They resumed walking, the frozen gravel crunching beneath their feet.
“The poor little dear.”
Tears blurred Everleigh’s vision, and she bit the corner of her lower lip against a sob.
Voice husky, she managed, “You are a truly decent man, Your Grace.”
He chuckled. “Not everyone would agree with you. I’m no saint, and I don’t pretend to be, but common decency demanded I help the child of the man who saved my life.”
He mightn’t be a saint, but plenty of people wouldn’t have thought Sarah their responsibility.
They’d made the house, and he opened the door for her.
“What say you, we have our breakfast in the nursery?” he asked as she stepped inside.
Everleigh grinned for the first time in a long while. “That sounds delightful.”
“There you are.”
Everleigh went rigid as Caroline’s strident voice shattered the pleasant mood.
Griffin gnashed his teeth to keep from telling Caroline Chatterton to bugger off.
“I thought you were leaving,” he said crisply as he closed the door.
Attired in a dusky green traveling gown, she turned her seductive gaze on him, trailing his form in a manner that made him want to take a bath.
Her rouged mouth twisted slightly to the side.
“I am, just as soon as I’ve had a word with Everleigh. The carriage awaits me even now. My cousins in Kent are anxious I spend the holiday with them.”
Balderdash. Her cousins probably didn’t know she was about to show up on their doorstep and ruin their holiday.
“We don’t have anything to say to one another. Please excuse me.” Everleigh made to move past her.
“I have a proposition.” Caroline played with the fingers of the gloves she held, her arrogance slipping a notch. “I think it would be beneficial to us both, most especially you.”
Everleigh sighed but faced her. “What is it?”
“Can we speak privately?” Caroline slid Griffin a pointed glance.
“I’ll wait for you in the nursery.” He didn’t bother lifting his hat in farewell to Caroline.
“I’ll be along shortly,” Everleigh said. “Don’t wait for me to break your fast.”
“How positively domesticated you two sound.” Jealousy made Caroline’s voice strident.
“Should we expect a joyful announcement soon?” She made an exaggerated ‘O’ with her mouth and pressed two fingers to her lips, feigning surprise. “But I thought you’d sworn off ever marrying again.” Her vapid gaze dropped to Everleigh’s middle. “Unless . . . you’re breeding another bastard?”
“Watch your tongue, Mrs. Chatterton.” Griffin unbuttoned his overcoat. Made for the bitter cold, it was much too heavy for indoors. “You not only disparage Everleigh, but you besmirch me with your innuendos, and I assure you, I don’t take kindly to insults or to my honor being sullied.”
What a malicious harpy. It was a wonder Chatterton the younger didn’t do himself in, married to a shrew like her.
Except for the minutest flinch, Everleigh maintained her poise.
“On second thought, Your Grace, I should like a witness to my conversation with Caroline. A man of standing whose word is respected and who can vouch for what is said.”
Irritation crimped Caroline’s mouth. “That’s really not necessary—”
“Oh, but it is. If you want me to stay and listen to this proposition.” Everleigh folded her arms. “You see, I’ve learned to protect myself, and I have you and the other Chattertons to thank for making me so cautious.”
Caroline’s fuming gaze waffled between Griffin and Everleigh. Lips pursed and looking like she’d sucked moldy bread, she gave a condescending sigh. “I truly don’t understand why you must always be so difficult.”
“I’m hungry and cold, Caroline. Get on with it before I change my mind.”
Everleigh removed her bonnet as she spoke.
“Oh, very well.” Caroline leveled Griffin a peeved glare, but he merely cocked a brow in response.
“I believe I can help you with the unpleasant tattle I’ve heard of late. I shall squash any murmurings I hear about your involvement in Arnold’s and Frederick’s deaths in exchange for ten thousand pounds.” Caroline declared it as if granting a royal pardon.
Griffin barely stifled an incredulous snort. She had ballocks; he’d give her that. Not a jot of common decency however.
