My Merry Marquess (Wallflowers Christmas Wish Book 3)

by Annabelle Anders

  “I didn’t hear anyone knock on the door.” Eve slid the oldest of her two younger sisters a dubious glance.

  “He didn’t knock. He collapsed in the square,” Noelle explained.

  “He’s lucky Mr. Clark is so aware. Even when he’s sleeping, apparently…” Holly added.

  Noelle shifted, wringing her hands. “Surely, that must be the case.”

  Eve stared at her middle sister, knowing full well Noelle was somehow involved in all of this. What had happened?

  “Excuse me, ladies.” The tall figure of Mr. Clark loomed behind them in the corridor. Ever his impeccable self, his apparel was clean and pressed and the gloves on his hands were a pristine white. Eve pressed herself against the wall, so he could pass with his tray, as did Noelle and Holly. Then all three rushed for the door before it closed behind where Mr. Clark carried tea along with an anemic-looking breakfast.

  “Oh, my.” Holly leaned in, presenting Noelle and Eve with her rounded behind. “He’s handsome.”

  “You mean fortunate to be alive.” Eve rolled her eyes.

  “Stop, both of you, I beg you.” Noelle looked almost pained.

  But Noelle’s request only caused Holly to rise onto her tiptoes to get a better look at their guest. “Stop? This is the most interesting thing that’s happened to us in ages.”

  Curious as to what all the fuss was about, Eve peered in and caught a glimpse of the man’s bare chest, looking most absurd in the pink guest room outfitted with more lace than anything else. “Interesting isn’t the proper word. I’d say it was—”

  “Ladies.” Mr. Clark sent a harsh glare over his shoulders. “Please give our guest, Lord Blitzencreek, some privacy.”

  And on that note, he closed the door silently but firmly, shutting them out.

  Holly sighed. “I’ll head out to fetch some breakfast for myself. It could be ages before Cook manages anything edible.” And then she disappeared back down the stairs.

  Noelle remained hovering by the door.

  “I know you rescued him and not Mr. Clark. You’re lucky he didn’t try to ravish you. What were you thinking?” Eve couldn’t help feeling concerned that her sister had ventured outside in the middle of the night.

  “He was too sloshed to ravish me. Besides, I could tell by his clothing that he’s quality.”

  “Just because he’s quality doesn’t mean he’s honorable.”

  Noelle bit her lip. “But he could be. What do you think of his looks? He’s quite handsome if you ask me.”

  Eve shook her head. “I barely saw him. It’s no matter, anyhow. I need to clean my cloak and then make more pies. Aunt Winifred has promised I’d take one over to the inn for, er, a few of the guests.”

  Noelle’s eyes flicked toward the closed door. “I believe that’s where he came from.”

  “No doubt,” Eve agreed. Her stomach fluttered as she remembered her encounter in the square. If this man associated with Nicholas, then Noelle should be careful. “Promise me you will be leery of him, please? Even if he is handsome and charming, remember the condition he was in when you found him. Not exactly a sound recommendation.”

  “Not everyone is like Father.” But Noelle shrugged. “You don’t need to worry about me.”

  Eve stared at her hard. Noelle was a grown woman. All Eve could do was hope that she wouldn’t do anything foolish.

  Back downstairs again, she found her aunt’s housekeeper, Mrs. Smith, examining the soiled cloak Eve had left hanging by the door.

  “I’ll have this good as new in no time at all.”

  “Thank you.” Eve touched her neck, concerned to leave its care to someone she hardly knew. “It was a gift from my mother.” She should have been more careful with the pie. It would serve her right if it couldn’t be repaired.

  “You needn’t worry about that, My Lady. I’ll tend to it myself.” The maid cradled the coat as though it was a delicate garment and solemnly met Eve’s stare. Her aunt’s entire household had welcomed them with open arms. Eve wondered how long it would take to begin to feel at home.

  She thanked the kind maid again and headed toward the kitchen. She would make those pies but not because Nicholas and his companions deserved one. She would bake them because baking seemed to be one of the only things that made her feel at peace. It reminded her of their mother, of happier days.

