The Earl’s Mistletoe Bride

Chapter Sixteen

Jon had succeeded in leaving the Abbey without being seen by any of the guests. The grooms were quite another kettle of fish. They had stared, goggle-eyed, at the pistols holstered by his saddle, and the extra rolled-up cloak tied on behind. They had not dared to ask questions, of course, and the grim set of Jon’s jaw should have warned them not to gossip.

He would make everything right again, once he had brought Beth home. But where was she now? He slowed Saracen to a walk while he checked the time by his pocket watch. He had covered barely two miles of the Broughton road. Beth had several hours’ start on him and, even on foot, she would probably reach the town before he could overtake her. A stage was due to depart in less than half an hour from now. What if Beth was on it? Whatever he did then, he was bound to create a scandal. And he could hardly demand they stand and deliver his wife.

Saracen sidled a little, nostrils flaring in response to the wild scents of the moorland. ‘You want a gallop, boy. And you are right. If we go this way, we can save at least four miles. We might even reach Broughton before Beth’s stage leaves.’ He turned the big horse towards the moors and cantered up the slope.

What if Beth had come this way, too? What if she had already caught the first stage out of Broughton?

He shook his head in exasperation. Surely it was much too dangerous, especially at this time of year? But she had done dangerous things before and nearly died in the process. That thought worried him so much that he turned Saracen on to a side path after only half a mile. The diversion would not take him long. And he had to know. He eased the big horse down the slope until he could make out the fallow field at the edge of his own estate. Yes, the travellers from Fratcombe were still there. But would they be able to tell him anything of value?

Jon covered the remaining distance at the gallop and put Saracen at the wall. The big bay cleared it easily and cantered across to the cluster of caravans at the far side. From nowhere, a shrivelled old man appeared and held up a commanding hand. He must be the leader here. Behind him, curious faces peeped out from painted doors and windows. Dirty tousle-haired children crawled out from behind wagon wheels to stare at this latest arrival.

‘What d’ye want?’ The old man scowled up at Jon.

‘I am the Earl of Portbury and you are on my land. By my leave.’ The man’s scowl softened but he still did not allow Saracen to pass. ‘I have come to ask for your help in- Good God! Beth!’

He was sure he was not mistaken. He had glimpsed Beth’s face in the window of the furthest caravan. She was here, with the gypsies. Had they taken her by force?

He snatched a pistol from its holster and levelled it at the old man. ‘You have my wife. Give her to me, or I swear I will shoot you down.’ Slowly and deliberately, he moved his thumb to cock the weapon.

Before he could do so, the pistol was struck from his hand.

A merry laugh broke the sudden silence. Jon half-turned to see a darkly handsome young gypsy lounging against the side of the nearest caravan. He was holding another throwing knife loosely in his hand. Judging by his success against Jon’s pistol, he knew exactly how to use it.

‘What right have ye over this woman?’ the old man demanded. ‘We rescued her from death at the Devil’s Drop. She do belong with us now.’ He glanced over his shoulder. Beth had emerged from the caravan and come to stand just behind him. She was dirty and dishevelled. Her cloak was torn and her boots were thick with mud. She was the most beautiful woman in the whole world.

Jon gazed longingly at her. ‘I rescued her from death, too, a full year ago now. So her life was always mine.’ Beth nodded warily, as if to confirm the truth of Jon’s words. Another tiny sign. It gave him hope.

‘She be safer here. In your household, she be cried a thief. Leave her where she be valued. Or was you wanting to deliver her up to the noose?’

‘Of course not! Even if she were a thief, I would still defend her, with my life if needs be. She is my wife!’

The old man shrugged. ‘So we do both have a claim on her. But my son here do hold the knife. Why should he give the woman to you?’

Jon let his hands drop, displaying empty palms. ‘Because I love her,’ he said simply.

Beth’s gasp echoed round the camp. The young gypsy hurled his knife, point first, into the earth, just as Beth started to run towards Jon. In what seemed like only a second, Jon had thrown himself from Saracen’s back and his precious wife was in his arms.

‘You love me?’ She was gazing up at him with wide, glowing eyes.

‘More than life,’ he groaned, and began to kiss her.

