How the Rogue Stole Christmas

by Rosemary Stevens

  Mrs. Norwood sat glaring at her husband. “You should have consulted me about this, Humbert. It is a ludicrous idea. Get a grip on yourself. Of course you may not go.”

  Mr. Norwood’s spine straightened. “I am not asking you for permission, Prudence. I am telling you what I have already decided.”

  Margery watched as Mrs. Norwood’s eyes bulged in disbelief and outrage. “How dare you?” the woman spat. “Can anybody here believe such a thing?”

  When no one spoke up, Mrs. Norwood searched each person’s face as if looking for support. When it was evident none was forthcoming, her lips thinned. “Very well, Humbert. Go to America. I must say it will be a relief not to have you hanging on my sleeve.”

  There was an uncomfortable silence. Then Lord Harry said, “Lady Lindsay, I will be in Town for the Season and shall offer my escort for you and Miss Norwood when Lord Lindsay is unavailable.”

  “Why thank you, Lord Harry,” Blythe replied. “I am certain we shall be seeing you often.”

  “Yes, Harry, I will take you up on that offer,” Keith said.

  Lord Harry nodded. “You’ll need help schooling Miss Norwood in the ways of the ton.”

  Seated next to Lord Reckford, across from Margery and Harry, Georgina’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Schooling? Pooh! I don’t need any training on how to go about. And if I did, Aunt Blythe is no slowtop. She would not ask for your assistance. You don’t know anything.”

  “Wait just one minute here!” Lord Harry argued. “I am the one who has been on the Town before. Furthermore, I am not the one putting silly concoctions on my face, and...”

  Margery accepted a serving of roast beef from a footman. It seemed Lord Harry and Georgina were once again at daggers drawn. They were bound to get into all kinds of scrapes together in Town. Margery sighed. Perhaps Georgina would write to her in Porwood and tell her all about it.

  Lady Altham spoke. “I am so happy this evening, with my friends and family around me. ’Tis a pity some of our guests had to depart early. Neither Mr. Westerville nor Mrs. Carruthers could stay.”

  Margery blinked. Mrs. Carruthers had left the party? Why? Perhaps she awaited the viscount in Town.

  Margery had no time to further contemplate this turn of events as Major Eversley stood and raised his glass. “I know this will be the happiest Christmas of all for me now that Gussie has agreed to be my wife. May you all be as joyful as we are this night. Merry Christmas!”

  “Merry Christmas!” everyone repeated, including Margery, who was surprised when her wine did not taste like vinegar. She concentrated on the greater meaning of the holiday.

  After the main course had been served, Mrs. Rose entered carrying a large beautiful cake decorated with tiny roses. She had obviously baked it herself and took great pride it.

  “Oh, how lovely,” Lady Altham declared. “Now, everyone, this is a very special cake and a tradition at Altham House. For inside the cake there is a bean. Whoever gets the slice of cake containing the bean rules supreme as King of the Bean for the night!”

  “I hope I get it,” Lord Harry said with enthusiasm.

  “I hope you don’t,” Georgina countered. “You’d be unbearable.”

  Lord Harry flashed his boyish grin.

  “If Humbert gets it, he will have us all in America among the savages,” Mrs. Norwood said, but no one paid her any heed.

  Mrs. Rose personally cut the cake and served the company. As she placed one particular piece on a plate, Margery thought the housekeeper hesitated, but then she walked over to Lord Reckford’s side and served him the cake. The viscount favored the woman with a smile, reached for her hand, and patted it.

  Margery raised a brow. She could have sworn Lord Reckford passed something to Mrs. Rose, but she shook the notion off and picked up her fork to begin eating. The company ate in silence, each hoping the bean would be in their cake.

  At last, Lord Reckford held a bean high and said, “You may bow before me, my subjects.”

  Laughter rang loud around the table as each person complied with his request.

  Margery gave him a full court curtsy just to annoy him. She was now certain he had bribed Mrs. Rose to give him the piece with the bean. Insufferable man!

