A Regency Christmas Carol (12 page)

‘This is a waltz,’ she said, tripping along at his side as he stalked into the ballroom. ‘And I do not know how. Perhaps if we waited…’ But it was hopeless. He was tugging her very gently towards the dance floor.

‘It is the simplest of all dances, and you will learn
it as we go,’ he said, swinging her about to face him. ‘People will call me rude and brash and inappropriate. But I am quite used to that already and will not be bothered.’

‘And if people think ill of
me
because of it? Dancing so intimately with a man I barely know?’ Although she quite liked the sound of the music and the feel of his hand on her waist. She liked even better the look of shock she saw on Lady Clairemont’s face as she spun past her.

‘I am your host,’ he said, giving a gentle push on her hand to guide her. ‘You can hardly refuse me. It is Christmas, which is traditionally a time for small latitudes. No one will say a word.’

‘Even if they do, they are all from London and I will never see them again.’ She sighed in satisfaction.

With his hand upon her ribs, he noticed. ‘That was a happy sigh, I trust?’

She gave a hesitant nod. ‘I have not had many opportunities to dance. Sometimes it seems as though I went directly from the schoolroom to the shelf, with no stopping between.’

He snorted. ‘You? On the shelf? I should say not.’

‘I am twenty-four years old,’ she said, with a purse of the lips. ‘There are few gentlemen in the area. And girls who are younger, prettier, more biddable…’

He laughed again. ‘You make those sound like virtues.’

‘Are they not?’

‘Young and biddable is often synonymous with naive and without a fully moulded character. Easier at first, perhaps. But it would make for a most dull union to marry such a girl.’

Which was strange. Because it was exactly how she would have described the object of his own matrimonial plans, had she been called to compare with her. ‘And beauty?’ she asked. ‘Surely you have no problems with that?’

‘At your worst, you are quite pretty enough to suit even the most discriminating men,’ he said, looking down at her with an appraising eye. ‘Tonight you are looking most charming indeed. If you hear any complaints on the subject you must send the offenders to me.’ His fingers flexed on her waist and his hand squeezed hers. Just for a moment his face dipped closer to hers, sharing a conspiratorial smile.

And she thought, with a sudden flash of insight,
If I allow it, he is likely to kiss me again. Right here on the dance floor. Or in a dark corner, when we can be alone.

She knew, if the opportunity presented itself, that she would let him. She stumbled and broke the moment of intimacy.

He concentrated on the steps, easing her gently back onto the beat until they were steady again, pretending that the mistake was his to put her at her ease.

It made her feel quite awful. She had accused him of all manner of horrible things, directly to his face. She
had thought even worse about him. But it was becoming plain that, though his nature seemed brusque, he was quite capable of behaving like a gentleman when he wished to. It was a shame that he was not being treated as such.

Though it was the height of bad manners to repeat what she had heard, neither did she feel right about keeping the truth from him. ‘They are all laughing at you, you know. The other guests. Even Anne’s family.’ Then she realised that it might sound as if she was sabotaging a rival. ‘Not Anne, of course. She is much too good for that.’

‘Oh, of course not,’ he answered back with sarcasm. ‘But she and the rest are not too good to accept bread and board from likes of Mr Joseph Stratford. They lack the strength of their convictions. Some of the people I’d hoped to see tonight refused me outright. I have more respect for them. They are incapable of pretence.’ There was no tension as he said the words, sweeping her further out on the dance floor, twirling her effortlessly with the other dancers.

‘You realise what they are saying about you?’

‘Of course,’ he said, with a wry smile. ‘You did not honestly worry I’d be hurt, did you? What a sensitive creature you must think me, Miss Lampett. I do not shrink from their displeasure, nor do I acknowledge their gossiping. I am willing to stand against your father and his armed mob, my dear. But to my knowledge no one has ever bled to death from the cut direct.’

‘Maybe people would not act that way to you if only you were not so…’ She could not seem to find a word to describe it.

He sighed and smiled at her. ‘I am too much of everything, I fear. But it is hard to explain the novelty of a full larder to one that has always had their fill.’ He looked out of the window at the snow falling in the gardens, as though he could see past it into his own future. ‘This is nothing compared to what it will some day be. Two years ago it was a few machines. Now it will be a factory. And before I am through? An empire.’ He waved a hand towards the hall they had left. ‘They may laugh behind their hands, if they like. But the gentleman in the horrid pink waistcoat has promised me ten thousand pounds. And the gentleman beside him another five. Both will see a good rate of return on their investments. Neither of them need fear that I will reveal our association or bother them with my presence in London. It will work well for all of us.’

‘That is all that concerns you?’

