Marry Christmas (Zebra Historical Romance)

by Jane Goodger

  He stepped to her, their bodies only inches apart.

  They were so close, he could feel her panicked breath, coming out in short puffs, hitting his throat. “Have you been kissed?”

  His question seemed to startle her. “I don’t know how you mean.”

  “Tonight. Have you been kissed?” he ground out.

  “Henry would never take such liberties. He is a gentleman,” she said, lifting her head imperiously.

  The relief he felt was staggering, and extremely disconcerting. “I’m very glad to hear it,” he said. “Because I daresay I wouldn’t want my mouth touching yours if you had.”

  With one quick motion, he pulled her to him, giving her perhaps two seconds to scream her protest before pressing his lips against hers. She kept her mouth shut tight, her body stiff against his as he moved his mouth gently against hers even as he held her relentlessly in his arms. “It doesn’t matter whether you enjoy this or not,” he said against her lips, feeling angry and perverse and jealous beyond measure. “Your friend beneath the tree is likely watching and cannot know you hate me. He did not steal a kiss and now he must watch you willingly kiss me.” She gasped and he chuckled lightly.

  “I do hate you,” she said. “I will never willingly touch you. I will never willingly kiss you. You make my skin crawl.”

  Rand lifted a hand to her face, holding her so loosely she could easily have wrenched free. He moved a thumb along her full bottom lip and felt her tremble beneath him. “You’re trembling,” he said softly, mesmerized by the way her mouth felt beneath his thumb.

  “I’m cold. And frightened.”

  He smiled, his eyes looking into hers. “Yes, you are,” he said. “But not for the reasons you think.” He stepped back, releasing her and thought for just a moment she might actually rear back and slap him, but she restrained herself. Frankly, he thought he deserved a good slap.

  “You are cruel beyond measure,” she said, her eyes darting to the beech tree and for a fleeting moment he actually felt sorry for her. Anger overcame that softer emotion almost immediately.

  “You would be well to remember that should you ever think to speak to Mr. Ellsworth again I will make your life a living hell. I will not be made a fool. I will not.” Rand forced a smile that wasn’t truly a smile at all. “Shall we go back to the ball?”

  Rand hated the way she looked at him but didn’t know what else he could have done. Certainly he was not going to allow her to continue this fantasy that she could be with Mr. Ellsworth. He’d best secure her as his bride as soon as possible. This entire trip was not going at all like he expected, most surprising being his own reactions to her. He had never in his life threatened a woman and had anyone told him he would, he would have laughed. Even now, his words still ringing in his ears, he was slightly ashamed that he had sounded so cruel for he was not a cruel man. Make her life a living hell, indeed. Other than marry her, he was unsure what he could do to make her more unhappy. He didn’t know why the thought of her being kissed by another man drove him nearly mad, but it did. He wanted to force such weak thoughts from his head, he wanted to feel nothing for this girl.

  “When we are married, when you give me my heir, you may see whomever you like,” he said, his voice hard. “But until that time, you are not to so much as look in another man’s direction. I never want there to be a question of whose child you carry. Do you understand me?”

  Elizabeth continued walking as if she hadn’t heard a word he’d said.

  “Do you understand me?” he repeated, this time grasping her arm.

  “I understand completely. I am to be a broodmare for you and then you will cast me free. I cannot wait,” she said fiercely.

  God above but she could make him angry! He’d never in his life met a woman who disliked him as much as this one did. And the joke was that she was the one woman he’d be saddled with the rest of his life. He wondered briefly as he followed her up the stairs, her back stiff with anger, if his big brother was looking down upon him and laughing.

  Elizabeth walked into the stifling ballroom, her eyes straight ahead, for she knew if she met a single person she knew, if one person smiled at her, she would break down into copious tears. “Make my life a living hell,” she muttered to herself when she found herself alone in the entryway. “Pah.”

  She chewed on her thumbnail for a moment before realizing what she was doing, then brought her hand down, her mother’s voice in her head: “Stop chewing your thumb, Elizabeth, it makes you look like a scullery maid.”

