Her Christmas Rogue

by Christi Caldwell

  Winnie angled her head back and held his stare. “I have never been better.”

  At her ever widening grin, a lightness filled his chest. He but needed James’ and the earl and countess’ blessings. How very difficult could that be?

  He swallowed a sigh. Bloody hell.

  Chapter Seven

  Having ensconced himself in the billiards room with Munthorpe, Trent had given more of his attention to the red velvet curtains than the actual game he now played with the other man.

  “It is your shot, Ballantine.” Munthorpe took a long swallow of his brandy and with the nearly-empty glass, gestured to the table. “And yet, you’re woolgathering.” He looked at him with amusement in his eyes. “Again.” Winnie’s eyes.

  The eyes of the woman he’d come here to state his intentions for. He yanked at his too-tight cravat, and then with jerky movements returned his attention to the table. “I’m hardly woolgathering.” Young, unmarried debutantes woolgathered. Men…well, they did not. Not and escape ribbing at a close friend’s expense, anyway.

  A laugh burst from Munthorpe’s throat as he perched his hip on the edge of the table. “I’ve never known you to be defensive, chap.” He winged an eyebrow upward. “Or a woolgatherer.”

  Trent positioned himself across from that familiar hiding place Winnie had long occupied through the years and squinting, he made a show of studying his shot. He’d sworn the red velvet shifted just then, and yet, he’d spent the better part of the hour attending that very curtain and they’d remained remarkably unmoved when all other times they swayed. He slid his cue effortlessly forward and the crack of the balls echoed through the room as his shot then sailed smoothly into the opposite pocket, reaching the set point first, and effectively ending their game.

  “I will never understand your recent preference to visit my damn billiards room instead of our clubs.”

  Trent choked on his swallow. He’d come here with a specific intention; and that intention hadn’t been a mindless game of billiards. Not this day. Nay, not even every other day. It had always been about her. Being here and near, wherever she was. “There is something I would speak with you on,” he said quietly. Sweat dampened his palms. And now the other man would know just what had brought him to this very room all these years.

  Munthorpe started for the entrance of the room. “Oh?” The viscount didn’t break his stride. Would the other man adopt such a bored tone when he discovered what brought Trent here this day? His friend paused and cast a glance back.

  Disquiet ran through him as all the old doubts, and his own failings, crept forward. Restlessly, Trent set his cue on the edge of the table alongside Munthorpe’s untouched glass.

  James doubled back around. The other man’s patent good-humored grin now gone, he asked; “What is it?”

  Trent swiped a hand through his hair. “There is…” After all, was there truly a right way to tell one’s best friend that he’d come to see his sister as a woman he wanted in his bed and in his home?

  Munthorpe prodded him with his eyes.

  “There is a woman,” he blurted, eager to be out with it.

  Silence fell, punctuated by the tick-tock of the long-case clock and the occasional crackle of the blazing fireplace hearth.

  His friend angled his head. “A woman?” Then with a grin he retrieved his brandy. “There are lots of women where you’re concerned, Ballantine.” He followed that up with a chuckle.

  Guilt stabbed at him as all the reservations that had silenced him these two years rushed to the surface. He’d spent too much time proving himself worthless to now stand before this man and present himself as anything but an indolent, shiftless rogue. Yet… He slid his gaze over to the familiar hiding spot no doubt occupied even now by Winnie. “There is a lady,” he quietly amended. The viscount paused, his glass midway to his mouth. “There is a young lady who has completely ensnared me.”

  “A young lady?” James scoffed. “Surely not. You don’t care about any woman beyond your own pleasures.” They were alike in that regard. Or they had been for so long…

  The piercing scrutiny filled him with restlessness, and yet, the other man must have seen something in his expression for he widened his eyes. “By God, you do care for a lady, then.” He spoke more to himself. “Of course. It makes sense. Your absence at the clubs, your lack of mistress.” Then as though he found Trent’s revelation one of extreme hilarity, he tossed back his head. The room echoed with his laughter. “Oh, this is r-rich,” he managed to squeeze out between his mirth.

