Her breath then caught in her throat as she spied a flickering of light set off from the main fire.
“It’s not quite finished.” Knotting a strip of linen around a twig of white birch, Nicholas smeared the cloth with sticky pine resin and added it to the other wooden candles he had fashioned. It burst into flame, illuminating the blocks of ice he had hollowed out to hold the display. “They are not the most elegant tapers, and my skills as a sculptor leave something to be desired, but—”
“They are beautiful,” she whispered. “Simply beautiful.”
“Come, let us make the last few ones together.”
Anna sat down on the blanket and took up a remnant of cloth. “How did you ever manage the Yule log?” she asked.
“With the help of the horses. I rigged a length of the reins as a crude sling.”
“You. . .” A shower of sparks shot up as she lit her candle from one of his. “You have worked miracles, Nicholas.”
“Abracadabra!” Making a wry face, he waved a branch at the burning log. “Now if only I could make a Christmas goose appear for a holiday repast.”
The fluttering in her stomach had nothing to do with hunger. Not for fowl. Or fish, for that matter.
Lud, she could feast on his smile alone and never feel an emptiness inside her again.
“I fear it will be the same sorry supper of bread and cheese—save for one small treat.” With a flourish, he produced a tin of tea from his coat pocket. “I found this in my valise. In my haste to take leave of my friends, I forgot to leave behind the special blend of Oolong that William requested from Town.”
“Any more magic up your sleeve?”
He made a show of looking up his cuffs. “I’m afraid that’s all for now. I shall just kindle a very ordinary fire for cooking, and use our tin cup for boiling water.”
As he stacked some branches and struck a flint to tinder, Anna began to rummage in her reticule. “Ha!” she exclaimed a moment later, extracting several mashed pieces of gingerbread. “I, too, have been carrying around some forgotten treasures.”
A second plunge brought up a handful of honey drops wrapped in brightly colored paper.
His brows rose. “I have always wondered what ladies carry in those things. Aside from vinaigrette, of course.”
“A great many useful things, as you can see, replied Anna. “Like. . . a spoon. . . a coil of twine. . . a pair of scissors. . .” She laughed as she added a tiny tin trumpet to the growing pile. “Oh, I had quite forgotten about that.”
“Good Lord, what else do you have in there?” Nicholas shook his head in admiration. “A regiment of hussars? We could arm them with shovels instead of sabers and be out of here in a trice.”
Turning the reticule upside down, Anna gave it a shake. “No soldiers,” she announced, as a last jumble of items spilled from its depth. “Would a bear do?” The wooden toy was painted a whimsical blue, with spots of scarlet for the eyes and nose.
“One of its legs is broken,” he pointed out.
“Yes.” Anna picked up a bit of engraved silver that had fallen to the ground with the bear. “So is the ring on this watch fob. Still, it is a very pretty design.” She hesitated, then reached for his hand and placed both the bear and the fob in his palm. “It’s a rather hodgepodge assortment of presents, but it’s the spirit that counts. Merry Christmas, Nicholas.”
His fingers closed around her offerings. “Thank you,” he said softly. The candlelight reflecting off his whiskered jaw seemed to ignite a thousand sparks of fire. “Your gifts, and your spirit, are quite special.”
Anna suddenly felt hot all over. “They are just. . . flights of fancy.” To hide her burning longing to press her cheek to his, she ducked away and began refilling her reticule. “Surely gentlemen must collect lots of serendipitous things during the course of their travels.”
Nicholas cocked his head to one side, setting off another flare of fire. “I never really thought about it. Let us see.” Fetching the leather document case from his valise, he emptied it on the blanket. Along with a flutter of papers, out fell a filigree penknife, a small book whose marbled cover had seen better days and a Spanish gold coin.
“This is from a tiny artisan’s shop in Lisbon,” he mused, fingering the silver blade of the knife. “And the coin—well, after escaping the French patrol, I considered it a lucky charm.”
