Christmas at Ravencrest: A Dark Hero Christmas Short (Reluctant Heroes) Page 3

  “Your mother should have arrived by now. I do hope nothing has happened.”

  “My mother is not terribly conventional. She will arrive exactly when she pleases and not a moment before.” He slipped out of his silk vest and tossed it on the desk. Elizabeth watched him as he walked to the bell pull near his desk and tugged it.

  “Indeed.” Elizabeth arched a brow at her terribly unconventional spouse.

  “What is this bad news you speak of?” He asked as he returned to her side. He kissed her brow and let his fingers move slowly along her waist and across her spine. She felt the gooseflesh rise as his breath caressed her ear.

  “I may have upset Grandfather.” She confessed, desperately needing to confide in him. “We disagreed about Michael’s father. He believes we should pretend to be in mourning and not hold the party tomorrow night. He’s trying to cancel Christmas . . . he thinks--”

  “Lizzie, my sweet.” Donovan’s hands bracketed her face. He gazed down at her with concern as the pain overwhelmed her. “Shhh, no, no, dearest. Don’t cry.”

  Hot tears were spilling over her cheeks as she remembered her argument with her grandparent. “It was so easy to forget that awful man.” She sobbed. “I did as you said, I pushed him out of my mind and then Grandfather--he insisted--quite strongly--oh!” Her heart burned as she tried to explain it to her beloved. Donovan insisted she stop thinking of Captain Fletcher as a relative, as he’d caused only heartache upon heartache with his constant betrayals. Elizabeth was glad to do so, to take her wise husband’s advice and think of Michael’s father as merely a stranger who broke into their home last week determined murder them all.

  She maintained the fiction in her mind at Donovan’s request and it helped her through the past week as she tended her wounded brothers--the unfortunate victims of her stepfather’s assault. Donovan knew how much suffering her stepfather caused, and as a physician, he knew something about healing raw wounds. Thus he suggested she distance herself from the emotional turmoil that was devouring her from the inside out.

  And Grandfather’s rebuke punctured that safe cocoon.

  Everyone hated Captain Fletcher. Even Grandfather, especially Grandfather, as the vile man murdered their mother--his only child, years ago. And yet, his insistence in cancelling a Christmas celebration out of respect for that dastardly creature was infuriating. Grandfather’s rebuke made it seem as if that wretched man were tormenting them still, from beyond the grave.

  “He doesn’t understand how important this is.” She continued, attempting to reign in her muddled emotions. “We had words. I’m afraid I vexed him a little.” She stopped, brushed at her eyes with her fingers and sniffled. “More than a little. I actually swore in his presence. I’m sorry, Donovan but the man is exasperating.”

  “Lizzie, please. Stop fretting. It’s not worth the tears.” Donovan whispered. He kissed her forehead. “It’s good for Lord Greystowe to be crossed now and again. He’s accustomed to everyone cowering at his every word.” As he spoke, he took a handkerchief from his pocket and gently brushed her cheeks with it. “And as for swearing at him . . . I’ve nearly chewed my tongue off trying not to do the same. Oh, Lizzie, sweet Lizzie, take heart. Someone else will annoy him by the end of the day. You may depend upon it and then he’ll forget about being upset with you.”

  “You did say his heart condition was serious. You told me not to upset him.”

  “It is, my love. But I did not intend for us to give in to his every whim when I said not to upset the earl.” Donovan’s large hand reached up to capture a tendril of her hair. He wound it around his finger and then lifted the lock to his lips. “It’s one thing to drop the news on him of a lost family member being restored after years of believing the boy dead and another to disagree with your grandfather on how to run your own household.”

  Elizabeth related the conversation she had regarding the Christmas party tomorrow night to her husband, adding her convictions about why they needed to celebrate the season while leaving out the part about expecting his child. Her reasons sounded petty as she explained her feelings to her husband but the more she talked, the more she realized how important this celebration was to her, not to everyone else as she kept trying to pretend.

  “My sweet girl.” Donovan’s tone and manner were at one purpose, to soothe her agitation. “Whose house is this?”

