Regency Christmas (Holiday Collection)

by Jillian Eaton

  “Then why are you by the refreshment table?”

  “Hiding,” the girl said succinctly, peeking up through her lashes.

  She certainly was a pretty thing, Lily mused. Much too pretty to be skulking around in the corner of the room. Her shy, quiet demeanor reminded Lily of her own sister Elsa, a mouse like girl who was as different from Lily as the sun was from the moon.

  Lily had urged Elsa to attend tonight but she had remained at home with their mother, leaving Lily no choice but to come with Aunt Fontaine as her chaperone, a dear woman in her mid-sixties who was half deaf and very fond of naps.

  No doubt she was off dozing in a corner at this very moment, for Lily hadn’t seen her in nearly an hour which was plenty of time for Aunt Fontaine to find a comfortable chair, arrange her fan so it appeared she was watching all of the dancing, and fall promptly asleep.

  “In hiding?” Lily echoed. “You really shouldn’t be, you know. Not when you look so stunning. Why, I remember my first few balls. I was an absolute mess! Hair every which way and you don’t even want to know what my dresses looked like.”

  “I highly doubt that,” the girl said dubiously.

  Lily grinned and perched a hand on her hip. “Trust me. It took quite a while until I hit my stride. At least your come out is during the Little Season. You will have plenty of time to practice before London.”

  Taking place in the country as opposed to the city, the ton’s Little Season ran during the holidays while parliament was on respite and the upper class needed something to occupy their time. It was a more subdued affair than its counterpart, but there were still balls and luncheons aplenty. Sarah and Devlin’s little soiree was but the first of a half dozen or so balls leading up to Christmas… and Lily’s deadline.

  Suddenly her smile became more forced, and it fell from her face all together when the girl asked, “Are you married, then?”

  “No… I am not.” The words tasted bitter on her tongue and she forced them out with difficulty. How easy that question used to be for her to answer! No, I am not married. No, I do not plan on marrying in the near future. Why not? Well, quite simply because I want to marry for love.

  Marry for love… A luxury she could no longer afford.

  Again Lily wondered why her father would do such a thing to her, and again she could not fathom a reason. He had loved her. She knew he had. But just as importantly he had understood her. He knew she was not one of those women who dreamed day in and day out of finding the perfect husband, having the perfect wedding, and raising the perfect children. She wanted more for her life. She wanted more for herself. She wanted to travel to all the places she’d read about in her father’s atlases and experience new cultures and learn new languages. She wanted to live to the fullest with no regrets, and die an old woman content in her bed knowing she had done everything she set out to do. She did not want to marry a man she barely knew and spend the rest of her days chasing children and making certain the good silver was set out for their dinner guests.

  And yet what choice did she have? She could not allow everything her mother owned to be passed on to Cousin Eustace. Even if he wasn’t an insufferable old goat with a nasty streak, Lily could not countenance the idea of her sweet mother being forced to ask for every shilling and pence as though she were some lowly beggar instead of the lovely, gracious lady she was. Not to mention how it would affect Elsa’s debut in the spring, or their entire future.

  Lily had seen firsthand what happened when a family’s inheritance was passed on to a distant relative. The very same had happened to one of her friends from finishing school. The girl’s father died, leaving the fate of his wife and three daughters (not to mention his fortune) in the hands of his brother. For a while all was well, but within the year the brother married, had a child of his own, and gradually began to take more and more of the inheritance that should have been saved for his sister-in-law and nieces.

  Since the law so heavily favored men over women there was nothing that could be done. The last Lily heard of her friend she was living with her mother and sisters in a small two bedroom townhouse and was looking for employment as a governess.

  I shall not let the same thing happen to Elsa, Lily vowed silently. Come hell or high water, I will find a husband.

  She needed someone handsome, but not in the pretty way she detested. Someone kind, but not overly sweet. Someone intelligent, but not boring. Someone… Well, someone exactly like him.

