Lord St.Claire's Angel

by Donna Simpson

  "I think," he said, and his voice was hard, glancing off the walls of the library and echoing, "that congrat-ulations to me and my chosen bride are in order."

  August stood and circled the desk, standing in front of the couple, towering above them both. Justin felt his lips compress and his free hand ball into a fist. So help him God, if his older brother had the slightest thing to say against Celestine, he would land him a facer and walk right out of there.

  The older man's troubled expression smoothed. As his features relaxed, Justin felt the tension drain from him.

  "Justin, I am glad you have found a woman to love, one who will put up with you. It must have taken some convincing for her to take on such a task as to make a respectable person out of you, and I wish her well of it." He turned to Celestine and his brows, thick like Justin's, rode down low over his blue eyes.

  "My dear, you have taken on a formidable chore. I love my brother, but he is a rascal." He glanced at his brother affectionately. "But if you love him," he said, his voice softer, "I think you will both be fine. Welcome to the family, Miss Simons . . . Celestine." He took her hand and kissed it, holding it in his own for a long moment. "To you both I offer my most humble apologies. I never thought to see you in love, Justin, and that must be my only excuse for any ungraciousness on my part. Love was a long time coming, but I think it has been worth the wait for you both. Good luck and God bless you with long life and many children."

  He released Celestine's hand and turned to Elizabeth. "Don't you have something you wish to add, my love?"

  Elizabeth, with a stunned expression, heeded the subtle steel in her husband's voice. She came around the desk and, with a ghostly smile, said, "Welcome to the family. I hope you will both be very happy."

  "Miss . . . er, my lady, er . . ."

  Elise's anxious voice caught Celestine's attention as she drifted down the hall to her room to get ready for dinner. Several days had gone by in a flurry of skating and music and gossip. Celestine was still not used to her new role as Justin's betrothed, but was enjoying it more than she expected. She had been afraid it would be awkward, mak­ing the transition from member of the staff to member of the family. But where the marquess led, others fol­lowed, and he had gone out of his way to be kind to his brother's betrothed. This was Christmas Eve, and dinner was to be a huge family affair with all of the children, followed by presents in the drawing room.

  "I am still Miss Simons, Elise," Celestine chuckled.

  Elise bobbed a curtsy and thrust a parcel at her. "I know, but soon you will be Lady Celestine St. Claire!" She breathed a happy sigh. "It's like a fairy-tale, like your puppet play, Miss . . . my I . . . Miss Simons."

  "What is this?" Celestine asked, gazing down at the bundle in her hands.

  "Open it, if you please, Miss."

  Celestine did, and found in the paper wrapping the two sets of dolls she had been making, their features fin­ished in neat, perfect stitches. Tears welled in her eyes and she gazed up at the sweet, round face of the maid. "Oh, Elise!" She startled them both by putting her arms around Elise for a quick hug.

  The girl turned bright pink and shyly looked down at her shoes. "I knowed you wanted to finish 'em so badly, but your hands bein' the way they were . . . an' you bin so kind to me, I thought I'd like to pay you back. So I stayed up last night an finished 'em. I decided to do it when you left. I was gonna give 'em to the little girls, telling them it was your gift to them, since you couldn't be here. But now you can give them to them yourself, 'specially now you're goin' to be family."

  Celestine could only smile at her through the tears gathering in her eyes.

  Dinner was a noisy, cheerful affair. Then in the draw-ing room they played silly games and sang Christmas songs in front of the crackling fire. Occasionally, when the doors opened, they could hear the strains of the fiddle from the servants' hall, where a party was in progress among the staff. The whole house rang with joy. At long last, when their excitement was at a fever pitch, the chil­dren were allowed to open their gifts.

  Celestine had not expected, with the abundance of gifts they got, that Lottie and Gwen would take much note of hers, but they did, Gwen especially whispering that it was her 'fabrit' dolly. The little girls had been told she would no longer be their governess and would become their new aunt, but of course they did not really understand.

  Gus did, though, and he politely thanked her for her work on the puppet play, his voice cracking under his uncle's gaze as he shyly admitted he had liked it more than he had expected. Playacting was not as babyish as he had thought, he said manfully. Celestine, holding a sleepy little Bertie on her lap at that moment, had to hide a smile as she saw the interaction between Justin, who was obviously coaching the young man through the steps of polite society, and Gus, who was desperate to please his uncle. What a good father Justin would make! She blushed at the turn her thoughts had taken and laid her flushed cheek against Bertie's fuzzy head.

  She sighed tiredly. It had been a bewildering and ex­hausting few days, but in that time she had gained a hus­band and a family and a whole new life. The little boy on her lap gurgled happily, and contentment swept through her soul.

  At last, after another hour of conversation, she felt she had stayed long enough and excused herself. Justin in­sisted on walking her upstairs. Slowly they mounted the wide staircase adorned with holly wound round the ban­ister and big red bows attached every few feet.

  "You did not have to come with me," she whispered in the hall, glad nonetheless for his strong arm to lean on. She started toward the door to the third floor, then remembered in chagrin she had been assigned a chamber on the second floor because of her new status as part of the family.

  "Oh, but I wanted to come with you. I have my own wicked reasons." He tugged her into a dim alcove off the hall and pulled her into his arms.

  "Justin! We might be seen!" She tried to resist, but the warmth of his arms around her and the feel of his lips on her forehead made her melt, as always, and she re­laxed into his arms. How would she ever get used to hav­ing a man like Justin?

  "Oh, look," he said, huskily. "A kissing bough!" His finger pushed her chin up and tilted her head back, and his lips closed over hers.

