Charmed at Christmas (Christmas at Castle Keyvnor Book 1)

by Claire Delacroix

  What should she do?

  Daphne recalled Mr. Cushing’s tale of the night before and knew that she could not let herself be named as a thief. Who would believe her if she said someone had placed it in her room? Would she be falsely accused and banished from polite society, like the duke’s sister? Daphne could not bear it.

  She could not risk it.

  Not if she was to guarantee Eurydice’s future.

  Daphne returned the brooch in its velvet bag and knotted the cord, just as it had been, then replaced it in her trunk. She went back to bed, her thoughts spinning. The others would be awakening. The loss would be discovered. What should she do? If there was a search for the gem, she didn’t want to have it with her. Neither did she want it to be found in her possessions.

  She wished she could talk to the duke and seek his advice, but it was impossible for her to get to Bocka Morrow without being observed.

  Or was it?

  No one had seen Jenny since their arrival.

  It was not even dawn.

  Did she dare? Daphne rang for her maid before she could question her impulse.

  One thing was certain: the duke would know what to do.

  It was Alexander’s custom to rise early in the morning, and travel did not change his routine. It was before dawn but he had risen and washed. He remained in his chamber in his plain breeches, boots and open shirt. The tavern was still quiet, and he knew Rupert stood guard outside the door. He sat with his tea and reviewed his recent correspondence, hoping against hope that he was right about this scheme. He seldom had doubts about his course, but in the final hours before a plan came to its conclusion, it seemed that all the other possibilities became infinitely more plausible.

  What if he was wrong about Nathaniel Cushing being the thief?

  No, he could not be.

  What if he could not prove that Nathaniel Cushing was the thief?

  There was a distinct possibility. If Cushing did not take the bait, if he did not try to steal the Eye of India, if he was not caught with it in his possession...Alexander rose to pace his humble chamber, restless with uncertainty.

  What if Cushing changed the pattern of his behavior? It would have been ideal to have been at Castle Keyvnor the night before, but Alexander dared not take a second chance when the house was full of guests.

  There would be severe repercussions if the true Eye of India was lost in the attempt. Alexander checked upon it again. He had retrieved it from the castle that first night and only Daphne Goodenham knew he had been there. It remained safely in his belongings at the tavern.

  And what of Miss Goodenham? How had she guessed that he wore a disguise? Who had she told? He should have demanded her secrecy instead of assuming it. She might tell her sister, and who could tell where that girl would place her confidence?

  Alexander gave a low growl of frustration and wished he had something stronger than tea. It was all too easy to think of his other source of frustration, that tantalizing kiss in the night, and the sweetness of Miss Goodenham’s lips. He disliked that Cushing talked to her so much. Surely she could not be Cushing’s ally? Surely she could not reveal Alexander?

  How could he be certain?

  When would he see her again?

  How would he know she was trustworthy?

  There was a commotion in the tavern below and Alexander frowned at the door. A woman raised her voice, her Scottish brogue thick and her voice high. “I must see His Grace!” she cried, which was remarkable given the early hour.

  “His Grace is not receiving guests,” Rupert said firmly.

  There was the sound of a scuffle and feet racing up the wooden stairs. Rupert swore and heavier footfalls echoed after the lighter ones. Alexander spun to seize his cloak but he was too late. He only had his hand upon it when the door to his chamber was thrown open and a woman in a hooded cloak flung herself toward him.

  “Your Grace!” Rupert exclaimed, his annoyance more than clear. “I do apologize. She is as slippery as a fish!”

  “Your Grace,” the maid cried as she fell prostate at his feet. “I beg you to aid my mistress!”

  Alexander was astonished. He might have asked a question, but the maid stretched out her hand, offering a very familiar blue velvet bag.

  It was not empty. He could see the shape of the gem through the cloth.

  Why had she brought the counterfeit Eye of India to him?

  He gestured to the door with an imperious fingertip, knowing it was too late to don his disguise. He would have to hope that the girl did not dare to look into his face. “Remain with us, Haskell, and stand witness to this business.”

  “Of course, Your Grace.” The door was secured and Rupert leaned back against it, his expression one of complete distrust. The maid remained on the floor before Alexander and he could see that she was out of breath.

  “Who is your mistress?” he demanded.

  “I dare not utter her name, Your Grace,” she said and something in her voice was achingly familiar. Alexander took a step closer as the maid lifted her head, letting him see her face for the first time.

  It was Miss Goodenham herself.

  Who showed considerable promise in mimicry.

  “Oh!” she whispered, her eyes lighting and a smile curving her lips as she looked upon him.

  “Oh,” he replied, then arched a brow. He was both vexed and intrigued, and uncertain which reaction to show her. He indicated the velvet sack. “Where did you get it?”

  She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Someone was in my room last night. Eurydice was asleep. I thought it might have been you, sir,” she confessed, blushing prettily.

  Rupert cleared his throat.

  She lifted the bag with a shaking hand. “But I found this in my trunk this morning. I don’t know what to do, but I knew you would give me good advice.”

