The Earl's Christmas Pearl

by Megan Frampton

  And his sister.

  “Owen.” Now it was Gwyneth’s voice, which meant that Bryn was out there too.

  All four of the women in his family were outside demanding to be let in. Whereas the only place he wanted to be let in was—well. He couldn’t think about that, not with all of his relatives outside.

  Mr. Shorty began to bark excitedly, running down the hall into the room.

  “It’s your family?” Pearl said, gasping. She leapt into action, grabbing her gown at the end of the sofa, tossing it over her head as she began to do something to her hair. “Button me.”

  “Owen!” His mother sounded exasperated. “We can hear your dog, we know you have to be in there. Unless you’re unable to come to the door?”

  “Owen, are you incapacitated?” Bryn’s worried voice made him wince.

  “I have to get the door,” he said, glancing over his shoulder to where the thumping was getting louder. Mr. Shorty barked more insistently.

  “I’ll go to the kitchen, you make an excuse, and come find me so you can do me up,” she said in a sputter.

  She hurried out of the room, holding her gown up at the back with one hand, the other at her skirts, her hair tumbling down her back.

  He walked as quickly as he was able to once she was safely out of sight, piling all of their linens together so it looked like a makeshift dog bed. Hopefully.

  At least he didn’t have to worry about appearing inappropriate in front of his family—his mother’s voice at the door had ensured that had been taken care of.

  He swung the door open, Mr. Shorty yipping happily beside him.

  “Finally,” his mother said, sweeping into the hallway. “We were about to find someone to break down the door, Bryn was certain you had tripped and knocked yourself unconscious.”

  “Because there would be no other reason you would possibly not want to open the door,” his youngest sister Nesta murmured, accompanying her words with a rueful eye roll.

  “Why are you here, Mam?” Owen said, addressing his mother.

  His mother’s expression was aghast. “Not come to see my only son at Christmas? Leaving him to the wilds of London injured and alone?”

  His mother always did have a flair for the dramatic.

  “London is not wild, Mam,” Bryn corrected. “It is just filled with Londoners. Not the same thing.”

  “There was no need,” Owen replied, trying not to grit his teeth. They never understood his need to be alone—not even Nesta, who was closest to him.

  “There was every need,” Gwyneth replied, her imperious tone making his jaw clench. “Robert had business in the city, so I suggested he take care of it now during Christmas so we could all be together.”

  Wonderful. His mother, his sisters, and his brother-in-law, who made his rigid sister Gwyneth seem like a free spirit.

  “Aren’t you going to invite us in?” his mother said as she walked down the hall toward the room he’d just been in. “We’re thirsty, we could all use some tea,” she called.

  “It seems as though there is no need for me to invite you in,” Owen murmured. Nesta caught his words and grinned in reply. “I’ll just go and take care of finding some tea,” Owen said in a louder voice.

  “We’ll just get settled,” Gwyneth replied, following their mother down the hall.

  Bryn did the same as Nesta took his arm and squeezed it. “I tried to dissuade them, but they were set on it. Mam started talking about you being alone at Christmas, and then Gwyneth got this trip into her head and . . .” Her words trailed off as she shook her head.

  “I know.” Owen patted Nesta’s hand. “Go on with them, I’ll be back in a moment.”

  “It’ll only be for a bit tonight and then Christmas Day,” Nesta continued. “Robert booked rooms for us at Grillon’s.”

  Oh thank God. He hadn’t even considered that they might want to stay the night.

  Because if they did—oh hell, the kitchen! Pearl in there half-dressed as he dealt with his family.

  “I’ll be right back with tea,” he said, snatching his cane up from the corner of the room and walking as swiftly as he could down the hall to the kitchen.

  She’d managed to do up about half the buttons by the time he entered.

  He looked pained, and she wished there was something she could do to help. Though she had been trying that, hadn’t she, before they arrived? And it wouldn’t be suitable to continue that activity now, not with his entire family in residence.

