Why would it bother her so that he cared for her? After all, didn’t she care for him as well? Naturally, he was her brother-in-law. Well, not quite, she corrected herself. However, he was family, and she was fond of him.
Very fond.
Gnawing on her lower lip, she willed her hammering heart to calm down. Had it only been the thought of sharing his bed that had unsettled her so? Did she have second thoughts after all? Although she had to admit that a certain nervousness had seized her the moment he had pulled her into his arms, she had enjoyed his kiss far too much. Not for a second had she thought of changing her mind.
For the first time in her life, Christine was unable to reason herself out of a situation and spent the rest of the evening pacing her chamber, tormented by questions she couldn’t bring herself to ask, let alone attempt to answer.
Sleep proved restless as well, and she spent most of the night tossing and turning. Toward the second half of the night, however, she fell into a deep slumber, and before long, dreams flitted before her eyes. And although she could not quite grasp them, a sense of warmth and delight stayed with her when her eyes opened once more.
Glancing around the dark room, Christine swallowed as she remembered the feel of Wesley’s hands on her body and the touch of his lips on her own. In her dream, he had whispered, ‘Marry me,’ only this time, she had said yes.
With trembling hands, Christine shot upright and wrapped her arms around her knees as she cursed for all she was worth. How dare that…that…man infiltrate her dreams? Was she insane? Thinking of accepting his proposal? No, no, no. She hadn’t thought it. She had merely dreamt it, and dreams, they were just insignificant musings, were they not?
Greatly disturbed by her own willingness to forget about her principles and marry Wesley no matter how fatal that would eventually prove to be, Christine fled from her bed. With limbs that simply could not be persuaded to calm, she paced her room once again, afraid that her dreams were a bad omen, precursors of what was to come if she gave in to the tender emotions that had so unexpectedly taken root in her heart. What had he done to her?
Afraid of what she might do, of what she might agree to the next time she laid eyes on him, Christine threw on a riding habit and carefully cracked open the door. When the coast remained clear and the house continued to slumber peacefully, she tiptoed out into the hallway and then down the stairs. Although the tiny hairs on the back of her neck stood on end, no one stopped her. Pulling a cloak around her against the cold, she slipped outside and headed for the stables.
As her teeth began to chatter, Christine pushed onward, her head slightly bent to escape the stinging wind that brushed over her face and pulled on her hair. At least, it was not snowing anymore.
When she finally slipped into the stables, she didn’t even mind the somewhat reeking warmth that engulfed her. Tiptoeing along the row of horseboxes, Christine stopped when a soft nicker reached her ear. A smile on her face, she turned to the silver-grey mare curiously stretching her nose toward her.
Then she stopped. What was she doing? Sneaking out of the house in the middle of the night to go…where exactly?
Closing her eyes, Christine took a deep breath. It was highly unusual for her not to have a plan, not to know what came next. However, in that moment, she couldn't even think of making a plan. All she could think of was to get away!
With her mind made up and no alternative presenting itself, Christine quickly led the mare from the box before she craned her neck, trying to locate a suitable bridle and saddle.
“Who’s there?”
Startled, Christine spun around just as an old man, a stable hand from the looks of it, came limping toward her. Swallowing, she straightened her shoulders.
“Who are you?” he demanded as his eyes slid over her.
“I’m a guest here,” Christine stated, disdain dripping from her voice. What else was she supposed to say? After all, it was true, was it not? “And you are?”
At her words, his eyes widened slightly, and a hint of recognition came to them. “The name’s Milton,” he said, his own voice laced with disrespect, and despite the dim light, Christine could see only too well what he thought of her. “Is there anything I can help you with,…Miss?” He might as well have said mistress. Apparently, it hadn’t taken long for gossip to spread!
Trying to remain unaffected by his rudeness, Christine raised her chin a fraction. “Saddle my horse.” Normally, she would have asked, but right then and there, she wasn’t in the mood. It took all the willpower she had to fight down the urge to defend herself and set things right. Conjuring her sister's face, Christine stilled her trembling hands and bit back the snide comments that would have saved her dignity.
