A Pirate for Christmas: A Regency Novella Page 10

  “Thank you,” Bess said. “Now it’s time we set off, or Daisy will go without us. The idea of leaving her to her own devices is too terrifying to contemplate.”

  Another laugh. Apart from that stormy pool of unhappiness around Bess, a river of goodwill flowed through the room.

  Rory noticed that she hardly touched her wine. Which was a pity. If anyone looked in need of liquor’s bolstering effects, it was Bess.

  Everyone trooped through the open doors. Outside, maids were collecting empty cups, and the festive atmosphere felt like Christmas started early. Even Daisy looked happy, decked out in ribbons, with her coat clipped and groomed to a shine.

  Rory paused in the doorway to savor a sensation he’d never before experienced. That this was home and these were his people and he belonged here. His chest felt too small to contain the swelling emotion in his heart.

  He’d never imagined his inheritance would change him. But it had. Irrevocably.

  Since his arrival—no, in the last week—he’d sent down roots into this rich Northumbrian soil, roots that he hoped would nourish the rest of his life. A mere seven days ago, his fierce longing to step up to life as Lord Channing would have astonished him.

  He had one person to thank for the transformation. The one piece missing in this picture of contentment.

  Bess Farrar.

  Suddenly he couldn’t bear to wait to heal the breach between them. He couldn’t bear to wait to stake his claim on her.

  The maids and footmen traipsed toward the kitchens. Bess lingered behind in the great hall to soothe Sally’s stage fright. The girl looked marginally more confident as she slipped the harness for her glittering white and silver wings over her shoulders. Then had to ease sideways past Rory to fit through the door. Sally wasn’t the world’s cleverest creature, but with her masses of fine fair hair and delicate face, she appeared truly ethereal.

  “You look just like an angel, Sally,” he said as she passed. “You’ll be the star of the play.”

  Sally blushed bright red and lurched into a clumsy curtsy. “Thank you, my lord.”

  He caught her and helped her onto the steps before she dislodged the wings. Or worse, tore them. Then before Bess could escape, he stepped back inside, slammed the door shut and bolted it.

  “What on earth are you doing?” she asked, astonishment banishing the well-mannered automaton who’d driven him to distraction. “We need to start.”

  “They’ll wait,” he said, turning to face her and folding his arms implacably over his chest.

  Displeasure lit her eyes. She stood in the center of the hall, exactly where he’d first seen her. He’d known then that she was the one for him.

  “Well, that’s not fair. And after making such a nice speech, too.” At last, she sounded like that spirited lassie who had the nerve to lecture him about his duties.

  “I hope this will only take a wee while.”

  Wariness replaced annoyance in those beautiful blue eyes and she stepped back. In her long Marian robes, she was a creature from another world. It seemed blasphemous to recall his hand curling around her bare breast. Except that his feelings for Miss Farrar had always contained a healthy dose of carnality.

  “What’s…this exactly?”

  He prowled toward her. “Have you really no idea?”

  “No,” she said. “And if we don’t go outside now, all the gossip we’ve managed to avoid will rise up and devour us.”

  He laughed softly, enjoying himself for the first time since he’d kissed her last night. “Don’t be a wee goose, Bess. They’ve gossiped about us all week.”

  “What? Are you sure?”

  “Aye, of course I’m sure.”

  “They haven’t said a word to me.” The light through the high window made her look a thousand times more angelic than Sally Potts ever could. If an angel could be confused and irritable and eminently touchable.

  “Well, they wouldn’t, would they?”

  “Just what have they been saying?” she asked suspiciously.

  He smiled, delighted with her, delighted with himself for finding her. Who would have imagined his perfect bride was hiding in an obscure corner of Northumberland? “That you’d make me a fine countess.”

  She frowned. “What nonsense.”

  “And I’m inclined to agree with them.”

  Disbelief widened her eyes. “You are?”

  “Aye.”

  To his consternation, just when he thought he set his course for a friendly port, unhappiness returned to sap all the lovely vitality from her face. Her eyes lowered and she buried her hands in her skirts. Too late. He’d seen how she trembled.

