Once Upon a Christmas Wedding

by Scarlett Scott

  Edmund’s jaw dropped. Who was this woman to lecture him in this way – God’s teeth, the fact that she was entirely right had nothing to do with the frustration boiling inside him.

  “You think you have a good read of me, do you not, Miss Kimble?”

  Finally she turned around, and Edmund had to ignore the spark of desire that flushed once again through his body. He did not want to bed her more than he wanted to hear her response.

  Almost.

  “I do,” she said bluntly. “You are spoiled, Sir Edmund, and for all your blustering about being disowned and ignored by your family, you still had the best upbringing in life and you still enjoy all the benefits of that education.”

  Edmund gaped at her. “Benefits? I lodge in a hovel and I have been kidnapped!”

  Miss Kimble ignored him. “You have education, breeding, and – I do not doubt – family somewhere that would own you. I have none of those things, and yet here I am, willing to make do and mend. I have found a way to while the hours until we are released.”

  “If we are released,” Edmund said, hearing the petulance once again in his voice and hating it.

  Miss Kimble sighed and turned back to her book.

  Edmund seethed silently on the mouldy sofa. How dare she? How dare she assume that because he had once been rich, and it had been his father’s money the entire time, and God knows he took as little of it as possible, that he could not entertain himself!

  After another five minutes had passed, Edmund sighed heavily.

  “Fine. I am terrible at entertaining myself and finding ways to distract myself. Are you happy, Miss Kimble?”

  Another page was turned slowly and Miss Kimble did not look around. “No, Sir Edmund.”

  Now it was Edmund’s turn to snort. “I think, considering the circumstances,” and he raised his bound and now bleeding hands, “we can dispense with the ‘sir’. What is your name?”

  That certainly got a reaction.

  Miss Kimble turned around, fire in her eyes. “What gives you the right to call me by my first name?”

  Edmund blinked. He had not expected such a response, but it roused him just as her fury roused her. God, but she was a beautiful woman. One that he would very much like to tame, if he could ever get these blasted ropes off.

  “I-I do apologise,” he said, and found with surprise that he meant it. “I just thought, as we are both trapped here, on Christmas Day, that we are the closest things to each other. It…it would be nice to be called ‘Edmund’ rather than the ridiculous ‘Sir’ lumped on the front. But if you do not wish to…”

  His voice trailed off. Why did everything he said to this woman come out wrong? Miss Kimble was staring at him as though he was possessed. Maybe he was, but it was her fault.

  “Molly.”

  Edmund blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

  “My name is Molly,” said Miss Kimble stiffly. “‘Tis Mary, actually, but my mother was also Mary and so my family…I was called Molly.”

  Molly. It suited her. Sweet and soft, and gentle at the same time.

  “Molly,” he repeated.

  Was it a trick of the light, or did she smile? Did the sound of her name on his lips softened her slightly?

  Edmund smiled. “Well, Molly, you have found yourself a book. Is there a pack of cards in this place?”

  The softness disappeared. “Do you not think you should think a little less about pleasure and a little more about getting out of this place?”

  “‘Tis Christmas!” Edmund protested. “Of all the days in the year, surely this is the one to think about pleasure and entertainment?” Then his mind caught up with him. “Out of here – you said before that there was no way out.”

  Molly grinned. “Yes, I did. But it would keep you occupied and that would keep me entertained.”

  It was impossible not to smile, even when her jest was at his own expense. By God, but she was beautiful. And witty, too. The most important features in a woman, although in Edmund’s opinion, being naked was perhaps just as important.

  “Molly, why am I still tied up?”

  Was that a flicker of a smile as he said her name?

  “Because I have no wish to untie you, that is why,” Molly replied as she turned back to the window and opened her book.

  Edmund sighed. “If it did not hurt so damn much, I would not mind.”

  “I like you that way.”

  The words seemed to escape Molly’s lips without her realising, and even from Edmund’s vantage point he could see a crimson blush spread across her neck.

  Well, well. “I did not know you had those sort of preferences, Molly Kimble.”

  Molly scowled. It was only partially better being ‘Molly’ after the travesty of ‘Miss Kimble’. But now it felt as though she had opened herself to him, made herself vulnerable. Hearing her name spoken by him made a shiver go down her spine.

  He said it like no one ever had. It was not a shout, not a snarl. He was not ordering her, or berating her, or about to beat her.

  No, it was like a caress. As though he liked her name.

  As though he liked her.

  Molly swallowed and turned around slowly to stare at the handsome man draped lazily over the sofa. Only a man of wealth and breeding could be tied at the wrists and lying on a moulding piece of furniture and look that at home.

  “You know what I meant,” she said coldly.

  Edmund grinned. “Oh, I do.”

  She sighed and placed the book once more on the table. No matter that she had read it before – she had accidentally left it here the last time she and her good for nothing brothers had kidnapped someone and brought them here to become fearful for their lives.

  Really, she should untie him. He had been bound for almost a day, and that did awful things to the skin. It would be painful, getting those ropes off him, but she had no choice really.

  After all, no one should be that uncomfortable for Christmas. Not unless they had done something truly awful.