They clung to each other, oblivious of everything. Their bodies seemed to melt together, while their lips sought and their tongues danced. When at last they broke apart, gasping for breath, they found they were alone but for Saracen, cropping the grass by the half-buried knife.

Jon bent to draw it out of the ground. He ran his thumb along the blade with a grimace. It was wickedly sharp.

Beth clasped her own cold hands round his to hold them still. ‘I am no thief, Jon. I swear it.’

Jon freed a hand to cup her chin and gazed deep into her eyes. ‘I know that. You are the essence of honesty and goodness. You could never have been a thief. Together, we will find a way of proving it. But first, we must go back and face them down. Can you do that, my love?’

‘With your love to strengthen and support me, I can do anything.’

He threw the knife back into the ground and picked up his pistol. ‘Come then.’

‘Wait!’ The young gypsy had appeared again, as if by magic. He retrieved the knife and offered it to Jon, hilt first. ‘Take it. Use it on the black heart of any man who would harm your woman. She be worth a life.’

Jon stared. Then he took the knife and tucked it into his boot. ‘Thank you. And be sure that, as long as I am Earl of Portbury, your band will always be welcome on any of my estates.’

Beth leaned in to Jon’s beloved body. Even through the heavy cloak he had wrapped her in, she could feel the heat of him reaching out to her. He loved her. He loved her! She sighed out a long breath and allowed herself to relax even more. They had not ridden together since that night in the folly. That memory made her insides glow even hotter.

Jon nuzzled her ear. ‘What on earth were you doing at the Devil’s Drop, love? It’s nowhere near the Broughton path.’

She shuddered. ‘I must have wandered from the path when the mist came down. That young gypsy pulled me to safety, though I didn’t realise it at the time. I kicked him quite hard.’ Jon’s deep chuckle vibrated against her cheek. ‘They said that, if I needed sanctuary, I could have it with them. I…I was going to stay.’

His arm tightened round her. ‘But you changed your mind.’

‘Yes,’ Beth whispered. ‘Because you said you loved me.’

‘I did. I do,’ he replied earnestly. ‘Though I did not realise it until I thought I had lost you.’ She felt him swallow hard. ‘Beth, do you-?’

She reached out from her cocoon to press a finger to his lips. ‘You know, for a leader of men, you are remarkably unobservant.’ He tried to catch her finger in his teeth, but she was too quick for him. That was for later. ‘I have loved you since that first time you lifted me into your arms.’

‘Ah. At the folly.’

‘No, you noddy. When you rescued me from the storm.’

His eyes widened. He shook his head a little, as if trying to cope with a momentous new idea. Then, after a long silence, he said, on a choke of laughter, ‘I can see that I have a great deal of catching up to do. May I say, ma’am, and darling wife, that I expect it to be a pleasure?’

Jon leaned back against their sitting room door and let out a long sigh of relief. Beside him, Beth put her hands to her burning cheeks. She must have been terrified she would be caught, stealing back into the house looking like a grubby gypsy!

He could smile now the danger was over. ‘Chin up, my sweet. We are safe now. Only Hetty and my mother knew you were gone, and mama will have made sure that no one suspected a thing. You may trust her, you know. She has promised to support you. So hurry and get changed into something appropriate for a top-lofty society hostess.’

‘Your mother will support me? Are you sure, Jon? She does not like me above half. And if she-’

He stopped her worries by the simple expedient of kissing her again. ‘My mother’s mind was poisoned against you, I am sorry to say, by Miss Mountjoy. She detests me, and would do anything to injure me.’

‘Because she is your discarded lover?’

‘Good God, no!’ he exclaimed, though her new-found daring delighted him. ‘What made you-? Ah, Beth, you could not be more wrong. In truth, Miss Mountjoy…er…loved Alicia very much and blamed me for her un happiness. Now that Alicia is dead, the Mountjoy woman seizes every opportunity for mischief-making. But she is leaving Portbury soon. She will not trouble us any more.’

‘Poor woman. She must be very unhappy.’ Beth was shaking her head sadly. ‘And lonely, too, without Alicia,’ she added.

‘She is your enemy and yet you think kindly of her?’ He was thunderstruck. He had known Beth was generous, but this…?

