“Who. Spoiled. It?” Geoffrey punctuated each word with a kiss that shot through Etienne’s body and caused him to rock on his toes, grasping Geoffrey’s coat more tightly.
“Spoiled?” Etienne’s mind drew a delicious blank, focused solely on the feel of Geoffrey’s body and of the pleasant sensations caused by the man’s lips and tongue.
“The party,” Geoffrey reminded him, his voice husky.
“His Grace told me.”
“Hmph. It might not be suitable if I were to get angry with His Grace about his lack of discreetness.”
“No,” Etienne murmured.
Geoffrey smoothed Etienne’s hair, a faint look of awe in his eyes. “I’ll try not to get too furious.”
Etienne ran his hand over the buttons on Geoffrey’s coat, aware of the sturdy chest that lay beneath. He tilted his head to the side. “Is the party the reason I wasn’t permitted in the ballroom?”
Geoffrey chuckled. “Floor polishing demands the utmost privacy.” He traced his fingers along Etienne’s, his tone more serious. “The guests will come at seven.”
“I’ll stay away. Just be sure to visit my room after. I’ll need you to tell me all about it.” Etienne winked.
“Etienne,” Geoffrey stared at him, “You’re coming to the party.”
“But . . .” Etienne furrowed his brow. “I’ve never . . . I’m not . . .”
“And I won’t have you standing at the back either,” Geoffrey said.
“People might find you eccentric.”
“That’s a perk of having a castle.”
Etienne smiled and looked away, his eyes on the precious furniture that littered the room, each piece worth more than Etienne had ever earned. The large paintings lined the walls, reminding him how close Geoffrey was to Sir Ambrose.
“I ordered some clothes for you.” A faint blush colored Geoffrey’s cheeks.” I would just have lent you mine, but I don’t think they would quite fit.”
“I would have managed.”
“I don’t want you to have to make do with anything.”
Etienne pulled his arms more tightly around Geoffrey, wishing he could remain like this.
*
The decorations were perfect. Geoffrey had arranged for mistletoe to hang from the ceiling, and Christmas garlands swept over the arches. Musicians played traditional German Christmas songs in the corner. Geoffrey wished somebody would translate them into English, but just the melodies, so different from the normal songs, were wonderful.
Mulled wine and warm eggnog were placed on red-covered tables along with the requisite brandy and punch, and oranges and pinecones lay near them, infusing the area with their scent.
Geoffrey stood at the entrance to the ballroom, greeting the guests. He hadn’t invited excessive amounts of people, but any amount of people was a new amount to him. The duke’s and duchess’s presence demanded a certain amount of finery for the occasion.
Sebastian Lewis, the former Duke of Lansdowne until Gregory, the true heir, was found alive, arrived first. Geoffrey cocked his head at him, somewhat surprised at his presence. The man lived all the way in Yorkshire now.
Lewis narrowed his eyes, and Geoffrey inhaled and made his way over to him. He bowed. “Wonderful of you to come.”
They smiled, and Geoffrey was about to launch into a discussion of the quality of the roads at this time of year when he paused. He shuffled his feet and scratched his neck. “I . . . I . . .”
An expression of worry flitted over Lewis’s face.
Geoffrey sighed. “I’m afraid I insulted you when we first met. I rather thought you might be responsible for all the bad things happening here and . . . well, that wasn’t the case. I doubt you can forgive me, but . . . I wanted to let you know that I’m sorry about everything.”
“Was that all?”
Geoffrey frowned. “Isn’t that enough?”
Lewis smiled, and Geoffrey’s chest warmed. “Yes, certainly. Thank you. That’s most kind of you.”
“Oh, good. That’s marvelous. I’m surprised you came.”
Lewis pressed his lips together, and his eyes darted about the room.
“But quite glad,” Geoffrey added hastily. He scratched his neck. “I don’t think hosting festivities comes naturally to me.”
Lewis smiled. “It never came naturally to me either. Actually, this will be the first time that I’ve seen Dorothea—Her Grace, since . . .”
“His Grace returned?”
Lewis nodded. “Exactly. I thought it was time. And I do love Christmas.”
Geoffrey smiled at him. “Me too. But I heard you did have some visitors.”
