The Christmas Spirit (3 page)

Trudy wondered nervously if perhaps Francis had not underestimated the strength of their mark.

But then, even as she stood there, other details about him worked their own fascination, so that Trudy forgot for a moment her purpose in coming. His hair had the rich, wavy texture of meadow grass, the kind that made her want to sink her toes right in. His forehead was prominent over a set of well-defined eyebrows. And even with the ravagement of illness on his face and the scar, which made her cringe from the savagery that had caused it, she couldn't miss the fact that he was a stunningly handsome man.

A man she would like to lure into the mists, to place at her feet, and to feed with her own hand.

Surprisingly, Matthew was the first to break the trance that had fallen between them.

“Who the devil are you?" he said with a spare shake of his head, as if to clear a momentary dizziness.

Trudy gave a similar start. "I am Faye," she said without thinking.

A sudden glimmer lit his eyes. "Are you?" he asked, before muttering to himself, "Yes, I might believe you were if I were dreaming."

Confused, and flustered by her lack of control in a situation designed by herself, Trudy bobbed him a hasty curtsy. "Forgive me. I should have said, I am Miss Faye Meriwether."

"That would have been more proper, certainly. It does not explain, however, what a young, unescorted girl is doing by barging into my library, which is most definitely
im
proper."

"Nonsense!" Trudy was piqued that he thought of propriety, when most men dreamed of ravishment when they glimpsed her. "I am much older than I look. As old as you, I daresay. And, I have it upon the greatest authority, Sir Matthew, that you are younger than thirty."

"My age has nothing to do with it. How do you come to be in my library?"

Trudy had prepared herself for this question. With the practice of her race, she let the lie fall glibly from her tongue. "Ah, yes, well, I hope you will excuse me. But, you see, I did knock once and ask to speak to you. However, your manservant said you were not receiving visitors, so I started to go.

"Then --" she feigned a lively astonishment--"without so much as a word, your man appeared to have a change of heart, for he opened the door again and stepped aside.

"I do not know what was in his mind," she added with a pensive frown, "for he did not speak, but taking his action for an invitation, I entered and waited to be shown to some withdrawing room to await your pleasure. But I was left to cool my heels downstairs until I thought he must have forgotten all about me. Perhaps, I should simply have gone away, but that would have been very cowardly of me, don't you think? So, I came in search of you. I hope you do not mind too dreadfully." Trudy gave him what she knew was a bewitchingly hopeful smile.

Instead of looking bewitched as she had hoped, Matthew seemed more than a bit suspicious. His eyes had narrowed.

"You will not mind if I ask my companion to join us, will you? And, by the way, he is my companion, not my manservant, as you've assumed."

"Not at all," Trudy said, raising her chin proudly. "Let him be called if you doubt my story."

Her offended air did nothing to dissuade him. Matthew leaned from his chair to ring the bell.

While they waited, he did seem to feel that some explanation of his rudeness was warranted. "You must forgive me for not rising," he said, his eyes growing darker as he perused her. "I have been very ill of late. It costs me much to stand."

"But, of course." Though Trudy's heart sank to hear him. If he were truly that weak, her present plan would never work.

The seconds ticked between them, punctuated by a clock on the shelf. As they passed, Matthew seemed to forget himself long enough to stare at her strangely.

"Tell me, Miss Faye Meriwether," he said, and he seemed to probe his own mind for the answer. "Do you believe in second sight?"

Caught off guard, she stalled. "Pardon me?"

"In second sight. The power to see into the future."

"Oh, yes. That. Well--" Trudy's mind worked rapidly. "As a proper member of the Church, I should say, no, shouldn't I?"

Matthew's lips quirked. "Undoubtedly."

"Then, why do you ask?"

"It's nothing important." He gave his head a brisk shake. "Only, that if I did believe in it, I would swear that I . . . "

He was interrupted by the door's opening.

"Saab?"

Ahmad's question preceded him, but when he caught sight of Trudy, he stepped quickly back. His eyes betrayed a start much akin to fright.

"Ahmad, this young lady says you refused her admittance, then reopened the door to let her pass."

