Yuletide Treasure (2 page)

Dragging his hand through his hair, Eric brought himself
under control. “Now, given those unnegotiable terms, who would you recommend I interview?”

Curran blinked in astonishment. “I cannot provide you with a candidate instantly—if ever. You'll have to give me some time.”

“And during that time, do you trust a blackhearted sinner like me alone with Noelle?” Eric asked in an icy, mocking tone. “Because, quite frankly, I don't.”

The vicar had just opened his mouth to reply when an unladylike shout permeated the church.

“Damn her.” Eric's head snapped around.

“Lord Farrington,” the vicar denounced with righteous indignation. “Need I remind you that you're in a house of God?”

“With a demon outside, threatening to break down its hallowed walls.” Eric was already heading for the door. “I instructed the little hoyden to remain on the lawn and amuse herself during my meeting. By now, she's doubtless annihilated your gardens and every living creature within it.”

“She's scarcely four years old.” Curran urged his aged body into motion, walking stiffly in Eric's wake. “She shouldn't be left unattended.”

“Fulfill my request and she won't be.”

He was reaching for the door when a terrified shriek rang out, followed by shouts of “Whoa!” and the sound of scrambling hooves.

Eric exploded from the church in time to see Noelle crouched in the road, paralyzed with terror as an oncoming carriage swerved from side to side, its driver trying desperately to avoid running her down.

“Christ.” Eric took the church steps in two long strides, knowing even as he did that he could never reach her in time.

Out of nowhere, a flash of color darted from the opposite side of the road, snatching Noelle and rolling away as the horses reared—once, twice—tossing their heads in protest.

The carriage stopped.

Silence ensued, broken only by the disoriented snorts of
the horses and Eric's harsh, uneven breaths as he battled a wild, immobilizing surge of emotion.

From somewhere behind, he vaguely heard the vicar approach, heard his murmured, “Thank God.”

Oblivious to their presence, Noelle lifted her head and stared, white-faced, at the young woman in whose arms she was now clasped—a woman who had just saved her life.

With a howl of outrage, she began to struggle and beat at her rescuer's shoulders. “Let go of me! Fuzzy is under there. I've got to find him.”

Unflinching, the young woman warded off the blows. “Stop it,” she commanded quietly, catching Noelle's small, trembling fists. “You can't rescue—Fuzzy, did you say?—if you're flattened beneath a carriage wheel.” She squeezed Noelle's hands—a tender gesture that belied the severity of her tone—then raised her head and calmly regarded the sweating carriage driver, who looked as if he'd seen a ghost. “It's all right,” she soothed him. “The child is unharmed. But I'd appreciate your keeping the carriage stationary a moment longer. Would that be possible?”

Mutely, he nodded.

“Thank you.” The woman stood, still clutching Noelle as she brushed the road dust off her simple, mauve-colored frock. “Now,” she addressed the child, “suppose you tell me what kind of animal Fuzzy is. Then we shall find him.”

“He's a cat.” A mutinous spark ignited in Noelle's eyes, and her chin jutted out belligerently as she clarified her statement. “A stuffed cat.”

“Excellent. Now I know what I'm searching for.” Disregarding Noelle's stunned expression, the woman nodded matter-of-factly. Then, shifting Noelle's weight onto one arm, she marched closer to the carriage, squatting to peer beneath. “Is Fuzzy fawn-colored?”

“Yes.” Noelle strained to see. “Have you spotted him? Is he there?”

“Indeed he is. There and intact. A most fortunate cat.” Noelle's rescuer turned to face her wriggling bundle. “I'll offer you a deal. If you promise to return to that pile of leaves you were playing in, I promise to rescue Fuzzy. However, if you venture back into the street before I reach
your side, I can't be responsible for Fuzzy's fate. Is it a deal?”

Noelle stared at her as if she'd lost her mind. “Did you hear what I said? Fuzzy's not a real cat.”

“I heard you. I repeat, do we have a deal?”

A slow, astonished nod. “Yes.”

“Good.” The young woman set Noelle on the ground and gave her a gentle push. “Go ahead.”

Noelle sprinted to the grass.