He nodded. ‘If I had chosen to behave properly and stay where I was born I would be on the other side of the gates right now, looking in at the people dancing. Tomorrow I would be standing outside another man’s mill, threatening the master with violence, living in fear that the last crust of bread would be ripped from my hand.’

‘You have a very grim view of the world, Mr Stratford.’

‘And a very accurate one. I was once poor, Miss Lampett. Now I am rich. But I will never clear the stink of poverty from my skin. I accept that.’ He grinned. ‘But, all the same, I cannot help but revel in the change.’

The dance ended and he walked her to the edge of the floor. As they approached the people standing there she hesitated, laying a hand on his arm to halt him. ‘If they think so little of you, then what will they say to me, in last season’s gown retrimmed in borrowed lace?’

‘They will treat you with the utmost courtesy, I am sure. I will introduce you to Robert Breton, who is a true gentleman with impeccable manners. He will shepherd you about the room to the others. I recommend that once I am gone you comment at my boorish behaviour in forcing you to dance. Your future will be secure.’

She could not help it, and gave a short laugh. ‘I would never…’

‘I know you would not.’ He was looking into her eyes again, and she felt the warmth, the pull. ‘Although I am sure you have thought it.’

‘No.’

‘Do not lie,’ he said, giving her hand a squeeze. ‘But do not feel that I fault you. You cannot be blamed. My manners are rough. Considering our circumstances, I appreciate that yours are not, and thank you for it.’

Then he led her across the room to his friend, making another formal bow and as proper a presentation as she could have hoped for. In truth, it was a bit
too formal, but that was better than the alternative of being forgotten.

In turn, Mr Breton made polite and much more polished conversation, then took her around the room to his friends and acquaintances, making sure that she was properly introduced to each of them. Her dance card for the evening was quickly filled with gentlemen of the
ton
—younger brothers and married men, who had been rousted from the card room to make up for the lack of dancers.

It was pleasant. She relaxed and remembered what it had been like to attend similar parties, before the house had been shut up in mourning and she’d felt the sting of rejection. But this night was different in that she longed to turn and find the eyes of a particular gentleman following her about the room, even though they had danced only once.

Joseph had taken a personal interest in her. It was to be expected, she supposed. He wished her to be at ease, just as he did the other guests. That was all it was. If there had been any proprietorial interest it was a fabrication on her part. His effusive compliments were another sign of his lack of social grace, not a partiality unique to her.

When she looked for him, as she found herself frequently doing, he was giving his attention to Anne, just as he should. The man was engaged to her, or near to it. He wanted nothing more than to see Barbara similarly happy.

As another dance ended, her partner returned her to Mr Breton, who offered her escort on a trip to the refreshment room. As they passed Joseph Stratford, Breton caught her gaze and looked back at his friend with a mixture of frustration and admiration. ‘If you foster hopes in that direction you must know that there is an understanding with another young lady.’

‘I know that,’ she said, trying not to blush at how obvious he must think her. ‘I am merely surprised at how kind he has been to me—though he barely knows me, except through Father. And that is…difficult.’

‘So I understand,’ said Breton. ‘You must go home and explain to your father, if you can, that all is not as simple as it seems.’ He looked across the room at his friend. ‘For all his faults, Stratford is a visionary. We must trust him to know what is right.’

‘I cannot say that I approve of his vision,’ Barbara said, shaking her head. ‘To the villagers, it seems to be nothing more than wanton destruction and change that benefits one man more than any other.’

‘Not at all,’ Breton insisted. ‘I was there when he made the decision to come here. He was poring over a pile of maps, gazettes and indexes. He chose and then rejected several sites. Then he showed me this place. “Here,” he said, “is the land, and here are the workers. Here is the river that will bring the finished goods to London and to the ports. Here are the fields, already full of the sheep to give us supplies, and the roads that will bring the coal.”’ Breton grinned with pride. ‘He
sees it all as though it were a pile of loose links, waiting to become a chain. Some men can come up with an idea for improvement, but he is one of the few that understands enough to put that change to work.’

‘You are a gentleman,’ she argued. ‘I would think you knew better than to get so closely involved in trade.’

He shrugged. ‘At one time, perhaps. I am a second son, and must make the best of my inheritance. I was dubious when he came to me with the idea for an improved loom. But he is very persistent. He would not leave. So I made one quiet investment. He turned my modest income into a fortune. When he suggested an expansion, I decided I would be a fool to refuse him.’

He glanced around at the largely empty dining hall. ‘He expected there to be more speculators, since the chance to do business far outside the eyes of the
ton
would be a pleasant one. Joe’s cellar is good, and his table groans. The house is as nice as any one might see in London. The beds are soft enough for a lord, certainly. I have no complaints.’

