"Did he tell you it was my idea? He said you were too good for that sort of thing. Obviously, he was wrong if you have moved in." Andrew stepped close enough that Bethany could smell the brandy on his breath. "You must be good in bed. I have not seen Blake at our usual haunts for days."
The knot in her stomach grew as she retreated. "Is that why you came? To brag about conquests?" A part of her was relieved Blake had been against the arrangement from the start, but it still did not erase the fact that he had asked and she had accepted.
"No." Andrew ran a hand through a swath of hair the color of dirty dishwater. "I meant to see Blake and force him come out with me tonight to the club. Seeing you, I doubt gambling on cards would tear him away from what you offer. He is one lucky bastard."
Her chest tightened with the implication. "Get out. I have told you Blake is not here. Common decency demands you to leave."
He snorted and advanced upon her. "True, but then there is nothing decent about your presence here, is there?" He closed the distance with more speed than grace and clapped a hand around her arm. "I think you should amuse me while I wait. After all, you have already been paid for the week. It should not matter whom you service. Sex is sex to someone in your line of work."
"Let me go." Hot anger overrode her fear. She looked into his face, saw his bloodshot eyes and slack jaw. Spots of mottled color painted his face, a sure sign he spent the last hours drinking. "Get out of this house." Wrenching out of his grasp, she fled in the direction of the fireplace, realizing too late she was trapped.
Andrew followed and shoved her against the stone hearth. "I think not." He thrust his face forward as he angled for a kiss. "Blake can share his new toy with me. After all, isn't that what the season is all about?"
"You slander the sanctity of the holiday." Bethany reached into a basket to her right and closed her fingers around the poker handle, bringing it up with swift, efficient movements. She smiled when it connected with the soft flesh between his legs. "I did warn you."
"Damn you." Andrew gripped his abused member with one hand and reached for her with the other. "I never knew Blake liked it rough." His eyes watered, but the malady didn't seem to deter him from his mission or cloud his intent. He surged forward.
"Once I start screaming, the woman next door will hear. Trust me when I say you do not want to make her angry." She attempted to edge past him while holding the poker across her chest like a sword. "I will not ask you to remove yourself again. The next time I attack, I will not use such a light touch."
Andrew stumbled a bit. Bethany swung the poker. He grinned. "In this fight, I will win. After all, it will be my word over yours and the law does not treat women like you kindly." He advanced. "Face it. The streets are full of your kind for a reason. You're not fit for general society because no one enjoys being reminded of the baser side of their personalities."
Bethany had no choice but to retreat until her rear end connected with the wingback chair. Although her mouth opened and closed, she could utter no words so great was her rage and indignation.
"And the best part? No one will believe you." He loomed over her with an expression of anticipation. "Now, give me a kiss."
The door slammed against the wall.
"What the hell is going on in here?"
Bethany's gaze flew to the entryway. A wave of relief swept through her to see Blake standing there like an avenging angel with dark, unreadable eyes and the fiercest frown she'd ever seen. "Thank God you are here."
"Yes, thank God. She threw herself at me, saying we had to hurry before you returned." Andrew sprang away as if she were on fire. "A real spirited woman you have, Blake. No wonder you've been scarce about town. If she warmed my bed, I'd disappear, too."
John and Sarah filed into the room. Peppermint sticks hung out of each mouth and their eyes were wide as they looked at the adults.
"Mr. Wenchal, why is that man in our house?" Distrust filled Sarah's voice. "I do not like him."
"At the moment, Sarah, I do not like him either."
"How come Aunt Bethany's holding that stick? Is she going to use it?" John still held tight to Blake's hand.
"I think, young one, she already did, without the desired results. She should have used it on his thick skull. Repeatedly."
