Christmas By Candlelight: Two Regency Holiday Novellas (5 page)

His observation stirred an unfathomable reaction. It was gone in the blink of an eye as she lowered her lashes. “That’s nice of you to say, sir. Most of the time, I hear only florid compliments on my looks or shameless flattery of my mediocre skills on the pianoforte.”

“And you do not like that?”

“No. In truth it is very wearisome.”

Anna made no protest as he tucked another blanket over her lap and settled her head on his shoulder. “Try to get a bit of sleep, then. There will still be a long way to go once your coachman returns.”

“Perhaps you could come on with us to London after all,” she murmured into the folds of his coat.

Dangerous.
That road could only lead to trouble.

“It’s probably best that we go our separate ways,” he replied softly.

I
n her dream
, she was being chased by a big black bear whose gaping jaws stretched into an uncanny resemblance of her uncle’s smile.
Snap. Snap.
The teeth were coming ever closer, threatening to swallow her into a maw of darkness.

Shrinking back with a small cry, Anna found herself sheltered inside something reassuringly warm and solid. Her lashes fluttered and she was vaguely aware of a dark shape swooping in to ward off the danger.

“No need to be alarmed.” Nicholas brushed another tangled curl from her cheek. “The howl is just the sound of the wind picking up.”

Now fully awake, Anna sat up. “How long have we been sitting here? It looks dark as midnight outside.”

“Not more than an hour, but I am afraid the storm has come back with a vengeance.” The wood paneling shivered as another gust slammed into the coach. “I don’t think we can expect a rescue party anytime soon. We are going to have to fend for ourselves.”

Even with her nose pressed up against the glass, she could make out naught but an impenetrable white shroud surrounding them. “Lud, the temperature is dropping as well. If it gets much colder, we will have to consider abandoning the vehicle and digging a snow cave.”

“A snow cave?”

“In Russia, it is a common practice when travelers are stranded in a storm. The snow provides much more insulation than a drafty vehicle. It is actually quite cozy, and can make the difference between life and death.”

“How very interesting.” She had half expected Nicholas to dismiss the idea as far too outlandish, but he looked rather intrigued. “Do you speak from experience?”

No doubt it would only add to her image of being a very foreign, outlandish sort of person. But she had grown accustomed at school to being considered different from the other girls.

“Yes.” Her chin rose a touch, as if to deflect any derision. “My grandmother and I were caught in a wild snowstorm while traveling from Moscow to her country estate in Obuchovo. I was only fourteen and a bit frightened, but she had braved many a winter and made it seem like a grand adventure.” Her tone turned slightly wistful. “She kept me entertained through the night by recounting traditional Russian folk tales, with their fearless
bogatyrs
, enchanted ice maidens and magical firebirds. I was disappointed come morning, when a search party found us and dug out our sleigh.”

“I can well imagine,” said Nicholas, his voice seeming to echo the same note of wistfulness as her own. “
The Feather of Finist the Falcon
was a particular favorite of mine when I was a schoolboy.”

“You are familiar with Russian wonder tales?” she asked in surprise.

“I usually had my nose buried in a book while the other lads were out playing cricket.” He made a wry face. “You are not the first one who has thought me a stick in the mud.”

Wishing that her tongue had not been so well aimed as her snowball, Anna said as much.

“No need for remorse,” came the cheerful reply. “Such boring habits came in quite handy when I met up with a partisan band in Portugal.”

“Y-You were in Portugal,” her eyes widened. “With the partisans?”

“Just for a short time. I was delegated to make a rather minor delivery to one of the less important chieftains. Luckily for me, I had read an arcane Moorish text on mountain warfare, for when we were set upon by a regiment of French dragoons. . .” Nicholas went on to tell a pithy anecdote that Anna suspected did not give near enough credit to his actions in fighting off the enemy.

She was thinking on how to respond when a jangling of the harness rang out above the din of the storm. “Lud, I have forgotten the poor horses!” she exclaimed. “In Russia, the sleighs carry horse blankets for just such an emergency. Unless the storm abates. . .” Wiping the frozen vapor from the windowpane, she tried to peer outside.