Barbara pursed her lips. ‘He spoke to me of this, and he does not seem disappointed. But I wonder what the Clairemonts think of it all.’

‘It hardly matters,’ Breton supplied with finality. ‘It has been demonstrated to me on several occasions that the God-given right to property does not automatically assume the wisdom or skill to keep it. While your friends the Clairemonts could not maintain their position, I am sure you will find Mr Stratford to be more
than able. This is the first such fortune he will make in his lifetime, and the first house he shall purchase. While he continues to advance, the Clairemonts of the world shall be left with nothing more than the honour of their names. Genteel poverty is poverty nonetheless, Miss Lampett. Surely you must know that by now?’

The man they had been discussing rounded the corner, coming upon them without warning. He stopped suddenly and stared at the two of them in surprise, and then offered a hurried apology before turning back the way he had come.

‘Whatever does he mean by that?’ Barbara said in confusion.

Breton glanced up. ‘He thinks he has caught us under a kissing bough. Although how we could manage to avoid them I am not sure. Stratford has them hung in nearly every room and doorway, despite the decidedly unromantic nature of this gathering.’

‘Surely if there is an engagement to be announced, there must be a trace of romance in the air.’ The thought did nothing to lift her spirits, and Mr Breton seemed equally pensive. He was looking up at the garland of mistletoe and ribbons and around at the empty room. ‘I suppose we had best make use of it while we are here.’ He hardly sounded enthused about the prospect.

Barbara did not wish to show her own lack of desire. ‘If you wish, sir. It is Christmas, after all.’ She closed her eyes and raised her face to his.

She had hoped it would be the briefest buss—over
quickly and forgotten. But it appeared that he wished for something more memorable, and did not immediately withdraw. Neither did he advance, or show any real enthusiasm for it. It was not exactly unpleasant, but it was most definitely awkward.

There was a gasp of surprise from the doorway, a stifled sob and then the pattering of lady’s slippers down the hall. Breton jerked away from her and muttered a curse. ‘If you will excuse me, Miss Lampett?’ He gave a hurried bow and raced from the room, leaving her alone again.

J
oseph Stratford practised the words of his proposal quietly to himself in the silence of the library. If he meant to do the deed he had best do it tonight, while there were guests to celebrate it. It was a culmination of sorts—a final proof to his investors of the confidence that the Clairemonts placed in him. It was another step in his entry into society.

In all ways it was an excellent choice. He had selected Anne with clinical precision, just as he had the household decorations. There was no question that she was a beauty, and her manners and breeding were impeccable. Though her father might be cold and abrupt to him, Anne paid just the correct amount of interest, making it clear without seeming inappropriately eager that when he chose to offer the answer would be yes.

His heart was not engaged, of course. Neither was hers. That was for the best. If he sought affection else
where she would likely be more relieved than upset. Though he would make every effort to see her happy, as he had promised Bob, he would expend nothing more to try to win a love that was not likely to appear. And if she sought comfort with another? As long as the first son looked like him, what right did he have to care?

He thought of the brief and unpleasant scene he had witnessed a few moments ago: Breton and Barbara standing awkwardly under the kissing bough. That had been his plan when he’d invited her. She should find someone who valued her, and he could think of no better choice than Bob.

But Joseph did not find his success nearly as enjoyable as the one dance he’d shared with her, or the heroic feeling of rescuing her from her hiding place in the portrait gallery. If he was not careful he’d destroy plans that had been months in the making in trying to interpret a few mysterious dreams and appease spirits that were entirely the makings of his own overtired brain. If he was lucky, the girl was even now getting on well with Breton, and he would never have to think of her again.

Anne was her superior in every way, he reminded himself firmly. Barbara’s face was as far from patrician as one could imagine. To call her complexion ruddy was unfair, but it had a healthy glow about it—as though she partook freely of the northern air. She was not short, nor stout, though she appeared stunted next to the tall and slender Anne. In all ways she seemed less refined, less delicate, less of a lady.

And his body did not seem to mind that a bit. While Anne might be as lovely as a china doll, china dolls were made to be admired more than touched. They were expensive things, to be cherished, set upon a shelf and forgotten.

Other toys were meant to be played with. When he looked at Barbara Lampett, oh, how he wished for playtime. She made him think of Christmas morning, with gifts waiting to be unwrapped, games to be won, and nights full of pleasant surprises. The likelihood that she would spend her adult life as a spinster caring for her mad father seemed vastly unfair. He wondered yet again what the truth was in her disgrace and banishment from local society. If there was a stain already on her character, perhaps in time…

The door opened suddenly, and he was face to face with his intended. ‘Anne,’ he said dumbly, taking a moment to wipe his mind clear of its recent speculation.

