Winter Wishes: A Regency Christmas Anthology

by Cheryl Bolen

  Isobel clapped her hands, and her husband, Yancy, Earl of Ramsbury, joined her, and with a doting smile, she placed a hand on his forearm. “I have something special to show you.” She gave the callers a mysterious smile. “Please follow me.”

  A swift perusal of the guests had Gregor’s mouth twitching at the corners. Everyone, yes, every last one, was married except for him and Sarah.

  So, the grand ladies—and their husbands? —played matchmakers, did they? Not subtly either, by God. He ought to have considered that he’d set himself up for their interference when he asked them to help a young woman of his acquaintance. Interestingly though, he didn’t mind.

  Nae, he didn’t mind at all.

  Adaira caught his eye, and whispered something in Clarendon’s ear. The earl gave Gregor an apologetic shrug before guiding his wife from the room. Aye, the chaps were involved too. Likely inveigled into assisting their meddling wives.

  On cue, the other couples filed from the room, leaving Gregor and Sarah to come last.

  He mightn’t have objections, but their disregard for her feelings rankled a jot. What if she noticed their ploy? Would she be offended? Humiliated? He offered Sarah his elbow, and she placed her gloved hand upon it.

  “I received your note about the break-in, Gregor. I hope you were able to restore everything to order.”

  He couldn’t prevent the satisfied curving of his mouth that she deemed to use his given name when others were out of earshot. Her perfume, mild, floral, a hint spicy with a touch of citrus, wafted upward. Had she borrowed the scent, or had his cousins purchased it for her?

  “Aye, and I’ve added extra security as well,” he said. Another waft of fragrance floated past. He almost bent to smell her shiny hair. Had she used scented soap to wash it? He reluctantly towed his errant thoughts back to the matter at hand.

  “No doubt a good idea,” she murmured a bit distractedly.

  “Sarah, I believe Santano’s thugs are still watchin’ the offices, and I’d like to set a trap for them with yer permission, lass.” He slowed their progress.

  “A trap?” She cut a swift glance at those entering the conservatory.

  Was she worried about the propriety of being alone with him? Now? When they’d spent days together? Well, Chris had always been there, but still…

  “Aye.” No help for it. He must speak with her privately and this was likely his only opportunity. He drew her to a halt. “I hope to apprehend the scoundrel before he sails. Several of the gentlemen in attendance here today are meetin’ me at White’s this afternoon to discuss the plan. But I wanted ye to be aware first. Do ye have any idea why he pursues ye, jo?”

  Her tongue darted out to wet her lower lip, and she tucked her chin, causing her earrings to sway.

  As he’d suspected, she’d been keeping something from him.

  “I do. I possess a key my mother gave me. I believe it belongs to a chest hidden at Bellewood.” She cut him a swift, almost guilty, glance before continuing. “That is—was—our home in Jamaica. I don’t know what the chest contains, but my father showed it to me once and told me it was to ensure Chris’s future. I can only presume the contents are of some value. I also don’t know if Santano assumes I have the chest here and believes I’ve hidden it somewhere. I don’t think he’s found it yet, because he wouldn’t continue to plague me otherwise.”

  “He must know what it contains then, and I’d wager the contents are very valuable.” Gregor placed his hand over hers and gently squeezed her fingers. “What if we were to use another chest as bait?”

  He squinted in concentration. Greedy sods like Santano lusted after wealth. Setting a snare for him and his henchmen shouldn’t be all that difficult.

  “Do you really think it would work?” Such hope lit Sarah’s face, he longed to wrap her in his arms, pull her close, and assure her it would

  He didn’t dare, standing in the corridor, more was the pity.

  Someday though…

  “I do. Is that why he killed yer parents?”

  Pain tightened her features, and the long, graceful column of her throat worked. “He killed my father for control of the Mary Elizabeth. I believe he may have killed my mother trying to find the chest, though I don’t know that for certain.”

  “Sarah?” Placing his hands on her upper arms, Gregor turned her to face him. “Are you saying your mother might be alive?”

