Marry Christmas (Zebra Historical Romance) Page 22

  Chapter 21

  Elizabeth had been gone for less than two months and already Maggie’s life had changed to such a degree that it was mind-boggling. She realized quite quickly that nearly every invitation that came her way from the coveted New York Four Hundred, had come via Elizabeth. It was a rare event indeed when she was included on the list of guests at one of the most prestigious balls of the season, and it was likely more of an oversight by the hostess rather than a pointed invitation.

  Lately, she’d been attending less grand affairs within the social fringes of the Four Hundred, or else been staying home entirely. Attending anything wasn’t the same without Elizabeth at any rate. It seemed everything had dulled, and she knew it wasn’t only her friend’s absence that was to blame, but memories of someone else entirely. She simply found everyone lacking after Lord Hollings. They weren’t as witty or handsome or tall. And she couldn’t imagine losing herself in a kiss with any of the men whom she met.

  She walked into the Von Platt’s home on the arm of her brother and saw the same faces she’d been seeing for years. The Four Hundred was a rather exclusive club with only a limited number of eligible bachelors, most of whom seemed to end with the name Wright.

  Arthur Wright, it seemed, was courting her in earnest, and other than telling him outright to go away, she wasn’t certain what to do. If she were completely honest, which she always tried to be, she had to admit that she liked Arthur for there was nothing really to dislike. She supposed he was good-looking. He was intelligent enough and was now heading a vast portion of his father’s interests. But, my goodness, he was boring. They could stand side by side for nearly an hour and not say a word unless Maggie brought up a topic she knew he could talk about—Egyptology. Unless they were touring a museum that held the remains of mummified kings and queens, the man had nothing to talk about. He would stand by her rocking heel to toe, heel to toe, looking about the room as if everyone in it was remarkably fascinating.

  She stood by him at the moment, watching New York’s elite waltz by, wistfully thinking back on another ball when she stood by another man chatting happily about everything and nothing. Lord Hollings had been a man she could completely relax with—as long as they were in public. If ever she was alone with him, she had been anything but comfortable, she’d been wonderfully terrified. And hopeful. And desperately in love.

  “Hello, Miss Grayson,” Arthur said next to her. Charlotte Grayson had been in Elizabeth’s wedding party, much to her best friend’s objections. Charlotte was a nasty girl, inside and out. Some people found her attractive, but to Maggie there was something about her face that was as mean and spiteful as her insides. Her hair was blond, her eyes blue, but set too close together for her to be a true beauty. And her mouth was so thin, it would have been nearly invisible but for the rouge she put on it.

  “Mr. Wright. Oh, Margaret. How are you? I do have the most wonderful news.” She looked at Arthur, who didn’t get the hint that he should leave until Maggie gave him a bit of a nudge. When Arthur was gone, she held up her hand, and Maggie couldn’t help but smile.

  “You’re engaged! Congratulations, Charlotte. Another grand wedding already. Imagine.” Other than Elizabeth, Charlotte was known as one of the wealthiest heiresses in New York. Thus far, her money hadn’t attracted a husband, no doubt even all that cash couldn’t overcome Charlotte’s personality, Maggie thought rather uncharitably. To be fair, she didn’t really know Charlotte all that well and was basing her opinion on tales Elizabeth and others had told her. With this in mind, she decided to be pleasant. Being pleasant when she did not want to be had become quite a necessary talent of late.

  “You were at Elizabeth’s wedding, weren’t you?” she asked, and Maggie couldn’t help think she was only asking to remind her she had not been included in the wedding party.

  “Yes, I was.”

  “Mother is beside herself with joy. She had given up hope, but I found the perfect man. Henry Ellsworth.”

  Maggie could not stop her shock from showing. “Henry Ellsworth?”

  “He’s perfect.” She let out a laugh. “Oh, stop looking at me like that. I know perfectly well he’s marrying me for my money and I don’t care,” she said, making a gesture as if it was inconsequential. “We understand each other and get along famously.”

  “I’m certain it must be more than that,” Maggie said graciously.

