Deciding to roam the house in a state of extreme undress, Sarah slipped on her fine flannel dressing gown of the softest wool and braided her hair into one plait. Then donning her slippers, she went to her trunk and lifted the lid of a small, hidden compartment to retrieve the broach belonging to Lady Burtram, who was at Forde Hall with her husband. Studded with sapphires, it was a gorgeous piece, which perfectly matched both Sarah and Julia’s eyes, although that wasn’t the reason her sister had taken it.
Sighing, she opened her door in the unmarried women’s section of the wing. Luckily, married couples were staying there, too, with only the single gentlemen being in another wing on the other side of the second-floor landing. For a moment she wondered why there wasn’t an ace of spades section for widows, as surely, most were more promiscuous and active than the never-married single women with whom she’d been situated. She supposed such a situation would have been practically an invitation for widowed women to invite the single men back to their rooms.
After glancing in both directions, she began a silent journey along the wide and chilly hallway. This return would engender more courage and cunning than the last one, as she intended to go into Lord and Lady’s Burtram’s private rooms. She knew they’d been given a larger suite of rooms as the lady’s husband often had dizzy spells and needed to sit quietly away from the public at various times during the day.
Sarah had followed them after the last round of parlor games and noted their two doors. Now, with her heart pounding, she hovered around the one leading to the small, private sitting room. Her fingers on the handle, she was about to go in when the distinct sound of footsteps caused her to startle. She was too far away from her own room to return to it, and for a moment, with the large staircase nearby, the footsteps were echoing strangely so she couldn’t tell from what direction they came.
Why would anyone, even a servant, still be up?
There were no candles or lamps burning, only the moonlight coming in from the front hall, and shining on the large longcase clock against one wall. The footsteps were either coming from behind her or from the gentlemen’s quarters. In either case, at any moment, she would be discovered.
Without thinking, she dashed down the staircase, her dress and gown flapping about her legs. However, at the foot of the stairs, she heard voices coming from the open drawing room—a man and a woman—and they were coming closer. Blast it all! Didn’t anyone sleep in this house?
Then she recalled their hostess’s mention of writing down one’s wish for the Christmas day fire. Surely, these guests had decided to join in the silliness, notwithstanding the lateness of the hour. She couldn’t blame them. It was a custom she hadn’t passed up either, although she’d felt a little foolish when, hours earlier, she’d written a few words on a scrap of paper. And now she could simply curse the whole notion of Christmas wishes, for it might get her caught in a suspicious situation.
Looking around wildly, there was nowhere to which she could vanish. Except…
At her elbow was the massive longcase. Yanking its cabinet door open, she slipped inside. It thumped closed behind her on a well-oiled hinge with only the tail of her dressing gown getting caught, making the door fit snugly. Too snugly.
She gave it a push, but the door was stuck fast. Immediately, she hated her hiding place, as it was stuffy, nearly airless, and as dark as pitch.
Worse than that, the thick wood cabinet muffled any sounds from the outside. She’d even stopped the clock with her body crouched against the massive pendulum. Pressing her ear to the longcase door, she tried to hear if the late-night wish-makers had passed, but could detect nothing.
Sighing, she decided to count to one hundred and then exit the clock and attempt the jewelry return again.
Chapter 4
“We have two mysteries, Lord Denbigh,” the butler told Miles at half past nine in the morning. While frightfully early for Town, it seemed late for Christmas morning in the country, particularly when they’d gone to bed early—all except for himself, who’d roamed at all hours to make sure no one was stealing anything.
After a few hours slumber, he’d paced the front hall and even taken a walk outside to sort out his thoughts, wondering at the lack of any other guests enjoying the frosty air. He’d half hoped to run into Sarah.
Upon reentering, Miles encountered Lady Macroun’s pantler, as his father always called their butler, coming from the direction of the dining room, and making his odd statement.
“Two mysteries, is that so? Do tell.”
The butler sniffed, his expression woeful. “The mysterious disappearance of Lady Sarah, and the loss of Christmas morning.”
