Christmas Brides

by Suzanne Enoch

  Derrick had not been amused when he had learned of the incident. Several of their male guests had taken advantage of the trick. Sprigs of mistletoe kept appearing above random doorways all day.

  “Do not presume to think one kiss will help you select a husband for me. I kissed several gentlemen that day and I cannot marry them all,” she teased, giving the list a final glance. She closed the book with a snap. “Furthermore, I—”

  The almost musical collision of glass and pottery brought Ellen to her feet. She saw her father crumple to the ground. “Papa!” she screamed, dropping the book and running to his side.

  When she turned him over, she noticed that his breath was labored and his lips were bluish in tint. “Not again,” she muttered, lightly tapping him on the cheeks. “Papa, can you hear me? Do you know who I am?”

  “S-Stub-born and im-mmm … impertinent,” he said faintly, his words slurring as he struggled to breathe.

  “That’s me. And I will not let you die. Do you hear me?” She hugged him and pressed a kiss to his temple. “I love you. Hold on. I’m getting help.”

  Ellen ran as fast as her skirts and legs could carry her. She opened doors and did not worry about the cold air seeping in. Her heart was pounding and she could barely breathe when she stumbled into one of the main halls.

  She did not even know the words she was screaming until Derrick and her brother emerged from the library. Derrick reached her first and caught her before she could fall to her knees.

  “Papa”—she gulped more air—“Conservatory.”

  “I will summon Dr. Ramsey,” Squires said from behind her.

  “Go!” she ordered her brother. “I’ll follow.”

  Vane took off with the lethal speed of a large muscled beast. Derrick helped her stand. Curious about the commotion in the hall, guests began to wander into the front hall. Someone offered to get her a brandy. She waved them off and staggered toward the side passage her brother had taken.

  “He was teasing me about the mistletoe kiss,” she said, her lungs burning with grief. “And then he collapsed. I called out, but no one heard me.”

  “I heard you.” His arm tightened around her waist. She had not even realized that she was not standing on her own. “You kept screaming my name. I thought someone had attacked you.”

  Vane’s complexion was ashen when he reappeared in the outer corridor with Lord Netherley in his arms.

  Is he…?

  “He’s alive,” her brother announced and she sagged against Derrick. He marched past the couple. “I’m taking Father to his bedchamber. Send Dr. Ramsey upstairs immediately.”

  He did not glance back to see if she was following them. “Someone has to tell Mama.”

  A high-pitched shriek announced that Lady Netherley had learned of her husband’s failing health. Ellen glanced up at the man holding her so tenderly. She was startled by the fierce expression on his face. Straightening, she drew on his strength.

  “Come, Mama needs our help.”

  * * *

  Six hours later, Derrick found Ellen sitting on the floor just outside her father’s bedchamber. It had been a close call, but Lord Netherley was resting peacefully with a liberal dose of laudanum.

  “I have been searching for you,” he said, crouching down beside her.

  Her tearstained face and the utter anguish broke his heart. “Mama is sitting with him.” She sniffed into her damp handkerchief. “Dr. Ramsey does not want anyone upsetting him. A room filled with sobbing people will assuredly convince Papa that he is not long for this earth.” Her features twisted in misery at the terrible thought. “And he is correct. Papa would not like it.”

  “Your sister said that you refused to eat.”

  Ellen shook her head. “I am not hungry.”

  God, she was stubborn. “It is too cold for you to be curled up on the floor.”

  “I am fine,” she said dully.

  No, she was not. The lady was in pain and she was struggling to be brave for the sake of her family. “Come with me. Let me take care of you.”

  Without asking her permission, he pulled her into his arms and stood up. Derrick carried her down the hallway. Most of the guests had retired for the evening so the house was silent. He did not know where he was taking her until he had reached the closed door to his bedchamber. Ellen rested her cheek against his shoulder as he shifted her in his arms so he could open the door. He swept her into the room with a romantic flourish and placed her on the bed.

