Why did the boy stare at him?
"Uh, I have a spare bedroom. You and the children are welcome to make use of it, unless you would like to sleep elsewhere?" Although he knew it was most likely impossible, he decided to ask anyway, just in case.
Her look slapped him as effectively as if her hand had connected with his cheek. "I will stay with the children, thank you, and furthermore, I would caution you that any more talk of adult-oriented business needs to be conducted out of their hearing."
"As you wish." Manipulating both carpetbags into his right hand, he wrestled the handle of the trunk from her fingers. Where the hell were her gloves? "Up the stairs. On the right. My room is across the hall if you should have need of me in the night."
"I can assure you we will be fine." Her spine remained stiff and straight as she preceded him on the stairs. The children followed while Blake kept his gaze on the nip of her waist.
"I meant should you encounter an issue with the children. They may wake up in unfamiliar surroundings and cry out." The explanation tripped from his mouth and sounded weak to his ears. He ignored the shock of their arrival in favor of attempting to polish his tarnished reputation.
Oh, if only the court could see him now, taking on an act of charity. They'd probably fall out of their high-backed, gilded chairs from surprise.
"If you would rather, I can arrange to sleep on the sofa downstairs and you can have my room."
She paused outside the guest room door. "This will be sufficient. Thank you again." As if she debated inwardly, a small grin lifted the corners of her mouth. "We will discuss the rest as soon as the children are settled."
Before he could say more, the boy turned and stuck out a chubby hand. "I am John Andrew Landress. Who are you?"
What to tell him?
"My name is Blake Wenchal." He met the bright blue gaze, hoping he didn't reveal too much. "Pleased to make your acquaintance." On impulse, he offered his hand and an unaccustomed thrill lanced through him when the boy solemnly shook it.
John wrinkled his nose. "You smell funny." He rubbed a finger over that appendage. "You smell like Christmas."
His heart slammed into his ribcage. "Interesting." What else would the boy say? Did he know what Blake was?
"Aunt Bethany says I am the man of the house." He blinked and his blue eyes, much like his aunt's, were serious. "Now that we are here, will I be the man of this house, too?"
Blake let loose a relieved sigh. His lips tilted up from the effort of not laughing outright, but he shook the offered hand again. He didn't want to harm the boy's ego as so many adults had done to him in his youth. "Let me think. This is my house; however, I could very well use another man about the place. We men need to stick together, especially around the womenfolk."
"Excellent." John beckoned him closer. When he dropped the bags and knelt down to the boy's eye level, John said, "Aunt Bethany likes to hug too much. I will share mine with you."
This time, Blake's laughter broke free. He patted the top of the boy's stocking cap-covered head. "I did not enjoy my aunt's hugging when I was your age either." Standing, he focused his attention on the girl, Sarah. "I am not a very good cook. However, I do have a housekeeper that comes twice a week. If you have a favorite food, please tell me and I will make sure she creates it for you."
A blush stole across the girl's pale cheeks and she pressed herself close against her aunt's side. "Thank you."
"Yes, thank you." The look of gratitude that crossed Bethany's face caused a wash of warmth to flow through him. "Let me tuck them in then perhaps I will join you for a cup of tea?"
"Certainly. Good luck." He deposited their luggage just inside the doorway. As he opened his mouth to say more, Bethany firmly closed the door in his face.
Out of his element and in too deep to do anything about it at the moment, Blake went downstairs to warm water. The boy had an inkling about him and that wasn't a good thing. It was critical he remain hidden amidst society and not attract undue attention.
Part of the sentence handed down by the Royal Court echoed through his brain. Until you can find the true meaning of what it is to love and find that in return, your kin will no longer acknowledge you. Do good work and deeds. Only when your heart is open and laid bare can you truly believe.
Believe in what? Love or something more? He snorted. Love was nothing more than made up fluff for fairy stories and nostalgic literature. He rolled his eyes. Or his father's people.
