A Birmingham Family Christmas

by Cheryl Bolen

  Chapter 7

  When Spencer had grabbed Annabelle by her shoulders she'd thought he was going to shake her in anger, but a strangely tender expression softened his face. Before she could react, he crushed her into his arms for a hungry kiss. Her initial shock was quickly absorbed into the maelstrom that consumed them both.Her only kisses before--his sterile kisses of eleven years ago--had been nothing like this. Now his breathing came fast and hard as his tongue claimed hers. She should have been embarrassed over her own passionate response, but her mind was like one drugged with laudanum. Need trumped respectability. She clung to him as if her very existence depended on this raw intimacy.

  He began to press a trail of nibbling kisses along her neck, then lower, closing his mouth over her breast. Shudders of pleasures lapped over her like a molten tide.Then as abruptly as he'd drawn her into his arms, he brusquely drew away and gazed at her with smoldering eyes. "I beg your forgiveness, Miss Lippincott. My actions both at dinner and here beneath the kissing bough are unpardonable."

  Breathless and numbed by the pleasure he'd given her, she was trying to gather a reassuring response.

  He did not give her the opportunity. He pivoted and speedily strode away.

  For a very long time she stood there in the dark, trembling still as she stung from his most recent rejection. She could not return to the dinner table nor did she desire to confine herself to her lonely bedchamber on Christmas Eve.

  She limped to her bedchamber to procure her heavy velvet cloak and ermine muff and ease her warmest boots and woolen stockings over her swollen ankle. Then she descended the steps, went through the entry corridor, silently opened the exterior door, and fled. Careful to keep close to the house on this frigid night, she trod through snow that came up over her boots.Velvety black skies darkened the landscape. Nothing more than twenty feet in the distance was visible. The cold wind stung her cheeks like icy needles. Each step crunched beneath her weight as she testily walked the perimeter of the huge structure and its pair of jutting wings. Only a single room was illuminated: the dining chamber where she'd so recently been humiliated. She paused beneath its bank of windows but wasn't tall enough to peer in. Nevertheless, she could picture each member of the Birmingham family sitting at their customary places.Would Adam and Emma be angry with her for running away? Had anyone heard the cruel words Spencer had said to her? They could hardly have ignored the manner in which she and Spencer had fled. The Christmas Eve dinner would go on for another hour. The Birminghams deserved to have a happy Christmas with their loved ones free from woes. If she contributed to any melancholy on their part, she was most sincerely repentant.

  As she stood there on that frigid night, she had never felt more of an outsider. How she wished she were a member of a large, loving family. How she wished things between her and Spencer hadn't gone so terribly wrong a decade earlier. What would her life have been like? Tears trickled down her stinging cheeks as she wondered if she and Spencer would by now have been sitting around a Christmas Eve dinner table surrounded by their own family and possibly his sisters and their families. Emptiness gnawed at her like acid.

  She was vaguely aware of the increased soreness into her ankle. Lord Stephen had told her she should abstain from placing her weight on it. She gave a bitter laugh. Any physical pain was most lamentably overshadowed by the pain into her heart.

  In spite of the cold, the memory of Spencer's scorching kiss warmed her. How could a man who was so logical that his schoolmates dubbed him Pythagoras be capable of such passion? How could a man who gave every indication of hating her be capable of even wanting to kiss her in such a manner? What a paradox the man was!How could a man who'd treated her cruelly have been so tender to her when her ankle twisted the previous day?

  Unaware of what she was doing, she moved along, lost in her thoughts. As she rounded a corner, the howling wind whipped back her hood but she wasn't even aware of her surroundings. She was only aware of Spencer and the profound effect he had upon her. She realized now that all her recent acts of clumsiness were a result of the strong emotions he'd wrought in her.

