Seven Rogues for Christmas: A Historical Romance Holiday Collection

by Dawn Brower

  Edna certainly looked none too happy about the turn of events and her brother was scowling furiously. It seemed he had just lost his wager.

  “Gabriella!” Nick’s voice rang out through the large hallway as Gabriella began to ascend the stairs having bid everyone goodnight. She wasn’t particularly tired but she could read for a few hours rather than suffering the company of her brother and his wife. She felt a little bad leaving Nick to fend for himself but he could do as she had done if he had a mind to.

  She turned and watched him bound up the stairs two at a time until he reached her. His dark blue coat, light blue satin waistcoat and satin knee breeches made her bite her lip. He had good taste in clothes, a fashionable hairstyle and his personality had definitely improved from the twelve-year-old boy who had called her ugly.

  “How can I help you, Nick?”

  “You could let me walk you to your room.” Her eyes widened in horror and he chuckled. “Only to the door of your bedchamber. I shall not be claiming my conjugal rights tonight.” His gaze flicked down to her breasts and he licked his lips before lifting it back to hers. Heat burned in her cheeks and warmth spread through her to her most intimate place. Was she wanton? She wanted him to kiss her, to touch her, to want her. Having explored her own body a little in the dark nights under her bed sheets, she had some idea of where she wanted him to touch her. She licked her own lips. “I would like to claim a kiss, however.”

  “What if someone sees?” she hissed.

  “Then we shall be forced to marry. I do not see why that would be a problem since you have agreed to marry me already.”

  He offered her his arm and she took it, smiling shyly as her guided her up the rest of the wide sweeping staircase.

  “The ring is beautiful,” Gabriella started, feeling the need to fill the long silence as they walked.

  “I am glad you like it. I know it is all rather rushed but I meant what I said. I think we shall suit rather nicely.”

  “I hope I can be a good wife to you and I promise I will not make a fuss about not attending balls and parties. I can understand why no man would want me on his arm. I am very good at blending into the background, despite this.” She lifted her hand to her cheek and the ugly strawberry birthmark which marred her appearance so.

  Nick turned and stared at her. They had begun to walk along the hallway that led to where her suite of rooms was situated.

  “Devil take it, Gabby! Where in God’s name did you get the notion that I would be embarrassed to have you on my arm? I don’t give a fig about… about… about a god-damned birthmark. I have a mole behind my left knee. It’s about the size of a gold sovereign. I hope you shall think none the less of me for that.”

  His dark eyes blazed as his arms thrashed about during his little speech. She blinked rapidly, not understanding his ire. Tears welled in her eyes and she bit her lip. How many times as a child had she tried to wash the darkened skin away? She leaned against the wall to place distance between them.

  “But you think I’m ugly and I understand… I do…” she started.

  “I do not think you are ugly. Whatever gave you such a ridiculous idea?”

  “You did. You said I was ugly.”

  “When? When did I say you were ugly?”

  “The summer after your first year at Eton. You came here and I would not allow you to play with the puppy the stable master had given me. You were too rough and he was just a baby and besides, you had not written to me like you had promised and I was hurt. You said I was ugly and would end up an old spinster. You said no one would want to marry a girl who looked like she had strawberry jam all over her face.” Gabriella blinked back the tears. She would not cry in front of him. Let him try to wriggle out of his cruel words.

  Nick’s mouth dropped open and he stared at her, understanding dawning as the memories came to the fore. “Oh my God. So I did. I remember now.”

  “I think our parents quarrelled over it because neither you nor your family ever came back to Thornwich and we never visited Chetfern estate again.”

  “They did.” His voice was quiet—his tone sombre. “I remember now my father using his switch on my derriere and telling me to learn to respect ladies. He gave me an almighty lecture about how appearances were immaterial and my ugly taunts were a bigger disgrace to my family than any birthmark could ever be.”

  “But your father was wrong, Nick. Appearances do matter. I’m not such a bad sort. I’m relatively easy to get along with, intelligent enough to hold a conversation without having to only discuss hair ribbons and bonnets and yet no one has ever asked me to waltz apart from the gentleman who was picked out for me by the patronesses of Almack’s during my come out season. Not one gentleman, Nick. So you see, appearances do matter and so do birthmarks.”

