Marry Christmas (Zebra Historical Romance) (21 page)

“The stables,” she said, after pulling on her cloak.

“Behind the west wing, Your Grace.”

“Thank you, Tisbury.”

He gave a little bow and opened the door for her, and Elizabeth was immediately buffeted by an icy cold blast.

“’Tis a bit raw out tonight. Might snow. Shall I ac company you, Your Grace?”

Elizabeth smiled. “I shouldn’t think I’ll get lost. Or buried in any snow should it start. Thank you.”

She followed a gravel drive that swept around the massive home, huddling down into her cloak. It certainly was cold enough for snow, she thought, and found herself longing for the warm days of summer. She turned the corner and stopped, her eyes searching for something that could be the stable. About two hundred yards away she could seen a dim rectangular light and started walking that way, hoping she was going in the right direction. If her eyes hadn’t told her, her nose would have, for the closer she got to the large building, the stronger the scent of hay and horse. As she drew closer still, she could hear pounding, the distinctive sound of a nail being driven into wood. Having grown up with a mother who was constantly redecorating, it was a familiar sound to Elizabeth.

The stable was a huge stone structure that resembled more of an English country home than a place that housed animals. The windows were dimly lit, as if only a single lamp was illuminated within, and the door leading into the stables was slightly ajar. She heard nothing but the periodic hammering and the rustling of leaves pushed by the wind into the stones. Elizabeth withdrew one hand from her muff and pushed the door open just enough to peek inside. There, at the far end of the stables, she saw a lantern sitting near a sawhorse. She could see no soul in the stable, but for the two carriage horses. She eased her self into the room, immediately struck by how warm it was, far warmer than any room inside the house. A large woodstove near the center of the long row of stalls was likely the source of the wonderful heat.

Elizabeth padded toward the hammering, her slippers nearly silent on the smooth stone floor, walking past one empty stall after another. Here and there, fresh wood had been nailed to the stalls in apparent repairs, and Elizabeth was aware of the smell of sawdust over the smell of hay and horse. She was nearly even with the wonderfully warm stove, when she reached the stall where Rand worked, unaware she was in the building. She peeked over the stop of the stall and gasped lightly, for he was naked from the waist up, his back glistening with sweat, and she stared with a painful longing at his beautiful form. As he worked, one knee on the stone floor, a hand bracing against the wood where he hammered, the muscles on his back moved in an almost erotic rhythm.

Desire hit her, swept through her body so unexpectedly, so brutally, she found herself clinging to a rough wooden post gasping for breath. The hammering stopped, and he stood and stretched, giving off an intoxicating groan that sounded, to Elizabeth’s overheated ears, like a man in ecstasy, all those wonderful muscles on his back expanding and contracting. She watched silently hoping he wouldn’t notice her standing there staring at him. He reached for another board and picked up a nail, putting it in his mouth as he adjusted the plank and all the time Elizabeth watched, her mouth going dry.

Elizabeth slowly turned, mortified by her thoughts and suddenly desperate to get away before he knew she’d been watching him. Rand jerked his head, cocking his ear, and Elizabeth had the ridiculous urge to throw herself down into the nearby stall to hide. And then he turned quickly, taking a combative stance, as if he were about to attack. When he saw her, he straightened and immediately reached for his shirt, which hung limply on the stall gate.

“Elizabeth,” he said, sounding slightly irritated as he pulled his shirt on and began to button. “I beg your pardon, I didn’t hear you come in.”

Elizabeth swallowed, her eyes drifting down to his still-exposed chest. “You were hammering,” she said stupidly.

“So I was. What do you want?”

What did she want?
Not quite what she wanted when she’d left the house to come in search of him. Then, all she’d wanted was a bit of companionship, a conversation about the weather, perhaps. She certainly could not tell him what she wanted now.

“I was lonely,” she said, which was true enough.

“I have work to do.” It was a dismissal, and one Elizabeth chose to ignore.

“May I watch?” she asked. She didn’t care if she sounded pathetic. Certainly watching Rand hammer was far more fascinating than staring at the walls in her room, as lovely as they were.

He gave her a strange look, then shrugged, and turned back to his work, picking up the board and re positioning it.

Elizabeth frowned at his back where his shirt stuck to him uncomfortably. “You could take your shirt off again if you like. It is dreadfully warm in here,” she said cheerfully.

He froze, then straightened slowly, his eyes burning into her. He took a step toward her, then stopped. “Per haps you should return to the house, Elizabeth.”

Elizabeth smiled to hide the sharp stab of disappointment. Feeling foolish for being so bold, she nodded, then shook her head in disgust for being so meek. He was her husband and she was going to talk to him whether he liked it or not. “I’ll stay,” she said, lifting her chin in a challenge. “I won’t bother you. I promise.” She smiled hopefully.

