Marry Christmas (Zebra Historical Romance) (25 page)

“None taken.”

Rand strode from the ballroom ignoring the curious stares of onlookers, knowing Edward would follow him. He walked to the last place they knew Elizabeth had been, the small front room. Rand stood looking dumbly about the room as if she might suddenly appear. “Who knows she’s here?” he asked.

“No one. I haven’t begun a search as yet. We’ll have to be discreet, of course.”

Rand sighed. Elizabeth’s position in the peerage was tentative at best, even that she was a duchess. She was an American, so it would take very little scandal for this group to cast aspersions on her character. A duchess wandering about alone in London would be just such a thing.

“I’ll go out and see if your carriage is still about,” Edward said. “She can’t have gone far, Rand.”

Four hours later, with the house now empty of guests, Rand was frantic. Elizabeth had, indeed, disappeared. The carriage and driver had been found quickly behind the mansion in the mews, where the grooms were still rubbing down the tired horses. Edward’s footman had not been asked to call for a hack and he didn’t recall seeing the duchess, but that did not mean she hadn’t slipped by with other guests. Rand couldn’t imagine her walking the streets alone. Surely Elizabeth knew better than that.

“She doesn’t know this city. It’s far more dangerous to her than New York. She’s a stranger here,” Rand said, feeling desperation seep into his veins. “Where could she be?” he shouted.

Edward could only shake his head, as upset and be wildered as his friend.

Rand had never in his life been more frustrated. And more frightened. The more time that passed, the greater his fear. It was completely out of character for Elizabeth to have come all the way to London alone, and then to dis appear so quickly made it all seem like a horrible dream.

“Where could she be?” he said on a note of pure despair. He wanted to scream, to rip something apart, to shake Edward until he somehow got an answer.

“It may be time to call Scotland Yard,” Edward said, his tone measured. “I’ll have my man send over a message. Once they’re involved…”

Rand roughly tunneled his fingers through his hair, as if trying to purge what was happening from his mind.

“Yes. You’re right.” He squeezed his eyes shut.

“I’ll be right back. You’re all right?”

Rand looked up at his friend, not even attempting a reassuring smile.

“Right, then. We’ll find her, Rand. We will.”

Rand sat, his arms dangling from his knees limply, his head down, completely exhausted. He’d been all over London in the past four hours, visiting innumerable hotels, even ones he knew Elizabeth would never consider. He’d had to pretend as if nothing was untoward, that he was simply confused about which hotel his wife said she’d be staying at. He’d had to smile when his gut felt like it was being twisted in two when he’d been told time after time that, no, the duchess had not been seen. “Where are you, Elizabeth?” he whispered raggedly.

Hearing footsteps, he made an attempt to compose himself.

“I’ve found her,” Edward said, smiling widely. “And if we are not the greatest fools, then I don’t know who is.”

Rand jumped to his feet. “Where, where is she?”

“Sound asleep in my private study,” he said dryly. The two walked hurriedly up the stairs and down a short hall before stopping at an opened doorway. “I was on my way to my room to change when one of my maids inquired about ‘the lady in my room.’ And there she was.”

From the door, Rand could plainly see her, laying half on and half off a small couch, a lamp still lit illuminating her prone figure. Rand pushed the heels of his palms hard against his eyes and leaned against the wall, suddenly feeling his strength drain away, the relief of seeing her safe was so overwhelming. “Bloody hell,” he whispered, his voice breaking. He felt a strong hand give one shoulder a shake.

“I don’t know about you, but I need a drink. Let’s let her sleep, shall we?”

“Yes, she should be well rested when I kill her,” Rand said, staring at his wife with such fierce longing Edward had to look away.

Edward was the first to speak after they’d both had a long drink of a fine Armagnac brandy. “Would you please tell me what the bloody hell is going on with you?”

Rand looked up at his friend rather startled, for Edward rarely raised his voice and at the moment looked downright angry. “It’s a private affair,” he said.

“Private?” Edward shouted. “I was one minute away from contacting Scotland Yard to find your errant wife, and you were about a second away from needing to be put into Bedlam because we could not find her and you have the audacity to tell me this is a
private affair
?”

