Secluded with the Rogue

9. “Happy Christmas Jack”

“Happy Christmas Jack”

T he two of them spent the entire morning locked away in their chamber, in bed, specifically. Jack hadn’t shown any signs that he was anxious to leave until his driver knocked on the door, requiring his opinion regarding Reliable, who’d apparently thrown a shoe.

By the time Jack returned from the stables, Delia had dressed and was about to go downstairs to see about sending a message to Lady St. Vincent.

When he appeared, Delia thought he’d been about to take her in his arms again, but he’d checked himself, giving her a sad smile instead.

“Is he going to be all right?” she asked, and at his confused expression, added, “Your horse?”

“Just needs a new shoe. The blacksmith is working on it now, and with any luck, we’ll be able to leave within a few hours.”

Delia forced herself to smile.

“That’s lucky, then.”

“It is.” But he dipped his head, fixing his gaze on her while at the same time pressing a heavy velvet pouch into her hand. “There’s a mercantile nearby. Purchase a few frocks. You can’t arrive at that new employer of yours with only one gown.” He was leaving, then. “They might even carry some spectacles that will work for you,” he added.

“I can’t.” Delia lowered her lashes and stared at the buttons of his jacket. “We said no money.”

“It’s my fault you need them in the first place. It wouldn’t have taken more than a few minutes for me to go back for your belongings.” He folded her fingers around the small purse.

“You had our lives to consider at the time. I’m the one who owes you.”

Ignoring her attempt to refuse his money, he drew a slip of paper from his pocket. “Take my direction. If you need anything, if you’ve spent too much money on a pair of gloves again, or, God forbid, end up stranded in another blizzard…” The corner of his mouth lifted in what he may have intended to be a smile. “Send for me.”

Delia tucked it into the pocket of her coat. And she accepted the money as well.

Because he was right, she couldn’t show up at Lady St. Vincent’s with only one gown to wear—a bedraggled and torn one at that.

She would pay him back every penny—eventually. But knowing how to reach him posed a problem she’d not expected.

In a weak moment, she might imagine he’d wish to see her again. But of course, he didn’t. They’d known one another for less than twenty-four hours.

Last night—and this morning—had been… unforgettable.

Whatever this was between the two of them was only a temporary retreat from the real world.

She’d thought she’d been wrong when she’d imagined him a romantic and honorable hero. But she’d not misjudged him.

He was all of those things, even if he’d somehow managed to steal her heart.

“You’re not coming back,” she confirmed. “When you’re finished at the blacksmith’s.”

At this, he turned serious. “I can drive you if you’d like. I’m not in any hurry, really.”

“You should be. Your family is waiting for you. Besides, it wouldn’t be at all appropriate for me to arrive…” Delia shook her head at the hypocrisy of it all. “It’s easier this way.”

He nodded. “Use the chamber for as long as you need. It’s already paid for.”

Delia swallowed hard and searched his gaze. She would memorize his features—his high cheekbones, softend by unshaven whiskers—his mouth that looked hard, but she knew could be equally soft—and his eyes…

Eyes that would haunt her dreams forever.

“Thank you.” Her throat was thick with emotion. “For everything.” I love you . But of course, she’d never say that. He’d think she’d gone batty again.

She’d known him less than twenty-four hours.

“It was nothing.” Tightening his hands around hers, he leaned forward and kissed her one last time. Searching. Was he memorizing her as well?

And then it was over all too quickly.

What he’d done had not been nothing. It had been everything.

And it was going to have to last her forever.

Delia stepped back. “I’ll go to the shop, then,” she gulped. When she returned to the chamber, he would be gone. “Happy Christmas, Jack.”

Delia opened the door and stepped into the foyer. “Happy Christmas, Delia,” he said.

She allowed herself one last glance and then pulled the door closed behind her.

T he roads were wet and muddy but passable, and Jack didn’t have all that far to go. Rather than ride inside the carriage, he’d chosen to sit beside his driver.

They’d taken to the road late in the afternoon since the blacksmith had required more time than expected.