  That amusement grated on Trent’s every last nerve.

  “The most notorious rogue has fallen.”

  The curtains rustled and Trent cursed. Balling his hands tight to keep from walloping the other man and silencing his bloody loose tongue, he gritted out. “I am hardly the most notorious rogue.”

  Munthorpe regained control of his amusement and his laughter dissolved into a low chuckle. “You were, though. They say everyone eventually falls.” The other man shuddered. “I do not envy you, my friend.” He had no idea. His friend grimaced and then gave him a pitying look. “Yours will not be an easy task bringing the lady’s family around to your suit.” He inclined his head. “Not due to your lack of title, of course,” he said on a rush. “But rather your reputation.”

  It never mattered to me… Trent marched to the window, and then he silently cursed his inadvertent placement beside Winnie’s hiding place. Clasping his hands at his back, he strolled to the hearth. He stared into the dancing crimson flames, that deep hue putting him in mind of the very woman he sought to make his. Tell him the rest, man. Tell him…

  “Come, then. We shall celebrate your newfound love.” James’ lip peeled back in a mocking grin, indicating just what the other man thought of that sentiment. “Over drinks at White’s.”

  Tell him…tell him… He mustered a smile. “Go without me. I am afraid I have plans to see the lady.” Which was, in actuality, the truth.

  “You’re certain?” Munthorpe hesitated at the door.

  He inclined his head. “I am certain. I’ll see myself off after I finish my brandy.” The pebble of guilt sitting in his belly grew to a boulder at the bold lie.

  “Very well, then,” Munthorpe said. Winnie’s brother hesitated at the door, his hand on the handle. He straightened his shoulders and turned about once more. “You are a good man, Ballantine. Far more so than you give yourself credit for.” Then as though uncomfortable with the uncharacteristically serious discourse between them, James cleared his throat, opened the door, and then quickly took his leave.

  Trent swiped a hand over his face. Would a good man take the coward’s way and not ask for Winnie’s hand?

  “He is right, Trent.” Winnie’s low contralto sounded from over by the curtains and sprang him into movement.

  “Bloody hell,” he cursed, and then swiftly closed the door. He spun back and his heart leapt.

  Winnie leaned against the wall, her palms pressed to the red satin wallpaper. Her crimson curls had been piled on her head, with one strand hanging haphazardly over her shoulder; she was sin and innocence blended into one dangerous temptation. She spoke in soft, even tones, so calm when the sight of her robbed him of all rational thought. “Do you think him such a snob that he’d not allow you to court me?”

  Trent stalked over to her with his gaze trained on her oval-shaped face. He stopped. A hairsbreadth apart, Trent leaned close so that his lips nearly caressed the shell of her ear. “Not court you.” Ah, God, what hold did she have upon him? He was powerless where she was concerned.

  Her breath caught on a gasp, but he touched his lips to her earlobe. “But…”

  He drew back and studied her. She worried the flesh of her lower lip. “What?” he asked quietly, and tucked that long curl back over her shoulder.

  “You do not intend to court me?” The stricken expression that marred her features wrenched at him.

  Ah, Winnie. How did she still not know her hold upon him? He p
almed her cheek. “You really have no idea, do you, just how ensnared I’ve been by you? How utterly and completely captivated I am?”

  Her lips parted on a soft moue and she gave a slight shake. “Y-you’ve been rather convincing in your disinterest.”

  How could that be so when he’d despised every gentleman who’d waltzed her about any and every event she attended? “I do not want to court you,” he repeated, capturing her lips in a soft, fleeting kiss. “I want to marry you.”

  *

  His words hung on the air between them. Joy spiraled through Winnie and filled every corner of her being. She leaned up and briefly kissed him. “I love you, Trent Anderson Ballantine.” He’d owned her heart since he’d taught her to bait her first hook. Their fates had been inextricably linked. And now their lives would be forever entwined.

  Trent lowered his mouth to hers once more, and she slipped out from under his arm. He looked at her, a question in his eyes.

