she revealed only made him feel more protective of her.

“I haven’t experienced anything quite like that before.” She looked him in the eye, stealing his breath. “It was...unexpected.”

The desire he’d spent the past few hours trying to snuff out sparked back to life, brighter than before. “For me as well.”

Her eyes widened as if she were amazed by his admission. Then she shook her head with a smile. “Forgive me, sir, but I’m well aware of your reputation. I don’t believe for a moment that a man like you would find our time together special.”

This was his chance to let her think she was right. That their kiss had been ordinary. Doing so would surely convince her to keep her distance and force him to pursue Emma.

It should be so simple. But he couldn’t do it.

“You are special, Lucy. A true gift.” He lifted his glass in a silent toast. “I hope you come to realize one day how very wonderful you are.”

With a nod, he stepped away before he admitted just how much he admired her. And how much he wanted to repeat their kiss.

“WHAT WAS THAT ALL ABOUT?” Emma asked with a frown as she approached Lucy.

“Mr. Raybourne was thanking me for assisting with Miss Barnes today.” Lucy’s heart thudded as she watched him cross the room to speak with Viscount Jameson.

Did he really think her special? Wonderful? The idea left her feeling thoroughly unsettled. She told herself that was what a rogue like him would say. Yet that didn’t ring true. Not when he’d said it with such sincerity.

Guilt settled over her like a wet blanket, prickly and uncomfortable, as she turned her attention to Emma. If her cousin found out about the kiss, would she despise Lucy?

“I don’t see why when he’s the one who rescued her.” Emma sighed as her gaze held on Hugh. “I must say that his actions today make him even more appealing. To think he carried her all that way. How strong he is.”

Lucy forced her gaze away from Hugh before she told Emma she was right. Based on the feel of his muscled arm during their kiss, he was very strong, and his actions heroic. But he was not for her. She had Aunt Edith to care for and no room in her life for a man. Their kiss had been a mistake, and she’d take care not to repeat it, especially if Emma was truly interested in him.

“Does that mean you’re still considering him as a suitor?” She studied Emma, wondering if her time with him during the sleigh ride had helped her decide.

Yet part of her couldn’t understand how her cousin could not be besotted by the man. The moment before Hugh’s lips had pressed against hers, her heart had threatened to beat out of her chest. Hadn’t she always thought a woman would know before a kiss whether the act would be special? She’d been right.

Her stomach danced as she relived their time together again, and it was all she could do to keep a polite mask on her face.

“Oh, yes. I believe his actions overtake Mr. Barnes’ by far.” Emma’s gaze slid from Mr. Barnes back to where Hugh and the viscount stood. “Although Viscount Jameson is thoroughly tempting as well. His title makes him so appealing.”

Lucy tightened her lips to keep from sharing her opinion on the topic. A title shouldn’t matter—only the kind of man he was. But title and wealth were two major factors a lady should consider when the subject of marriage arose. A man’s demeanor and good humor were only important if the other factors were met. Marriage was often a business dealing, not a matter of the heart.

“This evening after dinner, we’ll play a few games.” Emma’s smile gave Lucy pause. “It will be great fun and provide a chance for me to get to know the viscount better.”

“What sort of games?” Lucy nearly didn’t want to ask. Emma might say her target was Viscount Jameson, but Lucy had no doubt she’d flirt with whoever was nearby. She almost hoped Aunt Edith would need her so she wouldn’t have to witness Emma flirting with Hugh. Suddenly the days stretched long before Christmas arrived and the party ended.

“Hunt the Slipper.” Emma’s giggle was alarming.

While the game was usually played by children, Lucy could imagine only too well how scandalous it would be with adults since touching was involved. Her cheeks heated at the image of searching for the slipper hidden on a guest’s person, Hugh in particular.

“Will your mother allow it?” Lucy asked, unable to keep a note of disapproval in her voice even if it made her feel quite the spinster.

“With luck, Mother and the other ladies will remain in the drawing room and we will invite the younger, unattached guests to join us in the sitting room.”

“Oh?” Her concern must’ve shown on her face, for Emma frowned.

“Lucy, you’ve been with Aunt Edith too long. You’re becoming too stodgy. We’re only having a bit of fun.”

Lucy gave herself a mental shake. Nothing needed to happen that she didn’t want to happen. What harm could a children’s game cause? She should relax and enjoy the evening.

Yet when her gaze found Hugh, easily imagining searching him for her slipper, her stomach dipped alarmingly.

Soon dinner was served, and she sat beside Viscount Jameson.

“I understand you were quite the heroine today,” the lord said as they waited for the first course to be served.

“Not at all,” Lucy denied with a smile. “I merely kept Miss Barnes company until help arrived.” It took all her fortitude to keep from looking at Hugh.

“But if you hadn’t realized Miss Barnes was missing, her rescue would’ve been delayed.” Viscount Jameson held her gaze for a long moment. “You are to be praised for your part, and I would like to add my thanks to the others. I hate to think how much worse the outcome might’ve been without your help.”

“You are quite welcome.” Lucy had been pleased to hear that Miss Barnes was feeling better though she’d remained in her bedchamber this evening.

The viscount raised his glass to her in a silent toast. The gesture was kind and she appreciated it. Feeling the weight of someone’s stare, she turned to see Hugh watching, his brow furrowed.

Her attention was pulled away by the guest seated on her other side. But a warm sensation filled her to think Hugh might be bothered by Viscount Jameson speaking with her.

With a sigh, she realized how ridiculous her thoughts were. One moment, she was determined to keep her distance from Hugh, and the next she was pleased to think he might care for her. Already she felt out of her depth with the situation. No matter that she wasn’t here to flirt with anyone, but only to support Emma in making a decision.

Unfortunately, a pair of charming blue eyes and an engaging smile made that difficult to remember.

HUGH SIGHED as he joined the other unattached guests in the sitting room where a fire burned brightly in the hearth. He had no desire to play some silly children’s game, but Emma’s smile and enthusiasm suggested he needed to play along if he wished to stay in her good graces.

And he did. Didn’t he?

“Now then,” Emma began as she stood in the middle of the room where the furniture had already been pushed back. “We shall all stand in a circle.”

The guests obediently did so, several of the ladies giggling in response.

Lucy stood across the circle beside Jameson, her smile somewhat forced. She didn’t look as if she wanted to participate either.

“I will go first so everyone sees how to play the game.” Emma bent and removed her slipper, a pale pink that matched her gown. With a flirtatious smile, she held it before her and moved to stand before Jameson. “You will be the chief cobbler for this round.”

“Am I to fix it?” Jameson reached for the slipper and turned it over as if looking for a hole.

Laughter ensued.

“Cobbler, cobbler, mend my shoe. Get it done by half-past two.” Emma curtsied then left the circle briefly before returning, eyes closed until she reached the middle of the circle and looked at the viscount. “Is my shoe ready?”

Jameson raised a brow as if uncertain how he should answer.

Lucy took pity on him and leaned close. “Now you say, not quite, call again in an hour’s time.”

“An hour?” Jameson asked. “This game will last all night.”

Everyone laughed again. Even Hugh had to smile as well. Jameson was being a good sport.

Emma left the circle, closed her eyes for a minute, then returned, and the process was repeated. The next time she left the circle, Lucy took the shoe from Jameson and passed it around, gesturing for Mr. Barnes to hide it behind his back. Then she motioned for everyone else to put their hands behind their backs as well.

Emma returned to the circle once more. “Cobbler, is my shoe mended?”

Jameson looked to Lucy, who whispered to him. Then he said, “Your shoe has been sent home.”

“What?” Emma asked with mock surprise. “I cannot believe that to be true.”

“It’s clearly not here,” Jameson responded as he glanced about, his hands still behind his back like everyone else.

“Then I shall search for it myself,” Emma declared. She moved to stand before Jameson and patted his suit coat while the guests chuckled before moving to another person, pausing before Johnson and searching him for the shoe.

Several of the ladies were laughing so hard they could barely stand straight. The exaggerated look of alarm Johnson had as Emma searched made it impossible not to join in.

Emma moved on to her next target, this time a lady. “Have you seen my shoe?”

“I have not.” But she kept her hands behind her back, leaving Emma to peer around her in an attempt to spot it. The lady shifted, doing her best to keep Emma from seeing her hands.

Emma released a pretend sigh of frustration then moved on to Mr. Barnes. She held his gaze for a long moment, and Barnes’ pale cheeks slowly reddened. “You must have my shoe.”

“No shoe here.” Yet the man was growing more uncomfortable by the minute.

“I don’t believe you,” she declared and began her search. She’d only patted a few places on his person before he produced the shoe, his face now an alarming shade of red. “I knew it.” She patted his cheek. “You are the next shoe owner.”

Barnes looked distraught at the order.

Hugh chuckled, his gaze catching on Lucy, who laughed as well. He liked to see her having fun. They shared a smile and the tightness in his chest eased. Perhaps this wasn’t so terrible a way to spend an evening.

If he had the chance to hide her shoe, he intended to take it.

CHAPTER SEVEN

LUCY FOLLOWED Aunt Edith into the dining room the next morning, looking forward to the task ahead of them. Playing Hunt the Slipper had been fun, but she’d been relieved that she hadn’t been picked. Making kissing boughs was a preferable activity as far as she was concerned. The room had been cleared from breakfast and now held most of the female guests along with gold paper, evergreens, ribbons, holly, and most importantly, mistletoe.

“Thank you all for helping.” Aunt Jane gestured for Lucy and Aunt Edith to take a seat. “Make whatever style you’d like. All I ask is that each have at least one sprig of mistletoe.”

The ladies dove into the task, cutting and tying and occasionally pricking their fingers with the holly as well as the wire used to hold the items together. The chatter and laughter rose to a dull roar.

“It’s been an age since we made kissing boughs,” Aunt Edith said to Lucy with a youthful grin. “What fun.”

Lucy was pleased her aunt felt well enough to join the merriment. Though she often wondered if Aunt Edith truly felt poorly or merely pretended, she’d come to realize the older woman’s dour thoughts were a major part of her wellbeing. Melancholy often took over and seemed to drain her energy. Whether it was missing her husband, who’d been gone so long, or a general ennui, Lucy didn’t know. Her aunt rarely spoke about her feelings.

In truth, it made Lucy wonder if she might end up in a similar situation. Would she regret not reaching for more to fill her life? Yet she couldn’t shake the worry of experiencing the pain again that she had when her parents died. She simply wasn’t that brave. Her heart couldn’t bear it.

Emma arrived late and breathless, her cheeks blooming with color, making Lucy wonder what had occurred. She squeezed in a chair beside Lucy, casting a wary glance at her mother, who stood across the room, helping another lady.

“What happened?” Lucy whispered when Aunt Edith’s attention was taken by the woman next to her.

“A moment with the viscount.” Emma’s smile suggested she’d liked the moment, whatever it had entailed.

“And?” Lucy asked. Part of her wanted Emma to like anyone but Hugh. Viscount Jameson would be a good choice. He seemed kind, of good humor, and handsome. Surely those qualities fit Emma’s requirements in a husband.

“Lovely.” Emma held up a piece of mistletoe. “We didn’t need this, but I hope it provides a second kiss.”

Lucy shook her head with a smile. Trust Emma not to be satisfied with just one. She’d been greedy as a little girl and apparently that particular trait hadn’t eased with age.

Lucy and Emma worked together, decorating a small branch by winding gold paper and ribbon amid the greenery. Emma twisted wire around the mistletoe to attach it to the center. The bough would look lovely on a fireplace mantle.

“Now for a globe,” Emma said, her brow furrowed with concentration. “We’ll place it in a spot where we can make good use of it.”

The giggles from those who’d overheard her remark had Lucy laughing too.

“Emma,” Aunt Jane said. “Behave yourself.”

Feigning innocence, Emma asked, “Whatever do you mean, Mother?”

Lucy chuckled at her cousin’s antics as she selected a hollow sphere fashioned from dried vines. “Will this do?”

“Perfect,” Emma declared.

They tucked small pieces of evergreen in it along with ribbons and more of the gold paper.

Emma found a sizeable piece of mistletoe with six berries on it. “Three for you and three for me,” she whispered to Lucy.

Lucy laughed. “I don’t think I’ll be using any.”

“I insist,” Emma said, her sparkling blue eyes holding on Lucy. “Mistletoe is the perfect excuse to experience a few kisses. You need more excitement in your life, and this is your chance.”

Lucy bit her lip at the thought of Hugh. Mayhap Emma wouldn’t mind that she’d kiss him. Not that she was ready to tell her.

Several of the ladies disappeared with their creations, no doubt to place them where they hoped to make use of them.

“So pretty.” Emma looped a red ribbon through the ball so they could hang it. “Don’t you think?”

“Very.” Longing filled Lucy as she studied the festive ball. Would it be possible to share another kiss with Hugh? Did she dare? She wanted to, despite her concerns.

With a word to Aunt Edith, advising her they’d return, Emma led the way out of the dining room with the ball in hand and Lucy behind her with the bough.

“We need a private place for ours,” Emma said.

“Definitely.” The idea of being caught made Lucy shudder. Mistletoe was fun as long as one didn’t face ruin.

Emma peeked into a larger sitting room only to shake her head. It was already occupied.

Much to Lucy’s surprise, Emma selected the room where Lucy and Hugh had kissed.

“Perfect,” Emma declared. “Small enough to suggest intimacy but not so small as to be overlooked.”

Lucy kept quiet, though she agreed. If only she’d been brave enough to thoroughly enjoy that kiss with Hugh, she thought as she placed the bough on the fireplace mantle. Any time spent with him was one more way to make memories.

Emma found a hook in the ceiling from a previous year near the window. She stood on a chair and placed the ribbon on the hook then hopped down to consider the location. “I think it’s ideal. Don’t you?”

“Indeed.” Heat filled her cheeks at the thought of standing beneath it and kissing Hugh. If that happened, she promised herself to not allow fear to rule the moment.

“We’re going to have so much fun this evening,” Emma whispered, even though no one was about. “Tonight will be blindman’s buff!”

An image of Hugh’s hands outstretched toward her, touching her person in an attempt to discover her identity swept through Lucy’s mind and stole her breath.

Oh my.

HUGH ADJUSTED the scarf he wore over his greatcoat then trudged through the snow toward the stables. Waverly was reputed to have a fine selection of horses, and Hugh was eager to see them. Though he knew he couldn’t hope to have anything as impressive as the wealthy landowner, he was researching possibilities and was lucky to have been invited to take a closer look.

The air was crisp, the sun bright, and the sky so blue it gave him pause. Mornings like this reminded him that he’d like to spend more time in the country. London, with all its bustling energy, never felt as peaceful as the countryside.

Half a dozen horses braved the cold, stretching their legs in the paddock. The temperature made them frisky, and they tossed their heads and pranced about.

He leaned against the fence and reached out his hand toward a black mare, but the horse was having none of it. She jerked her head as if she didn’t appreciate his attempt to coax her forward. For some reason, the beautiful mare’s cautious nature made him think of Lucy. She was skittish as well, often acting as if uncertain whether he could be trusted.

He tried again, talking softly as the horse’s large dark eyes watched him. At last, she stepped forward to nuzzle his outstretched hand and allowed him to rub her face.

“Beautiful, isn’t she?” Waverly asked, a hint of pride in his voice as he joined Hugh.

“Very.” Hugh looked her over more closely. “How old is she? Five or six?”

“Five,” he answered. “You truly do know horses.”

“Breeding them is something I hope to do eventually.” He didn’t add that it was one of the reasons he considered offering for Emma. But he wanted Waverly to understand he had ambition and wasn’t merely a rogue with nothing on his mind except vices and how to fund them. Those days were in his past, regardless of whether he married.

“They make living in the country even more enjoyable.” Waverly leaned against the railing, his look of contentment something Hugh envied.

Was it so wrong to want that for himself? Raising horses would be a way to earn money, assuming he knew what he was doing. He’d had a hand in helping with his father’s horses in his younger days but only recently realized how much he missed it.

His brother, Graham, now the Earl of Carlington, had asked for his assistance in selecting horses for his stable. With a limited budget, the task had been a challenge.

Hugh and his brothers were doing what they could to improve their finances, but more money was going out than was coming in.

Thomas had made significant progress with Artemis Press and now made a tidy profit. He had a talent for selecting books to publish that the public enjoyed, including his wife’s.

It was Hugh’s turn to earn his keep, other than winning at cards. He had thought the simplest solution was to marry wealth. But the past few days made him doubt whether he could do so. Rather, Lucy was the reason for his doubt.

Her presence clouded his goal, which had seemed so clear prior to his arrival.

“You have a nice selection,” Hugh said as he watched the horses, many with blankets on their backs to chase away the chill.

“It’s been a joy to select them.”

“Do you intend to race any?” Hugh asked. Racing was a rich man’s sport. Racing stud farms could cost upwards of 30,000 pounds a year.

“I prefer fox hunting for now. I have a Suffolk Punch that’s brilliant.”

“Impressive.” Hugh nodded. The draft horse was heavier than a thoroughbred but well suited for hunting. Fox hunting season ran from November to March, months that didn’t interfere with the growing of crops.

“Any Irish Hunters?”

Waverly grinned as he turned to look at Hugh. “I have several. Come take a look.” He turned to walk toward the stables.

Irish Hunters had the stamina to go all day and were among Hugh’s favorites.

“If the snow melts, we’ll hunt,” Waverly said as he looked up at the sky as if to weigh the chances. “You’ll come?”

“I’d be honored, sir.” It had been a few years since Hugh had been hunting. His father hadn’t kept any hunters to ride nor any hounds for the chase for years. Both were expensive to maintain. Hugh should’ve realized how poor their finances were when his father had sold them.

The reminder of how much money he needed to pursue his goal was a sobering one. Wealth made life easier, but he was beginning to wonder if it might be even more important to have a woman he loved at his side.

He spent the next hour touring the stables with Waverly, admiring the horses. A few of the other guests joined them, including Viscount Jameson.

“Impressive,” Hugh said as they returned to the house.

“I’ve had my eye on an Irish Hunter,” Jameson said. “After seeing yours, I think I’ll go ahead and make the purchase.”

Waverly responded enthusiastically.

Hugh pushed aside a pang of envy. Soon, he told himself. Somehow, he intended to find a way to buy a few horses and build his dream. Marrying Emma would speed the process, but he no longer thought that was possible based on his growing feelings for Lucy.

Yet a voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like his father’s asked if those emotions would last. How often had the earl told Hugh and his brothers that marriage had nothing to do with feelings as they wouldn’t house, feed, or clothe them?

He had to be practical about his future or determine some other way to make his fortune. Which was it going to be?

CHAPTER EIGHT

“NO, NOT THAT WAY.” Aunt Edith’s lips tightened, a clear sign of her displeasure. Displeasure with the way she felt. Displeasure with the pillow Lucy was adjusting. Displeasure with Lucy.

Times like this made Lucy consider how long she could continue to care for her aunt. God bless the woman, but she could be difficult, testing Lucy’s patience until she was tempted to throw her hands in the air and stomp from the room.

What had set off Aunt Edith this time, Lucy didn’t know. She’d been in fine spirits that morning when they’d made kissing boughs. Luncheon had gone well enough. But by mid-afternoon, her aunt’s spirits had lowered, bringing physical symptoms with it. It was now evening and nothing had improved.

Reining in her frustration, Lucy resituated the pillow behind her aunt once more. “Is that better?”

Aunt Edith heaved a sigh as she leaned back. “I suppose.”

“How about a cup of tea,” Lucy suggested. “The cook might have a special blend to make you feel better.”

That was a bold statement, considering the fact Lucy had yet to determine what was wrong with her aunt this time. From what little she’d said, her current condition involved a combination of fatigue, an unhappy stomach, and an aching head. Although those same symptoms appeared frequently with her aunt.

“No. That won’t help.”

“Very well. Shall I read for a time?” Lucy tapped the leather-bound volume that lay on the side table. “We were just reaching the exciting part of the novel.”

One advantage of dealing with an ailing Aunt Edith at Waverly House was the massive library. Lucy loved to read, but she and her aunt quickly went through the books offered by the tiny version of a lending library located within the haberdasher in their village. Reading the same stories over and over wasn’t as pleasurable as diving into a new tale.

