Once Upon a Christmas Wedding

by Scarlett Scott

  She and her close friends used idiocy to make each other laugh. Sir Ian didn’t, but sometimes she noticed a suspicious gleam in his eyes. Horrible, it was, how much she wanted the man, and now that she had the means to make him offer for her, she wouldn’t waste time.

  “Merry,” she said to the cat, whose narrowed eyes traced her every move. “Tonight is the first night of the rest of your life.” And then she huffed a laugh, because every night was. But she loved hearing people say pompous meaningless phrases as much as she adored repeating them. Fortunately, she found much in life to amuse her.

  Her front opening creation was easily dealt with, and she left the gown on her trunk as soon as she had donned her linen nightgown. She’d had no space for a dressing robe because she had wanted to travel light. For a moment she debated putting on her cape but she heard footsteps in the passage outside.

  The door opened. Sir Ian moved inside the doorway. He silently closed the door, turned, and leaned back against the wood. “I’m sorry I have to share your room, Rose, but I don’t think it’s safe for you to be alone, when all I know about Smith and Gray is that they are drinking the hotel dry. The situation has been against us as soon as the snow started falling.” His chin was soldier firm. He focused on her face, but his eyes slipped a little to her chest area.

  For no accountable reason, she crossed her arms as if trying to hide the sight of her unfettered breasts, which was ridiculous when most of her evening gowns showed more of her skin. “If you didn’t, I’m afraid I wouldn’t have stayed here. I would have gone wherever you went. Those men are a little strange. They make me uneasy.”

  He nodded curtly, but his eyes somehow expressed a lack of sympathy. “The die is cast, Rose.”

  For the life of her, she couldn’t think of anything frivolous to say.

  “You understand I will have to marry you?”

  She shrugged, her ego slightly dented. Men had been willing to lie down and let her use them to walk across puddles, and the only one she wanted had decided that he would marry her only if he was forced—which was her original idea and now mind-numbingly insulting. No woman with any pride would accept being considered as the last prize. She squared her shoulders. “My name hasn’t been mentioned. No one knows who I am other than your mysterious non-existent wife,” she said, more than a little miffed. “So, I doubt it will come to that.”

  “I intend to sleep on the floor.” His jaw tightened.

  She nodded. “Of course. It’s only fair that you should be uncomfortable.” Her cheeks heated and she turned away, unbearably guilty. What did her stupid pride matter? She loved him and if he didn’t want her, he didn’t have to have her, but she still wanted him and didn’t plan to give up quite yet. “After all,” she said with an enormous amount of faked sincerity. “It wasn’t your idea to bring me. I’m quite sure you tried to wriggle out if it. This situation is all my fault and I take full responsibility.” She hoped sounded noble rather than idiotic, because she was feeling slightly more foolish than noble.

  “Do you intend to leave your clothes scattered all over the room?” he said, casting a critical gaze at her mess.

  “Oh? Do my things look scattered to you? I thought I was rather neat, but you have to understand that I have a maid at home.”

  “I’m ex-army, Rose. I wouldn’t allow any of my junior officers to leave an article of clothing unfolded.”

  “Truly?” Not intending to obey his autocratic orders, she began unpinning her hair, while she watched him hang his coat on a peg behind the door. “I’m glad to hear that.”

  He glanced at her. “You are a spoilt woman, Rose,” he said clearly, untying his cravat.

  “I know. It will take a very patient man to tame me.” She combed her fingers through her hair, noting how he considered before he spoke. He had begun to sift through her words to decide which might be important and which were used to confuse.

  His eyes focused on her as she shook out her hair and began to make one long braid. He sat on the end of the bed and started trying to pull off his boots. No doubt, in time, without his valet he would succeed, but she moved over to him, crouched, and grabbed the heel. He pulled against her hold and she almost fell backward when the boot slid off. She grabbed the next boot. This time she kept her balance. “See? You would never cope without me.”

