by Ava Stone
Without delay, the butler rushed down the hall and out of sight.
The lady in his arms sniffed quietly, her tears wetting the shoulder of his coat where they fell. Only after Goddard left did Preston look down at her. At least she’d thought to put on a wrapper before leaving her chamber, but that was all she wore.
She’d been trembling since he’d come across her. Despite her lack of clothing, he doubted it was from cold—more from fear, and possibly her ankle injury.
He ought to set her down in a chair, but he couldn’t bring himself to relinquish his hold on her. Damnation, he liked the feel of having her soft curves pressed against him. He liked it as much as he’d liked kissing her, or maybe even more.
Granted, with what he intended to do, perhaps it was a good thing that he enjoyed kissing her and holding her.
Not five minutes had passed before Goddard, Upton Grey, and Rachel joined him. Upton Grey opened the door to Stalbridge’s chamber without asking any questions. They’d known one another for so long, Preston supposed no questions were necessary. Rachel met Preston’s eyes with a look so filled with understanding it would have unnerved him, were he not so focused upon the task at hand.
As soon as the light filtered into the chamber from the hallway, Stalbridge leapt out of his bed, tossing the counterpane and other bedding to the floor. He squinted at the three men coming into the room, along with his sister still in Preston’s arms. “What…what is going on?”
“You’re leaving,” Preston responded. “You’re leaving this house and never coming back to darken the door again. And you’re leaving your mother and sisters in my care.”
Lady Frederica gasped, but wisely held her tongue.
“I don’t—Freddie?” The marquess blinked as Goddard used his candle to light a few others, illuminating the room more fully. The expression on his face changed within the span of a half-second. “She’s not even dressed! Get your hands off my sister, you dishonorable scoundrel!” He lunged towards Preston, but his feet got caught in the bedding on the floor.
Before he could untangle himself, Goddard had reached him and was effectively restraining him.
“The only scoundrel I see here is you, Stalbridge. Because of your worthlessness, your sister was just upstairs in Upton Grey’s abandoned library hoping to steal something she could use to help your mother and youngest sister, since they no longer have a home.”
With each word that he said, Lady Frederica hid herself further in his arms, as though she couldn’t bear for anyone to see her. It irked Preston to no end that she still felt such loyalty to someone so undeserving. At the same time, he admired her all the more for it.
“I already had a sense of disgust when I saw you just from the little I knew of you through society. Now I never want to see you again, or we’ll be using something other than words to discuss honor.”
Upton Grey, cool and collected as ever, inclined his head towards his butler. “Goddard, see to it that Lord Stalbridge is shown to the door and has his horse returned to him.”
The butler shoved Stalbridge into motion, but the marquess stopped, his mouth agape. “Goddard?” He inspected the butler closer. “But you’re—”
“My brother married your sister, Lady Matilda, to save her from yet another of your many mistakes,” Goddard bit off. “As soon as you arrived, I told Lord Upton Grey everything I knew of your character and took it upon myself to watch you. I don’t trust you, my lord. Not a bit. Now kindly move your feet. Your horse is waiting.”
The pair of them left the room.
After several moments with no sounds in the room other than Lady Frederica’s soft sniffles and the beating of Preston’s heart, Rachel sighed.
“Well, that quite put a damper on the holiday spirit, didn’t it?” she said. “Preston, I’m sure you can put Lady Frederica down now.”
He couldn’t put her down, though, because he couldn’t bear the thought of no longer holding her. Instead, he sat in an armchair and pulled her onto his lap. “She hurt her ankle in the dark,” he said by way of thoroughly inadequate explanation.
His sister knelt to the floor and started tending to Lady Frederica’s injury, but it was Upton Grey who spoke next.
“So what do you propose to do with Lady Stalbridge, Lady Frederica, and Lady Edwina? They can stay here through the holiday, of course. And longer if necessary. But you told Stalbridge they would be in your care.”
She tensed in his arms.