“I don’t want to be a bother,” her aunt said with a sniffle. “You should join the other young people.”

The reminder of what she was missing sent a wistful twinge through Lucy. Her aunt’s condition had kept the pair in her bedchamber, eating their dinner here rather than with the others.

Just when Lucy had decided to enjoy herself, fate stepped in and closed the door. Should she take that as a sign to reel in her wishes? Perhaps she should be satisfied with her life as it was and avoid new experiences, including time with Hugh.

“Not at all.” Lucy drew a chair forward and sat, reaching for the book. “I’m happy to keep you company. I’m just sorry you’re not feeling yourself.”

“Mayhap we should’ve remained home for the holiday,” her aunt said. “I’m much more comfortable there.”

“Why don’t we think about that on the morrow? For now, we’ll read about Miss Merriweather’s terrible predicament.” Lucy’s chest tightened at the worry that Aunt Edith would decide they should return home before the house party ended.

But perhaps that would be for the best. Why bother to explore her feelings for Hugh or hope to share another kiss with him?

Her life had been fine before she’d met him, Lucy reminded herself as she opened the book. She had been content with her lot. Mostly. If they were home, she wouldn’t feel so torn between assisting her aunt and joining the guests. Nor would she so frequently compare her life to Emma’s, wishing for things that weren’t to be.

Half an hour later, Lucy decided Miss Merriweather was a ninny. What woman in her right mind ventured outside at night in a storm to search for the source of a strange noise? The lantern she held would no doubt be blown out by the wind or rain she was presently enduring.

Luckily, Aunt Edith had fallen asleep, so Lucy didn’t have to see whether she was right. She marked their page and shut the book, watching her aunt sleep for a moment. By her slow, even breaths, it seemed like she would rest through the night.

Lucy checked her pin watch, realizing the hour had grown late. She had no desire to seek out Emma and the others if they were even still together.

Yet her restlessness indicated she wasn’t ready to turn in for the night. She added more coals to the fire to keep her aunt warm and closed the door behind her.

The house was quiet, suggesting most of the guests had retired. Deciding to read for a time until she felt sleepier, she collected a book from her bedchamber and sought the small sitting room down the hall.

Coals glowed in the fireplace, casting a golden light around the room. She lit the candles in the candlesticks nearby so she could see better and sat on the settee before the fire, allowing the peace and quiet to settle over her.

She read the first few pages of the mystery, but her thoughts weren’t on the story. She tipped her head back against the cushion only to pause at the sight of the kissing bough directly overhead. Someone had hung it above the settee rather than near the window where Emma had placed it. Lucy didn’t care for the new position since she often sat in this spot.

With a sigh, she set aside the book, removed her slippers, and stood on the settee, just able to reach the ball. She removed it from the hook then pulled a chair to the window.

She climbed onto the cushion with the ball, raising onto her toes to reach the hook only to hear a sound from nearby, causing her to lose her balance.

Lucy gasped, arms flailing along with the ball as she tried to catch herself.

Strong arms wrapped around her, lifting her to safety. “Lucy!”

She stared at her rescuer, mortified to see it was Hugh.

“Are you all right?” he asked, adjusting his hold on her.

“Yes. Thank you.”

“My apologies. I didn’t mean to frighten you,” he said. “But when I saw you up on that chair, it startled me. What on earth were you doing?”

Her cheeks heated as she looked up at the hook then at the ball she still held. “I wanted to move this.” She refused to call it a kissing bough when Hugh held her. “It was in the wrong place.”

He raised a brow. “You were putting it in the right place?”

“Well,” she realized too late how silly she sounded. “I didn’t care for it to hang directly over the settee.”

“I see.” He studied the two positions, never mind that he still held her. “Perhaps I could be of assistance.”

“That would be kind of you.” She licked her lips, all too aware of the feel of his arms around her, along with the fact that she liked it. Her heart pounded and warmth curled through her. Somewhere in the conversation, she’d placed her hand around his neck while the other clutched the kissing bough as if her life depended on it.

At long last, he slowly bent to set her on her feet, his hands moving along her body before settling on her waist to steady her. “I missed you this evening.”

Her heart pounded even harder at his quiet words. “My aunt wasn’t feeling well, so I kept her company.”

“You are a devoted niece. And I think you have the patience of a saint.”

“I try.” She frowned, feeling guilty for her earlier uncharitable thoughts. “Though I must admit that sometimes it’s more difficult than others.”

“I can’t imagine.” His eyes held on hers and her awareness of him only increased. “I hope your aunt appreciates your efforts.”

“I’m sure she does.” Each breath she took filled her senses with his presence, and it was intoxicating. That lovely mix of forest and musk that she would forever recognize as his.

He lifted his hand, the pad of his thumb brushing her cheek, sending shivers along her flesh. “I hesitate to bring it to your notice, but I believe that is mistletoe you’re holding.”

She glanced at the bough, having nearly forgotten she still held it. “Yes.” She wanted nothing more than to kiss Hugh. “A tradition is a tradition, you know.”

“Yes.” His gaze dropped to her lips.

“Not meant to be broken.”

“No.” He leaned closer.

“It’s only a kiss.” She hadn’t meant to say the words out loud. She’d meant to say them to herself, a reminder that kisses were something people shared every day. It didn’t have to mean anything. Surely her inexperience had made their first kiss more impactful. A second one might not be nearly as exciting.

“Only a kiss,” he repeated, easing even nearer until their breath mingled.

She rose to press her lips to his, both thrilled and terrified when an explosion of sensations erupted inside her.

He moaned as he drew her against him, deepening the kiss, his tongue seeking hers as his hands roamed over her body.

She’d been wrong, she realized too late. This was far more than a kiss. It was an assault on the walls that defended her heart. Hugh represented the outside world that she’d avoided for so long, that she wasn’t certain she wanted. The one she was too frightened to reach for.

“Lucy,” Hugh whispered when he drew back to press kisses along her jaw then down her neck. “You are impossible to resist.”

Did that mean he wanted to resist her? A muddled part of her brain latched onto the concern even as her fingers twined in the hair along his collar, bumping the kissing bough on his back.

His hand shifted upward from her waist, near the swell of her breast, and all thought stopped. Her entire being ached with longing and liquid heat. Yes, touch me there. The tip of her breast tightened in anticipation.

His fingers found her nipple then he reached for the full weight of her breast, kneading it gently.

A wave of desire weakened her limbs as a delicious lethargy filled her. She’d had no idea a touch could make her feel so hot and weak. Why had she hesitated when his touch felt as if it freed her, loosening the tight rein she’d held on her emotions until now.

He released her breast only to cup her bottom instead, lifting her against the firmness of his body. Surprise speared through her as she realized just what particular part of his body she felt. The rigid staff shocked her, much like a cold splash of water, and she shifted back.

“I-I can’t,” she murmured, uncertain whether she was telling him or herself.

Hugh loosened his hold on her, but she couldn’t seem to step away. Nor did she know what she wanted.

“I’m sorry.” He smiled though worry shaded his expression. “Why is it that I’m always apologizing to you?” He shook his head. “I didn’t mean to take the kiss so far. Having you in my arms makes me lose control.”

Lucy was pleased to know she wasn’t the only one with that problem. Hugh made her feel things she’d never felt before. The sensation was overwhelming, and she had no idea what to do about it.

He bent to pick up the kissing bough she’d dropped then looked at the ceiling. “Shall I hang it on the hook?”

“Yes, please.” She eased back to give him room to step on the chair, appreciating a moment to collect herself.

He easily looped the ribbon over the hook, picked one of the white berries, and handed it to her with a smile.

“Thank you.” She held the berry carefully as she pressed her other hand against her still pounding heart. She feared he’d hooked her affections just as surely as he’d done with the kissing bough. The realization frightened her more than she could say.

“MISS GRAY!” Hugh hurried along the pavement in the small village near the Waverly estate. Many of the guests had ventured into town to spend the afternoon doing last-minute shopping.

The snow had melted over the past few days except for a few patches that lingered in the shadows. The bright sun turned the sky a pale shade of blue but was deceiving as the temperature was cold once again.

She turned in surprise. “You’re doing some shopping as well?”

“Yes, I am. Do you mind if I walk with you?”

She hesitated briefly then offered a smile as a delicate pink crept up her cheeks. “Not at all. I’d be honored.”

Hugh hadn’t meant to seek Lucy’s company on this outing. In fact, he’d made certain to ride in the coach behind the one she’d taken so they wouldn’t be together.

He’d only seen her briefly at dinner the previous day as most of the men had spent the day hunting. Emma had joined them for part of the ride, her horsemanship skills impressive. But none of that had kept his thoughts from Lucy.

After the way she’d made him feel during that last kiss as if he could’ve taken her for his own, regardless of his original intent to woo Emma, had given him pause. The situation wasn’t to be taken lightly. Not when he had no restraint when she was near.

But it was Christmas, and their time together was limited. The holiday provided the perfect excuse to give in to his wish to be with her. The house party would soon end, and the chances of him seeing her again were small unless he specifically called on her. Besides, he didn’t want to act like an ass—kissing her one minute and ignoring her the next. He might have the reputation of a rogue, but he was a man of honor.

“What a beautiful day,” she remarked as she glanced at the sky.

“It is indeed. So nice of the weather to cooperate for this outing.”

“How true,” she said with a nod. “Otherwise, Christmas would’ve arrived before I purchased several gifts.”

When he’d considered who he wanted to buy gifts for, Lucy had been at the top of his list. Yet he had no idea what he might get her. And, he was willing to admit to himself, it was the perfect reason to spend more time with her.

“I’m wondering if I should apologize once again?” he asked, guilt filling him as he noted the way she avoided looking directly at him. She might’ve been the one to initiate the kiss, but he’d taken it further than she intended. Of that, he had no doubt.

She halted abruptly to look at him, the pink in her cheeks deepening. “Of course not. We’re both adults, capable of knowing our own minds.”

That was amusing, considering he didn’t feel as if he knew his mind at all. Not when he was around her.

“You intrigue me, Lucy. In many ways. I fear I allowed the moment to get away from me.”

She managed a more genuine smile. “As did I. We shall place the blame for the moment on the mistletoe. Perhaps it has more power than I gave it credit for.”

He chuckled, appreciating her humor. “Agreed. We’ll blame the mistletoe.” Her response made him like her even more. Many young ladies would’ve placed the fault entirely with him. But not Lucy. She was kind and honorable.

Damn.

Why couldn’t she be unreasonable and annoying instead? That would’ve made it so much easier to curtail his growing attraction.

They continued walking together and just as Hugh had hoped, she paused to look in a shop window.

“Is there something in particular you’re looking for?” he asked.

“Not really.” She continued to study the fancy bowls on display. “I made most of my gifts earlier in the year.”

“Made them?”

“I embroidered a few items.” She shrugged as she moved to the next shop. “Nothing special.”

“On the contrary. Handmade gifts are extra special.” And now he had to add talented and considerate to the list of her attributes. “I confess that I rarely think of gifts until the occasion has arrived when I must give them.”

“I can’t bear that sort of pressure,” she whispered as if telling him a secret. “I much prefer to plan ahead.”

“You’re wise in addition to being creative.” He clasped his hands behind his back as they strolled to keep from reaching for her hand.

“I hardly think a bit of needlework makes me either.”

“I disagree. Your skills surpass mine.”

She grinned, her previous wariness fading. “You’re a man. Which means you have a different set of skills.”

The only skills he could lay claim to were cards, dice, drinking, and seduction. But he thought it best not to mention them. After all, he was trying to set them aside for more valuable ones. Funny how much he wanted to do so when he was with Lucy.

She stopped before another shop window, her gloved fingers pressing against the glass. “Oh!” Her lips parted as she stared.

“What is it?” He noted a variety of figurines displayed, some small, some large. There were kittens reaching for a ball of yarn, a dog sitting with a hopeful look on its face, and other animals as well.

“The horse.” She pointed to a small statue of a black yearling with a white blaze on its forehead.

“You like horses?” His heart gave an uncomfortable twist to think they might have that in common.

“I do. I had one just like that. Her name was Arabella. Father gave her to me for my sixteenth birthday.”

The emotion in her voice spoke to just how much she’d loved the horse.

Her hand dropped from the glass pane as she released a breath then turned away purposefully as if she couldn’t bear to think about it overmuch.

“What happened to her?” The question popped out before he thought twice.

“She was sold along with most everything else after my parents died.” She glanced at him from beneath her lashes.

“I’m sorry.” His heart hurt for that young lady and the devastation she must’ve felt.

Lucy shook her head as if to clear her thoughts. “I miss my parents and that life. But I have many wonderful memories to give me comfort.” Her tone was brittle, making him wonder if that was a line she said to ease the discomfort of those around her rather than one she truly believed. “I’m lucky to have Aunt Edith.”

Anger shot through him. That was rubbish as far as he was concerned. She’d lost everything, including her future, when her parents died. She deserved to make new memories, not merely be comforted by old ones. How would she ever do that while stuck in the country, caring for her aunt?

The fact that her extended family made no effort to give her a Season or allow her to find someone to share her life with was an atrocity. Yet what could he say when it wasn’t his place to protest? Perhaps there was more to the situation than he knew.

“Do you like horses, Hugh?” She turned to him, her expression curious. The fact that she wasn’t filled with bitterness and regret amazed him.

“Yes, I do. Very much. In my youth, my brothers and I used to ride frequently.”

“What fun that must’ve been.”

He found himself telling her more about Graham and Thomas along with a few stories from his childhood. Anything to bring a smile to her face. He much preferred that over the grief she’d briefly displayed.

They strolled along, coming across other guests from the house party, waving at Emma, who was across the street. Before he realized it, he was telling Lucy about his dream of breeding horses.

“I’m certain you’d be brilliant at it. Have you started?”

“Graham has promised me the first foal for helping him select his horses. That will be the start.” He berated himself for allowing his longing to show. At least he had the freedom to choose what he wanted to do for the most part. Could Lucy say as much?

“Raybourne,” a male voice called.

Hugh turned to see Barnes and a few of the other men across the street. Barnes waved for him to join them. Though disappointed at having his time with Lucy interrupted, perhaps that was for the best.

“I’ve monopolized far too much of your afternoon,” he said as he looked back at her. “I should allow you to get on with your shopping.”

“Yes, I suppose I should. I need to find something for Emma. I don’t think she’d be pleased with merely an embroidered handkerchief.”

“Thank you for the conversation. It’s always a pleasure to be with you, Lucy.” He wanted to say more but now wasn’t the time or place so he bowed and took his leave. However, he no longer had any doubt as to how he felt about her. Surely in these last few days of the house party, he’d find a way to share his feelings with Lucy. He’d make certain of it. Where their relationship went from there remained to be seen, but he had high hopes.

CHAPTER NINE

“THIS IS A DISASTER.”

Lucy watched as Emma paced her bedchamber, her movements jerky. “I’m not certain I would declare it one.”

Christmas Eve had arrived, the night of the ball, when not only the guests but many of the local gentry would come to celebrate and dance.

Lucy smoothed the white silk gown Emma had lent her as she sat before the dressing table while Collette, Emma’s lady’s maid, fixed her hair once again. The gown’s hem had been lengthened and it fit well. The edge was embroidered with dark green swirls, bringing to mind evergreens in the snow. Lucy adored it. The neckline was quite daring, revealing the swell of her breasts, but it was modest compared to Emma’s.

Her cousin looked lovely in white satin with crystals and pearls sewn into the bodice and trimmed in red velvet.

“Mother and Father insist I advise them which man I favor.” Emma paused, hands on hips. “How can I possibly decide so soon?”

Lucy thought she could’ve if she were in the same position. Hugh had firmly caught her affections, regardless of the short time they’d been together. She only hoped he hadn’t also caught Emma’s.

Worry filled her at the thought. Then again, did it truly matter when she didn’t intend to act on her feelings? Would she be able to hide her emotions if Emma chose Hugh? Would he choose her in return?

The last question caused her to shift in her chair as her chest tightened. The movement drew a stern look from Collette.

How could he not wish to marry Emma when his dream was to breed horses? Uncle Andrew loved horses and the shared interest would surely make her uncle look favorably on Hugh despite his lack of a fortune. Her uncle only wished his daughter to be happy.

Lucy wanted that as well. She had no business having this attraction to Hugh. She had no money to help him with his dream. Besides, she had Aunt Edith to care for. She couldn’t leave her alone, not after all she’d done for Lucy by taking her in and giving her a home.

“Why don’t we review the gentlemen’s traits to help clarify your choice?” Lucy pushed aside her unsettling emotions. This wasn’t about her. The reason she’d been invited had been to aid Emma with her decision. Yet a tiny voice in her mind suggested refusing to examine her feelings was the easy way out—the safe way. Why didn’t she tell Emma of her affection for Hugh? She might understand. But not tonight with the ball almost upon them.

Her cousin stopped pacing, heaved a sigh, and flounced into a nearby chair. “Very well.” She looked at Lucy expectantly.

“First, we have Mr. Barnes,” Lucy began, certain her cousin wouldn’t choose him. But she knew Emma well enough to hold back her opinion, lest Emma take the opposite side just to be contrary. “He’s handsome and kind. His manners are impeccable. And his affection for his sister is to be admired.” Although, Lucy thought they would benefit from some time apart.

“He is handsome. Perhaps not as tall as I’d prefer.” Emma tapped a finger against her chin as she pondered the topic.

What did his height have to do with anything? But Lucy reined in her impatience and said nothing.

“Prudence is nice, too,” Emma added. “I believe we would get along well.”

“That is an important consideration given how close they are. How do you feel when you’re with him?”

“Quite pleasant.”

Lucy shook her head only to halt when Collette tugged a lock of her hair. “Pleasant isn’t good enough. You should feel as if you’re dancing on air when he’s near.” She stopped herself from saying more, realizing she could’ve described the sensation in detail—flutters in her stomach, breathlessness, speeding heartbeat, and tingles from head to toe.

“Truly? Humph.” Emma scowled.

“What of Mr. Raybourne?” She clenched her hand into a fist as she braced for Emma’s answer.

A slow smile lit her face. “I do like Hugh. He’s gallant, don’t you think? More a knight than a dandy. One can imagine him capable of dealing with any situation.”

Like? Lucy considered the word as she tipped her head forward at the maid’s request. Collette pinned several white roses along the rolled chignon then stepped back to eye her work. How could Emma use such a tame word when speaking of Hugh?

“What of Viscount Jameson?” Lucy gripped her growing impatience.

“I like him as well. He has many admirable qualities.”

“Such as?” Lucy pressed after she thanked Collette and the maid took her leave.

“Handsome, kind, intelligent.” Emma lifted a finger for each trait.

“Do you like him more or less than Mr. Barnes?” Perhaps direct comparisons would force Emma to choose. Lucy hoped so, lest she shake her cousin. How could she not know how she felt after spending so much time with the men? How could she not realize how lucky she was to have a choice?

“More, I suppose.”

Lucy bolted to her feet and glared at her cousin, her patience at end. “I suppose? How can you not know? Either your heart spins when one of them enters the room or it doesn’t.”

Emma’s mouth gaped open at Lucy’s outburst. “Why are you so angry?”

“You are blessed to have three amazing men interested in you. You’ve kissed at least two of them. Surely you’ve noticed which one makes you feel something.”

When Emma only continued to stare at her with wide eyes, Lucy placed her hands over her cheeks to compose her emotions. Her cousin didn’t see how fortunate she was. Then again, Lucy hadn’t realized her own blessings until her life had changed. It wasn’t Emma’s fault their lives had grown so different.

“You’re right.” Emma rose to pull Lucy’s hands from her face. “I’m sorry. I suppose I’m fearful of making the wrong choice. And worried that if I do choose, the gentleman might not return my affection.” The concern in her blue eyes said she spoke the truth.

“Whoever you select will be lucky to have you.” Lucy turned her hands to clasp her cousin’s. But please don’t pick Hugh. A lump formed in her throat at the thought.

“How did you become such an expert on love?”

“I’ve read enough books to know you should feel more than pleasant when the right man is near.” Lucy wasn’t ready to share the truth. Not yet.