‘Joseph.’ She seemed to need a moment’s composure as well. He pretended not to notice the deep breath she took, and the fading flush on her cheeks. ‘I am sorry. I did not mean to disturb you.’

‘It is quite all right. I meant to seek you out just now. If you have a moment…?’

‘Of course.’

Now that the time was upon him, he was unsure what the correct emotion was to suit it. Whatever was expected, he was sure that he was not feeling it. There was no tingle of nerves, no pleasant sense of anticipa
tion, no triumph and no relief. He was certainly not feeling the desire he might wish for as she stepped into the room, closing the door behind her and leaving them alone together for the first time in their acquaintance.

She was totally composed again, staring at him with a pleasant, neutral smile, waiting for him to speak. He wondered if he should begin with some inane comment like,
I suppose you wonder why I’ve asked you here.

But they both knew damn well the reason. To pretend there was doubt as to the question and its inevitable answer was an annoying ceremony that he could not quite manage.

So he waited until the click of the door latch no longer echoed in the still air of the room, took the few steps to her side, went down on one knee and said, ‘Miss Anne Clairemont, would you do me the honour of becoming my wife?’

The words, though they were only a formality, were surprisingly hard to say.

‘Thank you. I would be honoured in return.’ It was good that he had not expected her to go into raptures. Her expression had not changed one iota from the one she had worn in the ballroom.

He rose. ‘I have no ring to offer at this time. After Christmas I will take you to London, where you may choose something suitable that is to your taste.’ It would save her being embarrassed at his lack of style, should he choose incorrectly.

‘That will not be necessary,’ she said, with the same
unfailing smile. ‘I am sure Mother will have something appropriate in her jewel case.’

Apparently when he had purchased the house and its contents he had purchased the bride and her ring as well. He stifled a sudden and totally inappropriate desire to laugh.

‘Very well, then. Let us meet in the ballroom at—’ he checked his watch ‘—midnight exactly, to make the announcement. Until then…’ They had almost three quarters of an hour. If he was wise, he would use the time to get to know his bride in a way that was more physical than social.

He leaned forwards and she closed her eyes, preparing herself to be kissed. He reminded himself to be gentle, though there was hardly a need. She did not seem frightened of him. Their lips met.

She was warm and pliable, and with a small amount of pressure her lips opened and she responded. It was clear that she knew what was expected of her, but she did not behave like a strumpet so much as a woman reconciled to the prospect of intimacy with a stranger. He had the sudden horrible feeling that now the words had been spoken she would permit whatever he might dare, greeting it with the same polite and placid smile.

To say that it was like kissing a statue was unfair. It was more like
being
a statue. Though he could feel the pressure and taste her tongue against his, it was little different from the walks with his ghosts had been, when he had been near the action but not really a part of it.

He broke the kiss. ‘Until then I will allow you to refresh yourself. Now, if you will excuse me…?’ He gave a brief bow and left her.

He was not fleeing the room, he told himself firmly. Merely returning with alacrity to the ballroom—to see to his other guests, prepare the musicians for the announcement and await his fiancée so that he could take her hand and make the biggest mistake of his life.

She would smile demurely, like the wooden poppet she was. She would colour with the faint blush of excitement that he assumed she was even now painting on her face in the ladies’ retiring room. And he would smile, to prove himself aware of his good fortune, and accept the hearty congratulations that he would receive and the endless toasts drunk in their honour.

The very idea made him want to choke.

From the moment that he had kissed her—really kissed her, hoping to feel something of their impending life together—he had known it was a mistake. But by then the words were already spoken and it was too late to call them back.

In an act of supreme cowardice he swerved as he passed the little alcove in the hall, and ducked behind the curtain. He could not hide for ever. But even five minutes of privacy would be a welcome thing.

‘Joseph!’ Her voice was a hissing whisper that stirred his blood.

He turned in the tight, confining space and found Barbara Lampett hiding there as well. He put his hands
to her waist, drawing her close, and though his mind roiled his body forgot that there was anything or anyone outside of this small niche and responded.

‘Miss Barbara Lampett. Hiding again? And now, I assume, we are playing sardines?’

‘Nothing of the sort,’ she snapped.

‘Then apparently you do not know what you are playing at,’ he said suddenly, jerking her body until it rested against his, and relishing the feeling of being once again in control. Then he took her mouth, because he could not stand to be without her for another moment. She responded as he’d known she would, massaging his tongue with her own, urging him on. The taste of her sent the life rushing back into his body, and a joy so reckless that he knew it must be dangerous. He pulled away.