  “I will not make excuses for my behaviour that day, Gabriella, except to say that I did not mean the hurtful things I said. I was a stupid, thoughtless, callow youth. I was annoyed at you for not allowing me to play with the puppy and I struck out. I was cruel and picked on something that was an easy target. What I said was mean and absolutely not true. Gabby, you are beautiful and clever and strong and…”

  His gaze raked over her face as his tongue darted out to lick his lower lip. He took a step forward, effectively pinning her against the wall.

  “Nick,” she breathed, her hands coming up instinctively to rest on the shoulders of his woollen coat.

  “Gabby,” he all but growled as he placed his lips over hers. They were softer that she had ever imagined a man’s lips would be and he coaxed her to follow his lead, massaging his lips against hers, relaxed but enticing.

  She copied him, enjoying the rising excitement in her belly. He pushed his fingers into her coiffure as he splayed his other hand across the small of her back and the curve of her bottom. It was almost scandalous but when he moved even closer she could not find the will to ask him to stop. She wanted to know more of him and, at that moment, he pressed his tongue into her mouth.

  She made a little whimpering sound at the back of her throat as she surrendered completely to him, spearing her own fingers through his dark curls and rising on her tiptoes to press nearer to him. She began to need him in the same way she needed the air in her lungs.

  As he swept his tongue around her mouth one last time, a rumble came from his throat—a rumble that seemed to call to her, calling out to the world that she was his.

  His kiss was deeper now, more urgent, and she matched his movements as she ran her free hand over the silk of his waistcoat. He seemed to be very muscular under all those layers of cloth. When her hand slipped onto his stomach he pulled away, catching her hand and pressing her palm against his lips.

  Gabriella scowled. Why had he been allowed to have his hand entirely over her bottom but she could not touch him? She had wanted to feel his thighs and his bottom.

  “Don’t frown so, Gabby.”

  “I did something wrong?” she enquired.

  “No, far from it, but here is not the place for explorations of that nature.”

  “But you had your hand on my…” She could not say the word. Her cheeks burned and she now just wanted to escape from his penetrating gaze.

  “I did and I apologise. I was carried away by the moment and by the taste of your sweet lips on mine.” She gave him a sceptical look. Was this the kind of thing men said to entice women to their beds? He chuckled. “My apologies for I am no Lord Byron,” he admitted.

  “Considering the gossip even I have heard from London, that is no bad thing, Lord Eastden. Though, I cannot for the life of me understand exactly what it is he is said to have done to his wife.”

  “Well, my darling Gabriella, I shall not be enlightening you any time soon. Perhaps when you are a married lady I can give you a general explanation of what he has done to scandalise society so. I have brought enough scandal on you by wagering that I could marry you by Christmas.”

  “Yes. I do not think my brother and sister-in-law are at all pl
eased.”

  “No, but let us not talk of them. There was something I wanted to ask you.”

  “Oh?” Her curiosity was piqued.

  “Will you come to Chetfern Estate tomorrow to see my parents? I want to tell them the good news and let them meet you again now you are an adult. I can ask your brother to borrow his carriage or we could ride there. It shall only take an hour or so.”

  “Riding will be better. Joseph may not be keen to lend his carriage to the man to whom he shall soon owe ten thousand pounds.”

  “I shall not take the money from him,” he assured her. “Or if he insists, I shall insist on him paying in small instalments.”

  “That is more than he deserves. Shall we depart straight after breakfast?”

  “Yes.”

  “I shall see you in the morning.” They had reached her door now.

  “I look forward to it.” He bent down and kissed her lightly on the lips, his hand coming up to touch her cheek with the birthmark. When he straightened, his hand lingered and Gabriella could feel her embarrassment rising. “My parents tell me that love grows between a man and a woman after they are married. Until I met you again, I was not convinced they were correct but with you, I see it as a distinct probability.” Then he kissed her forehead, turned down the hall and strode away from her.

