On A Cold Christmas Eve Read online

  He could tell the moment she caught sight of him because her steps faltered for a moment and she stumbled a bit, though she did manage to catch herself on one of the trees the lined the drive. He also saw her eyes widen, probably in fear, as most women did when they first saw him. There was, unfortunately, no help for that. His looks were what they were and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about them - not that he normally wanted to. Still, it would have been nice if every woman of his acquaintance didn't flinch in fear when she saw him.

  Adam St. Vincent was not a small man. In fact, he towered over just about every other Englishman he'd ever met, owing, he always figured to his Italian heritage. His mother had been from Genoa, a scandal of the highest order in his father's time, and while the taint of "foreign blood" had eased over time, one look at Adam made it clear that his bloodlines were not completely English. In the rainy darkness, with his clothes plastered to his body and his dark eyes unreadable, he imagined he looked rather worse than normal. His assumption was proven correct when the woman, whose own darker looks complimented his own he noted with surprise, took two more steps towards him before collapsing into his arms.

  "Bloody hell," he swore under his breath as he scooped up the prone form, which, he was disturbed to note, was far lighter than he had anticipated. If she wasn't already ill, she would be soon. She needed proper care, something he could not give her here with only minimal staff. "Simmonds," he bellowed, already striding back towards the manor house, "get the coach ready! We ride for Overlook Hill tonight! I do not wish to delay!"

  Then he turned to see Harry looking at him, no sign of alarm or fear in his eyes, but merely a steady resolve. Patient and waiting, there was no question that he was awaiting his orders as well, knowing that a task awaited him. That was one of the reasons Adam liked Harry so well. He was always ready, ever discreet, and never questioning.

  "Ride for London," Adam nearly growled, hoisting the woman higher into his arms as he saw the butler scurry for the stables where a coach and driver waited at the ready. "Find out all you can about this chit, about my bloody imbecile of a brother, and what the hell he's done this time." A dark rage threatened to overcome him, but he forced it back. Now was not the time.

  When Harry just raised an eyebrow, Adam bit back a snarl. This man didn't deserve his anger. Another did. Harry, of course, knew that, and was bold enough to ask a question, the very thought of which might leave a weaker man shaking in his boots. "And if I find the wastrel? Any of them?"

  "Turn them over to the authorities," Adam growled, before thinking better of it. "No, better yet, bring them to me at Overlook. I wish to have a word or two with them." Then he flashed a smile, a dark, wicked thing that had sent more than one man racing from a card room. "There is much, it seems, that I need to say."

  After a quick bow, Harry closed his coat tightly around him and turned up his collar to protect himself from the wind and snow. "Of course, my lord. I will see to it personally." Then he was gone into the night, the darkness swallowing him up as if he had never been.

  That was another reason Adam liked Harry so much. Like Adam himself, Harry was a man of mixed parentage. Unlike Adam, however, Harry hadn't been born wealthy, and that limited him in many ways. However, he'd overcome many harsh circumstances to rise to the top of the ranks of the Runners, with a case record that many envied. It was an early case in Harry's career that had brought him into contact with Adam, and it had been Harry who had saved Adam's life when a distant relative had tried to take the dukedom by force. Ever since, there was no one that Adam trusted more.

  That was also why he knew that when he issued the order for Archibald to be brought to Overlook, he would be. No questions asked.

  Just then, the woman in Adam's arms stirred, and her eyes fluttered open. A rich aquamarine color, they reminded him of the sea on a calm day. She opened her mouth to speak but was racked by a cough, which was followed by a sigh, as if it hurt to breathe. Damnation. It would not do for her to die while under his care.

  When she tried to speak again, Adam held a finger to his lips as he crossed the front lawn with her still in his arms. "Shh. Don't try to speak. Just know that you're safe. I'm Adam St. Vincent, Duke of Enwright. No harm will come to you, I swear." Then he looked down at her and swore again. "Bloody hell!"

  The woman had fainted again and this time, given the blue tinge to her lips, he didn't think she would wake up any time soon.

