His Mistletoe Wager

by Virginia Heath

  He was delaying the inevitable. Being jilted was not the worst of what had happened. She had been very thoroughly, and quite compliantly, ravished by Rainham. One day the truth was bound to leak out. And aside from the fact her pristine reputation would be left in tatters, her father’s good name dragged through the mud in the process, her little boy was growing up fast, and it was not fair on him to keep him cooped up in the Grosvenor Square house for ever. If anything, Lord Ockendon’s behaviour highlighted how tenuous her situation had become.

  ‘If you had chosen a husband, Lizzie, if you were now married as I have always wanted, then Ockendon would not be able to use the past to threaten you.’

  ‘If you had not insisted we maintain appearances and forced me back into society, then he would have forgotten me. I have said for some time now that I should set up a household of my own and disappear from society for ever.’

  ‘And how would you find a husband then?’

  She wanted to scream, instead everything came tumbling out in an angry, frustrated rant. It was not the best way to inform him of her plans to leave in the New Year. Her papa’s temper had exploded when she confessed she had already purchased a house with her own money behind his back.

  ‘I will not allow it, Lizzie!’

  ‘You cannot stop me. My mind is made up. I have to think of my son and his best interests. It is not fair to continue to curtail his movements in the way we do. Soon he will grow to resent his lack of freedom and will feel like a prisoner. Is that how you want him to grow up? It is certainly not the life I want for him.’

  ‘But you will be all alone up there, Daughter. Who will protect you?’

  From then on, the discussion had deteriorated in its usual fashion. They were like two angry rams, their horns locked, battling to see which one of them had a thicker skull. He would not listen to reason and accept Lizzie was long past the age when she could look after herself. Had he not faithfully promised her mother, on her death bed, that he would see her married to a good man? In desperation, he had even suggested he would allow her to marry the Earl of Redbridge, if that is what her heart wanted, which in turn led to her confessing the truth about her unlikely alliance with Hal and her frustration with the near-constant parade of dullards and her father had hit the roof. She had not seen him so angry since the day Rainham had abandoned her in a church full of lilacs and a child in her belly.

  The final hour in the carriage had been spent in stony silence. Neither spoke. What else was there to say? She had done things her dear papa’s way for five long years, and now, despite all the hiding, all the keeping up of appearances and his fervent quest to see her wed, what did she have to show for it? A spiteful old earl trying to blackmail her into marriage and another broken heart! What a roaring success. If the honest truth had succeeded in anything, it had succeeded in making relations between father and daughter worse than they had ever been.

  * * *

  Several hours later, and by tacit agreement, they were still avoiding each other. Her papa was holed up in his study, no doubt plotting how best to salvage the situation whilst still keeping his daughter in the dark, and Lizzie was sat with her son in the morning room, trying not to let him see her turbulent mood. Intense fear mixed with anger, frustration, and the unexpected sadness at having to sever her relationship with Hal. Despondent and completely broken and so very tired. Even her bones ached. Georgie was spread-eagled on the carpet, thoroughly engrossed in drawing a picture, and showed no sign of having noticed.

  ‘What are you drawing?’

  He paused, then turned to her, grinning. ‘I am making you a present. Nanny said I should give you a gift for Christmas and I know how much you love my pictures. This one is going to be extra special. It is a picture of us.’

  Love filled her heart. Gave her the strength she needed to do what was necessary when the time came. ‘You are exactly right. I will adore it. How did you know I wanted a picture of us for Christmas?’

  ‘Grandpapa told me. He said that I was the most important thing in the world to you, therefore you would much prefer a picture of me than the stag beetle I drew for you last week. You can have that one for your birthday instead.’

  The guilt was instant and painful. Doing what was necessary did not make the doing of it any easier. ‘Grandpapa is a very wise man.’ Tears prickled her eyes at the thought of separating him from his grandson. The two most important men in her life were devoted to one another. They had been since the day Georgie came squalling into the world. From the first moment he had held her baby, her papa had loved him unconditionally and without judgement—just as he had always loved his daughter. The circumstances of Georgie’s birth had been irrelevant. If only there was another way to keep them both safe without having to separate them.

  Georgie’s little tongue poked out as he returned to concentrate on his masterpiece, his chubby fingers clutching the coloured chalk too tightly, and she took a moment to watch him work whilst reminding herself she was doing the right thing. Society was unforgiving of babes born on the wrong side of the blanket. Had she been a man, a titled man, then things might have been different. The Regent acknowledged his bastards and they were tolerated by the ton. Many of the children born to the mistresses of powerful men lived openly within their ranks. People turned a blind eye. The circumstance of their birth was frowned upon, but only to an extent. Such toleration only extended so far. Men were expected to sow their wild oats. Young ladies were certainly not. Lizzie would be branded a fallen woman and cast out of their ranks without a backward glance, her innocent little boy destined for a life tainted by her shame. Her father disgraced...

  The quiet appearance of the butler brought her back down to earth with a start.

  ‘Sorry to disturb you, my lady, but the Earl of Redbridge is outside. He refuses to believe you are not at home and is currently sitting on the front step. He claims he will remain there until you grant him an audience.’

