House of Trent 01.5 - His for Christmas

by Jennifer Haymore

“About what?” he murmured, glancing down at her. Her cheeks were flushed beneath the brim of her fur-lined cap.

  “About you bringing me home.”

  He shrugged. “I am sure they will understand when we tell them what happened to your carriage.”

  “Ye-es…” But she didn’t sound convinced. “It’s just that…well, it was my mother who took me home after that night.”

  He frowned. “Which night?”

  “The night you said those things,” she said softly. “She took me home in the carriage, and when I couldn’t stop crying, she pulled the story of what happened out of me.” Amelia looked up at him bleakly. “I recounted every word of what I heard said between you and the other boys.”

  Evan stiffened. “She must despise me.” As Amelia had.

  “She does. She’s never forgiven you.”

  “And your father?”

  She sighed. “He knows, too. My mother told him.”

  Evan blew out a breath between clenched teeth. He could do nothing to win the earl and countess over except be truthful about his feelings for Amelia. It probably wouldn’t be an easy thing to earn their absolution—they’d always doted on Amelia and took her happiness very seriously.

  He knew how much Amelia valued her parents’ opinions. If they didn’t give their approval, it would definitely be a problem.

  Amelia wrapped her arms around him. “I’ll tell them I was wrong about you. That I misheard those words so long ago.”

  He put the reins in one gloved hand and slipped his free arm around her. “Don’t say that,” he told her. “It isn’t the truth.”

  “But I know you now, Evan. And I know my mother and father. Those words weren’t who you are, and yet they will always judge you based on them.”

  “Perhaps they should,” he said softly.

  She squeezed him tighter. “No,” she breathed.

  Even after the long night they’d spent together, even though he’d wanted to give her pleasure until it wiped away all memory of that night, he never truly could. That night would always be a moment of ugliness between them. And it was his fault. There was no way he could travel to the past and say something else to that bastard George MacBride.

  He gazed out over the snow. The sun was making a valiant effort to burn away the clouds, and it was now a silhouetted, hazy globe that hung low in the sky. The snow was deep and soft in areas, causing the horses to move far more slowly than they normally would—and he needed to be careful, too, so as not to lead them into a patch of softer snow or an area that might cause them to stumble and injure themselves. Dusk would settle across the countryside soon. It’d probably be full dark by the time they arrived at Cheltham House.

  “Evan?” Amelia asked him.

  “Yes?”

  “I know you’re not like that. I believe you now. And I…I forgive you.”

  He bent down to kiss the top of her cap. “Thank you. Your forgiveness is the best Christmas gift I could ever receive.”

  He turned to face forward again. Up the road ahead, a horse and carriage topped a short rise and headed toward them. It was the first traffic they’d encountered all day.

  Amelia squinted at the oncoming vehicle. “That looks like my father.”

  A few seconds later, the crest on the carriage’s side glinted in a ray of waning sunlight, and Amelia stiffened and pulled away from Evan. His body missed her warmth immediately.

  “It’s definitely my father’s carriage,” she said. “What is he doing out on such a day? Lord, I hope he hasn’t come looking for me.”

  The answer was revealed two minutes later when the vehicle was within a few yards of them. The coachman stopped the horses with a shouted, “Whoa!” and a man stomped out of the carriage and headed toward them.

  “Amelia!” he called, making long strides in their direction. The Earl of Cheltham cut an imposing figure—he was tall and broad-shouldered, with thinning blond hair and the piercing blue eyes of his eldest daughter. He wore a thick black greatcoat, a contrast to the whiteness of the snow he strode over. As he reached the sleigh, he scowled at Evan for the briefest of moments before reaching for Amelia. “Are you all right, my dear?”

  “Of course, Papa. You haven’t been worried, have you?”

  “Of course we’ve been worried! We’ve been beside ourselves!” The earl opened the sleigh door and lifted his daughter out bodily, settling her on her feet at arm’s length and looking her up and down as if to make sure she was in one piece. Then he pulled her to him in a great hug.