Christ, how he hated seeing her so distraught. “They can come to Darlingshire House, if that’s what they wish. You’d be safe there,” he said more specifically to her. “It’s a home I set up to care for ladies—really any women—in need of protection. I’d say you and your mother and sister all qualify.”
Her eyes shot up to meet his. He tipped her chin up, so she couldn’t look away. Confusion and hope filled her eyes in equal measure.
“Or, if Lady Frederica will agree to marry me, they can all come back to Preston Hill with me after the wedding. I trust we could all stay on here long enough for that. Can’t we?”
A fresh wave of tears filled her eyes, making any answer Upton Grey could give him a moot point.
“But how could you possibly want to marry me after what I’ve done? You couldn’t possibly trust me enough to marry me.”
“On the contrary,” Preston said, finding it impossible to stop himself from smiling. “It’s because I know the lengths you’ll go to in order to protect those you love that I admire you. And you even love Stalbridge, who is wholly undeserving of your love. It was that, more than anything, which made me realize I would do anything I could to convince you to have me. Even if you refuse, I’m determined to protect you, Lady Frederica. A lady with a heart such as yours deserves no less.”
“But I…” She shook her head. “I thought you were afraid of marriage.”
A chuckle came out before he could stop it. “My fear has far more to do with certain ladies who brandish fire irons as weapons than with marriage itself.”
Her eyes widened and her mouth formed a perfect O. No doubt she realized what she’d swung at him in the library not too very long ago, just as clearly as he did. She started to speak, but he put a finger against her lips to stop her.
“But that is a story for another time. Not now.” It was late, and he needed an answer. “Lady Frederica Bexley-Smythe, will you do me the great honor of becoming my wife?”
“I…” She eyed him quizzically. “Are you entirely certain?”
He couldn’t stop his smile at her efforts to allow him to change his mind. “Do you promise never to raise another fire poker against me?”
“Yes.”
“Then I’m sure, Lady Frederica.”
A mischievous gleam lit her brown eyes while golden flecks danced around in them from the candlelight. “If you’re to be my husband, then I suppose you should call me Freddie as all my siblings do.”
Preston was in the process of dipping his head down for a kiss when Goddard cleared his throat from the hallway.
Damnation. He’d forgotten they weren’t alone.
“Yes?” Preston said, trying to keep his frustration from being overly evident.
“Lord Preston, I wondered if you might have use for me at Preston Hill.” Goddard looked to Upton Grey sheepishly. “If you can spare me, of course, my lord.”
Preston didn’t want to answer without some reaction from Upton Hill.
“I’d hate to lose you, Goddard,” Upton Hill said, “but if I must lose you to anyone, at least it will be my brother-in-law.”
“I’m sure we could find some use for you at Preston Hill,” Preston said slowly, “but if you’re truly inclined to work for me—”
“I am, my lord. Lady Frederica, Lady Edwina, and Lady Stalbridge—they’re family now, though we don’t really know one another. I’d like to be closer to them, to be sure no more harm comes to them.”
It only made sense. And Preston had the perfect idea of how to put Godda
rd’s skills to excellent use.
“If that’s the case, then I’ve got the perfect position in mind for you at Darlingshire House instead of at Preston Hill.”
“Is that where you’ll be taking the ladies, my lord?”
Preston met Freddie’s eyes. “Would you mind?” he asked. “I think we would all be of great use there right now.”
“As long as Mama and Edie have a home to go to, and I get to see you at the altar soon—” she lifted her brows in a teasing manner, reminding him of their first encounter by the reliquary— “then I am happy to go anywhere with you.”
Then, finally, he got his kiss.
Catherine Gayle is a bestselling author of Regency-set historical romance. She’s a transplanted Texan living in North Carolina with two extremely spoiled felines. In her spare time, she watches way too much hockey and reality TV, plans fun things to do for the Nephew Monster’s next visit, and performs experiments in the kitchen which are rarely toxic.