  “They’re all here,” he muttered as she presented her back to him. She sighed as she felt his fingers on her skin. “My mother, all three of my sisters, and my brother-in-law. Well, he is off doing business somewhere, but he is in London as well.” She felt him shake his head. “The only thing I wanted for Christmas was to be left alone. And here they are.”

  “At least they noticed you were gone.” She tried not to sound mournful, but honestly, it was difficult not to.

  “I know you’re here,” he replied in a low tone. He brushed his lips at the nape of her neck, and she shivered. “You are all I want. Perhaps tied up with one of those ribbons.” His voice had lowered, sounding all dark and full of passion.

  Oh. That was an intriguing image, the thought of him undoing her—both figuratively and literally—making her body heat.

  “Thank you.” She turned to face him as he patted the top of her gown, indicating she was buttoned up. “But you should be grateful they care for you so deeply.”

  He made a derisive noise in response.

  “They don’t care for you?” She gestured toward where she presumed they were. “But they’re here. They traveled a long distance to ensure you weren’t alone for Christmas.”

  “Owen, you got a tree! I certainly didn’t expect—” One of Owen’s sisters entered the kitchen at a brisk pace, catching herself up short when she saw Pearl.

  “Oh goodness. Well.” And she glanced at Owen, and then back at Pearl, her face slowly turning red. “If we’d known you had . . . company,” she said in a stiff tone of voice, “we certainly would not have—”

  “Lady Pearl, might I introduce my sister Bryn, soon to be Mrs. Davies?” Pearl had never heard him sound so authoritative. There was something thrillingly attractive about how firmly he spoke. “Bryn, this is Lady Pearl Howlett, she and her parents, the Duke and Duchess of Marymount, live next door. Lady Pearl has been helping me walk Mr. Shorty during my convalescence.” Thus neatly explaining why she was in the house with him alone.

  Pearl watched as Owen’s sister reassessed her first impression, given the new information Owen made certain she knew. Bryn shared Owen’s dark hair, but her eyes were lighter, and of course she wasn’t nearly as broad. Her dark blue gown was both practical and fashionable, and looked to be very warm as well. Made with wool from his sheep?

  “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, my lady,” Mrs. Davies replied. “And thank you for helping my brother in his time of need.”

  I haven’t helped him nearly enough. If you hadn’t arrived, I’d be helping him this very moment. And he me. She smothered a grin at the thought, and caught Owen’s eyes, nearly bursting out in laughter at his expression—as though he had thought the same thing, and was both irritated and abashed at his sister’s words.

  “Your brother has repaid whatever kindness I’ve given him by assisting me.” Pearl responded without thinking, and then wanted to hit herself in the head for her words. How had he assisted her? Why did he have to anyway?

  “Assisting Lady Pearl by accompanying her shopping. It is her doing that I have a Christmas tree,” Owen interjected.

  Bravo, she wished she could say. Another excellent rescue.

  Of course, it made sense he would be a quick thinker around his family. It was probably so he could preserve some of his own time, since he’d said his family viewed him as someone who did things for them, not someone to care for.

  That made her sad, but she was grateful at the moment for the result.

&n
bsp; “I should be returning home,” Pearl said. “I plan on sitting in front of the fire this evening, perhaps stoking it if it gets too low.”

  Owen made a strangled noise in his throat, and she suppressed a smile. What was the point of behaving dangerously if you didn’t tempt possible exposure?

  “I will collect your cloak, my lady,” he said. He walked out of the room, glancing back with a pained expression. Pained because he was leaving her? Because he didn’t want his family here? Or pained because he wanted to continue what they’d been doing? Or was it because he’d woken from the dream of the last few days and knew that what they were about to do was wrong?

  Drat. She hoped it wasn’t that last one. His adventure might have been curtailed by his family’s arrival, but hers hadn’t been.

  Although she would have to reconfigure what it was she wanted from her adventure, if he wasn’t going to be part of it.

