A Seduction at Christmas

by Cathy Maxwell

“I had some people ask questions,” he said as if it was not important.

  Fiona pulled up short, anger and guilt rising in her all at once. “What else did you find out?”

  A look of annoyance passed across his eyes. “That your family connections are impeccable,” he said. “And my dear uncles had best treat you with respect.”

  She was going to have to tell him. “Is that all?”

  “Is there more?”

  Here it was, her chance to confess—but she discovered she wasn’t ready. The words wouldn’t form on her lips. And this was too public a place. Anyone could come upon them. “Let’s go for our ride,” she said, her conscience twisting miserably.

  Their horses were saddled and waiting in the stable yard. Marvin, the head groom, had chosen a handsome dark bay gelding for her mount. Holburn rode a spirited chestnut filly.

  The air was brisk and the day a good one for riding. Fiona put her frustration in her riding, waiting until the horses were suitably warmed up to give a kick and jump the nearest hedgerow.

  Holburn immediately jumped after her. Usually she waited until he joined her, but today was different. She had the desire to outrun all her worries and she did so.

  The bay was ready for a race and Holburn’s filly was more than up to the challenge. Fiona lost track of where the groom was. At this moment, he didn’t matter.

  Instead, she gave her horse his head and let him run. Holburn’s filly easily matched hers stride for stride.

  They raced across the pasture, jumped three fences and then turned off onto a road beside a rushing stream. The horses’ hooves clattered over a small wooden bridge.

  Fiona turned hers up a path leading to a knoll overlooking the estate. However, before she could go very far, Holburn’s hand reached for her horse’s bridle. She reined in, surprised, turned to him—and his lips met hers.

  For a second, Fiona couldn’t think…and then she kissed him back.

  Their horses slowed to a stop. Fiona let go of the reins and slipped her arms around Holburn’s neck. This was what she wanted, what she needed.

  She was going to have to tell him the truth, but first, she had to be certain she meant something to him—because the truth be known, he meant everything to her.

  He lifted her off her side saddle and brought her over to sit in front of him. The kiss deepened. Her legs rested on his thigh, his arms surrounded her. He was hard, aroused. The length of him pressed against her thigh.

  This wasn’t what she’d planned to do. She had something to say to him, something very important—but she could no longer remember what it was.

  Holburn broke the kiss first. He jumped down from his horse. She realized they’d not gone far from the stream but were in a small clearing near the road. Bare-limbed trees and holly berry bushes provided a shelter. He placed his hands on her waist and swung her into his arms. “I told the groom to stay back,” he said.

  “Good,” she answered before his lips came down on hers again.

  When at last they had to break for air, he said, “I’ve wanted to do that for a long time.”

  “I have, too,” she managed to answer and they would have kissed again except that a cold steel tube came in between them. She pulled back in surprise and realized it was the barrel of a gun.

  Holburn recognized the same. He quickly placed himself between her and the man holding the gun. They had been so preoccupied with kissing each other, they had not seen or heard him approach.

  At first, Fiona feared it was one of the Irishmen.

  He wasn’t. This man had a swordsman’s slimness with broad shoulders. His straight, blue-black hair was tied back into a neat queue beneath a wide-brimmed hat. He was dressed for riding in a black coat and neck cloth over a white shirt and gray leather breeches. A growth of whiskers gave him a roguish air and his eyes were the most extraordinary silver-gray.

  “Hola, Your Grace,” he said softly in accented English. “I understand you have been searching for me.”

  Immediately, Fiona knew this was the Spaniard. The man Holburn suspected wanted him dead.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Nick faced his enemy. The years had not been kind to Andres. His former friend showed signs of weariness. It was there in the harsh lines around his eyes and mouth. Unfortunately, the hand holding the pistol was remarkably steady. But instead of fear, the gun made Nick angry.

  “So, it was you,” he said to Ramigio.

  “It was me for what?” the Spaniard answered.

