Nicholas frowned, suspecting he was about to fall victim to highway robbery, as well the vagaries of an English winter. But however outrageous the demand was, money was no object. “I saw another team in the stables,” he said.
“Aye. But they’re not for hire,” replied the innkeeper.
“What do you mean they are not for hire?” Nicholas pulled a purse from his coat. “Be assured I intend to pay you very well for their use.”
“You could offer me a king’s ransom in gold, and it still wouldn’t change things. They ain’t mine to be offering. They belong to the other guest. And there are none others to be had. Not with this weather.”
Of all the cursed luck.
“But I simply must be in London by Christmas,” muttered Nicholas.
The innkeeper lifted his shoulders. “Perhaps your horse will be fit to travel with another day of rest.”
Nicholas knew enough about horses to have little faith in such a miracle, even if it was the Christmas season. But seeing there was no point in further argument, he jammed his hands in his pockets and started for the stables. Ye God—as if he didn’t have enough to worry about! The way his father had phrased it, the fate of two nations hung in the balance on whether he could make mooncalf eyes at a certain lady on Christmas.
Perhaps there was a chance he could convince his fellow traveler to give up—
WHOMP!
A snowball hit him square in the back of the head. Knocked off balance, his feet flew out from under him and he fell back on his rump.
“Oh, I am terribly sorry, sir! I was just playing a game of fetch with the dog and somehow my aim went dreadfully off.”
Nicholas looked around to see an elfin young lady, muffled in furs and high felt boots, cavorting with a terrier in the snow. Despite her words, she did not look a whit contrite. Indeed, she appeared to be biting back laughter.
Scowling, he picked himself up and retrieved his hat. “Hoyden,” he muttered, not deigning to dignify her apology with anything more than a frosty nod.
“I beg your pardon?” Twirling a graceful series of spins through the snow, his erstwhile assailant moved toward him. A peek of raven curls had escaped from her ermine-trimmed shako, accentuating the porcelain perfection of her fine-boned features. That a rosy flush suffused her cheeks and a mischievous sparkle lit her sapphire eyes added a bewitching vitality to her beauty.
Nicholas gave himself a rough shake, ostensibly to dislodge the flakes still clinging to his coat. What dark magic had cast its spell over this Christmas? A time of warmth and good cheer was quickly turning into a slippery slide into the depths of Hell.
“You need not bother,” he growled, mortified to realize he had been staring like a lackwit for the last few moments. “I don’t suppose that a schoolgirl can be expected to behave with any decorum.” In truth, he had quickly revised his initial impression, realizing appearances were deceiving—the minx was no mere schoolgirl but rather a stylish young lady.
In no humor to court any further humiliations, he turned on his heel and continued on his way.
His mood suffered a further set-down when a cursory examination of his horse’s right fetlock showed the swelling had not gone down. It now appeared his only hope of escaping this debacle was to seek out the fellow who possessed the two glossy chestnuts in the neighboring stalls and try to negotiate a deal. Or, if diplomacy failed, he might just have to resort to groveling in the snow.
Again.
That option appeared even less palatable when Nicholas returned to the taproom and sought out the innkeeper. “Oh, they don’t belong to a gentleman, sir,” said the man in response to his inquiry. “But rather to a young lady who is traveling alone, save for the company of her servants. . .”
A queasy feeling suddenly came over him.
“Perhaps you caught a glimpse of her outside? She said she wished to have a short stroll before her breakfast.” The innkeeper shook his head. “No accounting for the queer taste some folk have. Imagine wanting to walk about in the cold and snow for the fun of it.” A thump of the teapot punctuated his inability to fathom the odd quirks of Quality. “As for you, sir, shall I lay out some toast and a plate of shirred eggs and gammon?”
Nicholas made a face. “No, if I am going to have to eat humble pie, I had rather do it on an empty stomach.”
That had knocked a bit of the starch out of the gentleman, thought Anna as she tossed another snowball. The dog barked into delight, and she allowed a burble of laughter to echo the animal’s merriment. Lud, he had looked madder than a wet hen at being taken down a peg or two.