  Being alone without him was much less appealing now. She wasn’t quite to the point where she’d welcome her mother’s return, but she was more willing to be rescued than she had been an hour ago.

  “I hope you have a pleasant visit, Mrs. Davies,” Pearl said. “Lord—” and then she paused, realizing she didn’t remember his full name, just that he was an earl. She waved her hand, as though interrupting her own thought. “That is, it is very good of you to come all this way to visit your brother.”

  Mrs. Davies nodded, a look of smug satisfaction on her face. “Yes, well, it was managed with some difficulty. But we would not have Owen be alone during Christmas, he would hate that.”

  You don’t know him at all, do you?

  “And we were hoping he could show us around London.”

  Oh. You came here to see your recovering brother so he could guide you around a city he doesn’t care for with an injured leg?

  Perhaps that was harsh, but it was clear that Owen’s family were not here for purely altruistic reasons.

  Humph. Now she wanted even more to do something purely for him.

  But that might be just as selfish as his family—making oneself feel better by doing a good turn.

  Although if they did something they both enjoyed . . .

  She felt her face grow hot, and hoped it wasn’t noticeable. And where was Owen with her cloak anyway?

  “I will just go find my cloak. Your brother probably was detained in his return.” By a member of your family who wanted something.

  Humph again.

  She strode down the hallway, wishing there was a way to let him know she understood better how he felt—it was likely as onerous to be the focus of a family’s attention as it was disheartening to be forgotten.

  She nearly bumped into him in the dark hall, but his hands shot out to clasp her arms so she remained steady.

  “Pearl,” he said in a whisper. “I apologize for—”

  “For what?” she replied back in the same quiet tone. “It isn’t as though you knew they were coming.”

  “No. I just don’t want them to suspect—”

  “That we were engaged in fire-stoking activities?”

  He chuckled, as she’d hoped he would. She’d come to realize, in the short time she’d known him, that Owen took things far too seriously. He needed to allow himself to have fun. Which was why it was so lovely to spend time with him, to watch him grow more relaxed.

  Not to mention he was an excellent kisser.

  “Will you be all right? On your own?”

  It was sweet, his being worried about her. And necessary, she had to admit. She had no food, and she had only the most rudimentary knowledge about how to build a fire.

  “I will be fine, I promise.” If she had to go out to find food and warmth, she would. She could take care of herself, even if initially she’d been a bit flummoxed.

  “I will come over after dinner,” he said.

  She hesitated before replying. She didn’t want him to feel obliged, but she also wanted him to visit.

  “You can if you truly wish to,” she said in an earnest tone. “But you are under no obligation to me, I promise.”

  His hands tightened on her arms. “I want to. Dinner will be enjoyable, because I do care for my family. But it is a duty. Spending time with you is a pleasure I find I do not want to deprive myself of.”

  “Well, when you phrase it that way,” she said teasingly, raising herself up to press her mouth against his.

  He immediately drew her closer into his body, and she shivered in delicious reaction.

  “I will see you later,” he said. “I want to spend Christmas Eve with you.”

  His words sent a warmth through Pearl, one she’d never experienced before. Likely because nobody had ever wanted to be just with her—her sisters loved her, and she shared a close bond with her twin, but they took her presence for granted. None of them had ever specifically requested her company.

  But he had.

  “I can’t wait,” she said, then darted past him, trying to keep her steps as silent as possible so she could slip out.

  Chapter Eleven

  On the eleventh day of Christmas my true love gave to me

  The most special evening that ever could be

  Pearl was sitting cross-legged on the floor facing the fireplace, admiring her handiwork, when she heard the door open. She immediately unfolded herself and stood, then tore down the hall to where Owen had just stepped in. He’d only walked the few feet from his house to hers, and yet his dark hair was covered with snow, as were his shoulders.

  She began to brush him off as he removed his coat, stomping his feet to rid them of the snow.

