House of Trent 01.5 - His for Christmas

by Jennifer Haymore

  He took Mrs. Hope’s clasped hands in his own and squeezed. “Thank you, Mrs. Hope.”

  And then Esme appeared behind the housekeeper, her dress as somber and dark as her hair, and he turned to greet her.

  “Esme. You look well.”

  And she did. With a jolt, Simon realized it had nearly been a year since he’d last seen her. Since then, she’d grown even taller and filled out with womanhood.

  “Thank you,” she murmured, eyes downcast. “You, too.”

  “Come inside, Your Grace,” Mrs. Hope commanded. “You’ll wish to change before you see your brothers. They have planned to meet in the parlor before dinner, and dinner will be served in…” She glanced down at her fob. “Just over an hour.”

  Dusk had settled like a soft blanket over the house—dinner at Ironwood Park was always earlier than in London. “Excellent,” he said. And to his sister, “I’ll see you in the parlor in a few minutes.”

  She gazed up at him, and it was only then that he saw the shine in Esme’s eyes. On impulse, he laid his hand on her shoulder, only to feel her stiffen beneath him. His intention had been to comfort, but his touch was so unknown to Esme, perhaps it had become unwelcome. He removed his hand and said in a low voice, “Don’t worry. We’ll find her.”

  Esme nodded, her gaze shining, then looked away, blinking rapidly. At that moment Fredericks appeared in the archway leading to the grand staircase. After Simon exchanged a greeting with the steward, Mrs. Hope bustled him upstairs and into his dressing room, where a basin steamed on the bureau and clothes for him to change into were laid out on the clothes press.

  He washed and shaved himself. The silence of the room seemed loud after the bustle of London and Burton’s incessant chatter. Due to the urgency of this visit, he’d left his valet in London, probably happily fussing over some new outfit he was having tailored for Simon during his absence.

  Simon dressed in buff pantaloons and buttoned on a wine-striped waistcoat and a dark tailcoat before combing his hair and gazing into the looking glass at the somber visage staring back at him. The crow’s feet at the edges of his eyes spoke of his exhaustion—he’d ridden straight from London at the close of Parliament yesterday, changing horses but not stopping to sleep. His eyes appeared dull, the green of them not as light as usual, but dark and mossy.

  It was time to face his brothers and sister and reveal his plan of action. Unfortunate that he didn’t have one.

  He left the dressing room and returned downstairs, taking slow, deliberate steps to the parlor. When he reached the door, he didn’t hesitate but stepped inside and closed it behind him before turning to survey the room.

  Everyone was present. Except Luke.

  Samson, Simon’s older half-brother, leaned against the casing of the enormous rectangular-paned window on the far side of the room. Mother had given birth to Sam out of wedlock the year before she married the Duke of Trent. One of her conditions upon marrying the duke was that she would be allowed to keep Sam and raise him alongside any other children she might have. For reasons unknown to Simon, his father had agreed—he had even given Sam the Hawkins name—and it was one promise he’d never reneged upon, though he had never gone so far as to treat Sam like a son.

  Sam had been gazing outside but turned toward Simon as he entered. This was the first visit home for Sam in nearly five years. His work in the service of the Crown kept him busy, though Simon did see him from time to time in London. Sam had always possessed a serious demeanor, but the army had hardened him, given him a seemingly permanent cold and detached expression that Simon expected would never go away now. His brother had simply seen too much.

  Simon’s younger brothers, Theodore and Markos, sat side by side on the plum-colored silk sofa, their sandy brown heads and eyes so similar, people had always thought them twins. But they were very different in disposition. Theo was quiet and studious like Esme, and Mark was the one person in the family who could bring levity to any conversation. Today, however, Mark’s face was grim and set, his normal exuberance dampened by the gravity of the situation.

  Simon turned to the table in the center of the room, where Esme was pouring tea, his gaze finally coming to rest on Sarah Osborne, who stood at his sister’s side, assisting her.

  His body came instantly alive at the sight of her, even after all this time. Even under the circumstances. Lust. Desire. Need. All of it barreled through him in a hot rush.

  Damn. She was more beautiful than ever.