You can find out more on her website, her blog, at Red Door Reads, at Facebook, on Twitter, and at Goodreads. If you want to see some of her cats’ antics and possibly the occasional video update from Catherine, visit her YouTube account.
For Eric and Bella ~ The two greatest Christmas presents ever. ~ Jerrica
Hamlin Abbey
Eynsford, Kent
Rowan Findley settled into the high back velvet chair in the corner of the drawing room. He chose it specifically because it was the furthest from the fireplace. He wasn’t sure why he was so warm all of a sudden—God knew it was unbearably frigid outside—but he suspected it had something to do with the woman who had walked into the drawing room only moments before.
With her flaming red hair and bright blue eyes, she made quite an impression. Or was it her ample bosom—held aloft by a royal blue gown—that had his pulse pounding in his ears?
Rowan shook his head and took a hearty slug from his snifter. The fine brandy made a soothing path down his throat to his belly, reminding his Little General of the pact he’d recently made with his friends. The pact to never succumb to a woman’s charms. Certainly frivolous romps were all right, but a woman like her…no, she was meant for marriage. Rowan would sooner lick the bottom of Prinny’s shoe than put a ring on a woman’s finger. Even if she was one of the loveliest he’d ever laid eyes upon.
He dragged his gaze away from the stunning redhead to find his cousin, Patience, the Duchess of Swaffham, staring at him from across the room. She gave him one of those looks that said she wasn’t pleased with his behavior thus far, to which Rowan rolled his eyes and swallowed down some more brandy.
Patience extricated herself a moment later from her guests and pranced over to where he sat. She was all smiles to everyone else, but scolding daggers to Rowan.
“You’re being a bore,” she whispered as she took a stance over his left shoulder. “I invited you here because you’re always the life of any party. What is the matter with you?”
“While I appreciate your praise of my party-going tactics, I ought to remind you that expectations are everything. It’s never good to get your hopes up, dear cousin, for you might be disappointed.”
Patience huffed, folded her arms over her chest, and then promptly unfolded them, placing them daintily at her sides once again. “Spare the lecture, won’t you? Either tell me what the matter is or suffer my wrath for the rest of the evening.”
Wrath. What was it with women and their wrath? If Arrington hadn’t recently been bludgeoned in the name of woman’s wrath, Rowan might not take Patience’s threat too seriously. But as it was, her words terrified him to his core.
“You know what the matter is,” he said.
“Is this about your friend, again?” Patience moved around the chair and plopped onto the ottoman so they were face to face. Rowan had expected to see sympathy in her eyes, but all he saw was annoyance. “If you ask me, he had it coming to him.”
They’d been through this before, much to her husband’s chagrin. Swaffham had been the worst sort of rogue before he’d met Patience. Truly the worst. If Patience knew the half of it, Swaffham would surely suffer the same fate his friend had.
A shudder ran down Rowan’s spine. He’d take Swaffham’s secrets to the grave. And his own secrets, for that matter.
“No man deserves that,” Rowan defended.
“Perhaps not with such violence, but he ought to have kept his prick in his trousers in the first place.”
“Good God, Patience!” Rowan’s cheeks turned hot, and he scanned the area to make certain no one else had heard her. His cousin might be a duchess now, but she didn’t always act like one.
“Well, it’s true,” she retorted, making no apologies for her blunt language. “Now, stop sulking and start entertaining my guests.”
“Why don’t you tell bawdy jokes with your sailor’s mouth? That ought to keep them entertained.”
Patience sent him a pointed look that said she was not amused in the least, and then removed herself from his presence. Thank God.
A tinkling laugh drew his attention to the other side of the room. Douglas Ellison stood in the company of the stunning redhead, and he’d apparently just said something amusing. Rowan had never known Ellison to be even remotely witty, so it was likely the lady was simply trying to be polite.
Rowan drew in a long breath and let it out just as slowly. The poor woman needed him. And since it was apparently his duty to entertain his cousin’s guests, he supposed he ought to start with the desperate lady being held hostage by the humorless Ellison.
