His Mistletoe Wager

by Virginia Heath

  ‘Hal.’

  This time, he heard only soft relief in her voice and he tried not to hope she had been worrying about him. She gripped his arm and helped to haul him over the sill. The second he was in she began to fuss in a very encouraging manner. The window was slammed shut, she stripped him out of his damp, heavy greatcoat and gloves and ushered him towards the tiny fireplace. For the time being, her dainty chair appeared to take his weight, although he did not dare fidget just in case it swiftly surrendered under his bulk and allowed her to wrap him in the cosy eiderdown she hastily stripped off her bed.

  ‘You need something warm to drink. I shall call for some tea.’

  She most certainly would not. Rousing just one servant would negate his decision to climb the wisteria and mean he would have to behave decently, when he was really not in any mood to although knew he must. Things were very different now. She was a mother. She was in trouble and distraught. Hal had no right to want her with the fierce, possessive passion he was struggling to fight. ‘I wanted to talk to you alone first...although I wouldn’t mind if you went and smuggled me a generous snifter of brandy from somewhere.’

  She disappeared, barefoot, in a voluminous cloud of white linen, leaving Hal to enjoy the aroma of her perfume in private. After a few moments, he realised that all the lamps were lit in her bedchamber, suggesting he had not rudely awoken her at all and he felt guilty that she had been alone and worrying for so many days and was clearly struggling to sleep. He should have sent word about where he was or what he was doing, but up until a few hours ago he had not had anything truly positive to report. Even now, all he could really give her was more hope than she had yesterday, but at least that was something.

  Yet he was quietly confident his efforts would come to fruition. As much as he hated to make his blasted father right about anything, the world, it turned out, really did run on coin. Not entirely, of course, yet the liberal distribution of it in the last twenty-four hours had yielded some splendid results. There was still over a week to locate the elusive Lord Rainham and Hal still had pots of the stuff.

  Lizzie dashed back in, clutching a full decanter of brandy and one glass. ‘I have brought you Papa’s good stuff...from his study.’

  She practically filled the balloon to the top and thrust it at him. Hal took a few grateful sips and sighed contentedly as it trickled warmly down his throat and settled to heat his empty stomach. He should probably eat something, too, he realised, as nothing solid had passed his frozen lips since luncheon because he had been in such a hurry to get back to her. Hard liquor on an empty stomach might cause him to do something rash and very definitely inappropriate.

  Lizzie stood nervously in front of him, her hands in a near-constant state of animation for a few seconds until she sank to the floor to sit in a cross-legged puddle at his feet. ‘Please put me out of my misery, Hal. Am I doomed?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘That doesn’t sound particularly reassuring.’

  ‘Then let me rephrase it. I believe I have enough information to make Ockendon think twice and shortly I hope to have enough to silence him for ever.’ Hal saw the light of hope begin to flicker in her eyes and gave in to the temptation to reach out and run the tip of his finger along her cheek.

  ‘Did you find Rainham?’

  ‘No.’ The excited glimmer in her lovely eyes dimmed. ‘I met a banker who had heard a rumour Lord Ockendon’s house in Mayfair was heavily mortgaged, but I could find no evidence of that in any of the London banks.’

  ‘Would the banks impart that sort of confidential information?’

  ‘When you invest in the city, they have a certain amount of loyalty towards you.’

  ‘And I suppose you invest in the city?’

  ‘A great deal more than my over-cautious father ever did. I am owed a few favours.’ And Hal had called every single one in. ‘It appears the rancid Earl has a habit of upsetting people. His former solicitor was very disgruntled at still being owed money for his services after twenty years of loyal service. He was very happy to tell me all manner of interesting things.’

  ‘Such as?’