  When he’d last come home to Ironwood Park, he hadn’t been able to keep his hands off her. God knew he’d tried.

  Her mouth caressing his, the feel of her body under his hands…It had been three years. He should have forgotten all of it by now.

  But how could he forget the sweetest lips he’d ever tasted? How could he forget the curve of her bottom, the feel of her soft, plump breasts under his hands?

  How could he forget that he’d taken advantage of an innocent? Someone who worked in his house, under his employ? How could he forgive himself for crossing a line he never, ever should have crossed?

  She turned the full force of her wide smile on him and then dipped her head as she dropped into a curtsy. “Your Grace.”

  “Good evening, Sarah.” He gazed at her, taking in her dark, dark hair, her black-fringed blue eyes, her porcelain complexion, her willowy stature, for perhaps a second too long before forcefully returning his attention to his brothers. “I’m glad you all came so quickly,” he told them.

  “Where’s Luke?” Theo asked. “You wrote to him as well, didn’t you?”

  Taking the china teacup and saucer that Sarah held out toward him, Simon thanked her then stepped forward. “I did. Evidently he chose not to respond.”

  Everyone was struck silent by that, until Sam spoke up from his position near the window. “Or he didn’t receive the missive. We all know how Luke feels about Mother.”

  “It’s possible he didn’t receive it,” Simon acknowledged. It was true—despite all of his shortcomings, Luke adored their mother. “I wasn’t sure where to find him. You know Luke. He could be anywhere.”

  Theo gave a low whistle as Sarah handed him and Mark their tea. “Thank you, Sarah. Right. Well, then, it’s just us. But Luke won’t be happy we met without him.”

  Simon arched a brow at his youngest brother. “He should either visit his lodgings once in a while or let us know where he is located in the world if he wishes to be privy to important family news.”

  Theo raised his cup. “True.” He took a sip before setting the cup and saucer down on the oblong carved teak table that squatted low in front of the sofa.

  Simon lowered himself into the Egyptian-styled bronze and silk-damask empire chair across from Theo and Mark. He looked at his sister and gestured to the identical chair beside him. “Please sit, Esme.”

  As Esme approached, Sarah set down the teapot and turned to leave the room.

  “Sarah, you will stay.” His tone was clipped and brooked no argument. He glanced at his brothers. No one reacted to the out-of-place command, which meant they understood exactly why he wanted Sarah in the room with them.

  This was a family affair, and while most might dismiss a maid after she’d finished with the tea, this particular maid had embedded herself so deeply into life at Ironwood Park that she sometimes knew things that occurred here that none of the rest of them did. His brothers understood as well as he did that her presence might prove valuable.

  Plus…well, damn it, he just liked having her close. His brothers didn’t need to know that.

  “Yes, Your Grace.” Her answer was automatic, as was her bobbed curtsy. She stayed where she was, standing behind the silver tea service, attentive but silent.

  When he had everyone’s full attention, Simon turned to his sister.

  “Tell us what happened, Esme. We must hear every detail. From the beginning.”

  She nodded. Fixing her gaze on the teak table and clutching the carved arms of her chair in her han
ds, she began. “I don’t see Mama every day anymore—not since she moved into the dower house. So I don’t know when it happened, but…but…I should have been paying closer attention. She is my mother. I should have been visiting every day, making sure she was all right…”

  “When was the last time you saw her?” Sam’s voice, as always, was cool and detached.

  Esme’s eyes filled with tears. “A week ago.”

  Simon nodded. “Go on.”

  “Well, the day before yesterday I realized I hadn’t seen her in a few days, so I went to the dower house for a visit. And…”

  “And?” Theo prompted, leaning forward, his elbows on his knees, his eyes narrowing on their sister.

  She turned her focus to Theo. “There was no one at home. Binnie and James weren’t there, and Mama wasn’t there. All three of them had simply vanished.”

  Simon frowned. Binnie and James were the two servants his mother had taken with her when she’d moved to the dower house. He hadn’t known they’d also disappeared.