‘Of course. Ask the rector when he arrives. He will tell you that we are to love our enemies.’

Jon stared at her in stunned silence. She was right. He would never be able to match her goodness. And he did not deserve such a treasure. ‘You must hurry now, love,’ he said gruffly, leading her towards her bedchamber door. ‘And while you are preparing to face your guests, I shall have an interview with Berncastle. I guarantee that his wife will be begging your pardon before the day is out. She will admit she mistook you for a woman named Clifford. Since she was foxed at the time, you will graciously forgive her, will you not?’

She let out a gasp of embarrassed laughter.

He used the moment to pick up her left hand and touch the ring. ‘You left everything behind but this. It gave me hope.’ He kissed it reverently. Then he patted her on the bottom and pushed her through the door before he changed his mind.

There was tension in the atmosphere of the drawing room. Although Mrs Berncastle had publicly avowed her mistake and apologised to Beth in front of everyone, Beth knew perfectly well that not one of them believed it. Soon the tale-bearing letters would go out, and the gossip would start. Poor Jon. How would he bear it?

Beth forced herself to ignore that horrid thought and threaded her way through groups of laughing young men and formidable dowagers to join Lady Rothbury by the fire. She smiled down at her. Poor woman. The high-waisted fashions were far from flattering on her, for she was as round as an apple. ‘Your daughter is joining us, I hope, ma’am?’

‘Oh, yes, Lady Portbury. Indeed, she says she plans to surprise me this evening.’ She cocked her head on one side, like a fat, black-eyed robin. ‘I fancy she is going to come down to dinner in her new evening gown.’

‘That will be splendid,’ Beth said kindly.

‘Why, Miss Rothbury!’ Mr Berncastle exclaimed at the same moment. ‘How fine you- Devil a bit!’ He rocked back on his heels and grabbed a chair to recover his balance. ‘I mean, beg pardon, but that is the missing mistletoe jewel!’

The whole room gasped as one and turned to stare at Miss Rothbury. She was dressed in figured white silk. And on her shoulder she was wearing a huge clasp of wrought gold and pearls in the shape of a bunch of mistletoe.

She smiled round innocently at the company and straightened the folds of her skirts. ‘I told you I should surprise you, Mama. Is it not beautiful?’ She stroked a finger over each of the pearls, and then down the golden stalk.

Lady Rothbury rushed forward to grab her daughter by the shoulders. She was almost weeping with embarrassment. ‘Child, child, what have you done? Where did you get this?’

Miss Rothbury looked confused. ‘I think I have always had it. Have I not, Mama? You know I have always loved pearls.’

Mrs Berncastle pushed her way to the front. ‘You must know, Lady Rothbury, that this jewel belongs to my great-aunt, Lady Marchmont. It was stolen from her last year.’ She glanced along the line of astonished faces and paused, like an actress. ‘We were both in the house at the time, as I recall. As was your daughter.’

Beth was gripped with boiling fury. How dare the woman make such accusations against a poor simple girl? There was no malice in Miss Rothbury, none at all, but Mrs Berncastle was clearly determined to have her revenge for that humiliating public apology. Well, Beth would not allow it. She strode across the room to stand between Miss Rothbury and her accuser. ‘Mrs Berncastle, I am sure you would not wish there to be another misunderstanding over this. Would you?’

Faced with the grim challenge in Beth’s face, the woman paled and took a step back. After a moment, she shook her head.

‘Miss Rothbury must have picked up the jewel by mistake,’ Beth said flatly, daring Mrs Berncastle to contradict her. ‘She is fond of such trinkets and would not have thought it wrong. I am sure her mama will see that it is returned to Lady Marchmont with a suitable apology.’

‘Quite right, my dear,’ Jon said firmly, taking his place by her side and dropping an arm round her waist.

Bless him. Just when she needed him. They had their proof now, but at the cost of poor simple Miss Rothbury’s reputation. It felt so wrong. ‘I hope,’ Beth began, fixing each of her guests in turn with a stern glare, ‘that I may rely on everyone here to say nothing at all about this incident?’

‘I am sure they will not, my dear,’ the Dowager put in quickly, smiling warmly at Beth. ‘For it would be such a shame if there were to be no more invitations to Portbury Abbey, would it not? And all because of a little scurrilous gossip with no foundation. No foundation at all.’