“I don’t want a temporary feeling to cause me to make the wrong choice.”

“You’re right not to take this decision lightly. Courtships can move slowly and betrothals can be many months. That will give you time to be sure. But I would think you’d know you found the right person when you’re miserable if you’re not with him.” As Lucy feared she’d be when she no longer saw Hugh each day.

Emma bit her lip, her eyes holding a far-away look. “I shall take your advice to heart.”

“I’m pleased to help.” Lucy glanced at the clock on the dressing table. “It’s nearly time to go down.”

Emma clapped her hands, her smile bright. “I shall dance with each of them and take careful note of how I feel.” She leaned forward to place a quick kiss on Lucy’s cheek. “Thank you. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Lucy watched her hurry from the room. Emma had done just fine with very little of Lucy’s presence the past few years other than the letters they wrote. But it was nice to feel needed by someone other than Aunt Edith for a change.

She went to her aunt’s bedchamber to collect her, pleased she felt well enough to attend the ball for a short while. Aunt Jane had expressed concern as to Aunt Edith’s wellbeing and how frequently the elderly woman felt ill, but Aunt Edith looked happy this evening, Lucy thought when her aunt opened the door.

“You look beautiful,” Lucy exclaimed. “The red is festive and becoming.”

“Thank you.” Aunt Edith beamed, a bright flush of color in her cheeks. “Just look at you. You won’t be short on dance partners.”

Aunt Edith’s words proved true. Lucy danced as much as Emma and enjoyed herself thoroughly. But her dance with Hugh was the highlight of the evening.

“You are beautiful, Lucy.” The admiration in his blue eyes caused her heart to sing.

He was an excellent partner, making her feel as if she were floating as they turned and twirled, moving away from each other only to return together again. His hand on hers was firm as if he’d never let her go. This was even better than ice skating, she realized.

Her emotions left her breathless even as they made her heart hurt. After all, the house party was nearly at end. Only Christmas Day was left. The guests would depart the following day.

But that was a worry for later. For now, she enjoyed the dance, holding Hugh’s gaze, reveling in the way he looked at her. She did her own share of looking. He was so handsome in his evening clothes, his cravat brushing his firm jawline. The contrast between his rugged good looks and the formal attire sent heat along her skin.

The dance ended all too soon, and he bowed while she curtsied then he took her hand to escort her back toward where her aunt stood. Before they reached her, he suddenly paused then glanced about as if in search of something.

“Who are you looking for?” she asked.

“I was hoping for a bit of mistletoe so I might kiss you again.” His smile caused her heart to rise to her throat.

No matter that she knew nothing could come of her feelings for this man. She was going to miss him deeply when their time together was over.

HUGH ENTERED the village church the next morning and looked for Lucy. How much he had changed since the beginning of the party when he’d told himself he would spend every opportunity he could find to be with Emma. She was a lovely person, and he’d enjoyed their dance the previous evening. But Lucy was the one who held his affection. Especially after their delightful dance the previous evening. She was unique—beautiful inside and out, though he didn’t think she realized how special that was.

Sunlight streamed in the stained-glass windows and candles lit the altar. The church was crowded, but he had no difficulty picking out Lucy. Lucky for him, there was an empty spot beside her.

“May I sit with you?” he asked as he arrived at her pew.

Her brown eyes widened in surprise. “Oh.” She glanced across the aisle, and he turned to see Emma and her parents seated there. “Wouldn’t you prefer to sit by Emma?”

“No, thank you.” He settled beside her and nodded at her aunt, whose lips pressed together in a thin line of disapproval. “This will do nicely.”

Lucy blinked several times but said nothing.

“Happy Christmas,” he whispered.

“And to you.” She smiled then turned her attention to the minister who began the sermon.

The service was long enough that the hard bench became uncomfortable, but not nearly long enough for him to sit beside Lucy.

When the sermon ended, Hugh leaned close to Lucy. “Is it only me who is tempted to applaud the man for finally stopping?”

Lucy chuckled. “He had much to share today.” She waved at her cousin. “Doesn’t Emma look lovely today?”

Hugh glanced at Emma and nodded though uncertain to what Lucy referred. “Indeed.”

“We’re going to return to the house now,” Lucy advised him as she glanced at her aunt and uncle and Emma who visited with friends. “Aunt Edith doesn’t care for the cold. We’ll see you there.”

“May I accompany you?” Hugh asked. “That will leave more room in the next coach for those who wish to linger.”

“Wouldn’t you prefer to ride with Emma?”

He frowned, disappointed that she was pushing him toward her cousin. “No, thank you. I’ll see her soon enough.” Christmas dinner and the lighting of the Yule log were yet to come. But he hoped to have a moment alone with Lucy to give her the present he’d bought.

They settled in the coach with several guests and returned to the house. He caught Lucy’s arm before she followed her aunt up the stairs. “Do you have a moment? Will you meet me in the sitting room?”

She hesitated before nodding. “Of course.”

After retrieving the gift from his bedchamber, he waited in the sitting room, unable to keep his gaze from the mistletoe that was still on the hook where he’d placed it. Could Lucy be persuaded to share another kiss?

Then she stood in the doorway, a parcel wrapped with a gold bow in her hands.

His heart thudded dully as she drew closer. He held out his gift. “I have something for you.”

“How kind,” she said.

He gestured toward the settee before the fire, and they took a seat then exchanged the gifts. He was ridiculously pleased she’d given him one. It didn’t matter what it was. “Please open mine,” he said.

“So thoughtful of you,” she murmured as she undid the paper with care only to gasp at the sight of the small horse figurine with the white blaze on its forehead nestled in a box. “Hugh.” Her gaze returned to his, her smile bright. “I don’t know what to say. Thank you so much.”

“You’re welcome.” He returned her smile, pleased that she liked it. Her gaze shifted to stare at the horse, the longing in her expression caused his chest to ache.

“Now you.” She tore her eyes away and glanced at the gift in his lap.

“I’m honored you thought of me.” He opened the wrapping to find a handkerchief neatly folded. Something dark on one corner caught his notice and he examined it, realizing it was a galloping horse. He glanced up in surprise, touched by her thoughtfulness. “You embroidered it? For me?”

Lucy nodded. “Apparently, we were of the same mind.”

“Thank you. I shall cherish it always.” His heart melted as he ran a finger over the stitching. To think she’d used her talents to personalize a gift for him shifted the floor beneath his feet.

This. More moments exactly like this were what he wanted. Surely the other details of how it would be possible would work themselves out. But did she feel the same?

“Lucy,” he began, his heartbeat thrumming in his ears, making it difficult to think. He’d been so careful to avoid the two L’s—love and lust—thus far in his life. But when struck by both, he had no doubt they were real and could last a lifetime. “I realize we haven’t known each other long, but I admire you very much. Is there a chance you feel the same? That I might call on you after Christmas?”

Her eyes went wide with surprise. Or was that fear in their dark depths? She stood abruptly, the horse figurine clutched in her hands. “I’m sorry.” She shook her head adamantly. “That’s just not possible.”

Disappointment struck him to the quick, and suddenly he couldn’t breathe. He rose slowly, unable to understand. How could he have been so wrong about her feelings? “I see.”

“My apologies if I gave you the wrong impression,” she said, her chest heaving. Was she about to cry or was it panic that caused her upset? “I have enjoyed our acquaintance, but it can be nothing more.” She glanced away. “I must go. My aunt will be wondering where I am.”

Before he could find his voice, she hurried from the room, taking his heart with her.

CHAPTER TEN

“HOW WAS YOUR CHRISTMAS?” Thomas asked as he strode into Hugh’s study in his apartment.

Hugh didn’t bother to rise at his brother’s arrival. He couldn’t be bothered to do much of anything since Lucy had denied him.

The New Year was fast approaching, but he had yet to venture out since his return. He’d spent the first two days drinking, though spirits had provided little comfort, only an aching head.

“Fine.” Hugh kept telling himself he was fine. That his Christmas had been fine. That his life was fine. The lie came more easily now.

Thomas paused before him, green eyes narrowed. “You don’t look fine.” He glanced about the room as if noting its general untidiness and the closed drapes. “Did you give your valet the week off?”

Hugh followed his brother’s gaze, realizing he’d left books he’d tried to read as well as news sheets lying about along with empty glasses. “He’s given up on this room for the foreseeable future.”

“Humph. Are you going to ask how my Christmas was?”

“I have no doubt it was spent in wedded bliss with your lovely bride.” Hugh was pleased for his brother. Truly. Thomas’s happiness since his marriage to Annabelle was one of the reasons Hugh held hope for love and a true partnership in marriage.

Alas, it was not to be. The realization had him considering an empty glass and whether he could find the energy to rise and fill it. Instead, he ran a finger over the embroidered horse on his handkerchief.

“It was indeed.” Thomas smiled as he moved to open the drapes, letting in daylight. Then he placed a few more coals on the fire. “Does this mean you proposed?”

“More or less.” Hugh stared at the flames but only saw a pair of brown eyes wide with surprise—or had it been fright? He still wasn’t sure. Fear made no sense. Surely Lucy wasn’t frightened of him.

Thomas turned with one brow lifted. “How does one more or less propose?”

Hugh didn’t answer, not caring to relive the moment when Lucy had refused him. He’d done that often enough in the dark hours of the nights since his return. Even the thought of it had him pressing a hand over his aching heart.

Thomas shook his head. “I can only surmise that you’ve succumbed to one of the two L’s based on your current condition.”

“I fear it’s far worse.”

“Oh?”

“I’ve succumbed to both love and lust.”

Thomas chuckled but quickly fell silent at Hugh’s glare. “I’m sorry. The initial experience is not always pleasant. It caused me no small measure of alarm.”

“My suit was refused.”

“Truly?” Thomas settled into the chair opposite Hugh’s. “I thought Miss Waverly was quite enamored with you.”

“I didn’t make an offer to Miss Waverly.”

“To whom did you?” Thomas looked thoroughly puzzled.

Hugh didn’t blame him. He didn’t understand it either. “Miss Waverly’s cousin, Miss Lucy Gray, who, of course, was the wrong woman, but turned out to be the right woman.” He shook his head at his convoluted thoughts. The lady had him tangled in knots.

“I don’t believe I know her.”

“Nor had I. She remains tucked away in the countryside, caring for her aunt, a woman who seems to be perpetually ill, both in temper and body.” He grimaced as that wasn’t completely true. Her aunt had smiled at least twice in his presence. Perhaps not at him, but she had smiled.

“How unfortunate for Miss Gray.”

Hugh rose to pace the room, warming to the subject. “You’d think she would welcome a chance to escape. But no. She’d rather remain with her aunt practically in seclusion rather than allowing me to call on her.”

“You don’t say.”

“No matter the kisses we shared.” He strode toward the opposite end of the room, welcoming the bout of temper. It felt far better than the case of the grim he’d had since his return. “Lucy is the one who kissed me the second time. That can only mean she felt something. Of course, mistletoe was involved.” He waved his hand in the air.

“Of course.” Thomas nodded when Hugh glanced at him. “It was Christmas after all.”

Hugh frowned, realizing Thomas was highly entertained by his tirade.

“Where are her parents?” his brother asked, clearly making an effort to smother his amusement.

“They died just after Lucy turned sixteen. She lost everything. Her parents, her home, her horse.”

“I should’ve known a horse was involved,” Thomas muttered as he shifted in his chair.

Well aware of Thomas’s opinion on horses due to an unfortunate incident during their childhood, Hugh ignored his remark. “She lost her future as well.” Hugh’s heart pinched at the thought of her world shattering.

“She must be grateful her aunt took her in.”

“She is, and despite everything, she’s not bitter or resentful.”

“Just scared.” Thomas shook his head.

“Scared?” Hugh frowned, seeing the hint of panic in her eyes once again.

“It would be difficult to reach for love and happiness again when you’ve had it before and lost it.”

“But this is different.”

“How so?” Thomas asked.

Hugh had no answer so turned to pace the length of the room, his thoughts churning. “I would never hurt her.”

“Not intentionally. I’m certain her parents thought the same. Then there’s also her gratitude to her aunt,” Thomas continued. “How could she consider leaving her?”

“Of course.” Hugh closed his eyes as the truth sank in. How could he not have realized all this?

“Now what?”

“How do you mean?” Hugh asked.

“What are you going to do next?”

“What can I do? She refused my request to call on her.”

Thomas scoffed. “Since our childhood, you’ve had the determination to go after what you want.” He stood and drew closer, looking Hugh in the eye. “Love is a gift. Don’t let it go without a fight.”

Hugh considered him for a moment. “I thought younger brothers weren’t supposed to be the smarter ones.”

Thomas smiled as he clasped Hugh’s shoulder. “I only want you to find the same happiness I have. Now then, my work here is done. Please keep me apprised of the situation. I see another trip to the country in your future.”

Hugh scowled. “I wish I had more to offer her.”

“A wife you love is what’s important. The details about the future, including the blunt to fund dreams, will sort themselves out.” He glanced out the window. “Do take care though. The weather might not cooperate with travel.”

Hugh remained where he was, staring at the fire, long after the sound of the front door closing reached him. How could he possibly convince Lucy to give him a chance?

LUCY DREW a shaky breath as she turned in a slow circle before Emma. “How do I look?”

Twelfth Night had arrived, ten days since she’d refused Hugh. She never would’ve guessed in a thousand years that she’d be in London, along with Aunt Edith, at Emma’s townhome, preparing for another ball.

This might be her first London gathering, but that wasn’t what had her nerves fluttering.

“Perfect.” Emma grinned. “That gown is stunning on you.”

The white satin with silver embroidery was a dream, adding another layer of surrealness to the evening. Seed pearls strung on wire graced her hair, and she felt like a princess.

Yet all of her efforts were for naught if Hugh didn’t come though Emma assured her he’d received an invitation.

The last week had been a whirlwind filled with heartfelt conversations with her family and more changes than she had dreamed possible.

Aunt Jane had decided Aunt Edith shouldn’t live alone with only Lucy for companionship. At least, that was how she’d proposed it to Aunt Edith. Aunt Edith had been coaxed into agreeing. Aunt Jane had pulled Lucy aside and apologized for not interfering sooner, stating that she hadn’t realized how secluded Lucy’s life had become. Or how difficult Aunt Edith had grown.

Lucy had protested, insisting things were fine as they were. But Aunt Jane persisted until Lucy confided her fear of reaching for happiness only to lose it again. That she couldn’t bear to have her life destroyed a second time. She’d told Emma everything as well, including the kisses with Hugh. Lucy had cried more tears in the past week than she had since the months following her parents’ deaths. But they had been cathartic ones.

Emma had surprised Lucy, being more supportive and understanding than Lucy could’ve guessed possible of her normally selfish cousin. Emma appeared to have gained a better understanding of how fortunate her life was. She’d also decided Viscount Jameson was the one, and everything about her had softened since. The viscount seemed to feel the same, and Lucy believed some serious wooing would commence from this evening forward.

Lucy would live with her aunt and uncle for the time being and would have a Season. Aunt Edith was going to spend half the year with them as well and half the year with her other niece who lived near Bath. While she complained about the new plans, she seemed to enjoy the attention, and her spirits had lightened considerably. She’d even agreed to attend the ball this evening.

When Uncle Andrew had advised Lucy that he’d provide a dowry for her, Aunt Edith offered to add to it. He’d also advised her that he approved of Hugh and had a proposition for him regarding his plan to breed horses should Hugh and Lucy come to an understanding.

“What if he doesn’t come?” Lucy asked as she met Emma’s gaze in the cheval glass.

“Then we’ll invite him to call on the morrow.”

“But what if he thinks you’re interested in him?”

“He won’t once he sees you. He won’t even remember my name.”

Lucy chuckled, just as Emma had meant her to, but her nerves were still strung tight. “Viscount Jameson will be here soon. Are you excited?”

The gentle smile and delicate blush that lit her cousin’s face answered for her. “Yes. Oh, Lucy, you were so right. Why didn’t I realize how I felt about him?”

“I’m just pleased you did and that he feels the same.” She drew a deep breath, but it did little to settle the flutters. “Shall we?”

“Yes.” Emma wound her arm through Lucy’s and moved toward the door. “To a tremendous evening, and the beginning of a new life for both of us.”

“To us,” Lucy agreed, though she couldn’t completely shut out the doubt. Would Hugh come? If he did, would he forgive her for her previous refusal?

HUGH GREETED Mr. and Mrs. Waverly in the receiving line, surprised by the warmth of their welcome. Worry filled him for the reason behind it. He wanted to speak with Emma, but only to ask for her help to improve his chances with Lucy. That meant he’d have to tell Emma that her cousin had captured his affection, which was going to be an uncomfortable conversation. He hoped she suspected as much based on his abrupt departure from the house party.

The weather had taken a turn for the worse the past week just as Thomas had predicted, keeping him from driving hell-bent-for-leather to the village where Lucy lived. He told himself that he needed time to think about what to say since he had so little to offer her other than himself and his love. However, a grand idea had yet to occur to him. Hence the reason he needed to speak with Emma. He was determined to do everything in his power to earn Lucy’s love.

Upon entering the crowded ballroom, he caught sight of Jameson and Emma standing together. One look at the pair suggested they’d reached an understanding, and the realization filled him with relief. That was one less hurdle for him to cross. He nodded at a few acquaintances as he moved toward them.

“Good evening, Hugh.”

The familiar voice had him turning even as his heart leapt. “Lucy.” Breath rushed out of his lungs at the sight of her, looking stunning in white with her dark hair swept up elegantly. He couldn’t believe she was standing before him. “I didn’t realize you’d be here.”

“I hoped to surprise you.” Her smile didn’t reach her eyes, and he wasn’t certain what to make of it.

“You did, indeed. In a wonderful way.” He drank in her appearance, parched from their days apart. “I’m so pleased you’re here. You look beautiful.”

“Thank you.”

“Are you well?” He couldn’t read her expression. Nor did he understand why she was here.

“I am now.” She glanced down at her clasped gloved hands. “I was hoping to speak with you.”

“Oh?”

Her quick look around suggested she’d prefer a more private place to converse. “Would you step into the other room with me for a moment?”

“Of course.” He offered his elbow, sighing at her touch. The hope filling him as they walked was impossible to rein in. He told himself to slow down, that he might be misinterpreting her presence, but his heart galloped ahead.

She guided him to a small receiving room just down the corridor, careful to leave the door ajar.

“First, I’d like to apologize for my behavior.” She bit her lip, as if uncertain how to explain. “I realize I’ve been allowing fear to rule my actions. To pick safety over a chance at happiness.”

He reached for her gloved hand. “That’s understandable given what you’ve been through.”

“Perhaps. But I don’t want to live that way anymore.” She held his gaze. “Not now that you’ve shown me what’s possible.”

He smiled as happiness filled him. “I came this evening to speak to Emma.”

“Oh?” Her brow wrinkled with concern.

“I wanted to ask her how to convince you to give me a chance to win your heart.”

“Hugh!” She blinked quickly as if to hold back tears. “But—I don’t have a fortune to offer you.”

“That doesn’t matter. I only want to be with you, Lucy. You’re my dream come true. I realize we have much to learn about each other, but you already hold my heart.”

She reached up to caress his cheek, the joy in her expression stealing his breath. “And you hold mine, dear Hugh. Your kindness and good humor caught my notice. But your integrity and thoughtfulness won my love.”

“Through your eyes, I see a different world. One filled with love, hope, and possibilities. You are a sweet, compassionate person with a true heart.” He lifted her hand to kiss the bare skin above her glove, thrilled by her shiver as well as the love shining in her eyes. Then he dropped to one knee. “You don’t have to answer yet, but I have to ask. Lucy Gray, will you do me the honor of marrying me?”

“Oh, yes!” She wrapped her arms around him, pressing kisses over his face as he rose.

“You’ve made me a very happy man, my sweet.” He held her tight, his heart soaring. “This is going to be a wonderful new year.”

“The brightest one yet.” She kissed him, causing his world to tilt only to settle back into place. “I never would’ve guessed how much my life would change when a rogue and some mistletoe came along.”

“I’m so pleased it did. My Christmas wish came true.” Then he kissed her again, his heart overflowing and the future full of promise.