  “I know what you’re doing,” she said in a toneless voice.

  “Of course you do. I’m proposing.”

  “Because you think you have to,” she mumbled. Instead of throwing herself into his arms, she marched past him toward the door. “And you don’t. Even if there’s talk about last night, it will die down when we treat each other the way we always have.”

  “And how’s that?” He stepped in front of her to block her departure.

  Bess regarded him with disfavor. “Like…like an earl and a humble tenant.”

  He burst out laughing. “Och, what utter rot. You haven’t got a humble bone in your body, and if you’ve ever given a moment’s deference to my rank, I certainly missed it.”

  Her voluptuous mouth firmed and she crossed her arms. “Well, that’s how I intend to treat you in future. I’m sorry if I’ve been disrespectful. I won’t be disrespectful again.”

  “Would you like to place a wee wager on that?”

  She frowned, looking less self-righteous by the minute. “You’ve gone quite mad.”

  His lips twitched. “That offer to treat me with appropriate deference didn’t last long.”

  She didn’t smile. “I’m sorry, my lord.”

  Last night she’d called him Rory. He vowed she would again before she left this house. “No, you’re not. And anyway, it’s true. I’ve been insane since the day you walked in and laid down the law.”

  “I’m sorry for that, too,” she said sturdily.

  He caught her hand. “Don’t be. If you hadn’t barged in, I’d have missed out on the last week, and that would be a crying shame.”

  She glanced up at him without trying to pull free. “I’m so glad you’ve become part of the village. The mulled wine was a nice touch.”

  He stifled a laugh. “I do have an occasional idea of my own, you know. In fact, I have the idea right now that you should say you’ll marry me. Then we can save those good people from standing about in the snow, wondering what we’re up to.”

  She regarded him with such distress that he longed to take her into his arms. But some deep instinct told him to tread with care.

  “You don’t have to do this.”

  He sighed and tightened his grip on her hand. “I know I don’t. I want to marry you.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  He straightened to his full height and glared down at her as if she was an insubordinate gunner. “The devil, what maggot have you got in that busy mind of yours, my bonnie Bess?”

  To his regret, she pulled away, her face drawn with a misery that made his stomach cramp in denial. Could he be wrong? Could all his hopes come to nothing?

  “I don’t want to talk about this.”

  “Too bad. Tell me why you’ve been wandering around all day like the ghost at the feast.” A horrible thought struck him. “Don’t tell me you’re ashamed of what we did?”

  “Shouldn’t I be?” She raised despairing eyes to his.

  He caught her shoulders. “No, blast it, you shouldn’t. You’re a lovely, ardent creature, and when desire is mutual, it’s natural to express it.”

  Her lips trembled and to his horror, her eyes glazed with tears. “But it wasn’t.”

  “Wasn’t what? Natural?” He laughed. “It most certainly was.”

  “No, mutual,” she muttered.


  He frowned, not understanding. He must be the most thick-witted clodpoll in creation. “You didn’t want me?”

  She avoided his stare and to his horror, a tear trickled down her cheek. “Of course I did. You know I did.”

  “I thought so.”

  “But you didn’t want me.”

  “What utter damned drivel.” He fought the urge to prove once and for all how asinine that pronouncement was. “I was desperate for you.”

  “Then why did you stop?”

  “Oh, Bess,” he said helplessly, and this time he didn’t hesitate. He wrapped his arms about her and kissed her thoroughly. She hesitated before she kissed him back, leading to a satisfactorily passionate attempt to convince her of his interest and affection.

  Reluctantly he raised his head. She looked rosy and well kissed and, to his relief, a wee bit happier.

  “I thought I must have disgusted you when I was so…so eager,” she confessed. “Or I did something wrong that made you stop.”

  When he stepped away after Bess offered him everything, he’d known he hurt her. She’d left herself dangerously vulnerable, and his abrupt withdrawal had to smart. But he’d had no idea his denial had made her doubt herself so profoundly.