  Two more days she'd have in his presence, then she would likely never see him again. She could hardly stay on with Emma, knowing how close Emma's husband was to this man who'd broken Annabelle's heart. It pained her to realize they would part on such antagonistic terms. Especially after what they had once been to one another.She became increasingly aware of the severe cold as she circled the house once more. That was enough. If she didn't go inside now they would find her frozen body on Christmas Day.With each step she climbed up the gilded staircase, she shed the ladylike shyness that had been instilled into her since she was a small girl. Until that torrid kiss tonight, she had never thrown restraint to the winds. But she had in Spencer's arms.

  She wasn't even remotely remorseful for her wanton actions. Those moments in his embrace had been the most exciting in her life. Those moments reaffirmed her deep desire for this man, and only him. In her whole life she had never committed a brazen act.But she was about to.

  * * *

  What a weakling he'd been. All of Spencer's resolve to resist the creator of his unhappiness collapsed in the face of her unhappiness. He'd not been able to turn a blind eye to her suffering the previous day as she lay in the snow, nor was he able to ignore her hurt tonight. It shamed him now--especially after her eager response to his kisses--that he'd said such heinous things to her. For no matter how cruelly she'd once treated him, treating her in a similar manner brought no joy.He could not deny that when she hurt, he hurt. For in spite of everything, he was still in love with Anna.

  The very memory of her passionate reaction to his kisses made his breath grow short. A woman interested in a fortune did not feign so potent a response to hungry kisses. Could it be that his Anna still harbored tender feelings for him?He fought against the urge to ask her, against laying bare his own anguished soul. Where Anna was concerned, he was a weakling. Efforts not to be clay in her delicate hands had colossally failed. A man had nothing if not his pride. He could never allow her to trample his heart again.Hang Adam if he was displeased with him. After the shattering kiss with Anna, he was incapable of returning to the others. He'd sought the sanctuary of his bedchamber.If he could only get through tomorrow, Christmas Day, with a semblance of his pride, he could depart the following day, sadder for losing Anna a second time, but perhaps with his pride intact.Just as he was about to throw off his jacket, a quiet tap sounded at his door.

  Brows lowered, he crossed the patterned carpet and swung open the door.

  There stood the woman he'd dreamed about for more than eleven years. "I must talk to you, my dear Spencer."

  Chapter 8

  My dear Spencer? Dare he hope she could care for him in the same way he cared for her? He was nearly undone by her lavender scent as she stepped into his room.He blocked her progress. "I cannot permit you to enter my bedchamber."

  She stopped. Her face fell.

  "Pray, Miss Lippincott, it's not that I wouldn't welcome you here, but if you cannot be cognizant of your unblemished reputation, I must be." It was then that he noticed she was dressed for outdoors. Her cheeks reddened from the cold, and a dusting of snow covered the shoulders of her green cloak."You may leave your door open, sir. I've not come here for prurient purposes."

  "I did not mean to imply that you were a woman of unguarded morals."

  Her brows lifted. "Even after the way I kissed you?"

  He could not believe they were actually talking about That Kiss. One simply did not discuss such actions. He blew out a breath. "Do not blame yourself for my ungentlemanly advances."

  "I did not think them ungentlemanly. I found them rather manly. As you are."Had her voice grown huskier? Good Lord, could it be she was trying to tell him she had welcomed his advances?His bedchamber was certainly not the place for this conversation. He drew a deep breath, willing himself not to be seduced on this spot by a very alluring woman. "Have you been outdoors?"

/>   "Of course I've been outdoors. Can you not tell from my clothing?"

  "What could possibly compel you to go outdoors on a night like this?"

  "I needed to think, and I think best whilst walking."

  "Was it not bitterly cold?"

  "Of course it was bitterly cold."

  "That was an imbecilic thing to do. You could take lung fever and die."

  She glared at him. "You should not say I'm an imbecile."

  "I didn't say you were an imbecile. I said your actions were imbecilic. That's something altogether different."

  "I did not come here to argue with you."

  He raised his eyebrows.

  "As you must know, it causes me great distress when you speak harshly to me. I have never done anything to warrant such treatment from you." She sighed. "I forgive you and wish to be your friend though I once wanted to be so much more than a friend."