  She wanted to be a scullery maid. She wanted to be anyone but Elizabeth Cummings, heiress to one of the greatest fortunes in America. She wished a hundred times, a thousand, but God never answered her prayers.

  “Elizabeth?” Maggie walked hesitantly toward her. “Are you all right? I thought I would faint when I saw the duke staring at the tree. What happened?”

  Elizabeth shook her head, fighting the urge to bring her thumbnail up for a good gnaw. “I don’t know what I shall do. I don’t know,” she said finally, her voice breaking.

  “Come with me,” Maggie said, her face set. She grabbed Elizabeth’s hand and dragged her to a small powder room off the grand entry.

  “Did you know those great palaces in Europe hardly have any toilets?” Elizabeth asked dully. “The ladies actually have their maids stay in line for them. And here we are, at a very large ball, and find our own private privy. I think I shall miss that.”

  “Oh, Elizabeth,” Maggie said, her face crumpling. “I cannot stand to see you so sad.”

  Elizabeth let out a watery laugh. “You are the one who is crying.”

  “I’m sorry. Truly I am,” Maggie said. “Please tell me what happened.”

  Elizabeth looked at her reflection in the small mirror above the sink, shocked that she saw what she always saw. She’d somehow thought the past few minutes would have marred her in some way. Instead, she saw herself, looking far more confident than she felt inside. “I think you probably know what happened,” Elizabeth said, turning away from her reflection. “Henry loves me. And the duke, he still wants to marry me.”

  “Was he very angry?”

  A small furrow appeared between her eyes. “Yes, he was. Very angry.”

  Maggie smiled. “Perhaps he is jealous.”

  “I hardly think so. He was more concerned that I would make him look foolish. I suppose it is natural for a duke to worry about appearances. But the things he said…I do believe he has no heart, no understanding at all what it is like to be in love.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Apparently he won’t mind if, after I have given him an heir, I seek Henry out and continue on as if nothing happened.” Maggie gasped. “He explained it all as if it were nothing, as if he were explaining how it is that one breeds horses. Or dogs. As if there is no emotion, no attachment whatsoever. As if the very thought that we could have anything like a normal marriage is completely absurd. No, not absurd, but inconsequential. Not worth even thinking about.”

  “Oh,” Maggie said, plopping herself down at the small chair set by a vanity. “How very unromantic.”

  “I think that is how all these peers think. It’s horrid.”

  “He actually told you this?” Poor Maggie, all her romantic visions of dukes and earls were crumbling to dust at her feet.

  “Let me try to recall his actual words.” Elizabeth put on her best, haughty duke appearance. “‘When we are married and you give me an heir, you may see whomever you like.’ Isn’t that rather fiendishly cold?”

  Maggie nodded, her eyes wide with horror.

  “And he claimed it was impossible for me to love Henry or anyone else for that matter, for how could I possibly fall in love with someone I haven’t spent more than ten minutes with at a time.”

  Maggie smiled sheepishly at that. “He actually may have a point there.”

  “Maggie! Of all people you should believe in love at first sight. Do not tell me you don’t believe Henry and I are
in love.”

  “Well…I believe it may be more of an infatuation than true love. How much time have you really spent with him?”

  Elizabeth set her jaw stubbornly. “It doesn’t matter the length of time but rather the quality of the experience.”

  “I’d say no more than two hours. Altogether.”

  Elizabeth was about to argue, until she realized that Maggie was in all likelihood correct. They had danced together. Gone to refreshment. Her mother had allowed them to ride bicycles together. Once. And that had lasted at least an hour. And then there were the letters.

  One could learn a lot about a person through letters.

  Henry was a wonderful author, she thought, smiling.

  “They were two wonderful hours,” Elizabeth said wistfully. “But you must also count the times we’ve sat next to each other at a concert, or the balls we’ve attended.

  We may not have been spending every moment of those together, but we were aware of the other every minute.

