His Mistletoe Bride Read online

  From behind his imposing desk, his uncle studied him with an ironic eye. “I didn’t say anything. It was your cousin Silverton who addressed you, but you were so deep in thought you failed to hear him.”

  Lucas repressed a grimace. His cousin was the reason for his foul mood. Aunt Georgie had decreed that the Marquess and Marchioness of Silverton would accompany them to the ball, to illustrate the full weight of the family’s support behind Phoebe. Although Lucas could appreciate the strategy, it meant spending even more time in Silverton’s company.

  On a rational level, he knew how ridiculous their feud had become, and how tiresome for the family. Some days, when he was especially weary of hating Silverton, he even thought about asking his forgiveness for stealing Esme away. There were even times when the words came to the tip of his tongue, but something always held him back. Perhaps it was the understanding that Lucas could never forgive himself for betraying the man who’d been his best friend. He had rightfully earned Silverton’s enmity and he wasn’t about to give it up, especially since his cousin had never given any indication he would accept an apology. Better to go on as they were rather than risk exacerbating the ugly drama that had nearly blown the family apart all those years ago.

  “If his lordship would repeat the question,” Lucas said in a bored voice, “I will do my best to answer it.”

  Lounging in an armchair on the other side of his uncle’s desk, Silverton simply smiled. But Lucas knew him better than almost anyone, and read the meaning in his expression. Inside, his cousin seethed.

  “I wondered when you would be returning to Mistletoe Manor,” Silverton replied in an equally bored tone.

  Lucas snorted. “Does it matter? I hardly think you’ll be visiting.”

  Silverton’s eyes narrowed to frosty blue slits. “For some reason I cannot fathom, Meredith has a desire to see the manor, and I would not care to deny her the pleasure of a visit. If it would not inconvenience you too greatly, that is,” he finished with heavy sarcasm.

  Lucas almost groaned. He loathed the idea of Meredith and the other Stanton women traipsing around his ramshackle manor house. Especially Phoebe, who would likely run screaming in the other direction, or burst into tears at what her grandfather had let the house become. He hated disappointing her but neither did he want to offend Meredith.

  “Meredith will always be welcome at Mistletoe Manor. I would suggest, however, that she wait until after Christmas. I hope to have the house ready for visitors by Twelfth Night.”

  Even then it would be evident how bad the situation was, especially to Silverton, who had the finest holdings in Kent. The last thing Lucas needed was the family taking on the Merritt estate as their next project. He had enough obstacles to overcome without their well-meaning but usually ill-fated interference.

  To his surprise, Silverton nodded. “I understand the old earl left matters in regrettable shape. The estate has some of the best orchards in Kent, not to mention one of the finest examples of an Elizabethan manor house in the county. I sincerely hope you’ll be able to restore it to its former glory.”

  Oddly enough, his cousin sounded sincere. Lucas couldn’t remember the last time they’d had a civil conversation. In their youth, they would babble away for hours about everything under the sun, but those days were long gone.

  “Perhaps Silverton and I can ride over one afternoon and take a look,” said Uncle Arthur. “Your cousin and I have been managing estates for years, while you’re still new to the game. Doesn’t hurt to ask for help, you know.”

  What a bloody awful idea. Lucas didn’t need Silverton poking around the place. Mistletoe Manor was a wreck, and the idea of comparing it to Belfield Abbey—and Silverton would compare them—made Lucas’s insides go tight.

  But his cousin did not appear entranced by the idea, either. In fact, in that imperious way of his, Silverton looked downright appalled.

  Fortunately, the library door opened and Aunt Georgie and Meredith walked into the room. His aunt looked dignified and elegant, and Meredith’s pink net gown set off her statuesque beauty to great effect. Silverton’s face lit up when he beheld his wife, and Lucas had to repress a flash of envy.

  Not that he desired Meredith. He’d learned firsthand the harsh lesson to never covet another man’s woman. But he did envy what they obviously shared—happiness with each other and their children, and a deep contentment with life. Lucas doubted he would ever possess anything similar, and perhaps he didn’t even deserve it.

  “Good evening, Lucas.”