  So, this was how the gems left the house after they were stolen. Cushing selected a guest with an excess of luggage, relied upon the gem not being discovered before that guest’s departure, then retrieved it at some later point. Perhaps he chose someone who openly admired the prize, as Miss Goodenham had.

  He recalled Anthea mentioning that they’d encountered Nathaniel Cushing at a tavern on the way home to Inverfyre after the accusations were made against her. He had reportedly been sympathetic about the accusations against her and had shared a meal with Anthea and her companion.

  Alexander could imagine that the other man had also retrieved the stolen gem from Anthea’s luggage.

  But there had been a search. How had the gem not been found in the house where Anthea had stayed? He was missing yet a piece of the puzzle.

  His decision made, he turned to Daphne. “Put it back.”

  She paled. “But it will be missed. There must be a search for such a treasure...”

  “There should be, and if there is not, I would ask you to encourage there to be one. A word to the butler should see it done.”

  Her lips parted in astonishment and she rose unsteadily to her feet. She looked very young and uncertain. “But I should be accused when it is found.”

  “I wonder if it will be found,” Alexander said. “For if it were, there would be no point to the theft.”

  She frowned and looked down at the velvet sack. “I do not understand.”

  “Tell me who is given the task of searching your chamber,” Alexander advised.

  Her eyes lit. “You think the thief will volunteer to assist, that he or she will search my chamber but fail to find the gem!” She bit her lip. “But why?

  “So you would take the gem from the castle, unwittingly.”

  “And the thief would waylay us somewhere and reclaim it.”

  “I see no other solution. Do you?”

  “It is bold and clever.” She stroked the velvet and looked so fearful that he wished to ease away every one of her concerns. “But what if you are wrong, Your Grace?” she asked quietly.

  “Then I will defend you to my dying breath, Miss Goodenham,�
� he murmured, holding her gaze so that she could see his conviction.

  She shook her head. “I thank you for the sentiment, but your word might not matter, not with something of such value as this prize.”

  Alexander smiled. “But the value is exactly the key.” Her lack of comprehension was clear. “The gem you hold is a fake, Miss Goodenham, created solely to trap the villain.”

  “Oh!” Her pleasure made her cheeks flush and her eyes sparkle. She lowered her voice to an enticing whisper. “I knew, sir, that if you donned a disguise, it would be for a good reason.”

  “It is.”

  “It was this same villain who ensured that your sister’s name was tainted,” she guessed.

  “Indeed it was, and I have vowed to avenge her.”

  “So, justice will prevail,” she said with complete satisfaction.

  “Only with your assistance.”

  “I shall do as you instruct, Your Grace.”

  The heat of his own pleasure must have shown in his expression, for she modestly dropped her gaze and glanced across the room.

  She did not leave, however, which was all the encouragement he needed.

  “Might I confide in my sister to see your quest accomplished?” she asked.

  “Do you trust her?”

  “Utterly,” she said without hesitation. “Eurydice would never betray me, nor I her.”

  Because they had been reliant upon each other when they were orphaned.

  “And she is clever,” Miss Goodenham admitted. “I think the prospect of success much higher with her aid.”

  Alexander nodded understanding, moved more by her trust in Miss Eurydice than her confidence in her sister’s wits. “Then by all means, confide in her, but not others, I beg of you.”

  “It shall be as you say, Your Grace.” Still she did not meet his gaze and it seemed to him that her breath came quickly. He guessed that she wished for further reassurance but knew not how to ask for it.

  The situation was damnably unconventional.

  His gaze rose to Rupert, who evidently was fascinated with the ceiling. Should he send the other man away? His desire for Miss Goodenham was acute, but he would not ruin her and leave her with doubts of his intent. He did not know precisely what he might say to feed her confidence in his honor.

  Inspiration came from the fact that Daphne was staring at the vine, which now spilled to the very floor and reached for the ceiling.

  Alexander knew its tale might be of aid. “The seed was a gift from my sister,” he confessed. “And a legacy of Airdfinnan. I dropped it into water but one night ago.”

  “But that cannot be! It is of such a size.”

  “It is said to grow and bloom only when the Laird of Airdfinnan courts a bride.”

  “Am I wrong that you would be that laird, Your Grace?” she whispered.

  “You are not, and before you ask, I do mean to court a bride once this matter is concluded,” he admitted. “To be sure, I had no plan of doing as much, but I met a most beguiling girl, in a tavern, no less.”

  She flushed and began to smile. “Beguiling, sir?”

  “And marvelously perceptive, as well,” he agreed and smiled. “I like people who look beyond appearances.”

  Her gaze clung to his. “As do I, Your Grace.”

  “It would please me greatly if she granted me some small sign of encouragement.”

  Alexander barely had time to utter the words before Miss Goodenham cast herself at him with pleasure. He caught her in his arms, savoring the sweet press of her against his chest.

  She framed his face in her small hands and studied him intently. “’Twas your eyes that gave you away, sir,” she murmured. “You must promise not to look at any other girl so intently before your quest is complete or you might be revealed.”

  “The quest to name the thief or the quest to have your hand in mine?”

  “Both!” she said with a smile.

  Alexander chuckled and held her closer. “I vow that I will not,” he agreed, then bent to taste her lips again.