  “Oh, Gregor.” Her eyes glistened, her pain tearing at his heart. “I want it to be so with all my heart. But there hasn’t been a word in three years. I keep hoping she’s written my grandmother or could somehow make her way to England. But Mama was sickly when she forced Chris and me to leave her behind. If it hadn’t been for Chris, I would’ve refused to go.”

  And she’d probably be dead now.

  Gregor gathered her into his embrace and kissed the top of her head. Devil take what anybody had to say. Not knowing whether her mother lived or not must eat away like serrated, rusting blade every day.

  “Lass, I ken ships that sail to the Caribbean—specifically Jamaica. I can have inquiries made so that ye’ll know once and for all about yer mother.” He dared press his mouth to her silky fragrant hair again. “It might bring ye peace.”

  She deserved peace. Deserved to have someone take care of her for a change.

  Eyes closed, her breathing ragged and head bowed, she struggled for control. At last she whispered, “I want to know. I cannot ever find peace until I do.”

  “I’ll see to it at once then.”

  Weighty silence filled the passageway.

  Memories likely flooded Sarah’s thoughts while Gregor calculated his next step. Clarendon, Warrick, and Ewan had worked as spies for the Home Office. He didn’t doubt they’d have a clever idea or two that could help lead to Santano’s capture and imprisonment.

  A thought struck, and he asked, “Can ye prove yer father’s ownership of the Mary Elizabeth?”

  “Yes. I have the documentation. Mama thought to send it with me, and the deed to Bellewood too. But I expect Santano possessed forged documents claiming the ship is his.”

  Not hard to disprove with the right influence and resources, both of which Gregor had access to.

  She’d been incredibly brave, very much like the women he’d introduced her to the other day. Someday, she’d have to hear their stories. He’d be bound she’d never believe the Duchess of Harcourt had once been a Highland gypsy. Or that Alexa had helped Isobel escape the band of rogue Highlanders who abducted her.

  Aye, introducin’ her to these braw, bonnie women is wise.

  “While we have a moment alone, I wanted to invite ye to the theater tomorrow night.” Gregor had no idea what the performance was, but every one of the lords now chatting in the conservatory had private boxes. For the second time in less than a week, he meant to take advantage of those connections. “And also if ye’re agreeable, the Christmas Pantomime on Drury Lane on Boxin’ Day, as well as Astley’s Christmas Spectacular. Chris is welcome too, of course.”

  “I’ve never been to any of them. They sound wonderful.” She’d regained her composure and a half-smile curved her mouth. “I’m not sure Chris would appreciate the theater, but he so adores horses. I’m certain he’d enjoy Astley’s.”

  Yancy poked his head around the door, cocking a reproving eyebrow at Gregor. “Are you coming? Isobel has a special surprise, just for Miss Paine.”

  “Aye.” He took Sarah’s elbow. Still far too thin. “Come along, jo.”

  “Jo? What does that mean?” Her bright eyes brimming with curiosity, she searched his face.

  “Sweetheart or darlin’.”

  “Oh.” Instead of blushing or dropping her gaze in a maidenly fashion, she grinned, joy blossoming across her face.

  Gregor couldn’t suppress a rather smug smile.

  Upon entering the lush plant and flower-filled room, she released a delighted cry. Several parakeets flitted about, but it was the elaborate cage containing two green parrots that had
her flying across the tiled floor.

  “Oh, stars. They are yellow-billed parrots. Just like those in Jamaica.”

  “They are,” Isobel agreed. “I acquired them a month ago from a traveling showman. They weren’t being cared for well. When Gregor mentioned you’d had a pet one in Jamaica, I knew I had to introduce you before moving them to our country aviary.”

  “I confess, they make me homesick.” Sarah gripped the cage, resting her forehead on the wires, a hint of sorrow shadowing her features.

  Isobel pressed Sarah’s hand. “You are welcome to visit them anytime whilst they are still here, and once we’ve moved them to the aviary as well.”

  “Isobel studies all manner of species of birds and other things.” Gregor caught Ramsbury’s attention. “Might I make use of yer theater box tomorrow? Miss Paine has agreed to attend with me.”