  He jerked around. Phoebe had slipped so quietly into the room he’d failed to notice. But he noticed now, and what he saw rendered him speechless.

  A diamond of the first water.

  Her gown, gauzy and clingy, was the color of an autumn leaf just beginning to fade. Her glossy black curls were piled on her head, revealing her slender neck and pretty ears. A few artfully arranged tendrils curled down around the sides of her face, drawing attention to her delicate features. Her big brown eyes shone with excitement, and her lips, pink and luscious, curved into a shy smile.

  But what set him back on his heels was what the dress revealed. The quaint little rustic had been consigned to distant memory, and in her place stood a lush, sweetly curved temptress. The gown barely skimmed her shoulders, and the neckline dipped down over plump white breasts that would drive any man under the age of eighty insane with lust. Yes, she wore long gloves that covered most of her arms, but that was nothing in comparison to all the tempting flesh laid bare for any man to see.

  Phoebe’s smile faltered under his bemused gaze, replaced by an uncertain look. She bit her lower lip as she cast a doubtful glance in Aunt Georgie’s direction.

  “Lucas, does your cousin not look lovely?” His aunt’s voice held a note of reprimand, prompting him to recollect himself. He forced a smile as he stepped forward to take Phoebe’s gloved hand.

  “Without question.” His voice deepened to a rumble, and that had him mentally wincing. “I have no doubt Phoebe will be the belle of the ball.”

  He also didn’t doubt he would be spending the evening protecting her from rakes and wolves, while doing his best to keep his own hands off her luscious body. Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined Phoebe like this, nor considered how greatly it might affect him.

  She wrinkled her nose at him. “It is very kind of you to say so, but I cannot help feeling uncomfortable. I feel so . . .” Blushing, she let her voice trail off.

  “Exposed?” he finished dryly.

  She nodded.

  Meredith laughed. “Lucas, don’t be such a prude. Half the women at the ball will be wearing dresses a great deal more revealing. Phoebe looks just as she should.”

  Silently, he disagreed. One of the things he truly appreciated about Phoebe was that she was not like most of the women he knew.

  Aunt Georgie gave Phoebe a reassuring smile. “There is nothing in your appearance that will cause any kind of remark, other than the fact that you look perfect.”

  Phoebe sighed. “I will defer to your collective wisdom, but I know I will have to resist the temptation to spend the evening yanking up my bodice.”

  Everyone laughed but Lucas.

  Aunt Georgie turned to smile at him. “Lucas, I believe you have something to give your cousin, do you not?”

  Right.

  He’d been so knocked back by the new Phoebe that he’d forgotten what came next. It had been his aunt’s idea, but with a little luck he’d be the one to benefit from Phoebe’s gratitude.

  Reaching for the velvet pouch he’d left on the end table, he carefully tipped out the contents into his hand. “This was your grandmother’s,” he said, holding up the ruby and diamond necklace.

  While not large, the stones were of the best quality and superbly cut. The finely wrought setting perfectly suited Phoebe’s delicate beauty.

  Phoebe sucked in a breath. “That belonged to my grandmother?” Her voice sounded curiously strained.

  “
Yes. By tradition, this necklace has been worn by the countesses of Merritt since the early seventeenth century. Your grandfather gave it to your grandmother, and now I’d like to give it to you.”

  He undid the clasp and prepared to put the gleaming strand around her unadorned neck. The only jewels Phoebe wore were simple garnet drop earrings. He and Aunt Georgie had planned it that way so she could wear the necklace. Such an occasion demanded a special gift, and it didn’t hurt that the giving would also signal his intentions, both to Phoebe and to the rest of the family.

  But as he stepped forward to place the gemstones on her neck, Phoebe backed away. She held up one hand, and damned if she didn’t look ready to fly into a panic.

  Lucas stopped short and frowned. “What’s wrong?”

  She shook her head. “I cannot wear it.”

  “Why not?”

  “It is much too ornate for me,” she responded in a tight voice.

  He tamped down his impatience with the inconvenient reassertion of her Quaker modesty. She would parade herself in a revealing gown and yet balk at wearing a cherished family heirloom? God preserve him from female logic.