  At the mere mention of his name, her heart began to yearn. She still could not believe he had offered to marry her in an attempt to save her. How sweet. How endearing. How utterly selfless and romantic. In that moment, she had realised he was nothing like the rake she had once planned to marry. Hal was noble. Too noble for his own good. One day, he would make some lucky woman a wonderful husband, but it couldn’t be her. When she had turned him down he had appeared genuinely wounded rather than relieved. She had hurt his feelings and that saddened her. At the time, she had wanted to tell him the truth. He deserved to know why she had said no, yet a part of her hadn’t wanted to see if his nobleness would extend that far. Would he miraculously see past her youthful indiscretions? The realist in her knew she was clutching at straws and certainly not being fair to him.

  In truth, once he learned of Georgie she knew he would bitterly regret proposing in the first place, then she would have had to suffer seeing him distance himself from her. Who could blame him? He was a handsome, rich and charming earl who could have anyone. Why would he settle for some other man’s second-hand, soiled goods or take on the unwelcome responsibility of a scoundrel’s by-blow? Severing their acquaintance was the sensible and kindest thing to do. It protected him, at least, from the scandal which was about to erupt. Her attempt at being equally as noble.

  Knowing he was but a few feet away was torture, but her mind was made up. Now that her father knew about their alliance, her too-brief relationship with the handsome, charming, all-too-lovable and heartbreakingly noble Earl had reached its natural conclusion.

  ‘Could you give him this, Stevens?’ Lizzie had written the letter as soon as she had arrived home in the small hours when sleep had evaded her. It was a cheerful missive, purposely so, because she wanted him to remember her fondly and did not want him to continue to worry about her. She thanked him for acting as her deterrent, expressed her regret that she was unable to fulfil their bargain for the entire month, bu
t had decided to leave town for her father’s estate imminently to spend the rest of Christmas and New Year with her brother. She wasn’t sure when she would be coming back. She also made light of her dealings with the Earl of Ockendon and of Hal’s generous offer of marriage as a consequence, reminding him that they had made a bargain to keep him from the parson’s trap—not to snare him in it. Oh, the irony! How amusing...

  She did not see any point in warning him that she might well about to be in the centre of a scandal of significant proportions. Whatever his reputation, he was her friend and did not deserve to be caught in the crossfire. Some distance now would allow him to escape largely unscathed if the truth could be kept until New Year’s. Enough lives would be damaged as it was without having Hal’s on her conscience as well. It did not matter that tears had been dripping down her cheeks as she had written it, or that her heart ached to know she had seen him for the very last time or that a part of her would bitterly regret not knowing him sooner, or Heaven help her, meeting him before she had met Rainham. She did not see any need to tell him she was fond of him. Very fond of him. Perhaps more than fond. There was no point.

  ‘And if he refuses to leave?’

  ‘Tell him I am not at home, Stevens.’ Allowing Henry Stuart to get close to her in the first place had been a mistake. Allowing anyone to get too close to her was foolhardy in the extreme. She had lived by that edict for five long years—until him. Already he knew more about her than anyone outside of her family. Perhaps more. Hal seemed to understand her far better than her father. They were kindred spirits on so many levels. She felt it in her heart. There had been an honesty between them which had mattered a great deal. Growing affection. Undeniable attraction. ‘Tell him...’ Her voice caught with regret for all that could not be. ‘Tell him I will never be at home to him again, Stevens—but I wish him all the best with the hordes.’

  ‘The hordes?’

  ‘He will know what I mean, Stevens.’ Hopefully he would understand. Lizzie wasn’t entirely sure she understood anything any more. Not when everything in her life had been tossed up into the air and had thus far failed to land. A few weeks ago, she would never have believed it if someone had told her she would have feelings for a man again, romantic and affectionate feelings, especially for a self-confessed and charming rake. Yet here she was, more than a little bit in love with the one currently sat on her doorstep.

  The butler regarded her with sympathy. ‘As you wish, my lady.’

  A few minutes later he returned. ‘He has gone, my lady.’

  Of course he had. Lizzie should have felt relief. Instead, waves of pain and disappointment washed over her, when she had not thought she could feel any worse. ‘Did he leave me any message?’ A little something she could cling to in the dark days ahead.

  ‘He did not, my lady. Should he have?’

  Yes! Yes, he should have. Underneath the brave face she was struggling to maintain, a tiny part of her had hoped he would fight for whatever it was they had, even if it was doomed to be futile. Lizzie selfishly needed to know he would mourn the end of their association as keenly. That he felt the same pull. The same need. The same heady connection. She shook her head and gazed down at her son again. She had no right to be selfish and expect more from Hal than he had already given freely. ‘No, Stevens. I was not expecting him to reply to my message.’

  ‘I could fetch him if you wanted. His house is a short walk from here.’