  Hal wasn’t meaning to be mysterious, but his thoughts kept being distracted by the silken feel of the loose tendril of her hair he had wound around his hand. Good grief, he was pleased to see her. Just sitting in her presence was lovely. Comforting. Home. Either he was overtired or she had bewitched him. Funny how he didn’t seem to mind the latter any more. He dropped the curl reluctantly and sat forward. She had waited long enough and deserved to know it all. There would be plenty of time to ponder his odd feelings later, after he had climbed back down the wisteria and trudged through the snow again towards his own bed.

  ‘Like the fact that he used to receive three thousand pounds per annum from his wife’s family, a sum which had been agreed as a part of the marriage settlement and which would continue to be paid to her children upon the event of her death. But as you already know, the poor woman died without issue and the lady’s brother refused to continue the arrangement after her demise. The solicitor was instructed to find legal arguments to force the fellow to continue his payments, but failed. Ockendon refused to pay him for his services and sought new counsel—and I now know he desperately depended on that three thousand a year. It funded his lavish lifestyle while here in town. A lifestyle he is equally as desperate to maintain—seeing as he is obsessed with the idea of being powerful and when one simply cannot wield any power from the wilds of one’s country estate.’ Hal took another quick sip of the brandy and watched fascinated as she took the glass from his hand and took a healthy swig of it herself. He felt guilty for sincerely hoping she was also drinking it on an empty stomach and might be inclined towards rashness.

  ‘Then it would seem your suspicions about his money worries were correct. I assume you have learned more than that whilst you have been on your mysterious mission to God knows where? A place, by all accounts, where messengers are unheard of and letters cannot be sent.’

  A chastisement, yet one which told him she cared about him. That thought warmed him more effectively than her eiderdown or the brandy. ‘I’ve been to Norfolk.’

  ‘Ockendon is in Norfolk!’

  ‘Yes, he is, but his minion is not. Of that I am certain. I was careful not to alert him to my presence. I don’t want the scoundrel knowing I am spying on him and would much prefer to take the wind out of his sails callously and to his face. On Twelfth Night, before I summarily have him thrown out of my house, that is.’ If he could find Rainham and convince him to switch his allegiance as well as plugging every leak which might cause her harm. At this stage, that was a problematic ‘if.’ ‘The solicitor said he was spending more and more time at his estate. The mounting cost of staying in London and maintaining two staffs was crippling him, hence he hires the majority of his Mayfair servants on a casual basis. My investigations in the city were turning up nothing tangible, yet I could not shake the feeling he would try to hide his situation from the ton and what better place to do that than sleepy old Norfolk? I thought it best to travel there directly and it’s only a day’s ride.’

  Once again, Hal’s gut instinct had proved to be right. ‘A year ago he did mortgage his Mayfair town house. To the hilt. The debt is owed to a bank based in Norwich. According to his steward, a man whose tongue becomes far too loose with the lubrication of ale, his estate has also had some financial problems of late. A large flood last year destroyed most of his grain crop. A number of staff were let go.’

  ‘Is he on the cusp of bankruptcy?’

  ‘Yes.’ Hal watched the hope return and grinned. ‘His situation is dire enough for me to know he recently negotiated a reduction in his mortgage repayments with the bank. A significant reduction in his repayments for six months only. That is all the leeway they would grant him.’

  She stood then, agitated and began to pa
ce. ‘All the more reason why he needs to marry an heiress—but hardly enough evidence for us to stop him from exposing my father and Georgie to the world. If anything, it merely makes his situation more desperate and ours more tenuous. Speed is of the essence if the banks have only given him six months to...’ Then she stopped and her eyes narrowed. ‘Wait...how would you know what terms he has negotiated with a provincial bank in Norwich?’ He adored her intelligence.

  ‘Because, as of yesterday afternoon, I became the majority shareholder in the bank and thus privy to all of its dealings.’

  ‘You bought shares in a bank?’ Her jaw dropped. ‘To help me?’

  Suddenly uncomfortable, and determined not to ever tell her how much of a premium he had had to pay to secure the shares, Hal simply shrugged. ‘It was a good investment, regardless of the particular circumstances. The Norwich Municipal Bank now dances to my tune. One of my first tasks will be to call in Ockendon’s loan unless he agrees to maintain his silence.’ Hal’s fingers were drawn to her hair again. ‘I won’t let you marry him.’