EPILOGUE

FIVE MONTHS Later

“I WOULD LIKE it noted that your Aunt Edith smiled at me during dinner.” Hugh’s pleased look had Lucy chuckling.

They’d attended a family dinner at Waverly House and returned to their new home a short distance away, a gift from her Uncle Andrew upon their marriage two weeks earlier. Hugh had already started on his plans to breed horses, something her uncle was quite keen on and willing to help fund through a partnership.

“She’s become fond of you since our betrothal.” Lucy patted his cheek as they entered her bedchamber where a fire burned brightly. “When you invited her to stay with us whenever she wished, you completely won her over.”

“I’m not above bribery.” He took her hands in his. “Though I hope she waits a month or two before coming as I want you all to myself. But I could see how much she misses you. That’s something to which I can relate. I can’t imagine living without you either.”

Her heart filled at his words. “Have I told you lately how much I love you?”

“Once or twice, but I wouldn’t mind hearing it again.” He opened her hand to press a kiss to her palm.

Desire slid through her at the tender intimacy. “I love you.”

“And I love you, dear Lucy.” He drew her into his arms. “I never dreamed I could be this happy.”

“Nor did I.” She wound her arms around his neck and kissed him deeply.

With a groan, he held her tighter. She shifted, loving the feeling of his hard length. She eased back to look into his eyes. “We have far too many clothes between us.”

His slow smile sent a tendril of need winding through her. ‘That can be easily remedied.”

They undressed slowly, teasingly, the heat from the fire keeping them warm. Hugh’s gaze caused liquid heat to pool deep inside her. Then he lifted her into his arms and carried her to the bed where the covers had already been turned down. He gently set her down and lowered beside her before kissing her, his tongue swirling with hers.

He eased back to kiss along her jaw, down her neck, as his hands ran over her hips, to her waist, his thumbs teasing the swell of her breasts. When his tongue laved her nipple, she writhed in his embrace.

“Hugh!”

“Yes, my love?” He repeated the process on her other breast while he shifted his hands to cradle her hips.

“You make me feel...so much,” she whispered breathlessly as she ran her fingers across his broad shoulders, marveling at the corded muscles. Then she moved to explore his chest and the wiry hair covering it.

“That’s perfect, because that’s how you make me feel,” he said between kisses.

A now familiar need swelled within her when his fingers teased the curls at the apex of her thighs. He slid a finger along her damp folds, and her hips moved to match the rhythm he set.

Lucy reached for his manhood, amazed as always at the velvety hardness. She stroked him, loving the way he shuddered at her touch. When he closed his hand over hers to stop her, she couldn’t help but smile. “What is it?” she teased.

“Your touch undoes me.”

“Then come to me,” she bid as she drew him onto her.

He settled between her thighs, bracing on his elbows as the tip of his shaft brushed her opening. He held her gaze. “I will love you always, my sweet.”

“As will I,” she vowed.

Then he thrust inside her, joining them as one. The connection brought passion but so much more. Together, they moved faster and faster in a dance as old as time. He reached between them, touching her slick folds once more.

Wave after wave of glorious pleasure rolled over her until bright lights flashed behind her eyes. The feel of Hugh stiffening as he, too, found his release completed the moment. Then only their hearts continued the frantic pace as their bodies stilled.

Lucy grinned, realizing she would never grow accustomed to the magic of making love with this man.

“What?” Hugh asked, his lips curving as he looked at her, his expression tender.

“Thank you for helping me find the courage to reach for both love and happiness. I am the luckiest woman to have a husband like you.”

He chuckled, the sound rumbling through him into her. “I’m the lucky one.”

“Yes, you are, my handsome rogue. We both are.”

The End

ABOUT LANA WILLIAMS

Lana Williams is a USA Today Bestselling and Amazon All-Star Author who writes historical romance filled with mystery, adventure, and sometimes a pinch of paranormal to stir things up. Filled with a love of books, Lana put pen to paper and decided happy endings were a must in her stories.

Her latest series is The Rogue Chronicles, set in the Regency era, where rogues meet their match in the most delightful way. The Seven Curses of London series, set in Victorian London, is about men and women who attempt to battle the ills of London, and the love they find that truly gives them something worth fighting for.

Her medieval trilogy is set in England and follows heroes seeking vengeance only to find love when they least expect it. The second trilogy begins on the Scottish border and follows the second generation of the de Bremont family.

The Secret Trilogy, set in Victorian London, follows three lords injured in an electromagnetic experiment gone wrong and the women who help heal them through the power of love.

She writes in the Rocky Mountains with her husband, two sons, and a lab, and loves hearing from readers. Connect with her at www.lanawilliams.net.

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THE DUKE’S CHRISTMAS LIST

by

BRONWEN EVANS

Unconventional Lady Charlotte Dunbar has particular notions with regard to her future. She refuses to follow her brother’s decree and society’s conventions by accepting her old childhood friend’s offer of a marriage of convenience. Now, armed with a stolen copy of Blade’s secret—and disgustingly traditional—list of what he really wants in a wife, Charlotte sets about convincing him that she is not—and never will be—the kind of woman he’s looking for.

Charles Spencer, Duke of Bladen—a cynic who doesn’t believe in true love—sees a ruthless rake setting up his childhood friend, Lady Charlotte Dunbar, as a target for seduction, and he is determined to prevent her ruin by marrying her himself. With the aid and connivance of her brother, Blade must convince the reluctant—and increasingly eccentric—lady—that he is the man who will fulfill all her dreams. After all, what a duke wants… to his surprise is love.

PROLOGUE

LONDON, May 1815

MUCH TO BLADE’S REGRET, one did not win a fair maiden’s heart by hiding in the shadows. He’d been doing far too much lurking of late.

Issuing an oath under his breath, he surveyed his quarry from behind the potted palm. The sight was enough to make a man want to draw blood. Lady Harriet Rondell had just finished a waltz with Lord Fallon, and Blade had to stop himself from striding across the room and ripping her from the dissolute rake’s arms.

He bit his inside cheek. How humbling. Charles Spencer, the Duke of Bladestow, resorting to spying on the one woman he would court this very night if he was free. But he was not at liberty to do so. The Prince Regent had requested his services for the season, and he’d been unable to refuse. His mission meant playing a role that was not conducive to courting Lady Harriet.

His hands formed fists as he watched Lord Fallon expertly guide the deep blue silk covered beauty toward the French doors and out onto the terrace. Lord save him from gullible debutantes. Harriet had accompanied a known rake onto a moonlit terrace in the middle of a grand ball with no thought to her safety or that of her reputation. Just typical.

Blade let out a slow breath, trying to rein in his anger. Where the hell was Harriet’s brother, Viscount Trello? He should ensure men like Lord Fallon didn’t get anywhere near his sister.

However, in all fairness, most of the men in attendance this evening were coveting Lady Harriet. She was an absolute diamond of the first water. The daughter of an earl with a large dowry always found favor. To add to her appeal, she had an enchanting smile, an intensely feminine grace, and a curvaceous body that set all his, and most of the men attending tonight, primal male urges flaming.

Blade pushed away from the column he hid behind and forged a path through the glittering bejeweled sea of company. Fury and fear twisted his guts. Rumors surrounded Lord Fallon, but what was fact, was that Fallon desperately needed a wealthy wife. And desperate men were dangerous men.

They had flung the terrace doors open to ease the heat from the chandeliers and the crush of perfumed soaked bodies. Blade paused in the open doorway to let his eyes adjust to the darkness. It took him mere moments to focus on the couple near the stone balustrade.

To his immense relief, Lady Harriet seemed to have realized her mistake and was trying to edge round Lord Fallon to head back to the safety of the ballroom.

Her delicate jaw tightened. She wasn’t letting Lord Fallon bully her. To Blade’s dismay, it almost looked as if she was taking pleasure in verbally dueling with the rake.

He knew Harriet had a brain, and the way she was scolding Lord Fallon proved it. She, unlike other young ladies, seemed to be totally immune to the rake’s good looks. Not that he found Lord Fallon attractive, but the ladies certainly did.

Blade had never liked the man because of the way he treated women. Stories of his cruelty to his mistresses and ladies of the night did not go unnoticed. And the most disturbing rumor of late was that Fallon had tried to abduct a wealthy young lady. Fallon had thought to ruin her by carrying her off to Gretna Green. Thankfully, his evil plan had been foiled with not too much damage done.

Blade’s mind sharpened back to the present when he saw the nobleman reach out and trail a languid finger along Harriet’s bare throat to the low neckline of her gown.

The resounding slap that filled the air only dimmed the urgent need to wrap his hands around the lecher’s throat.

“You will keep your hands to yourself, my lord, or you will be even more sorry for it.”

Lord Fallon gave a low, seductive laugh that pierced his ire further, and uttered, “I do love a female with spirit.”

She took a step backward, which unfortunately took her further into the gloomy bounds of the terrace and away from her avenue of escape. “Stay away from me or I shall tell my brother.” Every haughty line on her face screamed distaste.

Lord Fallon moved closer, but she stood her ground as if aware moving backward took her away from safety. When Blade noted Fallon’s hand reaching for her once again, he could stand still no longer.

“Fallon, the lady does not welcome your advances. It’s time you took your leave. In fact, if you do not walk down those steps and leave this ball, I shall be forced to call you out.”

At his appearance, Lady Harriet swung to face him, relief clear on her lovely face.

“This is none of your affair, Blade,” Fallon snapped.

“Oh, but it is. As Lady Harriet’s close family friend, I am standing in for her brother. Thank your lucky stars it is not Trello standing here.”

Fallon’s face flushed with anger. As Blade took a step closer, Fallon turned and fled down the steps into the garden.

Alone on the terrace with her, Blade turned and found his gaze arrested by Harriet’s beauty. “This was not well done, my lady. It could have cost you everything.”

She stepped close, her scent swirling round him, making his breath hitch. “But my knight in shining armor arrived to save me. Thank you.”

It was hard to stay angry when Harriet stood before him, her smile as bright as the sun, her perfume a heady mixture of allure and innocence. “You wouldn’t need saving if you acted as any respectable young lady should.”

Her answering giggle was full of flirtation. Or perhaps too much wine had been drunk.

“I hardly think one stroll out on the terrace could label me reckless, Blade. And if it brought you running…” She stepped closer. “This is the first ball where I’ve spoken with you all season.” She poked his chest. “If I didn’t know you like me well enough, I’d think you were avoiding me.”

He wasn’t avoiding her exactly. His favor for Prinny meant he had to keep a low profile where the ladies were concerned. “I have many duties and obligations.”

“But you’ve been at almost all the balls and yet not once have you asked me to dance.”

He sighed. “Have you seen me dance with any lady?”

A frown saw her cute button nose wrinkle. “No.” She assessed him with beautiful blue eyes. “You seemed glued to Princess Charlotte’s side.” Intelligent eyes that missed nothing. Her smile wavered. “Are you planning on marrying into royalty?”

There’s the rub. What did he tell her? What had Prinny allowed him to tell anyone? Bloody hell. What did he say? He did what any man in his situation does.

“There is a chill in the air and you’ve been out here far too long. Shall we,” and he presented her with his arm.

Her almond-shaped eyes flashed with anger, but she said nothing. Slipping her arm through his, she let him guide her back inside where her friend Lady Ariane was waiting.

Lady Ariane gave her a beaming smile. “Lord Bladestow, how lovely to see you this evening.” Before he could reply he saw Lady Harriet give a shake of her head and the beaming smile faded.

“Lady Ariane, you look as pretty as a picture this evening. Now, if you’ll excuse me, ladies, I have business to attend to.” He bowed to both ladies but couldn’t help adding to Lady Ariane as he moved off, “Don’t let her wonder off again.”

“BEFORE YOU ASK, no, Blade did not take me out to the terrace. He rescued me from Lord Fallon.” Harriet was having a miserable night. She’d stupidly played into the hands of a known rake and to top it all off, the one man she wanted to impress above all others, had seen it and had to rescue her. “What are you smiling at?”

Ariane slipped her arm through Harriet’s and leaned closer. “He must have been watching you if he saw you go out onto the terrace.”

Hope flared, then died. “He could have simply wanted some air. It is awfully hot in here.”

“The duke doesn’t seem to be a man who needs to be propped up by cool air.”

“Stop making excuses for him. It’s obvious he’s not interested in courting me. It’s halfway through the season and I’ve talked to him once. Once! Tonight is the first time he’s bothered with me, and it was only because his honor made him come to my rescue.”

The two ladies made their way around the edge of the ballroom towards where Ariane’s mother, Lady Cuthbert, sat. It was nights like this Harriet wished her mother was still alive.

“Just face it, Ariane. Our silly childish dream will not come true. We won’t have a double wedding. You’ll marry next spring and I’ll likely become an old maid.”

“Don’t be dramatic. You have plenty of men chasing you.”

She sighed. “Not the man I want. Love’s out of reach. Well, for me anyway. Kingsley is absolutely smitten with you.”

Ariane glanced across the room at her beau. George Fogel, Viscount Kingsley, was the Earl of Southerby’s eldest son and heir, and Ariane had loved him with all her heart since the first time they’d meet two years ago. And to her delight, this season, it appeared he was keen on a match.

The two girls had pictured a duel wedding. Ariane and Kingsley, and Harriet with Blade. Harriet had been so sure Blade would come calling. A few months ago, he was by her side more often than her ladies' maid. She’d known him since childhood and he was all she thought about for five years, since the age of fifteen. She’d thought he liked her too. Now her pride and her confidence had fled because of his lack of pursuit.

“Perhaps it’s time you take some of your other suitors more seriously. That might bring Blade to heel.”

She glanced toward the other end of the room and she could see him as he stood head and shoulders above the crowd. To her surprise, he was glancing her way. Was he keeping his eye on her as Ariane thought? Perhaps she could try Ariane’s suggestion and favor some of her suitors. It might make Blade wake up to the fact she would not wait for him forever.

Yes, you would if you thought it would do any good.

Just then she saw a flash of glittering light through the gap of bodies. Princess Charlotte’s diamonds were setting the room alight at Blade’s side. Harriet gritted her teeth. Being the daughter of a earl saw her as a sought after marriage prize, but there was no way she could compete with a princess. Princess Charlotte would win this game if Blade wanted more power and position.

Just then Lord Punting arrived to claim his dance. She smiled brightly and let him lead her onto the floor, even though her heart was shredding in her chest.

She gave Lord Punting an encouraging smile. She would not think of Blade for the rest of the night.

As she’d expected, and to her dismay, that was much harder to do than she’d hoped.

CHAPTER ONE

YORKSHIRE, England,

Six months later, December 22nd 1814

“LET’S SLOW DOWN, Ghost, and give the carriage time to catch up.” Blade patted his horse’s neck as he reigned in his stallion. While he was looking forward to his stay at Hearthstone House, if he arrived too far ahead of his carriage he’d have nothing to change into, and the smell of horse was not a fragrance he wanted to linger on his person for too long. He’d been traveling for several days. If luck went his way, the carriage would make the estate of the Earl of Hearthstone by early evening in time for him to change and join the family for dinner.

Smelling of horse and dust was not to be borne. Not when he would finally see Lady Harriet again.`

While he knew his family would miss him this Christmas, his mother didn’t care because he was about to fulfil her biggest wish. She’d stated that her son selecting a wife was present enough.

He patted his jacket pocket where the Duke of Bladestow’s historic family betrothal ring sat in a beautiful pouch his mother had made herself. The ruby gemstone ring was handed down to all the Duke’s wives-to-be, since his great-grandfather.

He’d never put much stock in gift giving for the festive season, but he hoped this Christmas day he’d get the best present of all—Harriet’s agreement to become his duchess.

The thought of waiting for her answer made him almost want to gallop again. He could barely sit still atop of Ghost. His nerves skittered with tension.

Duty meant he’d not been able to court her during her come out this past season, and he’d lived in constant fear she would not wait for him. He knew she’d had offers, and he hoped the reason she’d not accepted was because she was waiting for him.

He had no idea why he thought she was waiting for him, because he’d never given her any indication that he would offer for her. His duty to Prinny wasn’t his only reason he’d taken so long. He knew why he’d hesitated. He feared the feelings she evoked deep inside. He’d experienced the highs and lows of love and decided friendship and respect were a much better basis for any marriage. Did she?

He shook off his doubts and hoped her brother and father had guided her towards a marriage between their families.

She would be perfect in the role of his duchess. He needed children and Harriet would make a wonderful mother. He could think of no other woman he’d want to leg-shackle himself to.

He refused to look closer at the reason he wanted Harriet as his wife. He liked her, that was true, and she was exquisite. But he had learned that a duke never put his heart first. A duke could not afford that luxury. It cost too much. And he should know.

He watched the steam rising off Ghost now that? they were walking, and a shiver snaked under his shirt to his bare skin. He pulled the flaps of his greatcoat around his legs. God, Yorkshire was bleak in winter. Already a light cold mist was forming and it was only around midday. Harriet would not miss the weather when she moved south to Dorset to live with him.

He pulled his hat down over his ears. The cold was like an insipid guest who would not leave. The bliss of a hot bath filled his head. Damn having to wait for his carriage and clean clothes.

Hot bath? What a grand idea. Blade remembered the Hearthstone estate, being near to Harrogate, had a series of hot thermal springs set amongst rocky overhangs, near the south side of the house. The family had turned the natural stoney-outcrop into three bathing pools. He’d sunk his weary body into the hot springs many a time with Harriet’s brothers, Philip Rondell, Viscount Trello, and Lord Thomas Rondell. He pulled Ghost to a halt and listened. He rose in his stirrups and strained his ears. No carriage could be heard. He’d have time.

It took only a quarter of an hour for Ghost to reach the springs. He walked his stallion for a moment to cool him down.

He tethered his horse among the warmed rocks of the overhang, draping his greatcoat over the horse to keep Ghost warm. He stripped down to only his shirt so he could put it on once he got out of the pool in the cold and dry himself. Getting dressed appropriately would be a challenge. At least having been a regular visitor to the estate over the years, he knew how to slip in through the servants’ entrance from the stables and he also knew his way to his room. Since childhood, he’d always slept in the bedchamber next to Trello, Harriet’s eldest brother.

He slipped around the corner of the first group of rocks and stopped dead. He could hear gentle splashing and a woman humming. Flattening himself against the rocks, he crawled to the top and peered over. A smile broke his lips and he almost whistled.

Lady Harriet was bathing in all her glory in the biggest of the group of hot pools. How like the headstrong young woman to swim unaccompanied. To his masculine delight, she was as naked as the day she was born. Wicked girl. And he admired her for it. No insipid miss. Harriet was a match for any man.

A perfect match for him.

She would give him fine sons and they would get along swimmingly.

From his heightened position, his eyes loved the delights shown clearly through the water when the wafts of steam blew away every few seconds. She looked like a mermaid, and if he hadn’t already fallen under her spell, he’d fall again. Her beautiful ebony tresses were piled atop her head, emphasizing her long graceful neck. He envied the water because it got to caress her creamy-white unblemished skin.

Soon she would be his. He couldn’t wait.

He should be a gentleman and leave. Let her keep her modesty—but she was too much of a temptation. Besides, she would soon be his, anyway. Lord Hearthstone had agreed to the match. He was sure Harriet would agree too, after all, she was a sensible woman. He’d known her for years, and he was a duke. Women threw themselves at him. Besides, he could tell when a woman was attracted to him, and Harriet was.

His body shivered. The stone beneath him could have been an iceberg. He’d freeze if he didn’t move soon.

“Alexander John Bishop Montague, if you hide there much longer you’ll become iced to the rock.”

Yes, she was quite the woman. Let’s see how bold she was when he stepped out in nothing but a shirt.

CHAPTER TWO

HARRIET HAD BEEN TICKING OFF ALL her tasks in her head as she bathed in the heated water. The decorations for the trees were collected, rooms allocated and aired, the food all organized, and she had presents for everyone for Christmas day. Everyone except Blade. She knew what present he wanted, but she still had no idea if she could give herself to him. Not after he’d purposely ignored her all season. She would be no one’s afterthought.