Jack was tempted to return to the inn more than once—if only to ensure she’d found the mercantile easily enough and that she’d been able to send word to her employer.

He’d given her more than enough money to travel across all of England if necessary but would have felt better to deliver her himself. What if her employers turned her away? What if they didn’t treat her well?

He had done the right thing by not taking her innocence even though she’d been willing—more than willing. If he had followed through, he would have married her. He’d been accused of being a rogue, but he didn’t lack all sense of honor.

He’d nearly married once, shortly after reaching his majority. It had all been carefully arranged by his parents, and he’d even fancied himself a little in love.

However, two days before the wedding, his betrothed had eloped with the man Jack had considered his best friend. The mess had been more than enough to put him off the idea of marriage.

And he’d never looked back.

And yet, he couldn’t seem to dismiss the regret gnawing at him.

“Road could be worse,” Cyril commented, jolting Jack out of his thoughts. The drive leading up to thorn cliff Abbey was steep, and those unfamiliar with the route often found it daunting.

Jack and Cyril, however, had done the climb hundreds of times—in all manner of weather. Even so, as the mud thickened, Jack jumped off and trudged ahead to take hold of Reliable’s lead.

Even doing that summoned Delia to his thoughts. She’d been concerned about the horses in the cold.

Where was she now? He’d not thought to ask the name of her employer. If he’d known where she was going, at the very least, he could assure himself of her safe arrival. He could have even visited to see if she was treated well there.

The drive steepened, and Jack leaned forward, using his weight to keep Reliable moving. A sheer drop fell off to the left but the horses seemed unconcerned, dutifully walking toward home.

When they arrived at the castle entrance, Jack’s shoulders and legs burned and his boots were covered in mud. But the trek had managed to clear his head, and he admitted to himself that he wasn’t ready to put Delia behind him completely. It was too dark to do anything about his decision now, but first thing tomorrow, he’d return to the Black Sheep and discover who it was that collected her.

It wasn’t as though more than a handful of households in the area could afford to hire companions, so one way or another, he’d learn the name of her employer.

And although ladies were discouraged from corresponding with unmarried gentlemen, Jack would write to her there.

He would ask her how she was… Jack shook his head. No, he’d do more than that. He would admit to his feelings. But the idea of putting those in a letter didn’t feel right.

Her father was in London. Should he speak with him beforehand?

But then he caught himself. What the hell was he thinking?

“Is Mr. Rothchild behind you, my lord?” Mr. Bunker, his grandmother’s butler, inquired as he took Jack’s coat from him.

“He is spending the holidays with his family again, so I’ll be looking after myself.”

“That won’t be necessary, Bickman can dress you.”

Jack didn’t require a valet, but he and Bunker had had this argument before and on each of those occasions, the butler had won. So, instead, he asked, “have the monsters arrived yet?”

“Not yet, my lord. I imagine they’ve been delayed by the weather as well.” Bunker answered. “The rooms have all been readied, however, and your grandparents are expecting you. They are waiting to receive you in her ladyship’s sitting room.”

“Excellent.” Jack stomped his feet. He loved his grandparents, and perhaps he’d taken them for granted. He breathed in the ever-present cool air in the centuries-old castle that represented his heritage. The familiarity of these surroundings had always grounded him. He couldn’t help but smile. Delia, no doubt, would tell him these were just a few of those silver linings she touted.

He did his best to push thoughts of Delia out of his mind and then stepped into his grandmother’s private sitting room.

He would see to her tomorrow—ensure she was no worse for wear for having known him.

Jack rubbed his chest. This odd pang was nothing more than melancholy, and the empty sensation was only temporary. Christmas was his least favorite time of the year, and he was feeling it more than usual.

He’d been perfectly content with his life when he’d departed London. Meeting one small woman ought not to have changed that.

And yet, it had.

“Jack, my dear. Horrid weather. I feel terrible that you drove through it on my account. Come here so I can see you properly.”