  In the lamplight, his eyes glinted with suspicion. “Without wishing to sound ungrateful, Rose, I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t have you. I would be home and likely snug in my own bed after eating a meal, minus the company of a couple of card sharps.”

  “Are you referring to Mr. Gray and Mr. Smith?”

  “They were mightily disappointed when you decided we would play loo. I think they saw a couple of flats ready to lose money.”

  “Oh, dear. Now I feel mean.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  “Well, a sweet, nicely brought up young woman would feel mean.” She tilted up her chin and bounced into the bed, pulling a cold sheet to her waist.

  “I’m beginning to wonder if I really know you.” He turned and his eyes met hers.

  His scrutiny worried her. She had no intention of appearing shameless, though she suspected the word might fit her when she thought about him. Unaccountably, her cheeks warmed. “I think, perhaps ...” she toyed with the fabric of the sheet, “... you haven’t seen me as I am.”

  He digested her words without answering while he stood, pulling his shirt out of his breeches. “Did you think they were card sharps?”

  “I saw a pack in Mr. Smith’s coat pocket. Do you keep a pack of cards in your pocket?”

  He turned his back and lifted his shirt over his head. “But I’m not a card sharp.”

  “So, we agree,” she said, breathing more erratically by the second. As she had suspected, his body was hard and muscular, bathed in the gold of the lamplight.

  “I think they are both somewhat shady.” He bent down to the fire, added a log, and turned down the lamp. The floorboards creaked as he moved toward the bed, a dark shadow picked out by the glow of the fire.

  Perhaps she was being impossibly optimistic, but she thought he was a man with a purpose. She hoped that purpose was to make love to her. So many times she had imagined her lips against his and being held in his arms. She couldn’t imagine the next part. Her older sister, Lily, had refused to tell her, but the smug smile on her face said ‘wait and see.’

  She tried to speed up the ‘seeing’ by sliding down the bed and turning in his direction, but the firelight showed her little more that a large man taking a blanket off the bed. “Oh, no you don’t. Leave that there.”

  “Do you expect me to sleep on cold, hard floor wrapped in my coat?”

  “I expect you to show a little sense and use the bed as a normal person would. Martyrdom is wasted on me.”

  He muttered something unintelligible, before saying what could have been a mumbled prayer. Without further ado, he slid into bed beside her. The mattress lowered on his side. Her neck tightened. She forgot how to breathe.

  The moment the full length of his body stretched out, he turned to face the window wall. “Good night,” he said in a final tone.

  She could hardly ask him to make love to her, well, not at this stage. A few preliminaries, like kissing, seemed to be lacking. She buried her nose under the blankets, slightly mollified by having the heat of his body to share, at least. Finally, his comforting presence beside her lulled her to sleep.

  The snick of the door woke her to an early morning grayness. The sun had not yet fully arisen, nor had Sir Ian, who lay on his back staring at Susie who brought in a jug of water for washing. He yawned deeply, his knuckles across his mouth, and his eyes met Rose’s. “Good morning,” he said in a deep blown-out voice.

  She snuffled her lower face back under the blankets. “I’m not ready for morning yet.”

  “Water’s hot, my lady,” Susie said as she backed to the door and out into the hall. The door clicked behind her.

  Th
e cat, Merry, crept out from under the blankets and sat on Rose’s shoulder, arms crossed, and her face turned away. “Oh, and how are you, my merry little creature? Wanting to go outside for a discreet visit to the garden, I expect?”

  Merry’s suspicious expression didn’t change. She clearly held an unknown grudge against Rose.

  “Turn your head away, Rose. I am about to get out bed and have a wash. After that I will take your unsociable cat outside.”

  “That’s very dear of you.” Rose, not for second about to turn her head away, watched a broad back, puckered on one shoulder with a red scar, then a tight rounded rear, unfortunately encased in light linen under-drawers, as Sir Ian strode to the wash-basin. She then watched him run a soapy flannel over his breathtaking body, barely removing his under-drawers to wash beneath, but apparently his parts needed quite a bit of rubbing. “Have you seen all you need to see, yet?” he asked without turning.