Rand stared at Edward for a long moment. As he’d never seen him quite this upset, he wasn’t certain how to proceed with him. Besides, it
was
a private affair. He couldn’t very well admit that he was madly in love with his wife and crushed beyond measure that she held no feelings for him, was, in fact, so opposed to this marriage that she’d actually worn a gift from another man on their wedding night to remind her of their love for each other. It was personal and humiliating and…

“She doesn’t love me,” he blurted out, then instantly regretted spouting such a personal thing.

“And obviously you love her,” Edward said, far more gently than the last time he’d spoken.

“She wore a necklace,” Rand ground out, “from Ellsworth. She wore it during our honeymoon, every night. It was meant for her to remind her that he still loved her. Even though she was married to me.” He drained his glass and stared into the fire dancing merrily in contrast to the room’s dark mood.

“That was not well done, was it,” Edward said finally.

“No. It was not.” He let out a long breath. “Right before I came here I found her crying over a letter from Miss Pierce. Apparently, Ellsworth had gotten married. And I”—he let out a small laugh—“I suppose I was rather enraged to find her so. I came here.”

“Thank you.”

Rand chuckled. “I hate this, Ed. I truly do. It’s damned unmanning. Promise me you’ll never do any thing so foolish as to fall in love with a woman.”

Something flickered briefly in Edward’s eyes before he smiled. “I promise.”

Elizabeth opened her eyes, momentarily startled to find herself in a strange room before remembering the events of the previous evening. She put a hand to her forehead, brushing a mass of hair away, and squinting at the brightly lit room. It was morning, and far into it by the brightness outside.

“Good morning.”

Elizabeth sat up, warily eyeing Rand who sat across from her, his elbows on his knees. He was disheveled from his hair to his stockinged feet. If she hadn’t realized she loved him before, she did at that moment, for her heart nearly swelled out of her breast at the sight of him sitting there. In the instant before he schooled his features she thought she saw something in his face, some thing of the time when they were first married and he’d told her he loved her. But the look was gone before she could even be certain it was nothing more than her hopeful imagination. His eyes looked simply red-rimmed and tired, as if he hadn’t slept in a long time. No doubt he’d been too busy dancing, she thought morosely.

“Good morning,” she said almost as a question, be cause, really, she did not know yet whether this morning would be good or not.

“It appears you slept well,” he said, his voice even, his face expressionless.

“Yes. I must have been very tired. The trip here was exhausting.”

Rand straightened, bracing his hands against his thighs. “About that. What are you doing here, Elizabeth?”

She frowned, not knowing quite what to say. “I didn’t know where you were,” she said, aware even as she said the words how daft she must sound. One eyebrow quirked up on his otherwise expressionless face. “You didn’t tell me where you were going and you’ve been gone more than two weeks, you know. No note, no message. And so I had to ask Mrs. Stevens where you were and, of course, a servant knew where you were, not your wife.”

“I was angry. I still am.”

Elizabeth blew out her own huff of anger. “That’s no excuse for leaving without telling me you were going or where. You cannot do that even if you are angry. It is inconsiderate and wrong.” For some reason, Elizabeth felt as if she were on the verge of tears, so she swallowed and squeezed one hand into the other to stop herself from a further emotional display. She needed her wits about her at the moment.

“You must promise me not to do this again,” she said, lifting her head.

“Very well. I promise. Now. Why are you here? Certainly not to simply chastise me. A note would have sufficed for that.”

She gave him a dark scowl. “I needed to tell you something that I felt was inappropriate for a note.” She jabbed her thumbnail against her other hand to fortify herself.

“Go on.”

“I’m going to have a baby.” Elizabeth held her breath and waited for some sort of reaction from him. There was none. “I’m not fully certain as I have not been to a physician. However, as my monthlies are—”

“No need to go into female details,” he said, raising one hand to stop her. “You should see a doctor while you are here in London, of course. I’ll arrange that.”

“All right.”

He hadn’t even smiled, not even a hint of it. She had imagined his face alighting with joy, of him coming to her and holding her against him, of telling her how wonderful it was that she’d conceived so quickly. Her throat ached and her eyes stung, but she managed to ask where the nearest toilet was without him detecting that anything was amiss. She suddenly not only felt like crying, but like being sick, as well.

Elizabeth vomited up the contents of her nearly empty stomach and sat down on the floor of the bathroom to stare blankly at the pretty tiles on the walls, her eyes almost painfully dry and she wondered if it were possible to be too sad to cry.