  And, besides, what do you know of love?”

  “Don’t get cross with me,” Maggie said, smiling.

  “I’m simply trying to be the voice of reason.”

  “I hear enough voice of reason, thank you very much.

  My mother is that voice, and my father. Susan was. And the duke will probably try to be that voice. I don’t need any more reasonableness and certainly not from you.”

  The girls looked at each other and burst out laughing.

  “Oh, Maggie, please, please stand by me,” Elizabeth said, grasping her friend’s hands.

  “You know I shall always be your champion,” Maggie said with feeling.

  “What did the earl say about this all?” Elizabeth asked, overcome with curiosity.

  “Only that the duke was likely going to strangle you and I should stand by at the ready should I hear a scream.”

  “Did he really?”

  “Yes. He’s quite funny and I knew he didn’t mean it.

  Not entirely, anyway. I suspect he knew the duke was angry. He is a loyal friend.”

  “I’m sure he didn’t spare too many kind words for me,” Elizabeth said dryly.

  “Not many,” Maggie said honestly. “I do wonder what type of man inspires that sort of loyalty.”

  Elizabeth let out a groan. “Blind loyalty,” she scoffed. “It is clear to me the earl does not know the duke’s character.”

  “I don’t see how that is possible for they have been friends since school.”

  Elizabeth gave her friend a level look. “Do not tell me you are allowing the earl to sway you toward liking the duke.”

  “I do like the duke,” Maggie said. At Elizabeth’s look of betrayal, Maggie rushed to explain. “Under any other circumstance, you would have to admit he is rather charming as well as handsome. I think he is in a difficult situation himself.”

  “He has swayed you. You are firmly in the enemy camp.”

  Maggie laughed. “Don’t be silly. I just want you to be happy.”

  “Then you want me with Henry,” Elizabeth said firmly. Her eyes widened as she studied her friend. “You do, don’t you?”

  Maggie began fidgeting with her handkerchief. “I truly don’t know if he’s the man for you,” she said softly, as if saying it so would make her words less powerful.

  “How can you say that?”

  Maggie pressed her lips together. “Oh, I don’t know.

  I’m as confused as you are. I’m simply worried because you seem so certain of Henry and I can’t help but wonder if he deserves your devotion. How do you really know, after all? It’s not as if he’s a longtime family friend that you’ve known for years.”

  Elizabeth simply would not let her friend talk sense to her when she knew she was right. “I know in here,” she said, putting a hand to her heart. “I will marry Henry and we will be happy.” She nearly laughed at the look of con fusion on Maggie’s face, and then the dawning look of horror tinged with excitement.

  “You’re planning to elope!” she gushed. “When?

  Where?”

  Elizabeth laughed. “We’ve made no plans yet. But tonight, the way the duke acted, the things he said made me more certain than ever.”

  “Elope.” Maggie said the word with wonder. “Your mother, Elizabeth, what about your mother?”

  “That is a real concern,” she admitted. “We’ll simply have to deal with her later. Once we are married and she sees how happy we are, she’ll have to come ’round. Either that or we can always move somewhere. California, perhaps.”

  “Henry would never go to California,” Maggie said with amazing accuracy.

  Elizabeth waved her hand as if it was of no consequence. “Henry’s convinced my father would never cut us off, and I am sure he’s right, so we’ll be able to stay in New York.”

  “Did Henry say ‘cut off’ or ‘cut out’?”

  “What’s the difference?” Elizabeth said, sounding testy, because she did, indeed, recognize the difference. “Don’t you dare imply Henry is a fortune hunter. The duke is the only fortune hunter here. And I shall not marry him.”

  With that pronouncement, Elizabeth left the powder room feeling immensely better than when she’d entered it. Maggie, however, felt eminently worse.