  ‘I will not allow him to ruin my father.’

  ‘Neither will I—but if it comes to it, your father would sooner have his reputation sullied than see you condemned to a life of misery with that extortionist.’ She went to argue. He could see the fiery determination in the sudden set of her jaw and her instantly stiffened posture. She was so loyal. So selfless. So irritatingly stubborn and independent. So much like her proud and noble father. Always ready to do the exact right thing by others even to the detriment of herself. It was frightening how much he had missed her these last few days. How much he had thought about her. About them. Hal couldn’t help but smile. ‘Wouldn’t you? If it were Georgie you would sacrifice your reputation in a heartbeat. Because that is what we are talking about here. Nothing but your father’s reputation. I could ruin Ockendon with a single stroke of my pen. I doubt he will continue with his quest to blackmail you once he realises how dire his financial straits now are. And I shall buy Rainham’s silence, as much as it galls me to do business with such a snivelling, spineless, self-preserving...’ Hal stopped himself mid-flow to wince. ‘I’m sorry... He is still Georgie’s father and I shouldn’t bad-mouth him.’

  To his surprise, she rolled her eyes. ‘Please do not try to spare my sensibilities regarding that man. He is a snivelling, spineless, self-preserving toad. I wish every single day I had chosen a better man—any man—to have fathered my son. But let us not waste another breath talking about him when I am more concerned about my father. What if we cannot find Rainham? Or worse, what if we do and then Lord Ockendon still exposes what my father did?’

  Hal had mulled this problem over a great deal in the last few days and intermittently on his interminable ride back to London when he forced himself not to think about her. ‘I doubt his Majesty’s government would condone the scandal of one of their longest-serving and most respected advisors standing trial. Despite the greatest provocation, he did not kill anyone. In fact, a good lawyer would argue quite the opposite. He did what he did to stop the Duke of Aylesbury having the blighter killed. Even your cowardly fiancé would testify to that. Aylesbury is dead, so cannot be punished either way. The whole case will stand on Ockendon’s word and testimony obtained under duress. Rainham was out of his wits, if you remember, after having spent an eternity incarcerated in Bodmin Gaol. A sentence he earned fair and square because he is a wastrel who cannot pay his own debts. He was desperate. Is still desperate. Without Ockendon’s promised remuneration he is still penniless. The dissolute Marquess of Rainham is the weak corner.’

  ‘The weak corner?’

  ‘My father was fond of analogies when it came to business. In days of yore, when an army besieged a castle, they had two choices. Surround the fortress and starve the occupants out, whittle them down until they surrender or find the most vulnerable part of the structure and ruthlessly mine under it, then stand back and watch the impregnable stone towers collapse under their own weight. That toad is the weak corner. If I offer to clear his debts for him, Rainham will stand in the witness box and say anything to serve his cause. Your father sent a bad man to a penal colony for a few months to teach him a lesson, then brought him back. At the worst, he will be forced to leave society and be shunned. He will be pilloried in the newspapers. But his life will go on, as will yours. His fortune will be intact. His estate still thriving. Take it from someone with a truly dreadful reputation—it is not so bad.’

  Chapter Nineteen

  For a man who prided himself on always being irreverent and naughty, Hal had a habit of using logic to great effect. Lizzie plopped down on her mattress with a sigh. ‘You are assuming a great deal. First we have to find him, and I doubt that will be easy. He is far too valuable to Ockendon. Even if we do, he might well have told others and then there will be no containing the gossips. The scandal will be horrific.’

  Hal nodded with resignation. ‘I cannot deny that.’ He stood up, dragging the eiderdown with him, and came to sit next to her on the mattress and wrapping a corner around her shoulders as he pulled her head to rest against his. ‘Although I remain cautiously optimistic the story can be contained. We still have over a week until Ockendon returns to town and at the very least you do not have to marry him now that I own his debt. Surely that is good news.’

