Wine flowed generously.
He hadn’t imbibed enough. In truth, he was cold-stone sober and beginning to dread what Meggie had written on her card.
What seemed an eternity later, cakes were finally brought out. One spongy looking confection was filled with black currant jam. Another was filled with apples and another with marrow. He took a slice of all three, but merely mashed them in his plate, earning a frown from Hortensia. “Mrs. Mayhew labored for hours over those sweets. The least you can do is take a bite.”
The only sweet thing he wished to taste this evening was Meggie. He’d start with her lips and then work his way down her incredibly delectable body.
Finally, the men began to push away from the table and meander toward John’s billiards room to indulge in an apres supper Madeira port. The footmen held the chairs out for the ladies who would now retire to Sophie’s salon. William hadn’t thought about where he would take Meggie to read their miracle cards. John’s library would do, he decided.
He held Meggie back as the others walked out and then led her down the hall. “In here, Megs. Let’s do this before anyone realizes we haven’t followed them out.”
She rolled her eyes as he closed the door behind them, shutting them in with the mahogany bookshelves that supported rows and rows of neatly aligned books. “Oh, William,” she said with a light laugh that wrapped around his heart. “Everyone realizes it. They’ve been watching us all evening. Can’t this wait until after we’ve all gotten our family Christmas gifts? I bought Eloise the loveliest pair of gloves.”
“I got Graelem a stickpin for his tie,” he said with impatience. “And no, we cannot wait. Who cares if they all know something is going on? I wouldn’t be surprised if we opened this door and a dozen Farthingales tumbled in. Not to mention, a Cameron or two.”
She relented with a light chuckle. “Then we’d better get to our miracle wishing cards before the curious horde spills through the door.” She dipped into the folds of her silken waistband to withdraw her card with a shaking hand. “Read it, William.”
He took it from her, his own hand unsteady. But Meggie would not notice, for she had already closed her eyes and was now releasing the breath she had been holding. “I gave this so much thought,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “At first, I wanted to write something sensible and self-sacrificing. But this is a miracle card, as you’ve relentlessly pounded into my head. So, I had to write down the wish that I felt deepest in my heart. I had to reveal what I wanted most, the one thing that will allow me to overcome whatever hurdles are thrown in my way. This is the miracle I wished for.”
He took his own steadying breath and let it out silently.
Then he read the one-line sentence on her card.
And read it again.
I wish for William.
Thank goodness. The angels were watching over him after all.
“Megs,” he said with a groaning ache, ready to take her into his arms and claim her for his own. But he wanted her to read his card first. “Open mine. I had to be truthful as well and write what is dearest to my heart.”
She cast him a quivering smile as she opened her eyes and took the square of parchment from his outstretched hand. She hesitated a long moment, then opened it and read it, emitting a lilting peal of astonished laughter when she did. “I wish for Meggie.”
I wish for Meggie.
“No mistake,” he said with a tender smile when she continued to gaze at him in astonishment. “I did not hand you the wrong card.”
She blushed as he took her into his arms. “Meggie, you are the miracle I wished for as I lay wounded on the mountain ground worried that I might die. You are the miracle I hoped for when I returned to England and set eyes upon you again. Nothing else matters. We’ll deal with our problems and surmount them together. I’m not saying it will always be easy. But if I’m to travel through life, I want you as my heart’s companion on that journey.”
She nodded. “I want you, too. I couldn’t be happy with anyone else. I love you, William.” She paused and sighed. “What happens next?”
He arched an eyebrow and cast her a wicked grin. “You kiss me.”
“That sounds easy enough.” She smiled and lifted up on her toes while putting her arms around his neck, and then she closed her eyes and pressed her lips to his with innocent passion and an eagerness to learn more.
He emitted a growl and cupped the back of her head to draw her close. “I love you too, Megs.” He kissed her with all the depth of his love. All the love he felt for her was embedded within his heart and soul. His kiss was a promise of tender intimacy, of laughter and all the joyful times their life together would bring. “Marry me.”
She inhaled sharply and gazed at him in wonder.
He kept his arms around her, loving the softness of her body and eager to explore her every lush curve. He kissed her again on the mouth, then moved lower, trailing kisses along her throat and across the swell of her breast that she always sought to hide because of the scar that surrounded it. “Marry me, my beautiful Meggie. I promise to love and cherish you. I promise to love every part of you forever. I don’t want you to ever hide your precious heart from me.”
She laughed lightly. “Nor must you hide any part of yourself from me, no matter how hairy.”
He joined her in a chuckle. “I’m not hairy. My body is bronzed glory.”
“Is that so?” She held her breath and then burst out with another peal of laughter. “Then I must marry you. Yes, I must. And gladly. And with all the love in my heart. And a good dose of fear, William. I must be honest with you.”
“I know, my love. But I have no doubts, Meggie. You are the source of my happiness. I don’t want to spend my life without you. In truth, I don’t wish to spend another moment without you.”
She threw her arms around him again and hugged him fiercely. “I love you, William. I’ll never stop saying it. You make me want to be silly and chase snowflakes with you. You make me hopeful and happy. You fill my heart with a joy I never imagined possible.”
