The Christmas Rose: A Rogues & Gentlemen Novella

by Emma V. Leech

Tommy shook his head, his tumble of golden curls bouncing at the movement. “Indeed not. In fact, I’ll go one better. Dull affair, at any rate. Was going to take Aubrey to my club.”

  “A splendid idea, Tommy.”

  “Don’t need to tell me twice, Bunty, and I shall be on my guard from now on.” He reached out and took her hand, shaking it vigorously. “Thank you, Miss Bunting. I shall never be able to repay you. Never.”

  Bunty smiled at him. “You’re welcome, Tommy. Now, do run along.”

  She watched him hurry away and then turned. Bunty was not by nature a heroic creature, but such a vile scheme ought not only to be thwarted but exposed, even if she was the only witness. Taking a breath, she turned and headed towards the library, intending to give Miss Sylvia Ratched a piece of her mind.

  Chapter 2

  “Wherein misunderstandings and a hasty marriage.”

  7th December 1820. London.

  Ludo had found the library with no trouble. It was well away from the ballroom, and an excellent location for a tryst. Now all he had to do was twiddle his thumbs until ten. Ridiculously, his palms were sweating, and his heart thudded in his chest. He was acting like a bloody schoolboy. But why? Why did Bunty want to meet him like this? If it was Bunty, murmured the voice of reason. He silenced it, wanting too badly to believe it was her and no one else. Likely it was the only way she thought they could meet. She must know as well as he did that no one would ever introduce him to her, and that smile, that sweet smile she had given him, surely a smile like that was a sign of encouragement? Wasn’t it?

  Finally, it was time. Ludo walked out of the ballroom, checking surreptitiously that he was not observed as he made his way to the library. He almost passed one of the Ratched sisters on the way. She was red-faced and looked furious, but did not see him, thank heavens. He lingered in a shadowed alcove as she rushed past. Ludo waited a moment longer, until he was certain no one was around, and then hurried on to the library, where he hesitated outside the door. Please. He sent up the prayer to a God he had largely ignored, and who had no reason to do him any favours, yet he opened the door and… there she was.

  She swung around, her eyes growing wide as she stared at him.

  The poor girl looked terrified. Likely she was having second thoughts about this mad scheme now. He could hardly blame her.

  “Miss Bunting,” he said, smiling and doing his best to look harmless. He closed the door behind him and moved into the room, noting that she moved the exact same distance away from him. “There’s no need to be alarmed. I… I won’t take advantage of the situation, you have my word. Only… I cannot pretend I wasn’t surprised. Extremely pleased, but… surprised.”

  “S-Surprised?” she stammered, the word squeaked rather than spoken.

  “By your note,” he said gently. “The one that asked me to meet you here.”

  She gasped and grabbed hold of the chair she was standing beside, looking as if she might faint. “Oh, good heavens.”

  Ludo rushed towards her and slid his arm about her waist before she collapsed.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, looking more astonished than alarmed.

  “I was afraid you might swoon.”

  “I never swoon,” she retorted indignantly, and then panic filled her eyes. “Oh, oh no. Oh, Lord Courtenay, you must leave—”

  Before another word could be spoken, the door burst open and the Ratched sisters appeared, with what appeared to be half of the guests in tow.

  “Oh, Miss Bunting!” Sylvia shrieked dramatically. “Oh, and with… with him of all men!”

  Ludo jolted. Good God. It was a trap. Felicity Bunting had trapped him into marrying her! He waited for the anger to hit him, the outrage and fury at being so manoeuvred.

  It never came.

  All he could think was… she wants me. Not for just a night. Not just for a bit of bed sport. She wanted to marry him. Why, he had no idea. God knew he was no catch. He had no fortune, no prospects, so that could only mean one thing.

  She wanted him.

  His breath caught and he almost laughed as he turned back to look at her, wanting to tell her yes, yes, he would marry her happily. Yet she did not look the least bit triumphant about her victory. She looked pale and horrified.

  “I’m so terribly sorry. It was supposed to be Tommy,” she whispered, obviously mortified. “Not you.”