Nicholas was already buttoning up his coat. “I saw a small stand of pine trees close by. They should provide an excellent shelter from the snow and wind.”

“Lord Killingworth, wait! I should like to come help.”

“And turn into a frozen Snow Queen?” He paused with his hand on the latch. “I much prefer you as a flesh-and-blood young lady. So please, do me the great favor of staying here for the moment.”

Her pulse suddenly quickened with a rush of heat. Which made no sense, seeing as ice crystals clung to her coat and mittens. “Well, then,” she stammered. “Please do be careful.”

A flurry of snow nearly obscured his grin. “Don’t worry. I have no desire to transform from a stick in the mud to an icicle in the snow.”

The horses were soon sheltered, and as it turned out, the wind died down right after Nicholas returned. So it wasn’t necessary to go the extreme of seeking refuge in the drifts that had all but buried the coach wheels.

Layered atop the fur carriage throw, the extra blankets ensured that her makeshift bed was quite comfortable. Anna wiggled her toes, finding she could almost stretch out full-length on the narrow bench. While on the facing seat, Lord Killingworth must be feeling like a
matryoshka
doll with his limbs crammed tightly into a confined space. He had refused all but one thin covering, and must have been half frozen as well.

After a restless few minutes, guilt weighed too heavily on her for sleep to come. Sitting up, she was about to insist he take one of her blankets when a soft yet unmistakable buzzing stilled her lips.

The man was snoring. It was an oddly intimate sound. And strangely comforting. Anna lay back and stared up into the darkness. Come to think of it, a great many things about Lord Killingworth were surprisingly reassuring. Far from being an arrogant prig, he had shown himself to be thoughtful, well read and funny. And at the first sign of trouble, he had assumed command with a cool calmness that had saved them from further injury.

She blinked, aware that she had slowly come to see him—and herself—in a whole new light, though its flicker still left much in shadow. It had been some years since she had taken any real joy in Christmas, but now, this chance encounter with a stranger had made her feel a little less alone in the world. The gift—however small, however fleeting—kindled a tiny flame of hope that she might once again share a feeling of closeness, of kinship with another person.

Listening to the slow, steady rhythm of his slumber, she was soon lulled into a peaceful sleep.

It was the resinous curl of wood smoke that tickled her senses back to consciousness. Throwing off her covers, Anna quickly tugged on her coat and boots. Her hairpins, however, proved a more daunting challenge. She didn’t dare glance at herself in the windowpane, sure she would look a fright.

“Good morning,” said Nicholas as she climbed down from the coach. He had cleared a small patch of ground to the bare earth and was fanning a spark from his flint and steel to life. “Do you always sleep so soundly?”

“Only when I stay awake half the night listening to a strange gentleman’s snores.”

“I should have warned you.” He didn’t look around. “Several of my friends have likened it to a dull saw cutting through the keel of a forty-gun frigate.”

It was another point in his favor that he could make fun of himself. And the score inched a notch higher as he turned in profile, the snow reflecting a dappling of silvery light across his chiseled features.

“It wasn’t quite that bad.” Anna watched him strip off his gloves and carefully arrange the thin curls of wood into a small pyramid. A great many gentlemen of her acquaintance were quick to boast of their skills at shooting or dancing or choosing the cut of a waistcoat, but she could not recall one admitting to knowing how to fix an axle or coax a fire from damp shavings of wood. But by now, she was not at all surprised that he did not kick up a dust about getting his hands dirty.

“You do not seem to mind doing menial tasks,” she observed.

“Not when it is necessary.” He dusted his palms, then picked up the knife and began cutting more fuel for the fire. “I would rather shed my dignity than my life.”

“Ever practical, sir?”

“Practical, prudent and pragmatic,” he agreed. “I warned you not to expect Lord Byron’s Corsair hero as your companion on this journey.”

He
did
look very raffish with his uncombed locks grazing his rumpled linen and a gleam of golden whiskers stubbling his jaw. Trying to put such thoughts out of her mind, Anna stood up and hugged her arms to her chest. “Speaking of journeys, we should probably be harnessing the horses and starting off.”

