His Mistletoe Wager

by Virginia Heath

  His gaze travelled to Georgie, who had stopped colouring to stare back at him. She had no idea what her son was thinking. He had never been in the company of anyone other than the immediate family or the highly paid and fiercely loyal servants in their employ. This was the second time he had seen Hal in a few hours and the first had been in her bedchamber last night. Something which had hardly been appropriate, yet he had been too tired and too distressed from his bad dream at the time to question her flimsy explanation.

  ‘I came to introduce myself to your little boy. I thought it only right and proper after...’ He looked away then, clearly embarrassed. Those splendid broad shoulders of his rose, then fell on a ragged sigh. ‘I realised he must be curious. Little boys are curious about most things. I certainly was. And last night was a little out of the ordinary. For all of us.’

  At a loss at what to say, and more than a little overwhelmed at both his thoughtfulness and his presence, Lizzie shrugged and watched transfixed as Hal crouched down on the carpet a few feet away from her son. ‘Good day to you, Master George. My name is Hal. I am a very good friend of your mother’s and am very pleased to make your acquaintance.’ He stuck out his big hand and gently shook Georgie’s little one. A bit bewildered but accepting of the extraordinary, as children are prone to be, Georgie cheerfully gripped the strange man’s palm and smiled up at him. The sight made her throat clog with emotion. Under a different set of circumstances...

  No! She could not think like that. It served no purpose.

  ‘I see you are an artist, Master George. What is that you are drawing?’ As if he conversed with children every day, Hal lowered himself on to the carpet and mirrored her son’s cross-legged pose.

  ‘It is a common wood louse, sir. Did you know they have fourteen legs?’ Her little boy was always delighted to have a conversation about insects.

  ‘Fourteen! Good gracious, that is a lot of pairs of boots to polish.’

  Georgie peered at him sceptically until he saw Hal smiling and realised one of his two legs was being pulled. He grinned back. ‘Do you like insects, sir?’

  ‘What’s with all this sir business? My name is Hal, not sir.’ He ruffled her son’s hair and her heart clenched. ‘And, yes—I do like insects. I am a huge fan of all creepy-crawlies. I find they are the most perfect things to scare girls with. My sister hates them and it is enormous fun to watch her run around the room screaming at the sight of something with a profusion of hairy legs. I have never hidden any woodlice in her small things—though now that I know they have fourteen spindly legs apiece I shall do so at the first opportunity.’

  Always keen to help, Georgie frowned. ‘I don’t think you will be able to gather any till spring. Woodlice tend to hide away in winter. It’s too cold for them. But once the weather gets warmer I shall help you find some. They live under stones and things. We have a big urn in the garden and when Grandpapa lifts it up for me there are hundreds of woodlice there.’

  ‘Well, that is just grand. My sister will have an apoplexy.’ Hal leaned closer and dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. ‘Perhaps we can hide some and scare your mother, too.’

  Georgie giggled, already charmed, and playfully nudged Hal as if they had known each other for ever. ‘It wouldn’t work. Mama is not scared of bugs.’

  ‘Your mama is a very brave woman indeed.’ His eyes drifted up to rest on hers intensely. They were troubled. Apologetic. Lizzie had no idea what that meant and helplessly stared back. Just as it had the night before, the atmosphere became charged; the air heavy with things unsaid and emotions not acknowledged.

  ‘Your tea!’ Stevens practically kicked the door open, snapping Lizzie out of the spell, and slammed a laden tray down on the table. He shot Hal a menacing look and curled one meaty paw into a fist. ‘I will be just outside the door!’ He stomped out, leaving the door ajar this time.

  ‘Stevens means well.’

  ‘You do not need to explain. I might not be the most scholastic of fellows, but I think I have the gist of what is going on.’ Hal offered her a half-smile. ‘We need to talk, I think. When we are alone.’

  She nodded, grateful that he understood what needed to be said was not for little boys’ ears. Hal turned back to her son and picked up some coloured chalk and began to help Georgie colour in his woodlouse. For some inexplicable reason, her little boy wanted it all colours of the rainbow, something Hal apparently understood. Lizzie poured tea and watched them. When the masterpiece was finished, Hal joined her on the sofa and drank the cup she had poured him, maintaining a cheerful stream of childish conversation with Georgie all the while.

