Unwrapping a Rogue: A Christmas Regency Boxset

by Samantha Holt

  He strode up to the steps and noted the wreath on the door. The next ten days would have little to do with Christmas and celebrating and everything to do with business. His brother was in America, trying to chase down a rich heiress—and would likely succeed before long—and his sisters were with their husbands’ families. As far as he was concerned, if he wasn’t to spend Christmas with his family, he might as well be useful.

  It would surprise some that a rake like himself would wish to be useful but that was precisely why he needed Fairfax’s backing. Who would trust a man like himself with their money, after all? He might have kept a steady hand on the family’s wealth over the years but his reputation he’d garnered as a boy had stuck.

  Footsteps crunching through the snow broke his thoughts. He twisted and stilled. As the carriage drove off, a woman—late as well—hastened toward the steps on which he stood. A thick fur-lined cloak covered her but when she lifted her head, his heart came to a standstill.

  No.

  Not her.

  She pushed back the hood and peered up at the hall. She hadn’t even seemed to notice him but he supposed Fairfax was impressive if one had not seen it before. Though it was called Fairfax Hall, it was really a castle, with the oldest parts dating back to the 14th Century. The Marquess of Fairfax liked to remind everyone that a castle had been on this spot since the reign of the Normans, though the old keep had long since been taken down and rebuilt. This guest could be assured of receiving a history lesson before long as a new visitor to the castle.

  “Miss Ashdown.”

  Her gaze snapped to his and the ruddy colour in her cheeks vanished. Goddamn, how did she still make him feel as though he’d received a blow to the gut? Her eyes were the same entrancing hazel colour he’d remembered. Warm and almost amber-like to his mind. There had been many a day as a young man when he’d considered what it might be like to lie above Angelina Ashdown and stare into those eyes for hours.

  But it had been—what?—eight years. They no longer ran in the same circles and her writing career kept her busy. How was it possible she could still have the same effect? He curled his fingers inward. The last thing he needed was the distraction that was Angelina.

  Her tongue darted out over her lips. “Benedict. I did not know you were coming.”

  Well, now someone had not only punched him in the gut but they’d forced their fist through and were tugging at his insides, twisting them in knots. She offered a quivery smile and he saw apprehension there.

  “Forgive me,” she said, reminding him he’d been staring at her instead of responding with something suave. “I was admiring the castle.”

  “Impressive, is it not?” He glanced up at the turrets towering over the landscape.

  “Yes, it really is. I had no idea Fairfax was so...”

  “Old?”

  “Grand.”

  “Lord Fairfax will no doubt delight in telling you all of its gory history. It was involved in the border skirmishes if I recall.”

  Her smile stretched slightly but she still looked as though he might pounce upon her and chew her up. Benedict’s attention fell to that smile, nervous or not. He had no insides left at this point. They’d turned to mush. How could she be more beautiful? How was this possible?

  Her once perhaps overly generous mouth was now pure perfection and those almond-shaped eyes were filled with wisdom and confidence. Her hair remained the same golden colour he’d imagined draped over his chest though she had it coiled up whereas she frequently had it spilling over her shoulders as a young woman.

  “I look forward to it.” She indicated to the door. “Shall we?”

  He nodded. Fool. Who left a woman standing on the doorstep in the blasted snow? He did, apparently. He, who could be counted on to charm every woman in sight, had turned into a blustering idiot simply because Angelina had smiled at him and called him by his name.

  Benedict followed behind her, watching the cloak billow out. He caught a glimpse of stocking-encased ankle. Grimacing, he clenched his jaw. Business, remember? Not ankles. Not breasts. Not arses. Definitely not sex.

  And certainly not Angelina.

  But, unfortunately, that was where his thoughts were going. Ankles, breasts, arses, sex and Angelina. All blazing through his mind. He’d seen enough of and done enough of all of those.

  Apart from her.

  Damn it.