  ***

  Ludo knew this was undoubtedly the most miserable night of his entire life and, bearing in mind the quality of options on offer, that was saying something. He’d reached a new low, and no mistake. Not only had Miss Bunting not intended to trap him into marriage, but she would ruin herself rather than marry him at all.

  Well, he’d damn well see about that.

  Her parents had ushered her away from the party, and from him, before he could speak two words to them, but he lost no time in discovering their address and following them home. He would marry Felicity Bunting if it was the last thing he did. She had just ruined herself in front of the entire ton. She’d never get another offer. Like it or not, he was her best chance. Admittedly, that wasn’t saying much, but it was the truth. He would give her the protection of his name and perhaps… perhaps in time….

  He swallowed down the hope that rose in his chest and told himself not to be so bloody pitiful. Look where hope had gotten him this evening. He’d be a fool to expect anything good to come of this, except it already seemed he was a damned fool… for he wanted her too badly to let anything stand in his way.

  Now, standing before her father in their front parlour, with Miss Bunting and her mother watching with frightened eyes from the other side of the room, he felt every bit the dastardly monster the ton had painted him. Not that he hadn’t encouraged the rumours, but it was too late to lament.

  He studied her as her father explained they would marry the day after tomorrow. She looked to be on the verge of tears and, despite everything, Ludo’s heart went out to her. God alone knew what kind of man she believed him to be. She would have read the gossip sheets like everyone else; she would know of all his years of wickedness and vice. No doubt she thought she was marrying a vile fiend who would make her life a misery. Perhaps he was a vile fiend. He could not claim that all those stories had been untrue, for they each had some amount of truth in them, even if they’d been wildly exaggerated. Yet, he would try to be better. He would try to be a good man. Once Ludo had explained his situation, Miss Bunting’s father had made no bones about his displeasure, pointing out that his daughter was getting a bad bargain indeed, but Ludo had spent the last year clearing his debts and trying to get his finances in order. He was in no position to provide for a wife, but he would try. He would find a way to give her a home. A home. The idea called to some place deep inside him he had buried years ago. He had not known what it was to have a home. Not since his mother had died, at least.

  Miss Bunting had a reasonable dowry, more than anything he might have expected to gain through marriage, considering his prospects, but the idea of living off her money made his stomach clench, and shame rose in him like a tide. He would be better than that.

  “Papa, do you think we might have a few moments alone together, please?”

  Ludo looked up in surprise as he realised Miss Bunting had made the request. How brave she was. She was miserable and afraid, but she would not shy away from him. Thank God for that.

  Her father looked none too happy about it.

  “Mr Bunting,” Ludo said, somewhat testy now. He was the one who’d been trapped, after all. “We shall soon be married, and I promise to act the gentleman. I do have a vague recollection of how to do so.”

  Mr Bunting gave him a dark look filled with mistrust, but nodded his agreement and escorted his wife from the room.

  Ludo’s heart began pounding again as he turned back to his fiancée. She swallowed hard and Ludo wondered if she might be sick.

  “You must hate me,” she said, staring at her feet.

  Ludo hesitated,
wondering what to say to her. Honesty seemed the best idea, yet he was afraid to say too much, to let her see how badly he wanted this.

  “I don’t hate you.”

  She looked up at him then, her lovely brown eyes filled with sorrow. “How can you say that? I have ruined your life. I imagine the last thing you ever wanted was a wife, let alone… let alone one like me.”

  That last bit was whispered, and she sounded so utterly defeated that his heart ached, but what on earth did she mean?

  “One like you?” he repeated.

  She got to her feet, her arms crossed around her waist.

  “Don’t make me spell it out,” she said, irritated now, which was better than the awful sense that she’d been crushed, but he still did not understand.

  “But I’m afraid I must, Miss Bunting. I do not know what you mean.”

  “Bunty,” she corrected with an impatient huff before adding, “They call me Buxom Bunty, and that’s the nicest of my nicknames, I assure you. Fat Felicity is another.”