  ‘Can you draw me a ladybird, Mama?’

  A piece of paper and some chalk was thrust into her hand and she felt self-conscious as she sketched out the outline of the bug. This was the first time anyone outside of the household had ever witnessed her be a mother and it was disconcerting, especially as he was watching her closely. She wished she knew what Hal was thinking. What did he see? Did he see a fallen woman? A victim? A doting parent? She sincerely doubted he saw her as an attractive young woman who roused his passions any more...or a potential wife.

  ‘I see your mama is an artist, too, Georgie.’ The familiar pet name tripped off his tongue unconsciously, but then again, Hal had also casually pulled her son to sit on his lap. He appeared extremely comfortable there.

  ‘Mama always draws the best insects. She says it is one of her greatest talents.’

  ‘Can she build snowmen?’

  ‘She tries, but they always end up a bit lopsided. We are going outside to build one soon.’

  ‘Soon? When all the snow in the garden is fresh and calling to us? I think we should all go and build one now. If I do say so myself, I build excellent snowmen. It is one of my greatest talents. And he will be as straight as a die. Fetch your coat, Georgie boy! And gloves.’

  Hal had said the magic words as far as her son was concerned. He wiggled off his lap and dashed out of the room, squealing with excitement, leaving them both alone. Lizzie was suddenly awkward, dreading the inevitable. To hide it she continued to sketch the ladybird.

  ‘He is Rainham’s?’

  She nodded.

  ‘He jilted you because you were with child?’ Hal could not disguise the anger in his tone. Outrage on her behalf. Always so noble.

  ‘No. He does not know Georgie exists—or I hope he doesn’t. He jilted me before I had a chance to tell him and afterwards I never wanted him to know I was expecting his child.’

  ‘But Ockendon knows?’

  ‘I don’t know. He has alluded to it. My deep, dark secret which I keep hidden. That’s a little too coincidental, don’t you think?’ His silence was deafening. ‘Thanks to my father’s ridiculous hope that he could still find a man who would deign to marry me and the amount of money he has thrown into my dowry to practically purchase one—not that he sees that, of course—I believe Lord Ockendon intends to use the information as collateral to force me to accept his proposal.’

  ‘Call his bluff. Your father is a powerful man.’

  How to tell him what she suspected, but didn’t know? ‘I fear my father would be ruined by the scandal, too, else I would not think twice, but...’ Lizzie stood to give her jumpy nerves something to do and began to pace. ‘He had Rainham removed from society. I do not know how and for years I did not care, I was simply grateful I never had to clap eyes on the man.’

  ‘But you suspect your father is guilty of some sort of foul play.’

  ‘Yes. More collateral. Don’t you remember what he said at the Danburys’? It is in your family’s best interests to talk to me. Not mine. My family’s. And he dragged Rainham with him to make sure I understood.’ Now she thought upon it, her former fiancé had been uncomfortable. Frightened, even. He had looked ready to flee when Hal had threatened him, genuine fear on his dissolute face. If
only she knew what her dear papa had done, this would all be so much simpler. ‘My father is a good man, Hal. He would have done whatever was necessary to protect his family.’

  Further conversation was prevented by the reappearance of Georgie, who had been swaddled in layers of warm clothes and began bouncing on the spot as she and Hal donned their own. Once outside, Lizzie toyed with the idea of telling Hal she was meeting Ockendon this afternoon, certain he would know how to best play the situation without giving too much away. However, deep down she knew he would never allow her to talk to the Earl alone and would insist on accompanying her. Ockendon would hardly bare his cards with a witness present. Instead she kept tight-lipped and tried to enjoy playing in the snow, watching her son laughing with Hal. Watching Hal patiently teach him how to build a proper snowman, then lift him giggling to push in the carrot nose and coal eyes before sacrificing his own hat and placing it at a jaunty angle on their creation’s head. It was such a pretty picture. Hal had a natural way with children and would doubtless make an excellent father one day.