  She solemnly watched him lock the door so no one could intrude on their privacy.

  He turned his back on the door and returned to her. He knelt down and removed her shoes. “I have never acted as a lady’s maid,” he said, his voice sounding hoarse to his own ears. His hands caressed the curve of her calves as his hand traveled higher to untie her stockings. “If you tell anyone, I will be forced to deny it.”

  Ellen had lovely, graceful bare legs. She also had a body he longed to worship. He gave into temptation and kissed her right knee and then her left.

  “Derrick,” she whispered, the longing in that single word slipping beneath his skin. It resonated with his soul. He understood her need.

  “I’m cold,” she admitted.

  His hands moved upward until his fingers found her hips. “Let me warm you.” He tugged her closer and leaned up to kiss her.

  Their lips touched. Derrick felt her hands on his shoulders. Without breaking contact, he helped her remove his frock coat. With each layer of clothing that fell away, the more desperately he needed to feel her bared flesh against his.

  Derrick had taken the occasional lover over the years to ease the loneliness of his travels. Although no one would ever accuse him of being as notorious as Ravens, or even the Lords of Vice, he had the skills to pleasure her. To make her crave the feel of him moving inside of her.

  He unfastened her dress. She tugged and pulled his shirt over his head. They added to the pile of discarded clothing, kissing and touching new unexplored areas of exposed skin until they were naked.

  His cock was primed and rigid with lust as he gently pushed her onto her back. His fingers slipped to the scented flesh between her legs and he stroked her, savoring the wetness that coated his fingers. Ellen instinctively arched against him. He wondered if she would like it if he buried his face into the curly thatch of hair and tasted her desire for him. Would he shock her if he suckled her tender flesh, pleasuring her with his tongue until she begged him for more?

  He satisfied himself by nuzzling her nipples. Her breasts were small and perfect. Ellen gasped in surprise when his mouth covered one. He drew deeply as if she could nourish him.

  Her hands threaded his hair. “Too much … I cannot bear it.”

  “Take more. Belong to me,” he murmured between kisses. Blindly, his hand enclosed around his heavy cock. He rubbed the thick head against the opening of her sheath.

  “Yes.” She moaned again, her hips undulating in invitation. Her thighs widened to accommodate him and his cock slipped deeper.

  Derrick felt her stiffen as her body took more of him, but it was too late for either one of them to turn back. He gazed into her eyes. Both of them were hurting, and the pain had coalesced into a need that he knew how to assuage. His hand cupped her buttock, pulling her closer and her body stretched and yielded to his demands. Her innocence faded with his claiming stroke.

  He set the pace, a slow, delicious rhythm that made him break out into a sweat. Ellen rose up to meet his decisive thrusts. Her nipples grazed his chest as her fingernails dug into his back. The slow grind quickened as their bodies raced for completion.

  When she cried out in pleasure, his body responded. Derrick pressed his face into her neck and whispered her name as he spilled his seed into her. He had never experienced anything so satisfyingly perfect.

  Greedy for more, he wondered how long he would have to wait before he could fill her again.

  “What is it?” Ellen murmured when he laughed.

 
; “You have ruined me good and proper, my lady,” he said, kissing her before she could reply. They were both breathless when he ended the kiss. “You might want to consider giving up your independent ways and marrying me.”

  Derrick was too intelligent to demand an answer from her. He reached over and pulled the bedding over them. Ellen snuggled against him, her cheek pressed against his heart. Too happy to question the wisdom of their lovemaking, they fell asleep.

  Chapter Eight

  Twelfth Night.

  It astounded Ellen how quickly the days had flown by. The Yule season was almost over. Tomorrow, the servants would take down the greenery and burn it in the fireplace. All of the guests would return to their homes. Many would journey to their country houses, and she would not see her friends until warmer weather enticed the ton back to London.