“Enough joy to qualify as a miracle?”
“Yes, for our finding each other and falling in love is the miracle, isn’t it?”
He nodded.
“I’m sorry I took so long to come around to realizing it. I was so afraid. Not for myself, but for the sacrifices you’d be forced to make.”
“I know, Megs.”
“But having to write down my wish forced me to understand that love is too precious ever to deny. It forced me to understand that I must have faith in the call of my heart and in us. This is what you were trying to tell me all along, and what I resisted believing. So, thank you for being so patient with me. Thank you for being my Christmas angel. Thank you for giving me that miracle wishing card.”
A cheer rang out from behind the closed door, for everyone was listening in. William sighed. “Shall we go out and allow them to congratulate us?”
“In a moment. I’m not done yet.”
He arched an eyebrow in gentle surprise. “There’s more?”
“Yes.” Meggie’s voice was suddenly ragged and overwhelmed with feeling. “Most of all, thank you for wishing for me.”
The End
Also by Meara Platt
FARTHINGALE SERIES
My Fair Lily
The Duke I’m Going To Marry
Rules For Reforming A Rake
A Midsummer’s Kiss
The Viscount’s Rose
Never Dare A Duke
Capturing The Heart Of A Cameron
DARK GARDENS SERIES
Garden of Shadows
Garden of Light
Garden of Dragons
Garden of Destiny
THE BRAYDENS
A Match Made In Duty
Earl of Westcliff
WOLFEBANE SERIES
Nobody’s Angel
Kiss An Angel
Bhrodi’s Angel
PIRATES OF BRITANNIA
Pear
ls of Fire
About the Author
Meara Platt is an award winning, USA TODAY bestselling author and an Amazon UK All-Star. She is happily married to her Russell Crowe look-alike husband, and they have two terrific children. Her favorite place in all the world is England’s Lake District, which may not come as a surprise since many of her stories are set in that idyllic landscape, including her paranormal romance Dark Gardens series. Learn more about Meara Platt by visiting her website at www.mearaplatt.com.
Wicked Christmas
(Night of Angels)
Mary Lancaster
Chapter One
Dr. Nicholas Lampton hastened through the freezing darkness to the Blackhaven Hotel. He had endured a trying evening, administering to the overprivileged who had little more to complain about than their own overindulgence. Very little could have dragged him out again, just when he was preparing for bed, but he never refused calls to sick children, whatever the time of day or night.
Frost lay thick on the cobbles, adding a pleasing glitter to the clear night. Inevitably, it reminded him of previous Christmas seasons, walking arm in arm with Mary, his wife, laughing together at some ridiculous event of the day. For an instant, as it often did, his loneliness rose up, seeking to drag him back down into the darkness of despair. He threw it off, all but charging through the hotel doors to fulfill his purpose in life, to make other people well if he could.
A few candles in wall sconces bathed the foyer in warm, subtle light.
“Dr. Lampton,” a liveried hotel servant greeted him in clear relief, hurrying over from the desk. “This way, if you please. The princess is waiting for you.”
“Princess” took him a little by surprise. In his exhausted state, all that had registered of the message were the words child, urgent, and immediately. He had no idea if his young patient was a guest or a servant of the hotel, or even some beggar who had taken shelter in their back doorway. But he followed the servant up the staircase to the largest suite of rooms on the first floor.
“This is Dr. Lampton,” the servant said to the bleary-eyed maid who opened the door before he’d finished knocking. The maid all but pulled Lampton inside, calling something over her shoulder in German.
A lady was already hurrying across the luxurious sitting room from one of the bedchambers. Undoubtedly, “the princess”.
Perhaps it was the blaze of candles in the room, but Lampton felt momentarily dazzled. All the air seemed to leave his lungs, as though someone had struck him hard in his middle.
Emeralds and diamonds sparkled in the tiara set in her midnight-black hair, clasped her swan-like throat, and dangled from her delicate ears. Clearly, she was dressed for a party in an exquisite evening gown of bottle-green silk that rustled expensively whenever she moved. Appealingly, she seemed quite unaware of her gorgeous appearance but beckoned to him with such a heart-rending plea in her brilliant eyes that a lesser man might have run to do her bidding.
Lampton, who had long ago discovered the value of calm in a sick room, merely walked toward her, tossing his hat on the nearest sofa. “The patient, if you please, ma’am,” he said briskly and brushed past her into the bedchamber beyond.
A furious child of about three years sat up in bed, a massive scowl on his small, red face, his arms folded over his chest in obvious disgruntlement. A nursemaid was cooing in his ear and stroking his forehead. He glared at Lampton, and at the princess and the maid who both followed him into the room.
“Here is the doctor, Andreas,” the princess said in German.
“I don’t want him,” the child stated aggressively.
“Nonsense,” Dr. Lampton said in English. “What you don’t want is so many people in the room. Your mother will stay to help, and you and I can have quick talk.”
Whether or not the boy understood, the calm tone of Lampton’s voice seemed to have an effect.
“Off you go,” Lampton said amiably to the nurse, who stood up, rising to her full height in clear readiness for battle. Lampton shooed her and the maid from the room as if they were sheep, and firmly closed the door on them.