  “I knocked and knocked. I tried the door, but it was locked, and you know Mama rarely ever locks her door. I ran back to the house and asked Mrs. Hope for the key. Sarah came with me, and we went inside, but no one was there.”

  “Why didn’t you go straight to the constable?” Mark asked, his brow creased in a rare frown.

  “I…I…” Esme broke off, and sent a helpless glance in Sarah’s direction.

  “We thought it best to send His Grace a message before we involved anyone outside the family,” Sarah explained. “Because once we contact the authorities, everyone will begin to speculate. We thought it would be more prudent to allow His Grace to decide whether to involve them.”

  “You made the right decision,” Simon told her. And he wouldn’t involve the authorities at all in this matter, if he could help it. Sarah knew him well enough to understand that he preferred to keep private family matters private, because when it came to the Hawkinses, the gossipmongers tended to take facts and embellish them to the point of outlandishness. In any case, he possessed more resources to use to find his mother than any constable would.

  Sam pushed off from the window casing and took a step forward, his cool gaze focused on Esme. “What was the state of the interior of the dower house? Was it clean? Ransacked? Were any of Mama’s things missing?”

  “It was clean,” Esme whispered.

  “As far as we could tell, most of her possessions were untouched,” Sarah added. “But her safe was open and empty. All her money was gone, as well as her jewels.”

  Hell. His mother had enough jewels to keep a small village living in luxury for years.

  Mark’s frown deepened. “A robbery?”

  If someone wished to rob Ironwood Park, the dower house would be the best place to start, considering that not only was it secluded—hidden in a copse of trees on the northern edge of the property—but it wasn’t well guarded, and everyone acquainted with his mother knew she wasn’t one to pay much heed to such frivolous things as locks.

  But if someone had entered the dower house with the intention of stealing jewels, what had the thief done with his mother and her servants? The thought brought bile into Simon’s mouth.

  “Possibly,” he told Mark, but his voice held doubt.

  “Who originally searched the dower house?” Sam asked Sarah.

  “Mrs. Hope, Lady Esme, and me, sir. We were out there this morning again while we awaited your arrival.”

  Sam met Simon’s gaze. “We’ll do a thorough search. Leave no stone unturned.”

  “And not only of the house,” Simon added, “but also the woods and the surrounding areas. And”—he took a fortifying breath—“we’ll need to drag the lake.”

  Esme sniffed. The stream running through the property fed the small lake near the dower house…dragging the lake was akin to admitting their mother might have been drowned. Turning toward his sister, Simon saw her shoulders slump as a tear carved a trail down her cheek.

  Hell, he’d been raised with brothers. Esme hadn’t been born until he was ten years old and already at Eton. His mother had always shown the epitome of strength—she’d never shed a tear in his presence. He’d never learned how to comfort a weeping female.

  He glanced up and realized he wasn’t the only one at a loss as to what to do about this. His brothers appeared frozen in place. Even their expressions didn’t change as they stared at their whimpering sister.

  Sarah broke the stillness. She hurried over to Esme, knelt beside her, offered her a handkerchief and put an arm around Esme while the girl sobbed into Sarah’s shoulder. Sarah looked up at Simon over Esme’s head, stroking Esme’s dark hair. Her blue eyes, usually sparkling with vivacious warmth, had darkened with sympathy…and with her own worry. Sarah loved their mother as much as any of her children did.

  “Hush.” She looked back down at Esme and rubbed her back in gentle circles. “If anyone can find her, His Grace can.”

  Esme’s shoulders shuddered. When Sarah looked up at him again, the knowledge of what he must say flooded into him. “We’ll find her, Esme. That is a promise.”

  He glanced at his brothers, all of whom nodded their agreement.

  Esme took a great gulping breath, her voice muffled in Sarah’s shoulder. “But what if she…if she isn’t…what if she is…”

  “There’s no evidence whatsoever that points to the conclusion that Her Grace has come to any harm,” Sarah soothed.

  “That is correct,” Sam said, his voice a notch lower than his usual cold detachment. “And that is how we must approach finding her.”

  “Mama wouldn’t—” Theo broke off, frowning.

  “She wouldn’t what?” Simon asked him.

