His Christmas Pleasure

by Cathy Maxwell

  It felt good to be angry, and sad, too. She sat in a side chair, crossing her arms against her stomach. It hurt to think Andres didn’t care for her. Physically hurt. She even felt feverish, and she realized that this was much worse than what she’d ever felt for Freddie.

  Could it be that Andres was jealous over the attention Freddie had been paying to her this evening?

  Frankly, Abby had found Freddie annoying all evening long. She’d been polite, but she’d kept a distance. Freddie had been very handsy. And what Andres hadn’t seen was the way Freddie had been trying to play with her feet under the dinner table.

  It had put her off him completely. However, when he had insisted that she sing, she’d really not had the choice to refuse. She would have appeared rude if she had. So she’d put on a good face and done her best.

  She’d noticed Andres standing, alone and apart, silent and disapproving. He hadn’t been comfortable in this company.

  Then again, Abby could admit she had been too comfortable. She had been flattered to be the center of the evening’s activities. And perhaps she hadn’t been as mindful of her husband as she should have been. Of course, the squire’s daughter, the one whose dress had made her look as if her breasts had been served up on two platters, had done her best to compensate Andres for Abby’s lack of attention.

  Dame Edith’s comments had been mean. The fact that no one had corrected her was even more shameful.

  And Abby would be lying to herself if she didn’t face the fact that a part of her had been a bit frightened by how harshly they had judged her husband. In a switch of roles, Abby had been included and Andres had been left to fend for himself.

  Perhaps she was being unfair to him. The image of the surprise on his face when she’d first started to sing rose in her mind. They were newly wed. Of course they didn’t know each other well, and this was really their first fight. They rarely argued at home. She shouldn’t have lashed out at him when she was the one who had abandoned her parents.

  Abby came to her feet. She needed to talk to Andres, and she had to do it now, before he left.

  Taking her cloak out of the wardrobe, she threw it over her shoulders and dashed out of the room, convinced her overwrought emotions had played too large a part in their argument. Both marriage and being in love were new to her.

  Perhaps if she didn’t try so hard to hide how deeply she had fallen in love with her husband, the scene in their bedroom would not have happened.

  And she should have let him make love to her. It would have released tension for them both. Besides, right now, Abby really wanted his arms around her.

  Downstairs, a footman stood guard at the door. One glance at Abby and he knew what she wanted. “Are you looking for the gentleman who left?”

  “I am.”

  “He rode down the drive only a moment ago,” the footman reported.

  “He rode away?” Abby knew she sounded silly, but she was stunned. Yes, Andres had stormed out, but she’d clung to the belief that he would not strand her here.

  “A rider just left. It’s not such a bad night for travel. Several guests have returned to their homes.”

  Abby sank down onto the hall steps.

  “May I fetch something for you, my lady?” the footman asked.

  It took a moment for his words to sink in. She shook her head. “I need a moment,” she murmured.

  He nodded with empathy, the empathy that she had wanted from her husband.

  Why had Andres burned so hot tonight? Thinking back, it was almost as if he’d been testing her. As if he’d searched for a reason to challenge her.

  He’d wanted her. Having her in his bed had been important to him. Then again, how insensitive had it been of him to insist on her servicing him?

  Abby released her frustration with an angry sound. Men were too difficult to comprehend. Something had been going on in Andres’s mind, something she couldn’t fathom.

  And why must she? She thought of her mother, of Freddie’s disturbing words.

  “Abby?” Freddie stood halfway up the stairs. “Is something the matter?”

  Noting the interest on the footman’s face, Abby decided any and all conversations should be away from the servants’ prying ears. She stood. “Freddie, I’m coming up.” She moved up the stairs, catching him before he came down much further.

  “I thought I heard you say your husband had left?” Freddie asked.

  Abby blinked, startled that Freddie had been listening for that long. He was wearing a silk brocade dressing gown and slippers.