"No, saab," Ahmad hotly denied it, before Trudy turned her eyes on his with full force. His hazel gaze seemed to waver before hers, when he said more hesitantly, "That is, I did open the door again, saab, but I did not see her. I thought I had heard another knocking."

"You did not see her enter the house?"

"No, saab." Ahmad blinked his eyes once, then twice. "I did not notice the young lady."

Trudy gazed back at Matthew, who was frowning. But all he said was, "Thank you, Ahmad. I shall not disturb you again. Not, at least, until Miss Meriwether requires your assistance from this house."

Ahmad made a deep salaam and closed the door, confusion still on his face.

"Strange . . ." A question clouded Matthew's sharp gaze. "Ahmad has the eyesight of an eagle. He can spot an enemy on a mountainside hundreds of yards away."

"Well, I am not your enemy, so perhaps that explains it." Trudy allowed a note of offense to enter her voice. Matthew would keep her standing in the middle of his room, and even she knew that was not a polite way to treat a lady caller. Any other gentleman would have fallen on his face to welcome such a pretty visitor to his rooms. "May I take a chair?" she asked haughtily.

"Certainly." Matthew emerged from his trance. "Please make yourself comfortable while you tell me what in blazes you are doing here."

His cutting tone did nothing to put her at ease. He was still on his guard. Trudy saw she would have to do more to win his confidence.

As she sat, she donned an expression of reluctance, and a shade of becoming honesty. "Very well, I will confess . . . Sir Matthew, I'm afraid your companion startled me. He is so remarkably big, and--I almost hate to say it--his appearance is rather fierce. When he opened the door the second time, I suppose I cringed in a shadow, so he did not see me. And, since he did not, I thought it would be much easier to slip in to see you. And once that was done, of course, I truly had intended to ‘gird my loins,’ as the saying goes, to request a moment of your time, but he charged up the stairs and I never saw him again.

"So--" she took a deep breath, relieved to see that her lie was working. Matthew's brows had taken on a more cynical tilt-- "you can see what happened, and I do apologize for being so forward, but when you hear what I have come about, you will understand that I acted out of the most selfless intentions."

"Just what did you come about, now that this misunderstanding has been cleared up?"

Trudy leaned forward in her chair and let her charm loose on Matthew. Musical tones fluttered from her lips. "I have come on the matter of gravest urgency for a number of poor unfortunates. I am hoping you will help me."

Suspicion and a hint of hostility on his part raised a shield that blocked her charm. "Please explain what you mean."

Trudy wondered if she might not have overplayed the part of the ingénue, when a more mature character might be needed here. She straightened her spine.

"I have come on behalf of the Society for the Relief of Indigent African Natives. We have established an almshouse near Tottenham Court Road here in London, and we are sorely in need of new subscribers."

A look of pure disbelief came into Matthew's eyes. A hint of amusement curved his lips. "Yes. . ." he said. "Go on."

"And --" She tried to continue, but Matthew's amusement had had a most disconcerting effect. How dare he laugh at her!

"I assure you, Sir Matthew," Trudy said, drawing herself up in her seat to her full, diminutive height, "that the needs of our inmates are no laughing matter."

"I was not laughing at your inmates," he said, irritation overcoming his brief amusement. "I am quite certain they must be miserable. As miserable, in fact, as an Englishman who's been stranded in their country.

"Then, what were you smiling at?"

"At the notion that your so-called society would send an infant such as you to beg for funds."

Trudy's pride suffered a blow. "To beg? I do not beg. Nor am I an infant, Sir Matthew, as I have already informed you."

"So you have, and you have already proven your courage by sneaking into this house." Sir Matthew's gaze once again betrayed his suspicions. "Since when, however, have respectable, English maids been sent alone into gentlemen's houses to solicit anything? Particularly, remarkably pretty maids?"

Trudy didn't know whether to take this as a compliment or not. Certainly, his final words had made the blood rush to her cheeks with a surprising intensity, as if she'd never heard pretty words before--when, in fact, she'd received a number of handsome compliments, all given with much greater enthusiasm than his. Perhaps, her extreme reaction was due to her first impression that Matthew was completely impervious to her charms, so that she was more than just a little pleased to discover she was wrong.

