The Secret Christmas Ciphers (2 page)

She spun and stared around the room, wondering if she’d imagined that sound. If not, perhaps the wind was blowing vigorously and a branch from the huge oak outside was tap-tap-tapping on the window.

But no. The sound came again and was immediately followed by the adjoining door swinging open. Derek, wearing a dark green dressing gown, paused in the doorway and stared at Abigail. She caught her breath and stared back, silently cursing her body’s reaction to his presence. She’d been bothered by these feelings ever since she turned thirteen and noticed how extremely handsome Derek had grown in the time he’d been away at school.

She’d tried to indicate her interest as subtly as she knew how, but he’d merely turned his back and pretended she wasn’t there. She’d slinked away, so humiliated that her admiration had turned to anger, and over the years she’d gone out of her way to avoid him. He’d pretty much ignored her too, so in self-defense, she began glaring at him whenever she caught his eye.

But no matter how much she tried to convince herself she didn’t like Derek, her body persisted in believing otherwise. His scent alone could cause an ache to grow deep down in her private parts. Thanks to Derek’s stepsisters, she understood exactly what that feeling meant.

Then had come the summer when Abigail turned seventeen and Derek was home from school. She had still been spending many of her waking hours at Melton Castle, and she began noticing a change in Derek’s expression when he looked at her. Although she was not as knowledgeable as his stepsisters, she easily recognized admiration in his eyes.

Soon he began seeking her out, especially when she was passing time in the library. He had quickly learned that his stepsisters avoided that room at all costs, so he and Abigail spent many days there reading quietly or discussing the various books each had read.

Their first kiss had been shared in that room, but it was not to be the last. As they explored their mutual interests and discovered numerous areas of compatibility, so too did they discover that their physical attraction was mutual. By the end of the summer, Derek had asked if he might call on her father when he was home from school for the Christmas holidays, and she’d been thrilled to give her permission.

But Derek didn’t come home for Christmas that year. He had left school early, and tales began floating back to the country from London about Derek’s wild lifestyle. In addition to heavy drinking, unruly pranks, and excessive gambling, his faults were rumored to include various scandalous relationships with females.

A second Christmas came and went and still Derek had not returned to Melton Castle, nor had he bothered to send so much as a single letter to Abigail. Even his stepsisters knew nothing about where he was and what he was doing.

Abigail had tried to forget him by immersing herself in her responsibilities for her father and her charitable activities in the neighborhood, but at least every hour, something occurred that reminded her of the joy she’d found in his company. She’d always believed he’d come back to Melton Castle one day and explain why he’d abandoned her.

Then the following spring she heard that he was engaged to Melonnie Pyle, the daughter of his father’s very good friend. They were to be married at Melonnie’s parish church in Lincolnshire as soon as the banns were read for the third time.

Since Abigail had told no one that Derek had asked her to wait for him, she was forced to hide her distress. She tried to convince herself that he had a good reason for betraying her although she couldn’t imagine what it would be. Since she heard nothing from him, she could only assume he had not been sincere when he’d professed his love for her.

Then poor Melonnie had died a few days prior to the wedding date, and that summer, Derek finally came home again. Determined to run him to ground while she had the opportunity, Abigail, who still visited the castle on a daily basis, had lain in wait for him in the library. She’d been sitting in one of the wingback chairs near the window pretending to read when he stepped into the room. He didn’t see her immediately, and she took the opportunity to surreptitiously examine him.

He’d changed over the past two years. He was leaner, certainly, but the greatest change was in his expression. Sadness, along with an emotion she couldn’t identify, had lent furrows to his brow and a squareness to his chin that suggested he spent a great deal of time clenching his teeth. She was sorry now that she’d decided to waylay him, but it was too late to turn back. He’d noticed her, and his eyes widened even as he pulled in a quick breath.

Abigail forced herself to rise and face him. “Greetings, Lord Westdale. I apologize for the intrusion of my presence.” She placed her book on the table beside her chair. “I’ll leave you to enjoy the solitude of the library in peace.”