  “Attempting to kill me?” Nick reminded him, irritated that Andres would play ignorant. “So what has happened now? Have you tired of paying Irish thugs and decided to do it yourself?”

  “Thugs?” Ramigio frowned as if he either didn’t understand the word or didn’t know what Nick was talking about. He raised the gun. “Are you asking about this? What else would you have me do? I must protect myself.”

  “Protect yourself from what?”

  “You,” Ramigio declared, pointing the gun at Nick, who pushed it away.

  “What did I ever do to you?”

  “Este hombre me esta frustrando,” he muttered. “Are you saying you have not sent hombres to kill me? But I have fooled you! I came here to tell you to leave me alone. Suficiente. We are done. You have hounded me like a dog.”

  “I have sent no one to kill you. But I want my ring back. Give me the ring and I will leave you alone,” Nick assured him.

  “You are so ridiculous,” Andres answered, punctuating his words with his pistol in the air. He never could talk without using his hands. “I don’t have your ring. You chase me all these years for what I do not have. I never worried because your men are incompetente. I give them a little money, they say they can’t find me, and you are allowed to pay them again to look. Your men and I have become amigos. However, now, you shoot at me and make me angry. You leave me alone. You do not touch anything I have.”

  “If you do not have the ring, where is it?” Nick demanded, but Fee had heard something he should have noticed.

  She stepped out from behind him. “Someone is shooting at you?”

  “Si,” Andres answered. “That is what I said. And I don’t like it.”

  “Who is after you?” Nick asked, realizing the importance of Fee’s question. “The men I sent were not to harm you but to fetch the ring back. They are two burly characters, both English.”

  Ramigio released his breath with a weary sigh. “Those men, they are buffoons but not killers. They did not shoot at me. The man who shot at me had very good aim.” He poked one finger at the place on the sleeve of his jacket close to his heart where the bullet had hit him. “You see, I was lucky.”

  “I think we may need to talk,” Nick said.

  “I don’t want to talk,” Andres answered. “I want you to leave me alone. I am tired of being chased and I don’t want to be murdered.”

  “Understood,” Nick said. “I would feel the same, but first, I have some questions for you. And then I’ll leave you alone,” he added, thinking he was being completely reasonable.

  “Forever?” Ramigio asked.

  “Forever.”

  The Spaniard raised his hands in acceptance. There was a fallen tree close to where Nick and Fee had been kissing. Andres made himself at home by sitting on the log. “Go ahead. What questions do you have?” he said, gesturing with his pistol.

  No longer fearing being shot, Nick crossed over to the fallen tree. Fee followed. Their horses were grazing not far away and perfectly happy to do so. “Let us start with the easy question,” Nick replied. “Where is my ring?”

  Andres made a face. “Always with the ring. You would think a better friend would ask about someone trying to kill me.”

  “All right then,” Fee said, expressing the same exasperation Nick felt. “Who is trying to kill you?”

  “I don’t know,” Ramigio answered. “That’s why I came here. I thought it was Holburn.”

  “Listen, tío,” Nick said derisively, using a word that
had once indicated their friendship, “answer her question politely.”

  “Tío,” Ramigio repeated. “We were friends. Good ones.”

  “Until you stole from me,” Nick countered.

  Andres raised his hand, holding the gun to his heart. “Sometimes a man does not realize in doing what he must, there is a cost. I have not fared well since that day. I wish I had not done it.”

  Nick wished he had not done it, too, and had a great deal to say about the subject but Fee stepped between the two men.

  “Why don’t you tell us your story from the beginning?” she suggested.

  “Yes, start with stealing my ring,” Nick agreed and earned a hip bump from Fee for his insubordination.

  Ramigio looked from one of them to the other, and then let his eyes fully take in Fee as if he had not completely noticed her earlier. His grin turned wolfishly charming. “Not bad, Holburn. You were always a lucky man with women, but this one—you have outdone yourself. While I have lived like a peasant, you have wooed a princesa—”

  “The ring,” Nick cut in, annoyed. The Spaniard had too handsome a face and too much charm with the ladies.