  She could almost forget the pain of the past year and a half as she sliced the apples and then added the precise measurements of each ingredient. Rolling out the dough was something she could control. She could make it the exact thickness she required and create perfect diamond shapes for the top crust.

  After placing them in the oven, she stepped outside once again, wearing one of her aunt’s older coats this time, walking in the direction of the inn.

  She could leave the pie with the innkeeper. She didn’t even need to see him.

  But what if she did see him? She pinched her lips together. More than anything, she wanted to ask why he’d never answered any of her letters. But that would be pathetic. It wasn’t as though she’d been pining after him all this time.

  She’d been mourning her mother.

  Stepping through the doors of the inn, Eve found the foyer and front desk empty. Jovial masculine voices drifted out from a common room off to the side.

  “Breakfast will be right out, my lords.”

  She’d barely slipped into the occupied room when the innkeeper rushed past her.

  Of course, one of the voices had been his. Unlike her sisters, she rarely blushed, and yet upon seeing Nicholas leaning against the mantle, heat crept up her neck into her face.

  “I’ve brought the pie my aunt promised.” She couldn’t take her eyes off of him. He was the same but different. He looked… harder. Since she’d seen him earlier that morning, he had removed his jacket, unbuttoned the top of his shirt, and rolled up his sleeves. His hair looked more unruly than the style he’d worn while in London.

  “Your friend, Lord Blitztencreek, was at my aunt’s home,” she announced.

  Aunt Winifred had informed her that the gentleman Noel saved had returned to the inn but would be coming back later that day for tea. “But I’m sure you know that by now.”

  Feeling as though all the air had been sucked out of the room, she set the pie on the nearest table and prepared to flee.

  “Blitzencreek?” Nicholas frowned.

  “Your friend.” Perhaps she’d been wrong?

  “Ah, yes. He’s found his way back to us,” he drawled, his eyes indifferent.

  Was he upset to see her again? Her gaze flicked to his hand, which was casually cradling an almost empty snifter. A bottle of amber liquid rested on the wooden mantle.

  He was drinking with his other gentleman friend, and it wasn’t even noon. He’d made no move to introduce her, quite effectively putting her in her place.

  The rogue standing at the mantel was the man she’d initially imagined him to be—before he’d ardently wooed her. Her mother had disapproved of his courting Eve at the outset, convinced that the handsome marquess didn’t seem the sort to settle down anytime soon.

  And then there had been those rumors about the opera singer.

  But Eve had believed him when he’d told her she was special. She had believed in him.

  Unfortunately, her mother had been right. She knew this now.

  Feeling unwelcome—confused, and angry—she dropped her gaze and backed out of the room. “Good day, then.” Stupid tears overflowed the moment she stepped outside.

  She was over him. What on earth was the matter with her?

  She couldn’t return home like this—she didn’t want to answer to her sisters or her aunt for why her eyes were swollen and red. Beyond caring where she ended up, she took off running. She ran behind the inn, past the mews, and into a path that cut through the thick grove of trees. Thick flakes were falling, cold air bit at her cheeks, and yet she continued undeterred. Her boots were wet, as was the hem of her dress and Aunt Winifred’s co
at, but she picked her way through the brush and trees until a rushing stream blocked her from going any farther.

  Ice formations edged the swift-moving water, and normally she would have found the entire scene quite pretty, but on this occasion, she was only grateful that she was alone now.

  Dropping to her knees, she covered her face and choked on a sob.

  Nick had wanted to be cavalier, to act as though seeing her again was of no consequence, but he couldn’t do it. Without making any explanation to Jack, and without stopping to put on a coat, hat, or gloves, Nick raced out the door to stop her.

  But she wasn’t crossing the square back to her aunt’s home and if he hadn’t caught the flash of her hair, he’d have lost her.

  What was she thinking, running into the storm like this?

  Keeping his eye on the blur of gold and red, he stumbled into the trees, pushing back branches as he went and almost tripping more than once. Damnit, Eve, this isn’t like you.