  Chapter Two

  She was warm. And dry. Those were Lucy's first two thoughts as she awoke. The second was that there had to be a massive bear sitting on her chest since drawing a breath was somewhat of an issue. Upon opening one eye, she found that it wasn't a bear, but rather a great beast of a dog, one with dark, soulful eyes that seemed to be watching her intently.

  When the dog realized that she was awake, he sat up and emitted one low, mournful howl and then settled back down, crushing the breath from her once again. "Fenster! Down!" It was only the sharp command of a deep male voice that made the dog rise and leap away, easing the pressure that had been preventing her from drawing a normal breath.

  Down?

  Sitting up a bit, Lucy realized that she was lying in a bed much softer than she'd even been in, her form piled high with thick blankets and an assortment of coverlets and pillows. To her left, she could see a woman with steel-gray hair tucked up under a cap snoozing peacefully in a chair. She was snoring so loudly that Lucy had no idea how she'd not heard that before.

  "Wondered how long you'd sleep through Ethel's rumblings," the deep voice said and Lucy turned just in time to see the most strikingly handsome man she'd ever laid eyes upon rise and cross the room to stand by the bed. The Duke of Enwright himself. She had succeeded, though she hadn't a clue how she'd accomplished it. "Actually, I was beginning to wonder if you'd ever wake up." He frowned at that, as if he hadn't wanted to even consider the possibility.

  Looking around, Lucy knew that there was no possible way she was back in her uncle's home. Firstly, she'd never been treated this well there, and secondly, her uncle was so cheap that he'd never, ever, allow a maid to sit and watch her sleep. That would have been too wasteful. Wherever she was, it wasn't the Mayfair house she'd last slept in only days before.

  "Where am I?" she managed to ask, even though her throat was parched, and she felt as if she hadn't spoken in a week. Considering that the last thing she remembered was the hard, driving rain slowly changing to snow, maybe she hadn't.

  Instead of immediately replying, the man in front of her sketched a deep bow before rising again with a grin. "Lady Lucy Cavendish, may I welcome you to Overlook Hill, country estate of the Duke of Enwright. Which," he said with a smile, one that reached his eyes and made him all the more handsome, "just happens to be me."

  She should have been surprised that he knew her name, but she wasn't. He was a duke, after all, with more connections than she could ever hope to have. Not to mention that she doubted there were many society misses who were currently missing. It wouldn't have taken long for him to deduce who she was. In fact, she didn't doubt that he had a full dossier on her already waiting on his desk. That was simply how men like Adam St. Vincent conducted business, even that of a personal nature.

  Lucy took a moment to gather her thoughts and study the man in front of her the way she had always wished to in the ballrooms of London. At the moment, he wore no cravat and his shirt open at the throat to reveal a sprinkling of dark hair on his chest that matched the dark and thickly curly hair on his head. He was beyond tall and his shoulders were the broadest she'd ever seen. They were, quite simply, massive, tapering down to a narrow waist. His calves were encased in riding boots, but his thighs were heavily muscled, at least if the way the fabric of his breeches stretched over them was any indication. She had lusted over his body behind her fan many times, but now, in this bedroom, it was different. More intimate.

  It was his eyes, though, that completely transfixed her. A rich, deep brown, they seemed to hold a
ll of the secrets of the universe, as well as things of a darker and far more sensual nature. They were also guarded, as if he was as unsure of her as she was of him. This situation was highly improper, but at the moment, she didn't particularly care. It was unlikely that anyone would discover that she'd been here, not to mention that, at the moment, she had far more pressing problems to occupy her mind. Namely what this man's brother and her uncle had planned for her.

  Then Adam turned and she glimpsed it - the pain that mirrored her own, the same pain she'd seen back in town. He hid it well, but it was there. Somehow, that made him seem far more human, more approachable. She should have been quaking in the bed in fear, or rather another woman might have, but she wasn't. Instead she only felt a mix of curiosity and something more, something she didn't care to examine too closely.

