His Mistletoe Bride Read online

  Since no one had noticed him yet, he took a moment to study Phoebe. He’d seen a good deal of her these last few weeks, going to Stanton House most days ostensibly to visit his uncle. His intent lay elsewhere, of course, which General Stanton had certainly deduced, although he’d had the good sense not to mention it to Phoebe.

  Much to Lucas’s unending surprise, the girl intrigued him. She had from the moment they met. Phoebe had a sweet, winsome beauty and a gentle manner, but underneath her calm exterior there lived an intelligent mind and a quick wit.

  Not that anyone saw the wit very often. Phoebe approached life in a serious fashion. That partly stemmed from her dreary Quaker upbringing, but Lucas also suspected other forces at play. What caused her to engage with life in such cautious manner, he had yet to discern. But he would. Unless his instincts had failed him, she was developing an attachment to him. It manifested in the shy but eager smile that lit up her face whenever he walked into the room, and in the way she focused her attention on him. Not in a flattering, obsequious way, but with a quiet intensity that seemed to be entirely unconscious on her part.

  Considering his plans for her, that pleased him a great deal.

  As he watched her, her head came up and she turned his way. Their gazes locked. A pink blush tinged her cheeks and her lips parted in a luminous smile. He felt the impact of that smile reverberate through bone and muscle like a hammer blow.

  Startled, he shook it off. Never again would a woman exercise control over him, even one as gentle and honest as Phoebe. That, however, didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy her attentions, or revel in the fact that she appeared as fascinated with him as he was with her. He realized what was happening between them, even if she was too innocent to recognize the signs.

  With a little luck, she wouldn’t be innocent much longer.

  Given the way she looked tonight, he could hardly wait. Aunt Georgie and Meredith had transformed Phoebe into a stunner, with her gown clinging to soft, enticing curves, and glossy dark locks artfully arranged in a riotous tumble around her neck and shoulders. She was a prize, and he hoped to claim her as soon as he could.

  “Good evening, ladies,” he said as he came up to the small group. “Annabel, it’s a pleasure to see you in town, but I can’t say the same for your husband. How you tolerate him is a mystery no Stanton has been able to solve.”

  Annabel giggled as he bent to kiss her cheek, but Robert snorted. “It’s because I’m such a pleasant, well-mannered fellow. Unlike some people, who can’t be bothered to show up for a family dinner even when his favorite cousin has just arrived in town.”

  Lucas raised his eyebrows in mock enquiry. “Yes, I certainly did miss seeing Annabel, but the thought of dining with you was too much for my delicate stomach.”

  Annabel tried to look severe, an impossible feat for one so elfin. “Lucas, you are a terrible tease. But we were beginning to wonder if you would bother to put in an appearance tonight.”

  Meredith threw her sister a warning glance, but remained silent. Lucas couldn’t help but appreciate her discretion. He would never abandon Phoebe during her first outing, but dinner had been out of the question. The last time he and Silverton had shared a table the meal had ended in a brawl, as Annabel well knew because it was her damn table.

  “Forgive me,” he said politely. “I was engaged earlier in the evening, but I would never miss Phoebe’s first party.”

  Phoebe narrowed her eyes at him. She obviously knew the reason for his late arrival, and it seemed to bother her, too.

  Mentally, he shrugged. On this particular matter she would soon learn to respect his wishes, as had every other Stanton. She might not like it, but his careful avoidance of Silverton when at all possible made life easier for everyone.

  To distract her from the topic he loathed more than any other, Lucas took her slender hand and carried it to his mouth, causing her to blush. “Phoebe, I hardly recognized you. Surely my aunt has arranged for you to be kidnapped, and another woman substituted in your place. Where is my shy little Quaker? Who is this fashionable, self-assured woman sitting in her place?”

  As anticipated, Phoebe starched right up. She worked hard to subdue her temper, but he sometimes enjoyed prodding it to the surface. He liked the passion in her, and liked even more the prospect of unleashing that passion when her body lay naked under his.

  Meredith leapt to defend her charge, much like a tabby might defend her only kitten. “Phoebe looks very pretty and just as she should, and you well know it.”

  He laughed. “I do. In fact, pretty doesn’t do her justice. Stunning is the more appropriate term. Phoebe, I always knew you were hiding your light under a basket. I’m happy to see you letting it shine for all to see.”