  “I have something for you.” She slipped inside the folds of the red velvet curtains that had long proven her hiding place and retrieved the items on the window seat. The curtains gaped open, and mindful of the crystal windowpane, offering a view up into the room, Trent hastily drew her out of the alcove and yanked the curtains closed behind her, shielding them from any possible passersby.

  With shaking fingers, she handed over the purse she’d selected at the Frost Fair. He took the bag and then froze, his gaze riveted on the ice-skate. At his protracted silence, she shifted. A gentleman such as he had little need for such a piece, and yet… “You have always loved to ice skate…and I’d thought this way, even in the summer when you miss the winter cold…” She gestured lamely to the purse. “You will have this memory of…” Us. He picked his head up at last, and her cheeks burned. “It is silly, no doubt—”

  “It is perfect,” he said gruffly.

  Her heart missed a handful of beats, and uncomfortable with the powerful emotion spilling from his eyes, she cleared her throat. “And I had also thought,” she lifted the embroidery scissors, “you could carry a piece of me within that purse, close to your heart.” His eyes took in her every movement, as with unsteady fingers, she made to snip the curl she’d instructed her maid to deliberately hang over her shoulder.

  “Here.” Trent’s voice emerged hoarse. “Allow me.”

  She relinquished the scissors to his hold, and with steady, sure movements he easily cut the curl. Winnie unwound the ribbon in her hair and handed it over to him. He set the scissors down and for a long moment just studied the red lock in his hand. Then taking the proffered red velvet ribbon, he tied it gently about the strands. The muscles of his throat worked and, as though he handled the Queen’s Crown, tucked it carefully inside the purse. “That way, you shall always remember where we were the moment you ceased to be a dunderhead and loved me, at last.”

  Their soft laughter blended together. “Oh, Winnie.” Trent tucked the purse inside the front pocket of his jacket and then cupped his hand around the curve of her neck. “How do you still not know that I loved you forever?” He lowered his mouth and claimed hers and she parted her lips in invitation, wanting to taste him.

  His tongue met hers in a bold thrust and parry. He slid his hands down the swell of her buttocks and dragged her close to his center. She moaned and he deepened the kiss in the way of one who sought to burn the taste of her upon his lips, forever. Winnie reached on tiptoe and pressed herself against him. With a groan, Trent drew her closer. “I will never have enough of you,” he whispered raggedly against her mouth.

  He shifted his attentions to her neck and she tipped her head to the side, allowing him access to the sensitive flesh there. Trent slowly drew the fabric of her skirts up, and the cool air slapped her heated skin. “You are so beautiful,” he said hoarsely, trailing his lips along the exposed flesh of her décolletage. He drew her leg up and wrapped it about his waist. That slight, erotic movement brought his hardened shaft flush with her wet core. He ground himself against her until she was reduced to a bundle of thrumming nerves of awareness. “Tr-Trent.” A soft cry slipped past her lips.

  As though down a long, empty corridor, she registered the faintest click.

  Trent stiffened. With a curse, he spun away and she struggled to keep upright. Her satin skirts fluttered noisily back to her ankles and horror lapped at her senses.

  Her brother slammed the door behind him and remained frozen in the entrance of the room. Shock, horror, and black rage etched the planes of his face.

  “What are you doing here?” she whispered.

  It was the wrong thing to say. Gooseflesh dotted her arms at the black look he leveled on her. Never had he looked at her with such…loathing…and disgust. “Imagine my surprise,” he bit out, “when headed to my clubs, I glanced up and saw you in the billiards room.”

  Oh, no.

  “Oh, yes. And even as I told myself it was foolish to imagine I should have any concern about my sister being in the same room where I’d left my closest friend.” A spasm of pain contorted Trent’s face at the sneer on James’ lips. “I came back anyway.” Then, eyes flashing fury, he settled a deadly stare on Trent. “You bloody bastard.”

  Her brother’s angry hiss echoed through the room like a shot fired in the dead of night. She clutched at her throat. Oh, God.

  Did that desperate entreaty belong to her or Trent?