  Oh, he was the kind of man most proper women insisted they would be terrified to be alone with, either at a party or in a more intimate situation. Lucy knew that, but she didn't share their fear. She never had. Instead she felt the same kinship she had back in London. There, however, she would have never dared approach him, knowing that she was not fit to do so. He was a god, and she a mouse. But here in this bedroom, there was no fear. No quaking or simpering, not that she would have anyway. Only a realization that she could understand him in a way that few other women might, and that she wanted to try. She wanted to offer him compassion, and, well, maybe a bit more than that, proper or not. She was still a woman at heart.

  Looming over her now, there was no doubt that Lord Enwright looked fierce and angry, but it was an act, something he cloaked himself in for protection. She could see that now, too, and knew that this pretense was the only thing they other women saw when they looked at him. Lucy saw beyond to the kindness beneath, the kindness that Lady Huffly had, just the month before, claimed didn't exist.

  Except that Lucy had experienced his kindness first hand. He'd been the one to catch her when she collapsed, she remembered vaguely. He was the reason she was being cared for. If not for him, there was no telling where she would be at the moment, though she knew with certainly that it wouldn't be a warm and comfortable bed. Still, this man was very dangerous. Just not in the way most people assumed.

  "Adam St. Vincent, the Duke of Enwright" she said, wanting him to know that she did know who he was and that he didn't frighten her, if that was what he was hoping for. She also took a moment to study her surroundings once more, unsure of what to say next. Richly appointed and extremely opulent, this was clearly a guest room. That alone spoke to how wealthy this man was. She wondered if he knew what his brother had planned. She also wondered what he thought of her, if he believed her to be complicit in the scheme.

  He came to sit in a chair by the bed, and Lucy didn't flinch or cower, certain he would not appreciate a false display of weakness. She was strong. She'd had to be, and, as she already reminded herself, this man didn't frighten her, at least not really. There was no reason to pretend otherwise. Still, she knew it was best to proceed with caution. Until she was more certain of him, certain that she could trust what she saw in his eyes, it would be to her benefit to appear perhaps just a bit stronger than she really was.

  She wasn't overly surprised when he put a hand on bed and glanced briefly at the maid who was still sleeping soundly. It wasn't strictly improper that he was here with her, and really, at the moment, propriety was the least of her worries. Though if he tried to force himself on her, she would scream. Not that she suspected he would. He was not that kind of man. She knew it in her heart.

  "How much do you know about my brother, Archibald?" He spoke quietly but firmly, as if he knew she was unafraid of him, and as if he, too, recognized the kindred spirit in her.

  His question surprised her, and she blinked a few times before she could collect her wits enough to reply. "Very little actually. I know that my uncle, James Strathmore, who is also the current Earl of Wellsford, came to me about eight days ago and informed me that he'd arranged a marriage between Archibald and me. He reminded me that at seven and twenty, it was well past time that I wed."

  "You look far younger," the duke said, and she knew that he wasn't lying or attempting false flattery. He was merely stating what he saw as fact.

  Nodding, she offered her thanks before continuing her story. "My uncle was to take me to a coaching inn near here, the Stuck Pig, and I was to meet an envoy from the St. Vincent home. I was told that it was to be Archibald himself, even though I doubted that would be the case, at least from what was described to me."

  "Which was?" Enwright prompted, seemingly filled with endless patience, a trait she admired greatly.

  "That Archibald was a reformed rake, a man far better than the one I'd met a time or two in town, and that he'd been given control of Fairhaven after proving his improvement of character." Lucy shook her head, disgusted with herself. "I was told he was a virtual paragon of propriety, and while I didn't believe it, I couldn't disprove it, either. Nor was I given the chance to, as my uncle still controls my life to a great extent."

  Enwright seemed to ponder her story for a moment before asking one of the last questions she'd expected of him. "Did you wish to marry my brother?" There was a dark intensity in his eyes, and for the first time, Lucy felt a bit of fear. However she did not allow him to see it.

