His Christmas Pleasure (9 page)

“I thought he was trying to untangle himself from her,” Jonesy said.

“Yes, he is, but she doesn’t want to be untangled.”

“I understand that,” Jonesy replied. “What I want to know is why is she so upset? The woman has"—she made a loud ahem in place of a word—"with half the male population of London. What is so special about this one?”

Abby had to leave. She wasn’t certain she wanted to hear this—except she did. A bit. Just a little.

“Lady Dobbins may have lovers, but she’s only"—Lady Edgars made a loud ahem just as Jonesy had—“once with him,” she ended triumphantly, knowing this was gossip few had heard. “She lets on as if it has been more often, but I was in a dressing room at Madame Giselle’s being fitted for the dress I need to wear next month to my cousin’s presentation and I overheard Lady Dobbins talking about him to someone in the next room.”

“Who was she talking to?” Lady Gilbertson asked.

“I don’t know,” Lady Edgars said.

“Tell them the part that is so unbelievable,” Lady Mortimer urged, excitement bubbling to the surface.

“Yes, tell us,” both Jonesy and Lady Gilbertson encouraged, speaking the same thought aloud.

“Well,” Lady Edgars started, obviously enjoying being the center of attention, “she said that he made—ahem—to her no less than six times that night. Six. One night.” She held up her fingers to demonstrate the numbers so there could be no mistaking her.

Lady Gilbertson made a shrill, strangled noise—not because her daughters were listening but because she was impressed.

“Six times?” Jonesy said. “No man can—ahem—six times in one night.”

“That’s what her friend in the dressing room said,” Lady Edgars reported,

“and Lady Dobbins said he ‘drove her to madness’ each time.”

“Well, that might be a short trip for someone like her,” Lady Gilbertson declared dryly. “But I’ve heard rumors those Spaniards are bulls. And have you seen how handsome he is?” She started cackling and didn’t stop, sounding very much like a crazed hen ready to lay eggs.

And she wasn’t the only one. All the women joined in, giggling and casting looks and making that chuckling sound at each other as if sharing the grandest secret. Even Jonesy.

But not Abby and her mother.

Her mother looked like she wished she could disappear. She wasn’t laughing.

Abby wasn’t completely certain what they were going on about. She didn’t think Miss Jane and Miss Nanette were either, although they snickered with the rest. Perhaps this was something only a married woman could understand. She did know what they meant by the “ahem.” She wasn’t naive.

However, she didn’t understand why the number six was so important—

Their cackling came to an abrupt halt.

Their eyes widened, then took on a look of appreciation as they stared at a point beyond where Abby stood in the doorway, the teapot still in her hand.

That’s when hairs on the back of Abby’s neck tingled.

Someone stood behind her. She caught a whiff of shaving soap. She remembered how warm the spicy scent had seemed the night before. How she’d liked that extra hint of sandalwood … only now it was mixed with the cold of the autumn wind, and she knew who had arrived.

Abby turned to face the barón. “Hello,” she said, her voice faint. It was embarrassing to be caught gossiping, except he didn’t appear to have noticed.

She sensed his tension. He’d come with a purpose. His silver eyes didn’t look around the room but focused on her, a small frown between his brows.

And she knew something was wrong. He still wore his greatcoat, although he had removed his hat and gloves.

He didn’t even glance at the other women. “May we talk?”

“Right now?” she asked, ruffled by his intensity.

“Yes.” He looked up then and noticed they were not alone. He seemed puzzled by it.

The women all watched him, their expressions a sight to behold. This was the first time Abby had ever seen Jonesy look impressed.

Well, the barón was a handsome man, and his accent was enough to make any woman swoon. It wasn’t that Abby hadn’t registered his attractiveness …

but she noticed other things about him as well—such as this air of urgency about him. Whatever difficulty had brought him to her, it was of great import, and she felt a need to respond.

“Mother, everyone, will you excuse us a moment?” she asked, handing the teapot off to the footman who had escorted the barón into the sitting room.

Her mother said with no little confusion, “Where are you going? We have guests.”