  He muttered an oath beneath his breath. "As did I, but you chose another over me. Did you jilt him, too?"

  "What are you talking about?"

  "I'm talking about the man you jilted me for!"

  She put hand to hips and glared at him. "You, sir, are the only man I have ever wanted to marry!"

  He could not have been more stunned had his departed father descended into this chamber. He could not be hearing her correctly. Had his wishful thoughts conjured her declaration? He was sure he had heard her father correctly when he'd delivered Spencer the heartbreaking intelligence that she'd had a change of heart and decided to wed another man.He suddenly realized that all these years he'd been falsely blaming Anna for destroying his happiness when it had actually been her father. That explained his own shock upon seeing her again and discovering she still bore her maiden name. Her father had obviously not thought Spencer either noble enough or wealthy enough to wed his only child."Oh, God, Anna." He moved to her, took her in his arms, yanked her into his chamber, and kicked shut the door. "What a fool I was!"

  He savored the feel of her rounded body pressing against his, her arms encircling him. It was a moment before he could articulate to her the colossal lie that had deprived them both for long. Now the he was putting the pieces together--especially her unrestrained response to his kiss--he realized she still loved him as he still loved her. He'd never stopped loving her.

  He finally drew away, gently clasping her shoulders and gazing into her flushed face. "When I asked your father for your hand, he told me you'd decided to marry someone else."

  "Whatever can you be talking about? You never came to our home to speak to Papa. I waited and waited. Papa said you'd never contacted him!"

  "I wrote to your father, requesting a meeting with him. He asked me to meet him at his club in London."

  Her face collapsed. "And there he told you I was to wed . . ." She gasped. "My father had it in his mind I should marry that brewer, but I never considered Mr. Marsden." Her voice weakened. "Not when I loved you."

  An incredible blend of tenderness and joy spread to his entire body. "Could you possibly change that to the present tense?"

  "Change what to present tense?"

  "Loved."

  Their gazes locked. Her eyes filled with tears as she slowly nodded.

  He crushed her against him for the second hungry kiss of the night. "I love you now more than I ever thought possible," he murmured.

  He took her hand and walked to the settee near the fire. She sat. He didn't. "Since I have thoroughly compromised your reputation by inviting you into my bedchamber, I am eager to do the gallant thing." He dropped to his knee. "I am asking you to do me the great honor of becoming my wife."

  Her face broke into a radiant smile. "I still recall every word you said that first time you offered for me at Vauxhall, still remember how happy I was that night. I'm even happier tonight."

  "Is that an affirmative response?"

  "Oh, yes!"

  "Good. This kneeling is bloody uncomfortable."

  He sat beside her and drew her close. He felt as if he could explode from sheer happiness. "Forgive me, my most precious love, for all the mean things I've said and done to you."

  "I've already forgotten them."

  "When should you like to marry?"

  "As soon as possible."

  "Good. This time next week, you'll be Mrs. Woodruff."

  "I feel as if Nick Birmingham's toast has come true."

  He nodded. "This has become the happiest Christmas ever."

  * * *

  Later, when they heard the others mounting the stairs to their bedchambers, he took her hand in his, walked across his bedchamber, and opened the door.

  Even though the corridor was in semi-darkness the brass sconces provided enough illumination for them to see the shocked expression on Emma's face."Adam," Spencer said to her husband, "I wanted you to be the first to offer Miss Lippincott and me felicitations."

  Adam's eyes widened. "Felicitations?"

  "Yes," Spencer said, a smug smile on his face. "My dear Anna has consented to become my wife."

  Emma stepped forward and addressed Anna. "Are you certain, Annabelle, that you wish to marry Mr. Woodruff? You've only just met him."

  "Actually," Anna said, "Spencer's the man who offered for me all those years ago."

  Emma's eyes narrowed. "That awful man who broke your heart?"

  Anna nodded. "He's not an awful man, and it wasn't his fault he broke my heart. Unbeknownst to me, Papa told him I was to wed Mr. Marsden, and Papa told me that Spencer never contacted him to ask for my hand."

