Kissed at Christmas

by Christina McKnight

  Perhaps she was here because of her brother? Westbury knew Blackwater, but Michael didn’t think they were friends. The duke was slightly prickly, to be honest.

  But, perhaps…

  Just then, a cool breeze blew past Michael, disheveling his hair in the process. He snorted. Now the damn ghosts of Castle Keyvnor were interested in him? Well, they could all go hang. The last thing in the world he had time for was a haunting.

  Oh! Ivy dropped into the middle of her borrowed bed and covered her eyes with both of her hands as though she could somehow keep that dreadful memory from returning to her. It didn’t work, of course. The memory of that day returned full force as though that awful incident in Hyde Park had just happened a few moments ago instead of a several months.

  She winced as mortification washed back over her.

  Why in the world was Lord Michael Beck here of all the places he could be? She could have gone the rest of her life without ever laying eyes on the libertine again, and she would have been quite happy to do so.

  But he was here and he’d looked at her with those dancing blue eyes of his as though he was still laughing at her. Drat him for being so handsome. And drat him for…well, everything else.

  She took a steadying breath and willed that memory away, but it was still there, still taunting her like a heavy cloak she couldn’t escape. Blast Michael Beck straight to the devil!

  What was he even doing here? Was he here for the wedding? Was she going to be forced to socialize with him for the next sennight? She couldn’t. She just couldn’t, not after the way he’d touched her that day. She could play ill, or she could play dead if she thought Ethan would let her get away with that.

  Goodness, she was beyond fortunate Ethan didn’t know what had happened that day. She’d have found herself married off to the third son of a marquess before she could even beg her brother to listen to reason. And that would be the absolute worst thing that could ever happen to her. A fate worse than death, most certainly. Even Chopwell had a title, horrid man that he was. Ophelia should have done much better for—

  Suddenly, her room felt different as though someone was watching her. Ivy pulled her hands from her eyes and…

  Her mouth fell open.

  That man. That menacing man in black was right in the middle of her room, glaring at her. And Frannie was right. She could see right through him to the stone wall at his back. He was most definitely a ghost, which was the very last thing in the world Ivy would have ever believed, but there was simply no doubt. The last thing Ivy had patience for, however, was men who thought to glare at her, and it didn’t matter whether they were alive or dead.

  “You!” She pointed her finger in the apparition’s direction even though her heart was pounding in her chest. “No one gave you leave to enter my chambers. So take your dark scowl and go bother someone else.”

  And to her surprise, he vanished right before her eyes.

  A ghost! Good heavens. An actual ghost! She swallowed down a lump in her throat and she ignored the slight tremble to her hands. How in the world did Banfield and his daughters live in this vile place?

  And then a startled laugh escaped her. That dark ghost was much easier to dispense with than Michael Beck had been. If only she could make him disappear just as easily, she’d be quite relieved.

  Billiards was simply not Michael’s game. It never had been. And apparently it never would be. He was, quite honestly, awful and couldn’t make even one shot the way he wanted. Practice didn’t seem to matter. Or perhaps it was just impossible to concentrate on the little white ball or anything else when his every thought went back to Ivy Dallimore.

  Of course, thinking about her was ridiculous. He knew that. Nothing good would come from thinking about her. Not one thing. She was a prissy little brat. She thought herself well above everyone, and certainly above him. Just the way she held herself spoke to that. And if he didn’t want to kiss her as badly as he did, he would put her squarely from his mind. But he did want to kiss her, and run his fingers through her fiery hair, and he definitely wanted to run his fingers over her breasts again and even more so if she was bare. Dear God if he ever saw her bare, he’d be useless for anything else the rest of his life.

  “Beck!” came a familiar voice from the threshold. “I’ve been calling you. What the devil is wrong with you?”

  “I could ask you the same thing.” Michael dropped his stick onto the table as he grinned up at his friend Harold Mort, Viscount Blackwater. “I show up here for your damned wedding and I’m told there’s nowhere for me to stay.”

  Blackwater frowned slightly as he stepped into the billiard room. “You’re not staying at Hollybrook Park?”

