A Scottish Lord for Christmas

by Lauren Smith

  After six Seasons in London, she hadn’t found anyone who measured up to Leo Graham, the Earl of Hampton, and she feared she never would. But…what if she arrived at Hampton House and found that he wasn’t the man she believed him to be?

  With a little shake of her head, Ivy recalled the way he used to tease her, tap the tip of her nose with a finger and call her Button.

  “Button indeed,” she muttered.

  Her nose was no longer buttonlike, at least not completely. Leo hadn’t seen her since she’d outgrown her oversized eyes, knobby knees, and pert nose. Ivy tried to quell the fleet of butterflies that stormed against the battlements of her stomach.

  She was nothing like the English beauties who were so favored by the gentlemen at the balls during the Season. That was the problem with being half Gypsy rather than a full-blooded English rose. Still, she knew she was pretty, in an exotic sort of way, but would Leo think her desirable? Ivy had been a favorite of many men. Her father’s position, as well as her own heritage, made them believe she had no morals.

  A non-Romani or gadjo’s sense of Gypsies was always wrong. Women of the Romani culture were anything but loose. Still, that awful cultural misunderstanding led to more than one man to offer her a position as his mistress. An offer that she had to politely refuse without making a scene, even though such a request deserved a slap.

  Hopefully Leo would be different.

  Not that I should truly care, she reminded herself. She was only coming to Hampton House to see the dowager countess and to attend a suffragette meeting with her. Lady Hampton had insisted that Ivy stay for the house party. She’d reminded Leo’s mother that she wasn’t coming to husband hunt but to see old friends. Ivy firmly believed a modern woman couldn’t have a husband, at least not a man born into the British peerage. They stood against women’s rights and that was something that she could never reconcile.

  She’d watched her mother work tirelessly as a servant for years in a world where her voice hadn’t mattered. Witnessing her mother’s inability to live the life she truly wanted before she’d died had changed Ivy. Without the right and the power to speak, a person ceased to exist.

  After her mother died, she’d been reunited with her father and it had become clear just how powerless she was as a woman. Although he loved and adored her, even he could not give her power over her own life in the way men had. She could not even control her own inheritance; it had to be held in trust by a man. It seemed like everywhere she turned was a dead end. No way out. To be ensnared in a gilded cage meant she was still trapped. The thought made her recoil. Marry a man who would trap her and destroy her independence? No, she would never agree to that. But still…seeing Leo again after all this time would be nice.

  Turning her attention back to the Hudson, she knew she’d have to leave it on the shoulder of the road for now. As she reached for her valise, the gravel on the road slipped beneath her boots. A panicked cry escaped her lips as she fell headfirst into the space behind the driver’s seat. Her legs wiggled in the air as she struggled in vain to propel herself back upright.

  “Blast and hell!” she cursed, fighting wildly to get her body into a position that could leverage her back down. Her dress and coat tangled around her knees.

  The purr of another motorcar’s engine made her freeze. A cool breeze caressed her where her travel dress bunched around her thighs. Whoever had just stopped on the road had a prime view of her legs.

  The motor died. Footsteps crunching on gravel warned her of someone’s approach, and her body went rigid in apprehension. Fear ratcheted up inside her until she was gasping for breath and thrashing to get back on her feet.

  “Er…excuse me, miss. May I help?” a rich, smooth voice asked.

  “Oh, yes, please. I’m in a spot of bother it seems.”

  “I’m going to touch you, miss. Please do not panic.” The man’s gloved hands settled on her ankles, then slid to her calves as he pulled her down. Tingles of awareness shot through her body, making her twitch in the oddest places.

  Ivy tried not to let it ruffle her that some strange man’s hands were on her legs. She’d never liked feeling vulnerable, and this was perhaps the most exposed she’d ever been in her life. It was unsettling to say the least. She slid down the side of the Hudson, her face heating and the blood pounding in her ears. When she turned to her rescuer, her heart skittered to a stop, and she sucked in a breath.

  Leo.