Nicholas threaded a morsel of bread onto a sharpened stick and held it over the meager flames. “I am afraid we are not going anywhere.” Seeing her surprised expression, he waggled the piece of toast at the snowy silhouette of their coach. “I checked earlier on the wheel, and what with the weight of the ice and snow, the damaged spoke had cracked clean through.”

“We could ride on to the next inn,” suggested Anna.

“Too dangerous.” The bread angled heavenward. “With the clouds as thick as they are, I won’t chance it.” After one last pass over the coals, he held the stick at arm’s length. “Have some breakfast. It’s hardly a mouthful, but we had better conserve what we have.”

A nibble of the toasted crust caused her to cough.

He plucked a tin cup from the coals. “Sorry, unlike the wizard in
The Frog Prince
, I am not able to conjure
up a spell to turn frozen apples into a pot of
steaming tea.”

“This is magical enough, sir.” Anna sipped at the cider, feeling an extra warmth tingling through her limbs. Lord Killingworth had a most delicious sense of humor—dry and spiced with a whimsical irony. As she swirled the last dregs, she felt an odd sort of emptiness in the pit of her stomach.

Strong. Capable. Modest.
Adding on a number of his other attributes, Anna
realized she had never savored a gentleman’s company
quite so much. Yet quite likely their paths would
never cross again after this interlude.

Her fingers tightened around the cup, suddenly feeling chilled to the bone.

“Your cheeks are looking pale as ice, Lady Anna,” he said quietly. “We had best not linger here too long, exposed to the elements, lest you succumb to frostbite.”

It was her heart, she feared, not her face, which was in danger of suffering some irreparable damage. The cold had seeped straight to her core. Not that she could quite explain why. Lord Killingworth would probably have some insight to offer on chance and fate. But she felt awkward, unsure.

Unsure of what, she asked herself. Of whether he would laugh if she told him her thoughts? Of whether she would cry?

Better to keep silent than risk breaking the fragile camaraderie that had formed between them.

Eyeing her with growing concern, Nicholas tucked the blanket more snugly around her shoulders. “I had a look around while you were sleeping. The ruins of an old abbey are not too far off. The walls are crumbling, but there is a roof overhead and room to move about. If we bring along the blankets and a few essentials, I daresay it will be a bit more comfortable place to wait out the weather than a cramped, drafty coach.” He paused. “That is, if you are feeling up to the trek.”

She nodded. “Of course. It is a sensible move to take leave of the coach.”

* * *

A
fter strapping
their luggage atop one of the horses, Nicholas turned to the other animal and arranged a blanket in place as a saddle. “Let me give you a hand up.” Worried about her pallor, he tried to tease a bit of color back to her face. “You show a very pretty ankle, Lady Anna,” he murmured, as he laced his gloves beneath her boot.

“Lord Killingworth, my leg is presently covered by something resembling a small furry animal.”

“Yes, but were it not, I’m sure it would be a most delightful sight.”

“How
very
improper of you to say so.”

Her burble of amusement encouraged him to go on. “Yes, well, considering our present predicament, I think we can safely say that propriety has long since flown out the window. Let us hope our necks have not gone with it.”

He meant it as a joke, but the smile froze on her face. “If you are worried that you are going to find yourself ensnared by the circumstances, don’t be. I promised that you would suffer no consequences because of this journey. Your reputation shall remain unsullied.” If anything, her voice turned colder. “And your leg unshackled, if that is what is bothering you.”

Hell’s teeth.
What perfidious fairy dust had been mixed in with the snow? In the past, he had always maintained a rigid correctness in any conversation with a lady. But Anna had made him feel at ease. As if he might be himself.

Ha. And pigs might fly.

“That was not what I meant at all,” replied Nicholas. “I was merely. . .” Frustrated, he kicked at the snow. “To the devil with reputations and rules! Would that I could shake off all the dratted chains of convention.”

A powdering of flakes shot up, sparkling like jewels in the peekaboo sunlight. So, too, did the first notes of laughter lighten the air. The sound grew richer, and more brilliant as it caught in the breeze.