Tossing down the hammer in disgust, he muttered, “I’m done for the night, then.”

“You are a coward,” Elizabeth declared.

He was at her in two long strides, his hands wrapping around her upper arms. “Tell me, dear wife, what am I afraid of?”

“Me.”

He stared down at her, pulling so close she had to bend her neck back to see him. She was done with being meek, done with sitting alone every night, done with wanting him and not having him.

“I am afraid of you,” he admitted, rather nonchalantly, his voice deceivingly soft. “I’m afraid that if I touch you I won’t be able to stop.”

“You’re touching me now,” she pointed out blithely.

“Not the way I want to. Not nearly the way I want to,” he said, then brought his head down as if he planned to kiss her. Instead he let out a groan of anger or frustration, Elizabeth didn’t know which. He pushed her from him, his breath coming out harshly and he looked at her as if he hated her.

“Why are you here?” he demanded again, his eyes, almost unwillingly, dropped to her mouth.
He wants me,
she thought, feeling the slightest bit of hope.

“Because I miss you,” she said, opting for complete honesty.

He closed his eyes briefly, and let out a short breath.

“I miss you touching me.” She bit her lip, wondering if she’d said too much. He let out a small, tortured laugh, then shook his head as if to clear it.

“That’s too damn bad for you,” he said, walking stiffly over to the sawhorse and grabbing a saw and a long plank.

“So this is how it’s going to be? Forever? You’re going to punish me forever?”

He looked at her as if she’d gone mad. “Punish
you,
” he said incredulously. He shook his head, clearing his thoughts or shaking away the anger, she wasn’t certain which. “Go back to the house,” he said finally, as he began sawing brutally through the wood. The sharp smell of fresh sawdust stung her nostrils.

Elizabeth stared at him for a few minutes before turning with a little huff. Stubborn, ridiculous man, she thought as she marched to the stable door. As she passed the last stall, one of the carriage horses whickered at her, and she muttered, “To hell with you, too.”

When Rand was certain she was gone, he knelt by the board he’d been sawing and pressed his forehead painfully against it, letting out a strangled sound that might have been laughter, but held far too much misery for that happy sound.

Why had she come out to the stable, his one sanctuary where all he had to think about was pounding and sawing and backbreaking work? Every night after a long day working with his tenants and the men repairing the multitude of houses on his land, he’d come to the stables and work. At first, it had been a way to escape her. If he was in the stables, he couldn’t hear her moving quietly about her room, the way she hummed without even knowing it. Her heavy sighs. The sound of the bed creaking when she finally succumbed and went to bed.

Now, he found he enjoyed the work. He missed the physical nature of soldiering, and realized his blue blood needed hard labor to be content. He didn’t think of her; he didn’t even want her. But she’d come to him and now whenever he worked in the stables, he knew he’d see her standing there in the lamplight looking so damned beautiful, her eyes filled with desire, her body soft and so inviting he’d nearly taken her there on the straw-covered floor. She’d wanted him. He’d seen it in her eyes like a stab to his heart. My God, she’d been fairly panting with desire and he’d sent her away. He was either the biggest fool or still half in love with her. Rand squeezed his eyes at that errant thought.

Perhaps it wasn’t love, perhaps it was the physical re lease that she offered that had him so half crazed. He ached for her, a physical pain that was not going to go away until he had her—or any woman. He should travel to London and look up his old mistress from his days in the Guards. Mary had always been able to slake his needs, and was mighty pretty if a man wasn’t too particular about straight teeth. Even as he thought of Mary’s charms, he knew he would not be able to drive Elizabeth’s face completely from his mind. He did not want any woman; he wanted his wife. He wanted to hear her sigh as he kissed her breasts, the way she whimpered lightly when she was about to come.

Rand tore a hand through his hair and squeezed until the pain of desire simply became pain. He was aroused and sweating and if he didn’t have sex this night he’d kill someone for merely looking at him strangely. He was damned to live this hell because he knew he didn’t simply want sex, he wanted to make love with his wife.

And she wanted him.

Hell, he might as well give them both what they wanted, he thought, throwing down the saw for the last time that night. He’d simply have to find a way to guard his heart.

Elizabeth had been gone for less than two months and already Maggie’s life had changed to such a degree that it was mind-boggling. She realized quite quickly that nearly every invitation that came her way from the coveted New York Four Hundred, had come via Elizabeth. It was a rare event indeed when she was included on the list of guests at one of the most prestigious balls of the season, and it was likely more of an oversight by the hostess rather than a pointed invitation.