  “Dinner didn’t seem to take long,” she remarked, glancing at the clock that still wasn’t telling the time. She had no idea how to wind the clock, and she didn’t want to be conscious of time passing anyway, since it would mean that the adventure would be that much closer to ending.

  “Gwyn’s husband had to get up early for some very important business meeting,” he said in a dry tone, indicating how important he viewed the meeting. “At least it meant I wouldn’t have to hear about how he was the only possible person who could negotiate this particular deal.”

  “Kind of a boor, your sister’s husband?”

  He rolled his eyes. “You have no idea.”

  She grinned. “Oh, but I do. My sister Ida has a penchant for starting conversations that absolutely nobody in her vicinity wishes to hear. I love her, and I respect her intelligence, but I don’t always want to know the particulars of each scientific discovery from ancient times.”

  He snorted. “I can see that.”

  “What about Mr. Shorty?”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Sometimes I wonder if you like me or my dog more.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “Sometimes I do too,” she replied with a smirk. “But Mr. Shorty doesn’t know how to make eggs, or ask me about myself, or undo my gown. I definitely don’t think he likes puns as much as you do.”

  “That’s because it’s a dog’s life,” he replied in an exaggeratedly mournful tone. Then he spoke more naturally. “Mr. Shorty is fine. I left him with a bone and he won’t need to go out again until mid-morning, at least. He has gotten accustomed to your leisurely London ways.”

  “Excellent,” she replied, relieved. If irked—“Leisurely London ways?” she repeated. He opened his mouth to respond, but she waved her hand. They only had one night, one Christmas Eve. She didn’t want to spend it hearing about his diligent Welsh ways. Except in the ways that mattered. “Never mind that. Come into the salon, I have stoked the fire.”

  “You started without me,” he said, the nuance in his words sending a flush to her cheeks.

  “Not that fire. I wouldn’t know how to start by myself.”

  “I’d like to see it if you did, Pearl.” He took her hand as he spoke, brushing his fingers against hers. The touch sent skitters of awareness through her whole body.

  “I’d like you to show me, Owen.”

  She heard his sudden in
take of breath and allowed a small smile to cross her lips. She liked rattling him. She liked being so important to him, even for the short time of their adventure, that whatever she said would cause a reaction.

  She would miss being the focus of someone’s attention when their adventure ended.

  But she couldn’t look forward to that, or else she’d be glum. This, the now, the present, was what was important.

  They entered the salon, and she glanced from the blazing fire to his face, which held an admiring expression.

  “Excellent work. I don’t think you need my help stoking any longer.”

  She raised her brow and gave him a knowing look.

  “At least that kind of stoking,” he added. He tilted his chin toward the sofa. “Go lie on that.”

  She gave him a skeptical look. “In my gown?”

  “There will be time to remove that. I want to see you bare, stripped of all the things that aren’t truly Pearl. But first I want to watch you stoke.” Ooh. She felt all shivery when he used that commanding voice.

  “What would those things be?” she asked, walking to the sofa and lying back against the sofa’s arm. Her legs were stretched out on the cushions, the hem of her gown halfway up so it showed her feet, ankles, and shins. Tonight she hadn’t worn stockings, since she much preferred bare feet.

  She hoped he did too.

  He approached her, undoing his neckcloth as he walked, his gaze focused intently on her face. He bit his lip for a moment, and Pearl responded so viscerally to that image it felt as though he had bitten her—and she liked it.

  “Mm,” she murmured, surprised to hear the noise emerge from deep inside.

  By now, he had removed his coat and was just in his shirt, rolling up the sleeves to reveal his strong forearms. She’d seen forearms before, of course, she wasn’t that sheltered of a duke’s daughter, but she had never felt as strong a reaction to seeing a body part that was sometimes visible.

  How would she react when she saw a body part that wasn’t commonly visible? Not just that, but also his chest, his back, his legs, and those strong shoulders.