Once Upon A Christmas Past

12. Chapter 12

Chapter twelve

T he boy, raised to believe Christmas a hallowed event, bolstered up his courage and said, “Christmas a humbug, sir? You don’t mean that, I am sure.”

“I do,” said Scrooge. “What right have you to be merry? You’re poor enough.”

The snow began falling in fat flakes, bathing the boy’s nose and lashes, those same flakes melting on Scrooge’s ruddy nose, his mouth pressed in an unyielding line, blocked the boy’s entrance into the house.

As the lights went down and the curtain opened, Raven couldn’t breathe. With Jonathan on her right and Brit on her left she sat rigid, afraid to move a muscle lest she reveal the source of her discomfort. Utterly aware of every shift of Brit’s legs and the movements of his strong, fine hands, his presence beside her was like a living fire that could scald if she got too close. His knee brushed her skirt and she nearly leapt out of her skin.

Breath shallow, Raven did not dare shift away from him for fear that John may sense something amiss. She thought of linking her arm through John’s or taking his gloved hand in hers to cover a move away from his brother, but, alas, her fiancé was not one for public displays of affection, even in a pitch-dark theater.

So, she sat motionless; back straight, knees locked, hands clenched in her lap watching the drama of Othello play out far below her on the stage. She’d seen the production countless times, this version appeared different however when Othello himself appeared on the stage as a man dressed as a woman tripping onto her face, his riotous wig of blonde curls flying across the floor. The audience burst out laughing. And in that moment, the dark figure on her left moved.

“Tis rather hot in here.” The deep whisper came so close to her ear that a shock tingled down her spine. As luck would have it, another chuckle rippled through the crowd and a furtive glance at John confirmed he hadn’t noticed the tension between her and his brother. The December night had turned warm, causing the theater to feel stifling. But Raven straightened, determined to ignore Brit’s comment.

A moment later, she felt the slide of her heavy bracelet as it turned against the silk of her glove. With a furtive glance down, she could make out one of Brit’s long fingers turning it on her wrist as if to inspect the jewels for their veracity. He leaned into her again, and she had to strain to make out the low tones of his voice.

“I wonder at my brother trusting something so…” He paused, and his breath tickled the hairs by her ear, goosebumps tingling down her neck. “… exquisite this close to me in the dark.”

Suppressing a shiver, Raven focused on the intent behind his words and detected a hint of humor. Or was it irony? He placed his index finger on a large ruby and gave it a light press, then pulled back his gloved hand. The bracelet had arrived at the house as she’d readied for the theater, another extravagant gift from John, precipitating a change into a new scarlet silk gown with a bustled skirt and an off-the-shoulder neckline.

The press of wool gaberdine against that exposed shoulder sent her pulse throbbing into the tips of her fingers.

“You look lovely, Raven,” Brit whispered.

Heat flew up her neck and into her cheeks. What was the cad thinking? Firstly, he must know that she could not risk talking to him, lest she alert the man beside her. Secondly, Brit had escorted Clemintine Barnacle to the theater and the girl sat on his opposite side, shooting him doe-eyed gazes of longing every chance she got.

Did Brit hope to annoy John with his inappropriate attention? Raven sensed some new hostility between the brothers, for obvious reasons.

Raven had not wanted to believe Brit a jewel thief, in fact, could not understand what would motivate him to steal, but the memory of his slipping the necklace from her throat the very night Clemintine’s bracelet went missing, had given her pause. Had he not admitted to her that he’d stolen to survive? Perhaps it had become an impulse that he could not resist even though he no longer needed the money.

Her right hand fluttered up to her throat, realizing belatedly that she had left her engagement locket on her vanity table at home.

Brit moved closer, the hard muscle beneath his coat pressing into her shoulder as he whispered, “Forget something?”

She tilted her head from side to side so that to anyone else—who wasn’t pressed up against her in the dark theater—it would appear she stretched her neck. But as she turned toward Brit, she hissed, “That is none of your concern.”

Thankfully, Clemintine tugged on Brit’s other sleeve drawing his attention as she chattered for the remainder of the first act. The play droned on, the audience’s hilarity buzzing like a horde of flies through Raven’s dazed mind. She could not focus on the dialogue or the visual spectacle playing out before her as Brit slouched in his seat, widening the spread of his long legs, his knee pressing against her leg.