Her chin rose a fraction. He had richly deserved the set-down. Perhaps her prank had been a touch childish, yet how dare he accuse her of bad manners when he had been unconscionably rude to the innkeeper, a poor fellow who was doing the best he could.
But then, titled gentlemen were loath to admit to any fault.
She blew out a puff of breath and scooped up another handful of snow. Why was it that most of them were puffed up with a sense of their own importance? They seemed to have no sense of humor or serendipity. That anyone could look so horribly stiff and serious on a magical morning such as this one, when the icicles sparkled like diamonds and the trees looked as if they had been coated in spun sugar—
“Might I have a word with you?”
The snow had muffled the sound of his approach, and as Anna spun around, she nearly lost her footing.
“Forgive me for frightening you.” He caught her elbow and she was surprised at the firmness of his grip and the hint of muscle beneath his tailored sleeve.
“Very little frightens me, sir,” she said tartly, shaking off his hold. “I assure you, I am not easily intimidated.”
He looked at her rather thoughtfully before inclining a small bow. “Then accept my apologies for approaching you without a formal introduction. However, given the pressing circumstances, I hope you will consent to dispensing with the usual formalities of Polite Society.”
Having made up her mind to dislike him, Anna responded with deliberate sarcasm. “You act as though a simple snowstorm is cause for grave concern.”
“It is.”
He was quick with a rejoinder, she gave him that. And oddly enough, his voice was quite pleasant—deep and mellifluous, with none of the affected little mannerisms she so loathed in most Tulips of the ton.
“But before I explain,” he went on. “Please allow me to introduce myself. I am Nicholas Wrexfax, Lord Killingworth.”
Anna couldn’t help but note that Lord Killingworth had very nice eyes as well as a pleasant voice. Their jade-green hue had a smoky intensity, and yet there were intriguing sparks of gold flitting beneath the surface.
She looked away quickly, not wanting to see anything good about him.
Still, she could not quite bring herself to be so rude as to snub him completely. “And I am Lady Anna Federova.”
“Ah. I imagine that explains why you feel so at home in the wilds of winter.” His gaze fell on the lump of snow cradled in her mitten. “I must say, your English is as impeccable as your aim.”
Anna bristled. Was he implying that all Russians were uncouth savages? “I should hope so, seeing as my mother was the daughter of the Marquess of Middleton,” she retorted, happy to have reason to renew hostilities. “And were they still alive, she and my father would be sadly disappointed if the small fortune they spent on educating me at Mrs. Franklin’s Academy for Select Young Ladies had been all for naught.”
Lord Killingworth had the grace to flush. “I meant no offense, Lady Anna. I was merely trying to break the ice, so to speak. We did not exactly get off on the right foot during our earlier encounter.”
“It was not I who slipped and fell on my. . . derriere.”
If Nicholas heard her murmured barb, be chose to ignore it. “Might I ask how you came to be stranded in this out-of-the-way place?”
“Most likely in the same way that brought you here. My coachman took the wrong turn.”
Her lips twitched. “By the by, the stableboy tells me the signpost was knocked askew weeks ago by a stray ram, but no one has bother to fix it.”
“Dam. . . drat it.” He did not seem to find the news nearly as amusing as she did.
“Come now, it could be much worse,” she chided. “The inn may be simple, but it’s quite comfortable.”
After a small start, he actually smiled, revealing a peek of teeth as white as the surrounding snow. “Then perhaps you would have no objection to spending another night here.”
A hint of humor? Anna blinked. That was not the only thing that took her aback. Lord Killingworth was actually very attractive when he was not scowling. His earlier spill had tumbled his carefully combed locks into an unruly shock of gold. The tangle around his ears and collar softened the chiseled cut of his aquiline nose and square jaw. The contrast was intriguing, as if beneath the starched formality and stiff-rumped manners there was still a bit of unfettered spirit eager to break free. His lips seemed to hint at that as well.
