Mistletoe, Marriage, and Mayhem: A Bluestocking Belles Collection

by Mariana Gabrielle

  To Eliza, he was a reminder of the man who had deceived her. She had stated repeatedly—and he believed her—that his money meant nothing to her. She knew and accepted her status in her life. Lofty hopes and expectations of marrying up had probably never entered her head until the imposter showed up.

  He collapsed onto the couch near the pianoforte, head in his hands, elbows on his knees. In truth, he had much for which to be thankful to the vile man. After all, Stephen's path would never have crossed Eliza's without him. Perhaps he should forsake any chance of salvaging things with Eliza and instead, focus on capturing the man.

  Yet he could not bring himself to do so. Christmas was nearing, and although he had hated the holiday, since both of his parents had died in December three years apart, he had come to appreciate it once more. His mother used to buy him small trinkets as a sign of her love. As for his father, he used to join in and sing with the carolers, his voice a little off key, but his infectious happiness leaving everyone smiling and laughing. Yes, good memories. All he had left of his parents.

  Would that be the same with Eliza?

  He did not love her, not yet, and as he sat here, understanding came to him. Loving her… he feared it, because he knew that the more time he spent with her, the far greater the likelihood he would fall for her. Unlike the other ladies, she cared about everyone, her family and servants alike. Her ways were simple, but pure. In truth, she deserved better than him.

  Frustration with himself had him jumping to his feet. At a brisk knock, he headed in that direction, in time to see the Welles' butler opening the front door.

  A man dressed in poor clothes stood there. He opened his mouth wide to reveal a few missing teeth. "Here ya go." In his dirty hand, he held a piece of paper.

  The butler accepted it.

  The man left his hand outstretched.

  Against his better judgment, Stephen nodded, and the butler handed the man a small coin.

  Another flash of that half-toothy smile, and the man walked away, whistling through his holes.

  The butler closed the door and glanced at the paper. "It is for you, Your Grace."

  Stephen frowned. He had not been expecting further correspondences from his friend Lewis, not after his reply left no doubt he would be remaining here for some time, and perhaps even with a wife.

  He returned to the drawing room and unraveled the paper. No wax sealed this letter.

  The Highly Esteemed Duke of Wyndale,

  I hope this letter finds you in good health. Well, actually, poor health would be better, but only if no one should ever learn about the matter, and so I could actually step in and take over. As that is not the case, how much would you be willing to pay to be able to ensure your betrothed does not die by my hand?

  Do not try to find me. Do not seek me out. I will send instructions later, so you have time to gather the money you will need to give me as well as where to drop it off. You will only see her again once I am paid, and only after the money is in my possession.

  Remember, it is in your hands whether or not she is breathing when you two are reunited.

  You know who I am.

  He curled and uncurled his fists, wishing he could strike the foe. He could hardly see, so great was his fury. The man was a monster. A horrible, terrible villain. If he harmed Eliza at all…

  Stephen did not need to spend another moment with her. He already had fallen for her. Perhaps with that one kiss, or even before, at the pianoforte. It did not matter when, only that he must have her.

  Chapter Thirteen

  How many days had passed? Was it Christmas yet? Had she missed the hanging of the greenery? The carolers and the revelry, the music? Would her fingers ever touch another ivory key?

  Only her thoughts of her family and friends, including Stephen, kept her going. Her headaches and weak stomach made the passage of hours impossible to track. Either the previous day or night, she had written the duke a letter. Why the sinister man left paper and a quill and ink in the room, she did not know, but at least it occupied her time for a moment, especially since she had managed to loosen her bonds enough to almost free her wrists and ankles.

  Words jumbled in her head, and she dawdled, wondering if she should bother to try to straighten them out, to force them into order and form a poem. Her fingers were just closing around the quill to write more when the door opened, and the man who haunted her nightmares entered.

  She brought her hand behind her back and scrambled backward, to the wall. "What do you want?"

  His gaze fell on the cast-off rope and paper. "By now, your duke," he spat out the word, "will have received my letter. He should be here soon with my money. You…" His hand clamped onto her chin, forcing her to look up at him, almost too high up, so only her toes remained on the floor. "You will ensure I can live like a duke without the title."

  "Why?" she choked out. His grip was tight on her chin. If he transferred it to her throat, she would not long have breath to live.

  "Why? Why not?" His hand slipped slightly, still tight and now on her throat.

  "It does… does not…" She could hardly get the words out.

  "I'm a bastard. Cast off. Never even knew who my father was until two years ago, not that he would ever validate my claim. I grew up with nothing. Homeless. Worth less than the dirt on his shoes." He spat, and it narrowly missed her head.

  "You…"

  "One night, a lady showed me a measure of kindness, but she never acknowledged me afterward, spending the rest of her time with that… that duke. The way he treated her and the others… It was the first time I saw him, and I noticed how alike we were. After he hurt her, I went into a store and purchased a dress for her, buying it in his name. I gave it to her. She thought he had been the thoughtful one."

  His grip grew tighter the harsher his tone became, and her vision began to dot once more. Perhaps she would merely lose consciousness again, but only if luck was with her. He could well kill her.

