“Gone?” her father boomed, recoiling as though Lord Farnsworth had announced Fabian had the plague.
“Gone,” Fabian echoed morosely.
“Bonaparte,” Lord Farnsworth whispered. He didn’t elaborate. “And that’s not all,” he continued. “His reputation as a garden designer is in tatters.”
“But—how can—one doesn’t simply lose a reputation,” her father sputtered.
“They do when the body of two of his workers are found planted along with the roses,” Lord Farnsworth whispered. “Especially after a dispute about payment.”
Alice gasped and pressed a hand to her chest. She tried to pull away from Fabian, but he held her tightly. When she glanced up at him in horror, however, his eyes continued to sparkle. He shook his head so slightly that she was almost convinced she’d imagined it.
They were definitely in the middle of a game, and she was determined to play along well.
“Oh, dear,” she whispered. “No land and no reputation?”
“No,” Fabian wailed, a hint of a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. That grin turned into a full-fledged, if somewhat pathetic, smile as he turned and took both of her hands. “But at least I have you. Even if I have nothing else.”
He leaned closer to her, and for a moment, Alice had the wild feeling that he was going to kiss her, right there, in a ballroom filled with distinguished guests, many of whom were watching. Even more shocking, she swayed toward him, tilting her head up, ready to be kissed. It was absolute madness, but her heart ached for him, in spite of how he fit into her father’s plans.
“Just a minute,” her father snapped. He grabbed Alice’s arm and yanked her away from Fabian so hard that she nearly lost her balance. A flash of fury filled Fabian’s dancing eyes, but her father went on. “The marriage isn’t for two days. You don’t have my daughter at all until then. Under the circumstances, I’m not sure if I approve of this match after all.”
Indignation pulsed through Alice. Along with it, a burst of fear filled her. She’d already given herself to Fabian. For all she knew, his child could already be growing inside of her. And if he truly was in a desperate situation—which she wasn’t entirely certain of—she couldn’t abandon him because of it.
“Papa, you cannot mean to suggest that I should rethink my marriage to Count Camoni,” she said softly, praying she was doing the right thing.
Fabian and Lord Farnsworth exchanged the barest of glances, a hint of triumph in both of their expressions. Something was certainly afoot.
“I’ll not have you married to a reputed murderer and a pauper,” her father growled. “In fact—”
“Lady Alice, would you care to dance?” Lord Farnsworth asked abruptly, bowing to Alice.
“I—” Alice’s mouth fell open, but she wasn’t certain how to reply. She wanted to stay with Fabian and to find out what was truly going on. She wanted to protect him from her father, if she could. And if Fabian truly was playing some sort of game intended to thwart her father’s machinations, she wanted to play a part.
“Go, my love,” Fabian told her with a maudlin sense of drama. “I entrust you to Matthew’s hands while I wallow in the depths of my misery.”
He sent her a significant look. Alice peeked at Lord Farnsworth. He too seemed to be begging her with his eyes to trust the plan and do as Fabian said.
“All right,” she said, hesitantly taking Lord Farnsworth’s hand.
As Lord Farnsworth led her to the lines of couples forming for the next dance, her father growled, “What is the meaning of all this, Camoni? I demand you tell me all.”
Alice wanted to know the truth herself. She had to wait until the dance began and she was able to steal a few, fleeting words from Lord Farnsworth as they made their way through the complicated steps.
“Your actions baffle me, my lord,” she said as they crossed in the middle of the dancing rows.
When they came back together again for a turn, Lord Farnsworth said, “Trust us. We have a plan.”
They were separated again as the dance took them in choreographed circles around other participants, but when they came back together for a promenade, Alice whispered, “Is this some sort of plan to thwart my father at his own games?”
“It is,” Lord Farnsworth replied with a smile. “I can assure you, Fabian wants nothing to do with whatever evil plan your father is trying to force on you. He wants to help you.”
“By losing all of his lands and his reputation?”