  The party retired to the drawing room to enjoy the Christmas tree. Footmen brought in a large bowl of hot spiced ale. All the kittens were asleep in one big kitten heap under the Christmas tree. The King of the Bean set the Yule log alight with enormous ceremony.

  Margery stayed as far away from Lord Reckford as she could. The Yule log lit, soon everyone was laughing over a game of Snap Dragon. Everyone that is, except Lord Harry, who had been looking at Georgina and so had not picked his raisin out of the flaming brandy fast enough. He burned the tip of his finger.

  All the while, Lord Reckford gave orders. He instructed Lord Harry and Georgina to complement each other, Keith to kiss his wife under the mistletoe, and Lady Altham to remain on Major Eversley’s arm for the rest of the evening.

  The children came down from dinner in the nursery, and the game was explained to them. Lord Reckford commanded Venetia and Vivian to sit still for five minutes. While the two girls giggled, the viscount challenged Thomas to name all the seas and the oceans.

  Margery could not help laughing until the viscount’s gaze fell on her. “Ah, and now for Lady Margery. I have a special command for her.”

  Margery held her breath. She called herself to order, deciding that if his lordship directed her to kiss him as he had Keith to kiss Blythe, she would show the vexing viscount up by giving him a cool token peck on his cheek.

  But Lord Reckford had something else in mind. He walked to the window and looked outside at the starry night. The full moon illuminated the snow-covered ground.

  The viscount grinned wickedly and returned his gaze to her. “Lady Margery shall take a sleigh ride with me in the moonlight.”

  * * *

  Chapter 14

  Lord Reckford tugged the bellrope, and a tall, gangling footman appeared.

  “Ned, is it not?” the viscount asked.

  “Yes, my lord,” the young man said, reddening at the fact Lord Reckford knew his name.

  “Have Lady Margery’s maid fetch her blue velvet cloak and send word to the stables to bring around the sleigh immediately.”

  Margery’s gaze swung to the footman. “Do not listen to him. I shall not require—

  “And bring her fur muff as well. The night air is cold.”

  The footman gave a hasty bow and ran to do the viscount’s bidding.

  “Lord Reckford, I do not wish to—”

  “That is Your Highness, Lady Margery,” Lord Reckford said in an imperious tone that set Vivian and Venetia to giggling. “Remember, I am King of the Bean, and you must obey me.”

  Margery wanted to hit him.

  The viscount turned his gaze on Lady Altham. “I beg pardon, my lady, I should have asked you if I might borrow your sleigh—no!” He stood regally and looked down his nose at the dowager countess. “I command you as my subject to relinquish your sleigh to me.”

  Laughter rang out in the room. Lady Altham curtsied to Lord Reckford. “As you wish, Your Majesty.”

  Ned returned with Margery’s cloak and muff and handed the items to her. She accepted them but laid them on the back of the nearest chair, having no intention of cooperating with the viscount’s scheme.

  From his place under the Christmas tree, Thyme awoke and stretched his kitten body. He raised his nose in the air, and then moved over to Margery’s cloak. He sniffed the fur on her cloak fervently, perhaps believing it to be some kindred creature.

  Margery looked about her at the beaming faces of the guests. She felt frustrated. Did everyone find his lordship so charming, then? Well, she would not go out in any sleigh with him. She wanted to keep as much distance as possible between herself and the rogue.

  “My lord,” she said in strong accents of determination that caused the room to quiet, “I fear I must refuse your off
er, kind as it is. I have no wish to go for a sleigh ride.”

  Lord Reckford accepted his greatcoat from a servant and wrapped a red scarf about his collar. “You dare defy the King of the Bean?” he asked her, causing snickers to go around the room.

  Then he turned to the company in general and raised his arms expansively. “What kind of kingdom do I rule over when a simple command is questioned?”

  Children and adults alike broke into laughter at the viscount’s dramatics. Margery alone was not amused.

  Georgina said, “You have to go, Lady Margery.”

  “Miss Norwood’s right, for once, Lady Margery,” Lord Harry chimed in. “You have no choice.”

  Lady Altham nodded her head. “Go, dear. Else you will be breaking with a long-standing tradition here at Altham House.”