Lately, she’d been attending less grand affairs within the social fringes of the Four Hundred, or else been staying home entirely. Attending anything wasn’t the same without Elizabeth at any rate. It seemed everything had dulled, and she knew it wasn’t only her friend’s absence that was to blame, but memories of someone else entirely. She simply found everyone lacking after Lord Hollings. They weren’t as witty or handsome or tall. And she couldn’t imagine losing herself in a kiss with any of the men whom she met.

She walked into the Von Platt’s home on the arm of her brother and saw the same faces she’d been seeing for years. The Four Hundred was a rather exclusive club with only a limited number of eligible bachelors, most of whom seemed to end with the name Wright.

Arthur Wright, it seemed, was courting her in earnest, and other than telling him outright to go away, she wasn’t certain what to do. If she were completely honest, which she always tried to be, she had to admit that she liked Arthur for there was nothing really to dislike. She supposed he was good-looking. He was intelligent enough and was now heading a vast portion of his father’s interests. But, my goodness, he was boring. They could stand side by side for nearly an hour and not say a word unless Maggie brought up a topic she knew he could talk about—Egyptology. Unless they were touring a museum that held the remains of mummified kings and queens, the man had nothing to talk about. He would stand by her rocking heel to toe, heel to toe, looking about the room as if everyone in it was remarkably fascinating.

She stood by him at the moment, watching New York’s elite waltz by, wistfully thinking back on another ball when she stood by another man chatting happily about everything and nothing. Lord Hollings had been a man she could completely relax with—as long as they were in public. If ever she was alone with him, she had been anything but comfortable, she’d been wonderfully terrified. And hopeful. And desperately in love.

“Hello, Miss Grayson,” Arthur said next to her. Charlotte Grayson had been in Elizabeth’s wedding party, much to her best friend’s objections. Charlotte was a nasty girl, inside and out. Some people found her attractive, but to Maggie there was something about her face that was as mean and spiteful as her insides. Her hair was blond, her eyes blue, but set too close together for her to be a true beauty. And her mouth was so thin, it would have been nearly invisible but for the rouge she put on it.

“Mr. Wright. Oh, Margaret. How are you? I do have the most wonderful news.” She looked at Arthur, who didn’t get the hint that he should leave until Maggie gave him a bit of a nudge. When Arthur was gone, she held up her hand, and Maggie couldn’t help but smile.

“You’re engaged! Congratulations, Charlotte. Another grand wedding already. Imagine.” Other than Elizabeth, Charlotte was known as one of the wealthiest heiresses in New York. Thus far, her money hadn’t attracted a husband, no doubt even all that cash couldn’t overcome Charlotte’s personality, Maggie thought rather uncharitably. To be fair, she didn’t really know Charlotte all that well and was basing her opinion on tales Elizabeth and others had told her. With this in mind, she decided to be pleasant. Being pleasant when she did not want to be had become quite a necessary talent of late.

“You were at Elizabeth’s wedding, weren’t you?” she asked, and Maggie couldn’t help think she was only asking to remind her she had not been included in the wedding party.

“Yes, I was.”

“Mother is beside herself with joy. She had given up hope, but I found the perfect man. Henry Ellsworth.”

Maggie could not stop her shock from showing. “Henry Ellsworth?”

“He’s perfect.” She let out a laugh. “Oh, stop looking at me like that. I know perfectly well he’s marrying me for my money and I don’t care,” she said, making a gesture as if it was inconsequential. “We understand each other and get along famously.”

“I’m certain it must be more than that,” Maggie said graciously.

Charlotte shrugged. “I’m twenty-four,” she said, as if indulging a great secret. Maggie looked suitably shocked, although she’d actually thought her a bit older. “I know for a fact that he secretly courted Elizabeth. He told me himself. He held up hope ’til the end that she’d jilt the duke. Do you know what he did?” As a footman passed with a tray of champagne, Charlotte took one and Maggie realized it wasn’t her first drink of the night. By far.

“He told me on the eve of her wedding he actually gave her a note, begging her to remember him.” She laughed. “Oh, God, he is such a nasty man, but I do adore him. Truly.” She took a sip. “Sad thing is, I think he actually loved her. Idiot,” she said rather fondly.

Charlotte laid a hand on her arm, nearly overcome with mirth. “But he loved her money far better. Oh, can you imagine sending her such a note? Oh, goodness, he can make me laugh. I think he actually thought she’d jilt a
duke
for him. I told him he was going to have to work on his charms. He was so insulted.” She took a sip of her champagne. “And then he found me.” She smiled, but there was something tragic about that smile.

