Enchanted at Christmas (Christmas at Castle Keyvnor Book 2)

by Christy Carlyle

“You ought to head downstairs. It’s nearing dinner.”

  Angel thanked Betsy and heeded her advice to leave right away. Blessedly, everyone was still in the drawing room by the time she arrived downstairs. It was a bit intimidating, all these people, dressed in such finery, clearly born to a social status far above Angel’s. But at least she looked the part this evening – the question was could she act the part?

  She made her way about the room, snatching a glass of claret from a passing footman as she did. That would help calm her nerves, hopefully, for they were quite on edge this evening.

  “Ah! There you are!” a fellow said above the din, heralding the arrival of someone they’d been waiting on, apparently. Angel couldn’t see who it was, as too many people stood in the way, but she didn’t have to see. She knew immediately who had arrived. Her body told her so.

  When the crowd shifted a bit, allowing her a view of the doorway, she confirmed her suspicions. There he was, in black evening clothes and a crisp, white shirt, looking so handsome he nearly stole Angel’s breath away. And here she was, wilting on her spot, her energy draining from her body, threatening to leave her in a puddle on the floor. But she couldn’t allow that to happen. She had to get out of there before she embarrassed herself.

  Placing her glass on a nearby table, she slipped past all the little groups of people, keeping her head down and trying to stay upright as she did. At last, she made it to the doorway, and without a single backward glance, she practically ran into the corridor.

  “Miss Quinn!”

  By her wand, this duke was insistent!

  She paused and closed her eyes. “Your Grace,” she said wearily, her back still to him.

  His shoes clicked along the floor as he approached, and every step he took toward her made her weaker and weaker. “Where are you running off to?” he asked, and there was something desperate in his tone. It made her a bit uneasy, but she reminded herself of her tattoo. No man of ill intent would be allowed near her. At least his intentions were pure, but it was what he was doing to her unintentionally that was causing the problem.

  “Forgive me, Your Grace, I’m not well this evening. I ought to have stayed abed in the first place, but I thought I owed it to my cousins to at least try to come to dinner.”

  His brow furrowed with concern. “I’ve not been feeling myself lately, either,” he admitted. “I think your cousins will understand. I will see you back to your chambers.”

  Oh, good heavens. “No!” Angel blurted out. “That is, I can manage on my own. And if I’m contagious, well, I would never forgive myself if you fell ill as well.” The longer they stood in one another’s company, the weaker she became. She had to get rid of him as soon as possible before she made a complete embarrassment of herself.

  “May I see you tomorrow?” he pressed.

  Angel shook her head, alarmed at how foggy her vision was becoming. “I don’t think so, Your Grace.”

  “Why not?” He sounded desperate all of a sudden, but Angel couldn’t look at him. She was fading, and fast. “Miss Quinn? Miss Quinn?”

  Chapter 8

  “Miss Quinn?” Dear God, she was going to swoon. “Miss Quinn?”

  There wasn’t time to think. She was going to hit her head on the stone wall if she collapsed. Ethan closed the distance between them just in time, saving her from what could have been a serious head injury.

  “I’ve got you,” he murmured, even though she was out cold and most likely unable to hear him. Still, he felt the need to reassure her.

  “Everything all right, Your Grace?” came a voice from down the corridor. It was the footman that had brought him the powder earlier.

  “Does it look all right?” Ethan snapped, and then felt badly for doing so. “Sorry…”

  “Stephen,” the man supplied. “And please, no need to apologize. You seem to be in a bit of a stressful situation. How can I help?”

  “Find out where her chambers are.” Ethan shifted her in his arms. “We will await you on a settee in the foyer.”

  “Right away, Your Grace.”

  Stephen ran off in one direction, presumably toward the kitchens, while Ethan made his way to the front hall, Miss Quinn’s lithe body nestled in his arms. The seating there was decorative and not terribly comfortable, but it would have to do until he could find out where her bed was.

  He laid her gently on a stiff settee. Her white hair and pale skin stood out in stark contrast to the scarlet-colored fabric, but he couldn’t dwell too long on how beautiful she looked lying there – he had to make certain she was still breathing at least.