  Charlotte shrugged. “I’m twenty-four,” she said, as if indulging a great secret. Maggie looked suitably shocked, although she’d actually thought her a bit older. “I know for a fact that he secretly courted Elizabeth. He told me himself. He held up hope ’til the end that she’d jilt the duke. Do you know what he did?” As a footman passed with a tray of champagne, Charlotte took one and Maggie realized it wasn’t her first drink of the night. By far.

  “He told me on the eve of her wedding he actually gave her a note, begging her to remember him.” She laughed. “Oh, God, he is such a nasty man, but I do adore him. Truly.” She took a sip. “Sad thing is, I think he actually loved her. Idiot,” she said rather fondly.

  Charlotte laid a hand on her arm, nearly overcome with mirth. “But he loved her money far better. Oh, can you imagine sending her such a note? Oh, goodness, he can make me laugh. I think he actually thought she’d jilt a duke for him. I told him he was going to have to work on his charms. He was so insulted.” She took a sip of her champagne. “And then he found me.” She smiled, but there was something tragic about that smile.

  “I think you’ll make a wonderful couple,” Maggie said, feeling slightly sick to her stomach. She hadn’t known about the note, Elizabeth hadn’t said a thing. Oh, poor Elizabeth. She’d been so upset about marrying Bellingham. It was bad enough to run into Henry right before the wedding, but for him to have given her that note was unforgivable. “Is he here tonight?” she asked sweetly.

  “Oh, somewhere,” Charlotte said, waving one hand negligently. “Probably in the billiard room. It’s where I always find him.”

  “You know, Charlotte, some people might think what Henry did was unforgivable. Especially members of this set. You know how powerful the Cummings are. I hope you haven’t told too many people about this,” Maggie said, praying for her friend’s sake that such a humiliating tale had not been spread.

  Charlotte seemed to sober up before her eyes. “No. No you’re right. Of course.” She gave Maggie a sharp look as if realizing for the first time what she had said and who she was talking to. “I can count on your discretion.”

  “You can. I see no need to hurt anyone unnecessarily,” she said, thinking only of Elizabeth.

  Charlotte smiled at her, which served only to make her appear as if she’d eaten something nasty. Her own words, perhaps.

  “Oh,” Charlotte said, craning her neck a bit. “I think I see…someone. Nice chatting with you, Margaret.”

  Maggie watched Charlotte walk away and said a quick prayer that she’d gotten through to her how awful it would be if such a story about Henry and Elizabeth spread. She could not remember feeling so angry her entire life. Her temples pounded, and she could actually feel the anger roiling in her stomach. Spying her brother, she waved him over.

  “Sam, I think we’ll be leaving the ball early tonight. Do you mind too much?”

  Her brother grinned. “I mind about as much as missing the opera,” said her brother, who loathed the opera.

  “Good. I’ll meet you at the front door. Could you please fetch my wrap, as well?”

  Sam rolled his eyes but gave her a little bow. “At your service, Madam. And I get two scones for breakfast tomorrow morning.”

  She gave him a look of sisterly exasperation. “Fine.”

  As soon as her brother was gone, Maggie headed for the billiard room on the second floor of the large home. Having fetched her brothers from said room on many occasions, Maggie knew exactly where to go. She didn’t know what she was going to say, but she knew she was going to let Henry Ellsworth know she thought him the mos
t despicable man on earth. She smelled the thick cigar smoke long before she reached the room, making a mental note to ban those things should she ever be mistress of her own home. It took her only a few moments before she was noticed and able to wave Henry to the door. The cad gave her a wide smile, and she had to admit he was a handsome devil, in an overly polished way.

  “Why, Miss Pierce, how nice to see you,” he said as Maggie stepped back from the door.

  And then, not even knowing what was coming, Maggie punched Henry right in the stomach, making him double over with a muffled woof. “That’s for Elizabeth you miserable son of a bitch.”