The sound of Blake's voice and his approval of her actions unfroze her enough that she let the poker fall to the floor. Tears blurred her vision as she moved toward him. She craved his touch, the comfort he'd give. "That man forced his way in and refused to leave when I asked." She swallowed when some of the fear crept back into her throat as she realized what could have happened had Blake not arrived. "He wanted to … he said he would—"
"I understand." A thunderous expression crossed Blake's face yet he was gentle when he extracted himself from John. "Bethany, take the children upstairs and get them ready for bed."
"But they have not eaten dinner—"
"Do not argue, damn it. You and the children need to stay upstairs until I tell you otherwise. I would like a word with my friend." He removed his gloves then threw them in the direction of a table in the entryway, seemingly oblivious when they fell to the floor.
She glanced from Blake to Andrew's leering face. The raw anger snapping in Blake's dark eyes terrified her more than anything Andrew had attempted to do. She wondered if he was upset with his friend or with her.
Ultimately, it did not matter, she supposed as she gathered the children to her side. He would either accept her story or turn her out. Fate had already decided.
Again, she wished desperately for a miracle and silenced Sarah's protest with a stern look.
"Hurry. If you get settled into bed, I will tell you a story."
"The one about the Christmas elf?" John wanted to know.
"If you would like." She only hoped the tale would soothe her frazzled emotions as well.
* * * *
Blake had never experienced the level of fury that he felt now. The day of his banishment from the Northern Realms, he was angry, but that event couldn't compare to the white hot rage churning in his gut while he waited until he and Andrew were alone.
He'd known something was wrong when he and the children arrived home to find the door half open. Hearing Andrew's voice and listening as he threatened Bethany had washed away most of his self-control. His ears tingled. He curled his hands into fists as a hundred ancient curses hurtled through his mind.
He'd kept himself in check for the sake of the children, but only just.
The chill brought a bit of sanity to his brain. Leaving the door open, Blake advanced into the room. "What are you doing here, Andrew?" He shrugged out of his overcoat then draped it on the back of the sofa. "To me, it appeared you were propositioning Miss Cundiff, and if that is the case, I will have no choice but to defend her honor. Hell, I'll do it anyway for no other reason than the satisfaction."
Andrew's brows rose. "Putting yourself out for a whore? There is no honor in that."
"Miss Cundiff's function in society is none of your concern." Blake refused to sully Bethany's name any longer with Andrew. He had no right to know that not only was she not a prostitute, but she was also a virgin. And he'd be damned if he would explain why she was in this house.
Those facts were too intimate and personal and they belonged exclusively to him.
"You have changed, Blake, and that means trouble." Andrew retrieved his hat and jammed it on his head. "This bird has addled your brain, made you soft. I mean, she brought kids with her! If you offer for her, you will be saddled with her brats and who knows how many more she will manage to pop out before you tire of her."
"I never knew you were that big of a bastard." It was the only warning he gave as he vaulted across the floor. His fist connected with Andrew's jaw before he could think twice about the action. His friend stumbled, and Blake flexed his fingers, ignoring the pain. "Get out of this house unless you want more of the same."
"So, you would destroy your life for a destitute, de
sperate woman?" Andrew rubbed his jaw. "She's poor, is she not? I guess if it were me in that situation, I would do the same for a chance at her body. Make her earn her keep."
The gall of the man! Blake threw another punch, but Andrew blocked it. Undeterred, he tried again, grunting with satisfaction when this one connected with the bigger man's nose and drew blood. "So help me, I will beat you senseless and be happy about it. You will never understand what makes Bethany special; what sets her apart from the women you attract." He caught sight of the abandoned fire poker and gave serious thought to using it.
Andrew held up a hand. "I will concede defeat on the issue." He straightened his lapels and wiped his nose with a sleeve. "You, my friend, have fallen under her spell. I hope you can live with the consequences after you finish with her." He stormed to the doorway. "When your common sense returns, come find me at the club. I might forgive you."
"That will be a cold day in hell." Blake slammed the door after him.