  To his own children.

  Born in wedlock.

  Because he was an earl and such things were expected and she was a fallen woman on the cusp of complete ruination.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Hal left the Wilding house on a mission. It made no difference that he had not enjoyed a wink of sleep in three days, or that his body was drooping with fatigue. His mind was racing. It had been racing around in circles since the moment that little boy had burst into his mother’s bedchamber.

  At that moment, not only the rug but the entire floor had been pulled from under Hal’s feet. She had a child. A child! One that nobody knew about. Something which was as unforeseen as it was scandalous. In that awful moment Hal had been instantly grateful she had turned down his proposal. Hell, the urge to run had been instinctive. He had no memory of climbing down the wisteria or of racing across the garden. His wits returned as the first flakes of snow melted against his face and he found himself stood in the middle of the Earl of Upminster’s lawn, his breath sawing in and out and the pain in his heart so acute he was clutching at his ribs.

  Anger, disbelief, disappointment, and shame at his own cowardly, yet perfectly understandable, disgust were like physical blows to his body. He stumbled to a stone bench and sucked in several lungsful of the frigid midnight air and began to count his lucky stars at his narrow escape. Except...

  After a few minutes, he did not feel particularly lucky or proud of his reaction. Images of the moment flashed through his mind. Her lovely face. The defiance. The way she had protectively hugged her son.

  Rainham’s son.

  The by-blow of a wastrel and a scoundrel.

  A huge scandal.

  He had watched her spine stiffen and her body turn instinctively to shield her child from whatever poisoned darts were about to be thrown, yet she had made no excuses or apologies for the truth.

  The little boy’s frightened eyes.

  He knew what it felt like to be a frightened little boy. Knew, too, what it felt like to be the son of a bad and selfish man. Hardly a little boy’s fault.

  From somewhere, Hal found the strength to move his heavy limbs. Climbed back over the high wall into the mews; dragged himself across Mayfair to home. He drank more than a few glasses of brandy which did nothing to numb the thoughts warring in his head or the confused emotions cluttering his mind. As dawn broke, he realised it all boiled down to three things.

  Lizzie was his friend.

  She was in trouble.

  An innocent little boy was in trouble, too.

  Hasty, ill-conceived proposals and unexplainable and irrational feelings aside—as her friend, he was damn well going to help her. Whatever secrets she had kept were hers to keep. Ockendon had no right to use them for his own financial gain no matter how scandalous they might happen to be. Not if Hal could prevent it. They had made a pact to protect one another from the unwanted attentions of would-be spouses and it was one which he intended to honour because...

  Because.

  Hal was not ready to justify what his heart and soul wanted him to do. To quantify or analyse it any further would likely terrify him and his poor head could not take any more confusion. All he was prepared to acknowledge was that he had a burning desire to protect her. Now that marriage was out of the question, he needed to give some serious thought to how he could best do that.

  If his awful father had taught him anything, he had taught him people could be manipulated into bending to your will if the incentive was right.

  ‘The world runs on coin, Henry. Nothing else matters.’

  Hal might not subscribe to the principle, but he could not deny the science behind it. His father had built up a huge business empire by using whatever means were at his disposal. To the best of Hal’s knowledge, that hadn’t included anything illegal, but he had sailed fairly close to the wind. Veiled threats and the right kind of incentive had been his father’s stock in trade, whether that be regarding business or his dealings with his own family. As much as Hal loathed behaving in any way like his father, all he needed to do was find just the right incentive to stop Ockendon.

  Of course, he could have started on his quest first thing. Probably should have. But something pulled him towards Lizzie. Perhaps it was his conscience. All he knew was he had to see her. Let her know he was on her side. That he was on her innocent little boy’s side, too. It was not as if the child had any say in who his father was. So he had called on them and stayed far longer than he should have, while all the time his mind had been racing. Plotting. Trying to untangle the mess. However, to accomplish that he needed to know exactly what Ockendon had over her father.