  “Really, Papa!” she exclaimed, her voice muffled against his chest. “I’m quite all right.” She drew back from him and explained, “The axle broke on my carriage in the height of the storm yesterday. John and I were so lucky to have encountered Mr. Cameron on the road just a few hours later.”

  “That’s not exactly how I heard it,” the earl muttered. His gaze moved to Evan again. He gave Evan a curt nod. “Cameron.”

  “My lord,” Evan said, equally cool.

  “I’ll take her from here,” the earl said.

  Evan froze as the cold air seemed to seep through his layers of clothes and into his bones at Lord Cheltham’s words.

  The thought of going home, turning away from her, putting distance between them…No. He didn’t want to leave her. He wanted to stay as close to her as possible…for as long as possible.

  And yet, did he have a choice? The earl didn’t seem to be eager to welcome Evan into his home with open arms. And Evan’s mother and aunt would be waiting for him.

  “Oh, Papa,” Amelia murmured. “It’s nearly dark. I don’t want to force Mr. Cameron to drive at night when the roads are like this. Can he not stay at Cheltham House for the night and continue on home tomorrow?”

  The earl ground his teeth—Evan could hear it. Then his cold gaze slid toward Evan. “I’ve no doubt the man can get home safely.”

  Frowning, Amelia took another step back from her father. Without taking her eyes from his face, she said, “Papa? What is it?”

  Lord Cheltham let out a harsh, wheezing breath. “Mr. Berwicke arrived earlier. He saw you at the inn in Postcombe last night, entering a room with that man.” He gave a rough gesture toward Evan but didn’t deign to look at him again. “Evidently Mr. Cameron”—he said Evan’s name with a sneer—“was bragging about it in the tavern. So now all of Postcombe believes you were seduced. And the word will spread rapidly, don’t doubt it.”

  Berwicke, damn him. Evan should have expected this.

  He had had enough. He slid out of the sleigh and moved to stand at Amelia’s side. She was looking at him in wide-eyed shock, and he knew why. She believed that when Evan had gone to fetch their dinner, he had willfully spread the rumor about who had been waiting for him in his room. She believed he’d betrayed her again.

  One viperous gossip could make her question him. It made sense, after he’d destroyed her trust so completely years ago. But he would nip it in the bud this time.

  “That man is a busybody attempting to stir trouble,” Evan stated, and if looks could freeze, he would have turned the earl into a solid block of ice. He turned to Amelia. “It isn’t true, Amelia. He talked to me while I was waiting for the dinner tray, and he asked if that was you. I told him it wasn’t.”

  “You…lied?” she whispered.

  Beside them, her father sucked in a breath, but Evan ignored it. He could manage her father’s rage, but he didn’t want hers. Amelia was the one who mattered. Earning her trust and keeping it was more important to him than anything.

  “Yes, I lied,” he told her. “Of course I did. I’ve been gone for years but I remember Berwicke. He’s been the county’s biggest gossipmonger since we were children. I didn’t want him spreading rumors about you. About…us.”

  Still, he’d apparently underestimated the man. He’d run to Cheltham House and had already informed the earl and countess of his “findings.” Evan felt sick.

  “But…then how…?” She gestured toward her father.<
br />
  Evan shook his head. “Clearly, he got a better look at you than he let on. I’m sorry.” He’d tried to protect her, and he’d failed again, damn it.

  She gazed at him for a long moment in silence. The world around them was quiet and still, the late-afternoon sky growing darker by the minute as her intelligent blue eyes assessed his face, judging his honesty.

  And then a corner of her lips quirked and she nodded, as curt a nod as her father had given him just a few moments ago.

  “Papa,” she began quietly as she turned back to her father, “I am a grown woman. I make my own choices in this life, and if others choose to gossip about them, that is none of my concern. But you need to know that Mr. Cameron has been nothing but a gentleman since the moment he found John and me walking in the snow. I’ll not have you nor anyone else disparaging him, when all he did stemmed from goodness and kindness. He saved us.”

  Love for her surged in Evan’s chest. She was no simpering maiden cowering before the bulk of masculine fury that was her father. Instead, she stood up to the man. She was trying to protect Evan.