  The large door opened and the butler granted them entrance as they handed over their cards. Benedict almost forgot to remove his hat when Angelina began divesting herself of her cloak, having handed over her luggage. She wore red—bold brazen red—a colour normally worn by much older women. Yet he couldn’t fathom why younger women didn’t wear it. He now understood why bulls liked the colour so much. He almost felt like snorting and stamping his foot on the floor.

  Her gaze met his and he fumbled to pull off his hat and gloves. Angelina’s lips quirked. This wouldn’t do. She’d always been oblivious to the effect she had on him. If he was going to be trapped here for Christmas with her, he’d have to do something about her. Get her out of his system perhaps...

  No. Definitely not. Certainly not. He had bigger things to worry about than what was hidden underneath that blouse.

  “If you shall just follow June—” the butler indicated to the waiting maid “—she shall show you to your rooms. The footmen shall bring up your trunks in just a moment.”

  “After you,” Benedict said and managed to keep his gaze from her rear while they ascended the dark wooden staircase to the next level. There, the maid showed them to their rooms.

  Next to one another.

  Well wasn’t this just wonderful? How in the blazes was he meant to sleep knowing she was next to him?

  “If you would like to freshen up, there’s water in your rooms,” June told them. “The Marquess is hosting his guests in the drawing room.” She dipped into a curtsey and hurried away.

  Angelina eyed him. He coughed and went to turn away but she called his name. “Where is the drawing room?”

  He considered the maze that was Fairfax Castle and blew out a breath. “Why do you not freshen up then knock on my door? I shall escort you down.”

  “Um...” She twined her hands together and dropped her gaze briefly to the floor. “Of course, yes, thank you.”

  Though he went to say something more, she turned into her room and shut the door. Whatever the nonsense he’d intended to speak was, it merely came out as “Bluh.”

  He spun sharply on his heel and hastened into the room. Resting his head against the closed door, he closed his eyes. This was not him. Blundering, blustering, foolish. Everyone knew him to be charming, rakish. Hell, he even had quite the wicked tongue. If he was to make this stay a success, he needed to regain his persona.

  He removed his jacket and pushed up his sleeves before stepping over to the bowl of water in front of the window. Peering out over the snow-covered scenery, he considered the woman next door. Angelina had done well for herself. She was a writer—etiquette and whatnot. He never read the column, couldn’t really face it if he was honest. Not when he knew he’d been the one to destroy her life and force her onto the path to spinsterhood.

  The water rippled when he rested his palms on either side of the bowl. He stared at the moving reflection of himself and drew in a breath. “Fairfax,” he muttered to himself.

  Not Miss Angelina Ashdown.

  The estate was doing well, but not well enough. Around him, titled gentlemen were selling up their properties and belongings, finding that their homes were too expensive to run or that the family wealth had run dry. Being titled was a costly business and if he wanted to keep a hold of his family’s legacy and ensure the welfare of his tenants, he needed to act fast. Simply doing just fine was not good enough. He had to be turning a profit. And he knew exactly how to do that.

  However, he needed the backing of a well-known entrepreneur and he was willing to gamble that Fairfax was just the man. Shrewd, ambitious, well-respecte
d. With him at his side, he knew he could make his idea for bringing the process of heating homes into the modern world a success.

  The knock at the door jolted him even though he’d anticipated it. Benedict dried his face and hands with a towel, pushed his fingers through his hair and went to the door. He knew who it was. Knew what she looked like. Understood the impact she had on him.

  Yet nothing could prepare him for actually seeing Angelina. She had neatened her hair a little but other than that, she was the same as when she’d been outside. She stared at him for a few moments, her gaze landing on his bare forearms.

  “Aren’t you going to put on your jacket?”

  He grinned at this demand. So like Angelina.

  She pressed her lips together. “I mean, are you ready, my lord?”

  His grin dropped. That was not like Angelina. The eighteen-year-old girl he’d known had been demanding, outspoken and incredibly vivacious. Meek and coy were not words that could ever describe her and yet he had the distinct impression that was what she was attempting to be.