With one last swig of his brandy, Rowan pushed out of his chair and sauntered to the other side of the room. Ellison recognized him at once.
“Findley,” he said through crooked teeth. “Wondered when you’d join the party.”
“Yes, well…here I am,” Rowan replied. “And here you are.”
One awkward observation deserved another.
Ellison ignored him and pressed on. “Have you made the acquaintance of Mrs. Edwards?”
Rowan settled his eyes on the beautiful woman as if he’d only just realized she was standing there. “I don’t think I have,” he said at the same moment it occurred to him that he actually had met her before, now he saw her up close. He knew that face, but how? He furrowed his brow for nary an instant and then attempted to return to a pleasant look of impassivity. “Rowan Findley, at your service.”
Her pale pink lips opened and closed twice before she finally spat some words out. Unfortunately, the words weren’t at all intelligible. She clearly recognized him too, and it had her rattled. But why? And how did they know one another? Who the devil was this woman?
“Mrs. Edwards, you were saying you live nearby?” Ellison asked.
“I-I do,” she replied, seeming to come to. “And you, Mr. Findley? Did you come very far?”
“London, actually.” He smiled tightly. He didn’t want to indulge this mundane conversation—he wanted to get Mrs. Edwards alone and find out how they knew one another. “I’m staying through Christmas.”
“Oh. Lovely.” Was Mrs. Edwards breaking out into hives? The delicate skin of her décolletage was red and splotchy all of a sudden. “If you will excuse me, gentlemen.”
She retreated on swift feet through the drawing room doors and into the corridor. Rowan was about to chase after her, but Ellison trapped him.
“Swaffham’s done quite well by Hamlin Abbey,” the man said.
“Yes, yes, indeed.” Rowan couldn’t care less about Hamlin Abbey or its current state, which had apparently been repaired with the money Swaffham won in a bet against Rowan. Which was, subsequently, how he’d also won his wife. “Forgive me, Ellison, I’m afraid I must excuse myself as well.”
Rowan left the man and headed for the same doors Mrs. Edwards had just exited through. He was almost to the threshold when Swaffham’s butler blocked the doorway and rang the dinner bell.
Devil take it!
They settled in at the dinner table o
ver the next few minutes. Patience placed Rowan directly in the middle of the long table, assumedly to entertain the masses through the meal. But if Rowan hadn’t been in the mood to entertain before, he certainly wasn’t now. Mrs. Edwards was a distracting creature, using up all the space in his head.
He watched her carefully through the meal, trying to find something that might trigger his memory. That vibrant hair and piercing blue eyes ought to have done it—they were quite memorable. Had he addled his brain with so much alcohol over the years? Why could he not remember her beyond a vague recognition?
She brought her wine glass to her lips and sipped daintily before placing it back on the table. One would think he would have remembered such remarkable beauty, but nothing about her demeanor sparked a memory. Though something deep down told him they’d shared more than just a passing nod on the street. He’d get to the bottom of it, if only this insufferable dinner would end.
Olivia Edwards prayed fervently for supper to never, ever end. If she could, she would sit in this seat for all eternity. Well, maybe not that long, but at least until Rowan Findley had gone off to bed, so she might make her escape without ever having to engage him.
Their brief interaction earlier had set her off kilter. She’d never been more flustered in her life. After all these years, there he was, standing before her, oblivious to the mess he’d made of her life.
Now, now, Olivia. It wasn’t entirely his fault.
That was true. One couldn’t fault the good Lord above for blessing him with devastating good looks and a shimmering personality. But she could fault herself for falling prey to him. For falling so readily into bed with him. For never telling him…
Olivia shook her head and closed her eyes briefly before taking another sip of her wine. Her nerves were on edge. She hadn’t felt this way in years. Not since the day she’d had to face her parents and tell them what she’d done.
Her stomach churned, thinking of her parents. She hadn’t seen or spoken to them in over seven years. It made her heart ache to think of all they were missing in her life—all they were missing in Marcus’s life.