“And the book?” she asked.
“Dante’s sonnets. Italian is a lovely language.” He opened it and angled the page to the fire. “Here, I shall read one aloud.”
The words were like warm honey. Anna closed her eyes, savoring the sweetness of his voice.
“How beautiful,” she whispered, when he was done.
A rustle of wool, and suddenly the book was in her lap, along with the knife and the coin.
“Merry Christmas, Anna,” said Nicolas softly.
Her lashes flew open. “Oh, I couldn’t—”
“The gift of friendship is what Christmas is all about.” His fingers twined with hers. “As is sharing. And caring.”
“And wishing good will to all men,” she added.
He chuckled. “A sentiment you did not hold dear when first we met. With good reason I might add. Though I hope we are now. . . friends.”
“I-I have come to think of you as that,” said Anna.
Nicholas snuggled her a bit closer. “I have read you poetry, now won’t you sing me one of the carols your mother played on this eve?”
Shrew drew in a deep breath. “S-Silent night, holy night. . .” At first the words were hardly more than a zephyr of breath, but they grew stronger as he added a bass note to her clear soprano.
“I should like to hear one in Russian,” he encouraged, when they had finished.
“Now it is your turn,” she said, once the lilting melody died away.
“Hmmm.” He rubbed at his chin. “How about God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen in Dutch?”
When Anna was done giggling at his off-key rendition, she had her own exotic suggestion. “Would you care to hear Good King Wenceslas in Polish?”
The winter night was long, but the hours passed quickly as they filled them with songs in a gaggle of other languages. Shared laughter filled the gaps of missing words or melodies. Anna did not quite realize how quickly until Nicholas pulled out his pocket watch and thumbed open its case.
“Good Lord, it is a few minutes past midnight! This calls for a holiday toast.” He found the flask of brandy in his bag and passed it to her with a wink. “We must keep the body as well as the spirit warm.”
Anna did not need strong drink to feel a delicious heat curl down to her toes. Still, she took a small swallow. And shivered as fire filled her mouth.
Would a kiss from Nicholas taste. . .
Handing it back, she scrabbled to her feet. “Let us go outside for a moment. I-I should like to see if I can spot the Christmas star.”
Overhead, the sky was a canopy of black velvet alight with the infinite sparkle of hope. “I wished on a star the night of the storm,” she said, as Nicholas came up behind her.
“Make another wish,” he murmured.
She bit at her lip. It was cold. “You aren’t supposed to say such dreams aloud. Else they won’t come true.”
He nodded solemnly. “Then how about this—let us both make a wish, and keep it secret.”
Silence stretched for several moments. Drawing in a deep breath, Anna spun around and kissed his cheek. “May all your wishes come true, Nicholas,” she whispered, then turned and hurried back to the abbey.
But not before slanting a last, longing look at a certain point of light that seemed to twinkle just a bit brighter than all the others.
Anna awoke to early morning sunlight filtering in through the crumbling stone. She smiled as its pale warmth suffused her face, recalling a memorable night.
“Good morning, Nicholas. Now we can truly say Merry Christmas,” she called softly.
Hearing no answer, she rubbed the sleep from
her eyes and turned to the fire. The coals, rekindled at some point during the night, crackled with a cheery red glow, but the rumpled blanket where he had slept looked stone cold.
Perhaps he had gone to fetch more water, or forage for food. . .
The sheet of foolscap, stark as snow against her folded cloak, told her otherwise. Her name was scrawled in the same leaden hue that had recently darkened the skies, and she had no doubt the words inside would weigh just as heavily on her heart. She knew, of course, what they would say.
Nicholas was gone.
Drawing the blanket around her shoulders and coaxing the last of the firewood into flames did nothing to ward off the chill seeping into her bones.