Raven’s temperature rose several degrees.

She thought to move away, a slight shift of her position would disconnect the kiss of heat she could feel through the layers of fabric between them. Yet, she felt locked in place as if some invisible tether entwined them. Her skin flushed, throat tightening in exquisite torture as Brit aligned the length of his arm with hers. Whatever force kept her from moving away, also made her long to press against him and absorb more of his electrifying touch.

But she didn’t dare.

When the curtains closed for intermission, Raven jumped to her feet before the announcer finished inviting the audience to partake of complimentary wassail punch and iced gingerbread biscuits in the lobby.

John stood beside her. “Are you quite all right, my dear?”

Raven unfurled the fan that she’d forgotten hung from her right wrist and waved her face. “Tis uncomfortably warm in here, is it not?”

“Let us get you some punch.” He took her elbow and steered her toward the back of the box.

“A most excellent idea, brother !” Brit heralded as he moved to Raven’s other side.

Raven’s gaze pivoted to Brit. Did she imagine the mocking tone he used? When he smiled down at her beatifically, she swiveled back to John whose pinched expression made his annoyance clear.

“Yes, a cup of punch sounds refreshing, Lord Wexford,” Clemintine gushed as she rushed up to flank Brit’s other side.

Raven felt John start at the title, then deflate as he realized Clemintine addressed Brit.

They had reached the exit door and John inclined his head, gesturing for Brit to proceed them. “After you, brother .” John made no attempt to disguise the venom in his voice.

They merged into the crowded lobby, and Raven’s breathing had not regulated. She excused herself, faces blurring before her as she pushed through the merry throng, rushing into a deserted corridor, past the bustling ladies room and around a corner to an open window where she leaned out, gulping the cool night air.

What was wrong with her? This sort of undisciplined sentiment was unfamiliar and terribly disconcerting. She was a doctor for heaven’s sake, not some naive debutant who shivered at the touch of a man!

She inhaled the fresh, winter wind, and pushed out her tangle of emotions. Brit was clearly using her to annoy his brother. Or was he? Why did she jump to that excuse instead of the obvious explanation that he was as attracted to her as she was to him? Her breath shuddered. An ineffectual situation to be sure.

“I’ve heard of a pulse point that can open the airways,” a soft voice said behind her.

Raven didn’t turn around, her heart fluttering and vision blurring as her awareness narrowed to the heat of Brit’s body. His suggestion wasn’t far off, and she suddenly wished she’d brought her kit of acupuncture needles.

“Or a bit of punch.” He moved to her side and held out a small cup.

Raven grasped the mug, lifted it to her mouth, and drained it in one drink. Refreshment mingled with the burn of alcohol in her throat as relief smoothed her ragged nerves, and she let out a slow exhale.

“Better?” Brit asked, his mouth tilting in a closed-lip smile.

Instead of answering, she focused on his stupidly attractive face and spat, “What game are you playing?”

He leaned a shoulder against the wall. “I don’t see this as a game.”

“Then what do you see it as? Because I don’t appreciate being toyed with.”

His lips compressed, his dark gaze capturing hers. “Did you know I spent last night in jail?”

Raven felt her mouth drop open.

“And before you ask, I didn’t take the bracelet.”

“Then why…” Her question split into too many branches to voice. Why were you arrested? Did the Barnacles press charges? Why does Clemintine not care? Why did you take my necklace off my throat? Did you really grow up on the streets as a thief?

He raked a hand through the waves of his hair. “John had me arrested, and I suspect he took the bracelet himself since it conveniently turned up the next morning.”

“He wouldn’t do that.” Raven’s first inclination was to defend her fiancé.

“Wouldn’t he?” Brit arched an ebony brow.

Raven stilled. John had shown sides of himself since his brother’s return that she had not previously witnessed. Possessiveness. Disregard for her profession. Barely suppressed anger and impatience. But was it more than that? Did the man she hoped to marry possess such vindictiveness as to throw his own brother in jail? She could not believe it. “I think you’re inventing battles that aren’t there,” she finally said, unsure if she said it for Brit or herself.

“You don’t believe your precious fiancé might do something to discredit me so that he doesn’t lose his fortune and precious title?” he challenged.

“I…” The churn of Raven’s gut was answer enough.

“Thus, my need for your help,” he said lifting his square chin.

