Lavinia wanted nothing more than to flee the room, escape the hunting box, return to London and poverty. She wanted to pretend the last two weeks had never happened.
But she could not.
Somehow, Lavinia managed to get down several mouthfuls of food before pushing away from the table. There was no sense waiting here in solitary splendor until Davenport returned from wherever he had gone on Christmas Day.
Restlessly, she entered the parlor which was cozy and smelled redolently of fresh holly and bay. The reminders of Christmas, the season to celebrate the birth of the baby Jesus and hope, did not lighten her despondency.
Her shoulders slumped as though all the strength had drained from her back. Just yesterday evening, her hopes had been so high. A sigh escaped her.
"Bored already, Vixen?"
"You." She spun around so fast that the book she'd just selected flew from her nerveless fingers and landed with a loud thump just short of Davenport’s feet.
With a casual grace that set Lavinia's heart pounding to painful life, he stooped and picked us the book. "Byron? No wonder you are acting as though the world has come to an end. George is nothing if not melodramatic."
His indifferent remark put starch back into Lavinia's posture. Her heart might be broken and her future a dark shadow of unhappiness, but she would be damned if she let him know to what depths of despair his rejection of her love had plunged her.
Davenport sauntered into the room, leaving the book on a table in passing, to prop one booted foot on the grate. Glancing down at the orange flames of the roaring fire, he said, "The Yule Log burns brightly. I hope you put next year's splinters where they belong."
How could he mock her so cruelly? The splinter of Yule Log saved for the next year always went under the mattress of the mistress of the house. His words implied that she would be with him next Christmas — in this very house. She knew very well from the gossip mongers that his mistresses never lasted past six months. And she no longer wanted to be his mistress; not even for Emily and John.
She clenched her shaking fingers into fists and took a deep breath. "Milor-"
"Charles. If you can profess to love me, it is only fitting that you call by my Christian name."
Shame engulfed her at his mockery of her love, but she met his gaze without flinching. His black eyes were shadowed, masking his emotions from her scrutiny. Was he angry, or merely amused at her? It was impossible for her to gauge his feelings.
"After your pointed rejection of my sentiments, I prefer to call you Davenport." She lifted her chin. "While you were out, I have had considerable time to think. You seem to find me repulsive, since you have been unwilling to consummate our relationship. Therefore, I'm asking that you arrange for my return to London. I cannot... will not remain here in your debt. I did not offer myself to you for your pity. I did it as a business arrangement between two adults, and I fully expected to perform my end of the bargain."
Her shoulders ached with the effort to hold them proudly erect. It had not keen easy to say those things to him, but he had given her no other recourse.
A seriousness and intensity settled on him, the likes she had only seen once before: When he'd carried her to the bed. "What if I tell you we will finish what we have started? Today. Right now."
He was toying with her and it made her want to lash out at him. "It is too late. I have decided to return to London and seek another man who will not make game of me as you have done."
His brows shot together and his complexion darkened. In two short strides he was gripping her upper arms. "You will go to no other man."
Her breath came in ragged gasps that she strove to smooth. "You do not own me."
"Do I not?"
"No."
"Who better than I, Vixen, when I own your father's vowels?"
She gasped. "What? You?" The smile of satisfaction he wore told her the truth. "Why did you not tell me?"
He released her and moved away, his back toward her. "There was no need to do so. You made my part easy by contacting me first." When he turned back to face her, his expression was unreadable. "I bought the vowels from your solicitor, not knowing exactly what I intended to do with them. Your proposition made them obsolete."
Lavinia strove for calm. Everything was happening so fast, she no longer knew what she needed to do.
"What do you plan to do with them now? Will you still give me time to repay them?"
"Perhaps."
Her insides began to churn. "Perhaps?"
"Do you still plan on returning to London?"
Her eyes widened as his meaning became apparent. "You are using them to keep me when I no longer wish to be kept."
He shrugged, his shoulders tense. "I do what I must."
"Must?" Her voice rose. "Must? Must I stay when you have mocked and belittled my love for you? Is that the price I must pay for those vowels?"
His words a whisper she barely heard over the anger causing her ears to ring, he said, "You have one other alternative, Vixen."