“Are you all right?”

Her heart picked up a beat at the sound of his voice on the other side of the door. “I was sick,” she said, struggling to stand.

He opened the door cautiously. “Have you been sick before?”

She shook her head. “I think it’s because I haven’t eaten in a while,” she said, then turned to the small basin and rinsed her mouth.

“I’ll have the cook prepare something for you. Elizabeth, I am glad about the baby.”

She could only nod and waited tensely until he left without uttering another word.

“How is she?” Edward asked.

“Pregnant,” Rand said, falling into the nearest chair.

“You seem overjoyed.”

Rand gave his friend a withering look. “I am actually. Thrilled.” He was not. The overwhelming emotion he felt was guilt from the way the baby had been conceived. Coming to his wife’s bed all those nights had become surprisingly distasteful, something that had nothing to do with Elizabeth and everything to do with him. He realized, to his great shame, that he’d been not only trying to punish her for not loving him, but himself for that same emotion. Love was truly driving him insane.

“Do you have a doctor you could recommend?” he asked.

“Doctor Randall. Good man. Not too old, not too young. I’ll have a message sent over to him if you’d like.”

Rand nodded, too weary to speak. He was going to have his heir. And then they could get on with their lives.

He’d never felt quite so depressed in all his life.

When the duke and duchess returned from London, life at Bellewood held a certain sameness that Elizabeth could not decide was wonderful or excruciating. She had to admit there was a comfort in knowing what each day would bring, and what it would not bring. She continued on her rounds to the poorest tenants, taking over once again for Mrs. Stevens, and those twice-a-week excursions were a pure delight. It seemed the tenants had taken a liking to her, enjoying her lack of pretension, her so-called candid “Americaness.”

They enjoyed her accent, her turn of phrase, her ignorance of English history and basic way of life. They were shocked when she wrinkled her nose at Yorkshire pudding, a rather bland concoction that Elizabeth felt either needed a load of salt or a heavy dose of sugar. She ate what was offered anyway, but was unable to hide her dislike of it, which only caused more gales of laughter when she politely, but firmly, declined more. And, of course, there was Black Pudding, not pudding at all but a large frightening looking tube of pig’s blood and other ingredients Elizabeth didn’t want to know about. She was grateful they were not insulted by her delicate palate, but simply intrigued by her. She had been brought up on rich and well-flavored French foods, her mother having decided when she was an infant that their household must contain a French chef.

She did enjoy the scones and other pastries, and so found herself inundated with the things upon her next visit. The mood around Bellewood had improved markedly since the new duke began making improvements, and some of the tenants whose children had left for the factories, were actually talking about coming back home.

Elizabeth would have been completely content had her life with Rand improved as much as her relationship with the tenants. Once wary of her, they ran up to greet her, always telling her tales of the things her husband had planned for their homes and the land they’d worked for generations. She learned more about what her husband was doing from them than from the man himself. Each night Rand would join her for their supper, a pleasant meal with pleasant conversation. How was your day? Very well, thank you, and yours? Very well. How are the improvements going? Well, enough. And here at Bellewood? Quite nice. Sometimes into the mix Rand would ask after her health, which she would reply was wonderful.

It was enough to drive a person mad.

On their second week back from London, Elizabeth had retired to her room to knit little baby things, as she supposed she was ought to do, when the sameness of everything became a bit overwhelming. She was lonely, simply put. She could not possibly count dinners together with Rand as anything more than obligation. Every night, Rand would disappear and Elizabeth was quite sure he was going out to the stable. She pictured him there, working in the lamplight, sweating, muscles straining, and she squirmed in her chair. He no longer came to her at night. Even though he’d ceased being the loving, caring man she’d first married, she found herself missing even those passionless couplings, and resenting the fact he’d only come to her to impregnate her. His visits had been somewhat tolerable when she’d imagined it was because he desired her. Now she realized he’d simply been using her as a depository. To make matters worse, pregnancy had made her even more…uncomfortable in her skin.

