Christmas Joy

by Wilma Counts

  At least he now understood that prickly dislike that had shimmered in those emerald eyes. What maiden wouldn’t resent losing her home to a gentleman whom hadn’t the least need for yet another estate?

  Returning to the gig that he had discovered in the stables, Alexander urged the plodding mare in the direction of the village. His eyes rolled heavenward at the uneven pace. He was quite certain that his grandmother could outdistance the nag. Eventually, however, he pulled onto the narrow High Street. For once his luck was in and he had traveled only a few feet when he caught sight of those fiery locks peeking from beneath a plain black bonnet. The rest of her was swathed in a heavy black cape that did nothing to complement her pale countenance.

  Still, Alexander felt the oddest prick as he watched her storm down the street, the light of battle in those green eyes.

  This was no milk-and-toast miss. She was a woman of passion. Decidedly angry passion at the moment.

  Battling the uncooperative mare, Alexander at last managed to pull up beside his fiancée. “Ah, Miss Honeywell, I have been searching for you.”

  “Go away.”

  Alexander couldn’t prevent a startled chuckle. In all his years a young maiden had never, ever told him to go away. “Is that any way to greet your fiancé?”

  She stomped her foot in frustration. “How dare you make light of this . . . this catastrophe? Do you know what I have endured this past hour?”

  Glancing down the street to where a dozen locals had halted their activities to openly ogle the two of them, Alexander gave a rueful grimace. “I can well imagine.”

  “I have never been so humiliated in my entire life.”

  “Get into the gig and I will take you home.”

  She instantly stepped away. “No, thank you. I prefer to walk.”

  He allowed a smile to curve his lips. “If you wish, but I believe there are a handful of dragons waiting to speak with you just down the street.”

  Against her will she turned to note the clutch of disapproving matrons standing beside the stone church. She visibly stiffened with dread of being at the mercy of their shrill tongues.

  “Oh, bother.” With a harsh sigh, Grace awkwardly climbed onto the seat beside Alexander, keeping her gaze staunchly trained on the clenched fists in her lap as he maneuvered them out of town and onto the road that led to the estate.

  Once away from prying eyes he turned to regard her rigid profile. “May I say you are looking particularly fetching this morning?”

  “Fah, I look hideous in black,” she promptly retorted, then her eyes widened as he pulled to a halt beneath the shelter of a towering oak. “What are you doing?”

  “We must speak.”

  Her chin jutted out. “I do not see why.”

  He heaved an exasperated sigh. Out of thousands of maidens who would have bartered their own grandmother to become his fiancee, he had to choose the one female who considered him as appealing as the plague.

  “You are clearly determined to make this as difficult as possible.”

  Her tiny gasp echoed through the chilled air. “You are the one who has made this difficult, sir. It was bad enough to be forced from my home to that wretched cottage, but now you have made me a source of gossip and ridicule throughout the entire village.”

  An unwelcome prick of guilt brought a hint of color to his high cheeks. Good heavens, you would think he had created this disaster on purpose.

  “First of all, I have already explained that I had no notion that my arrival in Kent would in any way inconvenience you, and I assure you that I will have your accommodations seen to as soon as possible. And I also assure you that I am no more pleased than you by the gossip, although I have gone to great lengths to ensure that by the end of the day the gossip will be centered upon our impending marriage rather than our impetuous kiss.”

  The green eyes never wavered.

  “If you are attempting to lighten my mood, sir, you are doing a shockingly poor job of it.”

  A reluctant laugh was wrenched from his throat. By gads the chit had brass.

  “Listen you aggravating minx. I am attempting to salvage our reputations from a very nasty situation. Are you going to help me, or do you prefer to have all of England believing you are a light skirt?”

  A hectic color stained her cheeks, adding a hint of beauty to her plain features.

  “Oh, if I were a man I would plant you a facer.”

  Without conscious thought, Alexander abruptly leaned forward to snatch a brief, utterly heart-stopping kiss. Pulling back he gazed deep into her startled eyes.

  “If you were a man we would not be in this interesting predicament, would we?”

  Four

  Grace wanted to be outraged. This was the second occasion this gentleman had taken shameless advantage of her. And this time he did not even have the excuse of believing she was angling to trap him into marriage.

  But while her mind might assure her that she should be furious, the rest of her was trembling with the oddest sensations. Heavens above, if this was what kisses did to a maiden, it was little wonder they were eager to attract the attentions of a gentleman.

  Decidedly unnerved by her shocking thoughts, Grace found her anger floundering. What was she thinking? This was no time to moon over a gentleman’s kisses. Not when she was clearly trapped.

  As much as she disliked the notion, he was right. This morning proved that the entire village was aware of her presence in Mr. Dalford’s bedchamber. The only solution appeared to be pretending to be his fiancée. It was that or being branded the local tart. A most unbearable alternative.

  “What do you want from me?” she at last managed to croak.

  Alexander appeared remarkably unaffected by the kiss, unless one counted the strange glow in his blue eyes.

  “First we must have our respective stories the same,” he informed her. “Wallace is already suspicious about my sudden announcement of an engagement and is bound to attempt to trip us up.”