“Yes, we do,” Abby replied. “But the barón needs to speak to me.”

“I am so sorry,” he apologized to the roomful of women as he took Abby’s hand. The night before, she’d worn gloves. Now the touch of his skin on hers felt intimate.

“Where are you going?” her mother demanded.

“For a walk,” he said. He glanced at the other women in the room. “If you will excuse us. It will be for only a moment.”

“A walk?” Lady Gilbertson questioned. “It’s brisk outside. It’s not walking weather.”

“We shall just take a turn around the garden,” the barón answered, pulling on Abby’s hand so that she would follow him.

And she went. Her curiosity was in full spin now.

Behind her, she overheard Jonesy say, “And she said she didn’t know him, hmmmm?” Her poor mother would have to be the one to answer for her.

As for herself, she was following the barón. He led her out into the front hall, then she guided him toward the back door.

He grabbed a cloak hanging from a peg by the door and threw it over her shoulders. He opened the door.

She went outside and was conscious they were being watched. A glance at the windows told her that all their guests, as well as her mother, stood peering out the windows.

However, the barón seemed undeterred by the audience. He took Abby’s arm and guided her into the bare autumn garden, moving toward a bench beside a fountain. In the summer, the splash of the fountain’s water was one of Abby’s favorite things about the garden. Today, it was quiet. As they approached, a squirrel scurried for cover amongst fallen leaves, but even the hubbub of London seemed miles away.

“What is it?” she asked. “What has you so upset?”

He didn’t answer until they’d reached the bench. He sat her down and knelt on the ground in front of her.

His expression was so serious that Abby didn’t know what to make of him or his actions.

“Does this have anything to do with last night?” she pressed. Her breath came out as puffs of frigid air. The bench’s wooden slats were cold even through the cloak.

“Will you marry me?” he answered.

Andres had not intended to be quite that blunt. He could see by her wide eyes and dropped jaw that she hadn’t expected a marriage proposal. It was just that his mind was brimming with opportunities, challenges, things that must be done; he hadn’t really developed his thoughts toward her completely

… and yet she was instrumental to his reaching what he desired.

He wrapped his hands around hers, both for warmth and to keep her where she was until he could finish building his case.

“I’ve surprised you,” he said, thinking rapidly. “I’ve surprised myself. I mean, I’ve thought about this … a little—well, a lot—”

“You can’t have thought about it a lot. We’ve just met.”

“In my life, twenty-four hours can be a long time,” he confessed, and that was true. He’d never been afraid to make a quick decision and stick to it …

although this was the first time his decision depended upon another person.

Lord Dobbins hadn’t been jesting. He’d signed the deed to Stonemoor over to Andres. It was his now. His. He didn’t know if she could understand what this meant to him.

And he prayed he had the right words to convince her. He’d never asked a woman for anything. He might have had a reputation for being a ladies’

man, but that had more to do with them flocking to him than vice versa.

“Please, Miss Montross, hear me out before you make any decision.”

She glanced at the house. “They are all watching us.”

He didn’t turn to look. He didn’t care. His focus was on her. “I have property. Good property. It’s a house, a huge house like what Holburn has,”

he assured her, knowing that if he confessed he’d never seen it, she’d wisely run. “And I have stables and land.” In his mind’s eye he could picture them.

He’d spent the night plotting them out.

The stables looked like what his father had owned. He started describing them to her. “They are built around a shaded courtyard so when you go to relax or saddle the horses you are not burned by the sun—”

“Is this in Spain?” she asked.

“No, in Northumberland,” he answered, the name still a bit alien on his tongue. Northumberland. It sounded very English.

“There is no sun in Northumberland,” she said.

“You have been there?” he countered, her words interrupting his dream.

“No, but it’s further north. I assumed less sun. People have said it is not as hot as London.”

“There is still sun,” he assured her. “And there is a bubbling spring nearby with the freshest water in the whole country. The tile roof is of the finest red clay and keeps everything cool—”

“A tile roof out of red clay? I thought they were slate.”