Her gaze skittered away from his reproachful stare.
A hint of color highlighting her cheekbones, she tilted her pointed chin to a haughty angle. “I also promise not to ask for any more funds from you.”
How magnanimous.
“Let me make sure I understand you clearly.” Everleigh waggled her bonnet toward the other woman. “If I concede to your blackmail—for that’s what this is—you’ll squelch the rumors you started? Do you think me an imbecile? You’ll squander any monies I give you just as you did those I already paid you, and then you’ll demand more.”
Everleigh was absolutely right. Mrs. Chatterton was a parasite who’d keep coming back as long as she believed her extortion would work.
“I wouldn’t be too anxious to turn down my offer. I can destroy you.” Caroline advanced toward Everleigh, all semblance of civility having flown. “You’d best be careful an accident doesn’t befall you as well.”
“Have you forgotten I’m standing here, Mrs. Chatterton?” Griffin said, squaring his shoulders. “For that sounded very much like a threat to me. You’d best hope nothing does happen to Everleigh, because yours is the first name I’ll give the authorities, along with a sworn statement that I heard you threaten her.”
Stepping forward, he blocked her path to Everleigh. “I think you should leave now.”
“I’m leaving, but rest assured, Everleigh, you haven’t seen or heard the last from me.” Caroline jerked on one of her gloves as she stomped away.
“By the by, Caroline. . .?” Everleigh pulled at that tips of one gloved hand.
Caroline glared over her shoulder as she crammed her hand into the other unfortunate glove.
“If anything should happen to me, Rayne and my cousins have been named my heirs.” Everleigh had unclasped her cloak and, after shrugging if from her shoulders, lay it across an arm. Tone as frosty as the ground outside, she said, “You won’t get a six-pence, even in a Christmas pudding. However, if you are willing to sign a contract with very specific terms, I may consider advancing you funds one final time.”
Caroline let loose an oath Griffin had only heard seasoned doxies use before as she flounced down the corridor.
“I do believe that was a no.”
His jest earned him a slight smile as they made their way toward the stairs.
“Everleigh, you don’t owe her anything.”
“I know, but I also know how utterly terrifying it is to be a woman without anything in a man’s world. If she agrees in writing to never bother me again, it would be worth it. I’ll consult with my solicitor after the first of the year and see what he suggests.”
Something pleasant tumbled against his ribs.
“Does that mean you’re staying for the duration of the house party then?”
Why did her answer matter so much?
He was wasting time with her: a woman who might be a splendid mother to Sarah, but who had no interest in marrying. What he ought to be doing was determining if any of the other female guests would make a suitable mother. And if he found one that would, could he abide being married to her, let alone faithful, for the decades to come?
That shouldn’t be too terribly hard to tolerate, since he still intended to travel extensively—at least six months out of the year. He’d already postponed a trip to Greece and another to Rome since bringing Sarah to England.
Could he bear being away from Sarah that long? He’d grown quiet attached to the little minx and she to him.
Everleigh remained silent as they ascended the first flight of stai
rs. One of her hair pins had come loose and was in danger of slipping from her hair.
He drew her to a halt before the stairway to their floor.
She cast him a questioning look.
“Just a moment. Your hairpin is coming out.”
He pushed the pearl capped pin into her hair, taking a moment to brush a finger across the soft strands. Her hair really was extraordinary, as fair as milk. No wonder Sarah had asked if she was an angel.
Everleigh’s perfume—light, faintly tinted with vanilla and perhaps lilies—wafted upward, the scent as addictive as any opioid.
Neck bent, she remained absolutely motionless.
A gut-wrenching thought pummeled him.
Was she afraid of him?
Or did she grieve for her daughter?
Insensitive clod. He’d nearly forgotten the significance of the day.
“Everleigh?”
Very slowly and just as gently, he placed a bent finger beneath her chin and edged it upward.
“Are you afraid of me?”