There wasn’t time for an answer. The promenade ended, and Alice and Lord Farnsworth resumed a more intricate set of steps that kept them apart for too long to converse easily. Lord Farnsworth only had time to say, “You must trust us,” and later, “All is well,” as they turned and wove around each other.
The dance ended, but Alice’s heart continued to beat up a storm in her chest. She curtsied to Lord Farnsworth with the final strains of the song, then allowed him to lead her back to where her father was still haranguing Fabian.
“This is not what I arranged,” he was in the middle of saying. “I will not waste my daughter by tying her to a pauper and a rogue.”
For one, fleeting second, Alice entertained the mad hope that her father’s concern was for her and for her future happiness. She knew too well, however, that Lord James Marlowe, the Earl of Stanhope, only ever thought of one person—himself.
“I was counting on you,” he continued, either not seeing Lord Farnsworth approach with Alice or not caring. “This match was to save my lands and to help prevent my title passing to my wretched brother.”
“A man is nothing without his brother,” Fabian said, straightening at the sight of Lord Farnsworth. “Or a loving wife.”
He reached for Alice as Lord Farnsworth let her go, but before their hands could meet, Alice’s father stepped between the two of them.
“I need a word with you,” he growled, grabbing Alice’s wrist and jerking her away from Fabian.
Alice yelped and glanced over her shoulder to Fabian as her father dragged her away. Every trace of silliness dropped from Fabian’s expression, and he watched her as though he would ride in to rescue her if her father put one foot out of line.
“The engagement is off,” her father growled as they came to a stop beside a potted plant.
Alice dragged her eyes away from Fabian and faced her father, eyes wide. “You ended it?”
“Not yet,” her father said. “I have to speak to the duke and duchess.” He stood a bit straighter, searching the room for Fabian’s mother and step-father. “At least I’ll have something to offer in your place.”
“Whatever do you mean?” she asked, her stomach turning.
“I’ll offer for Lady Georgette,” he went on. “That’s the only marriage that matters. I’ll find another husband for you, someone with money who shares my sensibilities. I never should have entertained that fool Camoni’s suit to begin with. Never trust a man who has a fancy for a woman.”
“Count Camoni fancies me,” Alice said, half to remind herself. She felt as though she were perched on the edge of a precipice, as though the rest of her life could be decided within minutes.
“What?” her father snapped, his expression pinching to sour fury.
For a moment, Alice thought she had spoken her thoughts aloud without being aware. A moment later, she saw what had prompted the single, bitter word from her father. Several yards ahead, Georgette had joined her father and Fabian’s mother with a tall, handsome gentleman of distinction. They were both smiling as though the world had been served to them on a silver platter. The duke wore a broad smile as well and shook the gentleman’s hand vigorously. The duchess hugged Georgette as though she were her own.
“Impossible,” Alice’s father grumbled. “I took no stock in the rumor. The whelp is barely a viscount. This is incomprehensible.”
Alice swallowed, wondering whether she dared to tell what she knew. She settled on saying, “I had heard something to the effect of an engagement
in the making for Lady Georgette.”
“That was me,” her father snapped. “That was supposed to be me. I made my intentions clear to her from the first. How dare the little bitch defy me?”
“I believe Lady Georgette has known and had feelings for Lord Loamley since they were children,” Alice whispered.
Her father turned to her so fast and raised his hand so threateningly that, for a moment, Alice was certain he would strike her in public. He restrained himself, but not enough to avoid the notice of a cluster of middle-aged ladies standing near them. They all looked alarmed and began whispering as though deciding whether to come to Alice’s rescue. One of them waved as if attempting to catch Fabian’s eye. There was no need for the action. Fabian was already on his way over.
“This is not the end,” Alice’s father grumbled, tugging at the bottom of his jacket. “I have other plans in place. If I cannot restore my fortune one way, I shall restore it another.”
“Lord Stanhope, is there a problem?” Fabian asked—sounding entirely sober and in control of his faculties—as he reached the potted plant where Alice and her father stood.
