Christmas Brides

by Suzanne Enoch

  She placed her hand on his chest to keep him at a distance. “You will be returning to your bedchamber to change your clothes.” At his confused expression, she elaborated, “Your shirt and trousers are filthy from carrying those old troughs for my father.”

  He had forgotten about his clothes. “You’ve muddled my good sense, my lady.”

  “Any man who kisses me should be allowed to call me by my first name,” she said cheekily. Before he could respond, she rushed up to him and brushed a kiss against his mouth. “Join me in the small parlor when you are presentable.”

  She stepped back, but it was too late. Lord Pountney appeared around the corner with one of the servants. The high color in her cheeks and her slightly swollen lips and his rumpled clothing revealed he and the lady had been soundly caught in a bit of carnal mischief.

  “Lord Pountney, you have arrived,” she announced unnecessarily to everyone. “Good. You can assist me as well. Follow me. Lord Swainsbury, I expect to see you later.”

  “Yes, my lady.”

  Derrick smiled as the viscount glanced back over his shoulder to deliver a parting look of hatred toward the man he viewed as a rival.

  The feeling is mutual, Pountney. Don’t count on us ever being friends.

  Chapter Six

  Ellen never anticipated that she would enjoy Christmastide in London. This time of year was generally reserved for family and a few close friends, and she had always found solace in the rural winter landscape. When they were unmarried, Vane and his friends had spent time together hunting wild game on Netherley lands. The New Year was celebrated with good food, strong spirits, and presents were exchanged.

  Her father’s poor health and this dowry business had turned her world upside down. Instead of a quiet family holiday, they had a full house with more promising to pay their respects on Christmas and the days leading up to Twelfth Night. The servants had been busy, placing greenery across every door and window. The scent of roasted meats and spicy pies, cakes, and puddings filled every room in the house. Her stomach gurgled with anticipation.

  In spite of his weakness, her father had joined them downstairs this evening. Overjoyed, her mother rarely strayed from his side. He sat in his favorite chair and watched over the children. Ellen had even caught him smiling and tapping his foot when a particular tune caught his fancy.

  She could not even criticize the gentlemen who thought to court her despite her objections. Hawksword and Valentine entertained the children with mock sword battles. The son of one of her father’s business partners, Mr. Giddings, played several instruments so he entertained them throughout the afternoon. Lord Pountney possessed some skill with the pen. He wrote several short plays that would be performed by their guests over the next few days. He even composed a poem that he had dedicated to her beauty. His gift had not gone unnoticed by the other gentlemen, and an awkward silence ensued for the next half hour. Susan and several of the female guests were sewing costumes for the various plays and the masquerade.

  Lord Swainsbury, or Derrick, eventually joined her and the others in the informal parlor. The possessive glint in his gray eyes made her toes curl. Aware they had an audience, neither one of them mentioned what had transpired in the corridor. With their heads together they made a list of possible games that could be played, and cheerfully debated about which ones deserved to be placed at the top of their list.

  Everything was perfect.

  So much so that like all dreams and good things, it would fade and give way to something less satisfying.

  “Is something wrong?” Susan shouted in her ear to be heard over the music and dancing.

  Ellen shook her head. “Not at all.” Since her reply would not appease her sister, she added, “I am worried about Papa. His health has been improving, but he is tiring easily. He refuses to listen to anyone, and I would never forgive myself if all of this excitement overtaxes him.”

  Instead of brushing aside her concern, Susan clasped her hand and squeezed. “Rejoice that he is happy, Ellen.” The two sisters glanced over at their sire. Lord Netherley glanced up at his wife and smiled. “There is nothing you can do to stave off the inevitable.”

  Her father had once told her that he did not wish to die in his bed. Ellen briskly nodded and wiped away a stray tear. “Where is your husband?” Pypart had a way of disappearing, especially when there was work to be done. She had encountered the gentleman only once since he had arrived at the house.