  Another reason why it was prudent to leave Mayfair as soon as possible, not that she needed another one. Being so close to him would drive her mad with longing. ‘There is no need. That will be all, Stevens.’ The little man sat contentedly at her feet, diligently colouring his mother’s hair purple, was the only man she could ever permit to matter henceforth.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Hal had never been much good at loitering. His huge build and short attention span had made hanging about and waiting for things to happen anathema to him. However, in view of the unusual circumstances, and his current foul mood, needs dictated he must. To that end, he had been loitering in Grosvenor Square for the better part of two hours waiting for all the lights to go out in the Earl of Upminster’s Mayfair fortress. Technically, he wasn’t actually in the Square. An hour ago, when the stable lad on guard had briefly disappeared to answer the call of nature, Hal had sneaked around the back of the garden and scaled the ridiculously high walls. He was currently lurking amidst the shrubbery closest to the house. A rose bed, he assumed, judging by the amount of nicks he now had in his breeches. Thank heavens he had the good sense to wear his sturdiest boots and a robust pair of leather gloves. A solid suit of armour might have been more appropriate.

  His hour in the cold, frigid December air had not been completely wasted because he had caught several glimpses of Lizzie—at least the silhouette was shaped like Lizzie—and was fairly certain he knew which of the many bedchambers was hers. Unfortunately, her window was firmly closed. Shouting up in anything above a whisper would likely alert the servants to the presence of an intruder and Hal did not fancy his chances up against the Wildings’ giant butler. There was a solid-looking ancient wisteria climbing up the back of the house and, as he was determined to get to the bottom of whatever nonsense was going on and she had refused to see him, Hal had little choice other than to climb it.

  Frankly, if it gave her a fright it would damn well serve the wench right, because he had been in a perpetual state of worry since she had bolted out of Lady Danbury’s French doors. And he had proposed. Having never had cause to propose before, the occasion was momentous and the more he recalled her horrified reaction at his offer, the more upset and offended he became. He had wanted to help her. Begged her to let him help her and she had cut him out as if he did not matter at all. That stung. Thanks to her heartfelt and ground-shaking kiss closely followed by her swift and silent exit from the house party, Hal had suffered several hours being stalked by a very determined Lady Arabella, then a sleepless night worrying.

  Some time in the small hours his temper kicked in and he decided enough was enough. He had been an attentive fake suitor, suffered through a painful dinner with Lord Hewitt and rescued her from the Earl of Ockendon twice. Then sent the man packing with her toad of a former fiancé so that she was spared the sight of them for the rest of the weekend! And he’d proposed, something which still caused his head to spin, because he suspected he had meant it. He deserved the truth. Not a letter! To that end he had ridden for hours across the countryside, alone, and had damn well nearly frozen to death in the process. How dare she send him a letter after all that? Especially one which told him next to nothing.

  Fuelled with righteous indignation, he began to heave himself up the knotted branches. The blasted woman was going to talk to him, and if it took him all night, he was not damn well leaving without some proper answers. Why was she terrified of Ockendon? What secret did the man know about her and why had he dragged her wastrel of a fiancé into it? More importantly, why wouldn’t she see him? They were supposed to be friends, looking out for one another, contractually obliged to be a deterrent until the Christmas season was over. The last time Hal checked, that was Twelfth Night.

  Twelfth Night! And they were still only a few days from Christmas Eve. She owed him another fortnight. Another fortnight and some jolly good reasons why she had curtly refused his proposal without giving the matter some serious and proper thought. It was not as if he was a rancid, money-grabbing specimen like Ockendon. Hal had all his own teeth, was financially secure and was widely regarded as a catch amongst the sea of hordes who were stalking him incessantly. Lady Arabella would not have said no! No, indeed, she would have jumped at the chance. The sorry-looking sprig of mistletoe sat limply in his pocket would have been missing all five of its berries well before now, if the wager had been about Arabella, and certainly not still sporting one. Perhaps that was the answer. He and Lizzie seemed to
lose their heads whenever their lips touched, so perhaps he should simply kiss her into submission and be done with it.

  His frozen fingers finally gripped the deep, stone window ledge and he pulled his face level with the glass. Heavy curtains prevented him from seeing anything other than the reflected blackness of the midnight sky, and even though there was the distinct possibility he was dangling outside the wrong window, he was not going to give the minx beyond the opportunity of raising the alarm and having him forcibly removed from the trellis before he had said his piece. Surprise was the only immediate weapon in his poorly stocked arsenal. The only others were dashing good looks and bucketloads of charm, neither of which apparently held any appeal whatsoever to the confusing vixen who had kept him awake for the better part of two days.

  Silently, he tested the frame. It was a sash window and to his utter delight was blessedly unlocked. Somebody was on his side. Somebody or something. Out of respect for the miracle he glanced heavenwards and quietly thanked the Almighty for giving him the means to break in, then pulled the window upwards and threw himself blindly through the aperture.

  He landed on the floor with a thud and untangled himself from the curtains. ‘Now listen here, Lizzie...’ The room was empty. It was undoubtedly a feminine room. An abundance of lace and delicate furniture gave that away. There was a single candle burning on the nightstand, the bed was turned down in readiness and her perfume wafted in the air. Wherever Lizzie was, it wasn’t far away. It was also just as well she had not been there to witness his arrival—aside from the fact it had hardly been graceful, she probably would have screamed the place down and woken the whole house. This way was much better. It gave him time to collect himself.