  Warmth flooded her core and she sighed against his lips, responding eagerly when his darting tongue pressed the seam of her lips. She opened to him, shivering with desire as his arms tightened around her and his hands traveled over her back and up to the nape of her neck. His kisses trailed over her cheek and down to her throat, finding the pulse point at the base of her throat.

  She opened her eyes. "There's no kissing bough here!" she cried, glancing around.

  He made a deep sound in his throat and continued his kissing and nibbling. She giggled as his lips tickled her earlobes. "I see kissing boughs everywhere," he said, giving her one more big kiss on the lips.

  "Justin," she sighed, clasping her arms around his neck, "oh, Justin, I love you. You bring my world to life. Your wicked laugh and your energy and your joy—they fill me with life!"

  He laughed softly in the darkness. "What a wonderful, sweet thing to say, my love."

  "It's true. Justin?" Her voice was wistful and soft, a whis­per in the hush of the night, with just the faint murmur of voices from the drawing room downstairs breaking the silence.

  "Yes, love?" he said. He bent his head and began again, his kisses trailing up her throat to her chin, one long-fin­gered hand stealing up to her breast to cup it lovingly.

  She gasped and covered his hand with her own, but did not pull away from him. She could never do that, not when the nearness of him was the very essence of the life force to her.

  "What do I bring to you?"

  "Mmmm?"

  He was doing indescribably delicious things to her body. Even through the fabric of her dress, she could feel his hot breath over her breasts and the moist heat of his kisses. Her nipples were tightening almost painfully into pearly nubs as he caressed them with practiced, sed
uctive fingers. It made her dizzy with desire as she tried to clear the fog in her brain. There was something important she needed to know. Now, what was it? Oh, yes.

  "Justin, I need to know. What do I bring to you? How do I make your life better? It's important to me."

  He sighed and straightened. "I think on our wedding night I shall have to teach you that some parts of love do not need the accompaniment of words."

  He chuckled, though, and she could see his bright blue eyes glittering in the pale light from a branch of tapers on a small table in the hall. He looked down into her eyes and his expression grew serious.

  "I apologize, my love. I get carried away with wanting you and forget myself. So I will answer your question, and then I have something to give you."

  She rested her head against his chest, once again feel­ing the reassuring thump of his strong heart against her cheek.

  "What do you give me? More than I can say in the brief moments we have right now. But I can tell you one thing—the most important. You have given me a life. For thirty-two years I have been walking and doing and play­ing and making love and functioning on the face of this earth, with no conception I was only half a man.

  "When I found you, you made me whole, completed me, gave me purpose and meaning and . . . and life. Oh, my darling," he whispered into her hair, his breath warm. He wrapped his arms around her more tightly, surround­ing her with his love. "I was just a walking shell playing at being a human being until I gave you my heart and you breathed life into it. Once, in a dark church, I lis­tened to an angel sing and wondered what I was on this earth for. Now I know. I was put here to love you and take care of you and make a life with you."

  A sharp, soaring gladness flooded Celestine, the kind that roared through her blood when she sang. What he said matched the feelings in her heart, and she knew that it was forever, this love of theirs.

  He pulled away from her and fished around in an in­side pocket of his jacket. "This is my gift to you for Christ­mas, but more importantly to show everyone you are mine and we are going to be married—in no more than three weeks. Please say you will only make me wait as long as it takes to read the banns."

  Celestine felt a ring being pressed into her hand. Tears welled up in her eyes. "I . . . I . . ." Her voice choked off, but through her tears she muttered, "I cannot wear it—it will not fit over my . . . my finger."

  "I know, my love," he said, his voice gentle. "That is why it is on a gold chain. When the swelling goes down on your fingers, you can slip it on and use the chain for your locket. Until then, you will wear it around your neck, outside your dress, please, so everyone can see it. I want everyone to know I caught myself a Christmas angel."

  His lips met hers as he clasped the chain around her neck, and she wound her arms around him. Her Justin, more gentle and thoughtful than any man she had ever known. Papa would be proud.

  Emily and Grishelda van Hoffen moved quietly down the hallway toward their rooms, which were across the hall from each other. Both were arrested at the same moment by the sight of the two figures—or was it one?—in the alcove. In the dim light, they could just make out Celestine and Justin, their arms wound around each other, oblivious to the rest of the world.

  "I do not understand it," the younger woman mur­mured. "He is pleasant enough, but she seems absolutely infatuated with him! And I thought she was such a sen­sible woman."

  Emily watched the couple, knowing they were com­pletely unaware they were being observed. A pang of hap­piness and sadness pierced her heart.

  The happiness was for her beloved niece, Celestine, and the marital bliss sure to follow such a promising be­ginning. The sadness was for herself. So had her marriage begun, and yet look how it had ended! And she was de­nied finding love again by the fact that her marriage was still very much a legal entity and she could not bring herself to break the vows she had made fifteen years be­fore.

  She glanced over at the pale young woman beside her. Lady Grishelda's prim lips were pursed in a disapproving frown. The girl had so much to learn about life.

  "My dear, no one understands love until you are in it. And even then, it is a beautiful mystery, and that is the way God intended it, I think. I hope someday you will discover that kind of joy." Emily smiled and urged her companion on, leaving the two still figures—two who were joined as one.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Donna Simpson lives with her family in Canada. Lord St. Claire's Angelis her first Regency romance. Donna loves to hear from readers, and you may write to her c/o Zebra Books. Please include a self-addressed stamped envelope if you wish a response.