  More hearty approval followed his announcement. Because they were excited about the performance or that he’d asked Sarah to accompany him? The latter to be sure, for he’d not mentioned which theater. The performance might’ve been the rotund Prince Regent dancing naked atop a pink elephant, and they’d have agreed, if only to see the courtship’s progression.

  As Gregor had anticipated, all present invited themselves along.

  Rather than look overwhelmed, Sarah seemed pleased.

  He was too, but not only because her happiness brought him joy.

  Shortly, he’d put the plan in place he’d spent days contriving. With Sarah’s key and a fake chest as bait, Santano would soon be in the authorities’ hands.

  Chapter 11

  Sitting in the Ramsburys’ private box in the opulent Theatre Royal Drury Lane, Sarah scarcely knew what the current entertainment on stage was about. After the first performance—a rather depressing tragedy—the audience was now treated to a pantomime.

  She didn’t dare say so, but she found his antics more silly than humorous.

  From the boisterous chortles and feminine titters, she might be alone in her observation, though from the sideways peeks she’d sent Gregor, he appeared more appalled than anything else.

  A comedy now had the glittering crowd hooting and hollering. Those who weren’t spying on others with their opera glasses, that was. However, as he had all evening, the riveting man at her side commandeered her attention.

  She glanced down, smoothing her hand over the fine satin. As the garments commissioned for her wouldn’t be ready for at least another week, she wore a gown borrowed from the Duchess of Harcourt. Sarah had never felt more regal or more unequivocally out of place—as if she play-acted and pretended to be someone, something, she wasn’t.

  Every aspect of this seemed wrong on some level.

  Why couldn’t she just be Sarah, daughter of Captain and Mrs. Aaron Paine from Jamaica? Wasn’t that good enough?

  No. Not if she was to get into her grandmother’s good graces. At this point, she wasn’t even sure that was what she wanted anymore.

  Gregor was her steadying rudder through it all, and her heart ached to think that soon they may go their separate ways. Scarcely over a week ago, panic had propelled her into his office. Now her circumstances were vastly improved, but every bit of the change was due, at least in part, to him.

  His thoughtfulness. His connections. His perseverance. His goodness.

  Seated on the far end of the box, every now and again, he ran his finger over the back of her hand resting in her lap. Brazen, considering the candles remained lit in their box. Only a few private boxes had extinguished their tapers.

  Surely, everyone sitting nearby heard her heart knocking against her breastbone.

  This gruff—much too attractive for her own good—Highlander was well on his way to capturing her heart.

  Nonetheless, as long as Santano searched for her and Chris, she could never relax, never let down her guard. She couldn’t be certain of their safety, even with a warrior like Gregor and his powerful friends vowing their protection. They couldn’t know Santano was pure evil, and he seemed to have spies everywhere.

  This evening as she descended from the coach, she’d caught sight of a vaguely familiar, shadowy figure lurking across the street from the theater. She couldn’t be sure, of course. Not with poor lighting and her hurried glimpse. But something about his bearing caused her nape hairs to rise, and her instinct screamed danger.

  Perhaps she was being paranoid, but only a fool failed to be cautious and dismissed something like that as chance. On the way home, she’d discuss her concerns with Gregor. For now, she’d enjoy his company and the rather awful performance upon the stage.

  She squinted, leaning forward a couple of inches. Was that a man dressed as a buxom woman?

  Gregor bent near, touching her hand again and whispering in her ear. “Enjoyin’ yerself, lass?”

  How could something as innocent as touching hands heighten her awareness of him? “Yes. Very much.” Not because of the actors on the stage, however. No, another captured her interest. Feeling extremely daring, she laid her other hand atop his and squeezed his fingers.

  He boldly returned the caress.

  Someone behind them cleared her throat, and she withdrew her hand. Either they’d been caught in their indiscretion, or fate had intervened and brought her to her senses.

  Encouraging him was unwise, as was indulging her growing infatuation. In a matter of days, she’d meet her grandmother at the duchess’s tea, and Sarah would know one way or the other whether she and Chris would remain in London or move elsewhere.