  "I did not know him, my lord," she replied, holding her head high, unwilling to know he'd rattled her just a bit. "I do not wish to marry a man I have never spoken with, even though I know that my uncle can force me to do as he wishes."

  "So if given a choice?" he pressed, seemingly eager for her answer. For whatever reason, it was important to him that he know, though she couldn't guess why.

  "Then no, I would not marry him." Lucy pressed her lips into a flat line. "I do not know him, nor do I know if he is kind or would beat me or torture me, as many men to do their wives. It's not that I do not wish to marry some day. I do, truly, but not Archibald, for based on what I learned at the Stuck Pig, he is not the kind of man I would choose for my husband." Letting out a sigh, she met Enwright's unwavering gaze. "Given the choice, eight days ago I would have refused, had I been able."

  Then she frowned and bit her lip, images from the past few days swirling together. "At least I think it was eight days ago. What day is it now?"

  "The eighteenth of December, which if my information is correct, makes it a full fortnight since your uncle made the pronouncement." Adam looked at her closely, his dark eyes unreadable, and in that moment, Lucy would have given anything to know what he was thinking. "You have been here a good long while, Miss Cavendish."

  Lucy cleared her throat, embarrassed now to know that she'd been unconscious for so long. She had thought she'd been sleeping for a day at the most, not several days as Enwright had implied. Another woman might assume that a man like Adam St. Vincent had taken liberties with her during that time, but she knew that was not the case. Even if he were a rake like his brother, which she knew he wasn't, she wasn't the kind of woman men desired, let alone attempted to seduce. She was a misfit of the highest order, not the type of woman a man like the Duke of Enwright would wish to bed.

  "So it would seem," she finally offered, uncertain of what else she could say, uncertain that he'd believed her story. "Is there anything else I should be aware of, my lord?" She desperately wanted to know how soon she'd be turned out, but her head wasn't quite clear enough to form the question, nor was she quite brave enough to ask it.

  If she were younger, perhaps, or even prettier, she might offer to become Adam's mistress, if he didn't already have one, at least for a little while, in exchange for help in securing a position some place far from town. Rumor had it that he did not currently keep a woman, at least not that anyone of her acquaintance knew of. However she was none of the things she knew he would desire in a woman. She was also certain that her attempt would end in failure. No, better to keep quiet and hope he was kind enough to help her locate a position in a decent home rather than make a proper c
ake of herself. Or worse, appear desperate.

  The duke cleared his throat, and Lucy thought she saw a flash of anger cross his face, but it was gone before she could be certain. "For what it is worth, Miss Cavendish, I believe you. I can also add to your tale, tell you details that I am now certain you were unaware of." Sitting back in his chair, he looked relaxed, but Lucy could see the undercurrent of unease running through him.

  "Such as?" she prompted, wanting to get this unpleasantness out of the way. The more she knew, the better prepared she would be to face whatever lie ahead.

  With a sigh, Enwright ran a hand through his hair, mussing it thoroughly. "It seems that my brother contracted this marriage in name only, as an attempt to gain your dowry for his own needs. He planned to take you to Gretna Green so as to make it all nice and legal, not to mention avoid the need for a special license, though I am given to understand that he applied for one. However, there was never to be an actual consummation of marriage, just the contract to 'purchase' you, if you will, from your uncle."

  Lucy was aware that Enwright was sweating a bit, something she didn't think dukes like him did. She was so caught up in watching the thin beads of sweat on his forehead that she almost missed what he said next. "Then, he made a second contract. That second contract essentially gave him the power, as your husband, to sell you to a house of ill repute in Covent Garden. Or so I have been told, as I have not yet seen the document for myself."

  "A prostitute?" Lucy croaked, horrified now and more than a little terrified. "You cannot be serious, my lord! I am not... I have never..." Unable to finish a sentence, Lucy feared she was on the verge of tears, her tentative control slipping away rapidly. She knew she was strong, but this pushed the limits of what she could bear.