His Christmas Pleasure

by Cathy Maxwell

  Her parents exchanged a worried look. Abby pretended not to notice, but she did go upstairs and change. An hour later they left the house.

  Andres’s goal upon arriving in London was to fetch his wife and take her home.

  The trip had taken longer than he’d planned. Rain had caused delays. He’d taken a short way around and discovered the road impassable because a bridge had been washed out. He’d been forced to double back, which had cost time he had not wanted to waste.

  His one thought was of Abby. He debated the argument they’d had a hundred times in his head. Sometimes he felt he’d been completely justified. Other times, he thought he’d been a fool.

  He was so focused and intent on reaching London that he didn’t realize it was Christmas Day until he rode down the city’s streets and heard people calling out good cheer to one another.

  He reached the front step of Montross’s house, knocked on the door, and was told they were not at home

  “Where is she?” he demanded.

  The butler looked him up and down. Servants could be haughtier than their masters in this country, but that was fine with Andres. A Spaniard had more pride than an Englishman, and no one could stare down another like a Ramigio.

  The butler shut the door in his face.

  Andres was incensed. He stomped back toward his horse. He searched the street. There had to be a way to let Abby know he was there. He’d climb the walls if he must.

  “My lord? Please, my lord?” a woman’s voice said from the narrow passage between the houses.

  Curious, Andres went around the side of the house. A woman stood there with a cloak over her head, but Andres saw a bit of the Montross livery beneath the heavy wool.

  “Please, my lord, off the street, please. We can’t have anyone see us,” the woman said.

  “Who are you?” he asked. He’d been traveling hard and was not in the mood for mysteries.

  “My name is Tabitha,” she said, bobbing a curtsey. “I’m Miss Abby’s maid.”

  Ah, yes, the one who had tried to stop them from eloping. “She is here?” he asked anxiously.

  The maid nodded. “She is, but the family has gone out for Christmas dinner. They are dining at the house of His Grace, the duke of Banfield. Do you know where that is?”

  Andres nodded.

  “You need to go to her, my lord,” the maid said, already backing away.

  “Wait,” he said. “Tell me more. How is she?” Does she miss me?

  “I daren’t say more, my lord. I’m so sorry. I’ve already caused you and Miss Abby so much trouble. But she needs you. She misses you.”

  The maid turned and ran away—and Andres set off to claim his wife.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The gathering for Banfield’s Christmas dinner was a good one hundred and fifty people. Abby’s aunt had ordered the ballroom set up for the affair, and she was in her element. King George had been declared mentally incompetent earlier that month, and there were rumors swirling that the Prince of Wales might make an appearance in town instead of enjoying his customary Christmas retreat. If so, would he not join the duke of Banfield’s festivities?

  There was a possibility, or so Jonesy assured Abby as they sat together in the reception room, waiting for the rest of the company to gather.

  “Banfield and his wife dearly hope he appears,” Jonesy said. “Their star will know no limit in society’s firmament if such were the case. Look how crowded it is? All for a bit of Banfield’s Christmas goose.”

  She laughed at her own small joke while taking another sip of her sherry.

  The event was a crush. Abby couldn’t remember it ever being so full.

  Of course, she didn’t care about Prinny, as her aunt kept flitting around calling the Prince of Wales, as much as she did the presence of Freddie and Lady Dobbins.

  Andres’s former mistress stood not far from Abby, a spectacular smirk marring her lovely face. Abby smiled back at her, wondering what would happen to Lady Dobbins’s beauty if her face froze that way. Then all would see her for the selfish creature she was, and Abby would wager most men wouldn’t care about her anymore.

  Freddie was on the other side of the room, standing beside Corinne and laughing at everything said to him with the best of humor. Abby barely paid him any heed.

  “Sherwin is trying to gain your attention,” Jonesy whispered to her. “He keeps looking over here.”

  Abby shrugged.

  Jonesy pulled back, giving Abby a hard look. She looked over to Abby’s mother. “Is this the same child?”