  Maggie walked away, her body thrumming with adrenaline, her wrist aching from the impact to his stomach. All those years tussling with her brothers—and hearing their colorful language—had paid off apparently. Had anyone asked Maggie just moments ago if she was capable of such violence or such language, she would have denied it heatedly. But at the moment, she felt as if she were floating toward the front door. Keeping a straight face, she accepted her brother’s help with the cloak and didn’t dissolve into a bit of hysterical laughter until they were out the door.

  “My goodness, Meg, what’s this all about,” Sam asked, smiling at his sister’s laughter even though he hadn’t a clue what was going on.

  Maggie could hardly stand, she was laughing so hard. “I just laid out Henry Ellsworth.”

  “You what?”

  “Punched him,” she said. “Hard. I don’t think I killed him, though,” she added rather darkly.

  “Good God, Maggie, why would you do such a thing?” Then his face changed, tightened, and he pushed up the sleeves of his coat as if ready to spar.

  “Oh, don’t be silly, Samuel,” Maggie said, putting a restraining arm on her brother’s shoulder. “He didn’t do anything to me. I punched him for something he did to Elizabeth.”

  “Oh,” her brother said, relaxing. “Laid him out good, did you?” Clearly her brother was impressed.

  “Hmmm. I hurt my wrist a bit. Perhaps I hit him too hard.”

  “Your wrist’s about as thick as a twig. You’re lucky you didn’t break it. Show me how you punched him,” he said with brotherly concern.

  Maggie demonstrated, without making contact with her brother’s stomach.

  “Well, you held your fist right anyway.” Her brother chuckled. “What did he do to Elizabeth, anyway?”

  Maggie told him the story and swore him to secrecy.

  “I knew there was a good reason I didn’t like that man. Too slick.”

  “He’s Charlotte Grayson’s concern now. They’re engaged.”

  Sam threw back his head and laughed. As they stepped up into the carriage, Maggie looked back at the house and realized she had never had so much fun at a ball.

  Chapter 22

  Rand stood outside her door and stared for several long minutes at the small slice of light showing through the bottom, willing his body to relax. He should get drunk, as he’d done on the other nights when his desire nearly made him mad. He would have, too, if she hadn’t strolled into the stable and looked at him as if she wanted to eat him alive.

  Rand took a deep breath. I just need a good fuck. That is all and I’ll be fine.

  He wiped his forehead where a fine sheen of sweat had formed, and then knocked on his wife’s bedroom door.

  “Yes?” came the muffled response.

  He opened the door to find her sitting on her bed in her nightgown, her bare feet not quite touching the floor, looking quite shocked to find her husband standing there. She was not looking at him with desire at the moment, but with a certain amount of wariness, which only increased the farther he walked into her room.

  “I need to discuss something with you.” When she nodded, he continued. “Do you remember when we first met we discussed how our marriage would be?” he asked, keeping his voice even.

  Elizabeth nodded again, her blue eyes suddenly holding a spark of something he couldn’t identify.

  “I think it best that we proceed based on that conception of marriage. It will be best for all, I think, that we don’t get all muddled up in emotions. Then you will have a child, something to keep you occupied. And I will have done my duty. My mother will be quite happy,” he added as an afterthought.

  “And then?”

  “And then we shall go about our lives. I have been giving a great deal of thought to this marriage of ours over the past few days and I realize that I have been unfair to you. I changed the rules, so to speak, without even letting you know. You, on the other hand, have never swayed from that original conversation. Your expectations remained the same.”

  “You need an heir,” she said.

  Ah, she understood. Good. “Precisely. We don’t have to make each other miserable, do we? We can go about our business, live our lives. Many couples do. Most couples, in fact. It’s what we planned.”

  “Yes. That sounds…”

  Horrid.

  “Fair.” She even smiled a bit, a smile that tore into his heart, for she looked so damned relieved. Ah, hell. He realized at that moment he’d secretly been hoping she’d argue with him, get affronted. Anything but sit there calmly and accept what seemed now to be a completely dismal proposition.

  “That’s exactly what I was thinking,” he said. He forced a smile, just to show her he was in agreement, as if glad to have finally gotten this tedious conversation over with. “I shall visit you in your room perhaps two or three times a week, if that is fine for you. Until you conceive.”