  “I have the idea I have seen all you will allow me to see. I have two younger brothers, you remember? I know how males are constructed.”

  “I think you will find that a fully grown male doesn’t look exactly the same as a young child.”

  She was very glad to hear that, but she politely held her tongue. “I think I should call you ‘Ian’ now that I have seen you almost naked, don’t you?”

  He stretched his head back as if he needed to glance heavenward to find his answer. “Call me whatever you wish. I left water for you in the jug.” Appropriating the shirt he had worn yesterday, he pulled the linen over his head. His breeches followed and then his boots. He didn’t bother with a cravat and he donned his coat, grabbed Merry, and left.

  With no reason to stay in bed now that he had left, Rose washed and dressed quickly while the sun inched higher in the sky. The chilliness of the room and the soundlessness outside hinted that even more snow had fallen. She couldn’t say she minded having to stay with Ian overnight again, but Mr. Gray and Mr. Smith prevented her from being totally at ease. She doubted either had any designs on her virtue and she had been able to ward off their nosy questions last night, but she didn’t want to have to keep dissembling. Plus, they had actually booked rooms at this obscure little inn when they could have stayed in a better known one. She could only speculate as to the reason. Her first guess would be that they wanted to remain out of sight.

  Fortunately, they didn’t rise early. She had bread and butter in the parlor with Ian, and a cup of coffee before the two men arrived, not quite as breezy as yesterday. They sat staring warily at each other after greeting her and Ian. Before the milk jug left, she set down a dishful for Merry. The cat was still displeased with her. She stalked back to the fireplace, her tail held high and stiff, and folded into an offended rectangle with her back to all humankind.

  As for Ian, he had retired into watchful mode, speaking in short, polite sentences, nodding instead of expanding on subjects, and offering only the most fleeting of glances to Rose.

  “Since we’re cooped up inside with nothing to do, perhaps we should play parlor games,” she said, with her sunniest smile.

  Mr. Gray, who apparently hadn’t woken in the best of moods, stared at her with a belligerent expression on his face. “I would call that very poor sport.”

  “Parlor games?” Mr. Smith said with a frown. “I think not.”

  “Oh, dear. I do love Speculation. Do you want to play, my dear husband?”

  “Do I want to play your dear husband? I thought I was your dear husband, my dear wife.”

  “You are, of course. But you must realize that some sentences have commas. If you don’t want to play Speculation, what about another short game of loo?”

  Ian frowned at her. “Perhaps you would prefer to take a stroll outside with me.”

  “I will have to consult Merry. She may not like me to disappear.”

  Mr. Smith sent his eyes heavenward and then shot a sympathetic glance at Sir Ian. Rose hid a smile. Finally, she had found the strategy to get rid of the men. She only had to keep filling their ears with nonsense and they would find other places to occupy. “Merry, dear one, I will be going outside for a stroll, but Mr. Gray and Mr. Smith will look after you.” She stood and scooped up the cat which gave her a death stare. “Here, you can sit on Mr. Gray’s nice comfortable lap.”

  Mr. Gray scraped out his chair, and stood, his eyes wide. “My apologies, dear lady, but I think I saw someone I know in the taproom. Excuse me.”

  Mr. Smith didn’t bother to take his leave. He scurried out of the room.

  “Do we need to go outside now?” Rose said to Ian as she settled Merry in her favorite spot facing the fireplace.

  His expression hooded but his mouth relaxed. “Let’s hope they find someone they can fleece in there. But no, I don’t want to play parlor games. I have some papers in my satchel in the coach. I would rather catch up on my correspondence.”

  Rose heaved a breath. “Leaving me and Merry with nothing to do.”

  “I’m sure Merry will think of some distraction for you. I haven’t quite lost my faith in her ingenuity.”

  At that moment, Susie came in the room to take the last of the breakfast dishes. Rose smiled at her. “While we are snowed in, Susie, I have very little to occupy me. Are there any spare jobs I could take on in the inn?”