  He certainly preferred old Angelina. It had been all those traits that had made him fall head over heels in love with her, in spite of the fact she was being courted by his closest friend during his Oxford years.

  “We’re friends, are we not, Angelina?” He used her name deliberately and enjoyed the way it tripped off his tongue and brought colour to her cheeks. “I do believe you called me Benedict earlier.”

  “I did, my lord, and you must excuse me. It was a slip of the tongue.”

  A furrow dug into his brow. He didn’t like this formality one bit.

  And he couldn’t help wanting to loosen her up and dig down to find old Angelina. His vows to concentrate only on business were slowly coming to nought, and there wasn’t a damned thing he could do about it.

  Benedict turned to retrieve his jacket and found her following his movements. A trickle of awareness flowed over him. He knew that look. He’d seen it from many a woman, but never expected it from her. He offered her his most charming smile.

  “Is something the matter, Angelina?”

  Her lashes fluttered. “No, no not at all. Why—” she cleared her throat “—why do you ask?”

  “You look a little peaked. The cold weather perhaps?”

  She released a tiny, unladylike snort and her eyes widened at the sound, as if she hadn’t intended to do it and now regretted it. He saw her throat work.

  “Pardon?”

  Angelina lifted her chin. “I didn’t say anything.”

  His lips quirked as he suppressed a chuckle. “You snorted.”

  Her eyes grew wider. “I did not!”

  “You did, I heard it.”

  “Do not be ridiculous.” She turned away from him and made a show of straightening her sleeves. “Ladies do not snort.” Chin still lifted high, she began to stride off down the corridor.

  Benedict let her go for a few more steps before calling her name. She stilled and peered over her shoulder.

  “It’s this way.” He pointed in the opposite direction. Angelina always had suffered from a terrible sense of direction. His grin widened when she came to his side and narrowed her gaze at him.

  Her skirts rustled as she breezed past him, her posture that of an uptight lady. He recalled there were days when she would run down a corridor just for the fun of it. The years might have done much for her beauty but all the etiquette nonsense must have rubbed off.

  He caught up with her. “You sounded like a pig.”

  Her lips parted. “I did not.”

  “If it helps, it was very amusing.”

  She paused again at the top of the stairs and faced him. “I did not make the sound of a pig and if you were a gentleman, you would forget such an incident.”

  “So you’re admitting you did snort?”

  This time she released a long, irritated huff. “No. I—” She threw up her hands. “You’re impossible!”

  Angelina scurried down the stairs, but he caught up easily, not being hindered by skirts. He chuckled and shook his head. “I did miss you, Angie.”

  “My name is Miss Ashdown,” she said primly. “And certainly not Angie.”

  He indicated to the other side of the hallway. They strode through what the marquess had dubbed the tapestry room. Every inch of the walls was covered in medieval tapestries from all over the world. Some were frayed and faded but some had been kept in excellent condition and the elegant knights and ladies looked down upon them with a certain air of disapproval. Likely they didn’t much like his behaviour toward Angelina, but he couldn’t help himself. He itched to get underneath her ridiculous uppity behaviour and find the girl he’d fallen for.

  “Did you not miss me?”

  Chapter Three

  Miss Manners says...

  A lady should never use coarse language. Use of such words indicates a lack of intelligence and breeding. Control your tongue, my dears, and remain feminine at all times. Leave the cursing to the rougher sex. No man wishes to marry a lady who sounds like a sailor.

  “Damn it.” Angelina stumbled and nearly twisted an ankle. If it hadn’t been for Benedict’s quick reaction in snatching her arm, she might have fallen completely.

  Heat rushed into her cheeks as she straightened herself.

  “Bloody uneven floors,” he murmured.

