His Christmas Pleasure (7 page)

“Yes, the horses. You’ve tried to save them, haven’t you? From what I’ve learned, you’ve done everything in your power to keep the horses, including many unsavory schemes.”

“Some of my efforts have been perhaps a bit criminal, but not all of them,”

Andres said. “I won the silver mine in a game of cards.”

“Ah, yes, that was in the Viceroyalty of Peru.”

“Did you send a man there?” Andres knew he hadn’t. There hadn’t been enough time, and the mine was done. It had been tapped out before he’d arrived. He’d spent two years of his life searching for a rumored vein of ore and never found it. He’d given up, turned the mine over to the natives, and returned to Europe.

“Should I have?” Lord Dobbins asked.

Andres was tired of being baited. “It is true that I am the illegitimate son, but I’ve claimed the title. The blood flows in my veins. It is mine.”

“But it came from the wrong side of the covers,” Lord Dobbins argued.

“That is something you must remember. You can’t just label yourself or claim the title for yourself, knowing most of us would never question your right to it. It’s a bold move, Barón, one I rather admire—but it is ultimately dishonest. All those people in Banfield’s ballroom, even your friend Holburn, have standards. And you don’t meet them.”

“I wonder if your wife would say the same?”

That barb hit home.

The false smile vanished from Dobbins’s face and Andres found his weakness. For all of the man’s bravado, his wife was more than a possession.

They both knew Carla’s nature was such that if she wanted something, nothing would stand in her way, not even her powerful husband.

“Someday,” Andres vowed, “I shall return the name Ramigio to where it should be, title or not.” He spoke with conviction. This was his goal in life.

What he wanted. Dobbins was welcome to Carla.

His lordship’s manner changed, the smugness replaced by a grudging respect.

“I believe you, but you don’t have two shillings to your name or any other.

You’re into the duns. You own a share of that horse Holburn is holding for you, but little else. It’s a pity, really. I quite like you.”

“So, it is my finances you wish to discuss?” Andres pressed, wanting to come to the heart of this interview.

“I actually wish to offer you an opportunity.”

“To what? Disappear?”

“Exactly.” The smile—angry, vindictive—returned to his lordship’s face. “I want my wife back the way she was.” He waved a dismissive hand, as if he could read Andres’s mind. “Don’t be excited. I’m not paying you off, not in the way your type expects.”

“I wouldn’t take a payment anyway,” Andres returned.

“Ah, yes, your latent, misplaced pride. I wager five years ago I could have bought you off.”

Five years ago, even as much as a year ago, Andres had been a different man….Gillian’s love, and her rejection, had changed him.

“I know your weakness, Ramigio,” Dobbins said. “I know what you want.

It’s not my wife. In fact, you have been rather generous to her considering her behavior. And please understand, I am just attempting to prevent her from making more of a fool of herself than she already has. She has ignored the boundaries. There is a price to pay.”

“So this is more about punishing her than dealing with me?” Andres asked.

“Oh, yes,” his lordship assured him.

“I won’t leave England.” For the first time, Andres had friends. He could build something here.

“I suspected such. Also, I have money, but not enough to guard the whole of the British coastline to prevent your return. What I want to offer you is this.”

He picked up a leather portfolio from the seat beside him. He pulled out a piece of parchment covered with tight, cramped writing. A legal document.

At the top was the word Deed.

“This is for a property I own,” Lord Dobbins said, all business. “Its name is Stonemoor. It’s in Northumberland. Do you know where that is?”

“North?”

“Exactly. As far north as a man can go and still be in England. It’s a house, stables, and two hundred acres of fields and forest. It’s yours.”

He held the deed out to Andres, who stared at the document in disbelief.

Stables. Land.

Dobbins did know what he wanted. With two hundred acres, Andres could do anything.

He remembered how he’d felt when he’d won ownership of the mine. He’d been overwhelmed then, too. Land meant wealth. Permanence. Stability.

And no one just gave it away, either through gift or gambling.

“What is wrong with the property?” Andres asked.