Her brilliant green eyes rounded before her gold-tipped lashes fluttered downward, fanning her high cheekbones. Color blossomed beneath the dark fringe. No Ice-Queen here. In fact, other than that brief interlude when she said she was going to leave, she’d been almost cordial to him.
He brushed his thumb across her chin, just below her peach-tinted lower lip. Each time he touched her skin the satiny smoothness awed him. Was she that flawless all over?
“Are you?”
She shook her head. “No. At least I don’t think I am, but you do make me uneasy in a queer way.”
His chest expanded in profound relief. She didn’t even realize what she felt was carnal awareness. Desire. No wonder, considering the abuse she’d suffered. He’d wager his favorite horse she didn’t trust her instincts.
That was fine.
He trusted his, and the woman standing uncertainly before him was curious but timid. Had she ever been kissed with tenderness?
She still didn’t move nor had she opened her eyes.
Flattening a palm at the small of her back, he drew her ever nearer.
“Everleigh, I want to kiss you, but I shan’t if it will make you afraid, or if you don’t want me to.”
A lengthy moment passed and, just when he as about to suggest they continue to the nursery, she lifted her mouth.
Humility overwhelmed him that this gentle woman, who had no reason to trust him, would gift him not only with her trust, but a kiss from her luscious lips.
Slowly, so he wouldn’t startle her, he lowered his head and barely brushed her lips with his.
She stiffened, then relaxed, a small smile playing around the edges of her mouth.
He kissed her again, this time pressing his mouth to hers a bit more firmly, but making no attempt to deepen the kiss. She wasn’t ready for that level of intimacy yet.
“See, that wasn’t so awful, was it?”
Her eyelids slowly drifted upward, and wonder shone in her eyes before a mischievous gleam entered them, making the gold shards in her irises glint.
She swatted his arm.
“As if I’d tell you. You’re already too full of yourself. I shall admit it wasn’t too terribly dreadful.”
He chuckled, absolutely enthralled with this playful, bantering Everleigh.
As they continued to the nursery he couldn’t keep from asking her again.
“Will you stay for all of the Duchess of Sutcliffe’s festivities? Please.”
For God’s sake, man.
He was all but pleading.
And toward what end?
If she let me kiss her, might she not also let me woo her?
A lot could happen in a December with a determined duke. Wasn’t the season supposed to be one of miracles?
Head bent, mouth flattened into a considering line, she pondered his question.
He liked that about her. She thought before she spoke or reacted.
She gave him a small, almost shy smile.
“I shall stay.”
Late that afternoon, the Duchess of Sutcliffe gathered her guests in the dining room.
At once Griffin sought out Everleigh.
She stood chatting with her cousins and Miss Twistleton.
That Twistleton chit was going to give some man a merry chase. Thank God it wouldn’t be him, no matter how lovely she might be. The Breckensole misses weren’t easily managed either.
He preferred Mrs. Chatterton’s demure presence, especially since he now knew it hid a passionate woman with a spirited disposition and a generous heart.
“Sheffield, I should warn you, my wife has planned couples charades for after supper. I believe the theme is Christmastide traditions.” Sutcliffe gave him a conspiratorial wink. “I know your feelings about the game. You might want to join some of the other chaps and I for billiards instead. We’ll probably indulge in something a mite stronger than mulled cider too.”
Sutcliffe’s brandy was legendary stuff.
He followed Griffin’s focus to Everleigh nodding at something Miss Ophelia was saying.
“Or mayhap you’ll want to participate in the antics after all. My understanding is the ladies also made several kissing boughs.” Sutcliffe canted his dark head toward the dining room doorway where a gaily beribboned bundle of berry-laden holy and mistletoe hung suspended from a bright gold ribbon. “Thea fretted that with this many guests, one bough wasn’t going to be sufficient. Especially if there were to be enough berries to last till the end of the month.”
Griffin furrowed his brow, not altogether keen on taking his turn with the pudding. Nonsensical traditions held little interest for him, but that was probably because his parents hadn’t bothered with such trivialities. Truth to tell, they hadn’t troubled themselves with their only child much at all.