  She’d already conceived new identities for her brother and her, should the need arise, and she wouldn’t hesitate to flee once again. Even if that meant not telling these kindhearted people where she was going. Much depended upon the success of the scheme Gregor and his friends had concocted to entrap Santano.

  An hour later as they left the theater, the men sheltered the women from the curious onlookers and an occasional drunken reveler. His features stern and posture tense, Gregor guided her to the waiting carriages. “Look lively, lads. I’ve an uneasy feelin’.”

  So did she.

  Even as the words left his mouth, Santano’s three thugs rushed from the crowd directly toward her. Gregor neatly stepped in front of her, dispatching Yeates with a mighty blow to his jaw.

  He dropped to the pavement like a soiled handkerchief.

  Lords Clarendon and Ramsbury wrestled the smaller ruffian to the ground, but the third escaped.

  Her heart pounding her throat, Sarah stared into Santano’s hireling’s hate-filled face, as he thrashed in the lordships’ arms.

  “Santano knows where you’re stayin’, bitch. Best be sayin’ your prayers—”

  Another well-placed punch from Gregor rendered him unconscious as well.

  Sarah clutched Gregor’s arm. “Chris!”

  “Ramsbury, will ye see these bloody rotters are arrested?” Gregor asked as he handed her into the carriage.

  “With immense pleasure.” Ramsbury signaled his driver. The strapping fellow and Harcourt’s drivers were binding the attackers’ wrists and ankles as Sarah’s conveyance pulled away from the throng.

  Less than thirty minutes later, after a harrowing ride, her nerves tattered raw from worry, she closed Chris’s bedchamber door. The servants assured her and Lord and Lady Clarendon that nothing out of the ordinary had transpired in their absence.

  Allowing Gregor to lead her downstairs, Sarah pulled her shawl tighter about her shoulders. “Do you think Santano really knows we are here?”

  Gregor drew her to halt, turning her so she faced him. “It’s no’ only possible, we want him to ken. As an extra precaution, I’ll be stayin’ here ’til the scunner’s caught.” His mouth quirked in that roguish manner she’d come to know. “Just think, jo, I can give ye more dancin’ lessons.”

  Excitement and alarm swept her, not only that he would stay here, but that he’d tried sweeping her worry aside and changing the subject. She crossed her arms. “I presume you’re going to exp
lain those statements to me?”

  “Dinna get yer feathers ruffled, lass. I’m no’ keepin’ secrets from ye.” He kissed her forehead, right there for all to see, as if he were staking a claim on her. For a blissful instant, she forgot her fear.

  Only an instant though before reality crashed upon her senses. “Good try, Highlander.” She poked his chest. “I’ll have the truth of it, and don’t spare my sensibilities. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not a delicate flower or a swooning sort of female.”

  “Aye.” He gave her a scorching glance that sent a frisson along her spine. “I noticed that about ye, and a lot more too.” He made a slow work of raking his gaze over her from head to toe and back again.

  “Gregor McTavish!” She didn’t sound half so outraged as flattered at his seductive smile and the rakish glint hooding his turbulent gaze.

  “Och, dinna fash yerself.” He tapped her nose. “Today, word was deliberately spread around the places Santano and his sailors frequent that soon after my apartment was searched, a chest was delivered to Stapleton Shippin’ and Supplies. If all goes as planned, Santano will attempt to steal it. Given I’ve added new security measures, I’m positive he’ll take the bait. Once inside the warehouse, he’ll find much more than a chest awaits him.”

  His low, slightly wicked chuckle sent shivers scuttling along her shoulders. Gregor McTavish wasn’t a man to underestimate.

  A few days later, Sarah inhaled a steadying breath and swallowed her nerves as she and Gregor entered the Harcourt’s grand house. After passing the butler her new navy-blue silk bonnet and velvet-lined pelisse, she commanded her frolicking pulse to calm. As it was wont to do, the unruly thing completely ignored her dictate.

  She must do this.

  With Gregor by her side, she could.

  “Has Lady Rolandson arrived yet, Tibbs?” Sarah couldn’t wait an instant longer to ask the question burning the tip of her tongue.