Raven studied Brit’s face. Something was different about him. A hardened set to his jaw, a slight frown tugged down his lips, and his eyes, those wild, dark pools, sparked with a fire she didn’t recognize from the kind man she thought she knew. “The proposition, you mentioned before,” she said almost without meaning to.

“Precisely. I find that I am swimming in a dark ocean full of creatures that I’ve never encountered. I need a guide; someone who can shine a light and advise me on how to navigate my unfamiliar environment.” Brit winced at his reproachful analogy of the society to which she belonged. “I mean—”

Raven raised her brows dubiously. “I know precisely what you mean. But why me? I’m barely tolerated in polite society myself. I did not grow up in it, and my profession keeps me well on the fringes of most ladies’ acquaintance.”

Gaze narrowed; he rubbed a thumb across his jaw in contemplation. “I’d like to know more about your past when we have the leisure to discuss it, but you’ve just confirmed precisely why I need your assistance.”

“I’m afraid I do not follow.”

He leaned toward her slightly. “I don’t have hopes, nor do I aspire to be at the center of London’s ton. I merely wish to fit in enough so that I may find a wife.”

“Oh?” To Raven’s mortification, the word came out as a squeak.

Brit gave a casual shrug. “As part of my entailment, I must acquire a suitable wife before my next birthday or forfeit my inheritance.”

“Then you need look no further than the lady you arrived with tonight,” Raven replied in a clipped tone that had nothing to do with the heat in her chest as she envisioned Clemintine Barnacle, one of the most annoyingly condescending women of her acquaintance, married to the barely civilized man before her. The match was preposterous.

Without warning, Brit stepped forward and took her gloved fingers in his. “I said, suitable,” he whispered as his thumb made a circular motion across the back of her hand. Raven couldn’t speak, and yet, felt herself step closer to him as she looked up into the face that haunted her day and night. Was he implying…?

The chime of bells signaled the end of intermission neared, and they jerked apart, but Brit held tight to her hand. “Will you help me?”

Raven clenched her teeth and her wits returned. “What do I get out of this?”

He cocked his head. “Get out of what?”

“You said you had a proposition for me which implies there is an exchange of favors.” Raven tugged her fingers from his and ignored the regret she felt at the absence of his large, warm hand cradling hers, then she lifted her chin. This was a chemical attraction. Biology. Nothing more.

His full mouth lifted on one side, pulling out a long dimple. “Time with me, of course.”

Raven reeled back at the sheer audacity of the man. Her response left her lips before she gave it too much thought. “No.”

Brit took her arm as she turned away, but she shrugged him off. “We need to get back before we are missed. Miss Barnacle is the answer to all your problems, Lord Wexford. And she has likely already sent out the cavalry to find you, so I suggest you return posthaste,” Raven muttered the last as she walked swiftly around the corner, putting distance between them, and although she could feel him behind her, he was wise enough not to push her further.

A wave of shame washed over her. How had she allowed herself to be diverted by a pretty face and a wide set of shoulders? She was no worse than Clementine falling at the handsome lord’s feet!

Just before she reached the lobby, she shot the exasperating man a warning glare over her shoulder and he stopped, allowing her to proceed him. Raven flew straight to John who awaited her by the door leading to their box. His countenance appeared stormy until she linked her arm through his and gazed up into his eyes. “My apologies, the heat is causing me to feel a bit ill.”

Whatever he read in her face must have convinced him because his frown melted, and he patted her hand. “We will go, my dear. I’ll have the carriage brought around.”

As they moved toward the exit, Raven couldn’t stop herself from looking back at the dark figure lurking in the shadows. The intensity of Brit’s gaze told her this wasn’t over.

Brit tugged off his cravat with a bit too much haste, the fabric tightening against his throat, strangling. In his experience, a solid threat backed up by action threw the enemy off balance. Distract and disarm. Preferably with an action your opponent did not expect. It was a simple plan really; steal Raven from John, devastating his opponent emotionally and socially whilst allowing Brit to gain his inheritance all in one blow.

But his leverage refused to cooperate. If he wished to win Raven Cratchit over, they would need an excuse to spend time together outside of his brother’s watchful gaze. A reason that Brit had constructed and presented to her at the theater. He had read on her face that she wanted to, and yet, she had refused.

