A Christmas Bride / A Christmas Beau (44 page)

“They have been with Mrs. Harrison for only four or five months,” Lord Denbigh said, nodding in the direction of the two little girls with Amy. “The mother was stabbed by a lover and both girls were dependent upon gin as a large part of their diet. Their first two months here were very difficult for Mrs. Harrison and a nightmare for them. They are still quieter than the other children, but they are coming around. If you had seen them four months ago, Judith, you would not believe the difference in them now.”

“Poor little girls,” she said, gazing ahead at them. “They must have known more suffering in their few years than most people can expect in a lifetime. Imagine all the countless thousands who never know even such a reasonably happy ending as this one. I hate driving into London past the poorer quarters. Though that is a very cowardly attitude. The poverty and the suffering exist whether I can block them from my consciousness or not.”

She was unbelievably beautiful, he thought, looking down at her. Far more so than she had been eight years before. He could not look at her without feeling the churning of old desires. Touching her was enough to catch at his breathing.

There was a sense of unreality about the moment. He was walking with her, talking with her on his own land—with Judith. And he was to have her with him
over Christmas, for a full week. And while his main purpose had nothing to do with the peace and joy of the season, he had decided to allow himself some pleasure from her presence, too. For despite his basic dislike of her, his opinion of her character, and his intention of breaking her heart as she had broken his, she was also the most desirable woman he had ever known.

He desired her. He wanted her. And since it did not at all contradict his purpose to do so, he would do nothing to quell the feeling.

“I believe that the mistake many people make,” he said, “is looking at the whole vast problem of poverty and social inequality and feeling helpless and guilty. For there is nothing the average man or woman can do to solve a universal social problem. But all of us can do something on a very small scale. There are thousands of children in England suffering untold hardships at this very moment. But twenty children who would have swelled those numbers by only an infinitesimal amount are well fed and well loved, have their futures secured, and are at the moment having a boisterous good time.”

The unfortunate Toby was having his face rubbed in the snow again by four screeching girls.

“That lad,” the marquess said, “is going to have to learn something about diplomacy. Or something about running fast.”

“Why did you do it?” she asked, looking up at him, frowning. “Just because your friend needed the financial backing?”

“Partly, I suppose,” he said. “And partly because I was a lonely child.”

“Were you?” Her frown had deepened.

“An only child,” he said. “It was a terrible fate. Perhaps it was not my parents’ fault, since my mother died when I was an infant. But I have always vowed that
when I married I would have either no children at all or half a dozen.”

Her flush was noticeable even against the rosiness that the cold was whipping into her cheeks.
Those children might have been yours, too
, he told her very deliberately with his eyes.
Ours
.

“It would be dreadful to have no children,” she said. “Mine have been the light of my life for several years.”

“Even before your husband died?” he asked her quietly.

Her eyes wavered from his and fell for a moment to his lips.

“Was it all worth it, Judith?” he asked her. “Were you happy?”

She looked ahead of her again. He heard her swallow. “It was my choice,” she said at last. “I chose my course and I remained committed to it.”

“Yes,” he said, “I believe you did. It is a pity sometimes, is it not, that it takes two to make a good marriage.”

Her arm had stiffened on his. Perhaps he had gone too far, he thought. Perhaps he was moving too fast. Perhaps he should not have started calling her by her given name, though she had made no open objection to his doing so. Perhaps he should not have started yet caressing her with his eyes. And perhaps he should not have made any reference to the past or to her marriage, which was, after all, none of his business.

However, he was saved from the present situation when a soft, wet snowball collided with the back of his hat, tipping it forward over his brow, and he turned sharply to detect the culprit. One moment later he was darting after seven-year-old Benjamin, whose flesh had been so deeply ingrained with soot two years before when he had dropped down the wrong chimney in the marquess’s town house to land in the study hearth when
his lordship was occupying the room that it had been impossible to know even what color his hair was.