“Yes, Miss.”
When she finally left Sanford Manor behind, the imprints of her mare’s hooves in the soft snow all that remained, Christine breathed a sigh of relief. Although she did not know where she was headed, it felt heavenly to have escaped her prison cell as well as the temptations that threatened.
The early morning air, crisp and fresh in her lungs, chased away the night’s dreams, and she turned toward the horizon where touches of dark red and purple began to dance across the sky. Christine sighed at the beautiful sight before her when she realised that returning before dawn was now out of the question.
Too occupied with her internal battles, she hadn't noticed how late−or rather early−it was. Ought she turn back? After all, all she wanted or rather needed−desperately so−were a few moments of peace. A few moments to collect her thoughts lest she lose her wits within earshot of the servants. Last night had proved beyond the shadow of a doubt that Wesley Everett knew well how to unsettle her. In the face of his proposal, she found herself unable to remain rational.
Again, a shiver ran down her back, and for a moment, Christine closed her eyes, remembering the soft touch of his lips.
No! Her mind screamed. She couldn't return. Not now. Not yet. At least not until she had reclaimed her faculties.
Again, her sister's image drifted before her inner eye, and Christine swallowed. "I shall only be gone a moment," she whispered into the morning air. "I promise I shall not ruin our plan."
Riding onward, Christine remembered Wesley telling her of a nearby neighbour, and for a moment, she hesitated, glancing in all directions, trying to determine what direction to avoid. Although she longed for human companionship−however, not that of Wesley Everett−Christine knew well that it would be foolish to seek out Sanford Manor's only neighbour. After all, there was no way for her to explain…
As she could not recall where Stanhope Grove−if that was even the correct name−was located, Christine decided to follow the sunrise and spurred on her mare before she could lose her nerve.
What had this man done to her? Never had she been hesitant in her decisions. Never had she doubted her own wits. Never had she run away.
Never!
For a second, Christine was about to turn around and face Wesley, no matter the consequences. However, once more, an image of her sister's tear-streaked face stopped her.
Shaking her head, Christine urged her mare on toward the sunrise. She could not risk her sister's happiness. At least for now, she needed to put a little distance between herself and Wesley Everett, and then she would return…and face him.
Turning down a small slope, Christine enjoyed the horse's movements as they flew across the snow-covered world. She could only hope that she would not accidentally stumble upon Stanhope Grove. However, even if she did, she could simply turn back. After all, who would be foolish enough to be riding out in this weather at the break of dawn?
* * *
The night had been one long torment. Unable to forget or even temporarily ignore Christine’s threat, Wesley found himself picturing his worst nightmare again and again: the woman he…Christine in another man’s arms.
Something had to be done!
Dressing in haste before the sun had even fully risen, Wesley stalked down int
o the kitchen and ordered an opulent breakfast to be served in the upstairs parlour. Although he was still intent on keeping her true identity a secret, Wesley knew that confining her to her room for much longer would prove fatal. Of that he was certain.
Raking his mind, Wesley tried to think of ways he could keep her entertained and in a good mood without agreeing to her scandalous, though tempting proposal. He wanted her to be happy, and maybe, just maybe, it would aid him in changing her mind. Maybe if he proved to her that they would always enjoy each other’s company, she would be willing to reconsider her answer.
As his eyes swept across the downstairs parlour, he called for Thompson.
“Yes, sir.” Like a ghost hovering in the corner of the room, he suddenly materialised behind Wesley, who spun around startled.
“Ah, there you are.” Gesturing toward the old wooden chess board that had been in his father’s family for generations, Wesley said, “Please, have this moved upstairs into…our guest’s bedchamber as soon as she wakes.”
A hint of disapproval in his eyes, his butler cleared his throat. “As far as I know the…lady has already risen,” he said in a tone as though speaking the words made him physically ill. “I was informed that she took a horse from the stables early this morning.”