  For a long moment she couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. She was a girl again, crying as her mother lay dying. Leo’s long, muscular body had been solid and warm behind her as he held her while she wept. He’d been comfort and heat and light where she’d only endured darkness in her mother’s last hours.

  Of course it would be him. He’d be the one to find her covered in road dust, legs flailing in the air, and stuck with a broken down motorcar. She was always at her worst when he was around. Lady Fate evidently didn’t like her.

  Is there no end to my bad luck?

  “Thank you,” she said, uncertain if she should say her name. Would he even remember her? Surely not…

  With an unexpected deftness, he adjusted her hat, which had been knocked slightly askew during her tumble into the motorcar, and pushed the sides of the veil back as though to get a better look at her face. His lips kicked into a grin, and her heart fluttered back to life. Lord, the man was handsome. His aquiline nose and strong jaw, lips a little thin, but no less appealing, and a halo of golden hair blowing in the breeze. And those eyes, eyes she’d dreamt about for years. More beautiful than she’d remembered.

  “You’re welcome, Miss…” He waited for her to introduce herself.

  So he didn’t remember her, then? It stung, yet perhaps that was for the best, given the secret mission Leo’s mother had entrusted her with. It was best he did not recognize her and she did not wish to be remembered as “Button.”

  “My name is Ivy Leighton.”

  Her name had no effect on him, not that it should have. She’d taken her father’s surname after she’d left Hampton and she couldn’t remember a time when Leo had called her Ivy. Perhaps he didn’t even know it was her name. She hadn’t mentioned her mother’s maiden name, Jameson, so there was the real possibility he wouldn’t recognize her at all. Ivy wasn’t a unique name, not really.

  Leo captured one of her gloved hands and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Leighton, even under such trying circumstances.” His lips twitched at the last few words as though he was doing his best not to tease her. “I see you are having some difficulties with your automobile.” His eyes roved over the state of the smoking motorcar behind her, assessing the situation.

  She tilted her head to the side. Something was different about him, and it wasn’t simply that he’d grown into a man and left the last traces of his boyhood behind. No…he had changed, and she couldn’t put her finger on how. There was a seriousness to him, a grave solemnity of a man who’d suffered tragedy and loss and now bore a heavy burden. It gave her a bittersweet longing for the young man he’d once been and a respect for the man he’d become now. One thing that had not changed was the effect of his devastating smile. He could have made a fortune bottling it and selling it to lonely hearts throughout England.

  In his unbuttoned Burberry motoring coat, trousers, and cap, Leo looked every inch a man of leisure. Yet a silver pocket watch chain glinting in the sunlight lent him an air of authority and precision. An altogether different impression from the boy he’d once been who’d spent an evening capturing glow worms with her in the garden or comforting her after she’d had a rough day and scraped her knee while running about.

  She remembered grinning at him so broadly her cheeks hurt as he bent down to show her a captured insect between his palms. The green light had illuminated his face as he studied the black insect. In that moment, they’d been bound together by a spell of twilight and an effervescent glow. Having to stay still, breaths held, so as not to frighten
the shy glowworm into darkening her shine. Her heart clenched in longing for warm summer nights like those again. She swallowed the sudden sense of homesickness for a place she’d forced herself to try and forget.

  “It was very kind of you to stop and help a lady in distress.” She offered a smile, hoping the action would lift her spirits. She had to put memories of that sixteen-year-old boy with merry, twinkling eyes and a tempting smile behind her or she’d be lost. He’s not for you; you cannot fall in love with him, not again. The Leo she faced now was businesslike and polite, with only a hint of that charming, troublemaking boy she remembered so well.

  What had changed him? Had his mother been right that his father’s death and the pressures of running the estate had turned him cool and passionless? She’d heard some of the rumors about his father but wasn’t sure if they were true. Given how the whispers of his father’s mistress had persisted, it had likely affected his reception with most of the respectable families in the city. Even now she could see a hint of that resigned expression in his beautiful eyes. Where was the fiery young man who’d stolen her heart? No wonder Lady Hampton begged me to come visit him.