  “Or I’ll take that pistol from you and make you eat it. You are on my land now and here, I have all the power.”

  Andres shrugged, unimpressed. “My story is simple. I came to England because you sent me the letter. You should have done this long ago, tío. I thought you sent for me…in a nice way. Not any of this nonsense about men trying to do me harm like you have for years—”

  “When did you receive this letter?” Fee asked, cutting through his complaint.

  “Two weeks ago. I received it in Amsterdam. I was a member of the court there.”

  “Yes, probably as a hanger-on,” Nick couldn’t resist drawling.

  “A man does what he must,” Andres agreed without taking offense and Nick was reminded of why he had liked the Spaniard so much years ago. He’d been a good companion who held no pretenses and had been like fresh air in Nick’s life.

  Nick’s anger vanished. “I didn’t send a letter to you, Andres.”

  “But it was delivered by one of the men you had following me.”

  This was startling news. “My last report said they had lost track of you.”

  Andres frowned. “They lied to you?”

  “They’d been lying to me,” Nick countered. “It was you they tried to trick this time,” he pointed out and had the satisfaction of hearing Ramigio swear in Spanish.

  Fee took charge again. “Do you have the letter?”

  Ramigio set aside his pistol and pulled the letter from his coat. Nick took it from him, unfolded it, and read it quickly. “This is a request, supposedly from me, asking Ramigio to meet me in London by the Tower the same night we were attacked. It says that I want to make peace. I don’t recognize the handwriting but it isn’t mine.” He looked to Andres. “Did you really go to the Tower?”

  “I did,” said the Spaniard.

  “You came all the way from Amsterdam?” Nick questioned. “Why?”

  “I am tired of the chase,” Andres said, and then added, “What I did, taking your ring, was not good. My conscience, it bothers me. Besides, I would like to visit England. I think there are opportunities for my talents here.”

  “You almost made me soften to you with your talk about a conscience,” Nick said. “But then you included your true motive for coming to England—to make money. To find more fools like me.”

  “I do not think you are a fool. What I did was not right.”

  “But you did it,” Nick accused, reminding himself more than Andres.

  Again, Fee brought them back to the important subject. “Who could have sent this letter, Your Grace,” she asked, “using your men?”

  Nick shook his head. “I hired them. I met with them privately. No one knew of them other than myself…and apparently Andres.”

  “Maybe all of London,” the Spaniard said, the gibe striking home that Nick’s secret plans weren’t that secret.

  “When you reached the Tower, what happened?” he asked Ramigio.

  “Someone fired a shot from a distance. I think the plot was I would be shot, fall into the Thames, and they’d be done with me. But he missed. He fired again. He really wanted to kill me. I pretended to be hit and fell in the river on my own. I don’t want to do that again. I ruined my best coat.”

  “And then what happened?” Fee asked.

  “I came looking for Holburn,” Andres said. “You have been hard to approach, tío. You’ve ridden with armed guards most days.”

  “Except for today,” Nick said.

  “Yes.” Andres’s silvery eyes lit with laughter. “And I am able to appreciate why you wish to be alone.” He said this with a nod in Fee’s direction. “In fact, I apologize I had to interrupt.”

  Fee’s cheeks bloomed with color and Nick was torn between an urge to kiss her shyness away or to rip out Ramigio’s eyes. He focused on the matter at hand.

  “We don’t know who sent this letter,” he said, “but it had to be someone close to me. Someone who knew of my connection to you. Who could that be, Ramigio?” he demanded, at last coming to the most important question of all.

  Andres stood. He had always enjoyed the drama of the moment. “I would think it might be the men who hired me to steal your ring. You see, Holburn, I don’t have your ring. I was paid to take it and paid well.”

  “Who paid you?” Nick demanded.

  This time, Andres didn’t prevaricate. “Lord Livermore. I delivered the ring to him.”