  Meredith cast him a swift glance and moved to stand beside Phoebe. “My dear, the necklace is perfectly appropriate, I assure you. And it’s your grandmother’s, too, so you shouldn’t feel any hesitation in wearing it.”

  Phoebe’s chin jerked up in defiance. “And yet, I do.”

  She returned her gaze to Lucas. Her features had settled into a calm mask, but her eyes held a volatile mix of emotions, including a pain he didn’t understand. “I thank you for your generosity, Cousin,” she said in a formal voice. “But I cannot accept your gift.”

  Lucas could barely restrain his frustration. “Why the devil not?”

  Uncle Arthur bristled. “Watch your language around the ladies. Especially your aunt.”

  Aunt Georgie rolled her eyes. She heard worse from her husband every day. Nonetheless, the entire situation had turned into a fiasco, made more humiliating by the fact that Silverton was shaking his head with disbelief.

  Lucas switched his gaze back to Phoebe. From the neck down she was the most tempting woman he’d ever seen. But from the neck up she was all rigid, disapproving Quaker.

  “I am not comfortable with excessive ornamentation,” she said stiffly. “Naturally, I am grateful for your generosity, but I would ask you to respect my wishes.”

  That was too much for Uncle Arthur. “Good Lord, child. Those are the Merritt jewels and the Earl of Merritt wishes you to wear them. What possible objection could you have? Don’t want to offend your cousin, do you?”

  Phoebe’s eyes widened, and Lucas bit back a curse. Yes, he was angry she had chosen this moment to exercise her ridiculous scruples, but he didn’t want his uncle reprimanding her in front of half the family.

  “Arthur, you are not helping,” warned Aunt Georgie.

  “Well, dammit, my lady,” her husband protested. “The gel isn’t making any sense, and I’d like to know why.”

  “Perhaps this isn’t the best time to discuss the issue,” Meredith broke in. “After all, we don’t want to be late for Phoebe’s first ball.”

  “Very wise, my love,” Silverton said. “I vote for tabling this debate until later.” He cast an ironic glance toward Lucas. “Preferably when the rest of us aren’t around.”

  Lucas felt his temper rise, but this time he couldn’t keep it in check. “I don’t give a damn what you think,” he growled at his cousin. “But I do give a damn about what Phoebe thinks.”

  He turned back to her. She stood her ground, unbending and cold. She’d shut him out, and that infuriated him.

  “No, Lucas,” his aunt said firmly. “Now is not the time.”

  He kept his eyes fastened on Phoebe’s pale face. She locked her gaze on his waistcoat.

  “Aside from the excessive ornamentation of the piece,” she finally said, “it would be most improper for me to accept it, especially from thee. As thee said, the necklace is handed down through the generations, from one countess of Merritt to the next. I am not the countess of Merritt and, therefore, I cannot take it.”

  And from the tone of her voice, she never would be.

  Lucas must have made a sound, because she finally looked at his face, her eyes gone hard with moral condemnation. That look tore through him like cannon shot. He’d always found her Quaker philosophy quaint and rather charming, but now he realized how he’d misjudged. Under that lovely facade lived a puritan, and a cold, contemptuous one at that.

  Her contempt was leveled right at him. Why? Because he wasn’t a Quaker? Was it his career in the military that condemned him in her eyes? He didn’t know, and right now he didn’t care. Clearly, Phoebe was not the woman he’d thought she was.

  With a curt nod, he retreated. “As you wish. Forgive me for offending you.”

  He slipped the necklace back into the velvet pouch and dropped it carelessly onto the end table. Phoebe bit her lip, and a look of anguish flashed across her features. That gave him pause, but he shoved aside his concern. She’d made her feelings known, and he wouldn’t trouble her again. She was Aunt Georgie’s and Uncle Arthur’s problem now. He’d done his best by her, and she’d rejected him.

  In front of the whole damn family, and Silverton, no less.

  “Well,” said his aunt in an aggrieved voice, “isn’t this a delightful way to start the evening? Lady Framingham will be so happy to see us.”