  What a bloody idiot he was. He’d underestimated the powerful innocence that made her see his barely held restraint as lack of interest. “You were glorious in my arms, a dream. You’re everything I desire in a woman. Surely you know that.”

  “You seemed to want me. And then…you didn’t.”

  “I’ll always want you. Even when I’m old and gray, and I need an ear trumpet to hear you call me a blockhead.”

  When the wee joke roused the ghost of a smile, fresh hope flooded in. With every moment, she looked more confident, thank God. “So you wanted to keep kissing me?”

  “Hell, Bess, I wanted more than that—but it wasn’t the time or place.” His voice deepened into a husky rumble. “I intend to claim you as my wife and my countess in front of the entire world. You’re worthy of every honor, not some hole-in-the-corner seduction, no matter how mad I was for you.”

  Her eyes glowed with such light that his heart turned over. “Oh, Rory, what a fool I am. You were being noble. I should have realized.”

  “And hellish painful it was, too.” He kissed her quickly to thank her for calling him Rory. “Silly widgeon.”

  For the first time today, those lush lips curved in a genuine smile. “So you’re not proposing just to save my reputation?”

  He wasn’t given to flowery speeches or dramatic gestures, but this moment called for something memorable. The emotion shining unspoken in her eyes defeated inhibitions.

  He shifted back a pace and caught her hand. Then he dropped to one knee and stared up into the bonnie face that fired his dreams. “I’m proposing, Bess, because without you my life is incomplete. I’m proposing because from the moment I met you, you’ve filled my every thought.”

  “That’s better,” she said unsteadily. Serious dark blue eyes studied him. “I’ve only known you a week.”

  His grip on her hand tightened. “It’s been a devil of an eventful week, though, worth more than six months of society courtship where we’d sit over teacups with a chaperone counting every word.”

  “Would you…would you court me like that if I asked you?”

  His blood surged in raging denial. He wanted her now—in his bed and in his life. “Yes.”

  She raised a skeptical eyebrow. “You don’t sound too sure.”

  He gave her a rueful smile. “I’m impatient to make you mine. But I can wait.” His voice rasped as he continued. “Just for the love of heaven, don’t make me wait too long.”

  “A year?”

  Good God. He’d be a tattered wreck after a year of burning for her. “So you’ll marry me?”

  Humor lit her eyes. “So you’ll wait a year?”

  “Aye, if I must. I’m sure of what I want. I can’t expect the same of you.” He paused. “As long as I have your promise.”

  “More than a year?”

  He rose and regarded her uncertainly. “Are you really not sure?”

  Her smile widened. “I’m checking to see if you are. I want to be more than just a convenient choice.”

  He released a crack of appreciative laughter. “You’re teasing me, you impossible lassie.”

  The glance she sent him from under her lashes was unmistakably flirtatious. “I might be.”

  “You don’t want to wait a year?” He slid his arms around her waist.

  “I dislike tea parties.”

  She was a treasure. Provoking, but definitely a treasure. “So how long must I wait?”

  “How long would you wait?”

  “Forever if I have to,” he bit out, drawing her closer. “Will you marry me, Bess?”

  She clasped her hands behind his neck. Her touch thundered through him like fifty cannons firing a broadside. “I will, my lord.”

  “You will?” he said stupidly.

  Her brilliant smile dazzled him, made him feel like he tumbled through the stars to paradise. “Oh, yes. I was sure from the first, too.”

  “My darling…” He kissed her with all the reverent joy in his heart. He only stopped when someone knocked on the door, loudly enough to outweigh the blood pounding in his ears. Slowly he raised his head and stared down at Bess. She looked completely spellbound.

  “My love, our privacy comes to an end.” Unable to resist, he kissed each corner of her full mouth. That mouth had lured him all week. The promise of a lifetime of kisses made him ready to throw back his head and shout his triumph to the rafters.

  She strained up toward him. “Kiss me again.”

  He laughed and forced himself to step away. How could she have imagined he despised her ardent spirit? Her fiery passion was one of the many things he loved about Bess.

  Love …

  He loved Bess.

