A Christmas Bride Part 22

For a long moment she thought he would refuse, but then he nodded. "At least allow me to take a message to my lord for you."

"I have informed the earl of my plans."

Branson lost his usual smile as his face dropped into a frown. He must believe that she had misunderstood him, and mayhap that was all to the good. If the butler thought that she and Timothy had had a falling-out, Branson would not rush to Timothy with the tidings of her leaving. He would leave that horrible task to the earl.

The cold wind swirled into the foyer, bringing sharp flakes of snow with it as Branson sent a footman to have a carriage brought. The snow must be blowing up from the ground, because the stars pierced the sky with the intensity that they reserved for freezing winter nights.

More quickly than she had expected, but much more slowly than she wanted, a closed carriage was driven under the porte cochere. Bidding Branson farewell, she hurried down the steps and let the footman hand her into the carriage.

She pulled the cloak more tightly around her shoulders as she settled herself on the carriage's cold seat. She knew Branson's counsel had been wise. She should wait until dawn to travel, but she could not remain a moment more in that house amid the lies and counterlies.

Raising her hand to slap it against the side of the carriage, she took a steadying breath. She did not want to leave. She could not stay.

Her breath burst from her in a scream as her wrist was seized. She whirled on the seat to stare through the window. "Timothy!" she gasped.

"Where do you think you are going?" he demanded.

Serenity slowly lowered her hand. She said nothing as Timothy threw open the door so hard that it crashed against the side, and climbed into the carriage. He sat on the seat facing her.

"I was sure Mrs. Scott was mistaken when she told me that she had seen you stepping into a carriage in front of the house," he said, each word as icy as the night wind.

Mrs. Scott! She should have spoken to the housekeeper before she had taken her leave to allay Mrs. Scott's mind as she had Branson's.

"She was correct." She could keep her voice as emotionless as his, but she had to clench her hands in her lap to do so. Her fingers wanted to course along his strong face and slip up through the gold richness of his hair ... just once more, while she believed that love was possible.

Love? Her heart was witless. This had been just a masquerade, with the greatest hoax being played upon her. She had believed she was doing something kind to help Timothy, but that kindness could have destroyed her father.

Her hands clenched in her lap. Why couldn't she see her father's face? Hints of his voice played through her head, but the words were ones an adult would speak to a child. No memories emerged from any time more recent than when she had been barely old enough to have a tutor.

"You did not answer me," Timothy said, his voice still harsh with barely repressed anger. "Where are you going at this hour?"

"I am going home."

"Home?" He stared at her as he whispered, "You have remembered who you are?"

"Not completely." Closing her eyes, so she was not tempted to soothe the emotions in his, she whispered, "All the answers you need are in a letter I left on your desk."

"You wrote me a letter and-"

"The letter is from your solicitor." She took a deep breath, then opened her eyes. She could not hide from the truth. "It was misdelivered to me, but it told me that I am, in truth, Helen Loughlin."

"Loughlin?" he choked, and she knew he had made the connection as swiftly as his grandfather had.

"It seems that your finding me was a most happy happenstance for your cousin, who may not have been as puzzled by the truth as I was."

Timothy cursed with rare fervor. "Of course he knew who you were. He and Uncle Arnold have called several times on Sir Philip in recent years."

"Enough so that your uncle owes my father a heavy debt." She looked down at her clasped hands. "But that is not important. What is important is that my father must be frantic with worry that his daughter is dead. I must not delay a moment longer going home to rea.s.sure him of the truth."

"Let me send a rider. The message will reach your father far more quickly than a carriage."

"Thank you, but no."

"You can leave on the morrow." He reached for her hands. "If-" He cursed again when she drew her hands away.

"I must leave now."

"At the very least, allow me to escort you home. You should not be traveling alone all night."

"Yes, you may escort me home." She held up her hand to halt him from replying before she had said all she must. "But only because I want you to a.s.sure my father that nothing untoward happened between us, in spite of your cousin's determination to see you enjoy the rights of the lord of the manor with me."