  Her father was recovering from his latest collapse. Dr. Ramsey had forbidden Lord Netherley to return to the conservatory. His health was too fragile. To soften the order, Derrick and others had volunteered to look after her father’s prized plants until someone could be hired to care for them. Lady Netherley was touched by everyone’s kindness. Most of her day was passed at her husband’s side.

  Susan had suggested that they cancel the grand masquerade, but Lord Netherley stubbornly refused to ruin the event everyone had been looking forward to. Despite her concern about her father’s health, Ellen was relieved that her sister did not get her way. Perhaps it was selfish, but she was not ready for the magic to fade.

  She was not ready to let Derrick go.

  The night they had become lovers, he had mentioned marriage. His words had been more of an observation rather than a proposal, leaving Ellen mildly perplexed. She half-expected him to say something, but he never broached the subject again—not even during the late hours when he slipped into her bedchamber and made love to her until she fell asleep sated and exhausted.

  Perhaps he had regretted his hasty words. Her brother had seduced countless women before he had met Isabel. It hurt her pride to consider it, but she was practical enough not to bind herself to a man who did not love her. No amount of threats could change her opinion, and the gentlemen who had joined the Courtlands in hopes of claiming her dowry would leave disappointed. In time, she would persuade her father to accept her decision.

  Her scandalous nights with Derrick had revealed something about herself. She had been unaware that she could not give away her body without her heart. Derrick Martin Hunt, Earl of Swainsbury owned both, and there was a chance he would leave her, never realizing the truth.

  Eloisa’s murderer never revealed himself. She and Derrick had gone over his list. No one seemed to fit the description of a violent fortune hunter set on seducing her for her money. Most of the gentlemen present had connections to families that her parents had been acquainted with since their youth. In truth, Derrick was a more likely suspect, even though he was loath to admit that his instincts had failed him.

  Ellen studied her reflection in the mirror. She was attired as a fortune-teller. Valentine had encouraged her to choose the costume, since she alone could reveal the name of the gentleman who had a chance of winning her.

  The fortune-teller was one of the many roles Lord Pountney had created for the play. Earlier, she and several ladies had cut paper into small slips. Traditionally, the names of each guest would have been written down and placed into a hat. Later, a king and queen would be selected and they would reign for the rest of the night. This year, everyone had agreed to fill the hat with only two names—Lord and Lady Netherley. They were everyone’s king and queen, and she wanted to give her parents a night to remember.

  A brisk knock had her turning away from the mirror and heading for the door. Had Derrick decided he wanted to escort her to the ballroom? It was a bold declaration for a man who had arrived at their door with the intention of using her as bait to catch his sister’s murderer.

  Ellen opened the door. “Lord Hawksword. This is unexpected,” she said, hiding her disappointment that her visitor wasn’t Derrick. “Is something amiss?” The marquess had not donned his costume.

  “Forgive me, my lady. If this was not about Lord Netherley, I would have sent a servant,” he explained, his handsome visage etched with concern. “Your presence is needed. Someone saw your father enter the conservatory. He has gotten it into his head that a few more orange trees are needed around the thrones.”

  It sounded precisely like something her father would do. “Good heavens! The man is determined to give me heart failure.” She nudged Hawksword aside as she exited her bedchamber and shut the door. “Do you know how many assurances I had to make to Dr. Ramsey to convince the good doctor that the most strenuous task my father would engage in this evening was sitting?”

  “Do you want me to join you?” the marquess offered as they made their way downstairs.

  “Thank you, but it’s unnecessary,” she said. “I would appreciate it if you looked after Lady Netherley. Assure her that I won’t permit Papa to touch a single potted tree.”

  “Have your father handpick the ones he desires,” he called out as they parted ways. “Valentine and I will see to it that they are in the ballroom at the appropriate time.”

  “You are a good man, Hawksword.”

  “Just not the right man for you, eh?” He winked knowingly at her before he sauntered off.

  Unable to form a proper response, she watched the marquess disappear around the corner. “Perhaps I should have pushed him in the pond when we were children,” she muttered.