  “He took the five-year-old upstairs. The little one was falling asleep on her papa’s shoulder,” Susan said, content that her child was well cared for.

  Ellen had rarely glimpsed this side of Pypart. Most days, he could not recall the names of his twelve children. He had always seemed content to leave the children in her sister’s hands, while he spent his time gambling or dallying with a mistress. Over the years, she had never understood why Susan had bothered forgiving her husband for his many indiscretions. Ellen had always been so focused on her sister’s pain that it overshadowed the apparent love between them.

  “Have you seen Lord Swainsbury?”

  Distracted, Susan absently nodded as she watched the dancers on the other side of the room. “Mama had the card tables set up in the library. Most likely, you will find him there with the other guests.”

  “He has the list and my notes,” Ellen murmured.

  Susan clapped along to the lively tune. “What did you say?”

  “Oh, never mind. I have to find Swainsbury. Will you keep an eye on Papa?”

  When her sister didn’t reply immediately, Ellen touched her on the shoulder. “What? Yes, I will. We’ll be fine.”

  Ellen went downstairs and peeked in the library to search for the earl. When she did not see him among the cardplayers, she climbed several flights of stairs to seek out the bedchamber Lord Swainsbury was occupying. Under normal circumstances, she would never consider knocking on a gentleman’s door. However, there was nothing routine during the holidays.

  She knocked on the door.

  When Derrick did not open the door, she stood there and contemplated what to do next. Perhaps he had left the papers within the bedchamber when he had dressed for the evening. It was a reasonable explanation.

  Ellen opened the door. “Lord Swainsbury?”

  Satisfied there was no one in the bedchamber, she entered. One of the servants had already come and gone. Several lamps were lit so the occupant would not have to stumble into a dark room. She searched several tables, but saw nothing that resembled their notes.

  For a man, Derrick was quite tidy. Nothing was out of place. Ellen took a step backward as she surveyed the room and bumped into the writing desk. A book fell to the floor with a distinct thud. As she bent down to retrieve the book and the leaf of paper that spilled out of it, she noticed that there was a gold chain tucked between the pages.

  Grabbing everything, she straightened and frowned. She moved closer to one of the oil lamps. What she held was not a necklace, but a portrait miniature. Skillfully painted in watercolor was the image of a dark-haired young woman. She was quite lovely, and someone important to the earl.

  Ellen opened the folded piece of paper and almost dropped the portrait miniature. Written in Lord Swainsbury’s distinctive handwriting was a list of the names of every gentleman she had encountered in the past fortnight. At the top of the list was the amount of her dowry. The earl had circled the number.

  She almost fainted on the spot when she noticed Lord Swainsbury in the doorway.

  “So you have figured out all of my secrets,” he said, sounding oddly flat and resigned.

  Ellen fought down the panic bursting like fireworks inside her. “Not all, my lord.”

  The earl shut the door. “I suppose it was unavoidable. I do not have what it takes to be a spy.”

  “Is that what you are doing? Spying on us?” On my family.

  He threaded his gloved hand through his hair. “You misunderstand me. I am not a spy, Ellen. I just thought a spy’
s unique skills would be useful.”

  Lord Swainsbury did not seem angry that she had uncovered his secrets. Emboldened, she extended her hand and revealed the small portrait miniature. “Is this lady your betrothed?” she asked, her voice cracking with emotion.

  The earl reclaimed his property. In silence, he studied the lady’s features for a minute before he slipped it into one of his inner pockets. “To answer your question, no, I am not engaged to the lady. Eloisa was my sister.”

  His sister. Relief flooded through her so quickly she felt light-headed. Belatedly, she recalled that he had told them that he was the last of his line. “And this paper … the names on this list. You have written down the exact amount of my dowry. When we first met, you insisted that you knew nothing about what my father had done—about the dowry.”

  “I lied.”

  Ellen flinched at his admission. He was succinct and brutally frank, and she could return the favor. She threw his journal at him.