They’d died when he was at Eton, though he’d rarely gone home for the holiday anyway. That changed when Uncle Jerome assumed guardianship, but, Uncle, a confirmed bachelor—until now—hadn’t a clue about Christmas falderal either. He’d introduced Griffin to the world by letting him travel with him.
Not a bad trade-off in his estimation.
“I don’t take your meaning.” Griffin glanced to the head of the table where Dandridge, looking like he’d been made to swallow mothballs, was taking his turn at stirring the fruity goop in the bowl.
Griffin made a mental note to keep his countenance expressionless when his turn came. “What do numerous blobs of berry-covered greenery have to do with me?”
“What he means, Sheffield, is you haven’t taken your eyes off Everleigh Chatterton since you entered the room. More accurately, you haven’t let her out of your sight since she entered the drawing room last night.”
Pennington offered that observation with a hearty slap to Griffin’s shoulder.
“I must say, I didn’t think she was your type,” Westfall said. “Far too starchy and frigid.”
The thought of their earlier kiss heated Griffin’s blood once more. She wasn’t frosty at all. Merely abused and afraid.
“She’s not cold, just cautious,” he denied.
“Brrrr. My ballocks shrivel just walking past her.” Smiling wickedly, Pennington gave a dramatic shiver, and rubbed his arms with both hands.
Never before had Griffin had the urge to pop Pennington’s cork, but, at the moment, wiping the cocky grin from his friend’s handsome face held real appeal. Except, he was certain it would diminish his standing in Everleigh’s opinion, and it mattered a great deal what she thought of him.
Eye to eye with Sutcliffe, Griffin folded his arms. “You presume I’d trap Mrs. Chatterton beneath a bough and demand a kiss?”
No need for entrapment. She’d been willing.
God help him if they ever found out she’d already granted him that sweet favor. He’d never hear the end of it. The duke who managed to thaw the Ice-Queen. Sounded like a bad title to a gothic novel.
“She couldn’t say no,” Sutcliffe said with
a furtive half-wink.
Just as a wife couldn’t refuse her husband’s attentions, damn Chatterton to purgatory.
“It’s bad luck to refuse a kiss on the cheek, old chap,” Westfall weighed in.
For God’s sake. Did he truly look so love-struck that his chums had to give him advice on how to woo a woman? He wasn’t exactly an inexperienced milksop or a monk in need of instruction.
“You’re getting way ahead of yourselves.” Griffin wasn’t giving anyone else an opportunity to cast speculation around about him and Everleigh. “You do her a disservice as well, and that’s beneath you.”
To a man, they had the decency to look chagrined. They truly were decent chaps at heart.
Voice lowered for Griffin’s ears only, Sutcliffe said, “She deserves a bit of happiness. I don’t know all the details, only the bits and buttons Theadosia has shared with me, but Mrs. Chatterton has had a very rough time of it.”
Damn, but life was unfair sometimes.
The duchess tapped a wooden spoon against the large bowl sitting at one end of the table. “Can I have everyone’s attention, please?”
Griffin nearly shouted yes. Now his friends could leave off interfering in his romantic endeavors.
Gradually the excited chatter trickled to silence.
She fairly beamed, clearly enjoying herself.
“As you know, today is Stir-up Sunday. My father always quoted from the Common Book of Prayer before stirring the pudding. As this is the first Christmas James, Jessica, and I shall be celebrating the Yuletide without our parents, I hope you will indulge me as I give the blessing.”
Almost defrocked after helping himself to tithes and other church moneys, a disgraced Mr. Brentwood and his wife now shepherded a flock of soldiers and convicts in Australia.
The duchess closed her eyes and bowed her head.
Everyone else followed suit.
“Stir up, we beseech thee, O Lord, the wills of thy faithful people; that they, plenteously bringing forth the fruit of good works, may by thee be plenteously rewarded; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.”
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