  ‘Of course it is.’

  Lizzie allowed her body to relax into his. Did it really matter if the whole world knew she was a fallen woman or that Georgie was born on the wrong side of the blanket? One of these days it was bound to come out, whether by the odious Earl’s hand or another’s. She had always known that and had prepared for the inevitable for over a year now. Her original plan—relocate to her cottage in remote Yorkshire, assume a new name and tell the world her son’s father had died in the war—would still shelter Georgie from the worst of the talk. Lizzie sincerely doubted London scandal would travel to such a rural and isolated community. She wouldn’t have to give up her son. And Hal was right, her father was unlikely to be tried as a kidnapper if Rainham testified his life had been in danger and her father had, in a strange sort of way, saved him from an execution.

  Unlikely. In a perfect world.

  But bitter experience had taught her the world was not perfect and the current political situation was tumultuous to say the least. If the Opposition got wind of her father’s actions, then they would use it mercilessly against the government. The Whigs would scream for proper justice and proper justice dictated a trial. Lord Liverpool might have to sacrifice his friend for the good of the nation, just as Lizzie already knew she would still sacrifice her own happiness for the sake of her papa. If she could save him that ordeal by suffering a marriage with a man she loathed, then she would say ‘I do’ in a heartbeat. Hal had done so much, and spent so much, to help her she did not want to diminish his herculean efforts on her behalf with a cold dose of pessimistic reality. Not tonight at any rate, when he was frozen to the bone and clearly exhausted.

  Besides, she reasoned, Lord Ockendon was old. He certainly appeared much older than his years which suggested he was not in the best of health. With any luck he would leave her a widow sooner rather than later and her life would return to normal. And then again, maybe he would live another thirty years because Lizzie had nothing but bad luck when it came to men. Hal would be lost to her and would doubtless marry a pure and more deserving young lady, Georgie would still grow up without her and her ageing father... Good Lord! Her father would be dead by the time she was free. Another sobering thought and one which made her eyes watery and her chest constrict.

  ‘Why are you crying?’

  ‘Relief.’ The lie tripped off her tongue and she forced a smile. Hal had tried. He had bought a bank and ridden halfway across the snow-covered country overnight. It was all so tragically optimistic and hopelessly romantic. ‘Thank you, Hal. How can I ever repay you for your generosity?’

&n
bsp; His thumbs came up to brush the unshed tears away. ‘Don’t cry. There is no need to repay me. It has just turned Christmas Day and all I want is to see you enjoy it.’

  The tears fell, about to betray her. Only at the last moment did Lizzie’s expression comply as she fought to maintain the brave face she wore for him. ‘But you have bought a bank...’

  ‘An investment.’ Further protest was silenced as his mouth brushed across hers. ‘And if you recall, we made a bargain to protect each other till Twelfth Night. You still owe me twelve days. If you really want to repay me, then stand at my side during every interminable festive entertainment I am being dragged to, especially the tiresome ball my mother is forcing me to host, and continue to keep the hordes at bay.’

  She would pretend to be happy for his sake. For her son’s sake. For Papa’s. Whatever happened, she would enjoy this Christmas because the realist in her still screamed it might be her last with all the men she loved. ‘That hardly seems enough.’

  ‘It’s enough for me.’

  On a whim, she leaned over and kissed him. Lizzie had intended it to be short, a friendly gesture of thanks, only the second her lips touched his they were in no hurry to move. Nor did his. The world was instantly a better, brighter place. Soon she might well be locked into a horrendous marriage with a man she detested or an eternity away in a desolate corner of Yorkshire. Whichever fork in the road fate took her would be without him. But Hal was here now and now might be all she ever had of him. As there was no point in fighting the temptation, she kissed him again before pulling back. ‘You are such a lovely man, Henry Stuart.’