  The deeper he followed her, the more curious he became.

  And worried.

  Eve was not the sort of girl to kick up her heels and go running willy-nilly through a forest. She had always been proper, dignified. Except those moments when he’d managed to get her alone.

  When he emerged, just at the edge of the grove, a brook meandered swiftly down the hill and, in the distance, he caught sight of a frozen-over lake.

  He turned his head to the right and upon seeing her, sucked in a tight breath. She was on her knees, hands covering her face, long strands of golden-red hair falling forward.

  “Eve.” His voice sounded hoarse. But she didn’t move. She couldn’t hear him over the rushing water.

  Tentatively, uncertain what he was even going to say, he covered the distance between them.

  “You shouldn’t be out here, it’s cold as hell.” He squatted beside her and rubbed his hands together to warm them.

  “Go away.” She shook her head but then wiped at her eyes with her fingers. Nick pulled a handkerchief from the waistband of his trousers and placed it into her hand.

  “Is it your intention to freeze me to death for the loss of your pie? Is this how a proper lady achieves her revenge for damaged baked goods?” It was a weak attempt to make her smile, and he knew it. He wasn’t comfortable with a lady’s tears—never had been.

  She wiped at her eyes and then her nose and then finally turned to stare at him. “And everything else?” Her voice wobbled a little.

  He clenched his jaw, the anger he’d thought he’d buried rising up all over again upon hearing those three words.

  He should have known better than to rush into this weather after her with nothing to protect him from the cold. And now his breeches were soaked through and the leather of his boots all but ruined.

  “You left me, if I remember correctly.” He barely managed to speak the words through clenched teeth.

  “But you never came,” she fired back, her eyes flashing, her voice accusing. “It’s obvious everything you told me was a lie.”

  “You could have at least had the courtesy to tell me you were leaving. If you didn’t want to accept my offer, a simple ‘no’ would have done the trick.” It still galled him that she hadn’t had the courage to face him herself.

  He’d told her that he loved her. He’d assumed she felt the same when she’d taken his face in her hands and then pressed her mouth against his.

  Damnit, she’d stolen his dismal-dreaming heart and then kicked it to the dogs. Even now, he fought the urge to take her into his arms, to kiss her senseless.

  Nick had hoped his months in Paris and Belgium had erased the feelings he had leftover for her.

  Perhaps it was good he’d found her today. He’d have his say and be done with it.

  “It wasn’t necessary for you to leave London to escape me.” The moment the words left his mouth, he wondered if they were even true. He’d been a lovesick fool back then, and it was doubtful he’d have left her alone. He’d have done his best to convince her to marry him. He had loved her. Had she known he wouldn’t make it easy for her to leave him? The thought was a lowering one.

  He dropped his hand from her shoulder and pushed himself back to his feet, disgusted with himself.

  “But I—”

  “I don’t want to hear it.” And yet, he couldn’t leave her out here all alone. It wasn’t safe. Any bastard could come along and take advantage of her. It seemed like a lovely village but the thought of anyone hurting her…

  “You know I wasn’t trying to escape you! How dare you—”

  “I’ll escort you to your aunt’s home.” He held out his bare hand. Damn, but he was cold. He should have remained by the fire with Jack, the Earl of Tidemore. This very moment, he could be drinking ale and eating a large breakfast. Instead, he was freezing his sorry ass chasing a woman who’d damn near ruined the last few years of his life.

  She stared at his hand for a moment, looking as though she wanted to argue with him. A part of him wanted to hear her explanation but he didn’t want to open all of this up again. It would be akin to tearing open a wound that was nearly healed.

  Nick hardened himself when she flicked tearful eyes up at him.

  “But I…” She faltered and then, summoning a dispassionate expression, placed her gloved hand in his.

  That was Eve: cool, proper, dignified. It was her true self. He’d been fooled by the few moments of passion they’d shared.

  Hadn’t he?

  Nick clasped his hand around her fingers and then tugged harder than was necessary, bringing her to her feet but also causing her to stumble into him.