  “I’m sorry, I haven’t introduced myself. I am the Earl of Hampton. I would be delighted to help, though I confess to knowing nothing of motorcar engines. If you permit, I shall escort you to your destination and send my mechanic to repair your automobile and return it to you.” As Leo spoke, he leaned in, placing one hand against the car beside her hip, and she shivered at the scent of him and his warmth. She had always been aware of him; like a planet hugging a distant star, she was connected to him in ways she’d never been with any other man. And that was what made him so dangerous to her. He was perhaps the one man in all of England who could tempt her into falling in love. And love would ruin all of her dreams for a brighter future as a woman with rights. Still, she had promised Lady Hampton she would visit the house and see Leo; she simply needed to guard her heart while she was here.

  “My lord, it seems we are both fortunate. My destination is in fact Hampton House. I was invited by the countess for her house party.”

  This caught him by surprise. His eyes narrowed slightly as his gaze swept her body. Within her tan duster covered in dirt, Ivy must have looked a fright. Not that she could have helped her appearance, but she would have loved to have met him again under better circumstances.

  Comprehension showed in the widening of his eyes as he made some mental connection. “My mother invited you? You aren’t the newspaper fellow’s daughter, are you?”

  The newspaper fellow? So Lady Hampton had mentioned her coming, then. Over tea, Lady Hampton had outlined a scheme to play a game upon Leo that required some level of discretion as to Ivy’s identity. Leo’s mother was convinced he would be too well behaved if he realized Ivy had once been the child he’d looked after. It would be better to hide her identity for a time so she could be treated like any other lady he might meet. The idea of deception hadn’t set well with Ivy, but she had to admit she did not want him thinking of Button during the house party.

  I’ll tell him who I really am, after he has a chance to know me as a woman.

  “My father is indeed the newspaperman.” She chuckled. He wasn’t the first to react that way to her father’s background. Leo’s eyes were still fixed upon her face and she tried not to wriggle under the intense scrutiny of his gaze. It made her feel warm in the oddest places, and it was much more like the Leo she’d known as a girl.

  “Fortunate indeed that I found you, then.” He looked over her shoulder into the motorcar. “Your luggage?”

  Before she could step out of the way, he moved, accidentally pressing her against the door. A flush of heat coursed through her in a sudden rush when he didn’t immediately step back. His eyes blazed with an unexpected interest that made her feel small and vulnerable. As though he could see through her, pick apart her soul, and study the pieces and understand her. What a terrifying thought…Never had she wanted a man to evoke such a feeling, but with him, it was exciting, rather than frightening. Ivy licked her lips and his eyes tracked the movements the way a lion would a mouse.

  “Your”—he breathed deeply—“bag,” he murmured, sliding past her to reach into the Hudson. He retrieved it without any of the trouble she’d had. “This way.”

  He gestured toward his auto, which was parked next to hers.

  It was a lovely black Stanley touring motorcar. Her father had almost bought the same model instead of the Hudson, but in the end he’d opted for the striking yellow auto, valuing the flash more than the extra seats.

  Leo walked ahead of her, placing her luggage behind the front passenger seat.

  Ivy retrieved her eye goggles and hastily got into her side of the Stanley, which earned her a raised brow by Leo, who had only just turned to try and open the door for her. For some reason, she needed a moment of space between them, at least long enough to get her breath and her good sense back. How was a woman supposed to concentrate around such an irresistible man? When he was too close, she seemed to think only of him and wonder if his lips were as soft as they looked.

  Once they were driving back down the road, he turned to look at her.

  “Are you traveling alone? Mother mentioned your father was coming. I’m sure she would have insisted you be escorted.” There was a note of disapproval to his voice that she didn’t like.

  She hesitated before replying. “My father is coming tomorrow afternoon on the train, and he’s bringing my lady’s maid and his valet. Your mother said one of her upstairs maids could wait upon me until they arrived.”