  Lord Swainsbury caught it before it struck him in the face and tossed it onto the bed. “No, wait!” he said, wrapping his arms around her and spinning her around so she could not reach for the doorknob.

  “Let me go!” She seethed with fury. “I want you out of my house. You are nothing but a … a fortune hunter. For all I know, you are not even the real Lord Swainsbury.”

  “I am the real Swainsbury,” he muttered as they struggled. “Why would I lie about that? Damn you, will you listen to me?”

  “Never!” she spat out. For good measure, she kicked him to gain her freedom.

  The earl retaliated by tossing her onto the bed. Before she could express her outrage, he joined her. He seized her wrists to keep her from slapping him, and used his body to pin her in place. “You bloodthirsty minx. I am not your enemy. I’m trying to protect you.”

  “How convenient,” she said, straining against him. “Let’s see if your story changes when you are dragged in front of the magistrate.”

  Ellen was tiring with each minute. She was no match for his strength. When she opened her mouth to scream, the blackguard kissed her. She silently howled at the injustice. It was unlike any kiss she had ever experienced. It was unyielding, relentless, and held an element of desperation and violence. She moaned against his mouth and he used his tongue to push past her defenses. He was demanding her surrender and she gave it to him.

  The earl ended the kiss when he felt her relax beneath him. He raised his head and their gazes locked. “Are you ready to listen or do I have to kiss you again?”

  A small part of her longed for him to kiss her again. It only proved that she was a madwoman. “Release me, and … and I will listen, my lord.”

  He hesitated, probably debating if he could trust her. She was having the same problem so she could sympathize. Suddenly, he grinned down at her. “Derrick. A lady who has shared my bed has deservedly earned my trust and the right to call me by my given name.”

  * * *

  He rolled off her and waited.

  Ellen warily sat up and rubbed her wrists. He had tried not to hurt her as she had struggled fiercely against him. With her body rubbing against him, his body had reacted to her silent invitation. His unruly cock was still aching, but he ignored the need to finish what they had started. The lady sitting beside him had been through enough surprises for one day. Out of modesty, he shifted his position to conceal the hard length straining against the front of his trousers.

  “I am not a fortune hunter.” It annoyed him that she thought so little of him. “However, I will not lie—again,” he amended at her smirk. “News of your dowry lured me to London, but it was not you or your fortune that enticed me.”

  “Such flattery will go to my head,” she mocked.

  Derrick gritted his teeth in frustration. “I did not know you, my lady. Nor your family. However, I did know something of the man who would travel to London to find you once he learned that he had a desperate father and a very rich heiress to seduce.”

  She stared at him as if he were daft. “What man?”

  “The man who murdered my sister.” He rubbed the grit from his eyes. “Perhaps I should start at the beginning. I was raised to be a merchant’s son. It’s been a good life, and I have traveled all over the world. Then my father died when I was twenty-two years old. I had Eloisa to look after and a business to run alone so I stayed in England. Four years later, word reached me that my uncle had died and the earldom had been passed to me.” He made a vague gesture with his hands. “My uncle had no business sense. The estates were in disarray. What money he had was taken to settle gambling debts.”

  “It must have been difficult for you.”

  He laughed at her understatement. “My business suffered as I struggled through my uncle’s affairs. I traveled often. I left Eloisa alone for months at a time.”

  “She wasn’t a child.”

  Derrick thought of the portrait miniature in his pocket. “No. She was twenty-two when she was introduced to Brice Ayliff, Earl of Varndell. According to her letters, she was madly in love with him and they were impatient to marry. I immediately wrote her back and begged her to wait until my return, but it was too late. They were already married by the time I posted my letter. When I returned to Weymouth, I learned that my sister was dead. She had been strangled in her bed.”

  “Good grief! And you believe her husband was responsible?”

  His gaze hardened. “Varndell murdered Eloisa. When I searched for him, he had already disappeared with her jewelry and all the money she had access to … And like you, she was an heiress. Vulnerable and too damn trusting.”

