Spending Christmas in Hell (Diamonds of London #8)

Chapter Seven

December 19, 1818

Timothy walked the corridors of his townhouse with shock still bouncing through his head, for he still couldn’t believe he was a married man.

Outside the drawing room, he met the housekeeper, who had a box in her arms. Of average height and slightly heavyset, she wore a mobcap over graying brown curls.

“Ah, Mrs. Copeland. Do you know my wife’s direction?” That felt odd to say out loud as well as a bit… lovely.

“I believe the lady is in the library. After she finished with the modiste today, she wanted something completely different.” She looked at him with speculation in her gaze. “Might I suggest an activity that will put you both together?”

“Of course. Lord knows I need all the help I can have.” Suddenly, he didn’t know what, exactly, to do with a new wife if there was no carnal activity involved.

“Ask her to help you decorate the townhouse for Christmastide.”

“What?” He gawked at the older woman. “I haven’t done that for years.”

“We are all aware of that, Sir Timothy. However, now that you are married, perhaps you should think of new ways of ushering in the holiday season.” One of her bushy eyebrows rose. “With your permission, I can tell Mr. Hopewell to locate the boxes of decorations and bring them into the drawing room. And sometime this week, you can go out and bring fir boughs back.”

“Why me?”

She shrugged. “Why not? Show her that you have more in your life than the number columns in your ledgers.” While he searched for something erudite to say, she continued. “I rather like Lady Dashfield. She has the look of a strong-willed woman, and she has an air of gratitude. Last night I had to work hard to convince her that she had a maid who would bring her tea and help her with a toilette even if she is capable of doing things for herself.”

A snicker escaped him. “My wife is a bit… stubborn.” How long would it take for her to acclimate to being a member of the ton ?

“It is a refreshing change. She isn’t like some of the other women you’ve brought home over the years.” The glance of judgment had heat going up the back of his neck as if he were a youth caught stealing from one of his professors at school.

“Yes, well, those days are behind me.” Even if his marriage was in name only? Thank goodness that fact was a secret between him and Ashlynn.

“I certainly hope so, Sir Timothy. You are the type of man who would do well with a wife and family.” Then she tsked her tongue. “About the decorations?”

Did he truly want to go down that rabbit hole? Decorating for Christmastide would no doubt bring up countless unsavory memories he didn’t want to revisit. “Fine.” He nodded. “Tell Hopewell to bring the boxes of holiday décor down from the attic. I will ask my wife if she might wish to decorate.”

“Of course, Sir Timothy.” A mysterious smile curved the housekeeper’s lips. “It won’t kill you to attempt to enjoy this season. And it might be just the thing to tear you away from the long hours you work at the counting house.”

“Thank you for the insight, Mrs. Copeland.” Then he continued along the corridor where he took the stairs at a rapid pace. Seconds later he came into the library where his wife had curled up at one end of a leather sofa. She’d pulled a woolen blanket over her lap, and with a book in her hand, she was apparently fully engrossed within the pages. “Ashlynn?”

“Hmm?” She lifted her head and glanced at him as he came near. “Is there something wrong?”

“No, of course not. Why?”

“You’re frowning.” When she closed the book, he noted she’d been reading One Thousand and One Nights , which was a collection of Arabian fairytales.

“Ah, I’m thinking is all.”

“Are all your thoughts unpleasant, then? I can count the times you’ve grinned in my presence on one hand.”

Clearly, the woman spoke whatever was on her mind, and as the housekeeper had said, it was quite refreshing. “My apologies.” He came closer and then perched on the edge of a chair that matched her sofa. While this room had been decorated to reflect masculine tastes, having Ashlynn here gave it a bright spot. “How did you sleep last night?” It had been their wedding night, and as per the nuptial arrangements, they’d retired to separate rooms.

“Well enough, I suppose. It will take some time to acclimate to the new sounds, but I’ll admit, the bed is quite comfortable.” She set her book and blanket aside, revealing the plain dress she’d worn the first day he’d met her, laundered this time, for the mud had been removed from the hem. “How did you pass the night?”

“Without incident.” He refused to admit that he’d been randy and restless, for the memories of the two kisses he’d shared with her yesterday had gone ‘round his mind like ponies on a loop. There was something about his new wife that left him with curiosity as well as desire. It was a mystery to be sure.