  Michael scoffed. “My sister, wonderful little piece of baggage she is, does not have space for me. She sent me here.”

  But his friend shook his head. “Damn it all, Beck, if I’d known you were coming I’d have made sure we had space. Banfield has invited nearly all of England. There’s not an open spot anywhere.”

  “Clearly,” Michael grumbled. But he wasn’t going anywhere else, not now. “You’ll have to find some place for me.” He gestured toward the billiard table. “Or I’ll take a pillow and blanket and sleep here if I have to.”

  His friend narrowed his eyes. “Are you trying to make things difficult for me with my in-laws before I’m even married?”

  “You wouldn’t have even met Lady Morgan if you hadn’t followed me here. You owe me.” It was a rather nice card to play at the moment. Michael was much better at cards than he was billiards. He needed to keep that in mind.

  Blackwater blew out a breath. “Honestly, I don’t think there’s an empty spot in the castle. I’m even sharing my chambers with Snowingham. You might very likely end up on our floor.”

  Which was more than Anthony, his rotten brother, had offered. Michael nodded in thanks. “I do appreciate it. Truly.”

  “I’d better go talk to Banfield.” Blackwater turned back toward the corridor.

  “Oh!” Michael said, remembering that other little matter. “And fifty pounds. You owe me fifty pounds from Newmarket.”

  Blackwater glanced over his shoulder, a frown marring his brow. “I beg your pardon?”

  “I know it’s rather gauche to mention it, but I am in need of it. And you do owe me fifty pounds.” And actually Snowingham owed him a bit of blunt too. That was a fortunate turn of events, and he couldn’t help but wonder who else might be in attendance at this wedding, especially with the hoards Banfield had clearly invited. He’d have to find the Duke of Markham at some point.

  “Are you in some sort of trouble?” his friend asked.

  “Not yet.” Michael grinned at him. “But it’s early in the evening. I like to keep my options open.”

  Blackwater snorted in response. “I’ll make sure you have your fifty pounds before you leave Bocka Morrow.”

  What splendid news. Between Blackwater and Snowingham paying up and Michael spotting Lady Ivy upon his arrival, he was suddenly rather glad he had come to Castle Keyvnor. Things were certainly going his way all of a sudden. “Perfect! You don’t, by chance, know where I can find Markham, do you?”

  Chapter 4

  “I’ve had a headache for days,” Ethan grumbled as he sat on the edge of Ivy’s bed. “If anyone should have skipped dinner this evening, it’s me.” He touched a hand to her brow. “You don’t have a fever. Do I need to send for the local doctor?”

  “For me or for yourself?”

  Her brother narrowed his eyes on her, and a muscle ticked in his jaw. He was in a mood. But for heaven’s sake, she’d missed one dinner. It wasn’t the end of the world.

  “I’m sure I’ll feel better in the morning,” she lied. Because she wouldn’t, after all, feel better until she left Castle Keyvnor or until Lord Michael did.

  It did not escape her notice that she felt much more comfortable dealing with a sinister looking ghost in her chambers than she did at the thought of dealing with the flesh and blood th
ird son of the Marquess of Halesworth. But she had the feeling that Lord Michael was much more dangerous to her than some spectral being, and in more ways than one.

  “You don’t feel warm to the touch,” Ethan said, finally drawing his hand back from her forehead.

  “No one missed me at dinner, did they?” Ivy asked, almost afraid of what her brother might say.

  “Hayfield asked after you.”

  The man was a veritable pest. Ivy blew out an irritated breath.

  “And Lady Gwyn,” her brother continued.

  Lady Gwyn. The poor girl. “You should keep your distance from Lady Gwyn, Ethan.”

  Her brother scowled at her. “I beg your pardon?”

  “She seems a sweet girl,” Ivy said. “I’d hate to see her pin her hopes on you.”

  “I hardly think anyone is pinning their hopes on me,” Ethan grumbled.