Miss Rothbury was still looking bewildered and stroking her pearls. Then, seeing the Dowager’s encouraging smile, she began to laugh.

Slowly at first, and then with increasing mirth, the rest of the Portbury guests joined in, until the room was ringing with laughter.

Jon was not laughing. Instead, he squeezed Beth’s waist and pulled her into the centre of the room. He was looking down at her in a very serious way. Had he changed his mind? Was he thinking she had done wrong to support Miss Rothbury?

‘It is Christmas,’ he said, not attempting to lower his voice. ‘And at Christmas, a man may kiss his sweetheart under the mistletoe.’

Beth’s gasp of astonishment was caught in a long, delicious kiss that went on and on, until her head was swimming and her legs were like jelly. Her distant, austere husband was content to kiss his wife before all the world. Under the friendly mistletoe. Love was truly a wonderful thing.

‘The Reverend and Mrs Aubrey!’

At the sound of the butler’s announcement, Jon broke the kiss. Beth fancied he did so reluctantly. For herself, she would not have cared if it had gone on for ever.

‘My, my,’ the rector said, coming forward with both hands outstretched. ‘Now that was certainly worth travelling all this way to see!’

Jon pulled out the last pin and watched with obvious satisfaction as Beth’s hair tumbled down. He stroked a curl back from her cheek. ‘You know, you are a remarkably good woman, Elizabeth Foxe-Garway. I swear you do not have an unkind fibre in your whole body.’

‘I-’ She could feel herself blushing all over. It was not helped by the fact that she was wearing nothing but a pair of silk stockings and her unbound hair. Jon had the advantage of her, for he had not yet removed his dressing gown.

She tried to make a dash for the bed, but Jon caught her up into his arms and stood, looking down at her with very male appreciation. She wriggled, but he held her fast. ‘You will be allowed to hide under those sheets later, my dear Elizabeth. For the moment-’

‘But my name is not Elizabeth!’ she burst out. For a second, she thought he was going to drop her, but he strode across to the bed and set her down. She squirmed between the sheets. That was better. She could not think straight if he was gazing at her with so much desire in his eyes.

‘Explain, please,’ he said curtly. Suddenly, he was frowning.

Oh dear. She should have told him before, when they came back from the gypsy camp, but they had had no time alone. And then the furore over the mistletoe clasp-and that very public kiss-had pushed all other thoughts from her mind. ‘My name is-was Bethany de Clifford. I was always called Beth. Don’t you see, Jon? They were searching for a missing Elizabeth. It is no wonder that they never found a missing Bethany.’

He shook his head and then he laughed. ‘And you remember everything now, do you? Parents, a family? Now I think of it, I seem to know the name, de Clifford.’

She nodded. ‘Sir Humphrey de Clifford was my father’s grandsire. Papa was a younger son with no prospects. When he eloped with my mother, who was only a poor curate’s daughter, the baronet cast him off. Lady Marchmont always told me I was lucky to have any position at all, after they died, for I was barely a lady.’

‘You are more of a lady than she could ever be.’ He leaned over her and ran his fingers through her hair. ‘And now that you are a countess-my countess-you are above censure. You may do exactly as you like.’

‘Exactly as I like?’ she enquired innocently. She watched his eyes widen and darken as she slowly pushed the sheets down, starting to uncover her naked body to his gaze once more. Then she reached out and pulled his belt undone with a single sharp tug. She let her gaze travel down his splendid body. He was fully aroused. For her.

She flipped the sheet away so that she was totally exposed. And so that he could not ignore the empty space beside her. ‘What I should like, my lord, is a little…er…energetic male company. Of course, if you are not in the mood to provide it, I could always-’

He was beside her, and kissing her, before she could say another word. They had been passionate before, but this was different. This was passion between lovers who were no longer afraid, lovers who had at last recognised that, together, they made a single, perfect whole.

Jon was holding her in his arms as though she were as delicate as a snowflake and as likely to melt away. But she would not. She was strong now, and lusty, and she wanted to love him with her body as well as her heart. ‘Love me,’ she whispered, wrapping her legs around him and pulling him close. ‘Love me. I am yours.’