For long moments, she held his gaze. “Did you need me for something?”

What an open-ended question. Then he shoved those random thoughts from his mind. “I came in search of you to ask if you might enjoy decorating the townhouse for the Christmastide holidays. With me,” he tacked on in a hopeful voice.

Her dark eyebrows rose in surprise. “I didn’t think you wished to involve yourself with something that might bring joy to someone else.”

Heat went up the back of his neck. “I deserved that.” As he shoved a hand through his hair, he shrugged. “It’s true, I haven’t wanted to celebrate the holiday in years past. However, I thought that perhaps you might want to, and since this is your new home, and we have wed suddenly, it might be a time for us to come to know each other better.”

“Oh.” Slowly, Ashlynn rose to her feet. “Before you came along, I hadn’t thought to celebrate this year.” The delicate tendons in her throat worked with a hard swallow. “Since the death of my father, I have days when grief consumes me. Surely that isn’t conducive to being in a holiday spirit.”

“That’s understandable, but I rather doubt your father would want you to shut yourself away from everything you used to enjoy merely because you’re missing him.” It was a guess, but he wished someone would have told him that after his own father had died.

“Probably not. Papa loved life. He said any day without some sort of revelry was a wasted one.” A soft laugh escaped her as a light briefly twinkled in her emerald eyes. “And with him, there was always a toast with whiskey involved.”

“He sounds like a kind, cheerful fellow.”

She laughed again with more authority. “He’d curse you twelve ways to Sunday if he ever heard you declare him cheerful.”

“Be that as it may, the butler is supposed to dig out the holiday decorations sometime today, which means we can start placing some of it around in a couple of days. Especially since there is an outing coming up with the Ridgeways to gather evergreen boughs.” That he just remembered. He’d intended to ignore it, but now it would be a good way to spend time with his new wife.

“I see.” With the lilt in her voice and the way she slightly cocked her head to one side, it was almost as if she were inviting him to ask about her life.

And he again, lost temporary hold of his sanity. “Go upstairs and dress for an outing.”

Her eyes rounded. “Where?”

“It’s a surprise.” The destination didn’t matter quite so much as the opportunity to spend time with her. “But it might give you the chance to find closure.”

Forty-five minutes later saw him ushering her into her father’s clock shop.

“Why did you bring me here?” As she moved forward, she glided her gloved fingertips along random clocks and shelves.

“I thought you might want one more look at the place and that it might help with the loneliness.” He remained silent as he trailed behind her. “Gather whatever you wish to either remember him by or to pawn if you would. The rest of it will be sold before the property is cleaned and then sold as well.”

She huffed. “It’s always business with you.”

“No, I am giving you the time you need to tell him goodbye. I suspect you haven’t done that yet while struggling to care for yourself.”

“Oh.” A sheen of tears sprang into her eyes. “But—”

Timothy nodded. “Take as long as you wish. I’ll keep myself entertained.” When she nodded, he wandered about the shop while she made strides to pack a box.

The flickering candlelight winked off brass and gold fixtures, and that burnished illumination added a cozy feel to the cold shop. “I have a couple of your father’s pieces that were left to me by my father. He did quality work, and I’m always fearful that when I wind the clock in at my bedside, it will be the last. Finding someone to repair it won’t be as good an experience.”

“He was proud of each piece he made, but repairing them was where his true genius lay.” For a long time she puttered about the front room as silence reigned in the space. Then, she spoke again as she put the lid on the box. “I can’t help but remember a Christmastide in the past when my parents were alive, and we still lived in Ireland.”

“How old were you at that time?” He didn’t want to ask and break the flow of her story, but he also wanted to be a part of it.

“Around seven I’d imagine.” As she spoke, she drifted about the shop, touching things, smiling at them before moving on. “I always thought life was magical then, and I was happy. Of course, I didn’t know how poor we were, because those things didn’t matter.” She shrugged. “And children shouldn’t need to bear that burden, honestly. My parents never let on about how they struggled, and I appreciate that now. There was only love and happiness in life.”

“That was all you needed at the time,” he added in a soft voice. “My parents weren’t all that loving to each other, so my childhood was much different than yours.”

