A Seduction at Christmas

by Cathy Maxwell

  Instead, Maven announced, “You didn’t deserve the ring. Your behavior was disgraceful in those days. Actually, it was little worse than it is now.”

  “So you wanted to make me see the error of my ways by stealing from me?” Nick lashed back.

  “We hoped to preserve the ring,” Brandt answered. He moved to stand beside his brother. “The way you were behaving, you were going to lose it. Or gamble it away without a care or concern and tossed aside centuries of your heritage.”

  “I would not have,” Nick countered.

  Maven snorted his disagreement. “You already were. We saved that ring.”

  “No, you stole it,” Nick corrected him. “You paid a man to befriend me and then when I was not aware of it, take my property and deliver it to you.”

  “Those are the sorts of friends you have,” Brandt said. “He didn’t do anything more than a dozen or more scoundrels were attempting to do every night.”

  Nick could not believe their arrogance. Who were they to speak to him this way? And to maintain they were in the right in the face of his anger? Did they not know who he was?

  Or was it they didn’t care?

  He let his voice go deceptively calm. “Where is the ring now?”

  “In my possession,” Brandt answered.

  “Of course,” Nick said, choking back his cold fury. “You are the next in line. You probably felt you deserved the ring.”

  “I’ve seen that it was treated properly,” Brandt answered, completely unruffled.

  “You will return the ring to me,” Nick said. “Now. I don’t care if you must send horsemen to London, I want that ring. It is mine.”

  At last he received a reaction he could understand from his uncle. A dark spot of indignant color appeared on each of Brandt’s cheeks as if he wished he could defy Nick—but knew he couldn’t. “As you wish,” he said at last.

  “I also ‘wish,’” Nick continued with equal formality, “to know what your reasoning is behind attempting to have me murdered?”

  Both men’s jaws dropped at the accusation. Brandt was the first to recover. “We haven’t attempted to have you murdered.”

  Nick moved into the room. “Miss Lachlan can testify in a court of law to that fact. You are the prime suspects, uncles, because you stole the ring. And because by your own admission, you do not wish me good will.”

  “But murder?” Maven shook his head. “We would not go that far, Holburn. The idea is preposterous!”

  “You tried to murder me, too,” Ramigio chimed in.

  The twins looked at each other dumbstruck. “This is ridiculous,” Maven insisted.

  “Miss Lachlan, is the charge serious?” Nick said, asking for her corroboration of his accusation.

  “It’s very serious,” she responded. “His Grace barely escaped with his life on the first attempt. There has been more than one. Your men tried to hunt him down.”

  “If it wasn’t for her, gentlemen,” Nick said, “I would be dead, and one of you the duke. Greed is always a reason to cause harm. And then there is my friend the Barón de Vasconia. Tell them your story, Andres.”

  “Someone lured me here, claiming to be His Grace and then shot at me. He wanted to throw my body into the Thames.”

  “Apparently they weren’t successful,” Maven said as he reached for his snuff box in his pocket.

  “Do you insult me?” Ramigio said.

  “I merely point out how convenient your story is.” Maven looked to Nick. “Whatever our opinions of you, we’ve always respected your title. We would not taint it with murder. Whereas this man, an admitted thief—after all, that is why Livermore hired him for us—has everything to gain by lying.”

  “First give me the ring,” Nick answered. “Then we shall discuss the other matter.”

  He anticipated them to say they would need time.

  Instead, the twins exchanged glances, coming to a consensus between themselves. Brandt untied his neck cloth. He pulled a chain out from beneath his shirt and held it up so the ring dangled in the air.

  “You’ve been wearing it?” Nick said.

  “From the day Livermore delivered it to me. I have not taken it off once.”

  Brandt made it sound as if he’d performed some heroic sacrifice in duping his nephew. Nick struggled with a desire to smash the smug look off his uncle’s face. Instead, he held out his hand. His uncle slipped the chain over his head and placed the ring in Nick’s palm.

  The signet felt lighter than Nick remembered. It seemed more fragile. He broke the chain and placed the ring where it belonged—on his left ring finger.

