A very wicked christmas, p.15
A Very Wicked Christmas, page 15
“Oh!” came a startled voice. “Lord Gentry. I came down for a cup of warm milk. Are you wakeful, too?”
Jane? That orgasm should have sent her straight to sleep. Granted, women were different, often wanting to talk after making love, but she didn’t have anyone to talk to…
Except Gentry, here and now, whom she was considering marrying.
“Not at all.” Gentry’s discomfiture showed in his voice. He’d probably averted his eyes at the scandalous sight of a lady in her nightclothes. “Matter of fact, I—”
“Well, well,” came another female voice. “Quite a little party in the kitchen tonight. Are you sleepless too, Lord Gentry? Lady Jane?”
Amabel Tripp. The question now became not only why was she here, but whom was she stalking, Gentry or Jane? She certainly hadn’t come for a glass of milk.
“I woke from a dream and couldn’t get back to sleep,” Jane said. “Would you like some milk, too?” She passed the doorway to the scullery and returned with a jug. “We can warm it on the coals in no time.”
“Thank you, I should like that, Lady Jane,” said Amabel.
“You, Lord Gentry?” Jane asked.
“You may as well warm enough for all three of us,” Amabel said before Lord Gentry could answer. Colwyn could have sworn Gentry had been about to leave in haste. Now, why would Amabel want him to stay? “A nightmare, was it?” she asked. “I’m so sorry.”
Obnoxious little witch. Doubtless Amabel was aware of Colwyn’s reason for coming to Staves. He wished he knew hers—something to do with the master’s plots and plans, no doubt. He thought he’d done his bit by helping Lettice, but clearly that wasn’t enough.
“No,” Jane said. “Not a nightmare.”
Ha!
“But disturbing enough to wake me.”
Disturbing…in a good way or bad? “Fortunately, warm milk always puts me back to sleep,” Jane said. “Ah, here’s a saucepan.”
“Did you have a bad dream, too, Lord Gentry?” Amabel asked.
“No.” He sounded more at ease. “I just couldn’t sleep.”
“Perhaps a little brandy in your milk will help,” she said. “There’s a decanter in your father’s library… Speak of the devil.”
“What are you doing down here, Gentry?” came the loud, imperative voice of Lord Staves. He marched into the kitchen. “And Lady Jane!” Pause. “Ah, and Miss, er…”
“Tripp,” supplied Amabel. “We couldn’t sleep, my lord, and warm milk is just the thing for it. Would you like some, too?”
Chapter Four
Thank heavens for Miss Tripp’s presence. If Jane wasn’t mistaken, Lord Staves would have pounced on this opportunity to declare herself and Lord Gentry compromised. Not that she would have given in to such stupidity, but judging by Gentry’s tightly-folded lips, he feared she might do just that—perhaps that she even wanted to.
How dare the marquis try to manipulate her? She’d suffered plenty of that while her mother was alive. Yes, it was a mother’s job to protect her daughter from rakes and find her the best possible match—but a little less interference might have made Jane more cooperative and a little less likely to run wild, resulting in the fix in which she found herself now.
Or perhaps not. Jane suspected that her tendency to wildness had been there all along and remained there still, despite her best efforts to ignore it. Why else would she have these wanton dreams?
She tried again to imagine being wanton with Lord Gentry. No, not even a twitch of desire. She had a strong feeling Gentry had as little interest in her.
“No, I would not like some milk,” his lordship barked. “Good Lord, Gentry, you’re a man now, not a baby. You don’t need warm milk, either. Off to bed.” Like the baby he no longer was, Gentry obeyed, leaving Jane and Miss Tripp with the marquis.
“Why didn’t you ring for a servant?” the marquis said. “Most improper for ladies to be out and about in their nightdresses.”
“The servants need their sleep,” Jane said.
“Nonsense. Lazy bunch of fools, as you’ll soon learn, once you’re permanently residing at Staves.” He stomped away.
Jane cursed under her breath. She set the saucepan on the coals.
“Permanently residing?” Miss Tripp inquired after a long moment.