By the time the kettle chirped, his houseguest had joined him, but his thoughts remained jumbled. His hand shook as he measured tea into the teapot then poured the hot water over it. "Miss Cundiff. I am surprised to see you this evening."
"Forgive me if I do not wish to waste time with pleasantries. It has been a trying day and one I would prefer to forget." She accepted the cup and saucer he handed her. "I meant what I said. I am accepting your offer and in exchange, you agree to give the children and myself a home for the holidays. In my estimation, if I give you what you want, then you must do the same for me."
Twice in the same evening, he found himself speechless, and not only just from her words. She'd removed her coat and bonnet. Sure enough, she wore the same black dress he'd seen while in the dining room, but her eyes drew his attention. Deep sadness and more than a little resignation clouded them, obliterating any spark of joy she might have shown. That troubled him. No one deserved to be so melancholy during the holidays.
Including him.
"Miss Cundiff, this situation is highly irregular. I cannot see how any of it will work. When I made you the offer, I had no idea there would be children involved." He took a sip of tea and swallowed, regardless of the scalding wave that burned his throat.
"If you want me, you have to accept the children as well." Her voice caught and for a brief moment, he thought she'd cry, but then she pulled herself together and pinned him with a steely-eyed glance. "Once more, anything that transpires between us should not happen in front of them."
"I agree." After another painful gulp of tea, he asked, "Why did you bring them with you? Do they not have parents?"
"No." Her hand shook so badly that she set the cup in the saucer with a rattle. "The children will be fine as long as I remain with them." She visibly swallowed. "Should I wait for you in your bedroom or did you want to do … this somewhere else?"
Guilt churned his stomach and nearly rejected the tea. If she thought he could perform on command with the children across the hall, she could think again. "Uh, perhaps for the time being we should leave that part of our arrangement alone. It is best to make sure the children feel comfortable before indulging in physical pleasures." He retreated to the opposite side of the small kitchen.
If he remained in her presence any longer, his heightened emotions would make his ears return to their normal shape. "Consider my home yours for the duration of your stay. Goodnight, Miss Cundiff."
The relief in her eyes was unmistakable. "Goodnight, Mr. Wenchal."
Blake ran. Fleeing up the stairs and behind his closed bedroom door, he heaved a sigh. Suddenly, the holidays had become much more complicated than if he'd gone home to New York.
Chapter Three
Bethany awoke with a start. Something was very wrong. Sitting up, she glanced around the unfamiliar room. Blue and grey striped paper lined the walls and heavy slate-colored drapes were drawn over the window. The bedclothes reflected the same color-scheme in rich, soft fabrics.
In a rush, events from the night before clamored for her attention.
The children!
Another glance didn't reveal their presence. Panic gripped her insides. She threw back the covers and jumped from the warm bed. Where were they? Did he take them? How could she have entrusted her children to a stranger? Her hands shook while she struggled into a robe. She yanked the door open and rushed down the stairs. The coolness of the wood seeped into the soles of her bare feet. She shivered as she crept to the kitchen doorway.
John and Sarah sat
at the wooden table, one on each side of Blake with a plate of toast in front of them. A jar of orange marmalade lay on its side and a teaspoon with the same sticky substance rested on the floor.
"Mr. Wenchal, what will we do while you are at work? Aunt Bethany will go to her job, too." Anxiety riddled John's little voice and tugged at Bethany's heart.
Blake lowered a corner of his newspaper to regard the boy from over the tops of gold-rimmed spectacles. "Well, I had not given the matter any thought."
For a few seconds, John squirmed in his chair then said, "What kind of job do you have?"
"A very boring one, I am afraid."
John folded a slice of toast. "Do you know about Santa, Mr. Wenchal, or the elves? Is it magical where they live?"
A pregnant silence loomed over the kitchen. "Yes, John, I know about Santa and the elves, but trust me when I tell you it is not the happy-go-lucky place you dream about. Why are you so interested in them?"