  Lord Livermore had been his sponsor on the Grand Tour. Nick knew immediately that Livermore wouldn’t want the ring. No, he had been acting for someone else…for the men who had arranged the Grand Tour.

  For a long moment, Nick felt as if the world was shaking beneath his feet. All that he had known, all that he had trusted was being shown to be a sham. He’d been searching for years…when the ring had always been close at hand.

  Fee placed a worried hand on his arm. “Who is Lord Livermore?”

  Anger rose in him like bile. “The bloody bastards…” Nick’s voice trailed off as he moved to action. “Andres, where is your horse?”

  “I tied him on the other side of that knoll.”

  “Take Fee’s horse to collect it. Come, Fee, you double up with me. We are returning to the house.”

  He grabbed his horse’s reins, leapt up in the saddle, and then held a hand down for her. She looked up at him in confusion. “My uncles stole the ring, Fee. My uncles have had it all this time.”

  She shook her head, as if her mind couldn’t understand all the implications. “But why?”

  “That’s what I want to know.”

  Fee took the hand he offered and he lifted her up to sit in front of him on the saddle. They collected Andres’s horse and then the three of them rode to the house’s front door.

  Holburn dismounted, tossing the reins to a footman who was surprised to see him. Taking a moment to help Fee down from her horse, Nick marched into the house. Both Fee and Ramigio followed. Tad came running up to greet them. He’d been out on the hunt when Nick and Fee had left for their ride. The dog was quickly taking over the estate. However, Nick was in no mood to give him attention now.

  “Where are my uncles?” Nick asked Docket.

  “In your library, Your Grace.”

  “Follow me,” Nick ordered Fee and Ramigio and started down the hall, anxious for the confrontation.

  “Perhaps I should wait here,” Fee suggested.

  Nick stopped. “No. I need you.” He didn’t wait for her answer but continued to the library.

  He found both Brandt and Maven making themselves comfortable amongst his books. Richard was also with them and the thought struck him that his cousin could also have been a part of the theft. It was inconceivable that they had deceived him for so long. His mind hadn’t even begun to consider that they may have hired men to murder him, but he was quickly overcoming his aversion to th
e accusation.

  Never, in spite of knowing how little his uncles considered him worthy of the title, had he suspected they would betray him. The Oracle’s warning so many years ago took on a new and more ominous meaning.

  Beware innocence, she had said. He now understood it was his own naiveté she had warned him against. His own innocent trust.

  “Uncles, I have a visitor I believe you should meet,” he said, entering the room without preamble.

  His three relatives came to their feet in deference to his rank. They always did what was expected albeit without enthusiasm. Nick stepped aside to allow Ramigio to enter the room. He watched their faces for signs of recognition.

  Only Richard knew who the Spaniard was, although by the puzzlement in his expression he couldn’t quite place where they’d met. Or was it a ruse?

  Nick didn’t know who to trust any longer.

  His uncles looked to him for introductions.

  “You don’t know him?” Nick demanded. Fee had come in to stand by the door.

  “Should we?” Maven asked.

  “I know him,” Richard said with dawning awareness. “We met in Greece, didn’t we? During our Grand Tour? He was the Spaniard you befriended. Am I correct?”

  Nick would have jumped to the conclusion that Richard had been guilty of stealing the ring. However, the sudden wariness in Brandt and Maven’s expressions gave up the game. Richard did not share any of their alarm.

  “You hired Ramigio to steal my signet ring,” Nick quietly accused his uncles.

  The twins exchanged glances as if silently asking each other what to say.

  “Steal your signet ring?” Richard repeated. “I thought you lost it?” That was the story Nick had put about. He’d been too embarrassed by Ramigio’s deceit.

  “Your father and his brother know differently,” Nick said. “Richard, excuse us.”

  His cousin frowned, obviously unwilling to leave until his father motioned to go to the door.

  Nick waited until he had closed the door behind him. “Let’s hear it all,” he said to his uncles.

  They could have played dumb. They could have protested they weren’t aware of who Ramigio was or denied having anything to do with the missing ring.