He could see how his presence and especially his touch disconcerted her. The normally composed doctor blushed and became fidgety, her words flustered, voice breathless. He yanked off the cravat and tossed it onto the washstand. The problem lay in the way she affected him . When he gazed into those lavender-blue eyes, he fell backwards in time, to a place before… Before what?

His head aching, Brit sank down on the bed and squeezed his eyes tight, the memory of Raven facing off with him in the corridor as vivid as a picture—candle flames burnishing the rounded curve of her cheeks and darkening her lush lips, delicate jaw set, body tense against the onslaught of his flirtation. His gut tightened at the memory of her stepping closer to him, seemingly against her will.

He could not deny that Raven Cratchit stirred something within him that he thought long lost; a boldness, a feeling of being more present in the moment, more alive .

When was the last time he’d felt that mischievous delight? That joyous anticipation?

Brit’s eyes popped open.

Being with her felt like winning a huge score and taking it back to the Saffron Hill hideout; Archie, Chip, and the others whooping with joy over the fresh bread and sausages or sack of coins or whatever loot that Brit had procured.

When had he last felt that alive and happy? Teaching at the orphanage gave him a certain sense of satisfaction and security; he no longer had to fight for his next meal or wonder if the fire might burn out during the night leaving his nose bitten with frost, his fingers frozen stiff. But he could admit something was missing from his life…or had been.

Brit shot to his feet and began to pace.

The moment he’d stared into Raven’s I-will-not-allow-you-to-die-today gaze, something had ignited inside of him; a flame that only she could kindle. A fire Brit did not want to live without. He needed her passion, her kindness, her light to extinguish the darkness inside of him.

He stopped at the frosted window and stared at vaulted rooftops and belching chimneys that stretched toward a luminous moon, and longing ached in his chest. It wasn’t about the inheritance or even stealing the title from John. Brit didn’t know if he could survive losing someone as vibrant and passionate and perfect for him as Raven Cratchit.

For years, he had thought he’d wanted peace and safety. He’d chastised himself for feeling restless at the orphanage and convinced himself that he was content. Even as his soul longed for more than just to survive. He needed the excitement of the unknown to thrive. He needed a woman by his side who would push him to become more, to give him a focus and a purpose. He hadn’t thought he’d wanted the money or the title. But all he’d needed was a reason to claim it. Between the resources and influence of the earldom, and Raven’s doctoring skills and unrelenting drive, they could change the world. Together.

Suddenly, winning Raven’s heart was no longer a means to an end, a way to anger his brothers and gain vengeance, but the only end he would accept. His heart hammered against the cage of his ribs and Brit recognized the fear coursing through his veins. Admitting what he wanted meant he now had a lot to lose, and part of him wanted to run as far away from Raven Cratchit and his entitlement as possible.

Perhaps this was a very bad idea.

His gaze shifted to the painting of Santorini and its pristine white buildings with vivid, blue-tiled roofs. A world away from the smog and clouds of London. Perhaps, there were teaching jobs in Greece where he could track down his mother’s relatives and live a peaceful life by the sea. No risk. No potential to have his beating heart ripped from his chest.

He fisted his hands until his nails dug into the flesh of his palms.

At Holy Trinity, where he attended church with everyone at Hill Orphanage, he’d recently heard a scripture that had stuck with him: God hath not give us a spirit of fear, but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind.

Power and love and a sound mind…

Brit would need all three of those virtues in order to fight the fear urging him to run from heartache and win the woman he had never dared dream could exist, let alone be his.

Archie blended seamlessly into the shadows. The one advantage to being dead was his ability to hide in plain sight. If he’d been able to pull that off as a youth, he would’ve been the best bloomin’ tooler the world had ever seen.

Nor would he have ended up hiding from the pain of his past in an opium haze or been killed by a dealer he could no longer pay. The barrel of a gun loomed in his face; his cocky assurances that he could get the money when his pockets were empty and he’d already stolen from everyone he cared for. The bludger’s calm voice as he said it was too late, an example had to be made. The terrible knowledge that he’d miscalculated; run out of time. BOOM!

Archie’s vision went black as his heart galloped like a runaway horse.

“Deep breaths, Arch.” He inhaled shakily and then blew out the panic seeping into his veins. Brit had found him in the alleyway. Archie had watched his big, strong friend bow over his empty body and break down in racking sobs. Brit had blamed himself.

It was long over, and nothing could be done about all the hurt he’d caused. But he could save his best friend. If he could stay out of his head and anchored to the moment.