  As her gaze scoured the crowded room, Lily found her attention inexplicably drawn as though by some invisible force to the far opposite corner where a tall, dark haired man stood slouched against a large potted fern. Staring at him, she felt the queerest of flutters in her belly and a flush the likes of which she rarely experienced bloomed across her exposed collarbone.

  She did not know what drew her eye to the man. Except for his height, there was nothing of note about him. He was not dressed in the best of clothes, nor the worst. His hair, pulled back in a sleek tail, was neither the shortest nor the longest. His face, with its sharply drawn cheekbones and prominent nose, was a few rugged lines away from handsome. His mouth, slanted at one side in an unmistakable show of disdain, hovered two notches above cruel.

  No, he was no one of note. But in one long, lingering glance Lily found herself utterly and irrevocably captivated.

  “Do you know who that is?” she whispered, slanting a sideways glance at her silent companion who she had, in all honesty, forgotten about until this very moment. Not that it was her fault. The girl – whoever she was – made about as much of an impact as the wallpaper, and heavens knew the brown and white pattern was dreadfully dull.

  “Who is who?” the girl asked, blinking her large eyes and reminding Lily very much of a tiny barn owl.

  “That man standing in the corner over there by the plant.” In her usual brash style, Lily lifted one hand and pointed straight at the stranger who had managed to capture her undivided attention. “He is dressed all in black. Do you know his name?”

  For some reason the question caused the girl’s cheeks to fill with color and her fingers to interlace so tightly her knuckles gleamed white in the candlelight. “I… I…”

  “Well? Who is he?” Patience had never been one of Lily’s virtues. She was of half a mind to march across the floor and speak to the stranger herself, but with the faintest of tremors in her voice the girl finally answered.

  “His name is Captain James Rigby,” she said with obvious reluctance, “and he is my brother.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  James could feel the woman’s eyes on him. He willed her to look away but she persisted until he finally lifted his head and met her stare for bold, unwavering stare across the crowded ballroom.

  She was stunningly beautiful, of course. Flawless ivory skin. Ebony hair coiled in an intricate twist at the nape of her neck. A navy blue dress so dark it could have been black if not for the shimmers of color revealed when she shifted her weight to the side. The gown fit her like a glove, tight around her breasts and nipped in waist before spilling out in a wave of soft fabric. Her features were delicate, from the curve of her cupids bow mouth to the slight tilt of her nose. And her eyes… James sucked in a breath. Even from this distance he would see her eyes were the loveliest violet he’d ever beheld.

  “Fairy,” he murmured, knowing no one could hear him, not caring if they did. From the very moment he arrived he’d sequestered himself in a lonesome corner of the room, preferring the company of plants to people. He had planned on giving Natalie another hour at most – the poor girl wasn’t even dancing – before he made their excuses. He didn’t belong here. Not anymore.

  Oh, once he had. Once he would have strolled across the room, taken the violet eyed beauty by the hand, and swept her into a waltz. Once he would have drawn her outside and seduced a kiss from those perfect lips under the silvery glow of the moonlight. Once he would have left her wanting as he was now left wanting.

  Wanting for courage.r />
  Wanting for normalcy.

  Wanting for his bloody arm back.

  His teeth clenched as the all too familiar throbbing in a body part that no longer existed began to plague him. One more hour be damned. He and Natalie were leaving now, whether she liked it or not.

  Tearing his gaze away from the fairy he searched the room with the same hard eyed meticulousness he had used to search for bodies on the battlefield. When one circuit revealed nothing he straightened and took a step forward, his muscles coiling and tensing beneath the heavy wool of his jacket. By sheer happenstance he glanced at the violet eyed woman again… and this time saw Natalie standing beside her, her face pale and her hands clenched tight.

  James did not charge through the crowd, but he might as well have. He walked with long legged purpose, his gaze never leaving the frightened countenance of his sister, not acknowledging the men and women who scrambled to clear his path with little squeaks of alarm.