Staring at Thompson, Wesley swallowed. “She did what? Where did she go?” Fear gripped his heart as he forced himself to remain calm. Where could she have gone in this weather?
“I’m afraid I’m not privileged to that information, sir.”
Gritting his teeth, Wesley took a deep breath to keep himself from strangling the old man. No matter who Thompson thought she was, did it not concern him that a young woman unfamiliar with the terrain had ridden out in this weather all alone?
The more Wesley thought about it, the more his head began to spin. “Have my horse saddled immediately!” he hissed at Thompson. “And bring me my coat.” Then he rushed upstairs to slip into his tall winter boots.
If anything happened to Christine…
Shaking his head, he tried to concentrate on the task at hand. It would do Christine no good if he merely worried about her. He had to find her! But how?
Swinging himself into the saddle of the chestnut bay gelding, Wesley let his eyes sweep over the landscape before him. Apart from Sanford Manor, meadows and the beginnings of a forest was all he could see as it lay covered by a thick layer of snow. Urging his mount down the drive, he leaned forward as something caught his eye.
There in the snow were hoof prints leading eastward!
As his heart danced with relief, Wesley spurred on his gelding, his eyes fixed on the delicate trail Christine had left. He felt as though he were following breadcrumbs she had left for him to find. Thank goodness it hadn’t snowed the night before!
With excitement coursing through his veins, Wesley barely felt the sting of cold air on his face as he flew across the meadow, nearing the forest. Here and there, he would slow down because the tracks turned in one direction before circling back and then heading into the other. Where was she going? Did she even have a destination in mind or was she simply roaming the countryside? The latter was the one more likely, after all, she had never even been to Sanford Manor before and, therefore, did not know her way around.
Had Catherine ever mentioned anything to her? Maybe before they’d left. No, Wesley shook his head as he continued to follow her trail. Why would she have? The only one who had ever…
Wesley froze, then slapped his gloved hand to his forehead in annoyance.
The only one who had ever spoken to her about Sanford Manor and surroundings had been him.
Wesley cringed at the memory of their carriage ride when he had in all innocence mentioned that Lord Stanhope’s estate was located about a two-hour ride eastward. Although he had merely done so to assure her that no one would accidentally stumble upon them−after all, no one in their right mind would brace the outdoors in such weather to visit one’s neighbours−it now appeared to have been quite unwise, for Christine could, for all intents and purposes, not be considered in her right mind, could she?
Cursing under his breath, Wesley urged his gelding onward. No wonder she was not travelling in a direct line. She only had a vague idea of where the estate was located.
For a moment, Wesley debated with himself whether to follow her tracks or take the shortest route to Stanhope Grove. Although a part of him worried that she had simply ridden by the estate without coming upon it, Wesley decided on the more direct approach. After all, Christine was an intelligent, resourceful woman, and he had no doubt that she would find her way. If she was determined to find Stanhope Grove, she would!
Spurring on his gelding, Wesley hurried onward, and before long, Stanhope Grove came into view. Encircled by dense growing groves on three sides, it lay snug in a small valley, a stream running alongside it, giving water to the large granite well decorating the front gardens.
With eyes searching his surroundings−as though expecting Christine to jump out at him from behind one of the well-manicured, snow-covered bushes by the front entrance−Wesley handed his gelding’s reins to a stable hand and then proceeded up the front stairs.
The door swung open as he approached, and Stanhope’s butler bowed low. “Good day, sir.”
“Good day,” Wesley mumbled, still on the lookout. “Is Lord Stanhope in?”
“He is, sir. Allow me to lead the way.”
Proceeding through the large front hall, their footsteps echoing in the high-vaulted room, Wesley followed Stanhope’s butler to the front drawing room. As they approached, voices echoed to his ears, and one in particular nearly stopped his heart.
“How marvellous!” Christine exclaimed, her voice ringing with joy and exuberance that had been absent in the past few days. “A Christmas Ball is a truly wonderful idea!”