Laying down her crocheting with a smile, for the little bonnet she was working on was so darling, she determined to spend some time with her husband. She wished she had the courage to tell him she wanted him in her bed, but she could not; it would have been completely mortifying. But perhaps if they spent a bit more time together, things would take their natural course, so to speak. She wanted her husband in her bed, simply put, and she wanted him there now. Well, if not now, then in the near future. Her body, having once experienced pleasure, was craving more. Not for the first time did she wish she had someone to talk to, for she had no idea whether what she was feeling was entirely normal.

When she entered the stable, Rand looked up immediately then just as quickly went back to work.

“Do you mind if I keep you company?”

He grunted, a sound that could have been “yes, I mind” or “suit yourself” so Elizabeth found a hay bale and sat down, tucking her legs upon it and resting her chin on her knees. It wasn’t a very duchesslike pose but she didn’t care and obviously Rand didn’t either, for he didn’t say a word even though he gave her a long dispassionate look.

“Why was Lord Hollings holding a ball?” she asked. It was something she’d been curious about, a single man holding a ball. It seemed highly unusual.

“For his sister.”

“Oh. I didn’t know he had a sister. I can’t picture him as a big brother.”

She watched him silently as he banged four nails into a stall. “Are you going to replace each plank?”

“Only the ones that need it.”

She drummed her fingers against her shins. “Why not have one of the men do this?”

“I enjoy the work. Being out of doors.”

Elizabeth looked about. “But you are indoors,” she pointed out, and watched as he stopped banging in mid swing, sighed, then continued working. Elizabeth waited for a break in the banging before asking another question.

“I overheard one of the guests refer to Lord Hollings as Holly.”

“A nickname,” Rand said, his voice muffled by the nails he held in his mouth.

“Has anyone ever called you Belly?” Elizabeth said, grinning widely at the idea of such a silly name.

“Not more than once,” he said darkly.

Elizabeth lifted her head off her knees and leaned back a bit. “I think I shall call you Belly. Just to annoy you. Belly. It is rather adorable, if you ask me.”

He lifted his head sharply and Elizabeth thought one side of his mouth quirked up, just a bit.

“Good night, Your Grace,” she said, using his title just to annoy him further. “I think I’ll come each night to supervise your work, if you don’t mind.”

He gave another strange grunt, then pulled out a plank to cut, dismissing her without another word.

Every night for a week, Elizabeth trudged out to the stables and watched Rand work. She’d tell him about her day, about the tenants she visited, about the new flowers popping through the soil with the coming spring. She told him about Mr. Gibbons’s remarkable carvings, how she hoped to attract a fine shop where he could sell them and make a nice living from his artwork. She’d talk mostly to herself, but sometimes he’d say something or smile. While she sat there watching mostly in silence, she began to notice things about him that she’d never seen before. His forearms, for example, were lightly sprinkled with hair that shone blond in the lamplight. And he had muscles there, clearly defined, that worked when he was banging and sawing. His hands were not at all aristocratic, but strong and broad, like those of a soldier more than a peer of the realm. His dark hair would curl as he worked, a sheen of sweat forming on his brow even on the coolest evenings. It was now warm enough to forgo lighting the woodstove as he worked, but at night the temperatures dipped. Sometimes she’d sit, wrapped up in a blanket, and watch with amazement as steam rose from his body. And she’d have a flash of what it had been like when he was over her, his body hard and hot and naked, his mouth on her breasts, his hand between her legs. It was almost a dream now, it was so long ago. She’d watch him, remember his body, remember how he tasted, how it felt when he slid into her, and want to scream. And sometimes the urge to scoot off the hay bale and touch him was so overwhelming, she’d find her self hugging herself tightly, a rather poor substitute for having Rand hold her.

She wondered if he knew what she was thinking, and she wondered if had he known, would he even care. For now, she had to be content to simply be with him, to talk to him and watch him work. It was rather delicious, she decided, secretly desiring him and him not knowing.

“Did I tell you I got a letter from my mother?”

He shook his head.

“Of course she is so happy to hear the news about the baby. She wants to be here for the birth,” she said cautiously.

“She is welcome to come,” Rand said. “And by that time, the house should be in much better shape for visitors.”

“I do wish Maggie could be here as well,” Elizabeth said, thinking aloud. It would be too much to ask of her friend, though, to travel all the way over to England simply on a friend’s whim. Besides, Maggie’s letter had been filled lately with news of Arthur Wright and her hope that Arthur planned to propose at any time. She hadn’t even known Maggie liked Arthur, but apparently she did a great deal. If that was true, she probably would not want to travel anywhere.