  “I resent that!”

  “You still don’t understand. Varndell never existed. He made up the name to gain my sister’s trust.”

  “How many years have you been searching for him?”

  “Almost five.” His shoulders slumped in defeat. “I managed to trace some of my sister’s jewelry, but no one could give me an accurate description of the gentleman. Whoever he is, he studies his quarry. He is familiar with your world. I suspect he had heard news of my inheritance and the problems that it had created.”

  “Our world,” she softly corrected. “Why are you convinced this man would seek me out?”

  Derrick shrugged. “A feeling. For months, I have heard rumors of your father’s illness. When he increased your dowry, I knew every miscreant would seize upon the opportunity of claiming that prize for himself, including Eloisa’s murderer.”

  She grimaced at the notion of being any man’s prize.

  “You could have told us.”

  “Told you what? I had no proof, no description of the man, and I was a stranger. I didn’t expect anyone to believe me so I decided to come to London to watch over you. If I was wrong, then I would have returned home.”

  She straightened as something occurred to her. “How did you convince Lord Ravens to vouch for you?”

  “I didn’t. He came to the decision that I was trustworthy on his own.”

  “We have to tell my father.”

  He swore under his breath. “No, we do not have to tell your father. And I would prefer that we not tell your brother. Vanewright glares at me as if he’s measuring me for a shroud.”

  “He thinks you intend to seduce me.”

  Vanewright was more intelligent than he credited him. “Let’s not give him a reason to shoot me on sight, shall we?”

  “We have to tell someone,” she said stubbornly.

  “I disagree. If Eloisa’s husband is planning to approach you, then the less people who know, the better. He is not to be underestimated.”

  Her eyes widened. “You’re using me as bait to catch your sister’s killer.”

  His brow furrowed in irritation. The denial stuck in his throat. “I prefer to view your dowry as the bait. And let us not forget that I could be wrong.”

  “So what are you planning to do?”

  “Court you,” he blurted, surprising himself. She appeared bemused by his statement, t
oo. He rushed onward, not wanting her to debate the issue. “It is expected, and many of your friends and family assume those are my unspoken intentions. A courtship gives me an excuse to remain faithfully at your side. Ellen … I would never allow anyone to hurt you.” He reached out and placed his hand over hers. “You can trust me.”

  She offered him a tentative smile. “I cannot explain it, but I think I already do.”

  Chapter Seven

  The days passed without incident.

  As Twelfth Night approached, Ellen’s confidence increased. Although she kept her opinion to herself, she thought the chivalrous quest that had brought Derrick to London and his heightened fears about her safety had been induced by heartbreak. A tragic tale of a gentleman who had been unable to save his beloved sister from an unscrupulous, faceless stranger that he could not vanquish. Now she understood what was driving him to take extraordinary lengths to spare another family his sorrow.

  A lady could fall in love with a man who was eager to slay dragons on her behalf.

  “You like him.”

  Ellen glanced up from her book. She batted her lashes at him. “I like many people, Papa.”

  Tucked between the pages of romantic prose was a copy of the list she had helped Derrick create. After an evening at the theater, they had added another four names. Before he was finished, he would have placed most of London’s bachelors on the list.

  Not far from where she sat, her father was near his worktable. He looked like a man of science as he mixed the proper ratio of compounds to increase the fertility of the soil he was using. It was not common knowledge, but her father had written several papers on the subject.

  “Do not be coy with me, young lady.” He huffed. The sound of pottery clinked against glass. “I was told by a reliable source that you were kissing that young viscount.”

  “Oh, you are speaking of Lord Pountney,” she said, her good humor dimming at the memory. “It was on Christmas Day, Papa. Someone had nailed a sprig of mistletoe above one of the thresholds to trick unwary ladies. When we were taking Christmas boxes to the kitchen, I was soundly ambushed and I had to forfeit a kiss.”