  Major Eversley chuckled. ‘Take the advice of an old soldier and admit defeat, Lady Margery.”

  A chorus of encouragement came from the children and Lord and Lady Lindsay.

  All the while, Lord Reckford leaned negligently against the fireplace mantel, designed by Robert Adams himself, and grinned.

  Margery heaved a sigh. “Very well, then,” she capitulated, picking up her cloak. He may have won, but he would not enjoy his victory, she vowed.

  The viscount strolled to her side and helped her arrange the warm garment around her shoulders.

  Margery took a last look around, hoping for some assistance, but as one, the party seemed to grant their approval to Lord Reckford.

  Resigned to her fate, Margery picked up her muff and allowed the viscount to escort her to the door.

  They had almost reached the massive front portal, when Margery saw a flushed Miss Bessamy cross the hall with Mr. Griswold.

  “Bessie,” Margery cried, turning to her old nurse. “You must be the voice of reason, and tell Lord Reckford I cannot go out in the sleigh with him.”

  But Miss Bessamy favored his lordship with a sweet smile. “A sleigh ride under the moon? How romantic, my lord. Have a wonderful time, Margery. Gris and I are going downstairs to join the servants’ party.”

  The two moved on, wrapped up in their conversation, leaving an openmouthed Margery standing rooted to the spot.

  Ned held the door open.

  Lord Reckford took Margery’s hand and whisked her outside and down the front steps. “Come, you have exhausted all avenues of rescue.”

  “Very well,” she said through gritted teeth. “But only a short ride. Lady Altham expects carolers from the village before midnight, and I would not want to miss them.”

  She allowed him to help her up into the single-horse sleigh. She tossed her muff on the seat beside her and clasped her gloved hands together. He took his place in the vehicle, and with a snap of the reins and a swoosh of the blades through the snow, they were off.

  The night air was cold, but not uncomfortably so. Hot bricks had been placed on the floor of the sleigh, and they provided a cozy spot of warmth. Margery gazed about her and felt a little of her tension ease. The night was truly beautiful. The full moon rode above them, turning the snow-covered road into a silvery ribbon.

  As they drove down the long drive, the sound of voices raised in song carried on the night air. Margery whipped her head around. A group of carolers had just approached Altham House from the opposite direction and stood at the door. Margery heard them break into “Hark! The Herald Angels Sing.”

  “My lord—” she began, only to have him interrupt her.

  “Your Highness,” he reminded.

  “Oh, do cease that stupid game!” She swung her head around to face him. “You have forced me out here in this odious sleigh when you knew I did not want to come with you, and now I am missing the carolers! Turn around and let us go back.”

  “There will be more carolers later,” he said in dismissal. “I would rather hear why you did not want to come with me.”

  Margery remained stubbornly silent.

  Lord Reckford guided the horse out of the gates of Altham House and down the lane leading away from the village. He had to use a light touch with the whip as the horse balked at making the turn. “Good God, never say we have been saddled with Old Bart.”

  “At least I shall have someone on my side.”

  Lord Reckford jiggled the reins, successfully urging the horse down the gently curving lane. “You did not answer my question, Margery.”

  She did not comment on his use of her name without her title. After the kiss they had shared, formalities hardly seemed appropriate.

  But the reminder of that kiss, and the subsequent one she had witnessed between his lordship and Lily, brought her emotions to the fore. “It must come as a surprise to you that one lady is immune to your allure.”

  “You were not unresponsive last night,” he replied.

  Margery fumed. “I had too much champagne. I would have reacted that way with any gentleman.”

  His jaw hardened. “Would you now?” he asked in a dangerous tone.

  “Why should it be any different for a lady than it is for a gentleman?” she demanded. “You are much in the habit of kissing females. I am sure they inspire the same passion in you that I did, Reckless.”

  He removed his gaze from the road for a moment to look over at her. “Who told you I am called that?”

  “What does it matter? It is true, is it not?”

  Jordan did not answer right away. They were a mile from Altham House now and the snow was thicker alongside the narrow road.