While the first immediately concerned Miles, the second had him utterly confounded.
“What on earth do you mean?” The butler was usually a sensible fellow, especially one who ran a large country manor.
“Lady Sarah’s maid has announced her bed not slept in and her mistress missing.”
“Yes, I figured as much. I meant what do you mean about the loss of Christmas. Is today not the twenty-fifth of December?”
“Yes, sir. However, the longcase clock did not chime the hour, so I failed to rouse Lady Macroun and her guests, including you, for her ladyship’s traditional early Christmas breakfast. She is now most distressed.”
“Surely there are other clocks in the house.”
“Yes, sir. However, her ladyship only abides by the longcase clock, which was her father’s. Its chimes have been awakening her since she was a child. To avoid any disruption, I use the crank to wind it myself every seven days, thirteen turns with a number 10 crank. There is a number 11 key, which also works, but it is rather tedious.”
As was this dreadful conversation, Miles thought “Perhaps you forgot to wind the clock.”
“Heaven forbid!” The butler’s eyes bulged and his face turned instantly ruddy. “To suggest such a thing! I wound the clock as usual, my lord, however and nevertheless, it did not chime on this most important of all days. When it did not sound, Lady Macroun would not believe it was morning, Christmas or otherwise. Until…,” he trailed off.
“Yes? Out with it, man,” Miles urged although he had begun to lose interest as it was time to address the first mystery. Where had Sarah got to?
“Until her ladyship desperately needed her commode and realized something was amiss.”
Shaking his head at the vulgar information, Miles blinked at the man. “Cannot breakfast be served anyway?”
“Yes, sir. There is food recently laid out in the dining room, and the guests have begun to gather. Still, her ladyship says Christmas morning as she likes it has been stolen from her this year.”
Instantly, Miles knew the culprit. If anyone had stolen anything, it was Sarah. Leaving the butler to his duties, poorly performed apparently, he glanced over to the aforementioned clock on the landing. As the man had stated, there was no movement.
“I am about to address the issue of the longcase,” the butler said. “I must go retrieve the crank from the pantry.
Ignoring him, Miles had already taken a few steps closer, eyeing the enormous longcase with its massive, polished body complete with ivory inlay, looking perfectly normal except it was silent. No ticking, no tocking, and definitely no chiming.
Giving it a brief inspection, the hair on the back of his neck prickled when he noticed a little tail of soft cream-colored fabric sticking out near the hinge of the clock’s cabinet door. Tugging it open, which took a deal of force as the door had jammed, he discovered the answer to both mysteries.
Sarah in a state of undress! Of course, she would have to be as she wouldn’t have squeezed in the cabinet if she was wearing any sort of decent gown. As it was, she barely fit in the longcase, which was hot and stuffy. Was she sleeping?
“Sarah,” he said tentatively, touching her shoulder. Her head lolled to the side.
Sweet Lord! She had passed out in the stuffy compartment, stopping both the pendulum and the weights from movin
g.
Unmindful of who might come upon them, he dragged her out of the longcase, causing her to stir.
“What? Where?” she began, her eyes briefly opening then drifting shut once more, but her hands were clutching at him as she tried to regain her footing.
Sliding a hand behind her waist, he swept his other arm under her legs, hefting her against his chest and cradling her there.
“Breathe deeply,” Miles encouraged, knowing some smelling salts would help get her to take large, restorative breaths. He would take her directly to her room and her whey-faced maid.
As he staggered toward the staircase, glancing up at its great height with dread, he wondered why carrying a woman to bed was an easy, exciting thing when she was awake and a daunting task when she was a dead weight. Halfway up the stairs, he staggered and nearly went to his knees before recovering.
Blazes! Had she been into the Christmas pudding and cakes already?
With the early morning feast now underway, guests were in the dining room, and he met no one while making his way along the hall to her bedroom. At the same time, her eyes fluttered open again, and deep-blue sapphires blinked up at him.