  “Yours.”

  “No.” He chided. “What did I tell you when we first arrived here?”

  “You said the house was mine to do with as I wished. You meant the redecorating.”

  “No, I did not. The house is yours, Elizabeth. Lord Wentworth is our guest. He will not dictate our behavior. We are not mourning the passing of that son of the devil. We are celebrating the defeat of our most treacherous enemy. We will dance tomorrow night and we will kiss.” He paused in his litany to do just that, kissing her quickly on the lips. “And we will toast our good fortune. No one died, despite Captain Fletcher’s plans to the contrary.”

  Elizabeth closed her eyes at the thought of her beloved husband, her brothers, and what might have been if Captain Fletcher’s scheme succeeded. “So, you agree with me?”

  “Yes, my love. We will rejoice in our good fortune. Do not take his words to heart--”

  Donovan’s valet entered the room as summoned. Donovan glanced at his servant as he continued to hold Elizabeth in his arms. “My lady and I will be unavailable for the next hour or so. See that we are not disturbed.”

  “Yes, sir.” The man backed out of the room without question. Elizabeth heard the distinctive click of the lock as the valet locked the door to the hallway, locking them inside.

  “An hour or more?” She chastened, gazing up into his tanned face. Try as she might, Elizabeth found it hard to maintain a severe expression with her beloved. Donovan was grinning at her, and the look in his eyes told her that his plans for an afternoon tryst would not be rushed.

  “You’ll thank me for this, later.” He boasted, sliding a light finger over her spine. “In fact, you’ll be in raptures over it soon, I guarantee it.”

  “We shall see about that.” Elizabeth teased, running her hand up his chest, over his scars as his shirt lacings gaped open. “You’re terribly confident. One might think you had this planned.”

  Donovan always had a plan. At times, Elizabeth found it vexing that he felt the need to plan everything out so methodically. As his wife she was coming to understand that as a scientist, his exhaustive intellect would allow nothing less.

  At this moment he was carefully unlacing the back of her gown. She could feel the loosening of the fabric along her back. His lips grazed along her neck and over her shoulder after his hand had pushed the fabric down to expose her tender flesh. “A successful outcome to any experiment demands extensive planning and preparation.”

  “Am I an experiment, my lord?”

  “No. You are my obsession.” His tongue slid lightly along her collarbone and drew tantalizing, moist circles along the base of her neck.

  Elizabeth’s skin came alive under his careful attentions. She squirmed a little, unable to stop as his darting tongue brought shivers of delight. Her dress dropped to the floor. She was standing before him in only her camisole and petticoat. It was a delightful situation to be in. And knowing the door was locked against intrusion gave her some respite from her more reticent inclinations.

  Donovan lifted her into his arms and carried her across the room. He slipped through the side door leading to a small, windowless room where two cots awaited. It was a room set up for his patients as a place for recovery after surgery. Lacking patients at the moment, Donovan had set up the small interior room as a meeting place for them.

  “You even lit a candle.” She noted as he set her gently onto the cot.

  He removed his shirt and joined her on the narrow bed. “It’s a sad day when a man has to kidnap his wife just to enjoy a few stolen kisses.”

  His lips devoured her mouth. As his tongue teased hers, Eliz
abeth moved her hand over his long, muscular thigh to the large mound straining his breeches.

  “I believe your plan goes far beyond kissing, my lord.”

  * * *

  Elizabeth awakened suddenly with her head nestled on her husband’s bare chest.

  She eased up on one elbow and gazed about the room with uncertainty until she recalled her surroundings. She’d fallen asleep in her husband’s arms after their lovemaking. And Donovan, being ever the gallant one, did not disturb her repose.

  “What time is it?” She asked, feeling a sense of panic as she realized there was still much to do this day. “How long was I asleep?”

  “An hour, maybe more. Relax, love. Nothing is so urgent that we cannot lose ourselves in each other before tea time.”

  Elizabeth sat up, and started to lace together the opening of her camisole. Donovan’s hand prevented her progress as he deliberately reached beneath the fabric to cradle her breast. “Why did Pearl lock us in your laboratory?” She asked, recalling the oddness of the situation just now.