How like him to show up just when her head was full of him. Her heart flipped in her chest the moment Blade’s head popped over the rocky ledge above. Here was the man she suspected would become her husband. He was so handsome it hurt to look at him. Sometimes she thanked God that her brother was his best friend, or she’d not be in line to be considered—and there was the rub.

Why did the Duke of Bladestow want to marry her?

Blade had always been her older brother’s annoying best friend. The boy who thought he knew it all and who teased her mercilessly about her hoyden ways, as he called them.

He stepped around the rock and she stifled a gasp. He was definitely no longer a boy. The light linen shirt hid nothing. Her eyes left the beauty of his face and traveled over the sculptured body of an Adonis to stop at the dark patch. The linen regrettably hid the secrets at his groin. She bit her lip.

He spoke in a low voice. “I thought I must be dreaming, a mermaid. How shocked I was to discover it was in fact Lady Harriet—in the flesh.”

She smiled seductively as she sunk deeper under the water so only her face was showing. “You don’t seem shocked. You appear to be rather pleased.”

Could his smile get any wider? He walked forward until he stood at the edge of the opposite side of her pool.

She hadn’t purposely come for a soak in the thermal spring thinking he’d stop by. She had considered he’d reach Hearthstone by tonight, and she’d simply wanted some solitude and peace to think. Trello, her elder brother, had indicated he thought a match with Blade, the Duke of Bladestow, prudent. She assumed her father, as the Earl of Hearthstone, did too.

What she had to decide was, did she?

He was, of course, gorgeous beyond mere words, but beauty could hide many a sin. She’d known him all her life, given he was often at their home, so she knew deep at heart he was a good man. But she also knew the rumors surrounding him. He spent a lot of time on the continent, doing what, nobody knew. And, according to Blade’s sister, he’d had his heart broken by some foreign beauty, and had sworn never to marry for love.

Was that why he’d built a solid reputation as a rake of the first water? Was that why he was known to keep a mistress, or maybe even two?

She didn’t think she’d like to share her husband with other women. As she drank him in, a stabbing pain in her chest showed that she wouldn’t wish to share him—ever. If he would not be hers and hers alone, her life would be a misery.

She cursed how her body responded to him. Already hot from the heat of the water, her face felt like it was on fire.

“Do you mind if I join you?”

She should say no. There were two other pools he could get warm in. But when did she ever do anything she was supposed to?

“I can hardly stop you.”

To her immense pleasure he tore his shirt over his head, flung it back upon the rock behind him and slipped into the water.

Now her face was flaming and she hated how, like every woman in England, she was not immune to his physical attributes. True, the Duke of Bladestow was one of the most strikingly handsome men she had ever met. And she’d met a few of her brother’s friends and more at her come out this season. None that caught her interest and she blamed this man.

The combination of Blade’s black hair and blue eyes, set in the lean, chiseled facial features of perfect symmetry, saw many a woman lose her sense and heart to him. At the moment, most disturbing was the knowing intensity in those eyes. They practically screamed ‘I’m here for you’ and it aroused a wild yearning in her blood, making her feel as if she couldn’t get her breath.

But marriage was forever and forever was a long time.

She wished she understood why he wanted to offer for her. To make a fine match? He could have had any of this season’s eligible debutantes. He’d courted no-one during the season, including her. Yet here he was, supposedly desperate for her hand.

Was it because he wanted to align their families, given he was like a brother to Philip? Could it be he liked her and thought to make a comfortable life? That wasn’t enough for her. What she desperately hoped was that he loved her.

But it wasn’t easy getting men like Blade to express their feelings. Her brothers’ never showed emotion, not even when their mother died.

The pool suddenly seemed so much smaller than before. His head lay perched on the edge, but his eyes followed her every movement. In her wildest fantasies, she wondered what it would be like to be in his arms. To have him make love to her. But unless he could give her his heart, she didn’t want to become one of his many conquests—or even to become a duchess.

Willing her traitorous body to calm her racing heart, Harriet focused on her predicament. How did she get out of the pool? She wished she’d not decided to ‘take the waters’ au natural.

He must have sensed her need to flee, for suddenly he stood. Water traced over his rippling muscles and her mouth dried. The light accentuated every hard muscle in his wide shoulders, his powerful chest, which tapered to narrow hips where the water blocked her view of the rest of his delights. The steam curled around him like a lover.

His casual nudity spoke of his confidence and experience with the opposite sex. He knew damn well what the sight of him was doing to her.

Oh, she was in trouble. If she gave in to his seduction here, he would demand her hand in marriage. If her father learned of this, he would send for the bishop.

She longed to make the choice of a husband for herself. She needed more time. She needed to learn what was in his heart.

Courage invaded and gave her wings, so to speak. She heaved herself up on the edge of the pool and finding her feet she fled around the rock to where her clothes lay. She could hear him cursing and also laughing behind her. She heard him fall back into the water.

“Not so brave after all, Lady Harriet. Another time perhaps?”

“Perhaps.”

She could barely answer him as her teeth chattered. She rubbed vigorously with the drying cloths she’d brought with her. Once dressed she approached the bathing pool once more.

“I’ll leave a drying cloth for you,” and she placed it on the rock next to his discarded shirt. Before she could turn to leave the words slipped out of her mouth. “What would you have done if it had been Diane in the pool and not me?” Diane was her younger sister.

His smiled dimmed. “How could you even ask me that?”

“Given your reputation, I’d be silly not too.”

“And I thought you knew me.”

She shrugged. His hurt sounded legitimate. “You might think you know me, but I’m not sure I know you. Society doesn’t make it easy for women to know anything except what a father or brother will tell them.”

“Nonsense. You’ve known me all your life.”

“Long ago. From a distance. You are an older male and as such I mainly know of your good points from my father.”

“That is what your guardian is there for. To guide you. To ensure you are not taken advantage of.”

“Like you’re doing now?”

“Only because I thought we had an understanding.”

That made her spine straighten. “You’ve never addressed me about an understanding. You’ve never even courted me. Is this why you are here?”

“Your brother and I—”

She only just stopped a laugh at his expected answer. “What? He’ll guide me too? Dictate more like it. I like to decide about a person, wouldn’t you?”

His frown deepened. “As a man I make my own decisions, that’s true, but I take advice when needed.”

She nodded, attempting to keep her eyes from drifting down to sneak a peek at what was hidden under the water. “I think the words ‘own decision’ are key. I will make my own decisions on what happens with my life.”

“I’m not sure what you are trying to tell me, and standing in the frigid air is not the place to find out,” he suggested. “You’ll catch cold.”

“Then I look forward to continuing our discussion. Just us. No one else.” She rose and sneaked one more peek at his glorious naked body before turning to leave.

“As do I. I very much look forward to that.” His smile was back in his words.

“Perfect. We are in accord.” Her legs were shaking and not from the cold. She was now very sure the reason he was here was to offer for her, and she had no idea what she wanted to say.

He lay back in the warm water, floating, and her eyes almost widened at the sight. “How did you get here?” he asked.

She looked at him and smiled. “I walked. The brisk walk home always warms me.”

“My greatcoat is on Ghost. Take it. I won’t need it because it will take me only a few minutes to reach the stables on my horse.” He gave one of his renown seductive smiles. “Besides the memory of you arising from the pool will warm me.”

She hated that she blushed and hoped the cold had made her face rosy red anyway. But his chuckle told her he’d noticed. Just before he dunked completely under the water he uttered, “I’m really looking forward to having a private conversation with you, Lady Harriet. My little mermaid.”

With that, she turned and fled. She rounded the rocks and was about to run past Ghost when she saw a parchment flutter to the ground. It had fallen out of Blade’s greatcoat when Ghost shied at her approach.

She grabbed it before the light breeze could blow it away. It was crumbled and she was about to shove it back into the pocket it had fallen out of, when the devil on her shoulder made her glance at it.

It looked like a list and the heading was ‘Must Haves’. She would have left it at that, but the first item on the list grabbed her attention—Must be of good breeding.

Instead of putting the scrap of parchment back, she kept walking swiftly towards Hearthstone House, the cold forgotten as she scanned the list.

It was headed, the Duke’s Must haves…

1. She must be of good breeding

2. She should not be too tall, or too short

3. She should be obedient

4. She must be intelligent

5. She must have an even temperament

The longer she read, the more furious she got. What was this list for? Had he ticked her failings off against these requirements? Was she to be delivered to him like an ordered Christmas present? It couldn’t be so. Could it?

She reread the note. It certainly seemed he’d made a list of attributes he found agreeable in a wife. Was his visit here to engage with her, to see if he could tick each of these qualities off?

She screwed up the note in her palm and almost threw it into the wind, but she could not let it go.

The items sounded like an attribute list for a duke searching for a wife. And it was written in his hand.

Even temperament indeed!

She’d give him an even temperament.

Obedient!

He couldn’t possibly think she’d fit that requirement. If he did, he was in for a rude shock.

A very rude shock.

CHAPTER THREE

THE FOLLOWING morning Blade felt more himself. He’d dressed appropriately late, near midnight, when his carriage finally arrived. Not in time for him to join the others for dinner, so he’d had no chance to talk with Harriet or her brother. However, this morning he’d convinced Philip Rondell, Viscount Trello, to accompany him on a morning ride.

All night he’d pondered on Harriet’s words at the hot pool. How had he read this so wrong? Trello had led him to believe that his sister, Harriet, would welcome the match. Trello too, thought Lady Harriet held a tendre for him. Most women would be ecstatic at his attentions.

Whoa! Was he really that arrogant? He smiled to himself. He’d never had a complaint before. He knew he could have the hand of any woman he offered for.

Almost all. Once again Lady Harriet differed from every other woman he’d met. And that only attracted him more.

She had the body of Venus, curves in all the right places and then some. Her breasts were high and firm and the nipples peaking above the water, all tight and wet, had made his mouth water.

“What are you smiling at on this cold, sunny winter's day?” Trello pulled his horse in beside Ghost.

“I was thinking about Harriet. What made you think she would be open to an offer?”

Trello shrugged and tried to keep his steed under control. “My sister is intelligent enough to understand a match with you is not only prudent but would make her happy. Our families are very close and family is important to her.”

“But have you or your father conversed with her on this subject?”

Trello looked bewildered. “Not exactly. Isn’t that why you are here? I understand father wishes to talk with you about the marriage contracts and formalities. Harriet is your domain. You’ve never had trouble getting women to do as you wish.”

“Your sister is not like most women.” Blade cursed under his breath. No wonder Harriet’s reception was a little confusing. He’d ignored her all season and now suddenly he wanted to marry her. He would have courted her if he’d been able. Jolly Prinny! He wished he could throttle the Regent. Worse still he had sworn an oath not to reveal the task the Regent had set him.

Harriet sensed what he was here for, but no one had talked to her about the situation. If those he loved were planning around him without his input, annoyed would be putting it mildly. Angry and hurt too.

“This may not be as simple as you are making out, Trello.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I think I know my sister and she holds a tendre for you. Why do you think she turned down so many proposals this season?”

“She did?” The idea of her marrying anyone else blackened his mood and made him realize how lucky he was to find her still unattached. Just then he heard a horse galloping, and he looked up to see Harriet galloping toward them.

Trello saw her too. “Now’s your opportunity to win a fair maiden’s heart.”

“That may be too much to ask. I’ll start with her agreement to marry me.” Harriet stirred his senses. He loved her intelligence, her spirit, and her beauty, but he’d never considered love when he thought of marriage—not since…. Men like him and Trello had to consider all their obligations to family, tenants, and God and country when choosing a wife. Love wasn’t an option to dictate the path of their lives.

“I shall see you back at the house. When you’re free, I’d value your thoughts on the Carthors venture.” With that, Trello galloped away.

Like the gentleman he was, Blade used the reins to hold Ghost in check, waiting for Harriet to catch up.

“Good morning, Harry.” She frowned at his use of the name he’d given her when she was a young girl. He’d called her Harry because she’d tried to do anything the boys did. If she wanted to be a boy, he’d call her by a boy’s name. She’d loved it at the time.

“Oh, please. I’m not a little girl chasing after her brothers anymore.”

He let his eyes linger on the tight-fitting riding jacket she wore. “Most definitely not a little girl.” He loved the flush that raced across her cheeks. She didn’t stand a chance if she tried to play with him. Seduction was his middle name and hers was innocence.

“Stop trying to distract me. It won’t work.”

Oh, it was working. She couldn’t look him in the eyes. “May I accompany you on your ride?”

She sighed. “Of course. Why do you think I’m out here in the cold this early in the morning? It will give us a chance to talk without others listening.”

Any time he could grab alone with her, he’d take. “Shall we head for the winter croft?”

“I’ll race you,” and she was off before he’d had time to gather Ghost’s reins. It didn’t matter, her gelding was no match for his stallion. But he wanted her in a good mood, so he held back and let her reach the croft first.

They slowed the horses to a walk, and it amused him when she let out a vast sigh as if the weight of the world sat upon her shoulders. “You let me win.”

“Is that important?”

She shook her head. “No. It’s just sometimes you surprise me.”

They walked in silence for a while. He watched as she chewed on her bottom lip. He wanted to ask what was wrong, but understood she was working through something. Finally, she pulled her horse to a stop and looked over at him.

“Are you here to ask for my hand in marriage?”

He wanted to smile but knew that was the wrong thing to do. She was too serious. “I am.”

She nodded, the lip still being chewed. “Ever since I was a young girl, I knew they would expect me to marry and marry well.” She looked directly at him. “So I made a list.”

“A list?” She was watching him closely.

“The things I’m looking for in a husband.”

This time it was he who moved tentatively in the saddle. What she was looking for in a husband? Why did that unsettle him? To society, he was a perfect catch for any woman. He was a duke, from a very distinguished family. He was wealthy—very wealthy. Women seemed to find him attractive, and he had a reputation as a wonderful lover. Plus, their families were very close.

She continued. “Shall I read what’s on my list?” She didn’t wait for an answer.

1. He must be kind

2. He must treat me as an equal partner

3. He must never take a mistress

“I beg your pardon?” She carried on as if number three was a mere slip.

1. He must be honest and keep nothing from me

2. He must have a sense of humor

“Wait, please. A mistress?”

She tipped her bonnet back. “I do believe you are blushing, Blade. A mistress. I assume you know what they are. My brother has one, or is it two? Country and town. Do you have a mistress?”

HIS FACE flushed with color and she loved how suddenly he didn’t look like the formidable duke, but instead a tad more vulnerable.

“No.” The word was forced out between clenched teeth.

“Not at the moment or never?” She knew he’d had mistresses. “May I remind you, number four on my list is honesty.”

His answer would help her decide what sort of life she might have with him as her husband. Or if she should even consider his offer.

“I currently do not have a mistress. I would never court a wife with another woman sharing my bed. I am honorable.”

He was honorable, so she believed him. The relief that chased after her doubts was instant. “Would you take a mistress after you marry?”

“No.”

“What if your wife didn’t wish to share your bed?”

“That would never happen.” The confident smile hit every inch of her body like a velvet glove, stroking her imagination, and the gravelly tone of his words sent heat flaring even in this cold.

Bother. She didn’t or couldn’t parle words with him, not on this topic. He was far too experienced for the likes of her.

“Is that everything on your list?” His question surprised her. “Because if it is, I can confidentially state that I meet every requirement.”

Drat. She wished she knew what else was on his list. “Before I share more, what would be on your list?”

He laughed and the sound made her lips curve up. She loved how open he was with his emotions. She could always tell when he was happy, sad, angry, or that special posturing only dukes portrayed.

“I don’t have a list.” His laughter died as she frowned. “That’s probably not true. I have an image in my head of what I am looking for in a wife.”

An image in his head? Wasn’t that a lie? She’d found his list. Now her assuredness was under threat again. “So, no list on parchment?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Why would I need to write it down?”

Liar. “What is it you are looking for? Or why me?”

He dismounted and tethered his horse, reaching up to help her down. With no thought, she fell into his arms and couldn’t hide the shudder through her limbs as he purposely let her slide down his muscled chest.

When her feet finally found the ground, he leaned down and whispered in her ear, “Mainly it’s because my thoughts, when I look at you, are not gentlemanly or honorable. And given your breeding and family connections, that makes you more than perfect for the role of my duchess.”

His warm breath in the cold air wasn’t the only thing causing a mist over her eyes. Goodness gracious, why did he affect her so? She wished he didn’t affect her because marriage was for life and surely it should be built on more than mere physical attraction? What happens when she grew older? If there is only physical attraction, what happens when beauty fades?

“There are many beautiful young ladies with more than suitable family connections,” and she pushed out of his arms and walked towards the croft with her mind whirling.

When she heard the loud sigh she swung round to face him. “I know I should be flattered. I know I should view your intentions as every woman’s dream. But… ” She turned away and cursing into the wind, she stamped her foot. How impossible to make a man, let alone a duke, understand what a woman, well, a woman like her, really wanted.

Love.

All her life she’d been consumed by Blade. Each time he’d visited, or when her family visited London and she saw him at family gatherings or balls, she’d not had eyes for any other man. Now here he was. About to give her what she’d always wanted. For some reason she could not bring herself to say yes.

He’d have his work as the duke, and all the obligations that came with his position, House of Lords, governmental issues, tenants, family—she’d hardly see him if her father was anything to go by. She wanted to matter. For once in her life, she wanted to matter. Her chest heaved with the power of the emotions boiling below the surface. She should be the perfect young lady and not let her emotions overcome her, but marriage, for a woman, was a serious business. There was no escape once wed. The wrong man and her life would be over.

Was Blade the right man for her?

To think he’d simply made a list and her name came out on top was no basis for the marriage she wanted.

She sensed him at her back. He didn’t touch her, but his presence was all-consuming.

“What are you afraid of?”

His question caught her by surprise. How had he guessed she was afraid?

She turned and his arms wrapped around her. She leaned into his chest. “I hate that you’ve organized this betrothal without even pretending to court me. It’s as if I should be grateful and yet,” and she pushed out of his warm hold, “I’m a catch too.”

“I know you are. You’re beautiful.” And he ran a gloved finger down her cheek.

She looked into his eyes and reminded herself to stay strong. “I could have married this year. What would you have felt if I had?”

“I don’t think I would have liked that.”

“Then where were you when I had my come out?”

He looked away. His silence was unnerving. So she spoke, anger goading her to reveal more than she wanted to. “Turning up this Christmas, with betrothal in mind, makes me feel like an afterthought. And I refuse to be an afterthought for any man.”

With that, she walked to Brandy, her gelding, and swung up into the saddle.

He didn’t stop her.

“When you can tell me why you want to marry me now, and give me a reason why I should consider marriage to you outside of duty and family, I’ll consider your offer.” She walked Brandy past him and gave one last comment. “I’m not a woman who marries any man who has to make a list to know what he requires in a wife.”

With that she kicked her horse and took off at a gallop, his words muffled by the wind, but she thought he’d said, “What list?”

CHAPTER FOUR

HARRIET DIDN’T HAVE LONG to mope over her situation, because a few hours later her friend, Lady Ariane arrived. Her father was hosting a ball tomorrow, the night before Christmas Eve, when her betrothal was supposed to be announced, and Harriet had invited Ariane to stay. Mainly for moral support.

The two young women had been friends for a few years and had had their first season together in May. Ariane had found her Prince Charming. She had accepted an offer from George Fogel, Viscount Kingsley. He was the Earl of Southerby’s eldest son and heir, and Ariane loved him with all her heart. It was an excellent match. Their wedding would be in the spring.

As Harriet waited for Ariane to ascend the stairs, she could not help the small stab of envy. Why couldn’t Blade have swept her off her feet this season too? The ladies had often giggled about having a double wedding. But Harriet’s dreams of a love-filled marriage with Blade were now burning into ash.

The ladies embraced on the top step, and Harriet quickly pulled her friend toward the drawing room. Her younger sister, Diane, was in the village gathering last minute Christmas items. Her father, brothers, and Blade were nowhere to be seen, and she wanted to take the opportunity to talk with Ariane before the men in her life descended. It was times like this, since her mother died, that she felt the vast hole in her life. She didn’t realize how much she craved female company.

Oh, she had Diane, but she was a few years younger than Harriet and until she matured, the conversations shared between them were not very enlightening as to affairs of the heart.