Dear Anna, it began. The lettering was smudged and looked to have been written in a hurry. I am truly sorry that you will awake to find yourself alone on Christmas morning. I should like to have shared one last carol and. . . He appeared to have crossed out a word or two. However, having spent most of the night mulling over the situation, it became clear that I must be gone before anyone sees us together. As soon as I reach an inn, I shall see to it that a rescue party is sent. Stick to the following story, and I am confident you will weather any threat to your reputation. Your servants will support whatever account you give, so there is no worry there. . .
She slowly read over the advice, which detailed how she was to tell everyone, including her uncle, a carefully edited version of the truth.
Say only this, advised Nicholas. You tried to beat the storm, but the coach suffered a mishap and the storm caught up to you. Your driver went for help, leaving you stranded in the wilds. The snow forced you to take refuge in the abbey ruins, where you decided to wait for the weather to clear and a search party to find you. No one, not the highest stickler or the strictest guardian, will find fault with such actions.
Anna looked up. Not if she remembered to never, ever make mention of a gentleman companion. Skimming the last few lines, she looked for the ending.
Your friend, N.
A dear friend indeed, she thought, blinking back the pearls of moisture clinging to her lashes. If she had been thinking clearly, she would have realized long before now that the solution he had come up with was the only way to avoid a terrible scandal. But her reason had been clouded by more than a passing snowstorm.
She knew she ought to be very grateful for his unassailable logic and his practical skill at putting a plan into action. And yet a small part of her could not help but regret that he had moved with quite such a show of efficiency. A tiny voice in the back of her head echoed the disappointment, whispering that there had, in fact, been one other alternative to his sudden departure.
But seeing as he had not proposed it, there was no point in dwelling on what might have been. . .
It would only make the future harder to bear.
No, Nicholas was right—it was best that the parting be swift and sure.
Her fingers closed around the small gold coin in her pocket. She would treasure the memory of this Christmas, and the coin’s burnished hue would always be a special reminder of a certain blond gentleman. For a glimmering interlude, they had warded off the bleakness of winter with shared friendship.
How could anyone wish for a better gift than that?
Anna smiled through her tears, hoping that he taken away with him something more meaningful than a chipped wooden bear and a broken watch fob. She wanted very much to believe they did not lie discarded by the roadside, along with all thoughts of the time they had spent together.
However, the truth was, she knew so little about his personal life. For all she knew, he had a fiancée waiting to welcome him back to Town.
Or a chere amie.
Before her spirits could sink any lower, a shout from the distance recalled her to the present.
“Lady Anna!” Her coachman’s familiar voice. True to his word, Nicholas had wasted no time.
“Yes—I am here,” she answered. Gathering up her things, she stood and began to stamp out the last flickering of the fire.
Nicholas sent the coachman to fetch the horses, so he would have a chance to speak to Anna alone. As he slipped through the entrance to the abbey, he noted that the letter was still in her hand.
“There’s been a slight change in plans—I hope you don’t mind.” He could feel that his smile was slightly lopsided. So were his nerves. The beating of his heart had knocked them all to flinders. “I found I could not bear the idea of leaving you alone on Christmas.” His feet shuffled in the snow. “Or on any day, for that matter. That is to say, the idea of a future with you. . . and me. . . together. . .”
He cleared his throat. “Dash it all, for a diplomat supposedly skilled in the nuances of language, I am making a real hash of this.”
Anna let out her breath. “I think you are doing just fine.” She smiled “Please go on.”
Encouraged, he pulled her into his arms. “Then I shall stop beating around the bush. I love you, Anna. More dearly than words can ever express.” He feathered a gossamer kiss to her brow, her cheek, and then possessed her moth in a far more through one.
It was several minutes before he spoke again. “Will you marry me, sweeting? You have hinted that your guardian has other plans for you. And as a matter of fact, my father wishes for me to— well, never mind. It doesn’t matter now.” His arms tightened around her. “To the Devil with the expectations of others. We have been given a great gift in finding each other, one too precious to let be taken from our grasp.”