“I think you’ll make a wonderful couple,” Maggie said, feeling slightly sick to her stomach. She hadn’t known about the note, Elizabeth hadn’t said a thing. Oh, poor Elizabeth. She’d been so upset about marrying Bellingham. It was bad enough to run into Henry right before the wedding, but for him to have given her that note was unforgivable. “Is he here tonight?” she asked sweetly.

“Oh, somewhere,” Charlotte said, waving one hand negligently. “Probably in the billiard room. It’s where I always find him.”

“You know, Charlotte, some people might think what Henry did was unforgivable. Especially members of this set. You know how powerful the Cummings are. I hope you haven’t told too many people about this,” Maggie said, praying for her friend’s sake that such a humiliating tale had not been spread.

Charlotte seemed to sober up before her eyes. “No. No you’re right. Of course.” She gave Maggie a sharp look as if realizing for the first time what she had said and who she was talking to. “I can count on your discretion.”

“You can. I see no need to hurt anyone unnecessarily,” she said, thinking only of Elizabeth.

Charlotte smiled at her, which served only to make her appear as if she’d eaten something nasty. Her own words, perhaps.

“Oh,” Charlotte said, craning her neck a bit. “I think I see…someone. Nice chatting with you, Margaret.”

Maggie watched Charlotte walk away and said a quick prayer that she’d gotten through to her how awful it would be if such a story about Henry and Elizabeth spread. She could not remember feeling so angry her entire life. Her temples pounded, and she could actually feel the anger roiling in her stomach. Spying her brother, she waved him over.

“Sam, I think we’ll be leaving the ball early tonight. Do you mind too much?”

Her brother grinned. “I mind about as much as missing the opera,” said her brother, who loathed the opera.

“Good. I’ll meet you at the front door. Could you please fetch my wrap, as well?”

Sam rolled his eyes but gave her a little bow. “At your service, Madam. And I get two scones for breakfast tomorrow morning.”

She gave him a look of sisterly exasperation. “Fine.”

As soon as her brother was gone, Maggie headed for the billiard room on the second floor of the large home. Having fetched her brothers from said room on many occasions, Maggie knew exactly where to go. She didn’t know what she was going to say, but she knew she was going to let Henry Ellsworth know she thought him the most despicable man on earth. She smelled the thick cigar smoke long before she reached the room, making a mental note to ban those things should she ever be mistress of her own home. It took her only a few moments before she was noticed and able to wave Henry to the door. The cad gave her a wide smile, and she had to admit he was a handsome devil, in an overly polished way.

“Why, Miss Pierce, how nice to see you,” he said as Maggie stepped back from the door.

And then, not even knowing what was coming, Maggie punched Henry right in the stomach, making him double over with a muffled woof. “That’s for Elizabeth you miserable son of a bitch.”

Maggie walked away, her body thrumming with adrenaline, her wrist aching from the impact to his stomach. All those years tussling with her brothers—and hearing their colorful language—had paid off apparently. Had anyone asked Maggie just moments ago if she was capable of such violence or such language, she would have denied it heatedly. But at the moment, she felt as if she were floating toward the front door. Keeping a straight face, she accepted her brother’s help with the cloak and didn’t dissolve into a bit of hysterical laughter until they were out the door.

“My goodness, Meg, what’s this all about,” Sam asked, smiling at his sister’s laughter even though he hadn’t a clue what was going on.

Maggie could hardly stand, she was laughing so hard. “I just laid out Henry Ellsworth.”

“You what?”

“Punched him,” she said. “Hard. I don’t think I killed him, though,” she added rather darkly.

“Good God, Maggie, why would you do such a thing?” Then his face changed, tightened, and he pushed up the sleeves of his coat as if ready to spar.

“Oh, don’t be silly, Samuel,” Maggie said, putting a restraining arm on her brother’s shoulder. “He didn’t do anything to me. I punched him for something he did to Elizabeth.”

“Oh,” her brother said, relaxing. “Laid him out good, did you?” Clearly her brother was impressed.

“Hmmm. I hurt my wrist a bit. Perhaps I hit him too hard.”

“Your wrist’s about as thick as a twig. You’re lucky you didn’t break it. Show me how you punched him,” he said with brotherly concern.

Maggie demonstrated, without making contact with her brother’s stomach.

“Well, you held your fist right anyway.” Her brother chuckled. “What did he do to Elizabeth, anyway?”

Maggie told him the story and swore him to secrecy.

“I knew there was a good reason I didn’t like that man. Too slick.”

“He’s Charlotte Grayson’s concern now. They’re engaged.”

Sam threw back his head and laughed. As they stepped up into the carriage, Maggie looked back at the house and realized she had never had so much fun at a ball.