  She gave an adorable little grimace, looking torn between pleasure and embarrassment. “I am pleased to pass your inspection, Lord Merritt,” she replied, giving his name a sarcastic emphasis. “But I cannot help feeling rather odd. As kind as Aunt Georgie’s guests have all been, I rather think they anticipate something unexpected from me. Like falling into a religious fit, or speaking in tongues.”

  She was trying to make a joke of it, but he could sense her discomfort. Phoebe hated standing out. Her upbringing should have armored her against the censure of the broader world—since her people normally didn’t give a damn about the opinions of non-Quakers—but he’d learned that she had felt no more at home in that rigid little world than she did among London’s elite. She was neither fish nor fowl, and her usual tactic was to fade into the wallpaper and hope no one noticed her.

  Lucas hooked an arm around a chair and pulled it next to her. “Once they get to know you, your religious beliefs won’t make a whit of difference.”

  She looked so sweet and vulnerable, trying to act as if none of it really mattered, that he could barely resist the temptation to pull her into his arms and comfort her. Now that would give the gossips something to chatter about.

  “Lord,” said Robert, waving a negligent hand. “I don’t know what all the fuss is about. You don’t even speak like a Quaker, Phoebe. Why, you’re nothing like those sour-looking crows in black, always preaching at some poor fellow. Cursed rum touches, I say.”

  Annabel’s mouth dropped open and Meredith shook her head. Lucas, however, choked back a laugh. No Stanton gathering would be complete without Robert making at least one baffle-headed remark.

  Phoebe’s decisive chin jerked up a notch. Lucas quite liked that chin, with its small, defiant cleft. While not usually an attractive characteristic on a woman, it lent her an air of exoticism that steadfastly contradicted her attempts to play down her beauty.

  “And how does thee imagine a Quaker speaks?” she asked politely.

  Robert’s eyes rounded with dismay. “Rather like that, actually.”

  Annabel glared at her husband but Meredith now looked ready to laugh, probably at the haughty lift to Phoebe’s slender eyebrows. Taking in Phoebe’s expression, Lucas could understand how such a meek little thing could survive a crossing of the storm-tossed Atlantic, then venture into a strange land to start a new life.

  Robert stared at Phoebe with alarm. “Good Lord, Cuz, never meant to offend you. It’s just that . . .” He broke off when a smile played around the corners of Phoebe’s mouth.

  “Whew,” he exhaled. “Thought you were having me on. It’s just that you don’t really talk like any Quaker I’ve ever met. Not that I’ve met all that many, and I’m sure they’d be just as nice as you. Except for those outfits, of course. They’re beastly and no getting around it.”

  “Their clothing makes it easier to get dressed in the morning,” Phoebe said, “but I do take your point. I do not normally speak like that. My brother and his family certainly do, but my father did not, nor did my mother. She was determined that I speak what she called proper King’s English.”

  She glanced at Lucas, offering him a shy smile. “Some people seem to expect me to deliver an evangelical lecture over dinner, and I cannot disab
use them of the notion. I suppose I must simply look and act too plain.”

  “Nonsense, Phoebe,” said Annabel, obviously misunderstanding the Quaker meaning of the term. “You’re the prettiest girl in the room and you have the loveliest manners, too.”

  Robert looked thoughtful, which usually boded ill. “Well, Phoebe is a dashed pretty girl, Belle, but to be fair, there ain’t that many girls in the room to begin with. You and Meredith don’t qualify anymore—”

  Meredith reached over the back of the sofa and pinched him, but Robert simply grinned and carried on.

  “As for the rest, given how old most of the guests are, it’ll be a miracle if one of them doesn’t keel over dead into the punch bowl by the end of the night.”

  Annabel rounded horrified eyes at her husband. “Do not let Grandpapa hear you say that. He’s certainly as old as most of the guests tonight. And you know how sensitive he is about his age.”

  Robert cast an alarmed eye in his grandfather’s direction. If there was one thing calculated to reduce him to silence, it was the fear of the old man’s wrath.