  “It is not how it appears.” As long as she’d known Trent, he’d been composed and calm in all regards. This instance was no different. She curled her toes into the soles of her slippers in mortified shame. How could he be so coolly unaffected being discovered in such a compromising situation?

  “And how does it appear?” A seething barbarity hinted at a man one word away from storming the room and taking Trent apart with his bare hands. “As though you are about to tup my sister?”

  She recoiled at his vulgarity. For her brother’s plain-speaking through the years, he’d still never spoken with such crudity. “James—”

  He snapped his attention to her and she staggered closer to Trent under the vitriol he directed her way. “Not a bloody word,” he bit out. In the past, she would have chafed at his high-handed commands. It was hard, however, to be prideful and bold when you’d been discovered with your gown rucked about your waist in the arms of your brother’s best friend.

  Trent held up his palms. “I tried to tell you this morning,” he began.

  “You tried to tell me?” James stilled. “That is what you’d say?” Shock underscored that question. Then he narrowed his eyes. “This is my goddamn sister. Surely you don’t think I’d allow her to wed a rogue who has had every eager widow in London.”

  His words tore viciously into her heart. Trent clenched his jaw, and he gave her a long look. Wordlessly, he slipped his hand into hers and squeezed.

  With a roar, James charged the room. Trent set Winnie aside, just as her brother lowered his shoulder and rammed into him.

  He grunted.

  She stifled a cry as Trent fell into the curtained alcove, in a tangle with her brother. The force of their movements brought the velvet tumbling from the wall. It spilled to the floor like a crimson waterfall, covering Trent and James.

  “You were my bloody friend,” James spat as they fought free of the fabric. “I trusted you to escort her about town, the way I would a brother, and this is how you betray me? By tossing her skirts up like she’s one of your cheap doxies?”

  “I love her,” Trent’s pledge came out raspy from his exertions.

  On another furious shout, her brother punched him in the nose. “You’re a bloody rogue who has tupped every scandalous lady in London and now you’d ruin my sister?”

  The muscles of her stomach twisted at the sight of Trent’s suffering. “Stop,” she cried out and covered her mouth with her hands as blood seeped down his lips and chin. And yet, he made no move to strike her brother in return. It was as though he welcomed the other man’s fury. Oh, God. For the years and years of f
riendship, she’d come between them in this irrevocable way.

  “I allowed you into my home, and all these years you’ve been coming here, bastard that you are, and lusting after my sister.” James leveled another blow, this time with such force that Trent’s skull noisily struck the floor. “She is not a doxy you’d take in some Pleasure Gardens. She is my bloody sister.”

  “I love her,” Trent slurred past cracked and bleeding lips.

  An agonized groan escaped her and she raced over. “Please stop,” she pleaded, scrabbling at James’ back. Her touch seemed to penetrate his momentary departure from sanity, for he cried out, and stumbled away from Trent’s limp form.

  “I called you friend, and this is how you betray me? I welcomed you into my family’s fold as though you were one of us, and then you come into my home and…and violate my sister in this way.” He gave his head a disgusted shake. “I do not want to see you again. Get yourself out.”

  She fell to a knee beside Trent and caressed his cheek with trembling fingertips. He flinched, and at causing him pain, agony knifed at her. “I am so sorry,” she whispered, taking in his eyes that no doubt would be blackened in a few hours. Then he slid his gaze away, and she lost him. Panic slipped in and drove back all her previous mortification and shame. Winnie stitched her eyebrows into a single, angry line. “How dare you, James?” she hissed. “I love him. I—”

  Trent settled his large hand on her shoulder. “Do not,” he said, in such deadened tones that a chill ran along her spine.

  She gave her head a shake. She’d not allow him to play the martyr and throw away their happiness out of some misbegotten sense of honor and a code of loyalty between friends. “I love you. I love him,” she said again to James. He eyed them both through a narrow-eyed, emotionless stare. The taut set to his shoulders and the muscle that leapt at the corner of his eye hinted at a man a heartbeat away from pummeling Trent once more. “And—”