Timeless Christmas Romance

by O’Donnell, Laurel

  She’d wanted to hug him, to make him feel better, and now she had her wish. Never mind that desire was swarming up inside her, that her heart’s frantic beat matched his. A little comfort was all he needed. She raised her head to push away, to―

  He took her face in his hands and kissed her. With a helpless little moan she kissed him back. Oh, God, how she’d wanted this, missed it so much. She put her arms about his neck and clung to him, instantly a slave to the same passion she’d given in to twelve years before.

  His hands roamed her from her waist to her buttocks, pulling her tight against him. He ground his erection against her, and heat spread through her nether regions in a hot, wet flood. He broke the kiss only long enough to pull the nightdress over her head and peruse her nakedness with dark, lust-filled eyes. Her knees trembled. She thought she might collapse with desire, but he clasped her to him and kissed her again.

  Still without a word, he swept her off her feet and carried her to his bed. He laid her on the cold sheets and stripped off his breeches. His erection jutted forward, sending a pulse of lust to her loins. She’d never seen his cock before, had only felt his long, hard heat inside her, and she couldn’t take her eyes off him.

  He climbed up beside her and thrust his knee between her legs. His eyes glittered in the candlelight, hard and feral, like a beast released from a cage. He bent his head to suckle her breasts, propping himself on one hand while the other moved purposefully from her waist to her hips and between her legs, caressing deeply. She moaned and arched against him, mad with pleasure.

  She pulled herself together enough to take his cock in her hand. So velvet-smooth and hot. She closed her eyes and ran her fingers over its firm length, up and down, and he bucked in her hand and kissed her hard. I want you inside me, but she didn’t say it, didn’t want to break the magic of their silent surrender to desire.

  She needn’t have worried. Eyes closed, lashes dark on his gaunt cheeks, he poised himself at her entrance. She writhed toward him, and he growled, still wild like an animal, and thrust hard, pushing himself to the hilt. She heard her own low moan, and then they were moving in unison, thrust for thrust, utterly lost in pleasure.

  Afterward, they lay clasped together for a long moment. A wave of tenderness washed over her. She loved him; she would always love him. She pressed a soft kiss on his cheek.

  He pulled away to lie next to her. “Thank you, Edwina,” he said and then was silent.

  Thank you? What had just happened…was shared pleasure between lovers, not a gift or a service performed…wasn’t it? As the remnants of desire died away, sadness took its place. He’d probably just needed comfort, as had she, and matters had progressed too far. Nothing to do with love. Did he already regret giving in to his lust?

  She gazed bleakly across the room at the fireplace, unwilling to turn to Richard, afraid of what she might see in his eyes.

  This was the one room in the house she hadn’t inspected from top to bottom. She’d wondered about asking to do so and hadn’t been able to form the words. She couldn’t encroach on his domain, and he had surely inspected the room carefully himself.

  But now she was here, and rather than let maudlin thoughts overcome her, she would make one last attempt to do what the ghost had insisted upon—that she look about herself.

  The banked fire gave off little light, but a branch of candles above it illumined the carving on the overmantel. A large mirror reflected the plaster strapwork on the ceiling.

  As was common in Jacobean houses, the carving and the plaster were facets of the same design. Often the design would be repeated in fabric wall coverings, in embroidered bed hangings or upholstered chairs. Any fabrics that might have existed over two hundred years ago were long gone, except for the one piece of embroidery that showed the knot garden.

  Edwina sat up.

  ~ * ~

  Richard rolled over as his darling Edwina slid off the bed. He’d acted like a wild beast, ravaging her. She’d seemed to want him, but… “Edwina. Sweetheart, I―”

  But instead of leaving in a huff, she padded barefoot, naked and glorious, to the fireplace, lifted the branch of candles, and looked up at the ceiling, then at the strapwork carving of the overmantel.

  “Both of these are original to the house, aren’t they? The carving and the plaster work on the ceiling.”

  He joined her. “I believe so.”

  “I wonder if the same motifs are repeated elsewhere.”