“Put me down,” she ordered.
“I will, on your bed.”
He’d arrived at her door and struggled to get his fingers on the handle while holding her. With all the noise he was making, banging it with her shoulder and his foot, the door popped open, and for the second time, he nearly fell to his knees.
Her maid exclaimed, “Oh, my lady!”
“Set me down, Denbigh,” Sarah insisted, but he was determined to see this through.
Pushing past the portly maid who was blocking him and practically under his feet, he reached the bed and dropped Sarah unceremoniously upon the counterpane, where she bounced.
“My apologies,” he muttered. “That was rather rough.”
“Sometimes rough is fine,” her saucebox mouth retorted, sending memories of looking down into her flushed face racing through him. Sarah looked the way she had in his townhouse, directly after he’d feasted on every part of her. They’d made good sport together, that was certain.
Licking his dry lips, he couldn’t help noticing how her silken dressing gown molded against the curves of her body, with the nightshirt beneath doing little to obscure his view. He recalled every inch of what was under the thin fabric—dusky nipples, which peaked when he blew lightly upon them, and at the apex of her thighs, soft curls, which dampened when he touched her
Desperately, he wanted to kiss her, but her maid was at his elbow, and even loyal servants liked to gab at these house parties.
Addressing the maid, he said, “Your lady may need smelling salts.”
“I don’t,” Sarah said. “I am quite recovered.”
He straightened. “I don’t suppose you wish to tell me why you were hiding in the longcase.”
“I don’t suppose I do,” she agreed. Then she gasped, opened her hands, stared at her empty palms, and closed her eyes again.
He longed to know what she’d hoped to see, but he couldn’t very well demand an answer.
“You are an excellent hider,” he praised. “But then you’ve had a lot of practice, I suppose, slipping in and out of people’s houses.”
She didn’t respond to his banter. Instead, she rose upon her elbows, which caused her cream-colored gown to gape open and her chemise to slip farther down her chest, exposing the top swell of her breasts.
“Say what you will Denbigh, but I was loyal to my husband until the moment he breathed his last.”
“You mean the entire one week of your marriage?”
“Precisely,” she said, unsmiling. “But it was two weeks.”
“Then he was a lucky bastard. For I predict by week three, you would have cuckolded him.”
Her eyes flicked toward her maid. “Don’t be crass. My heart is as loyal as anyone’s.”
“I would trust my favorite hunting dog’s loyalty over yours any day, and he scampers off and leaves me if he catches scent of a bone in the next county. In any case, I was referring to your thievery, not your fidelity when I mentioned your slipping in and out of homes. I suppose both would cause you to become adept at deception.”
“My lady, let me get you changed into a morning gown,” her maid said, sounding worried. “They’re serving Christmas breakfast.”
Miles straightened. “They would have served it on time if you hadn’t stopped the longcase from chiming. The butler swears you have stolen Christmas from her ladyship.”
“Stuff and nonsense,” Sarah said, and then she sighed. “You have to get out of here, Denbigh, or my reputation will be shredded.”
“Agreed. I will leave you to your maid’s capable care if you tell me why you were in the clock.”
For a second, her lashes shuttered her brilliant gaze before she stared right into his eyes.
“It was the first place I thought to hide when I heard first footsteps and then voices.”
He opened his mouth, then closed it. That was an answer, but it told him nothing.
“Why did you need a place to hide?” he shot back when he’d gathered his wits.
“It should be obvious by my state of undress. I am indecent, and I didn’t wish to be seen.”
“Why were you roaming the manor like that?” he shot back.
She hesitated so briefly, he almost missed it, then she answered, “I’d forgotten to write down my Christmas wish for the new year, and I was determined to do so before morning.” She swung her legs over the bed and sat up. “I am famished, aren’t you?”
Actually, he was more tired than hungry, not realizing how the little sleep he’d had combined with the sudden nervous energy of finding Sarah unconscious in the longcase, and then staggering through the manor with her would sap his strength, making him weary to the bone. He wished he could lay himself down beside her and take a nap.