The ladies had barely taken their seats when Ariane asked, “So, were you right? Is His Grace here to ask for your hand in marriage?”

Harriet smiled and pressed her finger to her lips while pointedly starring at the servant who was just leaving, having deposited a tea tray on the small table between them. She waited until the door was firmly closed before admitting, “Yes.”

Ariane’s eyebrows rose. “I see. You don’t seem to be overjoyed. Did he tell you why he didn’t court you this past season?”

“Oh, I asked,” and she handed her friend a nice strong cup of tea. “He didn’t however give me an answer.” She waited a moment before adding, “But I found a list he’d made.” She held out the parchment and waited while Ariane put down her teacup with quite a bang on the table.

“A list? What sort of list?”

“Just read it.”

Ariane read out loud.

THE DUKE’S MUST HAVES…

1. She must be of good breeding

2. She should not be too tall, or too short

3. She should be obedient

4. She must be intelligent

5. She must have an even temperament

“Goodness, gracious. The man has the affront to make a list after spending the entire season chasing… Whoops.” Ariane’s eyes opened wide.

“Chasing? Who was he chasing?”

Ariane threw the list on the table and sighed. “I wasn’t going to tell you if you had accepted Blade’s offer. He was chasing Lady Jane Bennett all season. She’s Princess Charlotte’s lady-in-waiting. The rumor was he was completely smitten with her, but she was promised to Lord Stanthorpe. They married last month.”

“And I thought he was after Princess Charlotte.” Harriet slapped her thigh. “Now I understand why he’s made a list. He lost his first choice, so he is looking for someone to fulfil a role. It would seem he’s decided on how he’ll select a woman to become his wife, and I fit the categories on his list.” A pain started in her stomach and traveled up her chest, almost choking her. “Well, he may be prepared to settle, but I’m not. I won’t be picked because I fit a list of cold, rational requirements. I won’t let my father wrap me up and deliver me as a Christmas gift.”

“The question you need to ask before you say no to his offer is, could you picture yourself married to anyone else? Maybe he could come to love you. You’re very loveable you know.”

She wanted to return Ariane’s kind smile, but her pain filled jealousy of Lady Jane saw her mouth firm. Her friend had a point. Could she make a man like Blade love her? Was it worth taking the risk? If she turned him down, could she marry another while he filled her heart?

“Why couldn’t he have fallen in love with me this season?”

Ariane shrugged her shoulders. “Funny that his list says must be intelligent. Lady Jane never struck me as being very clever. Beautiful—but not clever.”

Before she could reply, the door burst open and Trello and Blade entered. Oh my, Blade was freshly bathed with his jet-black hair not completely dry. One wisp had curled high on his chiseled cheek bone, somehow softening his usually stern countenance. Why did her heart have to beat faster the minute Blade approached? She was sure it beat so loud he’d hear it. Luckily, her brother took the lead.

“Lady Ariane. How lovely to see you?” And Trello bowed over her hand. “Harriet, I told Blade you’d accompany him on a trip into the village tomorrow.”

Blade flashed her one of his devastating smiles as he greeted Ariane and then said to her, “If it is not too much trouble?”

Ariane spoke before she could reply. “I’m sorry, Your Grace, but Lady Harriet and I will be engaged all day. We have the tenants and their children arriving to decorate the tree.”

Blade and Trello noted the coldness in Ariane’s voice, for they both threw a glance at each other.

Trello grimaced. “My apologies. It slipped my mind. It will be a very busy day for you.”

“I’d like to help. What could we men do?”

The offer surprised Harriet. Usually her father and brother’s left the day to her and Diane since her mother’s death. They greeted the tenants and then disappeared as fast as foxes when the hunt bugle blew. “I would be much obliged if you could oversee the tree positioning. We are having two. One in the drawing room and one in the ballroom. The tenants' children will help decorate the one in the ballroom. The servants will decorate the one in the drawing room later with their special supper.”

“Have they been cut yet?” Blade asked while Trello looked glum at having been roped into helping.

“No. I was hoping Trello would organize the men early tomorrow morning, so the tree was ready to decorate at three.” She had already organized for the men to go early in the morning, but she wanted her brother to take more interest in the day. He would be the earl one day and these tenants would be his to care for.

Blade turned to Trello. “Right. We will oversee the tree cutting, delivery and erecting. Let’s make a list of what we will need.”

Under her breath Ariane whispered, “Yes. I’ve heard you make lists for everything.”

WHAT HAD Lady Ariane said about his lists? What was the ladies sudden fascination with lists? His lists. He had to admit he often made lists. They ordered his thoughts, and with all his responsibilities he often forgot things if they were not written down. His mind always raced with ideas and plans.

“Has the stand been set up in the ballroom?” he heard Trello ask Harriet.

“Of course.”

Trello sat up, rubbing his hands together. “I don’t mind being in an empty ballroom. It’s the society ballrooms with muddling mothers I avoid. All that dancing. I lost weight this season from all the dancing. Didn’t you, Blade?”

Harriett looked directly at him. “I don’t recall seeing His Grace on the dance floor much over the season. In fact, I barely saw him at all.”

Ariane nodded. “I agree. The only time I remember seeing you, Your Grace, was whenever Lady Jane was present.”

Silence engulfed the room until Ariane added, “Lord Punting will certainly be happy to fill your dance card, Harriet. He’s still pinning for you, if rumors are to be believed.”

Blade stilled his hands, not allowing them to form fists at his side. Lord Punting could pine all he liked. Harriet was his. And blast Lady Ariane. Now he understood why he was receiving such a frosty reception. The two young ladies seated in this room had heard the rumors. He needed a private word with Harriet, to put her straight.

“Lord Punting. Goodness. He’s a mere second son. Not good enough for an earl’s daughter. He’s likely after you to lift his social standing.”

Blade’s shoulders relaxed at Trello’s words. It seemed Lord Hearthstone would never allow Harriet to marry such a man.

Harriet’s face had turned an ugly shade of red, and Lady Ariane looked horrified.

“I’m sure your beauty blinded lord Punting, Lady Harriet.” Blade could afford to be gracious. His offer had the backing of the men who guided Harriet.

But his words merely saw her eyes narrow and her nostrils flare.

Just then a plaintive meow broke the air and a grey bundle of fur came flying past his legs. The cat jumped into Harriet’s outstretched arms and Blade took a step backwards. He envied the cat as she cuddled it to her bosom.

“Harriet, I reminded you to keep Sir Lancelot in your room. You know how cats make Blade’s face swell up and break into hives,” Trello all but barked.

“I’m sure Harriet didn’t do it on purpose,” but her stare didn’t confirm that thought. Really? He understood she was probably feeling out of sorts at his sudden interest in marriage without even courting her. It was arrogant of him to expect her to fall into his arms within a day. He just needed time alone with her to explain. Last Christmas he’d almost proposed, and he was sure Harriet would have accepted. But he thought to let her shine in her first season this year. Little did he know he’d be engaged elsewhere and unable to court her properly.

Just then a sneeze tracked up his nose, and he knew it was time to take his leave. It was him or the cat. “I shall see you all at dinner.” With that, he bowed and left the room, Trello following behind.

“I hate to say this, Blade but somehow you have really angered Harriet.” He clapped Blade on his back. “Let’s go play some billiards and drink brandy while you explain to me what you’ve done to upset my sister.”

He had a suspicion he knew exactly what she was angry about. She was angry that he’d ignored her most of the season, and she believed the rumors about him and Lady Jane, and yet he was turning up at Christmas expecting her to agree to a match.

He would talk to her tonight whether or not she liked it. Getting her alone was the issue. He could hardly visit her room. The cat would see him break out in hives or worse, sometimes he could barely breathe. He would have to get her to come to him. No easy feat when she was avoiding him and it was too cold at night to venture outside.

CHAPTER FIVE

DINNER HAD BEEN A TRYING affair with her father’s obvious matchmaking efforts making her want to plead illness and flee. To Blade’s credit, he had not gloated or played into her father’s innuendo, and that had bothered her more. What was he up to?

Now Harriet had escaped to the library, while her brothers and Blade had made their way to the billiard room once again. Ariane had retired early, tired after her long journey, but Harriet couldn’t sleep. She should go to bed and rest. It would be a long tiring night tomorrow, having to smile and take all the knowing looks from their guests. They knew why Blade was here. Her father had not been discreet, it would appear. Everyone would expect an announcement tomorrow night.

She rubbed her temples and tried to fight off the pounding headache about to set in. She pushed her slippers off with her toes and lay down on the settee. Every time she closed her eyes, all she saw was the image of Blade’s naked chest as he’d stood with water sluicing over every defined muscle in the hot pool. Was it only a day ago? Now, her body seemed to be aflame each time she saw him, knowing what lay beneath the clothes. She wondered if he dreamed of her naked and in his arms?

She hated that she longed to be naked and in his arms, even if she was second best and merely met requirements on a list.

As if he’d sensed her thoughts, she looked up and Blade was standing in the doorway. His face was shadowed but she could feel the heat in his gaze. She swung her legs off the settee and sat up. She wanted to say don’t come near, but her throat closed as he sauntered towards where she sat near the fire, as if he owned the night.

“We need to talk.”

She didn’t want to talk. Not here in the firelight where the shadows caressed his face and made her want to do the same.

“I’m not sure we have anything to discuss.”

An audible sigh filled the air as he took the large wingback chair across from her. “I have some explaining to do and an apology to make.”

That caught her attention.

He carried on. “You want to know about Lady Jane.”

“I’m sure I am not in the least bit interested in your—affairs.”

“If you expect honesty, then you must be honest with me too.” Her face flushed with color. “Lady Jane meant nothing to me. I was in her company a great deal because Prinny gave me a task I was honor bound to fulfill. I cannot reveal what that task was, but it was to do with Princess Charlotte and Lady Jane is her lady-in-waiting.”

She watched his eyes and saw no flicker of deceit. “So, you were not enamored of her, desiring a match.”

“Good lord, no. If I had not been following Prinny’s orders I would have courted you this season.”

“Since you are speaking of honesty, why did you wish to court me?” His mouth opened, but nothing came out. She continued. “Do you want to know what I think?” She didn’t wait for his answer. “I think you find me attractive, interesting even, and we are friends. We have known each other most of our lives and Trello is your best friend.”

He nodded. “All true.”

“I think I’m the easy choice.”

He looked like he was about to choke. “Easy? I hardly think I’m so lazy I’d take the easiest option to find a wife.” He moved to sit beside her before she could react. Taking her hand, he whispered, “You forgot one important component of why I want you as my wife. I desire you,” and he lifted her ungloved hand and pressed a kiss to her palm, making shivers cascade over her skin. “And you are not immune to me either.”

She could not deny his words, but she still pulled her hand free. “And do you believe desire is the correct basis for a marriage?”

This time he ran his finger gently over her cheek. “It’s the perfect place to start.”

“But where would a marriage based on desire end up? From what I have seen, men burn with desire and then over time, like a starved fire, the flame dies out.”

He tucked a stray strand of her hair behind her ear and she wished he’d stop touching her; it confused and excited her, and there was too much at stake here.

“You’d have our children and the house, or houses, to maintain, and I’d have my responsibilities. We would get along famously.”

So, he agreed with her that the desire would fade. “Would that mean you’d take mistresses to find new desires?”

“No. I just believe that if we stoke the fire regularly, the flames, though they might not burn as ferocious, will fan the embers and glow bright. A warm, comfortable life.”

She sucked in a breath. That all sounded fine except…, what if he found a woman he could love? And how would it feel to marry a man you loved with all your heart, but that love was never returned? Both of them would be trapped in this ‘comfortable’ life. She drew in a deep breath before saying, “That is not enough for me. I want love. I want to marry a man who loves me, and I him.”

She felt his absence by her side immediately as he stood and paced. “You said you wanted honesty,” she explained.

He nodded. “Well love, like desire, fades and usually takes any semblance of friendship with it.”

He sounded as if he spoke from experience. “I guess that means you don’t love me.”

He swung round to look at her. “And you don’t love me… Oh, God. You do.” He looked horrified as he sunk into the nearby chair.

“Why do you think I’ve turned down so many offers?”

“I need a drink. I never assumed…” He stood and walked straight to the sideboard and poured himself a large brandy and drank it in one gulp. He hung his head and heavy silence blanketed the room.

This time she sighed as she stood to take her leave. “I know father is expecting an announcement at the ball, but I won’t be allowing it. When you can profess your love for me, then I will agree to marry you. Your love would make a splendid Christmas present.”

“What if I can never declare that love you want?”

Interesting. He didn’t say what if ‘I could never love you’. He merely said declare it.

“Then I hope for your sake that one day you are brave enough to find that special woman and realize love is not something to fear. I hope you open your shuttered heart to her. I don’t know who hurt you, but they were obviously not worthy of your love. Next time don’t give your heart to someone who will trample it into the dust.”

With that, she moved and placed a chaste kiss on his cheek before walking out of the room. A tear tracked down her face as she realized she would not win her Prince Charming. Her Christmas wish would not be granted. He did not love her. If he did, he would chase after her, begging her to reconsider, but he was letting her go with no complaint.

BLADE POURED another brandy and noted his hands shook. Harriet was right. Long ago, he’d had his heart ripped to shreds. He’d been young and cocksure of himself. He was a wealthy duke, good looking and very popular. He thought he could have any woman he wanted. Like every young buck that season, he’d wanted the belle of the Ton, Lady Abigail.

He courted her, showered her with gifts, and to his surprise he fell head over heels in love with her. He was ready at only two and twenty to make her his duchess. Then he’d overheard a conversation.

“You’ve certainly sharpened Blade’s blade.” A gaggle of giggles filled the air. “He’s panting after you like a well-trained puppy. I never thought I’d see the day. He’ll propose to you, I’m sure, and I’ll lose our wager.”

“I told you I could have my pick of gentlemen and there was no way I’d waste my time on anyone other than a duke. Her Grace has a lovely sound to it.” Abigail’s voice sounded full of pride and Blade’s smile faded. He knew he shouldn’t be listening, but he could not move away.

One quiet voice spoke up. “Not only a duke, he’s wealthy and oh, so handsome. Laying back and thinking of England will not be a chore if rumors are to be believed.”

More giggling.

“I will do my duty, but I’m hoping he’ll take many mistresses. I will definitely make it clear I’m not a fan of his attentions.”

“You don’t find him irresistible?” The quiet voice asked. His pride recovered at her obvious shock.

“No. I do not find him attractive at all. All dark and brooding. Now Lord Henswick is dashing. I think I’ll take him as my lover once I’m married.”

His pride fled and anger rose in its place.

The disdain in her voice when she spoke of him, and the knowledge she planned to take lovers when he would have offered her the world, saw his heart shrivel in his chest.

He turned and walked away and never spoke to Lady Abigail again. She would never be his duchess. He learned his lesson well. From that day on, he’d locked his heart securely away, realizing that women wanted the title, not the man.

How ironic that the one woman who wanted the man, not his title, had just refused his offer because he would not love her. He admired her courage and had to admit she was not interested in becoming just a duchess. He should marry her for that alone, but Harriet deserved more.

He deserved more, too.

A smile formed on his lips. It would be so easy to love her. The pain in his chest lessened as the chains shackling his heart loosened.

He let love flood his body and knew what he needed to do if he wanted to make this a Christmas to remember.

He had to convince the lady who would be his, and his alone, that his heart could love and that she filled it. Not an easy task given the bumbling fool start he’d made to showing her she was all he wanted.

CHAPTER SIX

THE CRISP SUNNY winter’s day lifted Harriet’s spirits. The house was abuzz with organization. Apparently, as promised, Blade and her brothers had left early this morning to cut the trees and the proud fir tree’s scent filled the ballroom where it stood in its pot.

The doors out onto the terrace were cast wide open and at one end of the room tables were covered in food and drink. The tenants were right at home here, given this was an annual tradition. The men, including her brothers and Blade, were standing on the terrace in the sun talking about—well, she had no idea, but probably farming.

“Stop staring at him. The ladies are noticing.” She smiled at Diane’s teasing. “If you don’t want to marry him, maybe he’d wait for me.” And then Diane laughed.

That made her head snap round to where her sister stood next to the barrel containing the holly. “I’m glad you find this situation funny. I shall remind you of this when it’s your turn to be married off.”

“Don’t be so dramatic,” Diane said. “Father would never force you to marry anyone you didn’t want.”

She wanted him. That was the problem. She had hoped her bluff of not marrying unless he loved her made him confess his feelings, but no. And time was running out. Would she be strong enough to turn his proposal down?

A little hand tugging on her skirt interrupted Harriet’s worrying thoughts. “Are you getting married, my lady?”

She crouched down to answer little Betsie, the five-year-old daughter of Mrs. Watson, a widower. Her husband, one of the tenant farmers, had died of lung fever two years ago. Mrs. Watson and her three children lived in an estate cottage and was supported by her father. Harriet visited their cottage often to ensure they were doing well. She had a soft spot for Betsie. It was Mrs. Watson who had gifted her cat, Sir Lancelot. “I suspect I shall marry one day.”

“Mother says you are marrying Lord Bladestow and that you will have to leave Hearthstone.”

Trapped. What on earth did she tell the little girl? “Nothing is decided yet,” she whispered, hoping no one else could hear.

Betsie threw her arms around Harriet’s legs. “Then I hope you don’t marry. I don’t want you to leave,” and the little girl began crying.

Just then a shadow fell over them and Harriet looked up into Blade’s handsome face. It was obvious he didn’t like the little girl’s tears either. He bent down and plucked her up into his arms, and her cries immediately stopped. It appeared even little girls were not immune to Blade’s smile.

“Betsie is it? How would you like to put the angel candle on the top of the tree?”

She clapped her hands together. “I can’t reach.”

“You will if I lift you.”

Harriet handed Betsie the candle and Blade lifted her over his head and the little girl, with help from Blade, attached the candle at the top of the tree. While still up high, Betsie looked around the room. Spying her mother, she waved and called out, “Look, Mama,” and she pointed to the tree.

Blade swung her down into his arms. Betsie flung her arms around his neck and placed a sloppy kiss on his cheek. “I don’t mind if you marry Lady Harriet as long as you bring her home for Christmas each year.”

Blade laughed. “What about every other Christmas so I can spend a few Christmases with my family.”

Her face scrunched into a frown. “I suppose that would be all right.” She looked him in the eye and asked, “Do you love Lady Harriet? Mother says I should only ever marry if the man loves me like my Papa loved her.”

Ariane and Diane had to stuff their fists in their mouths to stop from laughing. Harriet froze, utterly mortified.

Blade turned slowly to stare at her as he uttered, “Your mother is very wise, Betsie, and you should remember her words. I think love is a very honorable reason for marriage.”

Little Betsie nodded as he set her down, not realizing he hadn’t answered her question much to Harriet’s dismay.

“If you will excuse me, ladies, I see Trello beckoning me.”

Every female in the room watched as he made his way through the milling children toward the terrace.

“Well, I never,” uttered Ariane. “What do you think he meant?”

Harriet sighed. “Who knows? It almost sounds like I’ve made my point about marrying for love. It’s likely he’s decided not to propose at all since he doesn’t love me.”

“I can’t believe you two. It’s obvious the man’s in love with Harriet. I thought that when he was here last Christmas. I mean, he spent most of his time with you, not Trello. I’d expected him to court you this season. There must have been a reason he didn’t because I’d bet my life on it he loves you.”

Diane’s words took her breath away. “You’re too young to understand.”

“Not so young I can’t read people.”

“I must admit. I too always thought he held a tendre for you. We both did. That’s why we had those dreams of a double wedding. Why didn’t he court you this season?”

“He did have a good reason. Something for Prinny involving Princess Charlotte.”

Diane smiled and handed Ariane another holly bush to add to the tree. “I knew it.”

“If he loves me, why won’t he tell me?”

Ariane brushed the sticky fir fronds off her gown. “Some men don’t know how to say it. It’s frightening to say those words and not know how it will be received. I know. Will you let him slip away because of that? Can you learn what’s in his heart with no declarations of love from him?”

