The Christmas Promise (The Fallen Angels NOVELLA series Book 2) Read online

  His mind skidded to the list he had taken from her the other morning and cringed. He wasn’t sure if he could marry one of the ladies on that list. But in fairness, he had yet to meet all of them, and therefore it was unfair to immediately discard them as possibilities until he had at least had a chance to talk with them. Unfortunately, the ones he had met so far all reminded him too much of his first two wives.

  "I would need a special license to marry by the end of the year. And there is no way I can obtain one here, in the wilds of Northumberland. It requires the archbishop's signature."

  "Don't be obtuse, Rollens," she said a little too confidently. Peter felt his insides roil as she turned, and the walked over to her dressing table. She opened one of the drawers then withdrew a folded parchment.

  "I took the liberty of obtaining a special license some weeks ago. All it requires is the name of the bride," she said and held the paper up for him to see.

  Peter walked over and then snatched it from her hand. He opened it then quickly perused it. Another shudder washed over him as he stared down at his name affixed to the marriage license. And as she had said, the date and bride's name were indeed left blank. Ordinarily not something that was allowed. But he wasn't surprised his mother had been able to browbeat the archbishop into giving her effectively a blank license.

  How dare his mother take such a presumptive action on his behalf without his permission. His hand began to shake as his anger boiled near the surface. Peter glared down at the vile document as he visualized ripping it to shreds.

  "You destroy that and I won't do anything to stop the rumors about your Miss Penrose," his mother warned.

  Suddenly something his mother said reverberated in his brain. "Marry someone on your list." Not on hers. Last night, after talking to Mary, he had added her to the bottom of the list of candidates for the next Duchess of Rollens. It had been a whimsical thing at the time because he still didn't want to marry anyone on his mother's list. But why not marry Mary? Her father had been the fourth son of an earl. So, despite being half Welsh, he had been gentry.

  Carefully, he removed the list from his inside coat pocket and stared at it, and then at the special license in his other hand.

  "Put an end to the rumors about Miss Penrose, and I will agree to marry one of the women on this list," he said and shook it at her.

  His mother eyed the paper, and the license suspiciously. Then she asked, "On your word of honor, Rollens? I want your word on it. Before the end of this house party you will choose a bride from that list and marry the chit."

  He hesitated and then clarified. "On my word of honor, Mother, I will talk to every woman on this list.” He paused and then quickly added, “That I have not already eliminated, and will ask one of them to be my wife. Whether or not she accepts me is beyond my control. But I swear on my honor that I will ask one of them to be the next Duchess of Rollens. And if she agrees, then I will marry her before the New Year begins."

  Before the dinner gong was rung that evening, his friend Charles Grey told him that there was speculation that he was planning on setting up his own nursery. Which thrilled the matchmaking mothers and their daughters to no end.

  Peter also learn that the Hurtles’ governess had suddenly been given the rest of the holiday off. Confidentially, the earl told him that a nasty rumor had been started about the girl by some unknown person. But thanks to his mother and Lady Hurtle the rumors had been debunked as untrue. Those that had met the short, plump, bluestocking and bespeckled governess thought the rumors ridiculous. Charles wouldn't elaborate on just what the rumor was, he would only say that it involved a possible tryst between the governess and some nobleman at the party.

  "I have known the Hurtles’ governess for some time," Peter told the earl. "And I can assure you the rumors are quite untrue. Miss Penrose is an honorable woman."

  Grey gazed at him, and then nodded. "I've met the woman in question and was quite impressed with her as well. She has a sharp mind and quick wit. A bluestocking who takes after her father, I think."

  Peter turned and looked at his friend. "You knew Professor Penrose?" Peter asked.

  "Yes," the earl said. "And I knew his wife as well." He gazed intently back and then seemed to come to some kind of conclusion. "I would hate to see their daughter hurt. She doesn't deserve to be dragged through the rumor mill by the predators that are a part of our world."

  "No, she does not," Peter agreed.

  They continued to stare at one another for several more heartbeats, and then the earl nodded his head and wandered off to talk to another group waiting to go in to eat. Peter gazed sightlessly across the drawing room. He had every intention of protecting Mary from further gossip. But he also needed to honor his commitment to his mother and spend time with each of the debutantes on his list that he had yet to meet. And then find a way to squeeze some time with Mary as well, so he could see if she might harbor a tendre for him.

  Chapter 6

  Finding a way to talk to Mary wasn't going to be as hard as Peter had feared. Fate, or God, had apparently decided to lend a helping hand, which was fortunate. He had pondered the problem most of the night and hadn't come up with a suitable solution on his own. Which after spending more than two hours in the company of four the debutantes on the list had become more urgent. Because he couldn’t possibly marry any of those women.

  The problem, as he had seen it last night, was that Mary was not actually a guest at the house party, she was one of the servants. Consequently, spending time with her in the midst of the gossip-ravenous guests would be paramount to announcing his interests in Mary as a potential candidate for his hand in marriage. And if things didn’t work out between them, then it could endanger her job and make life harder for her.