“Oh?” Lewis’s face was blank again.
“The dowager duchess and Captain Carlisle.”
“Yes,” Lewis said. “Yorkshire does offer wonderful hunting.”
“I would have thought the captain would have been tired of carrying a gun all the time.”
Lewis laughed. “He’s quite devoted to it, I assure you.”
“I never thought you got along.”
A faint blush tinged Lewis’s cheeks, and Lewis cocked his head. “And I thought we would never get along either.”
Geoffrey smiled. He handed Lewis a glass of mulled wine and took one for himself. “Cheers. To Christmas.”
A servant announced the arrival of more guests, and the room soon filled with music, dancing, and laughter. Geoffrey turned his head to the door of the ballroom. Etienne had still not arrived. Geoffrey frowned. It wasn’t as if the man had very far to go.
Other guests poured into the room. The Duke and Duchess of Lansdowne, the Dowager Duchess of Lansdowne, General Smith, Captain Carlisle, Viscount and Viscountess Burgess, Lord and Lady Reynolds, Count Fabion . . . but Etienne was nowhere to be found.
He noticed Dorothea approach her former fiancé. Lewis bit his lip and scraped a hand through his hair, seeming more anxious than necessary. He offered her his arm and they strolled around the ballroom. Lady Reynolds and Captain Carlisle both darted their gazes at them with frequency, as if worried they might not reconcile. They seemed to be smiling at the end, and perhaps Lewis had forgiven his former fiancé for running off with Lansdowne.
After that, Lord and Lady Reynolds approached them. Lord Reynolds and Dorothea went to dance, and Lady Reynolds and Lewis had a similar stroll around the ballroom. Geoffrey was almost certain Lady Reynolds’s eyes were glistening at the end of the stroll, but she seemed to be smiling, and Geoffrey wondered if perhaps he had too many scents floating around the room after all and they were irritating everyone’s eyes.
*
Etienne looked ridiculous. Formalwear. Him. He inspected himself in the mirror, noting the tightness of his ivory breeches. He almost would have accused Geoffrey of mangling his measurements on purpose, but all the men dressed like this.
The cravat posed most challenging. He was conscious of not wanting to destroy the starched material. The casual ties he made seemed inappropriate, and he eyed the garment dubiously.
A knock sounded on the door. “Etienne?”
A wave of pleasure rolled through Etienne’s body as Geoffrey’s gravelly voice sounded through the wooden door. He rushed to open it.
“I was waiting for you,” Geoffrey said.
He eyed him hungrily, and Etienne smiled. “Help me with this cravat, then.”
Geoffrey stepped into the room. And then his hands encircled Etienne, and Etienne gasped for air, his heart thudding against his chest.
“I missed you.” Geoffrey’s voice was gruff.
Etienne swallowed. “I don’t know why you needed to invite all those guests.”
Geoffrey smiled. “They’re for you.”
Etienne frowned. “I doubt that.”
Geoffrey’s hands cupped Etienne’s face. “To make up for the fact you never experienced a proper Christmas celebration in England.”
Etienne’s throat dried. The weight of Geoffrey’s announcement astounded him. He was just a thief. Just a French
immigrant. A whore. He brushed a strand of hair from his forehead, only to find his fingers tangled with Geoffrey’s, who gazed into his eyes with an expression he was sure he didn’t deserve.
Geoffrey continued, “Today is St. Nicholas Day, the proper beginning to the Christmas season.” Geoffrey smiled. “We’ll celebrate all the days of Christmas, ending with Twelfth Night. This is for you.”
“Twelfth Night is a month away,” Etienne gasped.
Geoffrey smiled. “Yes.”
Geoffrey’s alluring lips advanced, and his stubble scraped against his cheeks in that delicious way he loved. Etienne closed his eyes, but the magnitude of everything forced its way into him. He struggled for breath and pushed Geoffrey away. The world spun, and dizziness overcame him.
Geoffrey couldn’t have done this for me. Of course not. That would be absurd–that would be . . . Geoffrey teased him. Etienne might care for him, but Geoffrey could never, ever return those feelings. Not really. Only teasing him.
Geoffrey looped the white cloth around his neck, knotting it with expertise. “You’re perfect.”