  Damn, she smelled like apples and cinnamon. Nick wrapped his free arm around her, drawing her closer. Even in her coat, she felt fragile.

  She buried her face against his chest but then just as quickly raised it and went to pull away. “Nicholas, please. I don’t think we understand—”

  Unable to help himself, he dipped his head and claimed her mouth. Her soft lips parted on a gasp, and he delved inside with his tongue. He didn’t want to hear excuses. And yet, having her so near evoked a desire he couldn’t deny.

  She tasted spicy, warm, and decadent. Her body trembled, and he lifted one hand to the back of her head so he could explore deeper. Her hands fluttered between them for a few seconds before she settled them against his chest and then up and around his neck.

  His teeth practically ground against hers, his hunger was so great.

  Lost to all reason, but feeling alive for the first time in months, he trailed his mouth along her jaw and then dipped his face into the side of her neck. This time when he inhaled, he caught a whiff of the clean scent of her soap—sage and lavender. He’d loved this scent. He’d craved this scent for months.

  He abruptly dropped his arms and stepped back.

  Her lips wet and swollen from his kiss, she blinked as though to find her bearings. “Why would you do that?” She looked more confused than he felt.

  “Because despite your hasty departure last spring, this…” he indicated the space between the two of them, “was never in doubt.” He hated that she still had the ability to unbridle this passion in him. He’d never allow a woman that sort of power again. “If you didn’t want to marry, why didn’t you just tell me? I’d have been more than happy to take care of your needs without the shackle.”

  “Is that what you wanted all along, Nicholas? Say what you wish, believe your own lies, but we both know the truth,” she accused.

  “We certainly do.” The truth was that he’d wanted to marry her back then. Never again. His view of matrimony had drastically altered since. “And you were willing even then.”

  When he eventually married, because he knew he must, he’d marry a woman who aroused nothing other than a requisite level of respect.

  Intimacy, romance, love—be damned!

  He dropped his gaze over her in as demeaning a manner as he could muster.

  “Don’t be cruel, Nicholas.” She raised her ha
nds and touched them to her cheeks.

  Damn this woman!

  For the umpteenth time since running into her again this morning, he ran a hand through his hair. Of course, he didn’t mean it… But that didn’t mean he’d ever admit it to her. A gust of wind swept down the hill and seemed to go right through his flesh and then his bones, but he wasn’t about to leave her out here alone. He clenched his jaw to keep his teeth from clattering against one another.

  “I hope you haven’t taken to running off by yourself. It isn’t something a proper lady should do—or a smart one either.” The thought that she was unprotected was slightly terrifying. She wasn’t married; her aunt had introduced her as Lady Eve Bailey. “Your father ought to be keeping you under lock and key.”

  She closed her eyes, and Nick couldn’t help but notice how her thick lashes fanned out against her fragile skin.

  She exhaled a long breath and then opened her eyes again. “You aren’t wearing your coat or a jacket even. You’ll catch your death, Nicholas St. Hope. What on earth were you thinking?” Shaking her head, she stepped forward, clutched his arm, and began dragging him back toward the inn.

  She was going to make this impossible for him. First the damn pie and now acting as though she cared about his health. But it wasn’t acting on her part. She’d always been this way.

  He remembered how she’d worried about her sisters who had remained in the country—how she’d worried about her father’s heart. She’d even canceled one of their outings when her mother showed signs that she’d caught a cold.

  Why on earth had he come after her? What had he expected?

  “I was thinking that I wanted to speak with you.” He spoke his thoughts aloud at the same time a shiver ran through him. It had nothing to do with the fact that she’d wrapped her hands around his upper arm and was leaning into him for warmth as they walked. It was cold, damnit. A man had a right to be cold, didn’t he?

  “And have you said what you wanted to say?” She stared directly ahead.

  Had he? He scratched behind his ear. What had he intended to say to her? He could only remember that when she’d fled the common room after delivering the pie, an irrational fear that he was losing her again had sent him running after her.