  Ellen was breathless when she entered the conservatory. Most of the interior was cast in shadows. The servants would be lighting the lamps later so guests could tour her father’s private sanctuary.

  “Papa?” She stepped deeper into the maze of flora. “Come out of hiding. I know all about the orange trees. Why didn’t you take one of the servants with you? Dr. Ramsey will personally throttle me if you lift a single pot.”

  To her right, a gentleman stepped out of the shadows. “I agree, Lady Ellen, you deserve to be punished, but you needn’t worry about Dr. Ramsey.” It wasn’t his presence that startled her, but rather the large pistol he had aimed at her heart. “I am completely capable of seeing to the task.”

  * * *

  In the library, Derrick was seated and surrounded by seven very stern gentlemen. When he had answered Vanewright’s summons, he had been introduced to the man’s friends, the other founding members of Nox: Saint, Sin, Dare, Reign, Hunter, and Frost.

  He believed every man deserved to know the names of his executioners.

  “I do not recall the part of the Twelfth Night tradition that called for a human sacrifice.”

  “Sounds very pagan,” the dark-haired gentleman with the odd blue-turquoise eyes murmured.

  “An inappropriate time for humor, Frost,” the man who had introduced himself as Sin replied. He glanced at Vanewright. “He doesn’t look as dim-witted as you had described. Perhaps we can finish this without bloodshed.”

  “Gents, I have a very pregnant and restless wife sitting in Lady Netherley’s drawing room while she awaits my return,” Saint said, uncrossing his arms. “Unless you want my son born in this house, I recommend we handle this in a manner that will not upset our wives.”

  Derrick allowed his gaze to drift from face to face. He could think of only one thing that would provoke a brother into a killing rage, so much so, that he invited his friends to commit murder. The man knew Derrick had bedded Ellen.

  Without warning, Vanewright delivered a sharp, brutal punch to Derrick’s diaphragm. He doubled over and groaned. The man hit like he pounded stone walls each morning with his damn fists.

  “Frost and I had a chat with your good friend, Ravens.”

  So Lord Ravens had confessed all. Protecting his stomach with his hand, Derrick shook his head. “It isn’t what you think.”

  Vanewright crouched down to meet Derrick’s gaze. “And what do I think, Swainsbury? That you talked Ravens into
vouching for you to gain access to my family. My sister. You heard news of the dowry and thought to seduce my sister to claim it.”

  He tried to stand, but hands gripped his shoulders and slammed him into a chair. “No … you’re wrong. I never cared about the dowry. Ever. Keep it, for all I care.” The next part was going to hurt, but this man was going to be his brother-in-law if he had his way. He grinned at how fate had kicked him in the arse. “Now, your sister. She’s the one I want.”

  “You can’t have her!” Vanewright snarled.

  Derrick shrugged. “Already have.”

  “Oh Christ, you shouldn’t have said that,” the blond-haired gentleman muttered.

  Whatever else he said was muted by the earl’s outraged bellow as he lunged for Derrick. His friends moved out of the way as the chair was knocked over. He tried to roll away but Vanewright sat on top of him. Grabbing him by the cravat, the man punched Derrick in the jaw.

  Sparks danced like fireflies in his vision.

  “We can’t let him murder this lovesick fool in Netherley’s library,” someone argued.

  Lovesick? Who accused him of being in love with this madman’s sister? He struggled to avoid the next punch.

  “Only a man in love would beg his lover’s family to kill him,” was another man’s dry retort.

  Vanewright drew his fist back and froze. “You are marrying my sister.”

  It wasn’t a question.

  “No bloody dowry,” Derrick said, bracing for another punch. He did not want Ellen or her family to think he’d approached her to feather his pockets.

  “Now that’s the first sensible thing I’ve heard this gent utter,” the one called Dare said. He clasped his friend on the shoulder. “You can’t kill him.”

  Vanewright snorted, his fisted hand dropped to his side. He shook his head, and surprised Derrick by offering his hand. “Welcome to the family, Swainsbury.”