“Is it not?” Eleanor Abbott, Stanhope’s younger sister, beamed. “And the masks make it even more spectacular!”
“They do indeed.”
Stepping into the drawing room, Wesley found all eyes turn to him.
Whereas Christine’s eyes widened ever so slightly betraying her surprise to see him there, Stanhope as well as his mother regarded him with drawn brows clearly showing their disapproval. What on earth had Christine told them? He could only hope that she had not revealed herself as his mistress. He shook off that thought. Even Christine had better sense than to ruin herself so willingly, did she not?
“Wesley,” his friend greeted him coldly, his face almost immobile. “How kind of you to pay us a visit.” Through narrowed eyes, he regarded Wesley, then almost imperceptibly shook his head as though chiding him for cheating in a card game.
“It’s such a beautiful morning,” Wesley said, forcing a polite smile on his face, “that I thought a quick ride would be quite enjoyable.”
“I see,” Stanhope mumbled. Then he bowed to the ladies. “Excuse us.” Striding toward the door, his eyes ordered Wesley to follow him.
Out in the hall, Stanhope walked a few quick paces down the corridor before he turned to face his friend. “Are you out of your mind?” he asked, his voice betraying a slight tremble as he sought to control his obvious outrage.
“Arthur, I can expl−”
“Explain?” Shaking his head, Stanhope began to pace up and down the corridor. “What on earth possessed you? I’ve known you to do a great many…questionable things in your time, but this!” He pointed back at the closed door to the drawing room. “Do you truly have no scruples?”
Gritting his teeth, Wesley feared the worst. “What did she tell you?”
Stanhope snorted. “That she is a guest in your house, and that you were separated when riding out this morning.”
Hearing his friend’s answer, Wesley relaxed before a frown drew down his brows. “Then why do you look so distraught?”
Hands on his hips, Stanhope glared at him. “What she didn’t say has me more concerned. The moment I came upon her out in the woods−and let me assure
you I was quite taken aback to find an unchaperoned woman riding across my land−the look on her face told me more than I cared to know.”
For as long as they had known each other, Wesley had never been able to understand his friend beyond formal niceties. For all intents and purposes, it seemed as though Arthur Abbott, Earl of Stanhope, had never experienced a desire of his own. All he knew−and was fond of−were society’s rules, of which he never failed to remind his fellow men. Truly, Christine could not have sought refuge with a more inconvenient person. What had he been thinking taking her to Sanford Manor?
“What do you mean?” Wesley asked, forcing himself not to drop his gaze. If Stanhope found out who Christine truly was−what name had she given him?−would he feel compelled to reveal her identity?
“Do not take me for a fool, Wesley,” Stanhope snapped, taking a step closer, his hawk-like eyes drilling into Wesley’s soul. “Although I do not know who she truly is−Christine Smith seems rather unlikely−I have no doubt that she is a proper young lady, which makes me wonder what she is doing in your company,” Stanhope hissed, “and without a chaperone no less.”
Wesley sighed. “It’s complicated.”
“I doubt that very much,” his friend snapped, once more shaking his head. “You know as well as I do that the code of conduct must be upheld at all times. Therefore, I must question your intentions.”
A short chuckle escaped Wesley. His intentions? Had he not been the one to ask her to marry him? And had she not been the one to refuse?
However, as his friend was unaware of their history, he mistook Wesley’s reaction for a lack of morals. “This is serious,” Stanhope warned. “Your thoughtless behaviour could cost her her reputation, and as you are well aware of, a reputation once lost is gone forever. Do you truly wish that fate upon her?”
“Not at all,” Wesley assured his friend, hoping that his voice sounded as sincere as his hopes were for a future with Christine. “I beg you to believe me that my intentions are truly honourable.” He sighed. “I cannot explain at the moment, however, it is at the utmost importance that she and I return to Sanford Manor at once.”
A Lady’s Christmas Rake Page 35