Andres shook his head, realizing in his enthusiasm his mind was playing tricks on him. Of course it wouldn’t be red clay. “It is clay,” he said, uncertain and not wanting to be distracted with details.

He rose to sit on the bench beside her. “What it is, is mine. I am going to build something magnificent there. My horses—” He paused. It didn’t sound right, not if he wished to win her over. “Our horses, the ones we shall breed, will be the most famous in all of the world.”

She looked at him as if he’d turned into a troll. “Horses? Our horses? Barón, I don’t like horses.”

Andres had never heard of anyone not liking horses. He couldn’t imagine such thing. “How do you travel?” he wondered.

“In a coach or a carriage or on my two feet. I don’t ride,” she said emphatically. “I’m not good at it. They are dangerous animals. I fell once.”

“And?” he prompted.

“And what?” she asked.

“So you fall. You climb back on the horse. I’ve fallen many times.”

“I fell once,” she informed him. “I broke my collarbone. I don’t need to fall again,” she assured him.

“How old were you?” he asked.

“Young,” she said, her annoyance coming out. “Eight, maybe seven.”

Andres shrugged her fear away. “Of course you fall when you are young—”

“I don’t like horses,” she reiterated. “They smell.”

For a second, his confidence wavered, but a man who had nothing to lose and stood everything to gain could not be choosy. “I will deal with the horses,” he said, smiling. “You can see to the house and the gardens.”

“Your house?” she confirmed.

“Yes,” he said. “But it will be our house.”

She studied him a moment. He waited, anxious for her answer.

“You want my money,” she said at last.

“I’m being very honest about it,” he answered.

“Perhaps too honest?” she suggested. “How did you come by this house?”

She was being prickly, and she really didn’t need to know all. He lied. “I inherited it.”

“Oh.”

“I will be honest with you,” he said, knowing that some of the truth must be told. “I have very little. I have my family name, Ramigio, which I hope to make once again important. That I value. I have the title. And I have a mare of my father’s stock. She is in foal. With those two horses, I will make my mark. And, before you think I truly have nothing, I do own a silver mine.”

“Where’s the silver?”

Banker’s daughters were not romantic. “It wasn’t such a good investment.

The silver ran out.”

“Where is it?”

“In Peru.”

“Where is that?”

“Far from here,” he said and brought the subject back to where he wanted it.

“Miss Montross, Abby, we can both help each other. You were angry last night—and I still don’t understand why—but it is fine,” he stressed, since she looked as if she was ready to jump in with a comment and he didn’t want her once again distracted. “What is important is that we met. You do believe in Fate, do younot?”

“Fate?” She frowned, as if tasting the word and finding it not to her liking.

“If you are asking if I believe our lives are preordained, I do not.”

“Yes, but last night, there was something between us that is not usual,” he pressed. “Would you not say that? In the library, when we met, did you not feel that—” He broke off, searching for the right word. “Specialness? It was as if we were supposed to find each other and at a time when we both needed someone.”

“I don’t need anyone,” she said, her chin coming up.

“Yes, you do.” Andres was not going to let her escape with that lie. “I can read it in your eyes. You were not comfortable in that room with those women. That’s why you left so quickly.”

“I left because you asked me to.”

He shook his head. “You left because there is this bond between us. A bond that does not make sense. I think you like me, just a little. I like you. I believe we were supposed to meet, and I believe you are supposed to help me with Stonemoor.”

Her certainty faded. Her chin lowered. “Stonemoor? Is that the name of your estate?”

Andres nodded. “If I had time, I would woo you—but I have no time.

Sometimes life is like that. We must take risks. That’s why I tell you everything so that you know all.”

Well, he wasn’t telling her everything. He couldn’t. If he did, she’d run away screaming. Besides, it was never good to tell a woman all that one knew.

They liked to hear what they thought they wanted to know.

But just for good measure, he confessed, “I have not always been the best of men. I have done things that were not always legal, but not in this country.

I’ve been good in England. I did those things because I thought they were a way to restore my family name and I was desperate and young. I wanted to honor the name Ramigio. I was not wise. I’ve wanted this property all my life.”