Tears, like ice jewels, sparkled on her cheek. “I love you, Nicholas. I wish with all my heart to be your wife.” Her chin took on the defiant little tilt he had come to adore. “And if my guardian seeks to make an international incident—”
“Leave the negotiations to me, my dear, said Nicholas firmly. “I will take care that our two countries do not come to blows.”
Chapter 6
“You are late.”
“Yes, well, I ran into a spot of difficulty.” Biting back a more acid comment to his father, Nicholas settled for a retort that was only mildly sarcastic. “Next time you wish to summon me during the depths of December, kindly negotiate a truce with the weather gods so they don’t interfere with your plans.”
“Hmmph.” Without looking up, the Earl of Royster opened another portfolio and fanned the contents across his blotter. “Was that, perchance, meant as a criticism?”
“With all due respect, sir. . .”
His father shuffled a sheaf of documents into order.
“Yes,” replied Nicholas loudly. “It bloody well was.”
The earl put down his pen. And let out a chuckle. “That was not the most diplomatic of replies.”
“I was not speaking as a diplomat.” Nicholas did, however, moderate his tone to something less than a shout. “Sir.”
Leaning back in his chair, Royster quirked a silvery brow and fixed his son with The Stare. It was a look the earl had perfected over the years, using it with ruthless regularity to reduce friend and foe alike to quaking in their boots.
Unmoved for once, Nicholas simply stared back.
“Well, well, well. It appears you have a bit of fire in your belly after all.” Steepling his fingers, the earl tapped them against his chin. “I was beginning to wonder whether there was any sort of spark there, or merely a lump of ice.”
“I was under the impression that you considered cold reason to be the cornerstone of duty and diplomacy.”
“So I do.” The corners of his father’s mouth twitched ever so slightly. “But that is not to say one must always be a Stoic. There is nothing wrong with showing a bit of passion from time to time.”
“I am very glad to hear you say so sir.” Like his Christmas journey, the conversation was taking all sorts of unexpected twists and turns, but Nicholas refused to be sidetracked. “For that surely means you can have no objection to my telling you I’ve decided not to pay court to some stranger.”
The humor disappeared from Royster’s f
ace. “Now, now, there is no reason to be hasty.”
“I’ve had a rather prolonged interlude in which to give your request careful thought,” replied Nicholas. “And the answer is, I won’t do it.”
“If we discuss this in a calm and rational manner,” replied his father. “I’m sure we can come to an acceptable compromise.”
“You may as well save your breath, Father. I can’t imagine any argument that could change my mind.” Nicholas angled his gaze to the portrait over the mantel. Lud, did all Wrenfax men look so imperious? “You see, I have made other plans.”
The earl’s brows angled higher and The Stare took on a more pronounced squint. “The count will be deeply disappointed if I tell him you won’t attend the ball he’s giving in the young lady’s honor. Indeed, he might take it as an insult, not only to his family, but to Mother Russia.”
“Russia?” Nicholas jerked his head around.
“A very large chunk of frozen tundra to our east, populated with bears, beards and boyars,” came the dry reply. “Need I remind you that the alliance is of strategic importance to our country?”
“No, I am fully aware of how much is at stake. But the truth is—’
He was saved from having to explain himself by a muffled roar from just outside the library.
“Step aside, lest you wish your spindly shanks to be fed to the wolves! I tell you, the earl will see me, regardless of the hour.”
The family butler, who did have rather reedy legs, had a hunted look on his face as he opened the door a crack. “Milord, I tried to tell the, er, gentleman, that you could not be interrupted, but he wouldn’t take no for an answer.”
“Nyet indeed!” thundered the intruder.
“It is quite alright, Belmont, your limbs are safe from snapping jaws for the time being,” said Royster. “You may allow the count to come in.”
The butler pressed his frail shoulders against the paneled oak to avoid being flattened by the onrushing figure.
With his greatcoat skirling around his high-top boots and the capes flapping like raucous ravens around his broad shoulders the count appeared even larger than he really was.
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