They had a most interesting curl. . .
Yes, and his temper had a most atrocious edge, she reminded herself, quickly averting her eyes. His shout could match that of Uncle Yevgeny, which was certainly not a mark in his favor.
“W-whatever do you mean, sir?” she asked.
“In my experience, a small delay never matters overly much to a young lady,” replied Nicholas with a forced heartiness. “While I, on the other hand, have a matter of serious business in London that cannot be put off.”
His smile stretched a bit wider. “If you would allow me to continue on with your team, I shall see to it that new horses are sent here from the nearest coaching inn. The inconvenience would be ever so slight, and I would, of course, insist on covering the additional expense.”
Anna fixed him with a cold stare. It was just like a haughty, highborn aristocrat to assume his affairs were more important than hers. And that a lady would step aside without a whimper. However, in this case, the gentleman in question had no right to ride roughshod over her.
“Absolutely out of the question.” Despite the fact that she was in no hurry to reach her destination, she took a measure of satisfaction in standing her ground. “I, too, have a pressing need to be in Town,” she replied, angling her chin in a defiant tilt. “My uncle would be seriously upset if I failed to arrive at the appointed hour.”
For a moment, Lord Killingworth looked as though he had been struck dumb.
No doubt he was rarely denied anything. Well, disappointment built character—or so said another Russian proverb. It would do him no harm to cool his heels for a bit. Squaring her shoulders, she prepared to face the expected explosion of gentlemanly ire without giving an inch.
“Forgive me. I had forgotten that it is Christmas,” he said quietly. ‘Even if it were not a special time, I would not have asked you if my haste were only for personal reasons. It is not, but I shall think of some other way.”
His thoughtful response softened her stance. Feeling somewhat childish, she reminded herself that however depressing the holidays were for her, the season was meant to be a time of caring and sharing.
“Well, seeing as it is Christmas, I suppose I could take you along in my carriage until we come to the main road,” she responded. “From there you can catch a mail coach to Town.”
An instant later she was regretting her spur-of-the-moment offer. The expression of icy hauteur was back on his face, and rather than express appreciation for her Yuletide generosity, Lord Killingworth looked appalled at the idea of having to travel in a public conveyance.
“I suppose I have no choice but to accept,” he said grudgingly.
“No, you don’t—not unless you wish to walk.” Anna gave a toss of her curls, causing the plume of her shako to tickle her cheek. She slapped it away. “Or you could consider strapping blades to your boots and skating to London.”
“I could—”
“Or you could say thank you, Lord Killingworth.”
“I am much obliged, Lady Anna.”
Ha! One wouldn’t know it by the grim expression on his face.
“However, rather than waste precious time exchanging social niceties,” he went on. “Might I point out that it would be prudent to be on the road as soon as possible.”
“I am well aware of that, sir. But as my maid was feeling poorly last night, I did not wish to rouse her at first light. Be assured that we will be ready to depart within the hour.”
“Thank you,” he said, the exaggerated politeness edged with an unmistakable note of mockery.
So much for the prospect of peace on earth and good will toward all men—and women.
Anna gave an inward groan. Yet another overbearing male to make her last little interlude of freedom miserable. This most certainly did not promise to be a very merry journey.
Nicholas gave a baleful grimace as he watched Anna march away. Judging by the performance he had just put on, the only diplomatic position to which he could ever aspire was a posting to the outer reaches of Siberia. Polar bears and arctic seals had thick enough hides that his gaffes would merely bounce off them.
As for the elegant young lady. . .
No doubt she thought him an ass. She had implied as much with her reference to falling on a certain part of his anatomy. He grimaced. To be sure, both his bum and his pride were a bit bruised from the uncharacteristic show of awkwardness. He did not like looking the fool. . . .
A swish of skirts as she paused to pat the dog drew him from his brooding. Lady Anna Federova. Like her name, she was an intriguing mix of the familiar and the foreign. She had the creamy complexion of a young English miss, but her blue eyes—their exotic slant accentuated by the pert arch of her raven-dark brows—flickered and danced with a strangely compelling light.