Forgiveness. It was not Andrew's he wanted to seek. He'd done Bethany a great disservice for suggesting the stupid arrangement.
He rubbed a hand over his jaw. When he saw her standing her ground with the poker across her chest, something changed within him. In that moment, he knew he wanted to protect her. He wanted to keep her safe from the bad luck in life, all the ills of the world. Always.
The thought of Andrew's attempted violation nearly drove him out of his mind with jealousy and anger. He made a promise to himself it would never happen again.
Bethany belonged with him. Those kids deserved a father and a stable home.
He wanted to be that man. He needed to protect them all—love them, no matter what obstacles, real or imagined, they may face.
His heart squeezed as if by invisible hands. That scenario would not happen as long as she stubbornly planned to flee after Christmas. There was no need. Couldn't she see staying with him was the best thing for them all?
Was it, or did he still merely desire her in his bed? Once the deed was done, would he feel the same as he did right at this moment? Was it a reaction to the situation, a misplaced sense of long-dead chivalry?
Not having the answers to his suddenly complicated life, he moved to the staircase. Muffled voices drifted down to him as Bethany told the children a bedtime story. His heart constricted again. The last few days had been unlike anything he'd experienced and he wasn't ready to return to his previous empty lifestyle.
Now he knew exactly what the Royal Court wanted him to learn.
Compassion. Charity. Love.
With a sigh, he continued down the hall and into his workshop. There was much to accomplish before Christmas and he was behind as it was.
Much later that night, Blake stumbled from his secret den, exhausted but happy. Half of the toys were painted. The other half he could do tomorrow and he had constructed a special gift for Bethany. It would be the start of many, if things went well this evening. First, he needed to talk with her. Make her understand his position. With his eyes blurry from the detail-oriented work, he almost crashed into the object of his musings as she darted from the kitchen.
His arms went automatically around her and it was then that he noticed her nighttime attire. Instead of the heavy fabrics for daytime, a white nightgown covered her frame from ankle to wrist to neck. It was the single most erotic garment he'd ever seen for the fact he could feel the warmth of her skin beneath the thin cotton and imagine what her curves looked like.
His body reacted when he tightened his arms about her waist. "Bethany, is there an issue above stairs?"
"Oh, no." She stared at his lips before lifting her gaze to his. "The children went to sleep as soon as I tucked them in, regardless of the light supper they ate. I was almost into dreamland before I realized the soup was still on the stove. I sneaked down here to turn it off, hoping I would not disturb you."
"You did not. I have been quite happy in my workshop for the past hours." His breath quickened as he stared into her eyes that sparkled with the same curiosity she always showed. "Come upstairs. It is time we deepened our acquaintance."
The moment the words left his mouth, he felt her mood change. She stiffened in his embrace with a litany of excuses on her lips, but he captured her hand in his and moved up the staircase. During his stint in the workshop, the thought of her in his bed occupied his subconscious and now, he wished for those visions to come to fruition.
Especially after Andrew's stupid stunt.
By the time they reached the second floor, she had ceased struggling. He pulled her into his bedroom and closed the door. "Get into the bed, Bethany. I do not intend to let you go across the hall tonight." Never again, actually. She belonged with him. In his arms, in his bed, in his life. He knew it with a certainty he couldn't explain.
"What if the children—"
"Most likely they are tired from today's activities and will not awaken. Even if they do, you will be able to hear them." Glad for the gloom that hid his shaking hands, Blake moved to the bureau and withdrew a pair of loose-fitting trousers. He'd seen the Indian style of bed wear in a catalog and favored it instead of the popular nightshirt. "Now, into the bed, if you please." He made short work of his clothing and slipped into the trousers.
"Blake?" Her voice seemed small in the darkness. The rustling of the bedclothes indicated she'd followed his instructions.
His arousal pushed against his sleep attire. God, he wanted her. "Yes?" Smoothly, he slid into bed beside her, amused to note she’d pulled the covers up to her chin. Her body heat sent out invisible threads that wrapped around him, urged him closer and he wondered if she were worried about what they were about to indulge in.