‘Release me and exit from here immediately, or I swear I shall scream.’

Her words were the correct ones for any offended maiden. They had to be said, if only to be ignored. But as she spoke she made no struggle to escape him. Nor was there any fear in her voice. Instead she gripped his arms and leaned into him.

‘Scream, then,’ he said, half wishing she would. It would solve many of his problems. Anne would surely hear of it, and his engagement would be over before it had begun. But it seemed whatever indiscretion she had taken part in six years ago had left her devoid of outrage, and he was damned glad of the fact.

She took a deep breath, and for a moment he almost thought she might make good on her threat. Then she sighed, as though defeated. ‘Just once, will you not do the proper thing? Why must you make this so difficult?’

‘Perhaps it is because I do not wish to let you go,’ he replied.

‘And I lack the strength to resist you.’

‘I doubt that very much,’ he whispered, touching her lips with his. ‘You are stronger than you know. Strong enough to break my will.’ Then he brought his mouth back down to hers to give her the kisses he should have given another. And he felt her burst into flame again.

She took a breath, and he took it away again, letting the smell and the taste of her soak in, until it became a part of him to his very bones. His future might be as cold as a northern winter, but if he could have nothing else he would have a woman like this to remember. He thrust his tongue deep into her mouth and she raked it with her teeth, biting almost hard enough to draw blood, pushing her breasts eagerly against his waistcoat and swaying to excite herself.

He broke the kiss and pushed her away, stroking his fingers once down the front of her gown, making her tremble. ‘I suppose you will now offer me some needless objections about how things must be between us,’ he told her, making a half-hearted offer to let her leave.

And leave she should—rushing from the little alcove after giving him a sharp word and a slap for his insolence. He deserved nothing less for behaving in a way
that was everything despicable, everything he despised about himself and other men who would abuse their power over those in their debt.

But as he said it he reached around her and his fingers tightened on her bottom, flexed and then tightened again. She was round and lush, and he could imagine the feel of her naked flesh, cradling her in his lap as he pushed into her. His body gave a jump of desire in response.

With that little encouragement, she pulled him close again, and he felt another tremble as her body gave an answering surge.

He buried his face in her hair. ‘No objections, then. Very good.’ He forced her back with him, further into the darkness of the alcove and of his own soul.

He could hear the faint murmuring of couples in the refreshment room and a low moan from his partner, her quickening of breath and the shift of her gown against his coat. ‘Someone might hear us,’ she whispered.

He touched a finger to her lips. ‘Then we will be careful.’ He bent to kiss the slope of her breast, then tugged gently at the neckline of her gown, pushing the lace out of the way and probing beneath it to where her chemise had been tucked low and her breasts forced high to the top of her stays. At last his fingers found a nipple and coaxed it upwards to rest just outside her dress, so that he could latch upon it with a sigh.

She should be fighting for her virtue, or at least pretending to resist. He should be racked with guilt at his
easy betrayal of Anne. But it felt so good to touch, and to feel a response. This was no mannequin but a living, breathing woman. The sort that a man could make a future with, have a house full of life and love and children.

She gave another gasp at the sudden shock of delight when his teeth closed upon the tip of her breast, and he swirled his tongue as he nipped and sucked. It was tender and sweet, and along with lust he felt the power of bringing her to life. And the bitterness of knowing that he had no right to this—that he was stealing it for his own pleasure, just as the villagers accused him of stealing their livelihoods.

‘Tell me to stop,’ he said, into her skin. For a moment he did, and looked up at her, admiring the fine line of her chin and cheekbones, for her head was thrown back as she panted in excitement.

‘No.’ She gasped, her face twisted as though it was agony to feel what he was making her feel. ‘I want more.’

‘I thought you did. When I saw you at the factory that first day I knew.’ Even then her energy, her passion and her anger had shown, in that dull crowd, like a jewel in dross. She deserved more than this little village could offer her. She needed someone who could match her heat for heat. ‘I want more as well. I want everything. I want to give you that as well. Everything you ever dreamt of. Let me set you free.’ He dropped his head to her breast again.

He could feel that the intensity of his words frightened her. For a moment she seemed almost frozen by them, her frame stiff and rigid, neither welcoming nor resisting. But as he sucked rhythmically upon her he drew a greater response with each pull. Her hands rose to his shoulders, clutching, and then digging in with the sort of hard, painful, rhythmic massage that he might have expected from a cat that didn’t know the power of its own claws. He cupped his hands beneath her breasts, holding them to his face before smoothing his fingers down over her skirts, outlining hips and thighs, and reaching behind one of her knees to urge her foot up on the bench beside him.