“Don’t go,” he said quickly, then added, “I mean, don’t leave on my account.” His gaze flickered toward the settee in the corner, reminding Abigail of the afternoons when they’d sat there for hours, discussing their hopes for the future. It was there that Derek had first kissed her.

Thoughts of those days brought a flush to her cheeks and a renewed sense of betrayal. Anger flared, reminding Abigail that she was the one who had been wronged. She’d be damned if she’d slink off as though she was an intruder here. She’d lifted her chin and stared down her nose at him. “I assume you recall our previous encounters in this room.”

His eyes had widened as though he sensed he was about to come under attack. He’d nodded slowly.

“I assume you also recall asking me to wait for you?”

This time he bit his lip before nodding warily.

“Then I think I’m owed an answer to one question. Why did you propose marriage to another woman?”

The color drained from his face, but he looked her in the eye. “I’m so sorry, Abigail, but my honor would not have allowed me to act differently. If I could tell you all, you would not condemn me, I promise you.”

“I don’t require that you tell me
everything
, Derek. But surely you could tell me a portion, some tidbit of your reasoning.” She’d silently prayed that he’d say something, anything, that would help her understand and forgive him, but he merely shook his head before replying. “I can’t tell you anything at all, Abigail. Again, I’m sorry.”

“Can’t tell me? Or won’t?” she’d demanded, glaring at him with all the freshened fury she could will into her gaze.

He’d stared at her for a few seconds before answering. “I’m asking you to believe that I cared for you and that I fully intended to ask your father for your hand.”

Abigail had been forced to moisten her lips before she could continue. Hope had flared in her heart for a few precious seconds but had quickly faded in the hopelessness of his gaze. “You ask a great deal of me, my lord,” she’d said stiffly. “Yet you offer me nothing in return. Is that correct?”

“It is,” he said. His jaw clenched as though he was holding an explanation back by sheer will, but Abigail was too devastated to feel any sympathy for him.

“Then you ask too much, Lord Westdale. You leave me no choice but to believe that your intentions toward me were never honorable. I would appreciate your not approaching me or speaking to me again unless absolutely necessary to avoid causing distress to others around us. I bid you a good day and goodbye, my lord.”

She’d held his gaze long enough to see the distress in his eyes replaced by hurt and then a touch of anger. “If that is your wish, Miss Pickering, then so be it.” He’d bowed formally and she’d turned and hurried from the room.

She’d been furious with him ever since. She had no idea why he’d agreed to marry her now. She had even less understanding of why she’d agreed to marry him, but she had every intention of making his life a living hell.

Now, with him standing in the doorway leading into her bedchamber, she squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. If he had any notion of claiming his husbandly rights, she would certainly set him straight. She was prepared to meet his gaze and glare him down, but when she looked into his eyes, she realized he was not staring at her but rather at the dagger she still grasped in her right hand. His lips curved into a sardonic smile. “Frankly, my dear, I assumed your threat this morning was overstated. I see I was wrong.”

Abigail felt blood rushing to her face. Damn his timing. She reached behind her to ease the dagger back onto the bed. “That was for me, not for you,” she muttered.

His smile faded and his face paled. “My god, do you hate me that much?”

She frowned in confusion. “Hate you how much?” Then she understood what was in his mind. “You thought I was going to… Good heavens, no. I was certainly not going to do myself harm merely because you and I are married. I’m not such a ninny as that.”

“But you just said…” He shook his head as though to clear it, then took a deep breath. “Then why are you taking a weapon to bed with you?”

She felt her face growing warm again. “That’s none of your business.”

“Nevertheless, I insist on knowing the answer or I’ll take the dagger with me when I leave this room.”

Abigail gritted her teeth. “Oh, very well, I’ll tell you. I was going to prick my finger and leave some blood on the sheets so the servants wouldn’t gossip about us tomorrow.”

A slow grin pulled at his lips. “They’ll gossip in any case, but by all means, provide the evidence they’ll be searching for if you wish. I’ll leave the dagger with you. You’ll need it if you want blood on the sheets, because I certainly don’t plan on robbing you of your maidenhead.”