Etienne laughed. Hysteria bubbled up within him and escaped. Geoffrey attempted to smile, but worry fleeted across his face followed by an expression of . . . sadness. Etienne closed his eyes, wishing this evening had never happened.
“Come. The guests await.” Etienne stiffened at Geoffrey’s curt tone and followed him down the stairs.
Geoffrey swung open the door of the ballroom, and Etienne entered the room. He registered the long Christmas garlands and mistletoe. His eyes clouded. It’s beautiful. He turned to Geoffrey, but the man was gone, likely scared off by him. He stumbled forward, uncomfortable in his finery. He tugged at his collar before abruptly dropping his hand, worried at ruining Geoffrey’s work.
He gazed up. So this is Christmas. This is what everyone raves about.
He staggered forward, smiling.
Footsteps clicked behind him, and he swiveled, hopeful it was Geoffrey.
A familiar face stared at him. The general’s. “I didn’t think you would be part of this.”
Etienne shrugged, brushing the fluttery feeling from his stomach. I will not let the general know Geoffrey hosted the ball for me.
“You two are quite close,” the general said.
“That might be an exaggeration,” Etienne said. Or not.
“It’s good you’re here.” The general peered at him. “Well done.”
Etienne nodded slowly.
“Something happened. We need to talk.” The general arched his eyebrow, and with a sigh, Etienne followed the general out of the ballroom, away from Christmas.
Chapter Seventeen
Geoffrey abandoned Etienne to his laughter. He wanted to return to his library and bury himself in his work, but he couldn’t leave this blasted event. All these people Geoffrey invited for something Etienne found ridiculous. Heat burned against his cheeks and neck, and he brushed a shaking finger against his cravat.
Everyone must consider me a sentimental fool.
Etienne had expressed longing for Christmas, but when Geoffrey tried to share the holiday with him, Etienne burst into hysterics.
He scrutinized his body. His muscles, though present, were padded, and he resembled more a farmer than a Corinthian. Of the two of them, Etienne certainly resembled an aristocrat more.
Because my uncle procured his money by swindling Dorothea’s parents with bad investments. The same money which he used to purchase the castle and fill it with art.
He always despised balls, and here he was, so smitten he had arranged his own monstrosity.
He strode to the beverage table where a gathering of men stood. Somebody handed him a glass of warm eggnog, and he sipped it, distracted by its warmth and spicy taste.
He closed his eyes. No, he still pictured Etienne’s eyes widening, his face contorting with laughter.
“Most enjoyable party.” Somebody pounded Geoffrey’s back.
“Thank you.” Geoffrey’s eyes sputtered open, and he struggled to swallow his drink with some miniscule of grace.
Viscount Burgess smiled at him.
“I’m glad, your lordship,” Geoffrey said.
“No ‘your lordship’ to me, we’re friends.”
Geoffrey touched his throat, and his voice shook. “Thank you.”
The viscount tilted his head, and his dark eyes appraised Geoffrey. “You’re less dreadful when you’re not convinced you know the answer to everything. I like this more humble version of you.”
Geoffrey wrinkled his forehead. “I prefer the sensation of certainty.”
The viscount laughed as if Geoffrey had said something amusing.
“Now do tell me,” Geoffrey asked, his stomach tensing as he struggled to focus the conversation elsewhere. “Where is this wife I’ve been hearing so much about?”
The viscount’s smile faltered, and he pointed at a blond woman swaying with a tall, strikingly handsome man.
Geoffrey nodded, though he wondered if the manner in which the woman gazed at the man, eyes wide, eyelashes fluttering, was visible to anyone else. Likely it was. “She’s very beautiful.”
The viscount leaned away, and his hand moved to his hair. “So everyone says.”
Geoffrey cursed himself for his earlier romanticism. How could he have longed for something every bit of much a fairy-tale as St. Nicholas Day? The viscount’s enthusiasm for his wife was well known, but he feared the feeling was not returned.
“Hammerstead.”
“Your Grace.” Geoffrey bowed. Unlike him, the duke appeared at ease at the festivities, undaunted by his silk breeches and long tailcoats.
“I would be remiss to fail to congratulate you on this wonderful party.”
Geoffrey’s shoulders relaxed and he allowed himself to smile. “Thank you.”