  “Who said such a thing to you?” Ludo demanded, hearing the hurt in her voice and wanting to tear limb from limb whatever wretch had made her feel anything less than beautiful.

  She gave him an odd look, as if he was being deliberately obtuse.

  “Nigh on everybody,” she retorted. “It’s not as if it isn’t true.”

  “The devil it is!”

  Her eyes widened at his fierce response and he wondered why she looked so surprised by it. Had no one ever defended her?

  “There is no need to be polite for the sake of it, my lord. In fact, I should vastly prefer it if there were complete honesty between us. I have no expectation that… that you should give up your….” He could see her struggle for a polite way of framing her words. “Pursuits. I have trapped you into this, though I swear I did not intend to do so. I do not expect you to… to woo me.”

  “Yet, I find that I would like to, all the same.”

  She gasped, staring up at him with obvious suspicion. “B-But why?”

  Ludo dared to move closer to her, encouraged when she didn’t take to her heels, but watched him come to her. To his chagrin, he realised his hand was shaking as he raised it to touch her cheek, the back of his fingers sliding against satin.

  “So beautiful,” he said, reverence in his voice.

  Her mouth fell open in shock and he could not resist. He lent down and kissed her. She didn’t move so much as a muscle and, when he pulled away, she was still staring at him. He wasn’t certain if it was shock or horror in her eyes, and took a hasty step back.

  “May I call on you again tomorrow?”

  She nodded, silent, still staring at him.

  Ludo looked around as her father returned to the room.

  “Until tomorrow, then,” he said, bowing to her, and leaving her alone.

  ***

  8th December 1820. London.

  Bunty sat by the window, watching the road. Then she got up and paced for a bit. Then she ran back to the window and stared at the road a bit more.

  “Do stop acting like such a ninny,” she scolded herself, yet there didn’t seem to be any choice in the matter. Not since he had kissed her.

  For the hundredth time since that extraordinary event, she raised her fingers to her lips, tracing the place his mouth had been. It had been such a gentle kiss: tender, and not what she had expected of such a man. Well, she had not expected to be kissed at all. She had expected fury, disgust, and recriminations at having been so ill used. If she were perfectly honest, she had not expected him to pursue her. She assumed he would have been relieved that she would not hold him to marrying her, and take to his heels. It had to be the dowry, said the sensible voice in her head, the one that would not let her get her hopes up. Her hopes had been crushed too many times for her to believe in them again, and yet….

  He had said she was beautiful.

  Why would he say such a thing to her? He had chosen to act the gentleman and marry her, and he would have her dowry. There was no need to woo her to secure her money. It would be his, to do with as he pleased, for Papa had warned her his finances were not what one would hope for. Not that she cared. If she could believe for a moment that he might like her, that he might even come to care for her, she would not pine for a fortune.

  Who said such a thing to you?

  The anger in his voice as he’d demanded who had insulted her had been a shock, too. It had been instantaneous, and she had believed it to be genuine. Yet it seemed so odd. Lord Courtenay was known to be seen in the company of all the most beautiful of the Cyprians. He might not have money, but he was so big, handsome, and obviously virile that even the exclusive highflyers sought him out. She could not make him out at all.

  The sound of horses outside the door had her looking up, and there he was. He had sent a note earlier to inform her he would take her for a drive, and to wrap up warm. It was a bright, sunny winter’s day, but still chilly, and Bunty had dressed in deep plum velvet carriage dress. Hoping she looked as well as she might, she snatched up her reticule and hurried to the front door.

  “Miss Bunting,” he said, giving her a formal bow. He paused, a slow smile curving over his mouth. “How lovely you look.”

  Bunty searched his face for any sign that he was mocking her, yet she found nothing but pleasure in his eyes. Heavens, she’d never seen eyes as blue as his before.

  “Good day, my lord,” she said, wishing she could still the erratic thumping of her heart.

  She was being idiotic.

  He offered her his arm and led her outside, where a smart yellow-and-black Phaeton awaited them. One of her father’s footmen held the horses, two glossy bays who tossed their heads impatiently.