  Chapter 8

  Elizabeth’s stomach twisted painfully and for a fleeting moment she thought she might actually vomit, something that happened infrequently when she was truly upset. Her father had requested a meeting with her—an extremely rare event—and Elizabeth could only think it meant the duke had approached him for her hand. She told herself over and over that no matter what he said, she and Henry would still run away together. The Vanderbilt ball was in three days and they would see each other again, and make plans for their elopement. In the meantime, though, she would have to suffer this meeting, her mother’s joy, and the awful proposal that the duke was sure to give.

  A footman opened the door of her father’s study for her, another indication of the formality of this meeting. Her father’s study was one of her least favorite rooms. It was oppressively dark, with rich paneling and dark leather furniture. Even the paintings that graced the walls were muted and dark, violent hunt scenes in which horses reared away from lions in terror. She supposed it was a very masculine room and that was why she’d always felt so uncomfortable in it. Her father wasn’t sitting behind his massive mahogany desk, as she expected him to be, but in one of the oversized leather chairs placed by the fireplace. The heavy drapes had been pulled back and the windows opened, which allowed in not only a fresh breeze and sunshine, but a few pesky flies, as well.

  “Father, you wished to see me?”

  Jason Cummings steepled his fingers beneath his chin and looked very grave. Far too grave, Elizabeth thought, if he planned to tell her the duke was set to propose. For a wild, wonderful moment she dared hope the duke had begged off, that even now he was heading to New York to find passage back home.

  “Sit down, my dear,” Jason said.

  Elizabeth sat, clutching her hands in her lap almost painfully as the hope surged through her.

  “It has come to my attention that you planned an elopement with Henry Ellsworth,” he said, and for a moment Elizabeth could only see her father’s lips moving, could hear not another word he said as those first syllables clutched at her heart.

  “Are you listening?”

  Elizabeth could not meet her father’s eyes. “Yes,” she whispered. Betrayed. The duke had betrayed her, had gone running to her father like a child tattling. She couldn’t think at the moment that he would have been completely justified. She could only think that he had thwarted her plans, ruined her life, broken her heart.

  “I went to speak with Mr. Ellsworth.”

  Elizabeth’s head shot up in surprise. “You did?”

  “Of course I did. I believe I was long overdue in speaking with the man. Your mother told me to interfere months ago but I never believed you would be so irresponsible. As it is, you have forc
ed my hand. You are never to see him or communicate with him again. All his letters shall be burned and should he be foolish enough to plan another assignation, he will be removed from every social list. Do you realize the humiliation you would bring this family, not to mention the shame upon yourself if you were to have followed through on this?”

  “What did he say?” Elizabeth asked, feeling hysteria clutch at her throat.

  “It’s of no consequence,” her father said, looking suddenly uncomfortable with this interview. Her father, one of the most ruthless businessmen in the country, was never at ease with emotional scenes from his daughter.

  “But it is, Father. You must tell me.”

  He seemed to sag a bit in his seat. “Elizabeth,” he said softly. “Please let it lie. I don’t want you any more hurt than you are.”

  “Tell me,” she said through gritted teeth.

  “To give Mr. Ellsworth credit, he would not accept money to leave you alone.” Jason ignored his daughter’s gasp. “He insisted that he loved you.” He took in the look in his daughter’s eyes and his expression became even more troubled. “But when I told him in no certain terms that you would be financially cut off should the two of you elope…” His voice trailed off. “Elizabeth, let it lie.”

  “What? What did he say?” Elizabeth asked, tears running unchecked down her cheeks.

  “He was not amenable to that. He is not destitute, of course, but he would prefer to marry a girl with a sizable dowry. He’s a practical man, I suppose, and it took very little convincing for him to give up his suit. Very little. I don’t want you to harbor any hope that he will change his mind. As soon as he became convinced he would not receive a dime upon your marriage, he bowed out. Apologized, even. I don’t want you to think too badly of the man. After all, he could not be bought outright.”

  “As the duke was,” Elizabeth said bitterly.

  “It’s entirely different and you know it.”

  “The duke could not stomach the idea of losing out on all that money, could he, Father. I mean nothing to him. Nothing at all.”