Authors: Loretta Chase
Tags: #historical romance, #regency romance, #novella, #holiday short reads, #second-chance romance, #Romance, #short-reads, #historical fiction, #holiday romance
Falling Stars (9 page)
“I’m one of the two most understanding fellows in England.” He smiled and climbed into the carriage.
Blushing, Christina hurried back to the house.
***
Marcus reached the house not long after the others had left. He had scoured Bath without finding the angels he wanted. As a result, he had spent a great deal of money and waited a great many hours while a doll maker transformed a trio of tiny china dolls according to Marcus’s specifications. He would have reached Greymarch in time for dinner if he hadn’t come across a carriage accident and decided to be a good Samaritan.
Still, he did have the angels, and if he made a push, he could join the others before the midnight service ended. He gave the packages to the footman with orders to put them in his bedchamber.
Marcus was moving to the front door when his glance lit upon a side table. A hymnal lay upon it.
“Mrs. Travers forgot her hymnal,” he said.
“Oh, Mrs. Travers didn’t go to church, sir,” the footman said. “She said she had a headache. She went out a few minutes ago to take a turn about the garden. She said a short walk in the cold air often helps.”
Marcus changed direction and headed for the ballroom, whose French doors opened onto the terrace. From the terrace, he surveyed the formal gar-dens. There was no sign of her.
Out of the corner of his eyes he caught a flash of something, but when he looked that way it was gone. The wind rustled the leaves of the rhododendrons.
“Christina?”
Where in blazes was she? Where could she have gone in the dead of night, in the dead of winter?
Tonight, Christina. It must be tonight.
He shook his head, but the recollection wouldn’t be shaken off. Then it began again: the past crowding into his mind and tangling with the present as it had done two weeks ago, before they laid the ghosts to rest.
Run away with me, Christina.
“No, I’m going to do it right this time,” he muttered. “Courting and a church wedding and—”
Meet me at the gatehouse at midnight. Promise.
Yes, I’ll be there. I promise.
His gaze moved to the fir forest where the old gatehouse lay hidden from view... where the flash had come from.
She couldn’t be there. He was losing his mind— which was hardly surprising. These last ten days of keeping his hands to himself were taking their toll. He was probably going mad with frustration.
All the same, he couldn’t keep himself from hurrying through the garden and down the path to the stream, then across the narrow bridge. He broke into a run when he reached the path leading to the gatehouse. It was nearly midnight. He couldn’t be late, he thought wildly. He didn’t know why. All he knew was that he mustn’t, couldn’t be late.
He reached the clearing just as the village church tolled the first stroke of midnight. A lantern stood on the stone ledge of the gatehouse window.
A figure stood in the shadow of the doorway.
He raced across the clearing and swept her into his arms.
***
If she had taken leave of her senses, Christina reflected a while later, at least she wasn’t the only one.
They should have simply returned to the main house. But she had shown him the gatehouse key she’d stolen from Julius’s desk, and Marcus had unlocked the door and taken her inside. Then, because she was shivering, he had built a fire. She wasn’t at all surprised that the place was well stocked with coal, and not at all amazed to see the stack of blankets and cushions heaped near the hearth, just as though she and Marcus had been expected. This night, she could believe anything.
It also seemed the most natural thing in the world to be snuggled cozily with him in front of the fire. It was right that she should be in his arms, her head resting on his chest while she tried to explain how she had come to be there.
She didn’t even try to make up a face-saving excuse. She couldn’t think why she needed to save face.
“There were stars falling,” she told him. “It was a shower of stars... and I just had to come... to find diamonds, perhaps... or maybe it was myself I came to find.”
“Yourself?”
“From long ago. I did what was best then, I know, because it was hopeless for us. And my life hasn’t been empty or miserable. I haven’t been pining for you all this time. I was a good wife, and fond of Arthur, and content, and I had two children to love frantically. And yet tonight it seemed... it was as though I left some part of myself behind that night ten years ago. And I think it was the girl who loved you and wanted to follow you to the ends of the earth.”