  He noticed her hesitation and had the good grace to act embarrassed. “My room is next to yours,” he confessed. “I could hear the row. Not the details,” he hurried to assure her, “but enough to know the two of you were not pleased with each other.”

  She’d not thought she and Andres had been that loud. She blushed and started up the stairs.

  “It’s nothing,” she said. “All is well.”

  Freddie was right on her heels. “But did he leave? What of the the bonfire?”

  Heading down the hallway, Abby said, “Lord and Lady Landsdowne decided the bonfire might not be a good idea. Apparently there is a bit of hysteria about the French. Andres hasn’t been to Spain for years. Even so, the older family members are quite concerned about him.” She tried to keep her voice light. “It’s silliness.”

  “Yes, it is,” Freddie agreed. He leaned a hand on the doorjamb of her room. “I hope he didn’t take offense to it.”

  Abby shrugged. Freddie was fishing for more information, or did he know more than he was letting on? Suddenly, everything was overwhelming to Abby. She needed to be alone to sort it all out.

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” she said. “Good night.”

  But Freddie didn’t leave her. He followed her into her room, moving right with her through the door.

  “Freddie, please, I’m tired—”

  He shut her up by placing his mouth over hers even as he kicked the door closed with his foot.

  At one time, Abby had dreamed of being kissed by Freddie with this passionate abandon.

  Now, she wanted to gag.

  He had his arms around her waist, pulling her toward him. She could feel the bump of his erection against her. Pushing against his shoulders, she struggled to free herself from his grip even as she turned her face.

  “Abby, don’t be this way,” Freddie said, groping for her breast. “We’ve waited so long for this.”

  “I’m married.” She kept her voice low, not wanting to call attention to what was going on, wanting Freddie to come to his senses and leave her room.

  “Yes, and I’ll be married soon,” Freddie agreed, his teeth brushing the skin of her neck. “You taste so good—”

  Abby shoved with all her might, freeing herself. “Stop it, Freddie. This is ridiculous.”

  Freddie breathed heavily. “Abby, this is the way we planned it. You marry, I marry, and then the two of us could be together.”

  “You are going to marry my cousin,” she reminded him.

  “But you are the one I love,” he declared, spreading his arms as if to take her in them, his dressing gown making the gesture comical. “You are the one I want. My parents will know nothing about this—”

  “But I will,” Andres’s deep voice said from the doorway.

  Both Freddie and Abby swung around in shock.

  He stood there, his silver eyes reflecting nothing, yet she could feel his hurt, his surprise, as if it had been her own.

  “The footman said you’d left,” Abby said, the words born of her confusion and distress. The moment they hit the air, and she heard how they sounded, she realized she’d said the wrong thing.

  “That must have been someone else. I did go out for fresh air. I needed to think.” Disbelief echoed in his voice. He made a small, disparaging laugh. “Apparently, I came back too soon.”

  Anger that he would believe her capable of being untrue warred with guilt. He shouldn’t have walke
d out. She shouldn’t have let Freddie into her room.

  “Andres—” she started, taking a step toward him, but he had already disappeared from the door. She started to run after him. Freddie stepped in her path.

  Taking her arm, he said, “Let him go. He’s angry. He needs to cool his temper.”

  She had no doubt that her husband was furious, but she wasn’t going to wait. She wanted the air cleared between them. She shoved at Freddie but he held on, swinging her around to meet him.

  “Abby, have some pride.”

  “I have pride,” she shot back. “And whatever I felt for you, Freddie, it’s gone. It died when you chose someone else over me.”

  “That’s your temper speaking,” he answered. “Your jealousy.”

  He had hold of her wrist, and Abby had had enough. “It’s not. I love him, Freddie. I love him in a way I could never have loved you. Do you understand? I don’t want you to kiss me or touch me or even look at me.” The words poured out of her. The truth. There it was. She’d exposed herself. She loved her husband.

  She gave a good shake, breaking Freddie’s grip and taking off after her husband.