"I would like to meet one someday." The little boy nodded, apparently satisfied with his answer. "I think elves are lonely, don't you?"
Panic sprang into Blake’s expression. "You are not far from the truth." He turned to Sarah. "I assume you go to school, yes?"
"Yes, sir." Sarah licked marmalade from a finger. "My teacher is very nice, but I do not like the boys in my class. They pull my hair and tease me."
"That means they think you are pretty and want to be friends." Blake folded the paper and tucked it next to his plate then removed his spectacles and placed them on top of the paper. "Do not let them get too chummy. A smart girl like you can have your pick of the boys several years from now."
Bethany's snort of laughter gave her position away. Three pairs of eyes turned to look at her. "Good morning. Children, go wash your faces and dress for the day. I will be up in a few minutes to help. I need to speak with Mr. Wenchal privately."
John and Sarah exchanged unreadable glances and silently left the table. Once their footfalls on the stairs died, Bethany began tidying the breakfast detritus. "How did you convince them to sit quietly and actually talk to you, a stranger? Most of the time, they are sullen and quiet during the morning meal, even to me."
"Children are naturally curious. I think the key is to ignore them until they cannot stand it, which is what I did. I came down, had a cup of tea and settled into my paper, the same as I do every morning. I heard them arrive, felt them stare at me from the doorway." His brown eyes twinkled with remembrance. "When I kept my attention on the paper, they crept in and sat down. The next thing I knew, John peppered me with questions on a vast array of topics while Sarah, who is very ladylike, made us all toast."
Where did he learn so much about children in general? "We must be in the way here, keeping you from enjoying your routine."
"Nonsense. I find I rather enjoy talking with them."
She deposited the china in the sink and turned to regard him. "Today is my day off. I will endeavor to seek out another place."
"Do you find my residence not to your liking?" He quirked a dark eyebrow. "Or is it our arrangement you take exception to?"
As her cheeks flamed, she sank into a chair. "How can I not?" She met his gaze and resisted the urge to continue to stare. His jaw line alone made her fingers itch to explore. It hinted at a stubbornness she'd not yet seen. "I accepted because I am desperate. That is the truth. My landlady evicted me. I need the money to find another place to live and for day-to-day necessities."
"I can understand that."
His compassion took her by surprise. "The children deserve a real Christmas—" She sucked in a breath, blowing it out in a whoosh when she caught a hint of a smile on his face. "Am I amusing you?"
"No, but I am rather annoyed I am not a wordsmith. If ever a situation demanded to be written about, it is yours."
What an odd response. "If you will excuse me, I need to tend to John and Sarah. They have a habit of dawdling."
"They are children; it is their nature."
She rose with as much dignity as she could muster. "We will not spend another night under your roof, Mr. Wenchal." No matter that she was angry with him for his silent amusement, she caught herself admiring how nicely his brown hair lay about his head in stylish waves. He'd insulted her by asking her to be his mistress and now he laughed at her dire situation.
No more.
No longer would she be the scapegoat for every piece of bad luck. No more would she do things because people in higher positions of society could make her. She swallowed and rose from her chair. "Good day, Mr. Wenchal."
"Wait." He scrambled to his feet. "I apologize for my treatment of you and your character. I truly meant nothing derogatory." His lips pushed into a frown and his eyes reflected contriteness. "The holidays can be trying for everyone but especially so for those of us who have no one to spend it with. Please consider staying."
"What of our earlier arrangement?" Her stomach clenched with indecision. The thought of the generous sum of money slipping out of her grasp due to her stubborn pride almost made her physically ill. She'd never be able to save enough from her salary to put a deposit down on another place, let alone afford everything else a small family needed.
She would not remember how her head spun when he first kissed her or that strange sense of connection she'd felt at his touch.
Merely a temporary reaction, nothing more.
"Does the money mean that much to you?"