  “Yes,” said Meredith. “Let us not upset the General. Although,” she added, trying to repress a laugh, “Lady Bellingham does look to be nodding off as we speak. I do hope she doesn’t begin snoring like she did at the Wellbourne’s musicale last week. She was so loud she drowned everything out, including Cissy Patterson’s performance on the harp. And you know Cissy. Any little thing pitches her into hysterics.”

  Phoebe blinked, clearly not knowing how to respond to that piece of information.

  “Poor Phoebe,” Lucas said. “We are all so gay to dissipation.”

  She laughed. “I do not mind in the least. While it is true that several of the guests are rather deaf, which does make conversation a challenge, one cannot fault their kindness or courtesy.”

  Robert gave a dramatic sigh. “I’m ready to hang myself, just to break the boredom.”

  “I’m sure your hanging would greatly enliven the evening,” Meredith said in a tart voice. “Enough nonsense, Robert. I’d like to hear how the new Lord Merritt is faring with his estate. I believe you have quite a mountain of work ahead of you, do you not, Lucas?”

  Now Lucas had to repress a sigh. The state of his holdings was another topic he’d rather avoid, but he couldn’t be rude to Meredith. If Silverton had asked the question, he would have rebuffed him, but Meredith had treated him with nothing but warmth and generosity from the day he’d met her.

  “I’m sorry to say the home farms are in a deplorable state, which is my greatest concern. The house needs significant repair, and the stable looks ready to collapse any minute, as does the dairy. The orchards are in better condition, which is the only blessing in the lot.”

  Phoebe listened to him with eager concentration. “The estate in Kent is quite large, is it not?”

  “Large enough. There is also a small hunting lodge in Lincolnshire, but Mistletoe Manor is the primary seat of the earldom.”

  Phoebe scrunched up her nose. “Mistletoe Manor? It’s lovely, but rather an odd name.”

  “You have no idea.” Whichever ancestor had applied that demented label to the once-dignified Elizabethan manor deserved to be whipped. The name was bad enough, Lucas mused, but the manor staff—most of them descended from families who had served the Merritts for generations—cherished a bizarre obsession with everything the name implied. Why, even the housekeeper—

  Robert’s laugh interrupted his gloomy thoughts. “I’d forgotten about that. From what Grandfather told me, the Merritts make quite a fuss about Christmas, do they not? All Yule logs and boar’s head and Lord of Misrule, if I’m not mistaken.” He winked at Lucas. “I suppose I know where we’ll all be spending the holiday, ain’t that right, Belle?”

  Annabel rolled her eyes at her husband. “Not unless we’re invited, and I certainly can’t imagine why Lucas would want to invite you.”

  “I would love to see the manor, Lucas,” Phoebe broke in, her eyes shining. “I would be so happy to see where my mother grew up.”

  Lucas smiled. Phoebe would see Mistletoe Manor soon enough, but not until he had it in decent enough shape that it wouldn’t instantly frighten her off. She needed time to get used to what he had planned for her, and taking her to a broken-down estate didn’t enter into those plans.

  “Belfield Abbey is only a short distance from Mistletoe Manor,” Meredith said. “I’m sure something can be arranged after we settle in.”

  Lucas shot her a frown. “Phoebe is going to Belfield Abbey for the holidays?”

  “Everybody is,” said Annabel. “At least for part of the time. Isn’t that right, Meredith?”

  “Yes,” Meredith replied, watching Lucas carefully. “There will be plenty of opportunities to visit, if you will have us.”

  Their gazes locked, and an uncomfortable silence fell over their group. Lucas could feel his jaw twitch, but he fought to keep his face impassive. Christ! The entire family camped out at Belfield Abbey for weeks, right on his bloody doorstep? It was bad enough he had to grapple with all the problems foisted on him by his dilapidated inheritance. Now he would also be expected to dance attendance at every inane holiday gathering and put up with Silverton to boot.

  Phoebe reached over and touched his hand. “Forgive me. I had no right to ask for an invitation in so rude a manner. You have many pressing matters to attend to on the estate, and I will be happy to wait until you are ready to receive guests.” She smiled, but her dark eyes held a wounded dignity.

  Lucas mentally winced. Phoebe was the last person he wanted to feel bad about this. Aunt Georgie and Meredith and all the other interfering women in his family were up to something with their Christmas plans, and he didn’t like it. He wagered Silverton would be equally annoyed.