“I’m sorry.” Her gaze crashed into his, and the emotions clouding those green depths were unreadable in the dim light. “That year, my mother gave me a new ribbon for my hair while my papa gave me a tiny watch I could wear on a chain or pin to my clothing.”

“Do you still have it?”

“Oh, yes, but it stopped working about four months ago. I couldn’t bear to throw it out.” With a sigh, she trailed into a back room that had no doubt been used as her father’s office. “Papa told me when he gave it to me that perhaps I would be on time instead of lingering in my imagination or reading books.” A soft laugh issued from her. “I lose track of the time, you see.”

It was an adorable admission. “There is nothing wrong with wishing to remove from reality for a time, especially if it keeps your mind from other things.”

“Agreed.” When she moved through the room toward a sturdy wooden desk, she sighed. “I can’t believe I’ll never come in here and see my papa behind the desk again. The shop was one thing, but this room is quite another. I kept the books for him a bit, but mostly I read in here when he was performing repairs.”

“We can leave it you’d like.”

“No, this is good for me.” She shook her head and rested her backside on the edge of the desk. “In any event, that Christmas my older brother received a new suit of clothes.”

He frowned. “You have a brother? You didn’t say anything, and he could have—”

“Hush, Dashfield. Let me continue and then you’ll know.” Sadness clung to her words. “My father scrambled to do every sort of work to be able to afford that suit. My brother was going to be an apprentice to an estate manager, and my parents had high hopes that he might better himself in a few years.”

“Then the lot of you were bittersweet because he was going away?”

“Yes.” Though she looked at him, he doubted that she saw him. “Conor was several years older than me. I thought the world of him, was so proud of him. I knew he would do good things in this life.” When she moistened her lips, Timothy’s gaze dropped to her mouth. “Unfortunately, on his first day of the apprenticeship in February, he was beaten and robbed and left for dead in a dirty alley in Dublin.”

“Dear God, that’s horrible.” His chest tightened. “Did he recover?”

“Uh, he rallied, according to letters we received, but then the wounds to his head were too severe. Conor succumbed to them before my parents could even travel to him.” Emotion graveled her voice. “The letters were nearly two weeks old when they reached my parents; no one was able to say goodbye to him, and he died without family around him.”

“I’m so sorry.” The hardships she’d already endured staggered him.

“Thank you. It was difficult to wrap my head around at the time; I was so young.” Her chin quivered. “I fear I’ve already forgotten what he looked like.” Tears welled in her eyes, and his chest tightened for that distress. “After that, life wasn’t the same. Ireland lost its charm.”

“That’s understandable.” For several moments, he hesitated. Would she welcome solace from him after the kisses from yesterday? When their marriage was supposed to be in name only, without any sort of physical touches?

One of her black eyebrows cocked as her gaze connected to his. “Do you fancy standing there or would you prefer giving your wife a bit of comfort and support?”

The corners of his mouth twitched with the beginnings of a grin. “I didn’t know if you would welcome that after what happened last night.”

She pointed her gaze briefly to the heavens before settling it back on him. “It was a kiss, Dashfield. Nothing more, and I’m truly feeling vulnerable right now.”

Did that mean she hadn’t felt the connection between them? Though cold disappointment coiled in his gut, he closed the distance then slipped his arms around her. “If you still wish to continue with your story, I’m listening.” It was odd, this sharing of himself with another person for no other reason than for support and perhaps help them through grief.

“I do. It’s making me feel better.” She laid her head on his chest while sliding her arms about his waist. “Regardless, after that, everything had changed. My parents weren’t the same. According to my father, it took a couple of years, but he finally saved enough to come to London.” The warmth of her breath seeped through his shirt. “They wanted to start over and move away from the violence that oftentimes spreads throughout Ireland. Since Papa had a knack for clocks and how they worked, he opened his first shop. Once he outgrew that one, we lived here, then Mama got sick and life changed again.”

“That seems to be how it goes. So many changes, and usually just when you think you’ve caught your breath from the last one.” While he spoke, he stroked a hand up and down her back in what he hoped was a soothing rhythm.

“Yes.” She blew out a breath. “Papa wasn’t the same after that.”

“Of course. He was probably in mourning. Even though my father wasn’t the most upstanding of men, my mother mourned for him.”