“She’d be welcome, as well,” Rand said, then cursed under his breath as the board he was trying to hold up kept falling.

“I’ll get it,” Elizabeth said, hopping off the hay bale.

She held up one end of the board while Rand banged away at the other end. “I imagine the New York papers would love printing this little detail of our lives. I can honestly say that when I agreed to marry you, I never imagined spending each evening in a stable,” she said, laughing.

Rand let out a chuckle, and looked over at her, making her breath stop, her heart beat a bit harder. He stood, wiping his hands on his rough worker’s pants. “I’m actually nearly done,” he said, looking down the stable at the fresh planks that had been laid in nearly every stall.

“I shall miss being out here.”
With you.

Then he smiled down at her. “The enclosure needs work. What do you say we tackle that next?”

Elizabeth clapped her hands together as if he’d just offered her the largest of diamonds. They were standing quite close, and Elizabeth could feel the heat coming from him. He seemed oblivious to her, to the desire that swept through her, that made her feel suddenly a bit light-headed. Oh, Lord, what was wrong with her? She stood next to him, fairly drinking him in, breathing in the sweat and wonderful scent of him, wanting to touch him, wanting to strip him naked so she could push her self against him and…

“I’m tired,” she said, her voice sounding strange to her own ears. “I’m going inside.”

He looked down at her and she realized he was completely unaware of her, as if she were no more important to her than one of the planks of wood piled up beside them.

“Are you quite all right?” he asked, finally noticing something was a bit off with her.

“Fine. Fine. I’m just simply…” Without meaning it, her eyes drifted to his mouth, the same mouth that had made her scream when it was between her legs, the same mouth that suckled her. She could feel a mortifying flood of desire between her legs, and she brushed a trembling hand against her forehead. “…tired.”

“Elizabeth.” One word and she knew. She knew that he knew. And then she found herself brought hard against him, hard against the solid heat of him, hard against his mouth. And she pulled tighter, pushing herself against him, letting out sounds that she hadn’t realized she could make.

He kissed her, moving her against the stall, where the rough wood dug into her back, and even that was glorious. He was aroused, pushing against her as if he wanted to take her through her dress, as if he was being driven by the same demons that made her hands go to his trousers and begin unbuttoning them as her knuckles brushed against the hard length of him. He let out a harsh cry and wrenched her dress down her shoulders, exposing her breasts to the cool night hair and his hot mouth. He pushed her breasts up, moving his mouth from one nipple to the other as if he could not get enough quickly enough. And then his pants and drawers were down at his booted feet and he was in her hand, hard and warm.

He grew still, as if her touch were almost more than he could bear.

“Elizabeth,” he said on a groan. “Oh, God, please.”

She bent down and took him in her mouth, not caring that she was possessed, only knowing that something had taken over her. His large hand pressed against her head and he pushed gently against her, all the time his harsh breath sounded above the strange roaring in her ears.

“You must stop,” he said, then laid her down on the clean hay and lifted her skirts. “I can’t wait, love. I can’t. Please.”

She lifted her hips, welcoming him, and drew his head down to her for a kiss that was more erotic than anything she’d experienced in her life. She simply could not get enough of him, of his body moving into hers, of his mouth, his tongue, his hard buttocks. She wrapped her legs around him, pulling him close, moving with him, grinding against him in desperation for release. When it came, she held him, letting wave after wave of pleasure course through her, unaware that he, too, had found his release.

Finally, still panting, still feeling her heart beating wildly in her chest, she kissed his cheek. “Thank you,” she said, and he chuckled.

Rand leaned on one elbow and looked down at her, picking bits of straw from her hair. God, he felt so much better. He hadn’t been certain how long he was going to be able to hold out with her coming each night to watch him work, chatting away, looking so incredibly lovely in the lamplight he wanted to beg her to stop coming out to the stables.

And, apparently, she’d been going through the same agony.

“I’m afraid your hair’s a bit of a mess,” he said, smiling down at her.

“It’ll come out,” she said, suddenly shy. He’d not known his proper wife had had it in her. She’d been amazing, just the thought of her hands struggling with the buttons on his pants was enough to send desire coursing through him again. And then she really shocked him.