The duke nodded, but his mouth remained in a tight line. “But there’s something you should see.”
Geoffrey deserted the viscount to the refreshments and followed the duke to a quiet alcove. Golden tassels dangled from the thick brocade curtains, draped in artful waves from the gold embellished rod. The windows overlooked the grounds, and in the daytime the ballroom highlighted the garden. Now only darkness stared back at him, and Geoffrey’s spine chilled.
The duke frowned, and a booted foot tapped against the hardwood floor. “It’s another note.”
“Indeed.” A shiver coursed through Geoffrey, and he swallowed hard. His ivory gloves suddenly seemed too constraining, and he flexed his fingers against the cotton material.
“Yes. Rather nasty. Well . . .” The duke darted a glance at the other guests and then thrust the note at Geoffrey. “It’s the same handwriting.”
Geoffrey took the paper into his hands and ran his finger against familiar stationary. “My uncle’s.”
“Yes.”
“He says he took all the treasures with him.” Geoffrey frowned and directed his gaze at the duke.
“Yes…” Lansdowne shifted his legs and brushed his hand against a glossy silver button on his frockcoat. “Some of your uncle’s valuables seem to be missing.”
Geoffrey fought his mouth from dropping open. “What on earth do you mean?”
“Paintings apparently. And—other items.” The duke regarded him. “Sir Ambrose also thanked you for the party.”
“So…My uncle is alive then?” That thought, over all the others, soared in his mind. If his uncle was sending notes, he was alive. Geoffrey wouldn’t be alone in the world after all, even if his uncle needed to be imprisoned. Perhaps somebody simply used him to send intimidating notes. Perhaps he was being held captive. And even if the man were guilty of stealing items from the castle, didn’t they belong to him? Surely anything was better than his uncle being dead?
The duke cleared his throat. “No doubt he found it enjoyable to steal things in front of so many important people. He’s really quite foolish.”
“Or clever,” Geoffrey replied. He shook his head as a flicke
r of pride threatened to spread within him and he rose. “I should help the others.”
“Splendid. I’ll escort you to see Etienne and the general.”
Geoffrey stilled at the mention of Etienne. Of course they must think Etienne is involved. The man’s dubious record would hardly endear him to the general, a man entrusted with leading soldiers in his majesty’s army. He raked a hand through his hair. “Look, Etienne better not be accused of any wrong doing.”
“Hardly,” the duke said.
Geoffrey frowned at the duke’s cheerful tone, and he scrambled after him.
Rich reds and vibrant greens blurred against shimmering gold and silver ornaments as Geoffrey marched to the library. Black-clothed servants stood in regal positions, prepared to rush to the aid of the guests. Their eyes flickered too often to the decorations, and their lips struggled to maintain a solemn expression, the corners drifting up too often into a smile. This night was unlike any they were accustomed to at Ashbury Castle.
Geoffrey gritted his teeth and shoved the heavy library door open. Etienne and the general sat before him.
Geoffrey’s mouth dried. The general should not be alone with Etienne. Perhaps the duke trusted Etienne, but how could a man charged with leading His Majesty’s army give a former criminal the same consideration? Geoffrey’s hands tightened on the handle, but he could not blame the coldness of the metal for the chill that swept through him. He released his fingers from the comforting hold on the door and hastened forward. He gestured toward Etienne. “This man is not culpable.”
The general lifted his eyes to him, and lead formed in Geoffrey’s chest as the general’s face contorted into a sneer. Etienne stiffened, but showed no other indication Geoffrey had entered the room.
At one point Etienne would have been happy to see him. Geoffrey pushed the thought aside. That was the past. That had ended somehow tonight. Geoffrey’s present was too generous, and there was no forgiveness.
Geoffrey
“Everything is gone,” Etienne said, his tone official. “The paintings, the vases . . .”
Geoffrey stared at him. The man seemed so matter-of-fact. Etienne had balked at the idea of attending the party, and yet he sat here now, with the most prominent people in the county listening to his conversation. Geoffrey’s hands shook, and he shoved them into his pocket. He swallowed. “The goods were taken during the party.”
Captured At The Castle (Scandal in Sussex Book 2) Page 15