  “A simpler version is on the front doors.”

  “Yes,” she said slowly. “I saw that, but hardly noticed at the time.”

  “They’re variations of the design that was used for the knot garden,” he said, wondering where this was headed.

  “There’s something important about this,” she said. “I don’t know what it is, but I think this is what the ghost wanted me to see. I should have noticed it days ago. I wonder when the embroidery was done—before or after the garden was planted.”

  “It could have been either way,” he said, “but…” The truth descended upon him like a shaft of brilliant light, and everything fell into place.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Edwina gaped at Richard. Was he shaking? “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing’s wrong,” he said, his fists clenched, his eyes gleaming with excitement. “It must have been afterward, because we know that when Sir Joshua married Louisa, the garden was already there.”

  “We do? I thought the garden was her pride and joy, not his.”

  “That’s what the old story says, but listen! His portrait was painted a month before their wedding, and hers shortly afterward. It’s in the archives. What if the story is wrong, and it was his project?”

  “Then why,” Edwina demanded, “did he attack his own creation in a fit of rage?” She answered her own question with another. “Because Eros had betrayed him?” She made a face. “I don’t think so. Have you seen his eyes? They’re cold and calculating, not the eyes of a hotheaded lover.”

  “That’s a very womanly thing to notice,” Richard said with a twisted smile. “In any event, if it was hers, why didn’t he destroy the whole garden rather than just one square? If he’d truly meant to erase all trace of her, wouldn’t his portrait show a new and different garden in the background rather than just one altered square?”

  “Come to think of it, wouldn’t he have destroyed her needlework, too, rather than allowing a story to persist that the garden was her pride and joy?” She paused. “Oh. Oh! He made that story up!”

  Their gazes met in mutual comprehension. “Sir Joshua destroyed that one square of the garden to hide his crime,” Richard said. “He replanted it himself to appear contrite, but the real reason was to keep the gardeners away from it.”

  “While the earth settled over the lover’s grave.” A shudder passed through Edwina and was gone.

  “He invented a new story for posterity: the garden was hers, proven by both his fit of rage and her needlework. To top it off, he graced that one garden square with a monument to make it sacred and untouchable for quite a distance into the future.”

  “How horridly clever of him,” Edwina said. It served him right, she thought; it must have been painful to ruin the design of his pride and joy, but better than hanging for murder.

  “I would never have made the connection myself, Edwina. Thank God the ghost spoke to you.” Richard hugged her hard. “Let’s go outdoors.”

  ~ * ~

  Fifteen minutes later, dressed in their warmest clothes, they tramped over the frosty ground to the knot garden, each carrying a lantern in the pitch darkness. Edwina also carried a shovel, while Richard toted a pick, a hatchet, and two spades. The dog Felix padded behind them, eagerly snuffling, pleased with the unexpected jaunt.

  They set the tools and lanterns down. First Richard tried to tip the heavy bench over backward, but it was firmly embedded in the earth.

  He gave Edwina a spade, and she worked at one end of the bench while he took
the other. It was slow work, the ground hard and full of stones and roots. The dog became bored and wandered away. Before long, Edwina’s fingers were numb in spite of her gloves, and soon she would have a crop of blisters.

  Richard must have noticed, for he said, “You don’t have to dig anymore, Edwina.”

  “Yes, I do.” She glanced up at the house and thought she saw a pale face shimmer at one of the windows… It vanished. Was the ghost watching them?

  Grimly, she carried on, and after a while Richard changed ends of the bench with her. After what seemed like hours, he said, “Out of the way, sweetheart, while I tip it over.”

  The bench fell to the ground with a thud.

  “Hold!” came a voice. “What’s going on there?”

  Felix bounded into sight, followed by Sam Teas and Joseph from the inn. Freddy the erstwhile gardener lurked uneasily behind them. “Oh, it’s you, Sir Richard,” Mr. Teas said. “Your dog wandered into the inn yard, and I came up to see if aught was amiss.”

  “Afraid more of them treasure seekers had sneaked past us,” Joseph said.