  "What a horrid thing for your father to do!" Emma looked thoroughly outraged.Tears sprang to Anna's eyes again. "Yes, it was."

  "But all's well that ends well," Adam said cheerfully.

  Nick stepped forward and offered his hand to Spencer. "My felicitations, old fellow."

  Then William held out his hand. "Well done, Woodruff. May you both be very happy."

  Lady Sophia appeared wildly happy. "I shall have my uncle grant you a special license immediately. You must marry here at Camden. What a wonderful Christmas it will be!"

  It would be the perfect Christmas if Lady Agar arrived, but Spencer did not wish to bring up any worrisome topic--not when he was so incredibly happy.

  * * *

  Lady Fiona took her husband's hand as they strode down the corridor to their own chambers. A smile on her beautiful face, she fairly floated as if waltzing on clouds. Nick could not deny that Woodruff's joy was contagious. The man certainly deserved happiness. God knows he'd been more competent and more loyal than any employee the Birminghams had ever hired.When they reached his wife's chamber she launched herself upon him, needily embracing him. "Oh, my darling, I feel so blissfully happy and so beastly guilty for feeling this way when you're so worried about Verity."

  He held her close. "Never feel guilty, my love, for being happy. It's what I want for you above everything." As worried as he'd been about his sister, he was equally worried about his wife. As the years of their marriage had ticked away without her conceiving, she'd become more and more melancholy. Even though he had greatly desired a son, he continuously tried to assure Fiona that he cared not if he ever sired a male. "I have Emmie, and I have you. I could not be happier."She was happier in these last few moments than he had seen her in two years. For it had been two Christmases ago--their first anniversary--that they had both pushed aside their pride and admitted to the deep love they held for each other. It had been, without a doubt, the happiest night of his life.

  "I am also very happy for Woodruff," he said. "He deserves great felicity. I just hope Miss Lippincott can bring him the kind of happiness you've brought me."

  "I am so happy for poor Miss Lippincott. I feared she was doomed to spinsterhood, but I do believe Mr. Woodruff is truly in love with her."

  "From the way she looked at him, I believe she's besotted too."

  Fiona sighed. "I have even stronger reasons for being so incredibly happy right now."

  He stroked her silken hair. "Wha
t, my love?"

  She inched away and settled gentle hands on either side of his face, peering at him with shimmering eyes. "I am now certain that I am with child. Our child."

  He froze. He didn't know what he'd been expecting her to say, but it wasn't this. He'd resigned himself to the fact his beloved wife was barren. As the full context of her words sank in, an effervescence like an entire bottle of champagne exploded within him. It was a more profound joy than he'd ever experienced.He crushed her against him, then kissed her tenderly. "I do believe I'm as happy right now as Spencer Woodruff. Even more so."

  She nestled her face into his chest. "I've been thinking about our Christmases together. The first, I will confess, I was most unhappy. I missed my own family, and I did not love you. Not then. The only nice memory I have of it was the lovely volume of Blake you presented me."

  "And the second Christmas?" He knew that she'd felt the same explosive happiness that night as he'd felt."I've never been happier than I was that night when you caught me under the kissing bough after all those weeks I'd been deprived of your bed."

  He did not want to remind her of the sadness she'd felt the previous Christmas when she'd cursed herself for being barren. "It's not that I don't adore Emmie and always will," she had said. "But I never dreamed we'd be married two whole years and still I would be unable to give you another babe. I am a failure." He'd lovingly assured her he didn't care if he had any legitimate children."Yet," she continued, "I believe I'm even happier tonight."

  "As am I." He scooped her into his arms and carried her to bed. Their bed.

  Chapter 9

  "Mademoiselle! I have been ever so worried about you."

  Still wearing her green velvet, Annabelle strolled into her bedchamber early the following morning. "Forgive me, Marie, for alarming you, but as you can see I am blindingly, spectacularly well."