  “Then you don’t know the fairer sex very well at all,” she returned. “A handsome, young duke. Every girl here is pinning her hopes on you.” Or one of the other dukes in attendance. Banfield had managed to find nearly every marriageable one of them in Britain for this holiday wedding.

  “Is that a fact?”

  Ivy nodded emphatically. “They don’t know you well enough to do otherwise.”

  Her brother’s scowl returned. “You will be down for breakfast in the morning or I’m sending for the local doctor. Are we clear?”

  Ivy sighed. Breakfast. She’d have to make a quick recovery in the morning, down a bit of breakfast and then retreat back to her chambers as soon as possible. “Yes, of course, Ethan.”

  “See you in the morning, then,” he said, as he pushed off her bed and started for the door.

  A moment later, her door clicked behind him and Ivy was quite alone.

  She stared up at the ceiling above her, wishing she was nearly anywhere else in the world. But she was right here at the tip of Cornwall in a drafty castle and hiding away from Michael Beck.

  She should have asked Ethan to pick something out for her in the library. She couldn’t go there herself, not now, not in her nightrail and wrapper. Besides, everyone was still awake and she was supposed to be ill.

  Ivy blew out an annoyed breath. If she wasn’t asleep in a few hours, she’d slip down to the library in the dead of night and pick something out for herself. Or perhaps a number of things. Who knew how long she might have to hide out in her chambers? Hmm…would it be possible to fool the local doctor into thinking she was dying? No, no. Ivy shook her head. It would be a shame to let all of the dukes Banfield had brought to Castle Keyvnor go to waste, and certainly not because of Lord Michael Beck. She’d recover in the morning and then she’d simply avoid the libertine at all costs.

  How in the world could one man snore so loudly? Michael pushed up to his elbows from his spot on the floor and stared accusingly at Blackwater as the most awful sound escaped his gaping mouth. Even in the dimness of the chamber, he caught Snowingham’s wide eyes from the bed a few feet away. If the man thought he could get even a wink of sleep in this chamber, he had a stronger will than Michael did.

  Michael gathered up his borrowed pillow and blanket then pushed up to his feet. “Best of luck to you,” he said to Snowingham before he escaped into the corridor. But even after closing the door behind him, Blackwater’s snores drifted into the hallway after him. Lady Morgan was in for quite the surprise on her wedding night. Poor girl.

  There had to be someplace Michael could sleep at Keyvnor. Some settee somewhere, some overstuffed chair. Even the dungeons had to be better.

  He made his way down the stairs and eventually into a darkened parlor. He supposed it was as good as any other room, and definitely better than the chambers Blackwater and Snowingham were sharing. But even still, sleep didn’t find him. His legs hung off the end of the settee and there was some scratching sound in the corner of the room. He was just starting to think that perhaps his pillow and a blanket on the billiard table was a better idea when a voice drifted into the parlor from the corridor…

  “Either tell me what you want, or leave me alone.”

  Lady Ivy? She hadn’t come down to dinner that evening, but he’d know her voice anywhere.

  Michael was on his feet in less than a second. He rushed to the threshold and there she was, holding a candle in the air and berating something he couldn’t see.

  “You are the height of rudeness.”

  Michael bit back a smile. But damn it all, she did take his breath away. She truly did.

  “Shall I tell you want I want?” he drawled.

  She gasped at the sound of his voice and spun toward him. “Lord Michael!” She touched a hand to her heart. “What are you doing here?”

  “Who are you talking to?” he countered.

  Lady Ivy tipped her head back regally and said, “I hardly see how that’s any of your concern.”

  He did smile then, he couldn’t help it. She had no idea how lovely she was, standing there so haughtily in her nightrail and wrapper, her unbound hair down around her shoulders. “Are the ghosts of Keyvnor bothering you?”

  Her pretty blue eyes, rounded in surprise. “If I say yes, you’ll think I’m mad.”

  “You might be mad.” He laughed slightly. When she scowled at him, he added, “My grandmother was born at Keyvnor. She grew up here. I’ve heard tales of the castle’s hauntings nearly all my life. Who’s bothering you?” He felt quite confident it wasn’t the malevolent ghost of Lord Tyrrell. That terrifying presence preferred blondes who looked like his sister, after all. Was there a ghost at the castle who preferred redheads?