  The thought skipped across her mind before she could delve into it further, but her heart skipped a beat. He had been disowned, abandoned by his family. What had a gentleman to do to receive such a punishment?

  But there was no time to think about that now.

  “Give me your hands,” she said reluctantly, rising to her feet.

  Edmund sat up, his legs dropping to the floor, and Molly sat beside him.

  She instantly regretted it. Being this close to him was an experience she had not expected, and his presence, his musk, the manliness of him was something she could not describe but could feel on every inch of her body.

  His gaze was on her, his grey eyes trailing across her face and Molly felt her cheeks tinge with pink, despite herself.

  “Hands,” she managed to say.

  How was it possible for a gentleman to do this to her – to have such an effect on her when they had not even touched? Even Charlie had not made her whole body tingle when he had touched her, and Edmund had not laid a finger on her.

  But that was about to change. Not taking his eyes from hers, Edmund raised his wrists and placed them in her lap.

  The weight of them was nothing to the shiver of anticipation that rushed through her. Molly swallowed. All she had to do was remove the rope, and Tom was terrible at knots. If Edmund had spent more than two minutes thinking about it, he could probably have released himself.

  As it was…

  Molly dropped her gaze from his face and raised her hands. Her fingers pulled at the first knot and as it came loose, they brushed across his skin.

  Her gasp was only inaudible because of the louder gasp that Edmund made. Molly’s head jerked up and she stared at him, as though she could read in his grey eyes the same shock of heat that rushed through her body as their fingers had touched.

  “One knot down.” Her voice sounded strangled, but Edmund did not seem to trust his own. He merely nodded.

  Molly attempted to focus on the task at hand, but it was
impossible. Each time her skin touched his there was another sear of heat, and her knees touched his as she focused on the knots, and it was too much. She felt overwhelmed, intoxicated by his presence.

  She had to do something – had to distract herself and him from the intimacy of the moment.

  “Wh-Why did your family disown you?”

  As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Molly cursed them. All of the world’s polite conversation before her, and she had to ask about what was undoubtedly one of the most painful questions available?

  Edmund smiled. “What a question, on Christmas Day too. Do I not receive any gifts?”

  “I should not have asked,” she said hastily, dropping her eyes back to the last unforgiving knot.

  “Why not? You have a right to be curious, even if you do not have the right to know.”

  His voice was low, dark, with just a hint of misery. Molly dared a look at his face and found her heart warm to him, despite herself.

  Edmund was not looking for glory, or attention now. This was him at his most vulnerable, in a way she had not seen him before.

  “Families are…complicated.” Molly tried not to think about just how much of an exaggeration her words were. At least he was not asking about her family.

  The knot was tight, twisted, pulled to almost a nub of rope. Her fingers slipped as she tried to loosen it and heat seared through her once again.

  “Would you like the polite version or the honest version?” Edmund’s voice had been quiet but there was no bitterness in it now.

  Molly kept her eyes on the knot. “Always the honest version.” She had had enough of secrets and lies.

  The knot came free and the ropes fell to the floor. Edmund stretched his hands, wriggling his fingers with a look of discomfort on his face.

  “It will take a little time for the feeling to be fully regained,” Molly said quietly.

  Now was the moment that she could move, away from him, away from this intensity.

  But she did not. She did not want to.

  Edmund grinned. “You are an expert in rope tying? My word, Molly Kimble, you continue to surprise me.”

  Molly felt her cheeks darken and she went to get up, but suddenly his hands were holding hers and he was keeping her close on the sofa.

  “The honest version of how I lost my family,” he said quietly, “is because of my father.”

  Molly hesitated. She could pull away, he was not holding onto her hands that tightly. But there was a vulnerability in his words, in his eyes. As though he had not told this story to another soul in a long time. As though he needed to tell it.

  “Your father?”

  Edmund nodded. “A disgusting man – a dark one. One with no idea of what truth, or justice, or honour could possibly be. Far more interested in wealth, reputation. I feared him, all my brothers did.”

  “You have brothers?” Molly could not keep the disgust out of her voice, her personal revulsion with her own brothers seeping through.

  “I have four brothers, all of them younger, though I doubt any would own me now,” said Edmund drily. “Not after I came home one day and thought to sneak into the kitchen for some lemon curd, and found my father…my father beating a servant nigh on to death.”

  Molly’s jaw dropped. “I…I had heard of such things in the great houses, but never suspected…”

  Edmund’s laugh was bitter. “Of course you did not suspect, but you heard for a reason, Molly. Because there are men out there like my father, who think that people are there to serve him and ask no questions. If something was not perfect, then it was not for him and that person would be…punished.”

  The wind whistled at the window and Molly shivered. “What happened to the servant?”

  Her hands were still being held by Edmund’s and they shook slightly as he continued.

  “I wrenched the whip from my father’s hands and stood between them. I told him that no offence could be sufficient for such treatment, nothing. The look my father gave me…as though I had taken the whip in my hand and turned it upon him. But nothing was more of a betrayal than making him look weak before an inferior.”

  Molly stared at the gentleman before her. For all her talk of wealth and breeding, he had endured just as much violence, it seemed, as she had.