  “What is it?” he said roughly once he’d reached her. Ignoring the woman at her side entirely, he lifted his hand to touch Natalie’s shoulder, but jerked it back when she flinched and cowered. “Natalie, I…” Jaw clenching furiously, he turned to the side. “You do not have to be afraid of me.”

  “Not afraid of you?” the fairy chirped. “After the way you came marching over here? Why, I would be positively terrified. Mayhap you should try it again. You are in a ballroom, Captain Rigby, not a battlefield.”

  James spun around, disbelief widening his eyes and thinning his mouth. Of all the nerve… “I do not recall asking your opinion,” he growled.

  The fairy batted her eyelashes – her incredibly long, incredibly dark eyelashes – at him. “What a coincidence, as I do not recall asking your permission. Lady Lily Kincaid,” she said, extending one slender hand enclosed in a satin glove. “I only tell you that because you seem to be at a disadvantage, as I knew your name before you came stomping over here. Please, no need to thank me.” Her lips quirked in a manner that irritated even as it aroused. “I can see social etiquette is difficult for you and I wouldn’t want you to strain yourself.”

  James stared hard at her hand, but did not take it and after a moment Lily shrugged and let her arm drop. “What are you doing with my sister?”

  Her lashes fluttered again, causing a long, low pull in James’ gut that he resolutely ignored. “Isn’t it obvious? I am making friends with your poor sister to get to you. That is what you are thinking, is it not?” She snorted and, to his disbelief, rolled her eyes. At him. When was the last time anyone, let alone a delicate slip of a woman who barely came up to his chin, had the audacity to show such disrespect? His brow furrowed. In all honesty, he couldn’t remember.

  “That’s what all you tall, brooding types think,” Lily continued, nonplussed by his dark glower. “Your sister and I were having an absolutely fine conversation before you muddled into it, thank you very much, and we shall continue to do so after you’ve muddled your way back out.”

  James’ mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. “Natalie, come with me.”

  “Natalie, stay right where you are.”

  The woman, James decided instantly, was no fairy. No, she was far too obnoxious for that. A sprite, he thought with annoyance. The kind that were fabled to cause all sorts of mischief and mayhem. “May I speak with you in private?” he bit out.

  Lily arched one dark eyebrow. “Certainly.”

  He went to reach for her… with his left arm. The motion was so ingrained he forgot that part of his body no longer existed until it was too late. Thrown off balance by his own momentum he staggered to the side, bumping hard into the refreshment table. Pastries wobbled and grapes spilled out across the floor as he righted himself and, without a backwards glance, stalked to the nearest door and yanked it open.

  The door led to a narrow hallway, the hallway to a dimly lit parlor.

  Flames slumbered in the fireplace. James brought them to life with a few sharp jabs of a metal poker before throwing his body down into a leather chair and staring into the newly aroused flickers of orange and yellow light with an intensity that made his head ache.

  When the door creaked open he didn’t turn around. He didn’t need to. There was only one person fool enough to chase after a man who was so clearly unfit for social company, and he had no intention of talking to her.

  “Go away,” he said flatly.

  The quiet shuffle of slippers on wood, a whisper of crinoline, and a short, annoyed exhalation of breath announced Lily’s arrival. “You said you wanted to speak to me in private.”

  “I changed my mind.”

  “Well, that may be, but since I am already here you might as well say what you wanted to say.”

  James’ growl was nothing short of animalistic in nature. He curled his hand into the armrest, digging his fingers into the buttery soft leather, using it as an anchor to hold him to chair. “Leave. Me. Alone.”

  Lily sighed. “I know we have only just met, but I must admit I feel—”

  “I do not care,” James interrupted through gritted teeth, “what you bloody well feel. All I care is that you GET THE HELL OUT!”

  Absolute silence followed his outburst.

  James’ throat convulsed as he attempted to swallow the shame that accompanied losing his temper in such a vile way. To yell at a stranger for virtually no reason was bad enough, but to yell at a gently bred lady… Disgraceful. Beneath his tightly wound cravat his chest burned red and he buried his face in the crook of his shoulder while he waited for the inevitable tears to start and the door to slam.