Jane shouldn’t confide in this woman she scarcely knew, but at this point she didn’t care. “He wants me to marry Lord Gentry.”
“More than that, I should say,” Miss Tripp said. “He has decided that you will do so. I take it that you do not agree?”
“I told him I would think about it. Perhaps I should have flatly refused from the start, but I thought it behooved me to at least consider it. I should like to marry soon, and Lord Gentry is a good catch.”
“On the other hand, the old man may live for years, making your life miserable along with everyone else’s.”
This was frank speaking indeed. “He’s dreadful, isn’t he? I meant to talk to Lord Gentry about it, see if…” See if I like his aroma. But she could hardly say that. “See if he was amenable to the idea, but I don’t think he is. I shouldn’t like to force a man to marry me, any more than I should like to be forced into marriage.” She sighed. “And now I daren’t risk talking to him privately, for fear Lord Staves will try to declare my reputation compromised, and Gentry therefore honor-bound to marry me.”
“Because Lord Gentry might feel obliged to obey.”
“He always does what he’s told,” Jane sighed. “I’m surprised he hasn’t already asked me to marry him—Lord Staves gave him the order a whole twelve hours ago.”
Miss Tripp chuckled. “Who knows, Lord Gentry may prove to have unplumbed depths of character.”
“I wish that seemed likely,” Jane said. “I don’t understand why he’s so very obedient. Respect I would understand, but why let Lord Staves bully him? He’s the heir and can’t be disinherited like Lord Valiant was.”
“One must assume he has his reasons,” Miss Tripp said.
“This is going to be the worst Christmas ever. I just arrived, and already I’m dying to go back home.” Jane poured milk into two earthenware mugs and handed one to Miss Tripp. “Thank you for listening while I griped.”
~ * ~
“Happy to be of use,” Amabel said.
Which was all very well and maybe even true, thought Colwyn from his hiding place, but what was her real motivation?
“Go back to bed, Lady Jane. I’ll put the saucepan in the scullery,” she said, and after a few moments, soft footsteps approached Colwyn’s hiding place. “You can come out now.”
Colwyn pushed the shelves open and slipped through. “Been stalking me too, have you?”
“By God, you do look ridiculous in that beard.” She grinned. “I don’t know how I contrived to keep a straight face this afternoon.”
“It itches like hell,” he said.
“Want some milk?” Without waiting for an answer, she poured the last of it into a cup and handed it to him. “It’s just the thing for sexual frustration.”
“Got you stirred up too, did I?” One of the disadvantages of incubus-induced dreams was that they sometimes affected others besides their intended victims—and she’d probably been skulking not far away. “Amabel, what in Hades are you doing here?”
“Protecting interests other than yours.”
“Which are?”
“I’m not at liberty to say.”
“Bollocks,” he said. “Why shouldn’t you tell me?”
She shrugged. “Perhaps I’m just having fun, playing at being a lady.”
“You are a lady,” he said. “A damned annoying one.”
“I rather like your Jane,” she said. “Now there’s a real lady. She has a sense of honor.”
Which Amabel didn’t—or at least, not the usual sort. Under that irritating persona dwelt a determined, often unscrupulous woman—but she did her best not to cause any harm.
“It’s likely to prove your downfall,” she added.
Colwyn cast his eyes heavenward. “You’ve been listening to the master. I’ll make sure she wants to marry me.”
“What if the devil marquis manages to catch her speaking privately with Gentry? She may feel obliged to marry him.”
He shook his head. “She won’t give in to Lord Staves.”
“No? What if he’s holding something over her head?”
So Amabel did know about the dirty secret, whatever it was. “Such as what?”
“If I knew, would I tell you?” She smirked.
Typical Amabel. “If she agrees to marry Gentry, I’ll abduct her.”
“How romantic.”
“But I’d prefer to do things properly,” he said. “No scandal, everything above board. We’ll just have to keep them apart.”
She raised a mocking brow. “We?”
“Yes, we.” She had just prevented one such potential disaster. “That’s how you’ll help me. I thought I was here to help Lettice, but I believe I’m supposed to help you, too.”
She heaved a long sigh. “I don’t think you can.”