“You’re as beautiful as ever, Grandmama.” Jack spared his grandfather a quick glance before crossing to his grandmother and dropping onto one knee. He took both of her hands in his. “Most of the snow is melted,” he reassured her. His grandparents appeared the same, but… older. When had that happened? “No storm can keep me from one of your Christmas parties.”

“Your sister and the boys aren’t arriving until tomorrow afternoon,” she said.

“And the twins?”

“That goes without saying.”

Jack’s grandfather rose to stare out the window. “Appreciate the quiet while you can.”

“You don’t fool me for a minute, Archibald. You love the bustle as much as I do.” His grandmother patted the space on the settee beside her. “Sit here, Jack, and tell me what you’ve been up to in London.”

“You know me, Grandmother,” he said. “Gambling and drinking with some work thrown into the mix.”

“I know you. Ever since you got into all that importing nonsense, that’s all you ever do. And since I haven’t heard that you’re courting anyone these days, I’ve invited a few others besides Lavinia and my dear friend Agatha.”

And by a few others, she meant suitable ladies for him to consider. Jack winced.

“The Duke of DeClair and his daughter.”

“Lady Calliope is a child.” Jack said.

Perhaps Jack would get lucky, and the widowed duke and his very marriageable daughter would cancel due to the weather.

“She’s nearly eight and ten, and don’t give me that look,” his grandmother warned.

“You aren’t getting any younger, Jack.” His grandfather offered unhelpfully. “Your grandmother is right. It’s time you settle down. Before you know it, you’re best days will be behind you.”

“Not if I take after you,” Jack countered.

His grandmother clicked her tongue. “I had hoped you would fall in love again, but it’s been years since that nasty business with Christina and Lord Meyers. Tell me you’ve fallen for some woman in London, and I’ll not say another word. If she’s a respectable lady, I might even keep my promise.”

“Sometimes we don’t see what’s right in front of our eyes,” His grandfather philosophized.

Hot and cold spread out from Jack’s heart, immediately followed by thoughts of one woman in particular—a woman with a ridiculously vivid imagination.

“Have you, dear?” His grandmother’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Is there someone?”

Other sensations, not images exactly, but—feelings—slammed into him.

Love .

“No,” he answered. He’d hated leaving her. He’d loved having her in his bed. But he’d only known her for one night. “Of course not,” he added.

“I remember the day I met your grandfather,” Jack’s grandmother reminisced. “He was the most arrogant, annoying gentleman I’d ever met.”

“And yet,” his grandfather prompted her. Because, of course, he knew the story well.

“And yet, I knew I loved him by the next day.”

“How?” Jack asked without thinking. “How did you know?” Because all day long, he’d felt off. He’d felt as though he’d made the worst mistake of his life.

“Your grandfather staked a claim in my heart, and I couldn’t imagine my future without him—not one that I looked forward to, anyhow.”

“I felt as though I’d come home.” His grandparents’ gazes fixed on one another. “And any adventures I’d take after that would mean nothing if I didn’t have you at my side.”

“We married a week later.” This was the part of the story that Jack was familiar with. They’d been betrothed for years before laying eyes on one another.

The fact that they’d fallen in love was a lucky one.

“I don’t want you to wait too long, my darling.” Jack’s grandmother was watching him again. But her powder-white complexion was a little pinker. And the glance she shot his grandfather almost flirtatious.

“It’s lucky for me,” Jack joked, uncomfortable with the subject. “Otherwise, I might not be here.”

His grandfather cleared his throat, perhaps realizing that the conversation had become more personal than usual. “Clean up, then, my boy. I’ve got a few tenant issues for you to address.”

Jack nodded. His grandfather had handed over most of the running of the estate to Jack a few years back, and although Jack could manage most of the goings-on from his Mayfair townhouse, there were always issues that inevitably required his presence.

“Of course.” Jack rose. Ruminating other people’s problems was precisely what he needed tonight. Doing that would be far easier than dealing with his own.

He was willing to do almost anything to get his mind off the rustic little inn he’d left behind a few hours ago—more specifically, the brown-eyed lady who’d shared his bed.