  Chapter 18

  Nick squinted at his bride-to-be, sitting proudly atop her snowy white mare, manoeuvring the beast with ease over the uneven ground. He was beginning to think travelling round by the road had been the less sensible option since the hard frozen ground had deep ruts which made it difficult for both horses to walk easily. As a result, they travelled in single file along the centre of the track, the horses walking more easily over the frosty grass that carriage wheels never touched.

  She looked back and smiled, her position on the side-saddle making it much easier for her than it would be for him.

  “Are you well? We’re nearly there.”

  “Yes, I know. I recognise this bit of road.”

  A quarter of an hour later they were drawing their horses to a stop at the front of the blond sandstone mansion. The old abbey, which had been the country home of most of Nick’s ancestors, had been pulled down in the middle of the last century and this newer building had been erected in its place. It had only been completed in Nick’s grandfather’s time.

  A groom came hurrying up to take the horses and Nick slid quickly off his horse before placing his hands on Gabriella’s waist, lifting her off her mare. The groom hurried away but Nick did not remove his hands. He bent so Gabriella was forced to lift her head to meet his gaze from beneath her bonnet.

  He scowled at the frivolous item of clothing that did nothing to keep the poor thing warm. How much lace and trimmings were on the damned thing and how much was needed? Did any of it make a woman look good? Yet somehow, on Gabriella, it all looked utterly feminine and adorable.

  “Thank you for coming,” he said brusquely before pressing a chaste kiss to her lips.

  “You are welcome but I think you should let me go or even your servants will talk.”

  “Let them. You shall be Lady Eastden soon—a viscountess—my viscountess.”

  She smiled at him then—a shy smile that warmed his heart. Was she worried about the wedding night? Was it that aspect of marriage to him that had caused her cheeks to turn such a delightful shade of pink?

  Suddenly the big oak door opened and the butler stood in the entryway.

  “Rogers, nice to see you again.”

  “My lord.” The butler bowed low then looked questioningly at Nick for some help as to how to address his guest. However, as Roger’s glanced at the woman beside him, recognition lit his eyes and his hand moved upwards slightly as if he was moving it towards his face, then he remembered himself. “Lady Gabriella. It is a pleasure to see you again.”

  Gabriella’s hand flew to her cheek and Nick glowered at the aging man.

  “Please announce us to the earl and countess, Rogers,” Nick said, his tone more brusque than usual. He had been brought up to be polite to servants and to treat them well but he was not happy with Rogers at this moment in time.

  “Of course, your lordship. If I may take your outdoor clothing then I shall show you to the blue drawing room.”

  Nick helped Gabriella out of her thick woollen pelisse and removed his own greatcoat. He gave the butler his gloves and hat, as did Gabriella before they followed the old man to the first floor main drawing room for accepting guests. Nick motioned to a chaise, on which she perched her pert bottom, her back ramrod straight and her hands clasped delicately in her lap. She was the perfect lady and suddenly Nick had a number of visions of her doing some very unladylike things in a very unladylike state of dishabille on that very chaise.

  Nick sat beside her. As he was trying to think of a polite topic of conversation, his mother appeared in the doorway. She glanced at him then looked to their guest.

  “Lady Gabriella, it is wonderful to see you again after all this time.” She came forward and clasped his betrothed’s hands. Gabriella’s features broke into a warm smile as she squeezed the countesses fingers then found herself enveloped in a hug. His mother then took her hands again.

  “I am sorry, my dear. I am just so delighted to see you. I wanted so very much to come and check you were well when your parents passed but I fear our quarrel had left deep wounds. I hope you can forgive the earl and myself.”

  “Of course. There is nothing to forgive. Please, my lady, think no more on it.”

  The countess’s eyes sparkled with unshed tears. They were saved from any further uncomfortable discussion by the arrival of Nick’s father. What little hair the man had left came out in unruly silver tufts above his ears. His brown eyes, the mirror of Nick’s own eyes, glinted as he took in the scene.