“Grief is an odd thing. Some days I’m fine and then others, it comes out of nowhere to hit me and leave me a watering pot.” Ashlynn pulled back enough to peer up into his face. “Once Mama was gone, he was simply existing. He’d lost my brother and her. The clock shop was all he had left.”

Timothy snorted. “He had you.”

“True, but I believe he closed off his heart so he wouldn’t be hurt again if something happened to me. And I was a girl, not as important as a boy.” Her smile was faint but wry. “I suppose I don’t blame him for protecting himself. Life is difficult and heartbreaking. The more people you let in, the greater the chance of being hurt.”

Those insights came terribly close to how he’d felt over the years but didn’t have the capacity to either speak them aloud or let himself live with his emotions. “Yet there is a good possibility for joy.”

“Perhaps, but more and more, I feel like a broken clock, one that doesn’t wind all the way and never chimes. I don’t know if I have the capacity to care again.”

“Yet you married me.” No wonder she wanted a marriage in name only. Life had disappointed her far too many times. He was understanding her bit by bit, and what was more, he admired her for how she’d managed to survive.

“I did, and you a debt collector at that.” She snorted in apparent amusement. “I wonder what my father would say about that.”

The irony of that wasn’t lost on him. “Aside from me not being good enough for your father, even a broken clock proves useful twice a day. Don’t keep yourself aloof from life merely on the fear you’ll be hurt. Even in the horrid, you feel, and you know you’re alive.”

“For what purpose if there is no light?” But she offered a watery grin. “You’re right, though. Thank you.”

“It is my privilege.” That was the truth. He might not have wanted to marry, and certainly not for convenience, but being here with her, listening to her history, it seemed almost… right. “I understand how you feel, though. One gets thoroughly tired of death or sickness or terrible news and grows almost callous or fatigued by it after a bit.” Being able to voice his thoughts was quite cathartic. “It’s another way of protecting oneself. I lost my father a couple of years ago, and a sister early on in life. My grandparents died within a year of each other—all four of them. Through it all, I had Hugh for support and a prop when I got down, but the dark side of life wears on a body.”

“That is exactly what is does.” The hint of wild roses wafted to his nose when she nodded. Then she raised her gaze to his once more. “It has to stop after a while, doesn’t it? The light must return.”

“That is the hope, which is why we should find whatever comfort we can in the life we choose and the days we are given. That’s all we can do.” Was he counseling her or him?

“Timothy?”

He adored how his name sounded in her voice. “Hmm?”

“Is that why you married me? To hope you might find the light?”

Was it? Damn if he knew. “Perhaps it is but one reason.” The longer he held her gaze with the warmth of her seeping into him in the quiet of her father’s shop, he wanted to kiss her for no other reason than to chase that spark of attraction he’d experienced last night. “I would like to kiss you.”

Her eyes rounded. “Why?”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re doing it out of sympathy? That my life is one horrible story after another?”

“No, of course not. I want to kiss you for the mere fact that we are married, and you might enjoy it, but if you are adamant we remain barely acquaintances, I will respect those wishes.” There were no signs on this path he tried to navigate.

“Oh.” Surprise reflected in those emerald pools of her eyes. “Can not acquaintances indulge in kisses every now and again?”

“I suppose we’ll find out.” Slowly, watching her the whole time, Timothy slipped a hand to her nape and with a hand resting at the small of her back, he drew her closer then claimed her lips in a kiss designed to bring them both comfort. How was it that two soft pieces of flesh could have him longing for something he never gave serious thought to before?

“Oh.” She pulled away slightly, enough to look at him, her breath warming his chin. “Kisses are nice, and yours somehow make me feel better, but don’t flatter yourself. I'm sure any man could have done the same."

God, he adored her penchant for plain speaking. "It is good to know you respect your husband,” he said in a joking voice.

“I never said I didn’t respect you.” If she hadn’t looked at him with the same hunger in her expressive eyes that was currently coursing through his blood, if her fingers hadn’t curled into the lapel of his greatcoat, if the tip of her tongue hadn’t darted out to moisten her bottom lip, he would have been fine. They could have left the shop and returned home for tea, but all of those things had happened, and he was lost.