  This morning he had risen at the crack of dawn and gone in search of a cup of strong coffee. What he found was Mary slipping down the back stairs, wrapped in a thick coat, and carrying a blanket over one arm and toting a basket in the other.

  From the way she was dressed, Peter had an idea where she was going. But to make sure, he had discreetly followed her until she slipped to the back of the keep, and then headed toward the north curtain wall. Once he was fairly sure where she was going, he rushed back upstairs to change into the warmest clothes he had. Then he creeped down the servants’ back stairs, and headed out in pursuit.

  Escaping the castle unseen wasn't hard at all. Peter had fond memories of his times at Alnwick. Over the years his family had been guests of the Duke and Duchess of Northumberland on three other occasions. And on each of those visits, Peter had retraced the steps he and Mary had made when he was eight years old.

  So he had used the postern in the north curtain wall on several occasions to get out of the castle. Not because he had been trying to sneak away, but because it was the quickest way to get to the Aln River and the old Scottish ruins Mary had shown him that first Christmas holiday. Today he suspected both of them were using the back gate as a way to avoid the guests and servants at the house party.

  Once outside the curtain wall, Peter turned left and walked until he reached the trees on the eastern side of the castle. A short time later, he met the road north of the castle that crossed over the Aln River. Once on the north side of the river, he followed the river east until he reached the break in the trees he knew would lead to Mary's old ruins.

  The snow from the other day had melted, but the grass was still damp, so he followed the small set of footprints into the woods until he came to the clearing that he and Mary had spent so much time at twenty years ago. And there, just as she had been all those years before, sat Mary, a book in her hand and a blanket wrapped tightly around her shoulders.

  Only this time she wasn’t a ten-year-old girl, and he wasn’t an eight-year-old boy. She was like a winter fairy queen, presiding over her enchanted, winter domain from atop her throne. His loins stirred and the blood in his veins began to pump faster, uncomfortably warming his body. It was the same reaction he had each
time he had seen her since arriving, only this time he did not try to deny what his body already knew. He desired Mary and loved the way she looked.

  Over the years he had taken only a few women to his bed after the disaster of his two marriages. But each of those women had looked more like Mary than his two statuesque, beautiful wives. Both been diamonds of the first water, by the standards of the haut ton.

  Peter had always attributed his attraction to women with fuller, more voluptuous figures to the fact that he had come to associate skinny, less curvy women with the two that had been his wives. But now, standing at the edge of the crop of trees, staring at the woman that had always occupied a place in his mind over the years, he realized that it wasn’t revulsion to his wives that had made him admire women like Mary. It was that he had always judged other women against the one he had fallen in love with, when he had been an eight-year-old boy.

  The realization triggered another memory. Of him, standing where a magical pond was supposed to have been, and asking ten-year-old Mary to marry him. She had politely refused, of course. But he recalled giving her one of his mother’s gold rings, a plain band with Celtic engravings on it. Mary had tried to give it back, but he had refused to take it. He wondered if she had kept the ring all these years.

  He saw her peek his way, so he stepped into the clearing. "This is the second time since I arrived that I am experiencing a bit of déjà vu," Peter said by way of greeting.

  Unstartled, Mary calmly looked up from her book and then glanced behind him without saying a word. When she turned back, he answered her unspoken question.

  "I'm evading my lessons. So no one is with me." It was the same thing he had told her twenty years ago.

  She smiled back at him as she laid her book in her lap. "As I recall, you weren't just evading your lessons that day, but you were also hiding from your father."

  "Ahhh," he said as he began walking toward her, "yes that I was. And this time, I'm hiding from my mother."

  She grinned back at him and shook her head. "And why are you hiding from your mother, your Grace?"

  A cold chill fluttered through him that had nothing to do with the weather. He didn't want to tell her about the hated marriage list. At least not now, so in a more somber voice he asked, "I wish you would call me Peter."

  Mary glanced at him, then turned to stare uneasily at the path he had just used. "I'm not sure that would be a good idea, your Grace."

  Peter knew why she was saying that. But it still bothered him. He looked away and studied the crumbling wall behind her, the only sign that something had once stood in the place. Peter didn't want to endanger her reputation or make her uncomfortable, but he wanted someone to call him by his first name. No, not someone, he wanted to hear his given name on her lips once again.

  "At my birth I was named Peter Thaddeus Alfred Hendricks. But I was born Earl of Danfort, and was addressed as such from the moment I took my first breath." He turned back to her and prayed she would understand what he was asking. "You were the first person to ever address me by my given name. The only one as far as I can recall. With you I wasn't Lord Danfort, I was just Peter. And the other day, when I arrived, I wasn't the Duke of Rollens, or Rollens, or even your Grace to you. I was just Peter, your old friend. And I would like to be just plain old Peter with you, and not some bloody title."

  She regarded him cautiously then pinched her mouth before saying, "But you are the Duke of Rollens, your Grace. No matter how I address you, you will always be the duke, and I will always be a commoner. It wouldn't be proper for me to address you as anything other than what is proper."