She clamped down hard on the words of rebuke she longed to throw at him. Instead, she stared stonily at him.
"You can marry me." His voice cracked and he took a deep breath.
If she did not know better, she would have thought the words cost him dearly. However, she knew he continued to toy with her for an end of his own which she could not even begin to imagine.
She forced her trembling lips to stillness. "What despicable May game are you playing?"
Under heavy lids, his eyes searched the very depths of her soul. "What game did you play with me six years ago? I thought you had a tendre' for me and then the next moment you cut me."
She took a deep breath, trying to still her screaming nerves. "My father warned me against you. Father said you would offer me a slip-on-the-shoulder if I encouraged you. Even then you had a reputation for fast women and high stakes."
"Did you love me then?"
She closed her eyes, unable to look into the disturbing depths of his. "I...."
He moved to her and grabbed her shoulders. "Look at me, damn it. Did you love me?"
Her lids fluttered open and she steeled herself to see the fury and implacable determination in his. She whispered, "Yes."
"And you love me now?"
He was so cruel, his fingers biting into her flesh and his words beating at her. "Yes," she murmured.
"Then marry me."
"Marry you, knowing you do not love me? Make a hell on earth for myself?" She twisted from his grasp. "No, thank you."
He followed her, so close that when he spoke his breath was a warm caress on the back of her neck. "What if I love you?"
"Stop it," she ordered, head averted, tears forming in her eyes. "Stop this punishment. I was only seventeen when I snubbed you. Do not continue to make me pay for something I only did from fear."
"If anyone is being punished, it is I," he said. "To have you in my house, only a door separating us. Every night I suffer agonies of indecision. I want to make love to you until you glow with desire. I want to feel you respond to me as completely as though you were made only for me. But I held back, knowing that once I touch you I can never settle for less than your complete devotion. Your complete....love."
She blinked away the threatening tears, now more confused than ever. What was he saying? Surely, it could not be what her eager heart thought.
Cautiously, she turned so their gazes met. "What do you want from me?"
His mouth twisted into a bitter caricature of a smile. "The same thing I wanted from you six years ago."
"Six years ago?" She repeated his words, all the time telling herself he did not mean what she thought. He was not telling her that he loved her, had loved her for six long years.
He took a deep, shuddering breath and with the fingers of one hand smoothed back a stray curl at her temple. His eyes looked deeply into hers.
"I loved you then and wanted to marry you. I want the same now. I thought I could make you my mis
tress and be done with it. I was wrong."
Her heart swelled with love and hope. "If that is true -"
He caught her to him, crushing her against his chest. His mouth swooped down on hers, scouring her lips with the flames of his love. When he finally ended the kiss, she felt dizzy and bewildered.
He said, "It is true, as God is my witness. As true as I can make it without a minister to bind us."
She knew he spoke what his heart felt. His eyes, the windows on his soul, told her his love for her ran deep. His hands, shaking on her shoulders, told her how important her answer was to him.
"Then I will marry you, Davenport, for neither one of us will have any happiness otherwise."
Again he caught her to him. This time the kiss was slow and gentle, a melding of souls as well as bodies.
When at long last they parted, he carried her to a chair where he sat down with her across his lap. From his coat pocket he took a small velvet box. Springing it open, he revealed a simple emerald and diamond ring, the mate to the parure of jewelry he'd showered her with the night before.
This time she felt no dread or embarrassment. This time, it felt right.
He took the ring from its satin bed and slipped it onto the third finger of her left hand. Raising her hand to his lips, he kissed the ring.
"This was my grandmother's engagement ring." He smiled tenderly down at her. "She gave it to me for my wife. I want you to have it as a Christmas gift and a pledge of my love."
Tears fell from Lavinia's eyes; tears of happiness. Everything would be all right.
With a soft cry of joy, Lavinia flung her arms around her love's neck. "I will wear it always, and always remember my love for you and our first Christmas together."
Hello faithful readers,
A Christmas Gift was originally published in 1992 as part of a Zebra Books Regency anthology. It's original name was -------------. I've changed the name to better reflect what I think the story is about. I also did some editing of my own, hopefully making it a better story. Please contact me at:________
Best,
Georgina Devon
The Christmas Gift (A Regency Novella) Page 5