  She glanced at the floor but knew well that no floorboards could be blamed for her stumble. It was all Benedict. Did she miss him? Honestly, did he really think that she would? And why would he miss her? The only gap she had left in his life was that he no longer had someone to ridicule and direct all his annoyance toward.

  Lord Benedict Britton, Earl of Calderton had never liked her. Not even when she had become engaged to his closest friend. There had always been these long stares—so dark and disapproving that they made her shudder. He had eyes that could almost look like coal in the dark corners of a ballroom and his black hair did nothing to dispel his dangerous image. The man was a rake, through and through, yet he had always had the nerve to make her feel as though she were the one doing everything wrong.

  Withdrawing her arm from his grasp, she twisted her ankle and gave it a little test.

  “Are you hurt?” His expression was so sincere that she almost forgot she loathed this man.

  Benedict Britton ruined her life and she would do well to remember that.

  If only she could remember her manners. What was it about him that made all her years of living by the rules vanish? If her readers saw her now, they wouldn’t even believe she was Miss Manners.

  Why did he have to be here? Shouldn’t he be in London, seducing all the women and generally being as rakish as ever? She only hoped he didn’t continue to distract her from persuading Oliver to marry her. Somehow she would have to ignore him. She needed her job and Miss Manners had to prove herself. This sort of behaviour would not do if she was to gain a proposal.

  “I am well, thank you, my lord.”

  There, she could do this. She would be polite, genteel, everything a lady should be.

  “Dear God, Angie, if you continue with this ‘my lord’ nonsense, it’s going to be a long Christmas.”

  They continued down the hallway and voices filtered through to the large space. The tiniest thread of apprehension wove through her and she forced herself to take a few deep breaths. It wasn’t that Miss Manners never went into society but she certainly did her best to avoid it, particularly being in the company of those in a position of power. It did not seem to matter how perfect her manners were, how beautifully she carried herself, no one would forget the taint of her past.

  “I didn’t know you were going to be in attendance,” he added. “Will your brother not miss you?”

  “Not at all. He is newly married and quite enamoured with his wife. I had intended to stay in London for Christmas.”

  “Alone?”

  Angelina glanced his way and saw the slightest flash of...pain?... slip across his face. She doubted ve
ry much her lonely state bothered him at all so it must have been something else causing such a look.

  “Why the change of plans?”

  “My editor thought it would be good for me to attend. It never hurts to whisper good things about one’s place of employment into rich men’s ears,” she put in smoothly.

  She’d spent the journey planning what she’d say if anyone asked. After all, she could hardly admit she was angling for a marriage proposal before New Year’s. Warmth touched her cheeks. If she thought too hard about it, it really was the most preposterous way to spend Christmas.

  He chuckled. “You haven’t whispered in my ear.”

  Their gazes connected when they paused in front of the drawing room door. A jolt of something shot through Angelina. It headed straight for her heart and made it do an odd flip-flop motion.

  Drawing in a breath, she turned away and put her hand to the door. It gave way before she could do anything and a young footman stood behind it, beckoning them in with a bow.

  She spared one last glance at Benedict before entering. High ceilings with gilded highlights and long windows that let in the best of the daylight dominated the room. But none of the lavish furnishings and huge carved side tables and cabinets could prevent her gaze from flitting from person to person. It was hardly the cream of society and most in attendance were older than she, but it didn’t stop the anxiety bunching in her stomach.

  Lord and Lady Burnham, Mrs Carlton—a rich merchant’s widow—and her daughters, several finely dressed gentleman she didn’t recognise, a baron, an earl and other women she couldn’t name but a few of whom she had seen in the past during her limited time in society. Most would know of her downfall.

  Angelina swallowed hard and lifted her chin before perfecting her most serene and elegant look. The voice that took over when she wrote Miss Manners’ column intoned in her head over and over. An air of elegance and refinement can overcome almost anything. Most people are far too self-involved to remember much of you but a first impression will always linger, my dears.

  Unfortunately for her, the only first impression she’d left was one of a ruined girl.