  He knew what he was asking wasn't proper. But he didn't want to be seen as a title by her, he wanted to be seen as a man. One she might want to marry.

  "I know," he acknowledged, then glanced around. When he turned back he asked, "But when no one else is around, can't I just be Peter, and you just be Mary?"

  His heart thudded painfully as her sky-blue eyes regarded him. Then a smile crested her lips, and his heart stopped.

  "Did you follow me . . . Peter?" she asked.

  It wasn't exactly what she asked him twenty years ago, but it was close enough. He grinned back as he sauntered over to the line of rocks she was sitting on and settled a respectable distance away. They had spent many a day when they first met sitting on these very same rocks, talking about a myriad of topics. Mostly the history of the area, and what she had known of scientific subjects that had fascinated an eight-year-old boy.

  "I wanted to talk to you," he replied and saw her lips twitch.

  "That is what you said the first time you followed me here," she said.

  A becalming warmth settled over him. She apparently remembered that Christmas as much as he did.

  Every corpuscle in her body had jumped to life when Mary heard someone coming up the path from the road. Intuitively, she knew who it was, and a warm flutter raced down her spine and exploded in her nether region. She knew she shouldn't react this way to the Duke of Rollens. But she couldn't seem to stop her growing attraction to him. Not to mention her growing fascination with the man the boy she once knew had grown into. And not in a platonic or academic way either.

  Mary was all too aware of the virile man he had become. For the last two nights she had dreamt of running her hands through his raven locks. Mussing them as she sifted them through her fingers. His hypnotic green eyes above her as he leaned down to take her lips with his.

  From some of the books she had discovered years ago, Mary had learned how to pleasure herself. And she had explored herself on countless times, usually while fantasizing about some faceless man that would one day be her husband and lover. But none of those had aroused her as much as imagining Peter Hendricks making love to her.

  And then when her heart returned to normal, and her mind cleared of the sensual fantasy, harsh reality set in. Mary was thirty years old, two years older than Peter. She was short, overly plump, extremely farsighted, and rather funny looking with her short corkscrew curly hair and bright blue eyes. She was as far from what society deemed beautiful as one could be without being ugly.

  Mary had long ago accepted that she was, well, just different. Not ugly, nor was she a raving beauty. She was just . . . not fashionable. A bluestocking with a sharp wit and an exuberance for life and learning that most of the ton found unacceptable. Unfortunately, reality couldn't stop her from dreaming about the duke in a carnal way, which was alright as long as he never knew about it.

  His powerful body came into view, and her heart did a somersault in her chest. Out of the corner of her eye she watched him as he stood there, staring at her, and she tried desperately to act nonchalantly about his suddenly appearing in her safe haven.

  The gleam in his emerald green eyes was so reminiscent of the little boy she once knew that she was suddenly transported back in time, to a time and place that was happy for her. Her father had still been alive, and she had been free to study anything she had wanted.

  Mary gazed intently at the man beside her and also remembered a child who hungered for knowledge as much as she did. And from what he had told her the other day in the bailey, he was still pursuing his love of science.

  "And what is it you wanted to talk to me about?" she asked. "Science? History? Or maybe astronomy?"

  He laughed and shook his head. "How about chemistry?"

  Mary smiled back and shook her head. "I'm afraid that is one area of science I have not made a study of. But I hear that Mr. James Smithson is fairly good at it. You might want to consult him on your questions."

  His face lost some it its glow as he replied. "I've already spoken to Mr. Smithson. And he has agreed to look at some of my notes in the new year."

  He then muttered something under his breath that sounded an awfully lot like, "But that is not the kind of chemistry I wanted to talk to you about."

  Terrified that she was reading things into his being there that were not real, Mary chose to ignore what she thought she heard. "
Then what area of science would you like to discuss?" she asked.

  He looked around and his attention landed on the slight depression in the middle of the ruins. "Did your father ever discover the truth behind these ruins and the magical pond in the middle of them?"

  “No,” she replied, grateful he had changed the subject. “But, he was convinced that the legend was based in fact, as most of them are. There are just too many stories of the miracles that happened here to not have some truth to them. No matter how small.”

  Peter’s eyes lit up, just as they had twenty years ago. And Mary was glad for the distraction, as she didn’t want to examine her growing attraction to the man too closely. It could only lead to trouble for her. And she couldn’t afford that right now. Not if she had any hopes of obtaining a position with a women’s college, and maybe finding a husband and raising a family of her own.

  So Mary pushed her feelings to the recesses of her mind, and the two of them set across from each other as they had done several times all those years ago and talked about all the things that had happened to them since they’d last been together.

  For the next four days and evenings, it seemed like every time Mary turned around Peter Hendricks was there. And they talked about every subject under the sun, not just science but about politics, history, current events, and the state of the British government. He told her about the bills he was sponsoring in parliament, one of them being the funding for the women’s college she hoped to get a position with.

  She told him about the Duchess of Vanworth writing to her about the proposed college, and about her hopes of one day being a teacher there.

  And they also spoke more about their lives, and what they had been doing for the last twenty years. The one subject that seemed to be taboo was his first two marriages.