Fire within ice. As if that made any sense.
Nicholas pulled his muffler a bit tighter. He had no business allowing her looks, however alluring, to distract him from his duty, which was getting to London without further delay.
Pulling out his pocketwatch, he grimaced. Immune to the vagaries of weather or women, the minutes were ticking away. He sincerely hoped that unlike many of the pampered young ladies of the ton, Lady Anna did not think it fashionable to keep a man waiting.
He need not have fretted, for, true to her word, the young lady descended from her room well within the allotted time. Nicholas quickly put down his teacup and grabbed his valise. However, the look on her face brought him up short.
“I am afraid my maid has taken a turn for the worse,” announced Anna. “She is in no condition to travel.”
“You need not worry about the girl receiving proper care, milady,” ventured the innkeeper, who had come over to clear the table. “My missus is well known in these parts as a skilled healer. In a few days, I am sure she will be fully recovered.”
Anna murmured her thanks, then hesitated. Turning to Nicholas, she indicated an alcove by the mullioned windows. “Might I have a private word with you, Lord Killingworth?”
The reflections from the snow cast a pattern of light and shadow across her profile as she turned, accentuating the hollowness under her eyes and the pinch of worry around her mouth. She looked very small and very vulnerable standing all by herself. Despite their earlier hostilities Nicholas had to fight off the urge to enfold her in his arms.
“I find myself faced with a very awkward dilemma,” she said haltingly, once he had joined her. “I have offered you a ride, sir, but without my maid, it would be terribly improper for us to travel together.”
“Of course.” He took a moment to swallow his disappointment. “You may think me an ass, Lady Anna, but I assure you I am not a cad. I would never seek to force a lady into risking her reputation.”
She lowered her lashes, the thick fringe a dark flutter against her pale cheek. “Now it is my tum to apologize. I did not mean to imply any such thing. Indeed, you. . . you seem a real gentleman.”
His mouth crooked up at the
corners. “If you wish, I can give you a list of my credentials.”
“Are you going to pull out the stud book and read off your pedigree as well?” she asked.
It was not only her snowballs but also her quixotic character that had him strangely off balance. Fire and ice. He sensed that both were used to mask a far more fragile part of herself.
“That was just a jest, sir,” she said quickly, before he could reply. A sigh escaped her lips. “Perhaps an ill-timed one, but I don’t suppose you would understand how often we ladies are treated as if we are no different from horses or hounds—well-bred livestock to be sold to the highest bidder.” She paused, an unreadable emotion flickering over her features. “At times I cannot help but rail at the unfairness of it.”
“When you put it that way, I can see how you would feel angry.”
Anna seemed surprised by his statement. “N-not many gentlemen do.”
Nicholas reached out and tucked an errant curl behind her ear. She seemed to shiver as his touch grazed her cheek, while he felt a spark of heat tingle on his fingertips. “Far be it for me to add to your discomfort. But I feel I ought to point out that travelling alone, without your maid, will also give rise to unpleasant rumor.”
“Yes, I had thought of that, too,” confessed Anna. “I seem caught between a rock and a stone.”
“I know this will sound self-serving, but the obvious solution is for you to remain here with the girl until she recovers, or until your uncle can send someone else to escort you to Town.” After a stretch of silence, he added, “I know how terrible it must seem to think of missing a family Christmas.”
She turned, angling her profile even deeper into the shadow. “Like yours, my reasons for returning to Town are not personal. They relate to a matter of important business for my guardian, so I. . . I cannot delay.”
Nicolas didn’t miss the tautness in her tone, and though it was no concern of his, he felt a flare of anger at her uncle. Her earlier outburst made it easy to guess what sort of business she was talking about. So she, too, was being shoved from here to there, as if she were naught but a pawn on a chessboard. The irony of their similar situations would have been rather laughable had not he caught the glimmer of pain in her eyes.
Christmas By Candlelight: Two Regency Holiday Novellas Page 2