  Elizabeth stared blankly at him, her stomach knotting uncomfortably. She simply could not believe what he was saying to her.

  “We could start this evening, if that is convenient with you.”

  “I have no other plans,” she said, feeling much like she was making an appointment with her seamstress.

  “Well, then.” He shut her door and walked toward her bed, unbuttoning his trousers as he did so, and Elizabeth cringed involuntarily. This is not what she wanted. She wanted what they’d had before the discovery of that wretched note. She wanted him to love her again, to make love with her. Seeing her cringe, he hesitated for a moment, before shucking off his shoes and taking off his pants completely, a look of determination on his face.

  Dismayed, she lay down on the bed, uncertain what she should do. Instinctively, she knew not to embrace him or kiss him or say even a single word. It was dreadful, and much like she’d imagined the marriage bed would be, with her lying stiffly, uncertain and nervous. He climbed onto the bed and she looked at him, afraid what she would see in his eyes—or not see, perhaps. But at that moment, he looked at her, his eyes tender, his touch when he brushed the hair from her face almost loving.

  Then, he moved between her legs, spreading them with his body as he lifted the hem of her nightgown up. And without touching her but with his large body, he entered her, finding her humiliatingly ready for him. Silently he plunged in and out, the only sound his harsh breath, the movement of the bed. Just as she was beginning to feel the slightest bit of a pleasant tingle between her thighs, he groaned and stiffened, his face pushed against the pillow next to her head.

  Almost immediately he withdrew and pulled up his drawers, which he hadn’t even bothered to remove completely.

  “Good night, then,” he said, tumbling off the bed and grabbing up his pants. As almost an afterthought, he looked back at her, then leaned in and kissed her forehead. “This is better, Elizabeth. You’ll see.”

  She stared at him, her nightgown still shucked up about her waist, feeling his seed seep from her body.

  “Better than what?” she asked, feeling angry and hurt.

  “You misunderstood,” he said, his voice unusually clipped. “This is better for me. I really don’t give a damn about you.”

  With that, he left.

  Elizabeth sat there stunned for perhaps three seconds before she rose and picked up the first thing her hands found—one of her slippers—and flung it at the door. “You son of
a bitch,” she screamed. She could almost swear she heard him chuckle on the other side of the door. “You’ll not have me again. Do you hear? Do you?” She glared at the door hoping he’d come crashing in so she could truly yell at him the way she wanted to. “You son of a bitch,” she said more softly, but with just as much venom. “Treat me like a broodmare, will you? I hate you Rand Blackmore.” And then, feeling as if she might explode, she screamed, “I hate you.” Then, just like that, the anger was gone, replaced by a terrible despair and she found herself sobbing into her pillow and praying he wouldn’t hear just how much he’d hurt her.

  “Your Grace, if you’ve a minute.”

  The housekeeper, Mrs. Stevens, hovered at the parlor door as if she were interrupting some great and important meeting. Elizabeth sat alone, as always, staring out a window. As always. “Yes, Mrs. Stevens. Come in.”

  “Now that you’re all settled in, I thought it was time for you to take over the rounds,” she said, her cheeks flushing a bit, as if she were stepping out of bounds for saying such a thing to a duchess.

  “Rounds?”

  “Yes, Your Grace. You see, it’s a Bellingham tradition that the duchess takes food and the like to the poorest of the villagers. I’ve been doing it these past years with the old duchess in London. But for years and years before that when she was in residence, the Duchess would bring a basket ’round to the poor, as her mother did before her. There’s many more now that need the food, and since it truly is something Your Grace should be doing…” Her voice trailed off and she seemed to tense for some wild reaction.

  “All that food,” Elizabeth said thoughtfully. “I wondered what became of it. I’m so glad it went to help someone. Of course I’ll take over the rounds if you just tell me where to go. Perhaps the first time you could accompany me.” Elizabeth couldn’t have been more excited than if she were a child on Christmas morning. Finally, something to do except sit around this house moping and feeling sorry for herself.