  He knelt down beside her and put a hand to her mouth. Warm tufts of air intermittently hit his hand, sending relief rushing through his body. Thank God. He pressed a hand to her forehead. No fever. But what was wrong with her, then? A heart condition, perhaps?

  Ethan debated pressing his ear to her chest for a very long moment. Dear God, how he wished he could without possibly getting into a heap of trouble. Though he supposed being shackled to this particular woman wouldn’t be so terribly bad. Then again, wasn’t she just trying to run from him? Trying to avoid another encounter with him on the morrow? As captivating as he found her, he wouldn’t care for a wife that was always running away from him.

  “There they are,” came Stephen’s voice from behind him.

  “Oh, dear! I knew she shouldn’t have gone to dinner!” A little maid with wide, brown eyes and mouse-brown hair rushed to Ethan’s side. “What happened?”

  Ethan shook his head. “I don’t know,” he said, the panic he felt practically choking him. “She ran from the drawing room, I followed her to have a word, and the next thing I knew, she was collapsing into my arms.”

  “She doesn’t have a fever,” the maid said, putting a hand to Miss Quinn’s forehead, as he had done moments before.

  “I know,” he replied. “Does she have an affliction of the heart, perhaps?”

  “Quiet as a mouse, that one. I don’t know much about her at all.” The maid narrowed her eyes on him. “You say you wanted to have a word with her?”

  Oh, perfect. She meant to accuse him of causing her to swoon! “I asked if I could escort her back to her chambers.” He held up his hands in surrender. “I swear my intentions are nothing but honorable.”

  The maid studied him a moment longer and then nodded. “The spirits then. I fear the poor dear is rather sensitive to them.”

  Ethan did his best not to roll his eyes, but it took a great deal of strength to refrain.

  “And what do you suggest we do about it?”

  She shook her head. “Nothing to be done, short of leaving the castle…or visiting the gypsies.”

  This piqued Ethan’s interest. “The gypsies?”

  “Most everyone’s been to visit Madam Boswell that’s stayed here.”

  Including his charge. Ethan had even more reason to go and visit the woman now.

  “Well, perhaps you could suggest as much to her in the morning?” Ethan suggested. Or maybe he could do so himself when he returned to check in on her. “For now, please show me to her chambers.”

  “Of course, Your Grace.”

  The maid led the way after informing Ethan that her name was Betsy. She chattered away as they walked the corridors, until finally, they arrived at Miss Quinn’s door. The room was small and modest, but a fire roared in the grate, making it seem perfectly cozy and far more inviting than the cavernous chamber he’d been given.

  Ethan gently laid Miss Quinn on top of the counterpane and immediately missed having her in his arms. Damn. What was it about this woman? They’d barely spent five minutes in each other’s company, and yet, he knew he wouldn’t mind spending a lifetime with her.

  “I’ll take things from here, Your Grace,” Betsy said, interrupting his daydream.

  He furrowed his brow. “Oh, yes. Of course.” He turned to the maid. “You will keep me abreast of her condition?”

  “As long as Miss Quinn approves.”

 
That statement forced his hackles up. Why wouldn’t she approve? And how dare a maid speak to him that way? Didn’t she know who he was? He would be informed of her condition, no matter what. Even if Miss Quinn didn’t approve of him knowing how she was faring, he would insist that Betsy tell him anyway. He would go mad if she didn’t.

  He took a moment to get his temper under control. There was no need to lash out at the maid just because he was concerned for Miss Quinn. “Whatever she says,” he said slowly, “I would appreciate knowing if she is all right or not. I can always send for the doctor if need be.”

  Betsy stared at him for a long moment, and finally said, “Yes, Your Grace. I will keep you informed.”

  Outside her bedchamber door, Ethan collapsed against the wall and buried his face in his hands. His nerves were on edge and the ache in his head was starting to seep in again. Whatever the devil was going on in this bloody castle, he needed it to stop. He needed sleep. He needed her.