“Attack an enemy from behind, would you, Ben?” Lord Denbigh roared, grabbing the child about the middle. “There is only one fitting punishment for that: to be strung up by the heels and forced to contemplate the world upside down.”

He dangled the shrieking and giggling child by the ankles while all the other children cheered and jeered and advised his lordship to drop Ben head first into the nearest snow drift.

Ben was hoisted onto the marquess’s shoulders for the remaining distance to the trees. Judith had joined Mrs. Harrison.

Mr. Rockford volunteered to take the largest sled and the three largest boys to find and load a suitable Yule log. Kate, who was still on Daniel’s shoulder, and Rupert went with them. Mrs. Harrison took some of the girls to find mistletoe. Mr. Cornwell took several boys and a few of the girls to gather holly. He needed people who would not squeal too loudly at pricking their fingers once or twice, he said.

“That excludes you, Val,” he said cheerfully and winked at the girl.

“Violet, Lily, and I will come, too,” Amy said. “Holly has always been my very favorite decoration. There could not possibly be a Christmas without holly.”

“Pine boughs for the rest of us, then,” the marquess said. “Toby and Ben, haul a sled apiece, if you please. Mrs. Easton, if you would care to stay here, we should not be long. The snow is very deep among the trees.”

“And miss the fun?” she said, smiling at him. “Never.”

And they waded off through the deeper snow toward a grove of pine trees. Half an hour later their sleds were laden and their arms, too, and they were at leisure to look about them for signs of the other groups.

Judith gasped suddenly. “Fire!” she cried. “Something is on fire. Rupert! Kate!” There was panic in her voice. She started forward.

The marquess laid a firm hand on her arm and chuckled. “A cozy fire inside a gamekeeper’s cottage,” he said. “The children all know about it and visit it as often as they may. It is Rockford’s group at a guess. I don’t believe either Mrs. Harrison or Cornwell would allow the children to indulge themselves when there is work to be done. But one group is enjoying some warmth and some indolence.”

Two young boys in their group whooped with delight and made off through the deep snow in the direction of the line of smoke.

“Kate and Rupert among them,” she said, relaxing beneath his grip. “They are with Mr. Rockford’s group.”

“They will all be punished,” he said. “They will miss the fight and be as furious as a pack of devils.”

“Fight?” Judith asked.

“Snowball fight,” he said. “We cannot expect all work and no play from such a large number of children, now can we? A good fight is what everyone needs as a reward before we start back to the house.”

“Oh, dear,” she said.

But everyone else, emerging from the trees at about the same time, greeted the idea with wild enthusiasm.

“Men and girls against ladies and boys,” the marquess announced. “Five minutes to prepare and then battle in earnest.”

He grinned as the two teams lined up a suitable distance apart and began feverish preparations. The boys on the other side were building impressive ramparts and snowbanks, which would be largely useless as they would all be unable to resist coming out in front of them to fight when the action started, anyway. His girls were busy making a reserve supply of snowballs.

The missing party, newly warmed from their rest at the gamekeeper’s cottage, arrived before the five minutes were at an end and joined in the preparations with enthusiasm.

“Time up!” the marquess yelled when the five minutes were over, and the air rained snowballs. There were squeals and yells and bellows and giggles, and sure enough, his girls had the early advantage as the boys abandoned their fortifications and were forced to make their weapons while defending themselves against continuous attack.

Miss Easton, he saw, flanked by two of the larger boys, who were certainly as large as she, was engaged in a duel with Spence. Mrs. Harrison was defending herself against attack from a group of her girls. Rockford, laughing and clearly enjoying himself, was allowing a group of little boys, including Rupert, to score unanswered hits on his person.

And then a large snowball shattered directly against the marquess’s face.

“Oh, no,” Judith Easton yelled as his eyes locked on her. She was laughing helplessly. “I have lamentably poor aim. I was throwing at that little boy who just hit me.” She pointed at Trevor.

He bent and scooped up a large handful of snow, not taking his eyes from her despite the fact that two more snowballs hit him one on the shoulder and one on the knee. He molded his snowball very deliberately.