  “Mrs. White and I are the treasure seekers this time.” Richard stood his shovel in the ground and leaned on it.

  “You think it’s under there?” Teas scratched his head.

  “I fervently hope so,” Richard said.

  “You oughtn’t to be doing that sort of work, Mrs. White,” Freddy said, still hovering behind the others.

  “Tell me, Freddy,” said Richard. “Where were you digging when the ghost chased you away?”

  “Why…right here, Sir Richard, planting bulbs to make the bench prettier-like.”

  Richard and Edwina shared a grin. “The last treasure hunters were standing here when the ghost ran them off,” Richard said.

  “That’s right,” Mr. Teas said. “Remember, Joseph?”

  “Aye,” Joseph said, “our ghost was fine leaving things to Sir Richard until one of them hit the bench with his spade.”

  “Well, I’ll be,” the innkeeper said. “Don’t just stand there, fellas. Give the lady and gentleman a hand.”

  Joseph took the spare spade immediately. Freddy glanced fearfully up at the house.

  “I don’t think you need worry,” Edwina said, handing him her spade. “As long as Sir Richard is here to find the necklace, she won’t drive the rest of us away.”

  With three men digging—four when the landlord took a hand after fetching warm ale from the inn—the work went much faster, but the suspense was appalling until at last, amongst a tangle of roots in the rocky soil, they found the first bones.

  “The lover,” Richard said.

  Edwina glanced up at the house again: yes, the ghost was watching them. “Handle his remains with care,” she said. “We don’t want to upset the ghost. This must be difficult for her to watch.”

  But the necklace mattered more than the bones, and now the suspense became intolerable. Richard stepped down into the hole they had dug, worked carefully with the hatchet and trowel, and removed bones one by one. “Fetch something from the stables,” he said. “An old gate, perhaps—something to carry him to the graveyard. We’ll have the vicar give him a proper burial in consecrated ground. That should comfort Lady Ballister’s ghost.”

  Bits of rotted fabric still clung here and there to the lover’s ribs. One by one, Sam Teas laid the bones on an old door. Remnants of a boot surfaced, followed by the jeweled clasp of a cloak. At last, Richard handed out the skull. It still possessed wisps of dark hair.

  No necklace? Edwina’s heart beat painfully. It must be there.

  Richard grunted. “Pass me a lantern, will you? I can’t see with all your heads blocking the light.”

  One of the men obliged. Richard set the lantern on the ground and squatted, digging now with his gloved hands. He passed up several smaller bones. “If there are any more, we’ll get the rest in daylight.”

  Edwina’s heart plummeted…and Richard rocked back on his heels, a small metal box in his hand. “I need a knife.”

  One was duly handed to him. He pried the box open and tipped something into his hand. He let out a long, low whistle and tossed up the empty box. “Give me a hand,” he said, and the others helped him out.

  Edwina couldn’t contain herself anymore. “Did you find it?”

  “I believe so.” Something dangled from Richard’s fingers. No glisten, no shine; it was tarnished and dull and smelled of the earth, but it was definitely a necklace. “I surely hope so.” He spat on one of the jewels, rubbed it clean, and held it close to the light. Was that a dull red? One by one, he cleaned the jewels. It would take more than spit to polish the tarnished silver setting.

  Richard turned toward the house, gazing up at the windows where the ghost had been. She wasn’t there anymore. He held the necklace aloft. “Here it is, Louisa Ballister. It’s time to set my son free.”

  There was utter silence. Edwina stared at the window, certain the ghost wasn’t appeased. That’s not enough, she wanted to say. This won’t be over until you give it to your wife. She shivered suddenly, wondering if those words were hers or the ghost’s.

  “Edwina,” Richard said softly. “Look at me.”

  She turned, and he placed the necklace gently over her head. The men whooped and clapped. “To the new Lady Ballister!” they cried, lifting their tankards in salute.

  Trembling, Edwina could find nothing to say. This wasn’t right. Richard didn’t want to marry her. He barely tolerated her. He felt nothing for her but lust.