  Her mother smiled. “Why do you ask that?”

  “She lacks our former Abby’s anxiousness,”

  Jonesy replied, studying Abby. “She seems sure of herself.”

  “I am,” Abby answered, a bit surprised herself by the transformation. In the past, an event such as this would have made her shake in fear.

  But now she had other worries. Besides, she’d been mistress of her own house, had made decisions for herself. Perhaps some of those decisions hadn’t worked out the way she’d hoped, but they had given Abby confidence. If she didn’t fit in here, there would be someplace else for her.

  Nor did she look at the other guests with awe. Yes, her hair was curlier than most, but she was proud of it. Her eyes were blue and not the fashionable brown. Who cared? There was nothing she could do about it … and she wasn’t interested in people who were so petty.

  That was Andres’s charm, she now understood. His secret to gliding amongst the ton. His good looks were an entrée, but beyond that, he knew how to live in his own skin—and in their short time together, he’d taught her to do the same. To see her strengths and not her flaws.

  Or perhaps to see her flaws as strengths—

  “What are you smiling about?” Jonesy asked. “I say, niece, you have come back from the wilds a changed woman.”

  “I have come back a woman,” Abby assured her.

  Her aunt’s eyes widened and Abby laughed, perhaps a bit too loud, because it drew attention to her. She rose to her feet and reached for a glass of sherry off a servant’s tray, but she found herself approached by two notable gentlemen.

  The Honorable Piers Robertson was considered one of the finest catches of the Season. Abby had been introduced to him numerous times before, but he’d looked right past her. The other gentleman, Lord Millhorn, was another revered bachelor. Abby had always thought both men too haughty for their own good.

  Now she learned there was a different side to them. They set about wooing her. In fact, they ignored other women in the room—such as Lady Dobbins.

  Abby didn’t understand why they’d singled her out. She was a married woman, and then she realized that could be their purpose. It made her sad. What poor company she was keeping. She missed her country neighbors with their good, honest hearts.

  More important, she missed her husband, and suddenly the thought that this was what she was relegating herself to was too much. Ignoring the witticisms of the men who were trying to impress her, she looked around the room.

  For the first time, Abby saw how bored Lady Dobbins looked. She barely listened to the conversation of the woman beside her, much as Abby was not listening to the gentlemen talking to her—and no noticed. They kept speaking.

  Her cousin Corinne appeared miserable as well. She stood tall, lovely, her arms crossed low at her waist, as if she was holding herself together. Freddie barely looked at her. He touched her from time to time, a hand on the elbow, nothing personal. He was busy trying to impress Banfield, who stood on Corinne’s other side. Abby had an image of the men speaking through her cousin, and never to her.

  For the first time, mainly because she wasn’t gripped with anxiety over herself, Abby realized that Corinne was intelligent enough to know everything about Freddie. There was a sadness in her cousin’s eye that tore at Abby’s heart.

  All these people talking, and no one valuing each other—save for her parents. They had their heads together, speaki
ng softly. She realized her father was not watching her anxiously the way he used to do before she’d run off. He appeared relaxed, and she understood that her parents had been just as concerned about her being accepted as she had. In fact, perhaps she’d been so self-conscious because of their worries.

  Such a revelation would not have been possible before she’d met Andres.

  Life made sense with him. That’s what her mother had said about why she’d had to marry Abby’s father.

  But the words took on a more personal meaning for Abby as she stood amongst her old nemeses and was no longer doubtful of her position.

  She was Andres Ramigio’s wife … and she’d made a terrible mistake in leaving him.

  Celeste had been wrong. People who loved each other didn’t test their loyalties. They didn’t care who took a step toward whom.

  Abby wanted to return to Stonemoor. She wanted her husband, and she wanted to leave now.

  The Banfield butler appeared in the doorway to announce that dinner was served. All eyes had turned to the servant—but there was someone else there as well.