  Edmund heaved a sigh. “And from that day, my father did not trust me. It became harder and harder to have decent conversations with him, even about the land, the property. Four months later, I found him at it again – but this time, he was…he was beating a woman, and with his bare hands.”

  The revulsion in his voice was palpable. Molly’s mouth fell open.

  “That was the last straw. I went to the Peelers, not that they heeded me, and my father went to Bishops, Bishops, Needham and Sons.”

  Molly frowned. “Who?”

  “Our lawyers,” Edmund said with a smile. “I was disowned, removed from the family line, expunged from all privilege and fortune.”

  He spoke in such an airy way that Molly had to think for a moment to take it all in.

  Then a word that she had not noticed demanded her attention. “Privilege?”

  His hands were warm around hers as Edmund grinned, a lock of hair falling over his eyes. “Oh yes. Before I was just Sir Edmund, knight and card shark, I was Edmund, Marquis of Dewsbury, eldest son and heir of the Duke of Northmere.”

  Chapter 6

  “Well, that is it.” Edmund leaned back against the wall and smiled at Molly who was seated cross-legged opposite him. “That is the last of it.”

  The woman who was fast becoming the most interesting person he had ever met returned his smile. “I was surprised that we found any food, to tell the truth.”

  Edmund sighed. “I do not think you can call half a loaf of bread that has seen better days, pork that had dried out but was supposedly edible, and those two apples ‘food’, Molly.”

  As his lips moved around her name, Edmund felt another jolt of desire rush through his body and he saw no reason to quell it. She was beautiful, perhaps even more beautiful in the light of the single candle they had found.

  Hours had passed since he had revealed his true parentage to her, and yet she had not responded how he had expected. No curtseys, he had never expected, nor wanted those.

  But she had treated him no directly. Perhaps with a little more kindness, after hearing what a brute old Papa had been. But no reverence, no carefulness around offending him, no scraping or self-censure.

  It was what he had enjoyed so much when he had become free – free of his family and their expectations.

  When no one knew you were the son of a Duke, no one treated you any differently. It was liberating, but Edmund found to his horror, that a part of him wanted her to. A small part, certainly, but it was there. He wanted Molly Kimble to be impressed by him, and it pained him that despite the last few years of learning to survive on his own, he had still not purged himself of the entitlement he had been born with.

  “It is better than nothing.” Molly’s gentle words brought Edmund back to reality, and she was smiling. “Perhaps not the Christmas dinner you had expected, however. Turkey and trimmings?”

  Edmund grinned. “Mrs Bird’s stew and a side helping of bad cheer. Well, that is what I had last year.”

  She smiled and it danced in her eyes. Edmund swallowed. He was not enjoying being here, in this godforsaken hole, waiting for some mysterious kidnappers to return and demand money from him that he did not have – but of all the people that he could be locked up with on Christmas Day, Molly Kimble would have been his choice.

  She stretched out her legs to the side and ensured her gown still covered her ankles. Molly Kimble, the woman who was so innocent and sweet and yet had found herself in this nonsense. Molly Kimble, who knew how to untie knots far more complex than he had ever seen, and yet who blushed when their fingers met.

  He had wanted to do quite a bit more to her, once those damned ropes had been removed, but he had not done anything abo
ut it.

  Not yet.

  “I am – ”

  “Bored?” Molly interjected, her smile broadening. “Do not disappoint me again, Sir Edmund, I had thought you had grown out of that in the last few hours.”

  Sir Edmund. She still was determined to give him a title, any title. Being a knight was not something he could be proud of. If Edmund was honest with himself, and that happened rarely, he had looked down at baronets, sneered at them when he had been the Marquis.

  Now Molly spoke the word, it was like a badge of honour.

  “No, I am not bored,” Edmund said slowly. “I have something far more diverting to stave off boredom.”

  She sighed. “Do not tell me that you found a pack of cards, because I will not play with you. I think we have already seen that I am the better player.”

  “No. You.”

  Molly stared at him for a moment as though waiting for the rest of his sentence, and then she laughed. “Me? You cannot possibly find me interesting, you who have undoubtedly met dukes and earls all your life!”

  “And Prinny,” said Edmund cheerfully. “But they are boring, Molly, trust me.”

  Her dark eyes were wide now, and she laughed again. “I am more accustomed to speaking with a butcher or baker, Sir Edmund, not the royal family.”

  “I wish you would just call me Edmund.”

  The sentence had fallen from his lips before he could stop it; a heartful wish that he had been thinking but had not intended to say.

  Molly glanced at him in surprise. “Why?”

  Edmund swallowed. He hardly knew himself. “Because that is my name. I call you Molly.”

  “Without any invitation,” she said with a mocking haughty tone. When he did not respond, she relented. “Edmund, then. You have entertained princes, no doubt, whereas I – ”

  “You are here with me,” Edmund pointed out. “Kidnapped too. There must have been a reason for that. Any money in the family tree that may fall into your lap?”

  Was it a trick of the little candlelight they had, or did Molly suddenly look a little uncomfortable? There it was; that small shiver as though there were secrets in Molly’s past just as juicy as the ones in his own.