  Suzie grinned. “The inn has never been so popular, my lady. Not only do we have overnight guests. The local lads have been streamin’ in, too. They can’t work when the fields are under snow. They like to get together, away from their women folk and have a good gossip. So, we do need help in the kitchen.” She lowered her gaze, giggling at her own humor.

  “I’ve always wanted to be a tavern maid—”

  “No!” said Sir Ian and Susie at the same time.

  “I can see me carrying four ale mugs—”

  “No!” they both said again and looked at each other.

  “Rose, you would try the patience of a saint.” Sir Ian stood. “Perhaps you could help me with my correspondence.”

  “In what way?”

  “Opening my letters for me.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “No, my adorable husband. I have no talent for opening letters. I will do as every good wife does. I will continue with my embroidery.”

  “Which you have in your capacious bag.”

  “Of course.”

  He sighed and left the room.

  Susie began to follow, but Rose stopped her. “Susie, I would be no use at all serving mugs of beer, but I honestly can help in the kitchen. My mother insisted that I learn certain talents, and one of those was cooking, not anything complicated, mind you, but I can chop vegetables and make a very nice gravy.”

  Susie examined her expression. “The breakfasts is all done, ma’am, and we’ll all be washing dishes for a while, but I will let Mrs. Spriggs know that you have offered to help. The snow has brought in all the farm workers, mainly for the warm fires, and the meat pies. Mrs. Spriggs is a wonder with pastry.”

  “I can also help make pastry.”

  Susie shot her a glance of puzzled admiration. “If you really mean what you say, my lady ...”

  Chapter 5

  Most of Ian’s correspondence related to his parliamentary position. He would have happily attended to his papers in the bedroom, but he couldn’t leave Rose in the parlor alone. Her presence would be a distraction, but he should be able to manage if she could sit quietly with her embroidery, as she had indicated.

  Before being stranded with her, he had accepted Rose at face value, and saw her as a lovely ornament. However, he had now discovered her hidden depths. Being male, he had certainly imagined her in his bed, but naturally, he couldn’t take a family friend as his mistress. Nor would he want a distraction like her as his wife. He had planned to marry a woman whose only assets were neither her looks nor her desirability, both of which Rose had in abundance. In other words, she had been naught but a temptation to be resisted at all costs.

  After having spent more than
a few hours with Rose, he realized he hadn’t looked deeply enough. Although she seemed ingenuous, she also had a purpose to her artless remarks, of which he now took note. As well, she had a dry sense of humor. Unfortunately, her words quite clearly indicated that she much preferred to choose her husband rather than being forced to marry him. She had decided that their night together would remain a secret between them. If this proved impossible, he found he wasn’t quite as averse to marrying her as he had been. Shaking off his mental meandering, he crunched through the snow to the stables.

  “Marty,” he said to his driver, whom he spotted sitting on a hay bale, rubbing his boots clean with a handful of straw.

  Marty looked across at him, waiting for him to trudge closer. “Morning, Sir,” he said in a mild voice. “If the snow don’t stop today, we won’t be going anywhere in a hurry.”

  “I hope your accommodation was warm enough for you.”

  “Fair comfortable, it was. As soon as I have the stables off my boots, me and Walton was planning to go across the tap-room. We heard they’ll be setting up a faro table, today. If you don’t mind, sir.”

  Walton, his groom, apparently hearing his name mentioned, strolled over from the stalls. “The horses have been fed and watered and the coach had good clean-out yesterday.”

  “It seems you have earned your day off. If you wouldn’t mind, Walton, would you get my bag off the coach, first. The one containing my papers.” Ian didn’t change his expression, but the faro game had caught his attention. No doubt that was Smith and Gray’s doing. Tricksters often took tables to outlying districts, hoping to catch locals with their swindles. He hadn’t seen their luggage, but he would make sure he did. “Beware of flat catchers.”

  “We didn’t come down in the last few flakes of snow.” Walton and Marty grinned knowingly at each other.