  Chapter 9

  December 23, 1811

  Angel felt as if she’d been run down by an over-loaded mail coach. Heavens, what had happened to her? The last thing she remembered was drinking claret in the drawing room, waiting for dinner to be announced, and…

  Oh, dear.

  “Betsy?” she said, lifting her head from the pillows.

  Betsy turned, a feather duster in her hand, her eyes wide. “Miss Quinn!” The girl rushed to her side. “You’re awake.”

  “How long have I been asleep?” The sun was up, and she couldn’t remember anything since just before eight o’clock last night. At least, she hoped it was last night.

  “You’ve missed a whole day, miss.” Betsy grabbed her hand and gave it a little squeeze. “Thank heaven the color has returned to your cheeks.”

  “A whole day?

  “Christmas Eve is tomorrow.”

  Angel shook her head, unable to fathom that she’d lost an entire day of her life. “What…happened?” she asked, not entirely certain she wanted to know the answer.

  “His Grace says he followed you out of the drawing room and offered to see you to your chambers, just before you collapsed into his arms.” Betsy winked at her. “Quite romantic, if you ask me.”

  “Romantic?” Angel exclaimed.

  “Why, of course.” Betsy sighed, completely forgetting herself, it seemed, as she sank to the edge of the bed. “I wish a duke would catch me every time I swooned. But usually, it’s just Mrs. Bray.”

  Angel gaped at the maid. “Does this happen often?”

  Betsy shrugged. “I suppose. Something wrong with my heart – it’s been happening since I was little. Gave my dear mother quite a fright first time it happened. ‘Course, I don’t remember, but she says she thought I was dead until Papa told her I’d only fainted.”

  Angel listened to the poor girl’s story with the oddest feeling hanging over her – a strong desire to fix her, to heal her. She always sent good thoughts for those who were ill or suffering, but this was different.

  Without thinking, she grabbed the girl’s hand again, and closed her eyes. She wasn’t sure what she thought was going to happen, but she was awfully surprised to hear a sudden, sharp wince from her maid. Angel opened her eyes to see Betsy clutching her heart, her face contorted as if she were experiencing the worst sort of pain there was.

  “Betsy?” she cried, throwing back the covers and clutching the girl’s hand even tighter. “Betsy, what is it? What did I do?”

  Slowly, the girl’s expression relaxed and she dropped her hand, taking deep breaths in and out.

  “Oh, heavens.” Angel would never forgive herself if she somehow permanently damaged the young maid. “Betsy, speak to me. Are you all right?”

  “I…I think so, miss,” she said hesitantly. “It left as quickly as it came.”

  “What did? What was it?”

  Betsy shook her head, the floppy edges of her cap fluttering with the movement. “I’ve no idea,” she said. “But please don’t do it again.”

  Angel let out a snort of laughter. She couldn’t stop herself. “I’m sorry,” she said to Betsy. “I don’t mean to laugh, I’m just relieved you’re all right.”

  “Odd way of showing it,” Betsy replied, but the little smile that tugged at the corners of her lips told Angel she wasn’t truly offended.

  But then Angel sobered again. “I really must figure out what is wrong with me.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with you, miss.” Betsy sat down beside her on the bed, her brown eyes filled with kindness. “I swear to you, the spirits in this place…”

  Angel shook her head. “It’s not the spirits.” She paused, and then, “Tell me what else happened. After I collapsed.”

  Betsy shrugged. “I can’t know exactly. One of the footmen came running into the kitchens shouting for me. He explained on the way to the foyer that you’d fainted and His Grace had called for help. Then the duke carried you up here and made me promise to keep him informed of your condition. I told him I’d only do so with your permission. Was that the right thing to say?”

  Angel smiled. “That was fine, Betsy. Thank you for looking out for me.”

  “If you don’t mind my saying, miss, I do think the duke is rather taken with you.”

  Angel already knew that. But it didn’t matter if he was taken with her or not, or that he was a handsome duke. Being in his presence did the strangest things to her. She couldn’t very well sleep her life away just to be with a duke.