  Only there were no tears or slamming of doors, and after what felt like a small eternity curiosity finally forced James to turn in his chair.

  “Yes, I am still here,” Lily remarked mildly. Standing in the middle of the shadowy room with her hands perched high on her hips, she stared down her nose at him and sniffed. “As you can see, I have not collapsed in a fit of hysterics nor have I rushed from the room crying for my mother. I am afraid it will take more than a bit of shouting to frighten me off, Captain Rigby. At the very least more cursing. You are quite loud, but not terribly inventive. Should I give you some better words to use the next time you feel like letting off a bit of steam?” Her lips curved. “I admit I know quite a few.”

  “Who are you?” he asked in genuine bewilderment.

  She stepped forward, moving so gracefully it seemed as though she wasn’t moving at all, except one moment she was across the room and the next she was leaning against the back of his chair, her face so close to his he could see a star shaped freckle high on her left cheek. The urge to kiss that delightful little freckle, to see if her ivory skin felt as soft as it looked, to know what she tasted like against his mouth, was so overwhelming James abruptly spun around and shoved himself forward, resting on the very edge of the chair, as far from Lily as he could possibly get without standing.

  “My name is Lily Kincaid, as I have told you” she said quietly. “Although I believe the better question to ask would be who you are, Captain Rigby.”

  He glared into the flames. “My sister told you who I am.”

  “You name, perhaps, and your rank, but those two things do not tell me who you truly are. I would think you were still a soldier, for you hold yourself like one, but you do not wear the uniform. You possess the arrogance of a lord, but not the patience for the mindless social games that accompany such a title. A gentleman would describe you best, perhaps, except I fear there is nothing gentle about you.” Lily lowered her voice, lowered her head, and whispered into his ear, “So who are you, Captain James Rigby?”

  She smelled, James thought with an irrational surge of anger, like peaches. How the bloody hell could she smell like peaches in the middle of winter? The sweet, tart scent reminded him of a childhood long ago spent visiting a now dead aunt and uncle in the small coastal town of Brest. They’d owned a modest estate, and on the estate there was a poorly tended orchard of peach trees. He and Natalie had spent man
y an afternoon playing hide-and-seek in the secluded grove, eating fruit until their bellies ached and their chins were stained yellow from the sweet nectar of the peaches.

  How simple life had been back then… And how very much he did not want to remember, nor be reminded, of innocence lost and never regained.

  “Who are you to ask such a question?” Unable to remain still any longer, he lurched clumsily to his feet and turned so he felt the heat of the fire on his back, careful to keep the leather chair as a barrier between them. He had been too long without a woman to trust himself… especially around one as beautiful – and infuriating – as Lily Kincaid.

  “No one in particular.” Lily trailed her fingertips along the top of the chair, caressing the soft leather. James imagined what it would feel like to feel those fingers trailing along his own skin… and felt himself go hard. “I am just a woman,” she continued, oblivious to the physical effect she had on him, “who saw a man across a ballroom and thought ‘now that is someone worth knowing’.”

  “I am no one,” he said gruffly. Least of all someone fit for the likes of you, he added silently.

  Even if he wasn’t a cripple, even if he could make it through the day without drinking half a bottle of whisky, even if he didn’t wake up every night soaked in his own sweat screaming out the names of men who were long buried in the ground, he wouldn’t have been a match for a lady like Lily. She was too delicate. Too easily broken. Too… too everything right, where he was everything wrong. No doubt someone had put the idea in her head that it would be a passing amusement to indulge in a bit of heavy flirting with an officer, and pure happenstance had brought her to him.

  At the thought, James’ eyes narrowed and his mouth hardened. He was no toy to be picked up, admired, and cast aside at the whim of some bored debutante. Perhaps it was time for Lily to learn if you played with fire, you ran the risk of getting burned.