  The world stopped turning. Even the insistent knocking faded to nothing.

  He loved her. With a love larger and mightier than the ocean.

  “Rory?”

  He blinked until the great hall returned to focus. But still the everlasting truth hammered at him. He loved Bess. And she’d agreed to be his wife. He could hardly wait.

  “We’re getting married,” he said jubilantly and caught her up against him for another kiss.

  This time she pulled free. She turned toward the door. “Dear heaven, the villagers will wonder what’s happened to us.” She glanced at the tall clock against the wall. “We should have set out twenty minutes ago.”

  “They’ll forgive us once they know why we delayed.” Given the efficient flow of information, he’d lay good money most, if not all, of them guessed what Bess and the new earl were doing right now.

  “Shall we tell them?” To his delight, she caught his hand.

  “I should speak to your father first.”

  “So today this is our secret.”

  He was sure that he looked completely moonstruck. Why not? He was. “Aye.”

  Her hold tightened. “I like that.”

  He raised her hand to his lips. “You’ve made me the happiest man in England.” He paused. “And Scotland.”

  “I’m rather pleased myself.” Then typically her attention turned to practical matters. “You need to put on your costume.”

  Bess Farrar had promised to marry him, and the whole world turned to Christmas. “Just one more kiss.”

  “We’re going to be so late,” she said, without her usual conviction.

  He edged her back a few paces. “It’s your fault. You found the mistletoe.”

  “Oh, you’re a devil,” she whispered before his lips captured hers.

  Silently he vowed lifelong devotion. He wondered if she sensed his pledge, because when he raised his head, her eyes were misty.

  With a tenderness that jammed the breath in his throat, she touched his cheek. “I’m going to love being your wife.”

  But did that mean she
loved him? Another rap on the door proved this wasn’t the moment to find out.

  They had time. Praise heaven, they had the rest of their lives.

  “Curse our obligations. I want you to myself.” He crossed the room and flung on Joseph’s striped robe. Then he unbolted the door. Dr. Simpson stood on the step, looking knowing, while the people lined up in the snow watched with unconcealed curiosity.

  “Are you ready?” Rory whispered to Bess when she joined him in the doorway.

  “I’m ready for anything as long as you’re with me.”

  How he loved the proud tilt of her chin. “Then let’s hoist our sails and set our course for new lands, sweetheart.”

  He strode out to join his people, the woman he loved by his side.

  Bess slipped out of the crowded, noisy hall onto Penton Abbey’s dark front step. Her heart raced with such excitement, it was like having a hundred Christmas candles burning bright inside her.

  Carefully she closed the door. She didn’t want anyone to follow. Earlier there had been a moon, but now the sky clouded over for more snow. Behind her, she heard the scratch of fiddles and the villagers’ whoops and stamping feet as they danced to celebrate Christmas Day. Although by now, it was well into Christmas night. Everyone was having far too much fun to go home after the new earl’s magnificent feast.

  “Just where are you off to so late, my bonnie lassie?” Rory drawled, emerging from the shadows beside the door and catching her hand.

  Bess laughed, as much from happiness as amusement, and let him draw her down to stand in the snow in front of the house. “I can’t delay. I’m off to meet a pirate, good sir.”

  “The scurvy rascal will have to wait,” Rory said. “I’ve got plans for you first.”

  He swooped down for a kiss. Immediate, now familiar passion ignited. She curved into his tall, strong body, at last free to express her aching longing. It felt like an eon since he’d kissed her, and she sank blissfully into the heated demand of his lips. This was the first chance they’d had to be alone since yesterday’s proposal.

  The play had proven a great success, and while she and Rory hadn’t said a whisper about their engagement, pointed looks from her neighbors hinted that the village’s gossip mill whirred away as usual. Even Daisy seemed to understand that this was a special day and she’d been a perfect angel. Unfortunately the human angels hadn’t been quite so exemplary. Sally Potts had forgotten her lines when she announced her good tidings to the shepherds, and a brawl between Mrs. Hallam’s twin boys had disrupted the heavenly host’s chorus of hallelujahs.