Dobbins laughed. “You have every reason to be suspicious. Why trust me?

Then again, you know I want you removed from my wife’s life. This is a more pleasant way of going about it, considering other options.”

“What is wrong with Stonemoor?” Andres repeated.

Lord Dobbins lowered his arm. “I haven’t an idea what it even looks like.

The property has been in my family for a generation or two. It means nothing to me other than an account on my ledgers. But it could mean everything to you. Especially since it would be yours. There is no entailment, no lien.”

His.

Andres let himself believe. He couldn’t stop himself from doing so. He was a dreamer. It was his nature to wish the impossible. Had it not served him well before?

He didn’t care where Northumberland was. He’d already traveled to the ends of the earth in pursuit of his dream—and he did have the mare he shared with Holburn. Destinada was her name. The perfect name for the horse upon which he would build his reputation. And now here he was, being offered stables, land … a home.

Of course it was a trick. It had to be. Dobbins owed him no goodwill.

But did it matter? He was a man with nothing. Land could be molded into whatever he wished. If it was marshy, he’d drain it. Dry and arid? He’d build a canal to the sea if need be.

He reached for the document, but Lord Dobbins snatched it back. “One requirement.”

Of course. “Yes?”

“You must depart London immediately.”

“How soon?”

“Tomorrow?”

Andres laughed. “You are jesting.”

“Very well then, three days and then you are gone. Out of London. And you will not return. If you do, if you step foot in this city again, and I most certainly can monitor that, then the deed reverts back to me. It’s mine.”

Never return to London again—in exchange for land, and stables? For a home?

“I will agree to that,” Andres said.

“Good,” Lord Dobbins answered. He slipped the deed back into the portfolio. “My man of business is Harold Deeter, Esquire. His offices are on Atherington Street. Meet me there tomorrow at half past eleven and we shall go over the formalities and sign papers.” He laughed lightly. “I can see by your expression, Ramigio, you don’t quite trust me. If I were a man like yourself, one who has worn many hats, I would feel the same. However, the offer is good. The property will be yours.” He reached up and rapped on the roof of the coach, a signal to the driver to stop. “You don’t mind if I drop you here, do you, Ramigio? I have another engagement.”

Andres shrugged, still stunned by the turn of events. Two hundred acres. A house. Stables.

The coach rolled to a halt.

“Until tomorrow,” Dobbins said.

“Yes, tomorrow.” Andres searched his lordship’s face in the coach light and did not read subterfuge. Either Dobbins was an unusually adept card player, or he meant exactly what he said.

Andres opened the door and climbed out. The coach rolled away. He watched it until it turned a corner and was out of sight.

Two hundred acres.

He then took stock of his surroundings. He was not in a bad section of town.

There was a park across the street and the roads were wide and modern. He thought he might be in Mayfair. He couldn’t see a street sign, but he knew that if he walked, he’d find one.

The night was cold and clouds were moving across the moon. He’d not worn a coat, and he now regretted it … except that he was going to own a piece of property—in Northumberland.

Stonemoor. He liked the sound of it. He began walking, not caring where he was going, his mind working feverishly enough for him to forget everything, even the cold, as he began accepting and planning for Stonemoor. He would be Andres Ramigio Peiró, lord of Stonemoor.

His mother, his father’s lover, had always promised him that he was destined for great things. She’d whispered that a village crone with a gift for sight had told her so on the eve of his birth. She’d died when he was seven and that is when the barón had taken him into his house.

Andres had believed then that going to live with his father had been the fulfillment of the crone’s prophecy. Yet the years had not proven it true.

But this must be what she’d meant.With Stonemoor and the mare Andres had at Holburn’s country stables, he could rebuild a dynasty. The mare was already breeding. Holburn had covered her with his best stallion, a leggy Thoroughbred known for speed. If Andres had the money, he could purchase more mares and breed an even more spectacular stallion of his own….

Money. Estates needed money, especially to build what he had in mind. He saw stables of the sort that his father had had. A cobbled stable yard. Grooms to see to the horses’ every need.