  "She went back to him for one of his lavish parties. He danced with all the ladies, including her. Maybe he even accepted her gratitude toward my gift."

  "So that… started it…"

  "Did I tell you to speak?" Both hands now pressed against her throat.

  Her hands flailed about, and she almost dropped the quill. She had forgotten all about it. Before she could think, she brought up her hand and shoved the quill at him. She had wanted to aim for his eye, but with his arm blocking the way, she only could bring her hand up enough to stab him in the throat.

  There was not much power behind her strike. Indeed, she had never before attacked another person. Her arm shook too much for the blow to do any harm.

  Still, his eyes widened, he took a step back, and his grip loosened.

  Eliza fell, forcing him to release her completely; only he toppled on top of her. His legs caught in the skirt of her now worn and dirty dress. She shrieked and rolled, trying to get from her back onto her stomach so she might better to be able to free herself.

  Not quite. He was struggling too, his intentions unclear, and she finally managed to flip over onto her stomach, although the villain lay on her back now. Before she could crawl forward, or do anything for that matter, he yanked on a fistful of her hair.

  Tears sprang to her eyes, and she reacted without thinking. Her elbow connected with some part of him. His yelp filled her ears, but he did not release his grip. Another elbow, and she managed to twist around and up onto her hands and knees. His hold shifted from her hair to her neck, and then the icy coldness of a blade touched against her skin.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The knowledge the imposter had taken her… Stephen had never anticipated such a move.

  The butler remained standing beside him. "Is something the matter, Your Grace?"

  "Give this to His Lordship and fetch me a horse. I must leave at once." With trembling hands, he shoved his arms into his coat as the butler bowed and left his presence.

  A short minute, that felt li
ke hours, passed before the butler and Eliza's father appeared. "How could this have—" The baron's scowl was sudden and severe. "You are leaving?"

  "I might know where she is, and even if I am wrong, I cannot remain here. I must search for her."

  "Perhaps…"

  "Go on." Stephen nodded toward the door, and the butler rushed outside to fetch the horse. Perhaps not his normal duty, but time was of the essence, and he needed a horse at this very moment. He tried his best to hide his impatience.

  "Why not just give him what he wants? I know I do not have enough to offer myself, but I will pay you back whatever the price ends up being. My daughter—"

  "If you think I am trying to find her only to save myself a fortune, you are very mistaken. Now, if you will excuse me." He rushed out of the house and was soon racing on horseback.

  Not even a mile down the winding road, he spied his coachman approaching on horseback. Although reluctant, he slowed his horse from its canter. "Well?"

  "There do seem to be signs of someone occupying one of the houses, but I never did see who it was. Curtains covered the windows, and candles were lit, so I saw shadows, but no one ever left the place."

  Before the man could continue, Stephen demanded, "Which house?"

  "The last one, all the way down the path."

  "Where exactly are the houses again?" Better to check and be certain than to risk wasting time becoming lost.

  The coachman gave detailed directions.

  "Return to the Welles'. Do try to keep them from growing too worried. Eliza will return to them soon and safely."

  He hoped.

  His order given, Stephen took off once more. Harsh, biting wind nipped at his nose and ears, but he pressed on, urging his horse as fast as she could go. At an inn, he exchanged it for a post horse.

  It took him far too many long hours for the first house to come into view. Nature, in the form of ivy, had already started to claim the walls. Several windows were broken, looking like weeping eyes, the shards of glass littered beneath them dark, instead of shining with the waning sunlight.

  The next two wooden houses were not that close together, but appeared just as desolate. The fourth, and farthest one out, did indeed seem to be occupied. The air here felt different, heavier, used, and a few horse prints were fresh on the ground. They could possibly have been from his coachman, but Stephen thought not—at least he hoped not.

  He jumped off the horse and forced himself to tie the mare to the nearest tree. It would hardly do to rescue Eliza, only to have no means to return her to her home.

  Only at this moment, as he dashed to the front door, did he realized the sole weapon he had on his person was a small pocketknife his father had given him many long years ago. He removed it from his pouch. The weight felt familiar, even though it had been some time since he had last had held it.

  Perhaps he should not have been so brash. Perhaps looking through the windows would have been prudent, to ensure she was inside first, to see if the imposter was here, too, or if she were alone, would have been prudent. But all he could think of was Eliza needing him, and so he turned the knob. Locked. A well-placed shoulder and a few kicks, and the door burst open.

  In he rushed, only to pause at the scene before him.

  Eliza was standing, proud and tall and regal, a knife in her hand, held at the throat of the imposter.

  Both she and her hostage looked toward him, and he feared once more for her. If she were distracted, the imposter could claim the knife from her! But then he noticed the man's wrists and ankles were bound. She was safe. She had saved herself.

  "Stephen." Eliza did not move. She merely nodded toward him.

  The duke stepped up to the man who resembled him. The imposter's eyes were so cold. That was the biggest difference between them. Had Stephen at one time been cold and unfeeling? He had always wanted to have laughs and a good time, to try to fill the emptiness inside, but nothing ever worked. If his life had continued down that path, would he look even more like this vile man?