“You would not,” she called to him as he strode toward her, and she stooped down to scoop snow harmlessly in his direction and then turned to dart behind the snow hills thrown up by her boys.

He followed her there. She was still laughing. And looking damned beautiful, he thought. He would not allow himself for the moment to think anything else. He was enjoying himself.

“Don’t, please,” she said, setting her hands palm out in front of her. She could not stop laughing. “Please don’t.”

He reached out with one booted foot, caught her smartly behind the ankles, jerked forward, and sent her sprawling back into the snowbank. Beyond the bank there was a great deal of noise and a great barrage of snowballs still flying in both directions.

“How clumsy of you,” he said, stretching down his free hand for one of hers. “Do allow me to help you up, ma’am.”

“Oh, most unfair,” she said. “I am going to be caked with snow.”

“In future,” he said, drawing her to her feet when she set her hand in his, “you must be careful about allowing your feet to skid on the snow.” He drew her all the way against him and held her there with one arm about her. “You could easily break a leg, you know.”

The laughter was dying from her face, only inches from his. A great awareness was taking its place in her eyes. He could feel his heart beating in his throat and in his ears. He moved his head an inch closer to hers, his eyes straying down to her mouth. Her lips were parted, he saw.

The temptation was great. Almost overpowering. One taste while everyone’s attention was distracted and they were partially shielded anyway by the snowbank. One taste, though it was far too early for such familiarity. But he had a plan to follow. A plan that called for greater patience and caution.

“Revenge can be very sweet sometimes,” he told her in a low voice, keeping his eyes on her mouth as he brought his hand from behind her and pressed his snowball very firmly against her face.

“Argh!” she said, sputtering snow.

He laughed and turned away. “Time up!” he yelled. “I
have penetrated the enemy defenses, as you can all see, and declare the men and girls to be the winners.”

Shrieks of delight from the girls and high-pitched insults hurled at the boys in place of snow. Loud protests and bloodcurdling threats from the boys.

“Back to the house,” the marquess said. “If we cannot have luncheon and rehearse for the Christmas pageant soon enough, there will be no time for skating on the lake afterward.”

Skating! The word was like a magic wand to set everyone scurrying in the direction of home. Most of the children had skated the year before during a cold spell and remembered their bruises and their triumphs with an eagerness to have them renewed.

“I can skate like the wind,” Rupert Easton told the marquess, falling into step beside him and reaching up a hand to be held, forgetting for the moment that he was six years old and a big boy.

“Then I will have to see proof this afternoon,” Lord Denbigh said, taking the hand in his. Judith, he could see, was walking with Rockford. He, inevitably, was doing all the talking.

The marquess was still regretting that he had not after all kissed her before making use of his snowball.

G
ATHERING THE
C
HRISTMAS GREENERY HAD NOT
taken as long as expected. There was still time when they returned to the house to decorate the drawing room and the ballroom, though the marquess did suggest that perhaps the children would welcome a rest before beginning work again.

“Of course,” he added to Mr. Cornwell, who was taking a bundle of holly very carefully from Amy’s arms, “I might have saved my breath as you obviously have not taught the meaning of the word
rest
in that school of yours yet, Spence. What do you teach, anyway?”

Judith hoped fervently that the outing would have tired Kate even if not Rupert. She hoped that at least her daughter would be willing to be taken back to the nursery. But Kate had attached herself to Daniel, and Daniel had promised that he would lift her onto his shoulders so that she could hang some of the greenery over the mantel and perhaps over some of the pictures.

“Though I think you’d ’ave to sprout arms ten feet long to reach the pictures, nipper,” he added. “P’raps I’ll stand on a chair.”

Judith closed her eyes briefly.

She longed to escape, but there was no excuse to do so. Lord and Lady Clancy and Sir William and Lady Tushingham had also appeared to help, and even the
marquess’s aunts had come downstairs from their rooms to exclaim at the enormous piles of holly and mistletoe and pine boughs and at the size of the Yule log.