  Abby flew down the stairs. Freddie shouted her name, but she didn’t heed him.

  The footman was still in place, his eyes wide. He pointed down a hall, which, Abby knew, led to a back entrance and a path leading to the stables. “Thank you,” she threw over her shoulder as she hurried to catch her husband.

  But it was too late. She was halfway down the path when she heard a horse galloping away. She went to the stables anyway, not willing to take the situation for granted a second time.

  A groomsman met her. He was a young man with straw-colored hair and a desire to please. “May I help you, my lady?”

  “Did the barón just leave?” she asked, her heart pounding in her chest.

  “He did. Borrowed one of his lordship’s horses. Paid me to bring you home in the pony cart on the morrow. Just let me know when you wish to leave, my lady.”

  A numbness spread through Abby at this cruel twist. She stood in front of the grinning groomsman as if she’d been turned to stone.

  Andres maddened her. He’d jumped to the wrong conclusion and hadn’t even taken five minutes to let her explain what had been happening. Not even a minute.

  They’d known each other less than two months—and yet she felt closer to him than any other person on this earth. Obviously, he didn’t feel the same about her. How could he believe that she would encourage Freddie, a man she had once loved but for whom she now felt nothing but contempt?

  Freddie. He was the reason her husband had been so insistent that she join him in bed. Andres hadn’t been offering comfort. He’d wanted to stake his claim.

  Cold, damp night air swirled around her skirts. The fog had come up. She hadn’t noticed it as she’d been running down to the stable yard, but now it seemed thick and menacing.

  “Is all well, my lady?” the groomsman asked.

  “I don’t know,” Abby answered candidly.

  “I’ll walk you back to the house,” he offered.

  “No, I can find my way,” Abby said, starting back up the path, her mind focused on Andres’s behavior when they’d first gone to their room that evening.

  He’d been jealous. But not in a good way. She crossed her arms and picked up her step, her thoughts furious. Her husband had been acting like a dog fighting over a bone—and she was the bone.

  Andres hadn’t heard anything she’d said about her mother. He’d been more interested in his own pride. He’d wanted her because she was his.

  Freddie was worse. He had attacked without so much as a by-your-leave because he’d assumed she’d been his. What had he done? He’d had his ear against the wall? Had he pleaded with Celeste for the room next to theirs? How tawdry!

  Abby opened the back door and went inside only to pull up short at the sight of Celeste waiting for her. Her hostess was in her dressing gown, her dark hair down around her shoulders.

  “I almost ran into you,” Abby apologized. “Why are you up?”

  “I was worried about you. Jonathan is waiting, in case you need him. Is all well? Is there some way we could help?”

  Pride warred with unhappiness. Abby had been schooled to pretend everything was fine. Her father had taught her to forge ahead, to not listen to the whispers. You saved your frustration for the haven of your family, but for everyone else, you presented a good face.

  Except Abby didn’t have a good face to present.

  Her anger at Andres fell away as she sank down to the ground in tears.

  Celeste dropped down beside her, taking her hand and holding it, letting Abby cry.

  “I feel like a fool,” Abby confessed when she could speak without sobbing.

  “Start at the beginning,” Celeste advised, and Abby did.

  She told about loving Freddie, and about Corinne, and Andres’s offer. She held nothing back.

  In the same way that Andres’s confession had freed him, she found the telling cathartic. She left out only one part—her feelings for Andres. They were her secret. Her vulnerability. And she kept to herself her husband’s wish for her to make love to him this evening.

  Celeste was a good listener. She didn’t ask one question.

  “There, that’s all,” Abby said. “I shouldn’t be so emotional. I have no right to be. So what if he left? I know how to manage on my own. I can return to London now and see to my mother.”

  She looked to Celeste, wanting validation of her plan.

  Instead, Celeste asked, “Have you told your husband you love him?”

  Abby felt tears well up inside all over again. She’d thought she’d cried them out, but there was so much more left. “I don’t.” But her statement lacked the ring of truth.