He slapped the side of the carriage to give the command to leave. The sound of the endless ringing of the bells grew fainter as he said, "I would never have done something to dishonor you, Serenity. I mean, Helen."

She looked down at her gloved hands again. "Mayhap it would be better if you addressed me as Miss Loughlin, my lord."

He grasped her hands. "Sweetheart, do not toss what we share aside as if it had no value."

"What value can lies have? They have no more substance than the colors of a rainbow, even though they are just as beguiling and seductive to the want-witted."

"'Tis no lie that when I hold you in my arms, I am certain that nothing in the world can be as wondrous. Then I kiss you and-"

"Timothy! No more!" She pulled away, edging to the far side of her seat. "I have been mired too long in lies, and I do not trust myself to know what is the truth any longer."

"I know what I did was wrong. Even doing what I did for a good reason was wrong."

She nodded. "Yes, it was."

"You will allow me no lat.i.tude on this, will you?"

"If I do," she whispered, leaning forward to cup his face in her hand, but pulling her fingers back before they could touch his rough skin, "my heart will demand the same lat.i.tude."

"Your heart?"

She did not dare to close her eyes, although she wanted to shut out the hope blossoming in his. If she shut her eyes, she doubted if she could keep the tears from slipping past her lashes. "Even though I knew it was ludicrous, I could not keep from falling in love with the man who cared so deeply for his grandfather that he would go against his principles and devise this story to make him happy."

"I have succeeded only in making everyone miserable, including you."

"You have given Melanda a great deal to crow about. She will deem this a first-rate theatrical put on solely for her enjoyment."

He rose enough to switch seats so he sat beside her. Putting his arm along the back of the seat, he whispered, "I care nothing about Melanda and how she rates the world about her, because she dares not allow anyone too near unless that one can advance her in some way."

"She seems to think that Felix is that one."

"She may change her mind when she learns of his scheme to ruin you and your father to get his vengeance." He tried to smile, but failed. "Or mayhap not. They are, as you have mentioned more than once, two of a kind." His voice grew somber. "We are speaking of Melanda and Felix when I wish to be speaking of us. Let them worry about their own future together. What of ours?"

She looked at him and whispered, "I don't know."

Eighteen.

Felix reached for a gla.s.s of brandy. He needed something to ease the ache in his skull. Those blasted bellringers! That tradition would come to an immediate end on the day he became earl. A man should not face Christmas morn with the echo of endless ringing banging through his head.

"You look distressed, my love," Melanda cooed as she leaned over the back of his chair. Dipping her finger in his gla.s.s, she rubbed the brandy against his forehead. "Another headache?"

"Yes."

"You should not be suffering from a headache." She bent and kissed his cheek. "Not tonight."

He tipped the gla.s.s back and drained it. "If those accursed bells would just stop."

"You should be used to them by now." She laughed as she filled his gla.s.s again and came around from behind the chair to sit on its arm. Taking a gla.s.s, she poured some for herself. "A toast, Felix?"

"To what?"

She laughed at his grumble. "To us would be a good start."

"Start? Everything has come to an end. Nothing has gone as I planned." He took her hand and gave her a weak smile. "Almost nothing."

"You are too glum when you should be happy." She rested her cheek against his. "Your grandfather's guests are enjoying themselves, and I saw your father leaving the ballroom with Mr. Younger and Lord Edsley."

He groaned. "Dash him! Edsley has a certain skill with the devil's books that might cost my father dear."

"Edsley was well into his third bottle of wine." She gave him a sly grin. "I made certain that he had his choice of several more in the room where they had retired to play cards."

"What did I do to deserve you?" He chuckled.

"You shall be asking yourself that again when I tell you what I came in here to tell you."

He sat straighter. "Something more?"

"The very best of tidings. She is gone."

"She?" He scowled. Only two people created this abhorrence in Melanda's voice. "Theodora?"