  As if his thoughts had conjured up the devil himself, Silverton’s voice broke in. “This looks to be a very lively group,” he said in a sardonic voice.

  Annabel plastered a bright smile on her face. “We were discussing Christmas plans, and how much fun it will be to visit Mistletoe Manor while we’re all down at the abbey.”

  “Yes, won’t it just,” Silverton replied in his most bored voice.

  Meredith flashed her husband a look that could slice through stone, and even Lucas had to feel a degree of sympathy for him. But he ignored the unwelcome emotion and focused on Phoebe. “Of course you must visit,” he said, taking her hand. “You must regard Mistletoe Manor as much your home as it is mine. You will always be welcome there.”

  She earnestly searched his face, then cast her gaze to their still-joined hands. “Thank you,” she murmured in a shy voice.

  Silverton muttered something under his breath. Ignoring him, Lucas released Phoebe’s hand and rose to his feet. “Ladies, if you’ll excuse me, I must pay my respects to my aunt and uncle.” He smiled down at Phoebe. “I’ll speak with you again before I leave, all right?”

  She nodded, but her gaze flicked warily between him and Silverton.

  He turned and glanced at his cousin, who studied him with an alert, suspicious gaze. Scowling, Lucas brushed past him and strode away.

  Chapter 8

  Clearly eager to escape a lecture from his wife, Cousin Stephen murmured an apology before dragging Robert off to the other side of the drawing room. Phoebe could not help noticing he made a wide berth around Lucas, casting him a dark glance.

  Lucas was equally to blame for the ridiculous male feud, but Phoebe could never stay angry with him for long. And he had overcome his loathing of Stanton family events to appear at her modest debut. She was grateful for his support, and for the fact that he never seemed to care about her dress or her manner of speech. Lucas listened to her—really listened—and made her think her opinions mattered.

  But tonight he did seem to care about her appearance. In fact, when their gazes first met, he had looked at her in a way that scorched the air between them, robbing her of breath and heating her from the inside out. She had not expected
his reaction, and it had turned her brain to mush and muddled her insides with an unfamiliar, shivery sort of feeling.

  But then Cousin Stephen had approached and Lucas’s eyes had taken on the flat, gray cast of a winter sky. A cold facade had snapped into place, and he retreated into the persona of the arrogant aristocrat. That version of Lucas chilled her to the marrow, and she knew with depressing certainty that his animosity for Cousin Stephen held a greater sway over his emotions than anything he might feel for her. His precipitous escape confirmed that.

  Meredith muttered a surprisingly rude oath as she glared daggers at her husband’s retreating back. Phoebe blinked in surprise, while Annabel let out a laugh.

  “That certainly says it all,” Annabel finally managed. “I suppose I was foolish to hope that Silverton and Lucas might be trying to patch things up.”

  Meredith sighed. “If anything, it’s worse. Perhaps it’s because they can no longer avoid each other. Before Lucas returned to England, they could pretend the other didn’t exist.”

  “It’s just too ridiculous,” Annabel huffed. “Grown men acting like children, and on such an important night, too.”

  “Oh, no,” Phoebe protested. “Everything has been perfectly. . .” she trailed off, unable to lie.

  “Exactly,” Meredith replied. “We know how gruesome it must be for you to be caught in the middle. You can be sure my husband will receive a piece of my mind when we return home. If only there was someone to do the same to Lucas.”

  “I think the situation is much more upsetting for my aunt and uncle,” Phoebe said. “As for someone talking to Lucas, I do not think it would do any good. Uncle Arthur tried to discuss it with him just the other day. Lucas did not take it well.”

  Not well was an understatement. Phoebe had been reading quietly in the corner of the library while her uncle and Lucas were discussing new farming techniques. When Uncle Arthur had suggested that Lucas consult with Silverton, who had already implemented some of the new techniques at Belfield Abbey, Lucas had snapped at him. A sharp exchange followed, with the older man exhorting his nephew to stop acting the fool. Lucas’s expression had grown cold and haughty. Barely holding his temper in check, he had clipped out a terse apology and excused himself from the room. Pausing briefly as he passed her, he had brushed a gentle hand across her cheek but then turned and stalked out. Her uncle had flicked a glance at her, then shrugged and returned to his correspondence.