“Certainly not if you don’t tell me how.”
She smiled ruefully and shook her head. “Don’t tell Lettice about me, by the way. She doesn’t know I was an operative, and I would rather she didn’t…for now, at least. I must appear respectable to everyone at Staves, apart from you.”
He shrugged acquiescence, wondering why she’d even thought to mention it. Lettice had no need to know about an operation she wasn’t part of, so why would he tell her? He broke rules all the time, but this one made sense…
Or…had Amabel found a roundabout way to reveal something to him?
~ * ~
St. Thomas’ Day dawned crisp and cold, and the ladies bundled themselves into three separate carriages to deliver the baskets, along with assorted hams, geese, and turkeys. Each pair of ladies was accompanied on horseback by at least one of the gentlemen. Jane made a point of pairing off with Lettice, as Lord Hadrian intended to be his wife’s escort. This strategy not only kept Jane safely away from Lord Gentry, but it also meant some time with Lettice.
It fell to them to take the gig—a little chillier than a closed carriage. Lettice took the reins, and Lord Hadrian rode alongside.
“I know you didn’t want to stay even for a few days, but I’m glad you did,” Jane said. “It’s lovely to have a chance to visit with you.”
“It is indeed,” Lettice said. “At breakfast, Lord Staves hinted at an arrangement between you and Lord Gentry, which would make us sisters.”
Jane blew out an exasperated breath. She had slept a little late and breakfasted in her room, thus missing this attempt to bring about the betrothal without her consent. “There is no such arrangement. Lord Staves is the most horrid man! I beg your pardon, Lord Hadrian, but your father is the outside of enough.”
Hadrian laughed ruefully. “No one knows that better than I.”
“Much as I would love to be your sister, Lettice, I don’t think I can marry Lord Gentry. Admittedly, I’ve given it some thought, since Lord Staves suggested it, but…”
“Suggested?” Lettice cocked her head.
“No, he ordered me, and no doubted ordered Lord Gentry, too. I refuse to be coerced into marriage.” She paused, thinking. “Has he made no move to find a wife for himself?”
“Not that I’m aware,” Hadrian said.
“Perhaps we could look about ourselves and find one for him,” Jane said. “Someone kind and warmhearted who won’t order him about.”
“She would also have to meet my father’s standards for a future mistress of Staves,” Hadrian said. “He wanted the daughter of a duke or marquis. As the daughter of an earl, you’re his last-ditch effort.”
“Spurred on by Hadrian’s marriage to me,” Lettice said, “not so very long after Valiant’s to a rather scandalous Frenchwoman. Have you met Lucie? No, I suppose not. She wouldn’t be welcome in your circle. Well, you must. She’s my dear friend and a delightful person. She’s expecting a baby, you know.”
“She is?” Jane burst into laughter. “Oh, I’m sorry, b-but that’s so funny. Lord Staves was convinced she is barren! Don’t tell him, though, or he’ll be more panicked than ever about marrying Gentry off to keep the sacred bloodline pure.”
Hadrian’s face darkened. “If he wasn’t my father and thirty-five years older than I, I would take great pleasure in flooring him.”
“Don’t let it bother you, Hadrian,” Lettice said. “He doesn’t understand love and never will, so he can’t entirely be blamed.”
Love. How wonderful it must be. Not infatuation—Jane knew what that felt like—but soul-deep love.
They arrived at the first cottage. Hadrian helped them down and introduced them to the cottagers, who were profuse in their congratulation, well-wishes, and thanks. After sampling the wife’s elder wine, they continued on, turning off the road toward a farm. Hadrian drew ahead on the narrow track, giving Jane the opportunity for a little private conversation.
Now that the moment had come, shyness possessed her. This was such a personal question… But whom else could she ask? Not Lady Staves, definitely not Miss Devoe, and she hardly knew Lady Billing. The same went for Miss Tripp. It was Lettice or no one.
“Lettice, I must ask you something.” She sensed her friend’s sudden wariness, and hurried on with her little speech. “This a quite embarrassing, but I can’t think of anyone else.” She paused, then said in a near-whisper, “Do you ever have erotic dreams?”