He’d have to ask Dobbins if the house was furnished or if there were wagons and equipment. The list of what he needed expanded in the space of a few steps.

Andres stopped. Two gentlemen wrapped up in heavy greatcoats were approaching him from the opposite direction. They cast him curious glances as they walked past. He was just standing there, but little did they know that his mind was flying.

He needed money. He could borrow it, but then he’d be beholden to whoever lent it. Andres wanted Stonemoor for himself.

And then he remembered Miss Montross’s conversation in the library.

She had money. Her own money. Money not connected with the dowry or any inheritance from her father.

Money that came to her upon marriage.

He knew she wasn’t completely fond of him. In fact, she might be the only woman in the world who wasn’t attracted to him.

But if he could win her over, he could have his every dream. He had to believe his path had crossed hers for a reason. Certainly, now, he understood that moment of connection in the library. Fate was trying to capture his attention.

Andres started walking. Abby Montross was not going to be one of his usual conquests. She was smarter, wiser … and truly in love with another man.

But he’d think of a way around her.

And he was looking forward to the challenge.

Abby Montross was never, ever going to marry. She made that vow silently over luncheon. Her father had invited Lord Villier to dine. It was supposed to have been a spontaneous idea brought on by the night before. However, Abby caught on quickly that this meal had been planned for at least a week.

First, there was Cook’s menu. Luncheon was usually a light meal, some cold chicken, bread, perhaps a soup. This day, it was a Portuguese ham, a round of beef, hot chicken, seven different side dishes, and Cook’s almond cake.

Her father even ordered his finest wine to be uncorked, a wine he’d boasted he was saving for a special occasion.

Her father had also ordered up the full complement of servants—a footman behind every chair.

Abby wouldn’t have minded all the fuss if Lord Villier had turned out to be a different person from the one he was.

She didn’t think she was picky. After all, if she couldn’t marry the man she loved, what did it matter? At least that had been her attitude toward Mr.

Lynsted. However, Mr. Lynsted had been a gentleman of refined tastes, quiet, dignified, and rather shy.

Lord Villier was as wide as he was tall and walked with vigorous arm movement, as if he pumped himself forward. He had a balding pate with tufts of graying brown hair over each ear and the most narrow-set, watery blue eyes Abby had ever seen. She hoped he hadn’t passed on such an unfortunate trait to any of his thirteen offspring.

He also had a tendency to belch.

The first time he did it, he held a fist to his mouth and handled the matter rather politely … considering what it was.

But by the time Cook’s cake was served, he was so mellowed by good food and good wine that he burped aloud.

Abby caught her mother’s eye. She looked as offended, and worried, as Abby felt herself.

Her father seemed not to notice, signaling instead for the dessert wine to be poured.

Indeed, her father gave every impression of admiring Lord Villier.

Abby discovered why when the conversation turned to money. Lord Villier’s interest, his life,revolved around investments. In his position at the Treasury, he received a great deal of information the common man would not know. A man such as her father could make good use of this knowledge.

That Lord Villier was interested in her was plain to see. The more he drank, the more he leered in her direction. By the time lunch was finished, he was talking to her bosom more than he was talking to her.

This her father did notice.

He hurried his lordship out the door.

Returning to the dining room, where Abby and her mother still stood, their heads together to share their grave reservations, he immediately burst out, “I know, I know. He’s not ideal. However, he does have very good contacts.

And he liked Abigail.” He said the last in a rush of words as if in fear of their reaction.

“Heath, certainly we can do better,” Abby’s mother protested.

Her father looked pointedly at the servants, who were clearing the table while listening to every word. “That will be all for now,” he told them.

The footmen dutifully left the room.

Once Abby was alone with her parents, her father repeated, “He likes her.

The man is powerful. Now that he has decided she would make a good Lady Villier, I don’t know many who would challenge him for her.”

“A good third Lady Villier,” Abby pointed out. “I don’t think I can do this, Father. I can’t marry that man. If he belches in public, what does he do in private?”