  “He hasn’t introduced himself.” Lady Ivy shook her head. “Actually, he hasn’t said anything at all. He just stares at me.”

  Michael could hardly blame the otherworldly presence for doing that. If given the chance, he’d stare at her all night long himself, especially if he had access to her chambers.

  “Or, really, glaring is a better word,” she amended. “He has an angry look to him.”

  An angry look to him? Michael didn’t like the sound of that. Most of the ghosts at Keyvnor were harmless, but not all of them. “What does he look like?”

  She scoffed lightly as though this was the most ridiculous conversation in the world to be having, but she answered him with, “He’s all in black. He looks like a—”

  “Pirate?” Michael supplied. The man in black had tormented Cassy relentlessly.

  “—Sailor, I was going to say.” She shook her head. “I suppose he could be a pirate. Honestly, how could you even tell the difference when one is dead?”

  Michael supposed she had a point, and whether the ghost had been an honest sailor or a fiendish pirate in his life meant very little at this point. It did sound, however, like the ghost in question was the same one who’d plagued his cousin this past autumn. Michael blew out a breath, not certain if the dark sailor was of the dangerous variety or not. Cassy certainly thought he was, and that was reason enough for concern. “Tomorrow I could take you to Hollybrook Park,” he suggested. “Lord Lynwood’s gypsy grandmother can make you a little pouch to keep in your bosom and—”

  She gasped slightly as she took a step away from him. “I think you should just stay away from me and...”

  “Your bosom?” Michael guessed aloud. That moment in Hyde Park flashed in his mind once more. She did have a very nice bosom. “I was only trying to keep you from falling in the middle of Rotten Row that day. I certainly did not intend to take any liberties.” They’d never discussed that incident. In fact, he hadn’t laid eyes on her since that fateful day in the park until his arrival this very afternoon at Keyvnor. She’d even refused to see him when he’d tried to call on her the next day. But now, there she was, right before him in a silk wrapper and nightrail that he would love to peel from her skin.

  Against the dimness of her candlelight, Michael could still make out her blush. Was she thinking about that day along Rotten Row? He thought it quite likely that she was. Michael had gone to t
he park with Charlotte, Cassy and his cousin’s little black poodle, as his chaperoning duties never did seem to end. The very moment he’d spotted Lady Ivy walking in the other direction along with Miss Prescott, Oscar had spotted a squirrel not too far away from the pair. The poodle had bolted, jerked his lead from Cassy’s hold and raced across the way. Lady Ivy had tripped on the lead and would have fallen right on her face if Michael hadn’t reached her first and caught her before she tumbled to the ground. He hadn’t meant to touch her breasts in the process, though he wasn’t sorry that he had.

  “If it hadn’t been for that horrid dog…”

  “I hardly think Lady St. Giles would appreciate you calling her dog horrid. Truly, Oscar’s a sweet boy, but be does have a thing for squirrels and—”

  “Lady St. Giles?” She frowned at him.

  So news of Jack and Cassy’s elopement hadn’t reached every part of England yet, hmm? Well, it hadn’t really been that long, Michael supposed. Less than two months, and his aunt and uncle were probably trying to keep the gossip down. A fruitless endeavor. Cassy had married Jack and the wheres and hows hardly made the union any less scandalous. “My cousin Cassandra Priske recently married St. Giles in Scotland.”

  She looked horrified by that statement. “They eloped?”

  “Quite happily,” Michael told her. “They’re at Hollybrook Park with my sister even now.” Then he laughed slightly. “And they’ve brought Oscar with them. Fair warning in case you see him again.”

  At once, Lady Ivy looked rather annoyed. “Oh! Do go bother someone else.” She swept her arm in the air. “I am quite done with you this evening.”

  Michael couldn’t help but smile. Any other girl would go screaming down the corridor like her hair was on fire if a ghost was haunting her. Only the prissy Ivy Dallimore would scold the specter for his persistence.