“And did you find her?” he asked softly.
“Yes.”
“Will she follow me to the ends of the earth?”
“Yes.”
He gave her a quick, fierce hug. “It may be enough if she marries me. Will she?”
“Oh, yes. She’s been waiting for you to ask.” She looked up at him. “I was beginning to think you’d never ask.”
“It’s only been—” He frowned. “Gad, Christina, it’s been two weeks. Just like the last time.”
“Yes. You work very quickly.”
“I was trying to proceed slowly, to work my way into your affections by degrees, until you found it impossible to live without me. I wanted you to have no doubt that we’re ideally suited, that I’m the perfect mate for you and shall make a superior papa for Delia and Livy.”
“You did that very well.” She smiled up at him. “You’ve made me fully aware of all your many assets.”
“Not all of them.” His eyes burned into hers. “But that can wait until after we’re wed. I love you very much. I can wait.”
“So can I,” she said.
He nuzzled her head affectionately. She pressed a bit closer. His lips touched her forehead. Her hand slipped under his coat to his waistcoat. His hands slid down her back to the base of her spine. And tightened. She tipped her head back. His mouth brushed hers. Her fingers strayed under the waist-coat to the soft linen of his shirt. His mouth brushed hers again, then lingered. Warmth trickled through her, but it tingled, and she shivered. His arms tightened around her and the kiss deepened.
Then his hands were moving over her, stirring muscles and flesh to aching awareness. The world dissolved to haze, and the trickling warmth built to a torrent of heat. It raced through her veins and whirled in her head.
The haze darkened and fiery stars danced in it.
Things came undone... buttons, hooks... his, hers. His coat fell away, her gown. A neck cloth slid to the carpet, a shirt, a chemise... shoes, trousers, stockings. Her hands moved restlessly over rock-hard muscle while her body strained and yearned under his simmering caresses, and her flesh sizzled under the hot touch of his lips and tongue.
She felt the worn carpet, soft as velvet against her back, as his powerful body bore her down. She heard his voice ragged with tenderness, coaxing, reassuring. She tried to answer.
“Marcus... oh, dear God...”
“I love you.”
His hands moved insistently, willing her farther, on to the brink and beyond. Then, in the instant that rapture claimed her, the thrust came, and there was raw power surging inside her, driving her farther still. She cried his name and her love, and they blazed together at last, and became but one shooting star.
***
When Livy woke on Christmas morning, she found an angel on her pillow. It had golden hair and a tiny gold halo and silk wings and gold threads in its white silk robe. There was one just like it on Delia’s pillow.
They gasped and exclaimed and laughed and hugged the angels. At last they noticed the two adults standing by the bed.
Then they noticed Mr. Greyson’s hand, which was tightly clasping their mama’s.
Twin blue gazes lifted questioningly to their mother. She quickly erased her smile.
“As you can see, I found him,” she said.
“Oh, yes. Thank you, Mama,” Delia said.
“Yes, thank you, Mama,” Livy echoed.
Their voices were breathless.
“I thought I had better hold on, so he doesn’t get lost again,” Christina explained.
“Yes.”
“Oh, yes.”
“But I can’t hold his hand forever,” she went on. “And so I was thinking I might marry him.”
Two eager nods.
“But then he would be your papa,” she said dubiously, “and that might be rather a bother, you know. We should have to go live with him in his house, and give him kisses every single night— maybe sometimes even in the daytime. And sometimes I would have to let him tell the bedtime stories, and I am quite sure that now and then when we were naughty he would scold us.”
Their gazes swung to Marcus.
“Well, I might,” he said.
They looked at each other.
Christina heaved a sigh. “Perhaps we’d better not marry him,” she said. “It will be a great deal of work.”
They considered.
After a moment, Delia said, “I’ll help you, Mama.”
“Me, too,” said Livy.
Marcus released Christina’s hand to sit down upon the bed. “Are you quite sure?” he asked. “I would try my best not to be a terrible bother, but—”
“Oh, you won’t be.” Delia hastily crawled out from under the bedclothes to pat his arm reassuringly.