  He wanted her like nothing he’d ever wanted in his life.

  The earl’s cold gaze turned to him again. “Did you compromise my daughter?”

  “Papa!” Amelia exclaimed in horror. “I am a widow! Not some innocent debutante.”

  The earl made a noise that rather sounded like a feral growl. “You are my daughter. Widow or not, I’ll not have any man compromising you.”

  Amelia made a little clucking noise and cupped her father’s cheek in her hand. “I love you, Papa. And I’ve missed you so.”

  The older man opened his mouth, but before he could speak she continued in a soft voice. “Will you take me home, now? It’s cold, it’s late, and it’s Christmas Eve. And I am in desperate need of my mother and my sisters.”

  He made a gruff noise of assent.

  “And,” she continued gently, “Mr. Cameron will follow our carriage, and we will make him welcome, because he has been kind and he saved John and me from a ferocious storm yesterday.”

  The earl made another noise, and he didn’t look very happy. But then he muttered, “Very well. But only because his family is already there.”

  Amelia and Evan both blinked at him.

  “Mrs. Cameron and her sister are at Cheltham House?” Amelia said.

  “They are,” the earl said stiffly. “Your mother didn’t want them to be alone for the holiday, so she invited them to stay with us for a few days. Indeed, our house is quite full of people this year.”

  Amelia smiled, and gratitude suffused Evan. He remembered Lady Cheltham to be fiercely protective of her daughters, but also kind and selfless—much like her eldest daughter. Her thoughtful invitation extended to his mother and aunt didn’t surprise him.

  Amelia turned that smile to him. “Perfect,” she murmured.

  She was right—it was perfect. Well, it would be, if not for the small fact that the earl clearly despised him, and probably the countess did, too.

  Amelia began to walk toward his carriage, and after flashing a dark look at Evan, Lord Cheltham turned and grudgingly followed her.

  Bemused, Evan drove the sleigh behind them the remaining mile to Cheltham House, unable to stop his thoughts from dwelling relentlessly upon what Amelia and Lord Cheltham could possibly be discussing inside the earl’s carriage.

  When he turned onto the drive of Cheltham House, Evan could see the grand house, a tall and imposing rectangle of red brick. Golden light spilled from nearly every window, and festive boughs of holly decorated the awning over the grand front entrance and twisted around the pillars framing the door.

  As soon as Evan stopped the sleigh behind the earl’s carriage, people began pouring from the front door. Amelia’s mother moved at the front of the crowd, hurrying toward the carriage. When the door opened and Amelia stepped out, the countess took her daughter into her arms. Evan’s mother broke off from the group and approached him, his aunt on her heels, as he stepped out of the sleigh and handed the reins to a groom.

  His mother stopped before him just as he turned to face her. She looked up at him and her eyes filled with tears. “Oh, Evan,” she murmured. “I’ve missed you, son.”

  He embraced his mother, glad that despite the glassiness in her eyes, she looked well. Glad that, in spite of everything, they could be together this Christmas. When he let her go and made to step back from her, she clutched him tightly. “I’m not sure you’re welcome here,” she murmured into his ear. “There has been gossip…”

  “I know, Mama,” he said, patting her shoulder. “It’ll be all right.” It would be. He’d make it so.

  “Oh, Evan, I’m not sure—”

  “Hush,” he told her softly. At the carriage, people were talking in excited voices. Looking over his mother’s shoulder, he saw Amelia’s mother narrowing her eyes at him, and it was clear exactly what kind of man she thought he was.

  He sighed, and his own mother released him, gazing at him with deep concern in her brown eyes. He gave her a game smile, then realized that she was shivering. She’d rushed outside without a coat, as had the others, most of whom were already heading back into the warm glow of the house.

  “Let’s go inside,” he told her.

  “Yes,” she said, and as Aunt Mary approached to greet him, she added under her breath, “but only because it’s too late to go anywhere else.”

  He greeted his aunt, his mother’s never-married older sister, a shy, reserved woman. Without meeting his eyes, she murmured, “Welcome back, Evan,” and pecked him on the cheek before falling into step beside him.