  For a long moment, he looked at the engraved lines of his family’s crest. The depth of his uncles’ betrayal roiled inside him. He remembered his father wearing this ring.

  He raised his head to face his uncles. “I trusted you. When I lost this ring, it was like losing my father again. I felt I had failed him. And, I had the difficult task of presenting myself to the two of you and confessing what had happened. Do you remember what you said?”

  Neither man answered.

  Nick spoke for them. “You said you weren’t surprised.” He gave a bitter laugh. “All the time you had me twisting with guilt, you possessed the ring.” He shook his head. “Leave my house.”

  At first, the two men acted as if they hadn’t heard him correctly.

  Nick looked them straight in the eye, for the first time in his life he felt completely the duke in front of them. “Leave.”

  “But we just arrived,” Maven protested.

  “You will pack up your wives and your servants. You will be gone by dinner. When I return to London, I will speak to the magistrate and ask for an inquiry into the attempts on both mine and the Barón de Vasconia’s lives. You will also be tried for the murder of Hester Jenkins. You may have heard of her, uncles. She was a well-known courtesan and favored by many highly placed gentlemen. I’m certain the story of that night will make your names gossip fodder for years.”

  “We had nothing to do with the attempts on your life,” Brandt insisted. “We never hired men to do anything against you.”

  Nick closed his fist, feeling the weight of the signet on his finger, and held it up for them to see. “You hired someone to steal this. Why should I believe you now? Instead, you may protest your innocence to the magistrate. Of course, we will also tell our stories.”

  “This is unreasonable,” Maven replied.

  “Be gone within the hour,” Nick answered and turned to leave the room. He offered his arm to Fee, who quickly took it as if she wished to escape the tensions of the library.

  Ramigio fell into step behind them, but they had not gone far when Nick said to him. “You need to leave, too, Andres.”

  The Spaniard frowned. “But we have no quarrel between us. I thought we were amigos.”

  “We were never friends,” Nick answered. “You came here out of self-interest. What? Did you expect me to be grateful that you finally did what a friend should have done in the beginning? It’s too late, Andres. There is an inn in the village you can stay for the night. I will send a footman to let them know to have a room prepared, but on the morrow, you will be gone. I want you nowhere close to me.”

  There was a beat of silence. Nick waited, studying a place on the wainscoting.

  At last, his voice quiet, Ramigio said, “As you wish, Your Grace. You needn’t worry about the footman or showing me out. I shall take the back way so that I don’t inconvenience you.”

  He didn’t wait for a response, but left.

  The barón was wrong for stealing the signet ring but Fiona’s heart went out to the Spaniard as he turned from Holburn and walked down the hall. She liked the man. She understood now how Holburn could have so quickly made him a friend and then felt deeply betrayed by him.

  She couldn’t fault the duke for cutting the Spaniard out of his life, especially in light of his uncles’ duplicity. It was all too much to absorb. Perhaps later, the duke might relent in his stance towa
rd Andres, but not now.

  “Are you all right?” she asked the duke.

  His brows came together. He didn’t look at her as he said, “I will be. I must be.”

  “Trust is a fragile and valuable commodity in this world,” she whispered. “You had no choice but to make the decisions you did.”

  He frowned “There are always choices, Fee. What is unsettling is that all my life, the ones closest to me have meant the most harm. Is the title so important?”

  “Some think so.”

  His lips twisted cynically. “They are the ones who don’t have it, and the responsibilities.”

  There was a great commotion coming from the front hall. Fiona had thought it would be the uncles leaving—and then she heard the annoyed yipping. The dowager had arrived. Her heart sank.

  “Mother,” Holburn said under his breath. He didn’t sound overjoyed at her arrival either.

  Docket had his hands full directing traffic in the hall. Servants and luggage were coming and going.

  “Dominic,” his mother said happily in greeting, standing right in the middle of it all. She held a squirming Master Rockford in her arms and was dressed in the height of fashion with a bit of a Christmas cheer. Her green velvet pelisse and red hat made her appear like one of Gillian’s holly berry arrangements. Her smile momentarily vanished at the sight of Fee by his side but she quickly recovered.