  “Oh, dear! What time is it?” she asked, suddenly remembering she’d promised to go see Sacha yesterday.

  “Half past nine.”

  Curses! It was too early to go calling, but this really couldn’t wait. She needed to speak with her, and soon. Besides, Sacha must be wondering why she didn’t arrive at their appointed time yesterday.

  “Help me dress,” she said, sliding off the bed and immediately regretting it. She winced as her toes met with the icy cold floor.

  “Your slippers, miss.” Betsy was already there, placing the slippers in front of her, and Angel gladly slipped her feet into them. “But are you certain you’re well enough to go out and about?”

  “There is someone I need to see. It cannot wait. And truly, I feel all right now. A bit tired, but not unwell.” She smiled at Betsy. “Please do not worry over me.”

  Betsy returned the smile, and then the two of them set to the task of readying Angel for the day. Within a half hour she was dressed in her warmest gown and ready to find Sacha.

  “What about some breakfast, miss?” Betsy asked as Angel snatched up her reticule and started for the door.

  Angel shook her head. “There isn’t time. And I’m not really hungry anyway. I’ll be back soon.”

  With that, she swept from her chambers, through the corridors, down the stairs, and then—

  Curse it all! She felt him before she saw him. The familiar drain on her body that seemed to happen whenever he was around.

  “Miss Quinn!”

  “Please!” she cried, holding her hand up as he emerged from an alcove in the foyer. “Don’t come any closer.”

  “Why?” he asked, and there was desperation in his voice. “I need to know you’re all right.”

  As long as you’re not around. The words lodged in her throat. Even though they were true, she didn’t want to say them. Except…

  Oh, dear.

  Her hand instinctively went to the back of her neck, where her aunt had carved the tattoo into her skin. What if this was the spell’s way of keeping her from a man with ill intentions? What if the duke had ill intentions?

  But then hadn’t he called for help when he could have simply taken advantage of her?

  She shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts. Nothing made sense anymore. All she knew was that his presence was making her want to swoon again, and she didn’t have another day to waste lying in bed.

  “I’m fine!” she cried as she began to run toward the front door. “Please, just leave me be!”
/>   The cold air hit her face, bringing her back to life, restoring her energy, thank Merlin. But she couldn’t go another moment without understanding what was happening to her. She only had to hope Sacha was at home and ready to receive her.

  Chapter 10

  Damn it all, why was she running from him? What the devil was going on? The pain seared through Ethan’s brow again, making him cringe. He needed her. She was the only thing that made him feel normal, and yet he couldn’t seem to get her to stay in the same room with him. Or if she was in the same room as him, she couldn’t stay conscious. Damn this castle! Damn these spirits that were clearly interfering in their relationship.

  Not that they had a relationship, though now Ethan was more eager to have one with her than ever. And not just because she cleared his head and took away his pain. She was beautiful and mysterious and…

  Damn. He didn’t know what else because he couldn’t get to know her at all, could he? Getting to know the first thing about her was damned impossible when she ran from him at every turn.

  “Morris!” he called, determined to solve this mystery and get on with his life. “Morris!”

  “Morris is detained. May I help you, Your Grace?”

  Stephen stood before him. How did he always seem to be right where Ethan needed him at exactly the right time? He’d be a butler in no time at all.

  “I need my horse,” he said. “I’m going to see the gypsies.”

  “Right away, Your Grace. And I will retrieve your greatcoat as well.”

  “Thank you.”

  Ethan wished he could pace, but the clicking and pounding of his heels on the floors made his head ache even worse, so he sat on the red-velvet sofa – the one he’d rested Miss Quinn on two nights ago – and leaned his head back, praying for relief. Stephen returned before any sort of relief did, though, and it wasn’t long before Ethan was atop his prize gelding, Atlas, racing toward the gypsy camp.

  Tufts of smoke were the first sign of the camp, assumedly rising from their campfires. A little further along the path the vardos came into view, as well as the gypsies themselves. They were bright dots of color, scurrying about their chores, everyone with a job to do, a purpose. A community so foreign to Ethan, but equally intriguing.