The old codger that frequented the grounds of Hill House had told Archie time and again that accepting forgiveness and forgiving oneself was the only way forward. But Archie wasn’t ready for the light. Not yet.

His gaze darted to the spirit shimmering like diamonds in the sun. Belinda Cratchit lifted her finger to her lips and pointed down toward the staircase.

A floorboard creaked, the furtive sound of someone creeping through the night.

Brit had retired hours ago and after his night of incarceration, slept like the dead. So, when Belinda had overheard John’s new plan to defame Brit, they had decided to handle it themselves. But in order to impact the living, he would need to ground himself in reality.

Archie bounced on the balls of his feet, and raised his arms, touching the walls on either side of the doorway. He felt the cool wood and grooves of the paneling as he puffed air in and out of his lungs. This was for Brit. He would not let his best mate down again.

As his eyes popped open, he spotted the maid, Ines, wearing a thin wrapper, golden hair flowing down her back as she tiptoed along the corridor, holding a single candle. Her eyes were wide and searching, her mouth set in a determined line.

The Griffin brothers’ plan was diabolical, yet simple. They had paid the young chambermaid enough to buy back her sister’s debt to a workhouse. The Griffins had even arranged for the girl’s promotion to upstairs maid in a lesser household on the edge of the city so she could continue to support her sibling. All Ines had to do was slip into Brit’s chamber while he slept, place some of her torn clothing around the room, and allow herself to be found naked in his bed in the morning.

To ensure validity of the claim, Bert the valet would be the one to find them and would call for John, who would be waiting close by and come running to confirm that Brit had physically accosted the poor maid.

Charges would be brought and although they would most likely be dismissed given Brit’s noble title, the scandal would be enough to discredit Brit in all of polite society and ensure he did not find a suitable wife in the week leading up to Christmas and his birthday.

Bel hissed Archie’s name, drawing him out of his contemplation, and he sprang into action, jumping forward and blowing out the candle in the maid’s hand.

Ines yelped and froze to the spot.

Belinda, who had maintained a more solid physical hold on the world—perhaps because her death had occurred more recently than Archie’s—stomped down the hallway toward the girl, her footsteps pounding and quick.

Ines spun around to face the sound and cried, “Who’s there?”

When no one answered, the maid turned back and doggedly crept forward.

During their time together, Archie and Bel had discovered that if they touched, their spirit forms became temporarily more solid. When they’d kissed for the first time— what a kiss —they had been in the Cratchit’s back hallway and nearly scared the wits out of a footman who caught a glimpse of them in the shadows before they disappeared again.

Visibly trembling, Ines had almost reached Brit’s door when Archie and Bel raced ahead of her, linked hands, and shimmered into view.

The girl shrieked and stumbled on the hem of her wrapper, falling onto her backside.

“Leeaveee this hoouussse…and do nooot retuuuurn,” Bel moaned as they hovered over Ines’s shaking form.

“Or join us in the hereafter,” Archie boomed.

Ines crab-walked backward from their looming forms, her mouth opening and closing, eyes wide as saucers.

Archie and Bel floated off the ground and waved their arms as they said in unison, “Go or die!”

The maid scrambled to her feet and ran, stumbling down several steps before regaining her balance and tearing out the front door.

Laughter burst from Archie’s chest, and he released Bel’s hand so as not to traumatize everyone in the house. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed with pure joy.

“I hope she doesn’t freeze out there,” Bel said, her adorable nose scrunched in concern.

“She’ll be fine. Her beau in the stables will keep her warm enough,” Archie quipped.

Bel spun towards him. “What if she comes back and tries again?”

Archie took Belinda’s hand and led her into an empty room where he tugged her gently into his arms. He didn’t think he’d ever felt anything better than the perfect fit of her body against his; she was comfort and passion, and her scent was like roses in sunshine. He tucked his nose into her hair and breathed deep, then said, “I’ll stay here and watch over him. The Shadow said minimal involvement, but if she returns, I can at least wake Brit before the plot can play out.”

“What about the next time John attempts something?” Bel said, her words hot and tantalizing against the skin of his neck. Good heavens, he could spend forever right there in her arms.

He sighed with contentment, his voice low as he said, “All we have to do is get him through the week, and if all goes to plan, by Christmas our job will be done.”