But, whatever the reason, she now found herself at a loss for words. A quite uncustomary sensation for an elf.

As an unfamiliar thrill coursed through Trudy, she could almost believe that she was human.

"Well?" Matthew's deep voice prodded her insistently.

Trudy took refuge in dignity. She held her chin in the air. "I do not perfectly understand what you are implying, Sir Matthew."

"Do you not? Well, perhaps that is because I do not mean to imply anything at all. I cannot help wondering, however. Where are your parents? And why are you not at least chaperoned?"

"I”--Trudy's powers of invention rose to the occasion--"I do not choose to be chaperoned. Both my parents are dead, and I do as I choose."

"You flaunt the conventions?" He arched one brow. "How very brave of you, indeed. What would they say about this at Almack's?"

"I do not waste my time at Almack's, so whatever they say does not concern me. I am not as flighty as some of your sillier girls."

Matthew's forehead wrinkled with a sudden consternation. "What was that you said?" Something about her words seemed to have disturbed him.

She answered, "Merely that I have more important things to worry about. Such as the fate of our inmates. May we return to our discussion of them, please?"

He was staring at her as if she had mysteriously echoed some thought inside his head, but he gave it another shake and begged her to continue. In that minute, though, something had changed, and she could see that she was tiring him.

"If," she said hurriedly, "I might make a suggestion?" She rushed on without his assent. "If you would consider visiting the house our society has provided, you could see for yourself how desperate is our need for subscribers, and I am certain you would wish to do something for our pensioners."

Matthew studied her from the depths of his chair. "What makes you so certain?" he asked wearily. "Why have you come to me? My fortune is not so remarkable. I am a younger son, in fact. And"-- he made a disparaging grimace at the brocaded robe he wore--"it is highly unlikely that I shall be doing anything to increase it."

"But you have been to Africa! You are one of the few members of society who has. Who else but you would care to help its people here?"

"Who else, indeed? Who, but a madman?" His eyes narrowed again. "Weren't you told, Miss Faye Meriwether, that I had gone mad?"

Trudy blinked. In truth, his conversation had taken a decidedly odd turn. But no matter that Matthew's gaze had fixed on her with a disturbing, dark intensity, she did not feel afraid. Briefly, she even wondered whether he might not be trying to scare her.

"No," she said, shaking her head matter-of-factly. "I had not heard any such poppycock."

"Then, you truly must have removed yourself from society, or you would have."

Matthew started to rise. Without thinking, Trudy leapt up to help him, but he stopped her with a glance.

She paused with her hand poised just below his elbow. He looked down on her from his great height, and all of a sudden she felt very weak and foolish.

"Thank you, Miss Meriwether, but there is no need. I can manage the distance from here to my desk."

Trudy stepped back, feeling as if she'd been burned by a fallen moonbeam. Her heart hammered irregularly in her chest.

Matthew carefully took the steps between his chair and the desk, where he sat and opened a drawer. To her dismay, he extracted a book of drafts and took up his pen.

"Sir Matthew?"

"I am writing you a draft on my bank for your society."

"But--" This was not how her plan was supposed to work. "Wouldn't you rather see the almshouse for yourself? How do you know I am not a fortune-hunter?"

"I did not promise you a fortune, Miss Meriwether. Only a subscription."

"But--" As he handed her a slip of paper, Trudy tried to think of some other enticement, but she couldn't think fast enough. She looked at the signed draft for a generous twenty-five pounds. "I might be a thief all the same. You cannot know if you don't come to visit the almshouse."

"You do not look much like a thief to me," Matthew said with a slight grin. "Although"-- his smile faded--"I cannot say that I am a perfect judge of character--far from it. However, it is easier this way. I shall never know, shall I, if you have cheated me or not. This way, I can go blissfully on my way, entirely ignorant of your design.

"Now"--he rose to his feet again, seemingly finished with her--"if you will excuse me, Miss Meriwether, I shall ask Ahmad to escort you home. How did you come here? In a private carriage?"

No, I--" Flustered by her failure, Trudy was about to say that she had floated on the air, but she caught herself in time. "I walked."