  "You have plagued us for the last time." His voice was as unfriendly and aloof as the other man's eyes.

  Emotion flashed on the swindler's face, the only clue to his intent, and Stephen brought up his hands just in time to ward off the man's attempt to shove his head into Stephen's midsection. He brought the hilt of his knife down upon the man's head, and he slumped over.

  "Dead?" Eliza asked, her voice quaking slightly.

  "Only unconscious," Stephen assured her. He touched her shoulders as gently as he could. "Are you unharmed?" She appeared to be in one piece, but he had to know for certain.

  "I am." She nodded several times, but her eyes filled with tears.

  His arms wound around her, pulling her close. "I must apologize. If I had not been so distracted—"

  "Distracted by me?" Her smile was soft, light, and airy. She truly was in good spirits.

  "I—"

  Her lips captured and stole away any words he would have said. They clung to each other as if each was the very breath the other needed to survive.

  "However did you find me?" Her eyes shone, and her heavy breathing mirrored his own.

  He quickly explained all that had happened, including the ransom note. "We should secure him and bring him to your house. The law will see that he does no more harm to you, my dear."

  "You, too," she added.

  Although she would obviously have continued talking, he set about dragging the unconscious man outside and picking him up and onto the imposter's horse, which he found around the back of the house. His fingers lingered on Eliza's shapely form after he helped her onto his own mount.

  "Will you ride with me?" she asked.

  How he wanted to deny her nothing. "I am afraid I should not. What if he awakens and tries to flee?"

  Eliza proved to be a wonderful rider, the perfect picture of a female equestrian, even without a sidesaddle, so pretty with her skirts billowing about her. Their horses walked close enough together the couple could hold hands. At first, he feared she would not be able to control the horse with only one hand on the reins, but she managed quite easily.

  There was still much he did not know about her, so much he had to learn, and she, likewise, with him. How he hoped and prayed she would give them the chance to correct that.

  They had not traveled long before he halted their party. After tying the still unconscious man to a tree, and securing the horses to another, Stephen hunted down a rabbit. Not the most elegant of meals, but Eliza must eat. Apparently, the fiend had fed her next to nothing, and she had been gone for quite some time.

  In silence, they ate, and only after they were travelling once more, did he have enough in control of his emotions to speak. "I was so afraid—"

  "You and me both." Her laughter sounded free. "But now, now I have nothing to fear."

  "Neither do I, but I must confess my fear did not start with his ransom note."

  "No?" For a moment, but only a moment, her grip on his hand loosened.

  "I must declare that, even though I did have every intention of marrying you when I offered to do so, I never intended to open my heart."

  "That is… understandable."

  "After my father's death," he rushed to add, the words pouring out of him like a waterfall, "I felt so alone, despite the balls and parties, my friends and companions."

  She winced.

  His damned earned reputation. "The ladies were merely friends."

  "You never felt anything for them?"

  He would not lie to her. "Lust only, never love."

  Minutes stretched before them in a cold silence that matched the temperature about them.

  "If you had been willing to open your heart to any of them…" she started.

  "I never felt moved to. I never thought I would want to."

  "A life without love is hardly a life worth living."

  "So wise. Your intelligence surpasses your beauty."

  She scoffed and self-consciously touc
hed her hair, her tattered dress.

  "Yes, beauty, even now. No one else has tamed me. Only you. I do wish to open my heart… for you."

  "So what you are saying," she said slowly, "is that you think you can grow to love me."

  "I need grow into nothing. I do love you. I have loved you since the day I played the pianoforte at your side. I should apologize that it took your kidnapping to realize the truth."

  She halted her horse, so he did likewise. Her angelic features formed a mask he could not read. Then a smile radiated across her face. "I think I might be able to forgive you."

  His beam surely matched hers.

  "And I think I might be able to fall in love with you one day," she added shyly.

  That was all he could ask for.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Well before her house came into view—beautiful and perfect, decorated for the holiday—they came upon a search party led by her father and guided by the coachman.

  Eliza was ready to tumble down off the horse. Every part of her ached, but when Stephen looked over at her and smiled, she could think of nothing else but happiness. She was safe. He had found her. . She would never want to relive the events of the past few days, but they were almost worth it. Without the villain, who sat in front of Stephen, awake but finally silent, having blasted them with curses most of the time since he woke, they never would have been brought together. Life could certainly be mysterious.

  Her family rushed about to greet them in a whirl of activity. She learned that Christmas was only a few days away. Her relief that Christmas Eve was not already upon them, combined with her family's hugs and profound exclamations at her homecoming, had her giving into her exhaustion. She dimly recalled returning home and climbing into bed.

  When she woke, yet another day had passed but it did not matter. She was home. She was safe. The villain was all set to be tried a few days after the holiday.

  Eliza wanted only to put the whole ordeal behind her. That day, at the table for the mid-day meal, she sat across from the true Stephen. All of her doubts had already been laid to rest, but both the constable and the magistrate knew Stephen by face as the Duke of Wyndale. What further proof could she need?