Could she? The ball was tomorrow night. She’d run out of time. She glanced outside and the first pair of eyes that meet hers was Blade’s. He gave her a smile that curled around her and made her heart expand in her chest. She loved him.

Loved him with all her heart.

She could not imagine herself married to any other man.

She turned away, wondering if he’d read her love in her eyes. For a moment she thought she’d seen love in his. But then perhaps that is what she wanted to see, given she had to know her answer by midnight tomorrow night.

CHAPTER SEVEN

“YOUR EYES ARE BLAZING FIRE,” Ariane said as she tightened her grip on Harriet’s arm as they strolled around the ballroom filled with most of the local gentry who had known her all her life. Many kept coming up and giving her sly smiles.

“I’m so angry. Everyone is expecting a marriage announcement tonight. Trello took Blade out last night on purpose. I don’t know what the men are up to, but if Blade thinks I’ll say yes to his offer just because it’s in front of a crowd, he’s mad.”

The ballroom was so hot and with the first sprinkling of snow today, the doors to the terrace remained solidly closed. If it were not for Ariane by her side, she would have found it difficult to breathe through her panic. In two hours, it would be midnight and her father had already berated her about making a fool of him and the scandal that refusing Blade’s offer would bring upon her and the family. Everyone invited knew there was to be an announcement, so what would they think when there was none.

Her father had given her until midnight to come to her senses.

Luckily Blade had placated her father. She did not know what he had said, but her father looked at her with a warm smile that screamed, ‘I’m up to something’.

However, the guests had already suspected something was not as it should be because Blade and Trello had ensconced themselves in the card room and had barely shown their faces. She clenched her fists. Trello had promised her they would dance with the young ladies in attendance. They had left her to fend off the gossips and face the music alone. She would never forgive them.

“May I have this dance, my beautiful lady.” Kingsley, Ariane’s fiancé whispered in her friend’s ear, and envy and joy in equal measure flooded Harriet’s heart.

“Go on, Ariane. I need a moment to myself, anyway.”

“Are you sure?

She smiled away her nerves. “Absolutely. Go and enjoy the dancing with this handsome man.”

Kingsley beamed her a smile and a wink. As she watched them take to the floor, she had never seen a couple more suited to each other and so in love. The love was in each touch, each smile, and she was thrilled for her friend. This is what she wanted too. She wanted this with Blade.

Needing space away from prying eyes, Harriet made her way through the supper room looking as if she was heading towards the retiring room, when she darted left and made her way to her haven, the library. As soon as she entered her mind calmed. The silence and dimming fire, which made the room cooler than the ballroom, was just what she desired.

She moved to stand at the large terrace windows, but the clouds covered the moon and she could see nothing but the snowflakes hitting the glass. She could also feel the cold coming through, so she moved to stoke the fire before finding her favorite chaise lounge. She heard her slippers plop to the floor as she lay down. If anyone looked through the open door, the back of the settee would hide her. She just needed time to gather her pride before someone found her and dragged her back to face the music at midnight.

She didn’t know how long she’d been lying there and perhaps she had dozed, but the sound of the library door closing jarred her awake. She hoped it wasn’t an amorous couple looking for privacy. She peeked over the back and to her surprise she saw it was Lord Fallon. He wasn’t on her guest list. He was leaning his back against the door, his cravat undone, and the smile he gave sent a knot of nervousness through her.

“Lady Harriet, at last I’ve found you.”

She rose to her feet. “I didn’t realize I was lost,” she tried to make it sound like a joke, but Lord Fallon didn’t laugh.

Her inner senses told her to move away as he strode closer. All too soon she found herself backed up against the glass doors out to the terrace. But Lord Fallon kept coming.

“A little birdie tells me you may decline Lord Bladestow’s offer. To say you have surprised me is an understatement. Pleasantly surprised, I might add. I thought I may have been too late.”

Too late? For what? He didn’t stop until his chest was almost touching her breasts, and the doors to the outside were marking her back as she pushed against them, trying to put distance between them. For the first time she wished he was as tall as Blade so she didn’t have to look him in the eye, because what she saw there frightened her. Desperation.

“I’m expected back in the ballroom. Please let me pass.”

A finger ran down her cheek, and she turned her head away. His touch made her skin crawl. “I don’t think so. You see, you are the answer to my predicament.”

At her frown, he laughed. “So innocent, but not for long. If I ruin you, your father is still likely to allow our marriage to stand because he won’t want his eldest daughter ruined. It dampens the chances of the second daughter making a fine match. Your dowry will be forthcoming because he won’t want you to suffer in poverty like I and my family are suffering.”

Fear almost made her knees buckle, but she refused to let him see it. “My brother will kill you if you touch me.”

He gripped her chin in his hand. “Most likely. So best we depart for Gretna Green before that can happen. So convenient that from York it’s only a few day's ride.”

“Not in this weather.”

He shrugged. “But the fresh snow will cover our tracks. So shall we?”

On the words ‘shall we’ the door behind her flew open, and before she could scream, he pushed her out into the frigid night air, his grip on her arm vice like. She bit his hand to scream, but he shoved his cravat into her mouth. The cold hit her like a fist and she knew she’d freeze to death if he hadn’t brought wraps for her, carriage or no carriage. The only thing calming her was he needed her alive—at least until he had his money.

That thought and the chill seemed to chase away her fear. She had to escape before he got her in any conveyance he may have standing by. She’d play scared and helpless until the perfect opportunity to escape came her way. She refused to think about what would happen to her if she did not escape. Trello would find her. She just prayed it was before Lord Fallon ruined her.

BLADE WANDERED out to the ballroom, excitement raging inside him. In less than an hour he would get down on one knee and pledge his love for her, to all those present and he prayed she would not throw it in his face. But she deserved to have a public declaration of his love, or how else would she believe him? What had Harriet told him? To be brave. He’d never considered himself a coward, but her words had the ring of truth to them.

Well, he’d show her he could be brave too, and vulnerable, and so in love with her it hurt.

He was no longer scared to open his heart. Having it ripped to shreds once before was no excuse. He’d been foolish, and he’d made a mistake in picking a woman who was empty inside. Harriet wasn’t empty. She embraced life and cared for nothing but family and friends.

Harriet had let herself be vulnerable. She’d told him what was in her heart, with no thought to her pride. She’d told the truth and demanded he face his feelings for her. She wanted love—wanted his love, and by God, she deserved a man who loved her. She deserved his love and he would freely give it to her.

The idea of her marrying any other man set his teeth on edge. He rubbed his chest. He wanted her and no one else.

Soon he would know if he had left his declaration too late. He hoped it didn’t spoil Christmas for everyone. He hoped that they would remember this Christmas forever. For the right reasons. For what could be a better present than the gift of love?

“Your Grace, have you seen Harriet?” He looked at Ariane as she stood before him, chewing her bottom lip and wringing her hands. “I haven’t seen her for almost an hour. Kingsley and I have looked everywhere.”

The back of Blade’s neck prickled. His gaze swept the room She was not here. “She can’t have just disappeared.”

Just then Trello arrived. “Funny thing. Lord Punting just told me he’d seen Lord Fallon here. But I was sure we did not invite him.”

Blade’s blood turned to ice in his veins. “Fetch your brother. We have to search the house.” He smiled reassuringly at Ariane while inside he trembled. “I’m sure she’s simply taking some time to herself,” but he could see Ariane didn’t believe him.

BLOCKS OF ICE. Her feet were like blocks of ice, and she could not feel her toes. He must have parked the carriage a long way away from the house, as they had been walking for some time. Maybe he hadn’t expected the snow to fall so heavily. She knew exactly where they were. They were near the hot pools. If she could slip away she could hide in the maze of rocks until someone noticed she was gone. She knew her way around the rocky outcrop and she could easily lose him. Hopefully, the steam would save her from freezing to death.

She heard a horse neigh and understood the carriage was likely hidden within the corpse of trees up ahead. It was now or never. Fallon stumbled over a rock and his grip lessened. With one almighty elbow to his ribs and a giant shove, she broke free and ran as fast as she could over the snowy ground. It was rough going because she could not feel her feet. She lifted her skirts and her legs flew over the ground. Thank God Lord Fallon was short, for her strides matched his, but fear gave her wings and she could run faster.

She made the safety of the rocks and skirted around to a place in the rocks that gave her several escape routes. Listening to his bumblings as he hunted for her, she hoped the heated steam would warm her. Her teeth were chattering, and she wondered if he could hear them. She’d have to play hide and seek with Lord Fallon until rescued. To run across open land back towards the house would give him the chance to catch her out in the open. The cold would soon overtake her. Already her body felt numb.

She stayed hidden and listened as Fallon stumbled around cursing her and his money issues. Why wouldn’t he just give up and leave her alone? Then she realized he was dressed in a warm jacket and boots. But if she stayed here any longer, she’d faint from the cold. Already her limbs were trembling.

She rounded another rock and looked towards the house. She’d have to risk it. If she delayed any longer, she wouldn’t make it. She waited until he was on the other side of the rocks and made a dash for it. She no longer cared about the cold, or her numb limbs. She felt no pain as she stumbled over the hard ground, her slippers almost shredded.

She had one major fall and when she stood up her hand caught her dress and it ripped down the front, her bosom barely contained by her shift under her corset.

To her relief, he still hadn’t realized that she’d made a run for it. And if she didn’t die of cold, she’d make it back to the house before he could catch her.

CHAPTER EIGHT

“SHE’S NOT in the house, I tell you.” Blade paced the drawing room, oblivious to the ballroom noise. His heart was beating so hard in his chest. What a bloody fool he’d been. He just might lose her.

If Fallon had abducted Harriet, he’d kill the man and then he’d marry Harriet, scandal or no scandal. He loved her.

Of course he loved her. He’d known that all along. There had never been any other woman he’d wanted to be his wife. He was simply too scared to admit it.

Now his cowardice may cost him his happiness. He gazed at the mistletoe hanging over the door and wished he could hold Harriet in his arms under it and kiss her for eternity.

“We have looked everywhere.” Ariane had tears in her eyes.

“If that young lady has run away.”

“Papa, Harriet would never run away from anything.” Diane sat holding Ariane’s hand, fighting back tears too. “Something is afoot.”

It was afoot all right, and Blade was certain Lord Fallon had everything to do with it.

Trello entered. “I’ve searched the stables. No horses are missing.” He glanced at Blade with fear in his eyes. “Father, Ariane and Diane should go back to the ball. Kingsley will watch over you. Philip, Blade and I will take some men and search further afield.”

“If she’s outside, she could freeze to death. Why would she go outside?” Ariane wailed.

Kingsley pulled Ariane into his arms. “The men will find Harriet. We must return to the ballroom and act as if nothing is amiss. We don’t need her reputation bandied about. There is enough gossip already.”

With that the women and Lord Kingsley returned to the ball, leaving the men alone.

Blade rounded on Harriet’s brother. “It’s Fallon, I tell you. You heard the rumor too, Trello. He’s desperate for money.”

“He’s also a coward. He knows I’d kill him if he touched a hair on her head.”

“He can get in line,” Blade growled. “We can’t just stand here doing nothing.”

“Have we checked the stables? There are plenty of grooms and stable hands about with the ball on,” Philip asked.

“I’ve already checked,” Trello wailed.

Blade headed for the door. “I’ll look again. I have to do something.” He made his way through the servants' entrance and even with his greatcoat on the cold penetrated to his skin. The falling snow was relentless, and he prayed Fallon at least wrapped Harriet up against the elements.

The stable was a buzz of activity, what with the carriages for the guests and keeping the horses warm. If the snow didn’t ease, they might have a full house tonight, the roads soon becoming impassable.

It didn’t take long for Blade to learn that Lord Fallon did not have a carriage in the stable yard, and he could feel his fear choke him. He asked his groom to saddle his horse while sending a boy to let Trello know what he’d learned and that he’d go searching.

As he headed out into the snowstorm, he berated himself. He’d been so pleased with his plan around his surprise proposal that he’d forgotten to watch over Harriet. She’d specifically asked them to be in the ballroom tonight, but he’d thought it would have more effect if he came out only to propose.

He vowed that no matter what, she would be his bride. He didn’t care what Fallon did to her, once Fallon was dead she would be his wife, scandal be damned—if she’d have him. He hated that now she might not have any choice. He wanted her to have her wish—to make her own decisions about her future. If he could he’d ensure Fallon did not steal that from her.

He rode around to the back of the house because if he was abducting anyone it would not be in full view of the guests. That’s when he saw the set of two prints in the snow. He kicked his horse forward. He followed them until the snow obscured them… Or was that it. He dismounted and saw that the prints diverged. His heart sped up. She’d run…

Throwing himself in the saddle, he knew exactly where she was running to—the hot pools. He urged Ghost into a gallop and headed to the pools. About half way there he saw a figure stumbling towards the house. It was Harriet, and not far behind was Fallon.

Anger seized him, and he yelled a curse into the cold air. Fallon turned towards the sound and stopped, turning round and running back the way he’d come. Blinding rage almost saw him follow until he noted that Harriet had no coat on. She’d fallen to her knees in the snow. He’d leave killing Fallon to later and instead raced to Harriet’s side.

“Blade…” Her voice was a whisper as she lay in the snow with flakes kissing her beautiful face.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered in her ear as he wrapped her in his greatcoat, oblivious to the cold from worry. She felt like a block of ice. He quickly carried her and lay her on Ghost’s neck before swinging up behind her. He pulled her into his arms and set his horse flying over the snow towards the warmth. He was about to gallop into the stable when he detoured to the servants' entrance round the back.

He saw a figure heading towards the house and it was Trello. Her brother broke into a run when he spied them.

“Well met, Trello. Help me carry her inside and get her out of these wet clothes and warm. We also need to protect her reputation, so get your father to reveal she’s taken ill, and the announcement is delayed.”

“And what of Fallon?” Trello’s voice was filled with the same rage that was gripping his body like a vice.

“He’ll keep. Harriet’s a bigger concern; she’s fainted from the cold.” By now he was striding up the backstairs towards her bedchamber, and Trello had left to find Lord Hearthstone.

WARMTH. She could feel the heat seeping into her frozen limbs, and her hands and feet were tingling in a terrible way. Warmth and pain was all she felt. That wasn’t true. She felt safe. Blade had come for her.

She snuggled into his hard chest, trying to distract herself from the pain, but she let out a whimper. She felt herself being lowered to a bed, her clothes being stripped from her body, while a deep voice barked orders. Soon she was wrapped in quilted blankets and a large male body was cuddling her close.

However, the warmer she got, the more painful it became, until she was crying like a little girl.

Someone made her drink a sickly sweet liquid, and soon she was falling into a lovely dreamless sleep where the pain couldn’t find her.

SHE DIDN’T KNOW how long she’d slept, but the sun was shining when her eyes fluttered open. She could see it had stopped snowing through her bedroom window. Disappointment rippled under her contentedness because she no longer felt the two strong, safe arms of Blade. He’d left her during the night.

But he’d saved her.

She sighed against the pillow. What a mess. Lord Fallon had tried to abduct her.

But Blade saved her, and on that lovely thought she snuggled back under the blankets, happiness making her hum a little song.

She rolled onto her side and saw Ariane sleeping in the large wingback chair near the fire, and Diane was curled in a blanket on the end of her bed. Diane was awake, and she smiled at her.

“Gosh, what a night.”

Diane scoffed. “Indeed. We told everyone you’d taken ill. Which you sort of have. Your fingers and toes were red raw with cold, but the doctor doesn’t think there is any permanent damage. Do they hurt much?” Diane had moved up to cuddle her. “If you need it, the doctor left you more laudanum for the pain.”

“I’m fine.” She hoped Diane would tell her where Blade was before she had to ask, but her sister rose from the bed to stoke the fire as there was a sharp chill in the air. “We shall ensure all the guests leave today. Some had to stay overnight because of the snow.”

Ariane awoke stretching out her neck and arms before coming to sit on the bed beside her, wrapped in a shawl for extra warmth. “Blade was quite the hero. Rushing you inside up the back stairs and barking orders to get hot bricks.”

Harriet remembered strong masculine arms holding her even as they stripped her wet clothes from her body. Her body flushed at the idea he saw her naked.

“Your brother had to pry you off him. They made him wait outside your room in the end as it was very inappropriate. Only his declaration of love and that you would be his wife saw your brother allow him to stay in the room until the doctor arrived.”

“He said he loved me?”

Ariane stroked her hair. “He was frantic with worry for you.” Harriet pushed back the bedding and made to rise, but Ariane’s hand stayed her movement. “He’s not here.”

“He’s gone? He left before Christmas day, before seeing me?”

“He and Trello have gone after Lord Fallon,” Diane told her.

She sunk back against the pillows. She should have known the men in her life would revenge this slight. “What do you think they will do when they find him?” She tried to breathe evenly. Would Trello or Blade challenge him to a duel? Would they get hurt? Or worse, if Lord Fallon was mortally injured they may be in terrible trouble.

Diane looked at Ariane. “I’m not sure. Hand him to the magistrate one would hope.”

Ariane’s words didn’t convince Harriet. A court case would lead to scandal about her, and both men would try to protect her from that. Please don’t do something irreversible. Fallon is not worth it.

Ariane tried to take her mind off the situation. “I’ll organize a bath for you and some food. You must be hungry.”

“Thank you. A bath sounds like? the perfect plan. I just hope the men return tonight. It won’t be the same to wake up tomorrow on Christmas Day without them.

“I hope so too.” Ariane left to organize a tray of food, and to let the guests know she was still feeling under the weather but a little better than yesterday.

CHAPTER NINE

THE DAY SEEMED to last forever. As darkness fell around mid-afternoon, Ariane and Kingsley tried to take Harriet’s mind off Blade and Trello by playing cards and parlor games, but by dinner, her heart sank. As she climbed the stairs to bed, a tear tracked down her cheek. She prayed her brother and the man she loved were safe. It would be dangerous to travel in the dark with the snow on the ground. The chances of them making it home this Christmas Eve, let alone being with all the family on Christmas Day, seemed to be dashed.

She’d bid her lady's maid good night and was lying in her warm bed dreaming of Blade. She was just dozing, dreaming of his kisses when she heard footsteps on the stairs. Quite a few footsteps.

Diving for her robe she scurried to the door, and the servants were racing up and down the stairs with buckets of hot water dressed in their nightwear. “Have they returned?”

“Yes, my lady.”

“Where are they?”

“Both in their rooms. They need to get out of their wet clothes.”

Blast. She could hardly openly visit Blade in his rooms. Or could she? She turned back to her bedchamber and closed the door. She would wait until the servants retired and then visit his room.

She paced. Her body singing with nerves and love and happiness.

The house was silent when she finally slipped out of her room. Even blindfolded she could find her way to Blade’s room. As she entered, her smile almost wouldn’t fit through the door. He had declared his love for her to her brother. Now he needed to admit it to her.

She stopped just inside the door, closing it quietly behind her. The room was hot as a huge fire roared in the grate, but what drew her eye and caused her body to ignite, was the large bathing tub set directly in front of the fire. Or rather, the man sitting naked within it.

She tiptoed across the room. She understood why he did not turn at her approach because when she walked around the tub to face him she saw he was asleep, snoring softly.

Exhaustion marred his handsome features, and she couldn’t help herself. She leaned over and kissed his lips. She felt his lips break into a smile as his eyes flickered open. “My beautiful mermaid.”

She drew back and cupped his chin with her hand. “More like my merman tonight.”

He drew her down for another kiss. The kiss was demanding, yet soft, and soon she could not think of anything but being in this man’s arms.

Finally, he broke the kiss on a ragged breath.

She scolded him. “I’m so happy you’re home safe. Lord Fallon was not worth risking your life over.”

He frowned. “He tried to abduct you. He almost killed you. If I hadn’t found you… I wanted to kill him.”

“Please tell me you didn’t.” At his raised eyebrow she added, “Please tell me Trello didn’t kill him either.”

“Your brother’s men have escorted him to the coast and are putting him on a ship bound for the Americas. Fallon knows if he steps foot back on English soil, he’s a dead man.”

“Well, I didn’t want him dead, but I’m pleased he is no longer in England.” She perched herself on the edge of the tub, admiring the view. “And I’m very pleased you are here in time for Christmas.”