  “How good of you to greet me,” she said to her son. “Please, give your mother a kiss, right here.”

  Holburn hesitated and then dutifully did as instructed, his words of greeting perfunctory. His mother didn’t notice. Her attention had been claimed by the way a servant was handling several hatboxes. “Here now, don’t be clumsy.”

  Gillian and many other relatives had come to welcome this new member but Fiona noticed there was little warmth in their manners. One of the children asked to hold Master Rockford.

  “He’s not a pet,” the dowager haughtily informed the child and passed the dog to her maid. “Please see to his needs,” she ordered.

  At that moment, a well-dressed gentleman of military bearing entered the house. His clothes were well tailored and obviously new. As the servants worked to move the bandboxes and trunks upstairs, the duchess announced to all, “This is a particular friend of mine, Colonel Harry Swanson. His Grace has invited him for the holidays.” She smiled at the colonel, a secret, proud smile. “Gillian, what room have you prepared for him?”

  “The blue one has been aired for him,” Gillian answered.

  “The blue one? That will never do. I want him in the chamber next to mine.”

  Gillian’s eyes widened at her instructions. She glanced at Holburn, who maintained a stony silence. Fiona knew his mind was on other things than his mother’s bald announcement, but Gillian didn’t.

  Gillian glanced at the housekeeper before saying in a conciliatory manner, “I’m sorry, Your Grace, but we’ve already placed Lord Maven in that room.”

  Before the duchess could speak, Holburn announced, “Maven will be leaving. As will Brandt and his family.”

  At that moment, both uncles came into the hall from the receiving room. They overheard what the duke had said. Their jaws tight, they made no comment but went upstairs.

  The relatives looked from one to the other but no one asked any of the questions brewing in their minds, save the dowager. A smile spread across her face. “Well, we may have a good holiday after all.” To Gillian, she chirped, “You shall see Colonel Swanson is placed in the better room.”

  “Gillian is not the housekeeper, Mother,” the duke said. “If you want something done, you may address Mrs. Sims. Now, if you will excuse me, I have another matter to attend to.”

  Holburn went outside where a footman still walked the horses they had ridden earlier. Someplace between the kisses and the Spaniard’s gun, he had lost the hat he’d been wearing. He didn’t bother with it now but mounted his chestnut and took off for a ride. Tad happily charged after him, running with all of his strength to not be left behind this time.

  “Isn’t that like him?” his mother observed to the world at large. “I arrive and he goes riding off. Come along, Colonel. I shall show you to your room.” The dowager swept up the stairs, the berry plumes of her hat gracefully moving as she proudly began giving the colonel a tour of Huntleigh starting with the importance of all the ancestors whose paintings lined the stairway wall.

  Fiona moved to the front door. She sensed that Gillian and the others had questions, but she wasn’t going to answer them. The grooms were bringing coaches around for Lord Maven and Lord Brandt.

  Holburn wasn’t anywhere to be seen.

  For the first time since Fiona had arrived at Huntleigh, dinner was a dull affair. The duchess had taken over.

  Duchess Daisy, as Gillian had irreverently dubbed her, dominated the conversation at dinner. Everyone knew she was smitten with Colonel Swanson. She giggled like a schoolgirl, made a production of keeping his wine glass full, and pouted when the ladies excused themselves from the table after dinner to let the men enjoy their port.

  Fiona had no doubt the colonel was enjoying himself. He seemed to have an eye for fine things. Her suspicion was seconded by Gillian, who swore she’d caught him turning over a piece of china on a hall table to check its marking.

  “It’s as if he’s valuing everything right down to the half penny,” she whispered to Fiona.

  The general family was very confused. A good number of them thought well of Lords Maven and Brandt. They didn’t understand their abrupt departure or why the duke had not returned. He had sent a groom to the house with the instructions to not wait dinner for him, but that didn’t stop Fiona from worrying. She was glad he had Tad. She prayed the dog would guard him well.