  “Liar,” her friend said softly.

  “I can’t love him,” Abby answered. “I mustn’t. He’s so handsome and kind and good—but we didn’t bargain to love. He chose me because he didn’t love me. It’s my fault I’ve lost my heart to him. Besides, how can a man such as him fall in love with me? I’m a troll.”

  “Abigail, you are no troll,” Celeste said. “The idea is preposterous. You are vibrant and beautiful. An Original. Do you know what Jonathan and I thought when we first met the two of you? We thought, ‘What a happy couple.’ You both complement each other. And when Andres is around you, one senses his contentment.”

  “But contentment is not love.” Abby realized she had to tell all. “After we went upstairs this evening, and I was upset about what Freddie told me about my mother, all Andres could think about was me joining him in bed.”

  She waited, expecting Celeste to be as insulted and abused as she was feeling.

  Instead, Celeste nodded sagely. “That’s the way men are,” she said. “Let me tell you something my mother told me after Jon and I had a terrible row. She said, we teach men how to love. They don’t seem to know. They come into this world knowing how to conquer … but they don’t understand that claiming something isn’t the same as loving it. For too many, love is what happens between the sheets. And it becomes a bit competitive. They keep score like in that game of tennis my husband enjoys so much.”

  “Score?”

  “Yes, if you do this, then I’ll do that. But a funny thing happens, Abby, or at least I’ve found it to be true of Jon, that when a man trusts you, he stops paying attention to who does what for the other. And sometimes the best way he shows you he loves you isn’t with words. That would be simple,” she added dryly. “No, men show their love by taking care of things around us. By working hard and being certain we are safe. Occasionally there is a man who babbles about love and writes poetry and all that, but most are like Jon—content. He takes his pleasure with me and only me—and expects me to do the same … and we are in love.”

  “You heard what happened over Freddie?”

  “It was a bit of a scene, what with doors slamming and Freddie grousing around. I’m certain even Aunt Edit
h heard it,” Celeste said.

  Abby closed her eyes, wishing it had not been so. “He’s left.”

  “Are you going to go after him?”

  There was the question. “We aren’t like you and Jon.” Abby sat silent a moment. “And I don’t know how Andres will act if I return to Stonemoor. I’m mad for him, Celeste. In London, I lived a very sheltered life. Andres has introduced me to the world. He’d done so much in his lifetime, and I’m proud of what we are doing to Stonemoor. I envision building it into a grand home, just like yours. And he really is excellent with horses. He will restore his family’s reputation. I liked helping him.” “Do you love him?”

  Abby raised a hand to her forehead and brushed her hair back with her fingers. “Yes. I love him so much … but this hurts, Celeste. His leaving me hurts.”

  “Then we must teach him to never leave you again.”

  “How are we going to do that?” Abby asked.

  “You are going to London to see your mother. If your husband loves you, if your marriage is worthy of your love, he’ll come for you.”

  “He’ll misunderstand my leaving—”

  “Abby, you don’t have a choice. You must go. If you don’t and something happens to your mother without the two of you making peace, it will destroy you.”

  “But if I leave Andres—?” Abby broke off the thought, heartbroken. “I’ll talk to him.”

  “What if he doesn’t come for me?” Abby whispered.

  “I saw how he looks at you,” Celeste answered. “He’ll come.”

  Abby wasn’t certain, and yet Celeste was right. Abby had to see for herself that her mother was well, and she wanted—no, needed—to know if her husband had true feelings for her.

  “What of Freddie?” she asked Celeste. “I know him as well as I know my brothers. He shall be proud of himself for what he has done.” She shook her head. “My poor cousin, having to marry him.”

  “Be thankful you have finally seen him for what he is. I shall see to Freddie. Jon will take him hunting and give him a good talking to. He won’t be a problem. Truly, Abby, he’s my cousin and all, but what did you see in him?”