The princess merely blinked. She might have been bewildered but did not seem to care for anything other than her son.
“What is the problem?” Lampton asked, sitting on the edge of the bed. He cast the princess a quick glance. “You do speak English?”
“Of course. But I don’t know what happened. I came home and found him on the floor unconscious. He began to scream when I picked him up, obviously in considerable pain. He has only just stopped crying.”
Her slightly husky voice combined with her exotic foreign accent to reach deep inside him. Ignoring such an inappropriate reaction, Lampton merely regarded the boy and smiled reassuringly.
“Fell out of bed, eh? I do that, too. Where does it hurt?”
“Nowhere,” the boy said crossly.
“I twisted my ankle once,” Lampton confided, “and it didn’t start hurting until the next day.”
The boy’s eyes widened. “Really?”
“Really. So, just to make sure you don’t start to hurt tomorrow, I should probably check.”
“How will you know?”
“I’m a doctor,” Lampton said in shocked tones. “Of course, I will know.”
The boy unfolded his arms, glanced at his mother, and sniffed. “Very well,” he said loftily.
Lampton didn’t allow himself so much as a twitch of the lips, but gravely adjusted the nearest candle and began to examine the child’s head for signs of cuts or bruises. There were none.
“Watch my finger,” he instructed, moving one digit from left to right in front of the boy’s eyes, then up and down and away from him.
Then he pulled back the bed covers and got him to wiggle fingers and toes, arms and legs, before examining him for any swelling or bruises. Apart from an old, almost healed graze on the child’s knee, he found nothing.
“You’ll do,” Lampton said cheerfully. “I pronounce you fit and well and ready for sleep. Goodnight, young man.”
He rose and opened the door.
“Wait,” the princess instructed.
Lampton chose to interpret that as “wait in the other room” and kept walking. He heard her soft voice murmuring goodnight as he strolled past the two waiting maidservants. Moments later, the princess closed the bedchamber door and stalked up to Lampton, her brilliant green eyes blazing.
“Is that the full extent of your examination?” she demanded. “Could you not even tell that my son has a fever?”
“No, he hasn’t,” Lampton said. “His temperature was certainly elevated when I first arrived, but I gather I caught the tail end of a tantrum—no doubt caused by being wakened in the middle of the night and fussed over when he needed to sleep. His body temperature is now quite normal again.”
The princess’s face flushed with outrage. “Tantrum? That is what you put it down to when a child is discovered unconscious on the floor?”
Lampton picked up his hat. “No. To begin with, he wasn’t unconscious. He was merely asleep. Lots of children fall out of bed without waking. Your son is whole and healthy, madam. Rejoice.”
The princess’s eyes showed fury. “I find your flippancy offensive, sir. Likewise, your arrogance, rudeness, and sheer incompetence. I shall most certainly get another opinion.”
“Actually, I meant it,” he interrupted.
Caught in midstream when she had only paused for breath, she frowned with confusion. “Meant what?”
“Rejoice,” he said mildly. “You have a healthy, spirited son, which is something to celebrate. As for the rest, you are at perfect liberty, although I would advise you to let your son sleep peacefully until the morning before you disturb him with any more annoying doctors and examinations. Either way, I shall send over my account tomorrow.” He inclined his head and donned his hat. “Good night.”
He got as far as the door before she caught up with him. “Account?” she raged. “For what? You did nothing! I shal
l not pay.”
“Then don’t, madam,” he said wearily. “It is Christmas, and I am quite used to being roused in the middle of the night by the wealthy for no reason. At this point, a good night’s sleep is all I want. Let us look on both as gifts.”
She frowned up at him, the anger dying from her eyes along with the anxiety. “You are a very strange physician. Do you retain much patronage among the nobility?”
“Surprisingly, yes.”
“Why? Because you tell them nothing is wrong and that is just what they want to hear?”
“No. Because I never lie to them.”
Her eyes searched his. To his surprise, a rueful little smile curved her sculpted lips. “And you would not deign to feed a mother’s unnecessary anxieties just to earn a fatter fee?”
“That is the other reason the nobility tolerates me. I am not vulgar.”
“Just rude?”
“I cannot recall being rude to you. If I was, then I apologize.”
Her perfectly arched eyebrow twitched once. “No. It was I who was rude.” Her gaze fell to the table beside the door. She lifted a card from the little pile there and held it out to him. “For your account,” she said. “Which I shall not pay.”
Lampton laughed. He couldn’t help it. His reward was the answering smile in her eyes before she turned and walked back across the room. He was still smiling as he closed the door behind him.
The following morning, as he saw out the last patient of the morning—a sailor who had somehow broken his ankle in the tavern and departed on crutches—Lampton found the very large figure of Kate Grant waiting for him.
“Kate! What are you doing here? I would have come to you, you know.”
“I know.” Taking his proffered hand, the vicar’s wife heaved herself out of the chair. “But I wanted some fresh air.”
Kate had passed the “glowing” stage of pregnancy. Although still beautiful, her enormous shape forced her to waddle and the burden was clearly tiring her.
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