"Perhaps, but if you think the price too high, I would gladly give you what you require for less, as long as I can provide a happy Christmas for John and Sarah." She bit her lip when an expression of annoyance crossed his face. "They are young yet. Let me give them something they can look fondly back on."
"What of a Christmas for you, Miss Cundiff? Do you not desire something special?" He closed the distance between them. Putting a finger under her chin, he forced her to hold his gaze. "Christmas can be a very intimate time if you will let it."
She was so close she could see gold flecks in the brown depths of his eyes and smell his scent, a combination of wood smoke and apples. Flutters filled her stomach. It didn't matter what she wanted in life. Her needs were not as important as those of her little family. "You and I have a business arrangement, that is all. I am prepared to do what is required of me. By Christmas, I expect to be paid for that service. No more. No less."
"I see." Abruptly, he dropped his hand. Hurt crept in to banish the interest that had previously animated his face. "Then by all means, we should begin our partnership as soon as possible." The light in his eyes faded. "Good day, Miss Cundiff."
Bethany watched as he strode from the kitchen. Seconds later she heard the front door slam with enough force that stemware in the cupboard rattled. Her eyes welled with tears from something she didn't understand. A part of her died. Whatever else he thought she was, now she'd practically proclaimed to him that she was that sort of woman.
She'd gotten everything she wanted and the money was secure. They'd be able to find lodging for at least six months. Surely, after that her life would experience a turnaround.
Sucking in a shaky breath, she let it ease out between her teeth. So why then did she feel like she'd lost something precious? Impatiently wiping at the few tears that wet her cheeks, she trudged up the stairs, hoping the children wouldn't ask questions she didn't have answers to.
* * * *
Blake shoved his hands in the pockets of his trousers and stared at his house that evening—the place he'd had to purchase after his banishment. Nothing would compare to his former home in the Northern Realm and part of him missed it. As much as he'd tried to concentrate on work, all afternoon his mind wandered between his former glory days as one of the highest ranking elves the Realm had turned out, his new houseguests and Bethany specifically.
He gladly gave all his attention to her.
The arrangement stemmed from a joke, a dare between him and Andrew, but somehow after he'd kissed her in the alley, felt the connection and her reaction
, he craved the warmth and security of holidays past. Those days spent in the Northern Realm had been filled with wonder until he'd lost that long remembered joy.
Now, he wanted companionship. He wished for a piece of the happiness he used to know.
The fact that she stuck to the basis of their arrangement irritated him. Obviously, she wasn't a prostitute. She was merely a woman down on her luck and when he'd offered her the money, no doubt she saw it as a quick fix solution to a bigger problem.
Yet she was still willing to give him her body in exchange for salvation. That simple act of self-sacrifice gave him pause.
Not that the offer wasn't tempting. He remembered how her curves fit as he held her in his arms and the softness of her lips under his. Blake growled and directed a frown at the bay window. What the hell had possessed him to make that offer? He'd never paid a woman for sex and he didn't intend to start now. Somehow, Bethany's attitude annoyed him. Even when he gave her the opportunity to remain without stripping away her morals, she'd clung to the money as if it were the one thing that mattered. Not only that, but she still determined to go ahead and sleep with him as payment.
He had a feeling she'd be the type of woman to never let a man forget something like that. A martyr with enough righteous indignation to melt the winter snow.
Bah! Who needed such a headache? It drove home how exactly skewed the holiday season had become. Everyone had an ulterior motive. She was no exception.
But damn, she was attractive. Her independent spirit fascinated him. She did what needed to be done and wouldn't quit until she saw the problem solved.
Incredible.
He wished he had a tenth of her courage. Maybe then his own life wouldn't seem so pointless.
The need to see her blond hair hanging free would haunt him for days. Why couldn't she want him for him and not his money? When the day came to bed her, would he have enough bravery to reveal his secret to her and if he did, how would she react?
Disenchanted Christmas Page 3