  His words made sense, she grudgingly conceded. They would have to know something of each other. “Very well.”

  “I thought it best that we claim to have met somewhere besides Kent, since I have already admitted that it has been years since I was last at Chalfried.” He regarded her closely. “Have you traveled?”

  “I spend a portion of the year with my grandmother in Leicestershire.”

  “Good, I have a hunting lodge near there. We can claim to have met during one of your visits. I discovered your connection to Edward and we became friends. Naturally I was bewitched by your beauty and sweet nature and declared for your hand.” A smile twitched at his lips as he uttered the words, making a dangerous glint return to Grace’s eyes. She did not need to read his thoughts to realize that he found her anything but beautiful and sweet natured. Thankfully, she resisted the urge to tumble him out of the gig. “Unfortunately, Edward died before our engagement could be announced and so we were forced to keep our understanding a secret until you were finished with your mourning.”

  “You seem to have it all worked out.”

  “Except for the fact that we are perfect strangers to each other,” he pointed out with exaggerated patience. “I think it best that we become better acquainted with all possible speed.”

  Grace gave a faint shrug. “What do you wish to know?”

  He turned slightly, allowing his leg to press intimately against her own. “Everything. Your name, age, what you like, your favorite color.”

  “This is absurd,” she protested, wishing she could move from his disturbing touch.

  He gave a chiding click of his tongue. “Fine, I will go first. I am Alexander Dalford, better known as the Russian Fox or Fox to those in London. I am just turned eight-and-twenty. I enjoy the usual pursuits, although I prefer an evening of intellectual debate to the endless social rounds. Both my parents died when I was but a child and I was shuttled between my English and Russian grandparents who were both determined to teach me my proper heritage. Very
confusing for a young boy. My favorite color . . .” He paused as a wicked glint entered his eyes. “Well, it is swiftly becoming emerald green with delicious flecks of gold. Your turn.”

  Her heart gave a sharp kick at his provocative words. She was unaccustomed to such flirtatious banter and it was embarrassing to discover she appeared no more immune than the most hen-witted miss.

  With an effort she thrust her ludicrous fancies aside. This annoying man had tossed her life upside down. He had made her the source of village gossip. She might be forced to pretend to be his fiancée, but she wouldn’t like it.

  “My name is Grace. I am nineteen and until my mother’s marriage to Edward we lived in Bath with my great-aunt. Before that we lived with my father, who was a hardened gamester who managed to lose what few possessions we had. As I said, I spend a portion of the year with my grandmother. There is little else.”

  The dark head tilted to one side. “What do you enjoy?”

  Grace took a moment to consider her words. In truth, her life had been so secluded that her pleasures were out of necessity simple. But she had never felt deprived. She had been happy with her mother and the opportunity to compose her music.

  Now her music was gone.

  She ignored the stab of pain as she met his searching gaze.

  “I like taking walks with my cat, reading a good book, and playing upon the pianoforte.”

  Half expecting him to smirk at her dull pleasures she was relieved when he offered her a warm smile.

  “It sounds very peaceful.”

  Once again she felt that tiny tingle as his gaze swept over her tiny face and she instinctively stiffened her spine. “Is that all?” she demanded in sharp tones.

  He heaved an audible sigh. “We clearly need to discuss your rather prickly attitude.”

  “Do you blame me?”

  “No, but it is bound to arouse precisely the sort of speculation that I am hoping to dismiss.”

  He was right, of course, but it all seemed utterly unfair. Although he was not the ogre she had imagined him to be, he still managed to disturb her in a manner she found difficult to comprehend.

  Why did he have to be so blasted charming?

  “You can hardly expect me to fawn over you like some dim-witted schoolgirl,” she protested.

  He grasped her chin with a gentle insistence. “That is precisely what I expect until I leave Kent and you announce your decision that we are not suited after all.”

  She felt lost in his gaze as she struggled to breathe. “It is impossible.”

  “You wish the alternative?”

  It was shockingly difficult to think at all, but the memories of her morning in town were still raw. How horrid it had been to know she was being covertly watched as she had gone about her business. With every step she had encountered disapproving expressions, or worse, rude giggles as she had walked past. There had even been a few brazen enough to give her the cut direct as she had entered the butcher shop. How could she possibly remain here if she did not concede to Alexander’s demands?

  “Why did you ever come here?” she muttered in frustration.

  His gaze slowly lowered to the soft curve of her lips. “Perhaps it was fate.” There was a tense silence before he was reluctantly pulling away and lifting the reins. “Now, I should get you home before some fool comes along and we stir up even more scandal.”

  Although Alexander could never compare Chalfried to his sprawling country seat in Surrey, nor his elegant London town house, he had managed to shift through the numerous rooms to locate a few commendable furnishings that he had moved to the formal salon. He had also hired a number of local women to give the entire house a thorough cleaning.

  Within a week he had declared Chalfried prepared to host a small gathering.

  A very small gathering, he acknowledged as he glanced about the salon. Standing beside the fire, Lord and Lady Falwell entertained Grace’s mother, while Grace smoothly sidestepped a determined Mr. Wallace.