  “To give us privacy. To assure you that no one could disturb us.” Donovan’s hand brushed the fabric away from her breast. He sat up, and began suckling her nipple in a leisurely fashion.

  “But . . . Pearl is forgetful. You do have key to the hall door?”

  “Yes, but there is always the greenhouse. You could escape me through there if that were your desire, my love.”

  “I have no desire to escape, as you say, but duty doesn’t pause because we wish it to.” She still had so much to do before the day was finished. There were gifts to collect for the staff. She must wrap them and label them accordingly. Between the preparations for the servant’s party, the family feast on Christmas Day and managing the care of her wounded and ailing family, Elizabeth had much work ahead of her.

  Donovan placed his arm about her waist as he lay back down on the pillow. He pulled her down with him and nuzzled the crown of her head with his lips. The peacefulness of moments ago returned to her as she allowed him to hold her for a little longer. His skin was warm against her back and his warm hand on her belly formed a cradle over their growing child. He kept brushing soft kisses along her temple and through her loosened hair. “You said earlier you had bad news to deliver. Surely you didn’t mean your little disagreement with your grandfather?”

  “That news did take precedence, but no, the bad news is that we won’t have ham or beef for Christmas. It is to be pork, poached fish, crab, lobster cakes and turtle soup for us, I’m afraid.”

  “I favor turtle soup. And pork is the main source of meat on the island. There is always monkey,” He leaned forward to kiss her cheek. “However, I cannot recommend it.”

  “Ugh.” Elizabeth wrinkled her nose. His valet had a pet monkey. She couldn’t imagine eating monkey any more than she could eat a beloved cat for Christmas dinner. “My family is accustomed to Roast Goose, Duck or at least a ham for our Christmas dinner. And cherry tarts, not ones made with mangoes. We prefer mince pies and Christmas pudding to cornmeal porridge and we like English beef instead of fish, fish and more fish for every meal. Fritz even suggested using goat as a substitute for beef--“

  “Lizzie, my love, did you invite your family to spend Christmas with us?”

  “You know I didn’t. They decided to surprise us.”

  “Well, then, I suggest that they should be grateful to have barbequed goat and marinated monkey shanks provided for them at my expense and not complain. If they wanted Roast Goose, mince pies and cherry tarts they should have stayed in England.”

  “I’m happy they came. We have much to be grateful for . . .”

  “My lord?” Pearl’s high nasal voice called from the outer room. “The workmen from the docks await your approval on the delivery of your new equipment.”

  “Excellent, tell them I will be right there.” Donovan shouted over his shoulder as he rolled off the bed and reached for his shirt. “And as for your dilemma, my darling Mrs. Beaumont, you might send a note to Captain Rawlings requesting his assistance in the matter. If any man can find a stray ham or a rogue goose in the Indies, it would be Black Jack Rawlings.”

  “Truly? Do you think he could find suitable meat for our table at such late notice?” Elizabeth sat up on the bed with excitement. She laced her camisole, this time without any interference from her adoring spouse. Captain Rawlings was Donovan’s friend. He lived in Basseterre. More to the point, he and Donovan had been pirates together some years ago.

  If anyone could help her acquire rare goods here in the Indies, it would be a former pirate.

  Chapter Three

  “My lady?” Giles, the butler, intercepted Elizabeth as she made her way to her sanctuary, the library, after repairing her appearance and looking in on her younger brother. Michael. “Lord Greystowe is being particularly fractious this afternoon. He’s asking for you. I believe he might rest easier if you looked in on him.”

  Oh, bother. Elizabeth did not relish having to deal with Grandfather when he was in a mood. Yet, his heart condition meant he should not be agitated. She had little choice but to attend him.

  After nearly an hour of listening to his complaints, most of them minimal, she headed for the stairs, determined once more to steal a quiet hour in her library before dinner and the duties of hostess claimed her attention for the remainder of the evening.

  She descended the stairs and was next met by Chloe Ramirez, her female companion.