“No,” her father answered, barely looking at Fabian. “There’s no problem at all.”
Without another glance at either Fabian or Alice, he marched off, weaving through several couples walking out to form new lines for the next dance and nearly upsetting a footman carrying a tray of empty punch glasses. He stormed through the ballroom door and out into the hall.
Alice let out a breath once he was gone, pressing a hand over her raging heart. “Thank heavens,” she whispered, though the pressure only felt partially removed. The air still sizzled, as though her father’s machinations weren’t done yet.
“Would you care to dance, my love?” Fabian asked with far more affection than Alice felt she deserved, but which she needed all the same.
“Nothing would give me greater pleasure,” she said, taking Fabian’s hand and walking with him to the center of the room.
Although judging by the spark in his eyes, quite a few things would give her more pleasure than merely dancing with him. She prayed she would get the chance to experience passion with him again and that her father’s schemes didn’t ruin everything.
Chapter 7
Dancing with Fabian was like walking out of a cramped and smoky house and into a pristine, spring garden, as far as Alice was concerned. It didn’t even bother her that the steps of the dance frequently split them apart so that they were unable to carry on a conversation. With her father out of the room, Fabian had returned to normal. Judging by the way he executed the complicated steps of the dance with razor-sharp precision, he had no more been in his cups earlier than she had. The whole thing had been a ruse, and it was glorious to feel as though she was a part of it.
“Whatever possessed you to behave like such a buffoon earlier?” she asked all the same once the dance was over and Fabian escorted her to the side of the room.
Fabian glanced around, mischief sparkling in his eyes, before leaning closer to her and murmuring, “It was all part of a plot to save you, my dearest.”
A strange, swooping sensation fluttered through Alice’s stomach. She felt her cheeks go pink as she glanced up at him, not sure whether to smile or to feel like the lowest worm in one of his gardens. He watched her with absolute genuineness, affection that she didn’t deserve radiating from him. She’d been such a ninny, shunning him as just another piece in her father’s marriage games. And while a part of her thought she was justified in lumping Fabian into the same category as Lord Sloane or Mr. Garland, she felt as though her heart should have known better all along.
“Why would you want to save a silly miss like me?” she asked as they reached the side of the room, lowering her head.
“You’re my fiancée,” Fabian said.
She glanced up at him, shocked to find a look of surprise in his eyes. “I haven’t given you any reason to like me,” she said, her heart beating faster.
He let out a breath, bursting into a smile and resting his hand on the side of her face. “You’ve given me a great many reasons to like you.”
“This summer, perhaps,” she sighed, lowering her eyes even though he kept her from bowing her head. “I haven’t behaved well since arriving at your mother’s house.”
“I’ve come to see why, though,” he said in a more serious voice. He dropped his hand and shifted to stand beside her, his hands clasped behind his back. Alice wondered why until she saw a cluster of matronly, older women frowning at them in disapproval. “Your father is a villain,” Fabian went on.
“He’s my father,” Alice sighed, assuming a respectable pose at his side. The old biddies tilted their noses up in grudging approval and went on with their conversation. Alice decided she truly hated being in the middle of a crowded ball when her heart and mind were at sixes and sevens. “One cannot choose one’s father.”
“No,” Fabian agreed. “But one can marry and get away from him.”
She peeked sideways at him, arching one eyebrow. “Do you truly think it will be that easy to escape from my father and his wheedling ways?”
Fabian dropped all pretense of pretend respectability and faced her fully again, taking her hands in his. “He can try to interfere all he wants, but I won’t let him.”
She sent him a weak smile. “I am grateful for the sentiment, but I doubt escape will be possible. You do not know the man like I do.”
To her surprise, Fabian merely shrugged at her gloomy prediction. “If it comes to it, we will decamp from England and take up residence on my Italian lands. In fact, I would prefer if we did regardless.”