  His own father had a favourite analogy for removing obstacles. In days of yore, when an army besieged a castle, they had two choices. Surround the fortress and starve the occupants out or find the most vulnerable part of the structure and ruthlessly mine under it, then stand back and watch the impregnable stone towers collapse under their own weight. Whilst both techniques had merit, he doubted they had time to wait it out, so Hal needed to find the weakest link. In this case, his gut told him it was Rainham.

  As soon as he had bid Georgie a cheery goodbye and squeezed Lizzie’s hand in reassurance, Hal trudged through the snow-lined streets towards the Earl of Ockendon’s house. He tempered his initial and violent need to tackle the man face to face in favour of reconnaissance. Until he understood the situation fully, Hal would keep his powder dry.

  From a distance, he watched a servant wrap the knocker on the front door. Clearly his odiousness was leaving town today—or had already left—as so many did this close to Christmas. He wanted to ask the butler if his master was bound for his country estate, but didn’t dare. Even though he had never had reason to call upon the Earl, Hal was too well known and preferred to not enlighten his enemy to his quest. Instead he circumvented the house and headed towards the mews.

  The stable was virtually empty, save the still-stalled team of greys and one solitary groom. The fellow looked thoroughly fed up as he forked old straw into a pile, totally oblivious of the fact he was not alone. When he bent to pick up a hand brush Hal spied a significant hole in the sole of the man’s boots.

  Interesting.

  ‘Good morning, my good fellow!’ Hal grinned as the groom’s head turned. ‘I wonder if you would be inclined to help me.’ He idly transferred a few silver coins from one gloved hand to another and then back again in case the lad was not too bright. He needn’t have worried. The groom eyed the coins hungrily.

  ‘What sort of help?’ Not the response of a man who couldn’t be bribed.

  ‘Information. About your lord and master.’ Hal watched the man’s face unconsciously scowl and pressed his advantage, certain there was no love lost between master and servant. ‘I am happy to pay you for your discre
tion.’

  He propped the fork in front of him and rested his wrists on the handle. ‘What do you want to know?’

  ‘I am looking for Lord Ockendon’s guest. The Marquess of Rainham. Where might I find him?’

  The groom waited for Hal to toss him a coin before he answered. ‘He ain’t got no guest. He brought a gent back with him last night, but they went out late and only his lordship returned. Haven’t seen the other fella since—and, before you ask, I have no idea where he went.’

  Not what Hal wanted to hear. Rainham could be anywhere, although his gut told him Ockendon would not leave his minion left to his own devices. He was too valuable. Wherever he had gone, he would be staying away from prying eyes. ‘Is it possible he has gone to your master’s estate?’

  The groom shrugged. ‘It’s possible, I suppose, but as his lordship is travelling there late this afternoon in the carriage, I’d have thought they would have travelled together. A carriage is safer than horseback and the road to Norfolk is popular with footpads and the like.’

  A valid point, yet Ockendon could have hired another carriage to hide his guest quickly. ‘How long is his lordship expected to stay in Norfolk?’

  ‘One week. Two. Who knows? All I know is there’ll be no wages for me again until he returns.’ The groom was angry. Hal saw it in the flat line of his mouth and the hot intensity of his stare.

  ‘He doesn’t pay you when he is not in residence?’ Perhaps Ockendon did have money worries?

  ‘He barely pays us when he is, but since the mistress died he employs most of us on a casual basis when he’s in town, then turfs us out on our ears when he goes off again. Which he does a lot nowadays. I don’t know why he don’t stay in blasted Norfolk and put us all out of our misery.’

  * * *

  Lizzie was the only person in Mayfair mad enough to be in St James’s Park in the middle of a snow storm. The frozen wasteland before her matched the numbness of her own emotions. Hours of fear, worry and heartbreak had taken too much of a toll and now her mind had shut down to allow her to function while she had trudged past all the houses like a woman condemned. The festive door wreaths and spicy scents of Christmas mocked her. There was no joy in this season. Only fear and misery. Both emotions had left her wrung out like a dish rag hanging limply from the sink. She had arrived here a few minutes before two and had now stood so long the chill was making her bones ache, but was not surprised the Earl of Ockendon was making her wait. It added to the drama and heightened the sense of tension. He would like that.