Her rescuer smiled her approval. Then, shoving unruly chestnut curls behind her ears, she dropped unceremoniously to her knees. With calculated caution, she crawled alongside the carriage, keeping a healthy distance from the wheels, lest the horses bolt. At last, she stopped and groped beneath the vehicle.

Scant seconds later, Fuzzy emerged, gripped tightly in her hand. “Success,” she called out, grinning. Her grin faded as Noelle lunged forward. “Stop.” One palm rose to ward off Noelle's advance. “Our deal was for you to remain on the grass. One more step and Fuzzy will resume his precarious position beneath the carriage.”

Noelle halted in her tracks.

The dazzling smile returned. “Wonderful. I appreciate a person who keeps her word.” She glanced back at the driver. “Thank you, sir. You can be on your way.”

The befuddled man was wiping his brow with a dirty handkerchief. “Thank you,” he croaked.

“Thank
you,
sir.” She waved, then headed toward Noelle.

The clattering of the departing carriage shattered Eric's paralyzed state.

Rage, vast as a storm-tossed wave, erupted inside him. He charged toward the roadside, where, at that moment, Noelle's rescuer was placing Fuzzy in the child's arms.

“Here you are,” she said brightly. “Fuzzy survived his adventure and is none the worse for it.”

Noelle snatched her beloved toy, her eyes still wide with disbelief.

“My name is Brigitte,” the woman offered, patting Fuzzy's tattered head. “What's yours?”

A heartbeat of silence. Then: “Noelle.”

“Well, Noelle, being that you're obviously quick on your feet, I'm sure you would have escaped that carriage unharmed. But I'm not nearly as sure about Fuzzy. For his sake, perhaps you could be a bit more cautious in the future.”

“I suppose.” Noelle glanced up to see her uncle bearing down on her. “I'm about to be chest-ized.”

Brigitte stifled a grin. “And who is going to chastise …” Her mouth snapped shut as Eric loomed over them.

“Noelle, I ordered you to remain on the church grounds,” he thundered. “What the hell were you doing in the middle of the street?”

Chewing her lip, Noelle regarded him solemnly. “That's twice in one morning,” she pronounced. “I think you'd best not say
hell
again, Uncle. Even God has His limits.”

A choked sound emerged from Noelle's rescuer—an obviously unsuccessful attempt to smother laughter.

“You find recklessness and impudence to be amusing traits, young woman?” he roared, unleashing his outrage on her full force.

To his astonishment, she raised her chin, meeting his ferocity head-on. “Recklessness, no, Lord Farrington. Nor impudence—at least not in its mean-spirited form. However, in this case, I must admit to finding Noelle's observation—albeit outspoken—to be amusingly valid.”

Anger was eclipsed by surprise, and Eric's brows drew together. “You know who I am.”

“I do.”

“How?”

“I have a remarkable memory, my lord. And five years is not so very long a time. While your appearance has altered somewhat”—she indicated his unshaven face and unruly hair—“on the whole, you look much the same.”

“I don't remember you.”

An ever-so-faint smile. “No, I don't suppose you do.”

Pensively, he scrutinized her. “Since you know who I am, I assume you're also familiar with my shrouded past, and my ultimate—and permanent—seclusion.”

“I'm aware of your reputation, yes.”

“Yet you're not afraid of me?”

“No, my lord, I'm not.”

“Why is that?”

A peppery spark lit her eyes, warming them to a radiant golden brown. “Stupidity, probably. But, you see, I've spent the past year and a half teaching children—two dozen of them, in fact, ranging in age from four to fourteen. As a result, it seems I have become impervious to both shock and fear. Even in the case of a notorious man like yourself.”

“Brigitte!” The vicar's anxious voice interrupted, as he finally made his way to the roadside. “Are you all right?” He reached for her hands, clasping them in his.

“I'm fine, Grandfather,” she assured him gently. “Dusty and disheveled, but fine.” She rubbed one smudged cheek. “We all are—Noelle, Fuzzy, and me.”

Grandfather?
Eric's eyes narrowed on her face as a wisp of memory materialized at last.

A tiny child with a cloud of dark hair, trailing behind the vicar at every church function. A skinny girl in a secondhand frock giving out coins and sweets to the parish children as they exited after Christmas services. A gawky adolescent smiling shyly at him as he passed through the streets, gazing at Liza as if she were some sort of exalted angel.