  “Gabriella, my dear, it is a delight to see you again. Time that blaggard of a son of mine did some fence mending between our families. How are you, boy? Still being a wastrel?”

  “Well…” Nick started but stopped as his mother hurried over to the bell pull.

  “We must have tea.”

  Nick rolled his eyes. Tea could wait a few minutes, surely. Apparently not. Five minutes later tea was served and Nick was more nervous than he had been since his days in Eton when he had not practiced his Greek noun declensions and would have to suffer the ensuing corporal punishment for his laziness.

  “Mother, Father,” he started, taking Gabriella’s free hand in his. He noted the chinking of china as the hand holding her cup and saucer shook. “I would like to announce my engagement to Lady Gabriella. We are to be married on Christmas Eve.”

  “Christmas Eve?” asked his mother, her expression a mixture of delight and concern. “What is the hurry? Oh Nick, you have not…”

  “No, mother, what do you take me for?”

  “So Lady Gabriella is not… umm… increasing?” his father put in, rather indelicately. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Gabriella’s eyes widen.

  “Really, Father, if you were any other man, I would call you out for that remark.”

  “Adam, that really was not well done of you,” Lady Chetfern remonstrated. “Gabriella, I do apologise for his lordship. He really can be a very rude man on occasions. I would put it down to age but he has always been like this. I fear it is poor breeding. Nicholas, why the hurry?”

  Nick blushed. He could not lie to his parents and now they would think him a cad.

  “I want to marry at Christmas,” Gabriella blurted out. “It is so romantic. A time of new beginnings with the birth of our Lord and yet the dark nights will give us ample opportunity to get to know each other better.”

  The earl’s jaw dropped before he lifted his hand and coughed to cover his bark of laughter. Nick noticed his mother pursing her lips to stop herself from looking amused at the unintentional suggestion from his innocent bride-to-be.

  “Quite so,” Nick remarked, slightly disturbed by his parents’ behaviour. H
e would have expected this from some of his bawdy friends but not his mother.

  “Yes, it is rather romantic. I must say, I never realised my son had developed a tendre for you, Gabriella, but I am glad that he has. We will be delighted to have you as our daughter–in-law, shall we not, Adam?”

  “Oh, of course,” muttered his father, seeming to have come to his senses. “Welcome to the family, my girl,” he added for good measure before turning his attention to his cake.

  “I am so glad you agreed to stay for dinner and spend the night here, Gabriella, my dear,” trilled the countess as the ladies retired to the drawing room while the gentlemen made their way into the library for a brandy. “I asked my maid to leave a brand new chemise and a nightrail out on the bed for you. I’ve assigned Sally, one of the kitchen maids who has attended a few guests, to be your maid while you stay here. If you bring your own maid when you marry…”

  “Oh, one of our kitchen maids helps me dress. I do not have a lot of needs as my hair is simply pulled into a knot and my gowns tend to be relatively free of fuss and frills.”

  “So I see and what of your trousseau, Gabriella? Has Lady Thornwich offered to take you to London to be fitted for and to choose your trousseau?”

  Gabriella swallowed hard. She had no love for Edna but it felt rather dishonourable to explain to Lady Chetfern exactly what her relationship with her sister-in-law was like and that Gabriella would rather dig her eyes out with a spoon than go shopping with the woman.

  “I… We… have not yet discussed the matter,” she answered lamely. “The betrothal happened rather quickly and then today we came to visit you.”

  “I see. The reason I ask is that… well, my mother-in-law-to-be was the one who took me shopping for my trousseau. My mother had died and I had no siblings, just an aging great aunt. Adam’s mother stepped into the breach, as it were. We actually had quite a jolly time as she was less embarrassed than my poor mother would have been. Given that you need to choose undergarments and night attire that will…well…that Nicholas will appreciate, it is sometimes easier with ladies to whom you are not so close. Do you think Lady Thornwich would mind awfully if I were to offer to take you to London for a couple of days? I do not have a daughter of my own and part of me would like to turn this into a tradition. Perhaps one day you could do it for your soon-to-be daughter-in-law.”