"Thank you for rescuing me from Andrew. I very much wanted to smack his head with the fireplace poker, but I could not summon enough courage. When you opened the door, I wanted to cheer."
Her speech took him by surprise and caused pleasant warmth to fill his chest, sweeping all dark emotions before it. "I merely did what any gentleman would do in my place." He reached out then pulled her to him. She smelled of lavender and of an earthier sweetness unique to her.
"No." She relaxed into his embrace. "You have done so much for me, for the children. An ordinary man would have turned me away once he saw them. You did not, and you continue to treat them as individual people. For that I am truly in your debt."
It was the perfect opening for confidences. "Then you are in luck, for I am no ordinary man." The warmth that started in his chest spread throughout his entire body until he felt clean, new, and suddenly, bedding the woman in his arms seemed insignificant in the grand scheme. There was more to relating to the female of the species than on a physical level. With Bethany, there was a connection between them that he had never encountered in an affair before.
The need to nurture it grew strong. He wanted to care for the sensations to see them bloom into something bigger than them both.
"I refuse to recognize your debt. I did it because," he paused, speculating if his next admission would weaken him in her estimation, "because I do not like the thought of anyone else claiming you." It was the truth and he'd leave it at that. Let her draw her own conclusions.
She said nothing. Seconds later, soft sobs interrupted the darkness.
The sound tugged on his heart more than any words could. He dropped feather-weighted kisses on her lips, her cheeks, even the tip of her nose, and pulled her more firmly into his arms. He rested his chin on her head, content for the first time in his life since he was a child.
Content enough to hold a woman without needing sex to make him feel complete. Although, he would claim her body. It was inevitable. They'd been put together and he'd be a fool to deny them both the closeness of a physical relationship.
"Bethany?"
"Mmhmm?" Her voice was heavy with sleep.
"When I said I was not an ordinary man, I meant it. I am an elf who was banished from the Northern Realms for numerous things, but with you, I think I have found everything
I was searching for." The truth, at least part of it, was out.
She uttered a sound of disbelief. "An elf? What a trickster. You have been around John too much."
His stomach sank. More than anything, he needed her to take him seriously. "It is not a lie." He stroked a finger along her cheek that was soft as velvet. "My father is also an elf. My mother is human. This is who I am." He couldn't see her expression in the dark, but he did feel the brush of her breath on his lips. "What can I do to convince you of my sincerity?" Did those long ago shepherds have such issues convincing the townsfolk that a king had been born in a stable?
"Show me something I have never seen."
Suddenly, he wanted to share everything about his life with her, but he needed to start small. With one tiny flick of his wrist, the ceiling was sprinkled with hundreds of glowing white stars as if he'd torn the roof from the house. She sucked in a surprised breath and tucked herself tighter against him.
"Good Lord, you are as magic as John believes. It's incredible." She stirred and pressed a sweet kiss to his chest. "I knew there was something different about you and I wondered why John babbled about you being an elf in his dreams."
"This news does not alarm you?" He resisted the urge to grind his hips against hers to relieve his aching groin. "You are not afraid?"
"No. This is a season of miracles, after all, and I do not believe you would harm any of us. You make toys and deliver them on Christmas Eve. It was not that difficult to believe this next bit. For whatever reason, I feel comfortable with you and I am curious as to why."
Blake's mind reeled. Never had he felt so accepted since he lived among the human race. "I feel the same. Suffice it to say, I would rearrange the galaxy for you if you would consent to stay with me past the holiday."
"Anything can happen on Christmas—even to disenchanted elves."
He lost his heart in that moment; gave it to her on a subconscious level whether she wanted it or not. In this one second in time, he was alive, and he wanted nothing to mar the moment—even if it meant putting off consummating their relationship.
Disenchanted Christmas Page 8