“I too am very pleased,” Blade said with a smile that saw her limbs tremble. “I was hoping to propose to a beautiful woman and be engaged by Christmas day.”

She looked at the clock on the mantle. “It’s Christmas day already, you know.”

“Then I best get on with it. My happiness depends on the lady’s answer.” With that, he rose from the tub like Poseidon rising from the sea. She jumped away from the droplets of water and to give herself a better view of the glorious body before her.

He stepped from the tub, grabbing a towel he wrapped it around his waist, much to her disappointment, and moved to the dresser. After ruffling in the top draw, he drew out a little silk bag, and she gasped when she saw the beautiful ruby ring hiding within.

His face was fervent as he walked back to where she stood rooted to the spot. His large hand swallowed hers as he drew her close. She could barely swallow.

“Lady Harriet Rondell, Harriet, Harry, my mermaid, would you do me the greatest honor and become my wife?”

She took a deep breath, determined to ask her question. Although she prayed for the answer she longed to hear from his lips. “And Your Grace, why is it you think I should marry you?”

His eyes welled with what looked like unshed tears. “Because I love you with all my heart and soul, and no other man will love you as much as I do. Besides, we are perfect for each other.”

Her heart bloomed with such joy she held in the scream of affirmation. He was not getting off that lightly. “And when did you realize you were in love with me?”

“When you told me I was a coward. And I was. I always knew I wanted you as my wife. I just couldn’t face the reason why in case you said no and crushed my heart again.”

“I would never crush you heart. I love you.”

“You could if you say no to my proposal. The fragile beat of my heart is in your small hand. Once you’ve had your heart broken, you lock it away in a fortress inside your chest. But that night when you challenged me in the library, I realized I hadn’t been in love. All that had been hurt was my pride. I’d made an error in judgement. I chose the wrong person to shower affection upon. You are not the wrong person. In fact, you’re definitely the right person, the only person I could trust with my heart.”

“Yes,” her words were so soft he almost didn’t hear.

“Say it again.”

“Yes. Your Grace, I will marry you. I love you so much it hurts.”

He swept her into his arms and kissed her with such passion, longing and need she knew this man truly loved her.

“Now I’m going to unwrap my Christmas present and prove how much I love you.” He carried her to the bed and lay her down as if he couldn’t believe she was his.

BLADE LEANED OVER HER, surrounding himself in her scent, and he could barely take in the fact he’d undressed her.

He wanted to rip the robe and nightshirt from her body; he wanted her so much, but he took his time. This had to be special. Harriet’s first time with him would be unforgettable, that’s if he could get his raging need to possess her under control. He pressed little kisses to every inch of skin he revealed, and he loved the astonishment and eagerness he read on her face.

Only when she lay before him naked did he step back. He stood looking at her and in the shadow cast by the canopy. He could not read her features. He noted that as he stood staring, she grew self-conscious and her hands moved to cover herself, but he reached out and stopped her.

“You are so beautiful,” he whispered.

She took a deep breath and her nipples quivered deliciously. Her hands moved to lie flat on the bed.

She was a vision. Innocence and sin packaged and presented just for him. The perfect Christmas gift and one he would cherish forever.

In a trice he pulled the towel from his body and came down to the bed, running his hands over her silken skin, starting with her long and beautiful legs. He nuzzled her throat, nipped at her collarbone and licked the soft indentation at the base of her throat.

At first she lay stiff beneath his touch, but like an unbroken colt, his soft touch and endearments saw her relax. He stroked her hair, then ran his fingers through the untied locks, silk against his skin.

“You have beautiful hair,” he muttered, lifting a handful of the ebony silky strands and brushing it against his cheek. He took a deep breath and prayed he’d have the strength to wait. He wanted to teach her the dizzy heights of anticipation. How good it felt to be touched and to return that touch.

“You’re trembling,” she whispered.

“I want you more than my next breath, but I’m conscious that this is your first time and you deserve my patience when all I really want is to bury myself in you.”

Her face flushed with color and he balanced himself on his arms above her. She was a woman made for loving, and his desire to claim her was making him dizzy.

“The feeling is utterly mutual, I assure you,” she almost purred in his ear.

He kissed down her body, paying homage to her breasts and rosy, pink nipples. He suckled one deep into his mouth, laving it with his tongue until she squirmed beneath him.

The delightful little gasps she made saw his control balance on a knife’s edge. He kissed down her stomach and pushed her legs wider so he fitted between her thighs.

“Blade, what are you doing?”

He softly and slowly ran his hands over her stomach, circling lower and lower towards her womanhood. He brushed her mons and she tensed. Then he brushed again, this time lingering in the task, tracing little swirling patterns over her hips, pelvic bone and then lower, and lower still, until his fingertip caressed the most sensitive part of her, gliding smoothly, finding her little hardened nub.

“Dear Lord. What…”

He looked into her flushed face and said, “Sssh, my beauty. The first time is all about giving into the passion, just let yourself experience the sensations. The second time is all about finding answers to your questions.”

“Second time?” she asked in wonder.

“I’m not letting you out of this bed until the sun rises.”

Her pupils sparkled and her lips parted on an “Oh!” of wonder and delight as he ran a finger down over her woman’s lips, which were already wet for him.

He couldn’t wait to taste her.

“Look at me, Harriet.”

HARRIET COULDN’T LOOK AWAY if she tried.

She raised herself to her elbows to see the dark hair on his head so close to her private place. Her breath jumped in her throat. The sight was indescribably erotic, so deliciously sinful, and when his tongue licked her, she almost came off the bed. Awareness pulsed in the tips of her breasts and between her legs where she lay.

He looked up at her as he ran his tongue over her a second time.

“You taste like my favorite dessert.”

Her eyelids slid half closed. She shivered as she felt his hot breath and tensed, waiting for the next contact of his tongue on her.

This time he suckled her nub, and she let out a cry. She panted a little, closing her eyes to better give herself over to the wicked sensations created by his tongue.

“Lie back,” he commanded harshly, his breathing becoming ragged.

The urgency in his voice saw her comply. Besides, her arms were shaking so much she could barely hold herself up.

His large hand cupped her bottom, his fingers now joining his clever tongue, and Harriet wondered if she’d survive the bombardment of sensations wracking her body.

Then he set about showing her exactly what his talented tongue and fingers could do. His arm lay across her hips, holding her in place. She could do nothing but lie back and get swept away by a tidal wave of sensation.

Her hips rose of their own accord, intuitively seeking more. One knee fell to the side, blatantly opening her completely to his ministrations.

She let the sensations feed her love. She could not help it. The intimacy of his kiss, and touch, made her heart take wings.

His finger entered her, and her ability to think fled.

His finger was joined by another. Her head spun, the earth whirled, and her eyes opened seeking him, finding eyes as dark as sapphires riveted on her face, a sheen of moisture making his skin gleam like polished marble.

She saw the need shining there, but still he held back.

He moved back up the bed, positioned between her thighs. “It will likely hurt the first time, but I’ll go slow.”

Held speechless, she almost forgot to breathe. His flat stomach gave way to rippled muscles round his sculptured hips but what gave her the first cause for concern was the thick swollen member straining proudly erect at her groin.

She swallowed and tentatively reached out to touch him. She ran her finger down the magnificent length of him and it jumped. She grew bolder and she wrapped her hand round him. He was hard and it pulsed in her hand, but the skin was silky smooth. She saw a drop of liquid at its tip and she rubbed her thumb over it and Blade groaned. She let go.

“Did I hurt you?”

“Yes, and no. I’m barely controlling myself by letting you explore me. It feels so good it hurts.” He reached for her hand and brought it back to his body. “I love how you explore.”

He watched her as she indulged her fantasy. She cupped his sacs and watched sweat form on his brow as she gently squeezed. When she caressed his buttocks, he looked as if he wanted to devour her, or consume her. She worked her way back to his enormous erection and her trepidation grew, along with her desire.

He read her like a book, his half smile lifting the corners of his mouth, his dimples adding to the air of cockiness. When she wrapped her fingers back around his erection, his smile widened with a hint of purring masculine self-assurance in it.

He knew he was a magnificent specimen of manhood.

And he was oh, so right.

He didn’t give her time to do any more thinking. He nuzzled her back until she lay flat on the bed. He let his body press her into the mattress and she reveled in the feel of naked flesh to naked flesh. His hardness to her softness.

He found her hands and locked his fingers with hers and drew them up over her head. It made her breasts press into his chest and her nipples ached where his chest hair abraded them.

She waited as he used his knees to spread her wide beneath him and his erection probed between her thighs.

“I love you,” she said, and she pressed a kiss to his lips.

He held still above her, and they simply stared at each other. “I love you more than you will ever know.” As he uttered the words she loved to hear, he took her lips in a bruising kiss while his fingers found her woman’s nub and soon she was squirming beneath him, all thoughts gone. All she could focus on was the sensations gripping her body.

Her hands sunk into his thick curls, holding his head exactly where she could deepen the kiss, battling for some control.

She dug her feet into the mattress, lifting her hips to demand, nay beg for what she was not sure.

All her body recognized was that she wanted him in her.

As if reading her mind she felt his cock, like a brand of heat and incredibly hard, probe her entrance where his fingers had suddenly left her.

Please God, let him take me now. And she almost cried out in frustration when he kept kissing her but did not enter her.

She sent her hands flowing down his back, savoring the solid steel of muscles bunching beneath her palms, to grip his buttocks, trying to drag him closer.

“Patience, my beautiful mermaid.” But he grasped his hard shaft and slowly, teasingly moved the swollen head between her slick folds, swiping it several times over her sensitized nub until she thought she’d faint with need. At the same time he sucked one nipple deep within his mouth and as he bit down lightly her world exploded behind her eyelids. She cried out, and as her body was swamped with delicious, exquisite ripples of pleasure, he thrust deep inside her.

She bucked and drew in a deep breath as pain sliced through her pleasure.

He held himself still and showered her face and chest and breasts in kisses.

The pain subsided and it was only when her eyes flew wide open that she realized she was gripping his hair, almost pulling it from his scalp. She quickly loosened her grip.

“Tell me I still have hair,” he joked.

“That did not hurt that much, the pleasure you gave me helped. When can we do it again?”

A chuckle rose from deep in his chest. “We haven’t finished, my sweet.” With that, he pulled himself out and then slowly pushed back in.

He was still as hard as rock and her body welcomed him into its heat.

“Raise your hips to meet me,” he whispered harshly.

She obeyed gladly, and a cry of discovery broke in her throat. The sensation of him moving in and out of her made her body soften, made her seek his hardness, and the pleasure rose deep within her once more.

Her body knew what to do in this dance that was as old as time. Each thrust and counter thrust drew a tightening response from her body. Soon her eyes had to close as sensations bombarded her once more.

Blade played her body as if a maestro. Each thrust and counterthrust in perfect accord. His thrusts grew deeper, more powerful, and her body was at fever pitch. She greedily reached for some point in the tunnel ahead, beckoning, urging, and promising more magic.

Her eyes flew open when he grasped her leg, hooking her knee above his hip. She needed no further encouragement as her other leg rose and gripped his flanks as he increased the depth and tempo of his possession. She turned her head to stop herself from screaming out his name. His muscles bulged in his arms, the veins prominent, and his skin flushed with exertion.

Sparks formed before her eyes, sensations, glorious sensations spiraled around her, until she was giddy with the joy of unbridled pleasure. A pleasure almost too intense. He surrounded her. Was in her. Was part of her… Was with her…

This is what she assumed love felt like.

The giving of oneself, giving everything down to her soul.

Waves of sensations coiled tighter and tighter, and she wanted to look into his eyes. To see herself as he saw her in this moment.

“You are so beautiful,” he murmured as he once more found her nipple and suckled.

She could not take any more and she let go, let her body become one with his. Sparks flew and pleasure rolled like thunder through every inch of her body. Wave upon wave consumed her, streaming molten satisfaction and filling her heart until she could barely breathe.

She screamed his name. “Blade!”

Through her haze of pleasure she heard his cries, her name on his lips and it was the most wonderful sound and another ripple of pleasure hit.

He planted his hands on either side of her and rose above her like a powerful god of war. Dark, dangerous, but so intoxicating that she almost wept. He drove himself fully into her, his seed shooting deep within her as his shout of release echoed in the dimly lit bedchamber.

He slumped to the side of her and reached for her hand. The room echoed with their heavy breathing. She closed her eyes and savored the joy flooding her body. “That was wonderful. I can barely find the words. Is it always like that?”

He rolled to face her. “I used to think so, but now I understand that when it is with someone you love, it’s so much more.”

“I think I’ll have you tell me you love me every day.” She hesitated, but then asked the question curiosity would not let her forget. “Why did you make a list to find a wife?”

“What is it with you and lists? I like lists as my life is so busy I often forget things. But I swear on my father’s grave I did not make a list to find a wife. I always knew I would propose only to you.”

“I found a list that fell out of your greatcoat. The Duke must have—”

“Ah, that explains a lot.” And he started laughing. He laughed so hard he almost fell off the bed.

“What is so funny about finding a list of attributes you require in a wife, because I’ll tell you now, obedience is unlikely.”

Her impassioned words only made him laugh harder. Through his laughter he managed to say, “All will be revealed later today when we join the others to open our gifts. Trust me.”

When he looked at her with those eyes filled with love and desire, she knew she could. She would trust this man with her heart. She leaned in and pressed a kiss to his lips. “How about you show me just how much you love me one more time before I sneak back to my room?”

His smile lightened the darkened room. “See, I knew you were the perfect woman for me.” And he set about proving, once again, just exactly how perfect they were for each other.

CHAPTER TEN

CHRISTMAS DAY

HARRIET LOOKED around the room and had to pinch herself. Never in her wildest dreams, well perhaps she had always had this dream, did she imagine she’d be this happy and content—and loved.

She fondled the large ruby ring gracing her finger. Ariane had already started planning their joint wedding. She hadn’t the heart to tell her that Blade and she were heading to Gretna Green as soon as the weather cleared. Blade didn’t wish to take the chance of her already being with child. Nothing caused a scandal more than a baby born within 6 months of a wedding. He didn’t want anyone to assume Harriet had to marry him. Then he confessed he didn’t want to sleep without her for too much longer either.

She looked around the cozy drawing room. The roaring fire protected them from the cold outside, the brandy and wine were flowing freely, their stomachs were full, and the large Christmas tree with the presents underneath filled the room with a fresh outdoor fragrance. She’d made use of each sprig of mistletoe Diane had spread around the house as an excuse to kiss Blade without her father and brothers causing a stir.

Life was perfect. She had her family here, Diane, Thomas and Trello. Her father slept in the large chair by the fire, his snores reverberating around the warm drawing room. Ariane and Kingsley were also here, and last, but most definitely not least, was Blade. He stood leaning against the doorway. From the look on his face, it appeared he was up to something. He’d disappeared for several minutes.

“The meal was magnificent, I could sleep for a year,” Thomas uttered.

“Well, you shouldn’t have eaten half of the food, I was worried there would be none left for anyone else,” Harriet teased.

Blade spoke up. “I’m sleepy too. Maybe we should leave opening the gifts.”

Both Ariane and Diane cried out, “No.”

Blade laughed. “All right. I’ll go first.” He leaned out the door and whispered something. A servant entered carrying a large basket with a cloth over it. The servant placed the basket at Harriet’s feet. She could see something wiggling and heard a little whimper. She lifted the cloth and a little black furry face, so cute she instantly fell in love, looked up at her and gave a high-pitched bark. She reached in and pulled the puppy into her arms, and it immediately started licking her face. “She’s gorgeous.”

Blade came and crouched at her feet, love shining from within his eyes. “Yes, she is. She is of good breeding. She won’t grow too tall and she won’t be too short. If you train her well, she will be obedient. You can see from her eye’s that’s she’s intelligent and her breed are renowned for their even temperament.”

Harriet blushed and burst out laughing. “Your list. Your list was attributes for selecting this puppy.”

“As if I’d ever expect my little mermaid to be obedient.” Blade’s seductive smile saw her body explode with heat. “I know you love Sir Lancelot, but I cannot have cats near me. When you become my Duchess, he will have to stay behind. I’m hoping that little Marley will make your move to my home a little less strange.”

“Oh, that’s so thoughtful,” Diane said.

“I love Marley. Thank you. Sir Lancelot will be here when we come to visit.” It suddenly struck her she would be leaving. She looked at Diane and her sister had tears in her eyes as she too realized life would be different. Different, but still glorious.

“I’ll look after Sir Lancelot for you. I will miss you, but I’m so pleased you are so happy.”

“Thank you.” Blade took the space next to her and Marley on the settee. The little puppy crawled all over them while everyone opened the rest of their gifts.

He leaned close and whispered in her ear, “I promise you, I’ll never need to write a list to remember why I love you.”

“As long as you remind me of your love every day, I shall be more than content.”

“I have an extra gift for you. Later tonight, I’ll show you how much I love you until you scream my name over and over.”

Harriet hid her flushed face by bending to kiss little Marley. Happiness sang a love song in her veins. She thought her heart would burst with all the love it held safe for Blade and her family and friends.

What a very merry Christmas this had turned into, because she’d given and received the greatest gift of all—love.

The End

ABOUT BRONWEN EVANS

USA Today Bestselling author, Bronwen Evans grew up loving books. She writes both historical and contemporary sexy romances for the modern woman who likes intelligent, spirited heroines, and compassionate alpha heroes.

Her debut Regency romance, Invitation to Ruin won the RomCon Readers’ Crown Best Historical 2012, and was an RT Reviewers’ Choice Nominee Best First Historical 2011.

Her first self-published novella, To Dare the Duke of Dangerfield, was a FINALIST in the Kindle Book Review Indie Romance Book of the Year 2012 and a finalist in the RomCon Readers’ Crown Best Historical 2013.

Her first contemporary released December 2012, The Reluctant Wife, won the RomCon Readers’ Crown Best Short Contemporary 2013. She has won the RomCom readers crown three times.

You can find details of her work at

www.BronwenEvans.com

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DEAR READER…

Thank you so much for reading Mistletoe and Mayhem. We truly hope you enjoyed our stories and that we kept you entertained for a good long while. If you loved this anthology, we’d appreciate it if you would share your opinion with friends by way of review or recommendation wherever you can.

Much love and all our best for the holiday!

Table of Contents

Title Page

Contents

Mistletoe and Mayhem

Copyright

COUNTESS BY CHRISTMAS – Cheryl Bolen

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Epilogue

About Cheryl Bolen

SILVER BELLS – Heather Boyd

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Epilogue

About Heather Boyd

CONVINCING THE COUNTESS – Alina K. Field

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Epilogue

About Alina K. Field

RESCUED BY A RAKE – Wendy Vella

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

About Wendy Vella

UNWISE BUT NOT DISHONORABLE – Barbara Monajem

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

About Barbara Monajem

MEET ME AT THE MISTLETOE – Donna Cummings

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Epilogue

About Donna Cummings

WHILE YOU WERE ROGUISH – Samantha Grace

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Epilogue

About Samantha Grace

WEDDED TO THE WELSH BARON – Sasha Cottman

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Epilogue

About Sasha Cottman

ONCE UPON A KISS GONE HORRIBLY WRONG – Bree Wolf

Prologue

Chapter One ~ A Plan is Hatched

Chapter Two ~ A Disaster Waiting to Happen

Chapter Three ~ Friends of Old

Chapter Four ~ A Dedicated Cousin

Chapter Five ~ Simply Kiss the Girl

Chapter Six ~ Under the Mistletoe

Chapter Seven ~ An Almost Perfect Plan

Chapter Eight ~ In the Library

Chapter Nine ~ The Competitor Intervenes

Chapter Ten ~ A Blind Fool…

Chapter Eleven ~ Lady Louisa’s Moment

Chapter Twelve…or Two

Chapter Thirteen ~ Out into the Snow

Chapter Fourteen ~ Mine to Kiss

Epilogue

About Bree Wolf

A ROGUE AND SOME MISTLETOE – Lana Williams

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Epilogue

About Lana Williams

THE DUKE’S CHRISTMAS LIST – Bronwen Evans

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

About Bronwen Evans

Dear Reader…

End Swirl