  “Yes,” he said finally. “There are some who call me that.”

  “I thought as much! Do not say anything more to me, my lord. Only convey me back to Altham House,” Margery said. She picked up her muff from the seat beside her and thrust her hands inside. The combination of her hands connecting with a furry body and the sound of an indignant meow made her let out a small shriek herself.

  Thyme, for it was he, stuck his head out from inside the muff to give her a kitten glare. “Oh, dear,” Margery cried, “I had no idea he was in there.”

  Jordan looked down at the sight of the kitten’s head poking out from the muff and laughed.

  Margery frowned at him.

  Thyme wriggled out from the warmth of the muff and sprang to his favorite perch, Jordan’s shoulder. He clung precariously to the viscount’s red scarf.

  “Good heavens, I shall get him, my lord,” Margery said. “He will catch his death out here.”

  Margery leaned close to the viscount and reached for Thyme. She had to remove the kitten’s claws from the red wool scarf, which took a few moments.

  Her head was very close to his.

  She gazed up at him.

  Jordan turned and looked away from the road and straight into her eyes. “Margery, you must allow me to speak with you.”

  That was when the sleigh plowed into a tall snowdrift.

  The vehicle jolted to a halt. Old Bart indulged himself in a bout of horse hysterics, kicking and bucking, till he broke the traces and won his freedom from the sleigh. Without a backward glance, the incorrigible creature galloped away, heading for the warmth of his barn.

  Margery groaned at his departure.

  Thyme meowed from where he had fallen onto the viscount’s lap. Margery scooped him up and tucked him securely into the fur muff.

  “Are you all right?” Jordan asked. “You are not hurt from the impact, are you?”

  She turned the full force of speaking gray eyes onto Jordan’s face. “No, I am not all right, my lord! Has it occurred to you that we are now stranded Lord knows how far from Altham House?”

  “Well, at least your tongue is not injured. Though I could think of more pleasant ways to engage it. And we are but a mile away.”

  Margery’s temper snapped. “Look at what you have done, and yet you sit here flirting! You have ruined my plans to be with my friends on Christmas Eve. You have taken away my chance to enjoy the carolers. It is now so late, we could not possibly be back in time to hear them at the house. After all my ef
forts,” she said, her voice breaking, “after all the ways I have tried to force myself to enjoy the holiday, so that this year... this year might be different, you have come along and spoiled everything! You ... you ... My Lord Rogue, have stolen my Christmas!”

  With this accusation, Margery pivoted and jumped out of the sleigh. She began trudging through the snow, tears running unchecked down her cheeks. She did not mention the most crucial thing the viscount had stolen from her: Her heart.

  Jordan leapt from his seat and ran around to her side of the snowbound vehicle. He grabbed both of her arms, forcing her to look at him. “No, I have not stolen your Christmas! Maybe you have missed the carolers and the other festivities, true. But I am offering you the true gift of Christmas. I am offering you love.”

  Margery blinked the tears from her eyes and took in a shaky breath. “Wh-what?”

  Jordan tenderly wiped the tears from her cheeks with his gloved hands. “I love you, my sweet mystery lady. I do not know why you have been so angry with me all evening. Perhaps it was because I did not declare my feelings last night when we kissed. I should have, I suppose, but I had to be completely certain. I could never bear to see you hurt.”

  “And now you are certain?” she asked, her voice soft.

  Jordan lowered his lips to hers. “Oh, yes,” he whispered, just before his mouth met hers.

  But Margery could not give herself to him yet. She pulled away as far as he would let her, which was not much. “I saw you and Lily this morning.”

  Jordan’s face cleared in understanding. “So that was why you were upset with me? Margery, my love, the woman came to my bedchamber on the pretext of telling me goodbye. I believe she hoped I would invite her in, and then she could claim I had compromised her. When I did not fall for her plan, she made one last attempt at seduction by kissing me. She kissed me, Margery. That is what you saw.”

  “Oh,” Margery said in a small voice, relief coursing through her so strongly that her knees shook.

  “Lily has gone with Oliver, and they have my every blessing.”