With a groan, Timothy wrapped her more securely in his arms and crushed his lips to hers, only this time, he didn’t keep it chaste—couldn’t. He wanted much more from her than he could articulate with words, and she was his wife, after all. Damn but she tasted so sweet, felt like walking into a warm house from a cold snowstorm and given mulled cider. When he encouraged her lips to part, she gasped, and he took full advantage. The second his tongue slid against hers, another portion of his control shattered.

Not to apparently be outdone and let things happen to her, Ashlynn kissed him back with an enthusiasm that matched his own, even if she did have a bout of momentary innocent hesitation. Satin slid over steel as they dueled for control, but when she surrendered to him with a tiny sigh, need shivered down his spine. She encircled his shoulders with her arms, and the second her fingers caressed his nape, commonsense fled.

While devouring her mouth as if he were a man starving, Timothy lifted her off the floor, and he deposited her arse onto the desk. Books that had been piled on the table tumbled to the floor with dull thumps and thuds, followed by the cacophony and cascade of clock gears and parts falling as well, but he didn’t care. Not when kissing her was suddenly life.

The pounding of his pulse in his ears kept time to the insistent throb of his shaft as he dragged his lips along the column of her silky neck. That faint scent of wild roses and sunshine was both innocence and sin. It spurred him onward, beckoned him closer until he held her head in his palms and moved between her naturally splayed legs.

“Timothy, I…” She didn’t finish the sentence, for he returned to her lips as if he couldn’t bear to be parted from them. A soft sound of pleasure came from her throat, and damn if he didn’t wish to hear that again. She fumbled with his cravat, and when she had it untied, she surged upward to press her lips to the skin of his throat she’d uncovered.

Need slammed into him, for an electric sort of tingling moved through his body. Daring much, he nibbled the underside of her jaw while working the laces at the back of her dress. When the bodice of the garment gaped open, he tugged it downward until the modest globes popped free. Dear God, she hadn’t worn stays, possibly because it wasn’t a formal gown or she didn’t have any, but she was gorgeous.

“Perfect,” he whispered then yanked his gloves off, tossing them away. When he cupped her ivory breasts, a sigh left his throat. “Ah Ashlynn.”

When she trembled, that reaction transferred to him. Was she fearful of what he might do or was she excited? But he had no doubt she was an innocent. “Timothy, please touch me.” She pressed a hand over his, guiding his fingers to the pebbled nipple. “No man ever has…”

Well, he had his answer, and it further fanned his own lust. As he kissed her again, he worried those hardened tips with the pads of his thumbs. A tiny whimper left her throat, and she squirmed, so he caressed her breasts before rolling the nipples. Merely to hear the soft sounds of pleasure she made. Each nip, nibble, or suckle he gave her, the more he wanted to continue exploring the rest of her body. She plucked at his sleeves, his waistcoat, shoved the greatcoat halfway from his shoulders; perhaps she wanted the same.

Yet this wasn’t the time or place.

Desire clouded his mind; hunger drove his actions. Timothy urged her backward over the desk. He slipped a hand beneath her skirting, and damn if the silky skin of her thighs nearly sent him over the edge. If he wasn’t careful, he’d claim her body right here in her father’s shop. Before he was completely done in by the sensations coursing through his body and hardening his shaft, he mentally berated himself . She deserves nicer treatment. Especially since he would be her first. This isn’t romantic.

Wrenching away, he stared at her as if he’d never seen a woman before. How did she manage to affect him so deeply when they’d only met a handful of days ago? It didn’t matter they were married, yet in many ways, he felt as if he’d known her forever, had been waiting for her to enter his life.

“We should, uh, return home,” he said as he cast about for his dropped gloves.

“Right.” A blush had spread over her cheeks and chest as she tugged her bodice back into place. A lock of her hair had tumbled about her shoulder, escaped from its pin. “That was…”

“Foolish?” he provided helpfully. Once he’d retrieved his gloves, he pulled them on and avoided her gaze.

“Yes, but also… eye opening. I rather enjoyed it,” she finished in a low voice. “But I think… That is to say, you and I…”

He nodded. “I know. It won’t happen again unless you will it.” Clearly, he’d been a nodcock in every way.

“I’ll just go get my box.” After hopping off the desk, she fairly dashed from the room, but not before he caught the bemused little grin curving her kiss-swollen lips.

Did that mean she would indeed welcome another overture? Only time would tell.