  “So was that your father’s Hudson?”

  The question prickled her because his tone seemed to imply a woman could not own a motorcar. It was her father’s but only because she insisted they share a vehicle, when he offered to buy her one of her own. They didn’t need two; that would have been silly.

  “It is,” she replied a tad stiffly. “But I have plenty of experience driving it.”

  Let him think what he will about that.

  Leo was silent for a moment. “So…you are…friends with my mother?”

  Ivy nibbled her bottom lip, considering how best to answer that. Lady Hampton had always looked out for her as a child, especially when her mother fell ill. The countess was the one who had located Ivy’s father and informed him that he had a daughter. For such a service, the word friend hardly seemed adequate. Leo’s mother was a veritable godsend. But she was supposed to remember the little prank they were to play upon Leo by keeping her real name a secret for a time.

  “We met in London three months ago at a charity function held by Lady Buxton.” A lie. The countess had crafted a story to explain how they met to keep Leo from discovering Ivy’s true identity. She also didn’t want Leo knowing that she and Ivy were involved in the Women’s Social and Political Union together. When Ivy had questioned the deceptive plan, Lady Hampton had explained her predicament vaguely, saying Leo had become too rigid, too driven, and wasn’t open in his thinking, especially toward the suffragette movement.

  “He needs adventure and mystery, my dear, and you can provide both. It shall be a fun game. He needs to be shocked for his own good.”

  But Ivy had grown up at Hampton House and worried the servants would recognize her. The countess had insisted that the servants who’d known her as a child had been instructed to treat her as they would any guest, not as the child they had helped raise.

  Ivy had no desire for “Button” to be resurrected in Leo’s mind, and a few days of simply being herself would be fun. She would not play the deceiver long, though. She would tell Leo who she was soon; she would simply leave out his mother’s involvement in the local suffragette gathering.

  Lost in thought, she didn’t immediately realize she was being a poor companion to him. A lady of good breeding would never let herself get lost in thought in the presence of her future host. She glanced at Leo and discovered he was watching her when not checking the road ahead.
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  “And your father? How did he meet my mother?”

  “At the same event. She seemed to enjoy discussing his paper.”

  Leo’s bark of laughter made her frown. “The newspaperman. Mother mentioned he was coming and is quite looking forward to it.”

  She hoped her father had the good sense to follow the instructions Lady Hampton gave him and not betray Ivy’s true identity by mentioning her mother and Ivy’s past at Hampton.

  Ivy shivered, now feeling the chill in the air, and rubbed her arms.

  “There’s a lap rug beneath the seat.” His hand bumped into hers as they both reached for it.

  “My apologies,” he murmured, and withdrew his hand. Ivy’s gloved fingers brushed over the blanket. She hastily arranged it over her lap and legs, feeling instantly warmer.

  “Thank you, my lord.”

  He merely nodded. The Stanley rattled and bounced worse than a coach on the road. After a few minutes, Leo spun the wheel and turned onto a gravel drive that stretched toward a massive manor house in the distance.

  Hampton.

  The vision of it always stole her breath. The tan stones were warm in the September sun and afternoon light glinted off the windowpanes. Fir trees dotted the open grounds in patches like spikes of deep green paint across a lighter emerald canvas. She had forgotten how vast the house was and how beautiful.

  Nature blended with the house and the gardens, making it a private world where anything seemed possible. Memories of early morning mists curling around the grounds like milky tendrils stirred within her. She used to chase the peacocks across the lawn with Old John, Leo’s old butterscotch-colored cocker spaniel, the dog nipping at the thousand-eyed plumed tail feathers of the ill-tempered birds. Old John had always been called that for as long as she could remember. Had he ever been Young John? She hadn’t thought to ask. The silliness of her thoughts made her smile. Hampton had a way of reminding her of being a child again, in small ways that made her heart tighten in her chest. Like dancing rainbows in the library caught from a spinning diamond chandelier, or digging in the cool soil to plant seeds with the ancient gardener, Mr. Matthews.