  Andres had come up behind the man. He stood in the doorway, searching the crowd.

  For a second, Abby feared her imagination had conjured him.

  He was at odds with the present company. He was hatless, and his hair was disheveled. A growth of beard darkened his jaw. Both his greatcoat and boots and spurs were caked with mud, as if he’d ridden hard and fast to reach here.

  As if he’d come to find her.

  Andres’s heart hammered against his chest so loudly that he was certain everyone could hear it.

  He’d wanted Abby. She was all that mattered … but now, he found himself in a room full of the ton’s most important personages.

  For one terrible moment, he remembered when he’d declared himself to Gillian. He’d done so publicly, in front of many of the same people, and she had rejected him.

  Now, his gaze honed in on Abby, and she appeared a stranger to him. Her curls were tamed into a becoming style. She was flanked by prestigious men, honest men who had no hidden secrets, no shameful past. From head to toe, she was the very picture of a woman of substance and grace.

  What was he? The bastard son of a disgraced nobleman. A man who had yet to prove himself.

  And he loved her so much that pride no longer mattered.

  He stood in front of that sparkling company and said, “I need you. I love you.”

  Conversation stopped. His words echoed in the air.

  Abby’s response was immediate.

  She came running to him. And she didn’t stop when she reached him. She threw the full force of her body into his arms. Andres lifted her up, holding her tight. Nothing felt as good as having this woman’s body next to his.

  They kissed.

  Through Abby, he’d learned a kiss could mean many things. It could be simple good morning or good night. Sometimes her kisses meant she didn’t agree with him but she was going to allow him his way—for the moment. Other times, her kisses were a trust, a bond, a renewal of those sacred marriage vows between them.

  Right now, her kiss threatened to swallow him whole, and in it he understood that she’d missed him as much as he’d missed her. They were two bodies sharing the same soul. They knew that now. She was sorry to have made him come for her. He regretted chasing her away.

  He had his wife back. She was more than just a helpmate—she was his conscience, his muse, his destiny.

  But they had to take a breath sooner or later.

  Slowly, he let her body slide down his, grateful to feel the familiar curves and planes, her sweetness filling his lungs.

  “Come home,” he whispered.

  She nodded. Tears welled in her eyes. His Abby. She always cried when she was happy and sad. He liked her honest emotion.

  His fingers laced with hers. He started to lead her away—but then Montross’s voice stopped him.

  “Here now, you can’t just take off.”

  Andres had forgotten about their audience. The moment Abby had run into his arms, the rest of the world had ceased to matter. “I beg your pardon, sir, but I can.”

  The moment he spoke the words, he sensed the conflict in Abby. Once again there was that pull toward people she loved.

  Fear rose in him. A concern that she could not love him … and then she gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. His heart opened.

  He saw that she didn’t love him less. He just needed to love more.

  The realization released years of fears and doubt.

  Andres looked to Montross. “She is my wife,” he said, “but she is also your daughter, and someday perhaps soon, you will be the grandparents of our children. I would not rip her away from you.”

  Montross’s attitude changed. The tension left him, the bullishness. He nodded his head. “Good, good … because I plan on relishing that grandparent role.”

  For a second, Andres didn’t think he’d heard him correctly. Banker Montross, feared by many, had just accepted him into his family.

  “I am counting on it, sir,” Andres said.

  Montross smiled. “Very good, Barón.”

  The use of his title reminded Andres of the lie he lived. Could a man with so much love in his life continue to keep secrets?

  He looked down at his wife. She understood what he was thinking and nodded.

  He glanced around the room. There were few friends here. Dobbins was watching him with a sly look in his eye. He was going to take Stonemoor from him, but in Andres’s mind, losing the property was worth the price of having his wife back. He knew that now. Furthermore, he didn’t want any more threats. He wanted to live his life in the peace of a clear conscience.