  Chapter 11

  Phoebe studied the immense stone lions guarding the doors of Lady Framingham’s ballroom. With their fierce expressions and arched backs, the beasts looked ready to pounce on any unsuspecting dancers who wandered too close. Right now, she rather wished one of them would come to life and swallow her in a single gulp.

  Repressing a sigh, she perched on one of the delicate chairs grouped against the wall, pretending to listen to Meredith and Annabel as they chatted away. According to them, Lady Framingham’s ball was an unqualified success. Jammed with guests attired in beautiful fashions and glittering jewels, the ballroom shimmered in the light of a thousand candles. A good-natured din filled the cavernous space, so loud one could barely hear the orchestra at the other end of the immense gold and crimson room. All were having, or seemed to be having, a wonderful time.

  Unfortunately, Phoebe hated every moment. It was too loud, too hot, and at least half the guests were so inebriated she marveled they did not pitch over onto their faces. She could not think of one thing she liked about Lady Framingham’s ball.

  Except for the lions. Their fierce scowls matched exactly how she felt.

  A hand touched her arm and she jumped.

  “Forgive me for startling you,” Meredith apologized, “but I don’t think you heard Annabel’s question.”

  The sisters stared at her with concern. Meredith had steadfastly remained by her side from the moment they entered Framingham House, which had been when Lucas abandoned them. A few minutes later Annabel had arrived, and the two women had swept Phoebe away to a relatively quiet corner of the ballroom.

  She mustered up a smile. “Forgive me.” She leaned across Meredith to address Annabel. “What did you wish to know?”

  The young woman studied her with a grim expression. “It doesn’t matter. What does matter is that you’re having an absolutely awful time, aren’t you?”

  Phoebe opened her mouth, then clamped it shut. Never had she experienced so many impulses to lie as she had since arriving in London. Perhaps she should move back to America, since her new life seemed to be having an unfortunate effect on her morals.

  And her temper, if her behavior in her uncle’s library was any indication. She did not even regret her rude remarks to Lucas, which surely illustrated how far her conduct had slipped.

  Meredith scoffed at her sister. “Of course she’s having an awful time. How could she not, given how badly Lucas is behaving? I’d like to box his ears.”

  Phoebe choked down a laugh that felt more lik
e a sob. The image rather horrified her, but right now she was trying to repress the same impulse.

  As one, the three women turned their eyes to Lucas, who was dancing with yet another beautiful woman. He and his partner were engaged in a waltz, and to Phoebe’s eyes he was holding the woman scandalously close. Given that the lady’s flimsy bodice barely covered her ample charms, it was a wonder her bosoms did not pop right out and land on Lucas’s waistcoat. He certainly had not been jesting when he told her many of the women at the ball would be more than half naked.

  He seemed determined to dance with most of them before the evening was out. And was enjoying every minute of it, too, by the appreciative smile on his face.

  They watched grimly as Lucas swung the lady—Phoebe used the term very loosely—through another turn. His partner gazed up at him with sultry eyes and nestled even closer as he swept her down the room.

  Phoebe clenched her jaw as anger jostled aside the anguish from that ugly scene in Uncle Arthur’s library.

  “Why is he acting so badly?” Annabel asked in a mystified voice. “Lucas has always enjoyed a flirtation, but I’ve never seen him quite like this. Especially not since—” She glanced at Phoebe. “Well, not for a while, anyway.”

  Meredith sighed. “He’s in a pet because Phoebe wouldn’t accept his gift. It was so unfortunate he decided to present it to her in front of half the family. Men are such idiots.”

  Phoebe ducked her head, cheeks burning as she recalled Lucas’s offhanded manner in presenting her with the precious family heirloom. How could he treat her—and the gift—in so careless a fashion? She knew from her mother’s relation of family history the importance of that necklace. The Merritt rubies were only given to the wives of the earls—as a token of true love and esteem—and never handed down from mother to daughter.

  Was Lucas signaling his desire to marry her by his presentation? She had not even been able to tell. And if he was, how could he do it in a way that would be sure to embarrass her? To do something so private and meaningful, paraded in front of half the family, and with no warning given to her first. He could not love her and yet treat her with so little respect.