  A tiny smile curved his mouth as he regarded her small form outlined by the simple gray gown with black trim. Despite the stiffness of her body and the glitter in her eyes, she had been on her best behavior the entire evening. Rather surprising considering the amount of effort it had taken to convince her that it was necessary for her to attend.

  His smile widened. He had discovered over the past few days that nothing was easy with Grace Honeywell. And oddly enough, he had to admit he was quite enjoying the effort to charm his way into her goodwill.

  Watching her halt to pretend an engrossing interest in a ghastly portrait of Edward’s mother, he smoothly moved to stand beside her. “You are doing remarkably well, my dear,” he murmured in low tones.

  She reluctantly turned to face him. “Thank you.”

  “And you mother is most charming.”

  Her smile was edged. “Although we may not be the leaders of society, we are not without manners.”

  Alexander was slowly learning to ignore those sharp thrusts. She was like those kittens she adored, given to producing a great deal of hissing when someone came close.

  “Leave the claws for Byron,” he chided. “What do you think of my guests?”

  Her lips thinned, but she gave a faint shrug. “Lord and Lady Falwell are charming.”

  “And Mr. Wallace?”

  “He is a vulgar twit with a nasty habit of finding his enjoyment in others’ misery,” she promptly retorted.

  “A perfect description,” he congratulated, “but do not underestimate him. He is as cunning as a fox and as heartless as an adder. He would love nothing more than to prove we are lying.”

  She gave a small shudder. “Yes, he has already quizzed me on how we met. I told him that you came to my rescue when I twisted my ankle walking to my grandmother’s home from the local church.”

  “I sound quite the dashing hero,” he could not resist teasing. “Did I kiss you?”

  He was rewarded with a frown. “Certainly not.”

  “A pity,” he mourned, his gaze dropping to her full lips. He had devoted more than one moment to recalling the sweet delight of that mouth. In truth, he was quite anxious to repeat the experience. Odd considering he was accustomed to kissing the most beautiful women in England and Russia and not one had made him lie awake at night.

  “If you recall, that is what got us into trouble in the first place.”

  “Actually, I have recalled it with alarming frequency.”

  Her breath caught in her throat as she gazed at him with wide eyes. For a crazed moment Alexander nearly pulled her into his arms and kissed her then and there, but the unwelcome interruption of Mr. Wallace brought him abruptly to his senses.

  “Egad, Fox, you cannot flirt with your own fiancée,” he drawled, his eyes hard with suspicion. “Bad ton, you know.”

  Alexander gritted his teeth. “Actually, I was attempting to convince Grace to display her considerable talents upon the pianoforte.”

  “How delightful,” Wally cried. “I must add my entreaties to Fox’s.”

  There was a brittle pause before Grace managed a smile. “How could I possibly decline?”

  After escorting Grace to the lovely instrument and ensuring she was comfortable, Alexander deliberately headed toward the group beside the fire. Lady Falwell moved forward to meet him as the delicate strains of music floated through the air.

  “She is lovely,” Rosalind murmured as they both turned to regard the maiden at the pianoforte.

  Lovely?

  Not a classic beauty. Not an exotic beauty. Not even a winsome beauty.

  But there was . . . something.

  “Yes,” he murmured, feeling the decided magic in the melody that held them all spellbound.

  “And she plays exquisitely.” Rosalind turned to Grace’s mother. “I am unfamiliar with the piece she is playing.”

  Arlene smiled with obvious pride. “Grace arranged it herself. She is quite talented.”

  Alexander drew in a slow, deep breath. “
Extraordinary. Quite extraordinary.”

  Five

  Grace was reluctantly becoming accustomed to the unaccustomed.

  In the past fortnight she had been tossed from her home, received her first kiss, branded a tart, and then celebrated throughout the village for capturing the Russian Fox.

  One would think she was impervious to the unexpected.

  But upon returning to the cottage from the local vicarage she discovered herself stumbling to a halt at the sight of wagons pulled close to the front door.

  “What the devil . . .” she muttered, her eyes widening as the elegant form of Alexander cloaked in a caped driving coat descended from the front wagon.

  “Good morning, Grace.”

  For a brief moment she was distracted by his sheer magnificence. Raven hair that glinted with a blue sheen in the pale winter sunlight, dark features that had been chiseled by a master’s hand, and shocking blue eyes that shimmered with a warmth that would make any woman’s heart skip a beat.

  It was little wonder she still trembled each time she recalled those wicked kisses.

  With an effort she returned her thoughts to the matter at hand. She was becoming as noddy as her great-aunt Lucinda.

  “What is this?” she demanded.

  “Wagons,” he assured her solemnly.

  She gave a wry shake of her head. Really, this gentleman had the most provoking habit of making her forget that she should be furious with him. “I can see that. What are they for?”

  “I am having you moved back to Chalfried.”

  She took an impulsive step backward, nearly tripping over the thick cloak she had wrapped about her to protect her from the sharp December wind. “What?”

  “I did assure you that I would seek you new accommodations.”

  He had of course, but Grace had presumed he was simply hoping to placate her until he could return to London and forget her. It was what her father would have done.

  “But . . . we cannot move into Chalfried.”