  Daphne could not believe her good fortune.

  The duke was not a fop! No, he was the most handsome man she had ever seen. And he had no ungainly paunch. She had pierced his disguise and even better, he had trusted her with the truth and vowed to defend her. She was convinced that she was the most fortunate woman in all of England, and that was before he kissed her.

  It was even better than the first time.

  She was the most fortunate woman in all the world.

  He broke his kiss and looked down at her, his gaze filled with a lazy satisfaction that thrilled her beyond all else. “My true appearance must remain a secret.”

  “I will never betray you, Your Grace.”

  “You cannot even confide this in Eurydice.”

  “I will not. I pledge it to you.” She swallowed. “I vow to be the best wife, Your Grace, and to bear you a dozen sons...”

  He smiled. “You will call me Alexander, when we are alone, and I think three sons will do nicely.”

  “As you wish.” Daphne licked her lips. “Alexander.”

  It felt both sinful and right to say his name, much as kissing him felt both wicked and heavenly.

  She smiled at him. “You should call me Daphne, then.”

  “Indeed, I should.” His eyes fairly glowed and the intensity of his look made her shiver. With obvious reluctance, he released her. He seized a dark jacket and a cloak, as well as a large hat. “And now I will see you safely back to the castle.”

  “But...”

  He raised his voice and interrupted her protest before it began. “Upon my word, Haskell, must you bring your wenches and conquests into my own chambers? For all I know, she may have fleas!”

  “I am sorry, Your Grace,” his manservant said, also speaking loudly enough to be overheard.

  “Take her away and see her home again, and make haste about it.” Then Alexander changed the tone of his voice, sounding for all the world like the manservant. “Of course, Your Grace.”

  Daphne might have stepped into a play herself.

  The manservant spoke shrilly then, mimicking Alexander’s foppish voice perfectly. “I would have my chocolate upon your return, Haskell! Hurry, man! I will not be kept waiting for the sake of your wench, no matter how comely she might be!”

  “Immediately, Your Grace,” Alexander said.

  The two men exchanged a wink before Alexander opened the door. He pulled up his hood, then Daphne’s as well, then hastened her down the stairs and out of the tavern.

  They were barely spared a glance by those arriving to work in the kitchen, and she was spirited toward Castle Keyvnor with impressive speed. He took her through the forests and by paths where they would not be observed, tucking her beneath his cloak when he heard a sound and sweeping her into his arms when he found her pace too slow. The journey was thrilling and all too soon, they approached the castle from behind.

  “You are so clever,” she said with awe. “You could be upon the stage.”

  He laughed, a lovely rich sound that made Daphne heat to her toes. “I will give up the disguise once this villain is caught, Daphne, and spend my days beguiling you instead.”

  “I cannot wait, Your Grace,” she whispered and he raised a finger, his eyes gleaming. “Alexander,” she corrected. “Though you shall have to convince Grandmaman. She said that you would never wed.”

  “Fear not, my Daphne. I will win her consent,” he growled and Daphne’s heart skipped a beat before he kissed her again.

  The third time was the best kiss yet.

  The thief was awake, for the game came rapidly to its conclusion. He seldom slept until his quarry was securely within his grasp and this time, he sensed that something went awry.

  What had that small mark been on the back of the gem? It was new, but not a scratch. A maker’s mark and not one he recognized.

  It troubled him, deeply.

  Something was afoot, though the villain could not name w
hat it was.

  He was standing at the window of the chamber he had been given—a small room with a view of the working side of the castle, rather than the sea or the village or even the gates—at the moment that two cloaked figures made a dash from the edge of the woods to the back wall.

  Their manner was so furtive that he pressed against the glass, watching.

  Were they servants? He could not imagine as much. Every servant was hard at work at this hour of the morning. A noble couple returning from an assignation? There was no doubt that he watched a woman and a man. Did their actions have any relevance to his own plan?

  The woman glanced up at the castle walls, just before the couple parted. It was Miss Goodenham, in humble garb. The villain recognized her immediately.

  The man’s face was not revealed but he left Miss Goodenham at the door and strode back by the same route they had arrived. The villain watched until he disappeared into the shadows of the forest, noting his height and breadth, and his manner of walking. He did not recognize the man, but he was clearly not staying at the keep.

  Had Miss Goodenham sought him out? The villain could think of no other way she could have returned in the other man’s company.

  Could he be the Duke of Inverfyre’s man? He had kissed Miss Goodenham before they parted. Would she be so fool as to accept the attentions of a valet? It was difficult to believe she would be so unambitious, but she might be one to put much credit in love.

  The greater concern was for the prize that the villain had thought safely hidden in Miss Goodenham’s trunk. Had she discovered and removed it, perhaps granting it to her paramour for safekeeping?

  The villain did not know.

  And what of that mark? What if the gem was a forgery? He could not fathom how it had been replaced in the single night between its delivery and his theft of it, but what if it had been switched?

  What if he had stolen a fake?

  How much did Miss Goodenham know?

  The villain did not like surprises or uncertainty.

  He certainly did not intend to be caught.

  Which meant that he had to speak to Miss Goodenham alone and learn the truth of whatever she had done.