Alice frowned in confusion. “I thought Bonaparte took away your Italian holdings.”
An uncertain look pinched Fabian’s face. “The Congress of Vienna restored Italian independence. The Habsburgs are nominally in control again, though I hear there is a strong movement for the unification of the peninsula afoot. The entire process has been chaotic, but my father’s man of business has stayed near our land, even after my father’s death, and I have hired him to sort through the bureaucracy of reclaiming the Camoni lands. I expect to hear from him at any time saying all is clear and it is safe to return home.”
“Oh.” Alice pressed one hand to her heart. Perhaps there was a means of escaping her father after all.
No sooner had hope filled her than heartache set in again.
“He wants to call off the wedding,” she sighed, biting her lip and glancing out to the center of the ballroom, where Lord Farnsworth had joined the new dance with another female guest. “I know my father. I’ve observed the way he’s watched you and me and the events of the evening. I am certain he thinks he can broker a marriage with Lord Farnsworth now, as he is now the highest ranked, eligible man at this party.”
Fabian laughed. “Impossible.”
Alice glanced back to him, her brow lifting. Fabian scanned the room, then took her hand and led her swiftly toward the exit and into the hall. A good number of party guests had left the noise and bustle of the ballroom to carry on conversations in the hallway or some of the parlors nearby. Fabian whisked Alice past all of them. A slight frown creased his brow at the sight of so many other people who had invaded his mother’s house.
“There’s nothing for it,” he said at last, drawing her around the corner in the front hallway and up the main flight of stairs. “Some things need to be discussed in private.”
“And my father could be anywhere,” Alice added, looking around with extra intensity as they mounted the stairs.
“Matthew deliberately put himself forward as bait for your father,” Fabian said as they reached the second floor and started down a hallway that Alice recognized with a gasp. Fabian was taking her to his bedroom. “It was all part of the plan,” he went on as though nothing were at all untoward in him sneaking her to his most intimate space.
“What plan?” she asked, her body heating at the memory of what had happened the last time they
were in his bedroom.
They reached his door, and Fabian pivoted to grin at her as he turned the handle. “The plan to convince you to marry me in spite of the match appearing to be a manipulation on your father’s part.”
Alice opened her mouth to reply, but no words came out. She could no more defend her previous stubbornness and the coldness with which she’d greeted Fabian upon arriving at Holly Manor than she could defy her father outright.
A moment later, as Fabian drew her into his bedroom and shut and locked the door behind her, she couldn’t have come up with any words at all if she’d tried. The familiar scent of his personal space ignited memories within her that left her short of breath. The sight of the bed reminded her of how she’d been bent double as he mastered her from behind. The warm light of the crackling fire made her feel as though she needed to shed every stitch of clothing she wore to keep from burning up.
“Has it worked?” Fabian asked, his voice deep, an impish grin spreading across his face.
“Has what worked?” Alice gulped at the wolfish glint in his eyes.
“Have I convinced you that I am not part of your father’s insidious plan?” He stepped flush with her, snaking one arm around her back to pull her close. “Have I convinced you to give yourself wholeheartedly to me?”
A shiver swept through Alice from her head to her toes, settling in her core. She rested her hands on his chest. Even through the layers of his formal attire, she could feel the pounding of his heart.
“Is this why you brought me here?” she asked, fiddling with the buttons of his jacket. “To ravish me so that I have no choice but to marry you.”
He answered with a lopsided grin. “To be fair, I did that the other night.”
“Yes, but that was a mistake,” she said, her breath coming in tighter gasps, pressing her breasts against the scooping line of her bodice. “This has a far more deliberate feel to it.”
He laughed low in his throat and drew his hands up to the tops of her short, puffed sleeves, then tugged them down to expose her shoulders. Her bodice was unforgivably tight, and though Alice had the feeling he might have intended to expose her breasts with one, forcible jerk, the result was to pin her arms to her sides and to make her feel all the more constricted.
Once Upon a Christmas Wedding Page 26