“Er,” Lettice said. A spasm of some emotion Jane couldn’t identify traveled across her friend’s face. Not mirrored embarrassment, exactly, but more like, oh, drat.
So Jane babbled on. “I’ve been having that sort of dream, you see, and last night’s was particularly vivid, and I’ve begun to wonder, er, well, if there is something the matter with me, and I thought you might know.” Pause. “As one who has had more experience than I.” That came out all wrong. “Oh dear, that sounded absolutely dreadful, and I didn’t mean it that way. It’s just that I know nothing at all, but whom can I ask? My mother is dead, not that I would ever have asked her such a thing, and Auntie G and Lady Staves are both very kind, but…”
“Calm down, Jane, I’m not offended.” Lettice composed her features. “Yes, I’m familiar with erotic dreams. They’re not uncommon, you know. No, evidently you don’t. You seem uneasy, but why? They’re not harmful, and you can’t control your dreams.”
“No, I suppose not.”
“Maybe your body and mind are preparing themselves for marriage,” Lettice said.
“I thought of that,” Jane said, “and it has certainly made me more aware of gentlemen as a whole.” She heaved a sigh. “I tried to think of Lord Gentry that way, but it didn’t work at all, which is one of several reasons I’m reluctant to marry him.”
“I expect you have quite a number of suitors, haven’t you? You’re well-bred, wealthy, and respectable.”
“Judging by my dreams, I’m not as respectable on the inside as on the surface,” Jane said.
Lettice laughed. “I imagine we all are, when it comes down to it. Don’t worry, love. Just enjoy the dreams, and keep an eye open for the right man.”
They reached the farm, and that ended the conversation. At midday, they convened at Staves Court for a quick nuncheon. It was a little warmer now, but clouds began to gather.
“I hope it won’t rain,” Jane said. “No fun at all in a gig.”
“Snow, more likely,” Lord Gentry said. “But not until late tonight.”
“I love snow at Christmas,” Miss Tripp said.
So did Jane ordinarily, but it might mean being stuck here for days and days, dodging attempts to compromise her. She glanced up the table at Mr. Pilgrim, who had accompanied the elderly ladies this morning, wishing he could accompany her for the afternoon round. At least he was interesting. Now, if he tried to compromise her, she might not say no.
Heavens, what was she thinking? She scarcely knew the man, and she absolutely loathed that beard!
“You’ll go in one of the closed carriages, Jane,” said Lord Staves. “Gentry, you’ll accompany her.”
Jerked back to reality, she shook her head. Knowing Lord Staves, he would somehow trap them together in the carriage while whichever lady accompanied her was momentarily out of the way. “Thank you, but I prefer the gig. I trust Lord Gentry’s judgment about the possibility of snow.”
“Rightly so, my dear,” Lady Staves said. “Gentry is always right about the weather.”
“I’ll go with you,” Miss Tripp volunteered. She’d driven with Miss Devoe in the morning. “Someone else can have my place in that luxurious traveling carriage. As a clergyman’s daughter, I’m used to going out in inclement weather to visit the poor and ailing.”
“Noble of you, I’m sure,” grumbled Lord Staves.
“Oh, no,” she said in a prim, pious voice. “One does one’s duty.”
He shot his eldest son a darkling look. “As Gentry will do his, or else.”
They set out again. “Thank you,” Jane whispered to Miss Tripp.
“You’re much more fun to talk to than Miss Devoe,” she said. “She took my questions about the traditions at Staves as impertinence. Why wouldn’t I ask about them, especially St. Thomas’ Day? I am accustomed to the poor coming begging, not the rich going gift-giving.”
“It was Lady Staves’ notion, I believe,” Jane said. “Why, she asks, should the poor be required to trudge all the way to the great house, when we ladies can drive to them in carriages, and bring them so much more than they could possibly carry home themselves? One hopes that the future Lady Staves will be as charitable and kind.”
“I shall be,” Viscount Gentry said. He looked comfortable on horseback.
“Then so will your wife,” Miss Tripp said, “for I know you will choose wisely, my lord.”