  Richard turned to the others. “If you men would kindly bring the remains to the vicar?” Freddy and Joseph lifted the old door whilst Sam Teas collected his tankards. “And Freddy, I hope you’ll begin work again directly after Christmas.”

  “You may be sure I will, Sir Richard,” Freddy said. “Starting right here.”

  “Which shall we have first, the wedding or the burial?” Richard called as the men moved slowly away.

  “The wedding!” called Sam Teas, and the others agreed.

  ~ * ~

  Richard faced Edwina again, his heart thudding painfully. In the dim light cast by the lantern, she didn’t look pleased or even content. On the contrary, she was trembling.

  “I’m sorry, Edwina,” he said, “but there is no other way.” He put his arms around her and pulled her close.

  She stood limply in his embrace. “There must be another way.”

  “There isn’t, and you know it. I realize that marriage with me isn’t what you want, but to save John, we have no choice.”

  She said nothing, and he let his arms fall. He’d thought she cared enough to put up with him for the children’s sake. Surely she wouldn’t refuse now?

  ~ * ~

  She mustered the words. “I do want it. I do want to marry you.”

  He took her by the shoulders, looking down at her. “You do?”

  “Of course I do.” She shook him off. “Do you think I would have bedded you if I wasn’t willing to marry you?”

  “Twelve years ago, I thought you were willing to marry me. Tonight…tonight I didn’t think at all. I just needed you, and suddenly you were there.”

  “Because the ghost sent me, and I couldn’t help myself.” She shivered, and he held out his hands, but she stood away, huddled in the safety of her own arms. “She’s been urging me to use my woman’s wiles on you, but I resisted. I knew you didn’t want to marry me, so it would have been wrong to try to trap you.”

  “You didn’t need to trap me,” he said.

  “Because you feel you must marry me to save John, but you don’t love me anymore. You deserve to find a better wife, one you can love like your first. Now that you’ve found the necklace, surely the ghost will give you a little more time.”

  “I didn’t love my first wife,” Richard said. “I held her in affection, but love…” He shook his head. “No.”

  “Then you did marry her for her money,” Edwina said, resigned. She shouldn’t have judged him so harshly. She wasn’t
perfect either.

  “No, I married her because I was heartbroken, and because she wanted me.” He sighed. “You’ll never believe your money didn’t matter, will you?”

  “I don’t know,” she said shakily.

  “I may never forgive you for marrying Harold White, either,” he said, but he laughed. “Sweetheart, you had no need to use your wiles on me because I’ve been in love with you since the moment you arrived. I didn’t want to fall in love with you again, but I couldn’t help it.”

  She felt her lips tremble into a smile.

  He smiled ruefully in return. “I didn’t want to marry you because I’d already lived through an uneven marriage, where one spouse loves more than the other. It was far worse from my wife’s point of view, knowing I wasn’t in love with her. I don’t want to be the one who isn’t loved.” He paused. “But I’m willing to be that one if it saves John’s life.”

  “Richard, I have always loved you, and I always will.” She put her arms around him. “You will never, ever be the one who isn’t loved.”

  Dawn had come, and a faint glow in the eastern sky heralded sunrise. At the sound of children’s voices, they broke apart. Lizzie and John came running around the side of the house, clad only in their nightclothes.

  “Did you find it?” Lizzie cried.

  “Of course he did,” John said. “The ghost just told me so.”

  Lizzie’s eyes lit upon the necklace. “Papa, are you going to marry Mrs. White?” she asked, eyes wide.

  “Of course he is,” John scoffed. “It’s been obvious ever since she arrived.”

  “Yes, Mrs. White and I are going to marry,” Richard said. Lizzie let out a squeal and hugged both her father and Edwina, while John grinned and congratulated them in a very adult way.

  Then he rather spoilt the effect by asking, “Is there a skull?”

  “Freddy and Joseph are taking the remains to the graveyard,” Richard said. “If you ask the vicar, he may let you have a look before the burial.”