  The gentlemen did not linger over their port but quickly joined the ladies after dinner. Colonel Swanson and the duchess sat with their heads together on a settee at the far end of the room. Fiona tried to ignore them and couldn’t. As soon as she was able, she escaped to her bedchamber.

  However, sleep did not come. She finally gave up and waited by the window, pulling her legs up on the window seat and wrapping her arms around them. She gazed out onto the back garden, which was bathed in a silvery light. There was a ring around the moon, the sign of a change of weather.

  Close to midnight she heard a scratch on her door.

  That had to be Tad. If he had returned, that meant Holburn had also.

  She rose from her bed and crossed to the room without pausing to cover her night dress. She opened the door a crack but instead of Tad, Holburn shouldered his way in. He’d removed his coat and smelled of the fresh night air. He shut the door.

  Both surprised and relieved, Fiona opened her mouth to greet him, but before words could be spoken, he brought his lips down on hers.

  He kissed her hard, held her tight. His mouth tasted of brandy.

  Holburn broke the kiss. “Don’t speak. Don’t think. I’m tired of words, Fee, and I can’t stand my thoughts.”

  “Then what do you want?” she asked, desperate to do what she could to help him.

  “You,” he answered, shutting the door by leaning back on it. “You are the one good thing in my life. The only good thing.” And with those words, he kissed her again.

  Chapter Fourteen

  From the moment Fiona had met Holburn, even when she’d first caught a glimpse of him in that ballroom, he’d taken hold over her imagination, and now her life.

  He’d lived in her dreams, figured in her fantasies, and was now her reality.

  All of her concerns and fears she channeled into their kiss. I’m here for you, she said with her lips. She pressed her body closer. You can trust me. I will never betray you.

  And he answered back.

  The world ceased to exist beyond this place, this time in his arms. Nothing else mattered. He was here…with her…wanting her.

  His hand began unfastening the pearl buttons of her night dress.

  Fio
na let him, because it was him.

  When his hand cupped her breast, she tensed but offered no protest. Her heart filled her throat. It grew hard to breathe. Blood pounded in her ears.

  She covered his hand with her own, holding him against her. His arm came around her waist. His lips brushed her neck.

  Fiona leaned on him, needing his support, his strength. If she could she’d step inside him, let him surround her—and all the while she was so very, very frightened.

  He pulled his hand from beneath hers and brought his fingertips to her cheek.

  It was then she realized she was crying.

  “Fee, what is it—” he started but she couldn’t let him finish. She didn’t dare let him know. She cut him off by lifting herself up on her toes and kissing with all the yearning need in her soul, but he’d have none of it.

  He pulled her arms away, turning her so he could see her face in the moonlight.

  Fiona stood as if turned to stone, so aware of her braid hanging over one shoulder, her night dress unbuttoned, her skin and the curve of her breasts open to him. He used his thumb to brush away her tears and yet more flowed.

  She was a fool. She had nothing to offer him. Nothing to give. He had to see that. He had to know she’d been damaged. Destroyed for any decent loving man.

  He kissed her tears. “Is it me, Fee?” he said against her skin.

  Fiona couldn’t speak. She shook her head and realized her whole body was shaking. She felt such a fool.

  “No one will harm you,” he whispered fiercely. “Not ever again.”

  Did he think she feared Irishmen? It was good if he did. She didn’t want him to know the truth. Then she’d have to remember it and she wanted to forget. Oh, she wanted to forget.

  “Shush now,” he whispered as if he could hear her disquieted thoughts. “Please, Fee, trust me. Whatever it was, let it go or give it to me. Let me take your pain. I can protect you.”

  “You can’t. No one can.”

  Holburn laughed softly. “Don’t you understand, Fee. You and me—we can face anything together.” His voice trailed off as he lifted her up in strong arms, cradling her as one would a baby. Rocking, holding, keeping her, right there in the silvery light with all the shadows, all the darkness, all the meanness kept at bay.