  Holding his mother’s and aunt’s arms firmly in his own, he led the two older ladies into the lion’s den.

  Chapter Six

  Thanks to Evan, Amelia’s wish had come true—she would have Christmas Eve dinner with her family tonight, and she would spend Christmas with them tomorrow. Her mother had been holding dinner in hopes of hearing news of Amelia’s whereabouts from her father. When the earl returned with Amelia in the carriage, her mother had rushed outside and had gathered Amelia to her, exclaiming, “Oh, dearest. We have been so worried. First afraid that you were lost in that wretched storm, and then to hear that you’d been abducted by that awful Mr. Cameron…”

  “Abducted? What? Wait—” Amelia had pulled away from her mother, who’d gone stiff as her gaze snagged on the sleigh and its occupant. Amelia took her mother’s arm firmly, but the older woman’s narrowed eyes didn’t slide away from Evan.

  “Mama! You’ve been completely misinformed,” she said in a low voice, aware of the mass of people that was quickly surrounding them. “Papa is prepared to welcome Mr. Cameron into the house, and so must you.”

  The distance traveled in the carriage with her father had been uncomfortable, to say the least. The earl had wanted to know the exact nature of her relationship with Evan, and Amelia had been at a loss as to how to describe it. How is a lady expected to inform her father that, as of last night, she has acquired her first lover?

  Awkward, all round.

  But she did it. She’d told her father, the man whose mere visage at one time in her life made her quake in her boots, that she had strong feelings for Mr. Cameron, and she refused to allow him to judge their relationship.

  He’d reminded her of the grief that Cameron had caused her when she was a girl. She said, “Yes, Papa, we’ve discussed it. He didn’t mean what he said in quite the way I took it.”

  “I don’t see how you can take those particular words he said about you in any different way.”

  She sighed. “I know. But the fact is, he was, in his youthful and not-so-well-thought-out way, attempting to protect me.”

  Her father had sputtered, unable to speak for a moment. Then he’d said, his tone ice cold, “Last I heard, it is not advisable to protect young ladies by slandering them.”

  “No, it isn’t. However, he’s older now. And…well, he understands how his words affected me, I t
hink. And he is sorry for it.”

  She had hidden a shudder, remembering Evan’s tender caresses, his soothing kisses. Evan had seemed to deliberate over every touch as if to ensure each one would be healing to her, and it had worked. Each time his skin had come in contact with hers, a bit of the hurt that had resided so long inside her had melted away.

  Her father had interrupted those thoughts by asking if they intended to marry.

  The heat that had flushed over Amelia’s face at that moment made her want to remove her coat, it was so uncomfortably hot. For a long moment, she hadn’t the faintest idea how to answer. Finally, she managed, “It is far too soon for such talk, Papa.”

  Her father had scowled at that. In fact, he’d spent the entire trip to Cheltham House scowling. She hoped those furrows in his brow hadn’t frozen there.

  Now, her father touched her mother’s shoulder and leaned down to her ear. Amelia heard him say in a low, gruff voice that they’d discuss it later, but for now, she must behave as if they’d heard nothing scandalous about their daughter and Cameron.

  Amelia watched her mother straighten and pull herself together. She tore her gaze away from Evan and proclaimed they must all go into the drawing room and warm themselves with a drink before dinner was served.

  The party hurried back into the pleasant comfort of the house, Amelia’s sisters chatting excitedly to her, others welcoming her home. Among the crowd, she saw the entirety of the enormous Berwicke clan, George MacBride and his family, and another man who looked familiar. All the while she was overly aware of Evan behind her. He’d reunited with his mother and aunt, and they were walking at the back of the crowd, separate from the rest.

  Did they all know? She glanced at Mr. Berwicke, who was eagerly whispering to his wife, who was in turn darting glances in Evan’s direction. Oh yes, they certainly did know. Berwicke wouldn’t have kept his juicy bit of gossip from anyone.

  Suddenly, Amelia felt the judgmental oppression of everyone’s gazes. Good Lord, what were they all thinking? Were they imagining all the wicked things she and Evan had done together in that little room last night?