The vicar's granddaughter.

How old had she been when last he'd seen her? No more than twelve or thirteen at the most.

Well, it was five years later. And the skinny girl, the gawky adolescent, were no more. To be sure, the forthright young woman who stood before him, her nose streaked with dirt, bore traces of the child she'd once been. Slender and petite, the crown of her chestnut head scarcely reached his chest. Her features, too, had remained dainty, from the delicate line of her jaw to the fine bridge of her nose to her high, sculpted cheekbones. Her manner of dress, a result of financial hardship, he suspected, was also unchanged; her gown, beneath its newly acquired layer of dirt, was as plain and well-worn as ever.

And yet—Eric's probing gaze continued its downward
scrutiny—despite the gown's faded, rumpled state, it could not detract from the feminine curves it defined; curves that had not existed five years past and which completely belied the hoydenlike behavior he'd just witnessed.

This unexpected whirlwind was a far cry from the person in his dim recollections.

“My lord?”

With a start, Eric realized she was speaking to him—and he looked up swiftly, seeing the uncertain expression on her face. “What?”

“I merely noted you seem a bit unnerved, which is understandable given Noelle's narrow escape. May I offer you something? A cup of tea?”

His decision burst upon him like gunfire.

“Yes, you may offer me something,” he pronounced. “But not tea.” He caught her elbow, staying her initial steps toward the church, curtly dismissing her objective in lieu of his more pressing one. “Miss Curran—it is Miss Curran, is it not? I see no wedding ring on your finger.”

She glanced bewilderedly at his viselike grip on her arm.

Instantly, he released her. “I'm not going to harm you,” he affirmed, sarcasm lacing his tone. “In fact, my intentions are uncharacteristically honorable. Now, is it or is it not Miss Curran?”

“It is, my lord,” she confirmed, brows drawn in puzzlement.

“Excellent. You're unmarried. Next, are you betrothed? Bound to one suitor? Promised to … ?”

“Lord Farrington, this has gone far enough,” the vicar broke in. “I'll save you time and trouble. The answer is no.”

Eric cocked a brow. “No? Meaning your granddaughter is not spoken for?”

“No. Meaning she is not going to become your wife.”

Brigitte gasped. “Wife? May I know what you two are talking about?”

“Indeed you may.” Eric silenced the vicar's protests with an authoritative sweep of his arm. “Enough. Your granddaughter is a woman grown. Let her speak for herself.” With that, he returned his attention to Brigitte. “Miss Curran, I'll be blunt. I've just made your grandfather a
business proposition, one that would benefit both the church and the entire parish—and one he seems reluctant to accept.”

“What was this proposition, my lord?”

“I offered him ten thousand pounds in exchange for finding me a suitable governess for my niece, Noelle. Further, since the chosen candidate would be expected to reside at Farrington—which is deserted save Noelle and myself—I agreed, for propriety's sake, to make the appropriate young woman my wife. This would render her the Countess of Farrington, complete with mansion, title—albeit a tarnished one—and more wealth than she ever dreamed possible.

“In return, she would be expected to shoulder the difficult and distasteful job of overseeing Noelle, who, as you've just witnessed firsthand, is an uncontrollable demon. Since gossip travels quickly, I'm sure you know that Noelle's been taken in by every respectable family in the parish and, just as quickly, turned out. As of today, the supply of decent families has been exhausted. Hence, my need for a drastic and immediate solution. Frankly, I've never seen anyone manage Noelle as well as you just did. You mentioned having experience teaching children. Being the vicar's granddaughter, I'm certain your character is above reproach. Tallying all those factors together, I'm prepared to offer you the position I've just described. Would you be interested?”

Brigitte's eyes had grown wider and wider with each passing word. “You'd give ten thousand pounds to the parish and take on a wife you don't know or want just to provide care for Noelle?”

“Exactly.”

“Why not care for her yourself?”

Eric's jaw clenched. “That, Miss Curran, is my concern, not yours.”

“What about your own life, then? What if, in the years to come, you find someone you truly love? You'd never be able to give her your name, having already bestowed it upon your governess.”