Alas, there was a long day ahead of him, and ten more after that.
“Will you tell me what you’d been holding in your hand?”
She looked surprised but shook her head. “You are very observant. But the answer is no. Ladies are allowed to have their private thoughts and secret doings, are they not?”
He considered this. “Do you want to end up riding the three-legged mare?”
She paled and put her hand to her throat. Immediately, he felt churlish for having suggested she might end up on the gallows.
“Never mind,” he added. “I shouldn’t have said such a thing.” And he considered his relationship with the Prince of Wales, who was growing into a capable regent for his father. “I wouldn’t let it happen in any case.” If it ever came to anything like that, he would go to Prinny and ask a favor.
Her gaze softened. “Really? Why?”
Because the thought of never seeing her look at him in such a fashion again was too much to bear.
He merely said, “It’s my turn not to answer. Men are allowed to have their private thoughts and secret doings, too, my lady.” He strode to the door. “I’ll escort you downstairs, dressed and, hopefully, not looking as if you spent hours inside Lady Macroun’s longcase.”
Sarah could almost believe Denbigh cared for her, thrilling and unexpected as that notion was. He’d been her savior, rescuing her from the ridiculous entrapment in a clock, and then carrying her to her room like a knight. While as yet a little woozy, she’d been aware enough to know how agreeable it had been to be held in his strong arms, to feel his warmth, to breathe in his familiar fragrance, so clean and sensual, and to lean against his broad chest for support.
She’d nearly put her arms up and around his neck. If it had been nighttime instead of morning, and if Dorie hadn’t been there, she would have. She might have invited him to her bed, too.
Moreover, she would dearly love the time to simply reflect upon such an outlandish idea as him caring for her, especially after his callous treatment following their previous night of intimacy. However, all she could think o
f was her latest predicament—she’d lost the blasted broach. She could only pray it was in the longcase, perhaps having fallen out of her hand when she’d passed out.
When Dorie had dressed her hurriedly, Sarah thanked her, wished her a merry Christmas, and headed downstairs. All the other guests were in the dining room, but she ran directly to the longcase, which was now making its comfortingly familiar tick-tock sound. Glancing behind her, she opened the cabinet door. It looked smaller in the daylight, and she scanned the bottom panel, where her feet had been crunched for hours.
Empty!
“An odd fascination,” came a voice behind her, making her jump.
Denbigh! The Devil take the man!
She whirled around. “Are you following me?”
“Naturally,” he confessed. “This mystery of your obsession with the inside of Lady Macroun’s longcase is too great to relinquish.”
“There is no mystery,” she insisted, taking in his handsome appearance in a gray morning suit, his brown hair combed, and his face clean-shaven. “I told you, I didn’t want to be seen in my dressing gown.”
“You are fully dressed now. Thus, why are you here, peering in there?” He pointed at the open cabinet of the clock.
She closed it swiftly. “I was simply looking at it in the morning light, trying to discover how I could possibly have fit inside. That’s the real mystery.”
With that, she nodded her head and skirted past him to the dining room. Later, when Denbigh wasn’t at her shoulder, she would have to ask Lady Macroun’s butler, who would have to ask his staff, for undoubtedly, someone had seen—and taken—the broach. Sarah could only hope it was safely below stairs, and a maid was awaiting the right moment to mention having found it.
Entering the dining room, Sarah looked for a friendly face amongst those already seated. Finding none, she went directly to the sideboard, which was nearly sagging with goodies to break their fast. Even so, since there would be a massive Christmas feast after church, this was considered a small meal. With Lady Macroun’s hospitality, Sarah feared she would gain a stone at least by the time she returned to London. Or she would if she had an appetite. Her earlier happiness at thinking Denbigh cared for her was greatly diminished by the loss of the broach.
Have Yourself a Merry Little Secret : a Christmas collection of historical romance (Have Yourself a Merry Little... Book 2) Page 47