  “I have a confession,” he said, the words surprisingly easy to say once he’d made up his mind. “I am not a barón. My father was the barón de Vasconia, but I am the illegitimate son. My name is Andres Ramigio, and I am the best horse trainer in all Europe.”

  Silence met his announcement.

  There were several scowls and frowns, but little else. Then again, what had he expected? They would save their true thoughts for when his back was turned.

  What mattered was that Montross and his wife crossed the room to stand beside him.

  The duchess of Banfield looked around at her guests and announced, in a bit of a dazed voice, “Shall we all move to dinner?”

  No one budged, until the duchess grabbed Freddie and Corinne and physically nudged them to the door. After that, people started moving, shooting covert glances at Andres and his in-laws as they passed.

  Lady Dobbins was escorted by her husband. Neither looked at them.

  The duke and duchess were the last to leave the room. The duchess, Abby’s aunt, gave them a weak smile, but Banfield stopped and said, “I say, sister, can’t you keep your family in order?”

  “Apparently not,” Mrs. Montross answered.

  Her brother harrumphed his opinion and left them to join his guests.

  Andres released the breath he was holding. “I am sorry for being so public with this. I suppose it is not proper manners to announce one’s illegitimacy before speaking of it in private.” He could have been more thoughtful.

  “I already knew it,” Montross said.

  “As did I,” Abby’s mother added. “Do you really believe we would let anyone marry our daughter without learning all we could?”

  “I have become a commoner,” Andres answered. “Of perhaps the worst sort.”

  “Or one could say there might be a very distinct possibility that my daughter has married an uncommon man,” Mrs. Montross said. “I’m not surprised that she did. After all, I did.” She smiled. “You will call me Catherine, and my husband, Heath. Welcome to our family.”

  Her generosity, her understanding, humbled him. He started to put into words what he was feeling, but she shook her head, refusing to hear him. “Please, we are overdue with the welcome.”

  Before more could be said, Andres noticed that Lord Do
bbins had left the sparkling company and was approaching them. Lady Dobbins poked her head out of the supper room doorway, watching her husband.

  His lordship’s smile was reptilian. “I hate to spoil such a grandiose Christmas confession,” he said, “but we have a problem. I gave Ramigio Stonemoor with the understanding that if he returned to London it would be returned to me.”

  “You are the reason he left?” Lady Dobbins said, hurrying forward. “How dare you? I’ve had enough of this, Dobbins. I am not some slave girl whose life you can order about to your liking.”

  “No, but you are my wife,” Dobbins answered.

  “Who you attempt to control by every means possible! I’ve had enough, I say. Enough.”

  “Carla, you are being hysterical,” her husband answered.

  “Hysterical?” she repeated, her eyes narrowing. “I’m past that, Dobbins. I’m tired of you ignoring me or trotting me out like a pretty plaything.” She turned to Andres. “I loved you.” She pressed the

  heels of her hands against her cheeks as if to stave off tears. “You were kind to me. I hadn’t realized how much kindness could matter.”

  “Carla,” her husband said, but her answer was to move away from him and head for Banfield’s front hall. They heard her call for her coat and for someone to order her coach to be brought round.

  Dobbins swore under his breath. He turned his temper on Andres. “I own Stonemoor, you know. Your being here has returned it to me.”

  Abby placed her hand on Andres’s arm. “You sacrificed everything to come here for me?”

  “The price was small,” he assured her. “I don’t want a life without you.”

  “And I must correct a misunderstanding Lord Dobbins has,” Heath Montross said. “Actually, my lord, you don’t own the property. I do. I purchased some of your debts, and the papers concerning that property were part of it.”

  “You what?” Dobbins demanded.

  “You know the influx of cash you needed to meet some pressing obligations?” Heath said. “I was the banker. I admit to doing some sleuthing and learned from my respected colleague Mr. Deeter of your agreement with Ramigio. When he discussed your pressing need for funds, I requested that Stonemoor be included in the exchange. You should pay better attention to what you are signing, my lord.” His smile grew grim.