  “Oh, Madame. Please, you must help us sort this out.” Chloe cried with her usual penchant for the dramatics. “The footmen are idiots. I told them to put the kissing ball in the doorway as you instructed. They hung it from the chandelier in the foyer instead. And Maria and Sally won’t help me make more bows. They claim there is too much to be done in the kitchen. We’re short several bows for the greenery . . . oh Madame? What am I to do? You have a broken wrist. You cannot help me tie the ribbons.”

  Elizabeth rose to the challenge. She sat at the small worktable in the parlor and tried to twist the red ribbons into the shape of a bow. She wanted to prove to Chloe and to herself that she could tie a bow, even with one hand. It was folly; trying to draw the loop tight with two fingers while tugging at the opposite loop with her thumb proved impossible. She attempted the feat several times, even using the elbow of her arm tied in splints to hold the bow down while trying to pull the loops with her good hand, only to swear under her breath as she tossed the fourth messy bow aside. It was a waste of half an hour before she finally stood and went to the bell pull, yanking it with vigor to summon a maid to help Chloe finish her decorating project.

  After quelling the minor storm that buffeted her friend’s afternoon, Elizabeth once again attempted to escape to her beloved library for a few moments peace. She’d just begun to read a new book that morning, The Italian by Mrs. Radcliffe, another Gothic delight recently published from that worthy lady. Elizabeth wanted to find out what was going to happen to the heroine.

  “My lady?” Sally, the head maid below the stairs, intercepted her. “Could you come to stables, we’ve a serious problem? Its little Gavin. He’s got spots on himself, Mum.”

  Oh, for heaven’s sake! Why was it every time she attempted to gain a quiet moment in her private sanctuary someone required her attentions. If she didn’t know better she’d think the household were plotting together to keep her from obtaining the solitude she craved.

  “Why haven’t you sought out his lordship? He is a physician.” She countered.

  “He’s out at the moment, mum. I didn’t know what to do. Johnny’s awfully scared for his little brother.” Sally, surprisingly, sounded as if she might start to cry.

  “Does he have a fever?” Elizabeth asked, concerned for the child.

  “I believe so but it’s so hard to tell, mum. He has red spots, though, all over his face, his arms, everywhere, my lady.” Sally’s voice rose and trembled. “Oh, mum. Johnny’s parents died of the red fever. He can’t lose little Gavin, not after all th
ey’ve come through.”

  The news made her heart grow tight. Gavin was the youngest stable boy. He was held hostage by her stepfather last week and had as yet not spoken a word since the incident. Now he was sporting a fever and mysterious spots? Following Sally, she hurried out to the stables and up the stairs to the loft where Johnny O’Reilly and his two younger brothers resided.

  The tall young man with ash blonde hair and brown eyes was of an equal age with Elizabeth, being just eighteen. O’Reilly had worked for Donovan for several years already, having gone from stable lad to head stable master. “Oh, Madame, thank you for coming. He’s in the other room. I made him take his shirt off so you might see the spots. It don’t look good, mum.”

  She went into the small bedchamber where three cots were lined up. Gavin was sitting on the farthest near the window. The child was eight years old. “I’m sorry, my lady.”

  “Gavin!” Elizabeth knelt before him and touched his cheek. This was the first time the child spoke since that terrifying incident last week. “Oh, dear. What is this?” She gazed at the red spots on his face. They were bright red, just as the maid reported. She touched Gavin’s brow. He was cool and dry to the touch, odd in this climate.

  “They made me do it.” Gavin whispered. He was gazing at her with sad, woe filled eyes.

  “What, dearest?” She asked, cupping his cheek. “Who made you do what?”

  “Johnny, and his new sweetheart, Sally. Did you know they’ve been kissing in secret?”

  “No, I didn’t.” She admitted. What the servants did in secret should concern her, but at this moment, she was more concerned with Gavin’s predicament. “Are they sweet on each other?” She asked, as she rose from her crouched position to sit on the bed next to him. As she spoke, she leaned away to inspect the curious spots on his back.