"That beastly child?" Her nose wrinkled. "No, not her. She is gone."

"Serenity?"

She laughed and nodded.

"She is gone?"

Melanda rose and reached for another chocolate from the box set on the table by the window. "I just heard that Serenity skulked out of Cheyney Park like a thief not an hour ago."

"And Timothy?"

She raised hooded eyes toward him and smiled. "I let your grandfather's heir know that his erstwhile betrothed was on her way home."

"Home?"

"To Sir Philip Loughlin's country estate near Robin Hood's Bay."

Felix stood, swaying. He waved aside her hand. "She knows the truth?" He rubbed his eyes. "By all that is blue, how did that happen?"

Sitting in his chair, Melanda reached into her bodice and drew out a crumpled page. "Poor, dear Miss Loughlin. This letter was delivered to her in error. It seems your cousin has developed such a tendre for Serenity that he was determined to find out the truth about her past so he could put her mind at ease about who she was before you persuaded her that five hundred pounds was the proper price for her to play Timothy's supposed betrothed."

s.n.a.t.c.hing the letter, Felix scanned it. Melanda was wrong. This letter made it clear that Timothy had set the solicitors on a search for those blasted children within days of the carriage accident. When writing that letter that he had pretended to take out of the ap.r.o.n's pocket, Felix had been certain that Helen Loughlin would do as he suggested and take on the role of Serenity Adams if she thought some children were dependent upon her for their survival. Everything he had heard had convinced him that Helen Loughlin was as loyal and honest as her accursed father, so he had been sure she would take this bait.

She had, and so had Timothy. In his determination to repay "Miss Adams" for helping him, Timothy must have started this search for her nonexistent siblings. That search had led to the truth. Too soon! Too blasted soon! If the letter had arrived even a day or two from now, his revenge might have been a.s.sured. Now ...

With a curse, he threw the letter onto the hearth. He did not wait to see it turn brown and catch fire. Why had not he invented some other tale that would have compelled her to help Timothy, yet would not have created this longing to find her fict.i.tious brother and sister?

"She is gone, Felix," Melanda murmured, coming to her feet and draping her arms around his neck. "And so is Timothy."

"They will not get far. It was beginning to snow when I came in here." He scowled at her. "Why did you tell Timothy that she had left?"

"Did you want to see his face yourself?" She walked her fingers up his arm. When he shoved her hand away, she pouted and said, "To own the truth, I did not tell him. I overheard him talking to Mrs. Scott." She sniffed. "'Tis about time someone eavesdropped on her."

"Why did not you come to tell me right away?"

"I have." She ran her hand along his arm again. "Don't fret, my love. Everything has worked out just as you had hoped."

"Nothing has worked out as I hoped!" He peeled her arms off him and shoved them away.

"It must have in one way. Your grandfather is certain to be furious at Timothy for being a part of this scheme." Her nose wrinkled as she reached for another chocolate. "You know how the earl says he expects more from his heir."

"Yes, his beloved heir who must do no wrong, and his other grandson who can do no right."

"Oh, Felix, don't be petulant. What do you care?"

He stared at her as if he had never seen her before. "How can you ask that? After all I have done?"

"It has obviously failed. Timothy is sure to bring her back here, and then, being the honest trout that he is, he will go to your grandfather and confess the whole."

"Be quiet," he muttered, rubbing his aching forehead. He did not need Melanda's vexing comments now. He had to think-and think fast. Father would be outraged when he heard of the chain of errors that had unraveled the carefully arranged pattern of lies.

Grandfather ... He gulped. Grandfather would disown both him and Father, because the old man had become as fond of the woman he knew as Serenity Adams as if she were his own grandchild.

He knew what he must do. He must not delay.

Snow pelted the road, and wind blew against the lowered curtains on the windows. When the carriage slid as the road grew steep, Serenity gripped Timothy's arm.

"We must turn around," he said quietly.