  Theo gazed at him with bleak eyes. “She wouldn’t run off, would she?”

  Everyone stared at Theo. Even Sarah looked at him with parted lips. Finally, Mark asked, “Why would she run off?”

  Theo shook his head. “Couldn’t say.” He shrugged. “It was just a thought.”

  “If Mama simply decided to leave Ironwood Park, one would assume she’d let someone know where she was going,” Mark said.

  Simon looked to Esme, whose tears had abated. Sarah still crouched beside her, though, keeping that comforting arm around his sister, and he was glad he’d told her to stay. “Has our mother been behaving erratically in any way?”

  Mark snorted. “What kind of a question is that, Trent? Our mother is always erratic.”

  “I mean more so than usual.”

  Esme shook her head somberly. “No. No more than usual. She was excited about the ladies’ luncheon she was going to hold next week. She’d embroidered kerchiefs for each of the ladies and was planning to give them as gifts.”

  “So she wasn’t planning to run off, then,” Theo said thoughtfully.

  “But you know her. She’ll change plans on a whim,” Mark pointed out.

  “True,” Sam agreed. “We should check her house near Lake Windermere as well as her townhouse in London.”

  “And her sisters’ houses as well, in case she decided to make a last-minute visit,” Simon said.

  Theo shook his head. “If our mother went somewhere on a whim, she could be anywhere in England.”

  “But someone would have seen her, somewhere,” Mark said. “Collectively, we know her favorite haunts and the routes she’d take to travel to them.”

  “We will check them all,” Simon said.

  A knock on the door heralded a footman, who told them dinner was served. Simon dismissed the man, then turned to his siblings, his stomach growling in anticipation of a hot meal. He hadn’t eaten since yesterday.

  “We’ll formulate a solid plan after dinner.” He turned to Sarah. “Thank you for staying. Will you meet us back here at nine o’clock?”

  “If you wish it, Your Grace.”

  “I do.”

  She inclined her head and looked at him with her big, gray-blue eyes. “Then I will be here.”

  Turn to
the next page for an excerpt from the second book in the steamy House of Trent series,

  The Rogue’s Proposal.

  Chapter One

  Lord Lukas Hawkins wasn’t drunk enough. Not yet. He gazed at the glass of ale sitting on the table before him and dragged the pad of his thumb through the drops of condensation on its lip.

  He would have preferred something stronger, but the ale was beginning its work. All his sharp edges, those phantom blades that sliced so ruthlessly at him when he was sober, were beginning to dull. The noises of the tavern had faded into an agreeable drone rather than the piercing, headache-inducing racket of when he’d first arrived.

  Luke took another generous swallow of the cool amber liquid and leaned back, his eyelids descending to a pleasant half-mast.

  He’d asked enough questions for tonight. He’d made no progress in his hunt for Roger Morton, but that didn’t surprise him. The villain who’d taken Luke’s mother from her home at Ironwood Park was a wily man, slipping through Luke’s fingers from Cardiff to Bristol.

  Luke wouldn’t find Morton here. It was hopeless. What he needed now was to gulp down another three or four tall glasses of ale, unearth some pleasant companionship for the evening, and plummet into a dreamless sleep.

  Only to wake up tomorrow and begin the whole fruitless endeavor again.

  Taking his ale in two hands, he brought it to his lips, closed his eyes, and tossed back the whole bloody thing.

  His eyes reopened as he lowered the empty glass.

  Well, well, well.

  Straightening his spine, he brought his glass down until it landed with a decided clunk on the worn wooden tabletop. His lips curled into a wicked grin. It seemed his pleasant companionship had unearthed itself.

  A vision in black and white had seated herself on the other side of the narrow wood-planked table. She was the loveliest thing he’d seen in a very long time. Brown eyes shot through with polished gold gazed at him, their expression inscrutable. Thick, burnished waves of bronze hair escaped the little annoyance of a prim white cap and framed a heart-shaped and pink-cheeked face. Her lips…hell, just edible. Gazing at those lips aroused Luke’s senses—the deep red of cherries in the summertime, their sweet scent, the decadent, juicy burst when he bit into one.