  “How lovely,” she said as he handed her up.

  Lord Courtenay settled beside her, and Bunty felt a jolt of surprise as his strong thigh pressed against hers. He was a large man and took up a deal of space. So large, in fact, that for the first time in her life, Bunty did not feel as though the rest of the world had been made in miniature. In comparison, she could almost believe herself dainty.

  He nodded to the groom who released the horses. They set off at a smart trot and Bunty dared a glance at him, only to see he was regarding her in turn.

  “I’m afraid they’re not mine,” he said, and she was struck by how awkward he appeared. “The horses and… all of it.”

  He shrugged his massive shoulders and Bunty’s mouth went dry.

  “I expect your father told you I’m no catch,” he added, and there was a defensive note in his voice which surprised her.

  “And yet,” she said, “I’ve no doubt there are women a-plenty who would cut off their right arm to be sitting where I am.”

  He snorted in disgust. “No one like you, Miss Bunting.”

  She frowned at him and he shook his head, looking vaguely bewildered.

  “You still don’t believe me, do you?” he said. “You think I’m bamming you, flattering you for no good reason.”

  It was Bunty’s turn to shrug, and she looked away, unable to hold his piercing gaze.

  “Why would I do that?” he asked. “I did not have to marry you, I chose to. If I only wanted your money… well, it will soon be mine. What reason could I have to say such things to you?”

  It was everything she had told herself, and it sounded so reasonable as he echoed her thoughts. Bunty forced herself to look back at him.

  “Then perhaps it is simply that you are kind, my lord. I have often believed it of you. You always smiled at me with such… warmth, but I cannot believe you are content with this arrangement.”

  Something dark flashed in his eyes and she knew she was right. Oh well, better to have the truth unvarnished than live a lie. She tried to make herself believe that, but her heart ached all the same.

  “No. I was not happy to discover it was not me you intended for your trap, but Lord Stanthorpe. Not that I could blame you for that.”

  Was that regret in his voice?
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  “Tommy is the best of fellows. Kind and funny and good-natured. Rich, too, and an earl, to boot. I don’t suppose that hurts,” he added bitterly.

  Bunty gaped at him. Was he… jealous? No. That was utterly ridiculous.

  “But I didn’t mean to trap Tommy,” she said in a rush, her heart thudding even though she refused to believe what she was hearing.

  He narrowed his eyes and her breath caught at being the object of his scrutiny. “Miss Bunting, you told me so yourself.”

  “No!” Bunty shook her head. “Oh, you’ve got it all wrong.”

  He was silent for a moment as he navigated a busy stretch of road, but then Hyde Park stretched before them, quiet now on a chill winter’s day.

  “Well then, Miss Bunting,” he said, once he could return his attention to her. “I wish you would explain it to me.”

  “Please, call me Bunty. Everyone does.”

  He nodded but said nothing, and Bunty explained just what had happened last night. She told him of the Ratched sisters’ plans, of how she had warned Tommy and then gone back to confront Sylvia.

  He was silent throughout her explanation until he drew up in a copse of trees, a secluded spot ideal for an illicit rendezvous. Bunty shifted nervously in her seat.

  “So, in fact, you were not in the market for a husband at all,” he said, and she could not read his expression, nor his tone of voice.

  She gave him the benefit of an exasperated look. “My lord, I am five and twenty. I have been in the market for a husband these last seven years and have simply failed to catch one. I was not, however, so desperate as to stoop to trickery and subterfuge.”

  He stared at her for a long moment, that blue gaze studying her so thoroughly she had to fight to hold it. At length, he sighed, and looked so dejected Bunty wanted to reach out and take his hand. She folded her own in her lap.

  “So, you set no trap. You were acting honourably, saving a friend from disaster, and facing down his enemy for him. Tommy is lucky indeed to have you on his side. You are brave and bold, Miss Bunting.”

  Bunty blushed, unused to hearing herself described in such a light. “Nonsense. Anyone would have done the same.”