Livy quickly followed. “I’ll help you be good,” she said.
Marcus looked up at Christina. “Well, Mama?”
“He’s very nice,” Delia said, patting his head as though he were a puppy.
“He can teach us to cook,” Livy pointed out. “And he sings funny songs.”
“And he speaks French.”
“And he can make the sled go very fast.”
“And he has gold speckles in his eyes.”
“And he came on the star.”
Christina blinked. “He what?”
“On the star?” Marcus said, equally startled.
“You remember,” Delia said as she crept onto his lap. “The clock chimed twelve times and the star fell. And you came.”
“And I came,” he said wonderingly.
Livy elbowed her sister onto one knee, and claimed the other. “The angels sent you on the star to be our papa,” she explained.
His eyes met Christina’s.
“I see,” she said. “Angels. That explains everything. Well, he shall have to marry us, I suppose. I wouldn’t dream of disappointing the angels.”
At this the twins went into transports. They hugged him and kissed him and jumped up and down. Then they flung themselves off the bed to hug and kiss their mama and promise to help her take care of him. Then they grabbed their angels and rushed out to shriek the news to the household.
Christina called out a rebuke, which was completely ignored. She shrugged and turned back to him. “You came on a star,” she said.
“The angels sent me.”
“To be their papa.”
He grinned. “And all this time I thought it was you playing tricks on my mind and luring me with provocative gowns and diamonds.”
“Certainly it was me,” she said, lifting her chin. “The instant I saw you in the hall I said to myself, Here’s an eligible man. I think I shall catch him.’ “
He laughed.
“But I didn’t make you come to Greymarch,” she said. “What made you come?”
What had it been? Boredom? Restlessness? No, worse.
“I believe I was lonely,” he said rather sheepishly. “I wanted to be with my family, among those who loved me.”
“And so you came and found an eligible family, and decided to trap us,” she said. “You see how simple it is? It wasn’t angel magic. The angels take care of the stars. The rest is up to us. If we want magic, we must make it ourselves. And so we did.”
“And so we did,” Marcus repeated, his gaze traveling possessively from her tidy slippers to the top of her slightly touseled head. A wash of pink tinged her cheekbones.
He rose from the bed. “I’d much rather believe it was our own doing. I’d rather not be dependent upon angels all the rest of my life.” He gathered her into his arms. “I’d rather count on you,” he said softly.
“I’ll be there,” she whispered as his mouth lowered to hers. “I promise.”
Merry Christmas from Loretta Chase
I live in Worcester, Massachusetts, in a seventy- year-old house with my remarkably supportive husband and too many books. It’s long been obvious to him that I am a fount of obscure and useless knowledge. (He wonders, for instance, why I can trace on a map six different mail coach routes from London to Brighton, but can’t find fifth gear on my VW.) Having decided early on that I would be less dangerous to society and myself if I became a full-time writer, he’s employed all his masculine wiles to that end. Even before my first book was finished, he persuaded me to quit my day job and Just Write. The result has been seven novels in eight years, dozens of video scripts, and several awards, including an RWA Rita for
The Sandalwood Princess
. “Falling Stars” is my first Christmas story. It was inspired by a photograph I saw some time ago of an elaborately fanciful gatehouse—all that remained of a centuries-old estate.
Discover Loretta Chase
The Royal Bridesmaids Anthology
About the Author
After a heroic attempt to be an English major forever, Loretta Chase stoically accepted her degree but kept on reading and writing. As well as working in academe, she had an enlightening if brief life in retail and a Dickensian six-month experience as a meter maid. In the course of moonlighting as a corporate video scriptwriter, she succumbed to the charm of a producer, who lured her into writing novels -- and marrying him. The union has resulted in what seems like an awful lot of books and quite a few awards, including the Romance Writers of America’s Rita. Heralded as “…the long awaited successor to Georgette Heyer” by Library Journal, Loretta Chase’s historical romance novels have been published all over the world.