“Then what do you want?” Abigail snapped. She eased her hand back toward the weapon. She’d never hurt him but she wouldn’t mind worrying him a bit.

He held his hands up, palms out. “Just to talk. We need to discuss how we’re going to conduct ourselves in this very unconventional marriage of ours. I assume you wish to have nothing to do with me, but it’s obvious you also don’t want to give people reason to gossip. Thus, I thought we should make plans before I ride out tomorrow morning.”

“Very well.” Abigail nodded toward the fireplace. “Why don’t you throw another log on the fire and we can be comfortable while we discuss our future.”

“How very civilized,” Derek muttered. He raised his brows but went to do her bidding.

While he dealt with the log, she positioned a couple of chairs in front of the fireplace. She then tugged a blanket off the bed, wrapped herself in it and settled down in one of the chairs.

Derek angled the second chair to face her and then seated himself. “I can’t give you any particulars, but I’ve been informed that my duties with the regiment will result in my returning to London on occasion. I believe my father promised you that you could use the Melton town house whenever you wish.”

“Yes, and I plan to travel to London in the next few days.”

“It has occurred to me that our being in the city at the same time could prove awkward. Too, because it would seem strange if you never heard from me, I’ll plan to write you an occasional letter. In that way I can tell you when I’ll be in London, and if you wish, you can make arrangements to be elsewhere.”

Abigail nodded. “Very well. I suppose that’s best. I can always come back to the country on some pretext if you let me know when you’ll be in the city.”

Derek also nodded, then stood. “That’s settled then. And you don’t have to come downstairs to see me off in the morning.” He grinned. “Let the servants think I’ve exhausted you to the point that you can’t get out of bed. That should lend extra credence to your little deceit.”

Abigail jumped to her feet and pointed to the door leading to the adjoining chamber. “Get out. But rest assured, I’ll be standing on the front steps watching you ride away in the morning. It will do my heart good to know you’re gone.”

Still sporting a sardonic smile, Derek bowed deeply. When he straightened, he regarded her with a twinkle in his eyes. “One little piece of advice, my dear bride. You’d better mess up both sides of the bed and leave imprints on both pillows unless you want to spill your blood in vain tonight. Otherwise, the servants will know exactly what happened or, more importantly, what did
not
happen in this chamber tonight.”

He turned on his heel and strode out of the chamber, leaving Abigail alone with her dagger and her pride. She’d be damned if she’d let him know how easily he could hurt her with his words and his mocking smiles. Clenching her teeth, she tossed her blanket onto the chair, marched over to the bed and proceeded to prick her middle finger.

As droplets of blood slowly spread into circles of red on the white linen sheet, scalding teardrops trickled down Abigail’s cheeks and were instantly absorbed into the lace that edged the neck of her white lawn night rail.

* * *

Derek closed the connecting door behind him as he exited Abigail’s chamber, then cursed quite fluently under his breath. Leaving his bride untouched was one of the most difficult things he’d ever done. He’d sat in that chair in front of the fire and tried not to notice the play of shadows on her lovely face, the delicious curve of her bare ankle peeking out from the blanket’s edge or the way the flicker of the flames had been reflected in her shining eyes. Strangely, this unadorned female wrapped in a very concealing blanket had been one of the most alluring things he’d ever seen.

Of course that was true only because the woman was Abigail. He’d been enthralled with her for years—her beauty, her intelligence and her quirky sense of humor. He’d had to wait for her to grow up a bit before making his feelings known, but fortunately, she’d returned them. He’d planned to ask her father for her hand in marriage the next time he was back in the country.

That was before Melonnie.

He’d known, of course, when he became engaged to Melonnie that he was destroying his future with Abigail. Considering Melonnie’s pregnancy, he’d had no choice but to ask her to marry him, and he would have gone through with the wedding had she not miscarried the babe and then died just days later.

Those facts, of course, were a closely guarded secret. Melonnie’s death had been declared the result of a sudden ague, and only a handful of family members and her physician knew that the fever that claimed her life was the result of childbirth. Derek had promised her distraught father to remain mum both about her condition and the cause of her death.