The Girl is Not For Christmas: A Christmas Regency Romance Novel Page 16

  “Show me,” he said gruffly, gesturing to the keys.

  He watched, intrigued, as she gathered herself and settled her fingers on the keys, and then broke into a stirring rendition of No One Shall Govern Me.

  King’s mouth fell open in surprise as Livvy’s voice—by no means refined—but clear and strong, rang out through the room.

  When young and thoughtless, Laura said

  No one shall win my heart;

  But little dreamt the simple maid,

  Of love’s delusive art.

  At ball or play she’d flirt away and ever giddy be,

  But always said, I ne’er shall wed, no one shall govern me. No, no, no. No, no, no. No one shall govern me.

  But time on airy pinions flew

  And Laura’s charms decay’d;

  Too soon, alas! The damsel grew.

  A pettish, pert old maid.

  At ball or play no longer gay, Poor Laura, now you’ll see;

  Nor does she cry, for reasons why, No one shall govern me.

  No, no, no. No, no, no. No one shall govern me.

  A lesson learn, ye ladies fair,

  From Laura’s wretched fate;

  Lest you, like her, should in despair

  Repent, Alas! Too late.

  She finished with a flourish and a crash of keys that made King’s ears ring and he sat staring at her, stunned into silence. There was a twinkle in her eyes and a slight twitch to her lips that told him she knew exactly what she’d been about. He wanted so badly to laugh and then to kiss her until neither of them could remember their names that he felt quite winded. But that way lay madness.

  “Well,” he said, once he could find words to form a stiff enough reply. “That should scare off any right thinking male within a ten mile radius.”

  “Oh?” Livvy said, all innocence and wide eyes. “Do you think so? I thought it rather appropriate, what with the description of a pettish, pert old maid. Fits me to a nicety, does it not?”

  King gritted his teeth, aware of what she was doing.

  “No,” he said evenly. “But they’ll all think it does with a performance like that, as you well know.”

  “Forgive me, King.” And now she was all repentance, sighing with regret. “You see, I am a hopeless case. So… no piano. I cannot bait a hook to catch my husband, at least not with music. What next, then? Teach me all the tricks so I may play him like a fiddle. That is the expression, I think? I’ve never acted the fortune hunter before, so you’ll forgive me for not knowing all the cant just yet, but fear not, I’m a quick study.”

  Something in King’s gut twisted. He stared down at the keys of the piano, struggling to keep his breathing even. “You’re not a fortune hunter, Livvy, and you’re not… not like me. This isn’t for your own pleasure, or even your own security. You’ve a nobler cause, I know that. Don’t think that I don’t.”

  There was another silence, this one fragile, with too much exposed between them.

  The next time she spoke her voice was quiet, soft, but with more than a hint of teasing. “My goodness, King. Was that another compliment?”

  He was grateful for the levity of the comment and laughed as he was supposed to. “Possibly. I must be feverish again.”

  “The only likely explanation,” she agreed.

  “I’d better have a lie down.”

  “Let me come.”

  King gasped and even Livvy looked shocked, but she held his gaze, not turning away.

  “Why not?” she asked him, as if there weren’t a million answers he could give. “I’m not a pretty young thing whose beauty and innocence is going to make a man want me. You said yourself I need to take another tack. So… why not this one? Teach me, King. I know you can. Teach me how to make a man wild with passion.”

  King’s mind blanked and in his panic, he evaded in the only way he knew how by retreating into sarcasm. “At this hour of the morning? No man with an ounce of sense would have even broken his fast by now. You’ll only make him wild with the need for another hour of sleep and possibly a hair of the dog that bit him.”

  Livvy glowered at him. “Be serious. I need help.”

  “You need to be spanked and told to behave like a good girl!” King retorted, leaping to his feet, and putting distance between them.

  “Don’t patronise me,” she snapped back, her blue eyes flashing.

  “Don’t ask me to set you on the road to ruin, then.”

  “Why not?” she demanded tartly as she folded her arms. “You seem to be enjoying the scenic route to the same destination.”

  Desire burned beneath his skin, his muscles taut with wanting, his entire being aware of her, aware of what she was offering him. Take it, his mind and body demanded in complete accord. She’s offering herself up like the fatted calf. Take it all. His heart, however, was having none of it. No, this isn’t what she wants, it isn’t what you want. You’re both lonely and afraid and desperate. This is desperate. This is wrong. Oh, God, but he wanted her.

  “I won’t be ruined by taking that road,” he growled, determined to keep from giving in to temptation, for once in his sorry life.

  Livvy snorted. “No, you’ll be dead.”

  His temper unravelled, fuelled by desire and frustration, and his words were cruel and hard and unthinking. “That’s unlikely, as some harpy has hidden anything remotely alcoholic, and there’s nothing resembling a comely wench for miles. That doesn’t mean I’m desperate enough to seduce my friend’s plain spinster sister.”

  Oh, God. The look in her eyes... and yet, perhaps that was the only way to make her stop, to make her believe….

  “Oh,” her voice quavered, and his heart ached. It was the beach all over again and he could not allow her to believe herself undesirable.

  “Damnation, Livvy, I didn’t mean that. You know I didn’t. Why won’t you let me be?”

  “Because I’m desperate,” she whispered. “We all are. We’re going to lose our home, everything, unless I marry well, and I don’t think anyone is going to want me. Not ever. Not at this stupid ball and not for the rest of my life, but… but I feel like maybe… maybe you do, and… and I want to know how it feels to be wanted, King. Just for a moment.”

  King sank his fingers into his hair, pulling on it in frustration. “Livvy, you little fool. If you show even a glimpse of the woman I have come to know these past weeks at that wretched ball, you’ll have men falling at your feet. Some of them may even be good, decent men who will want you, want to marry you, and then you’ll regret….”

  “No.” She shook her head, gazing at him. “No, I shan’t regret it. Not ever. No matter what happens.”

  King closed his eyes, unable to look at her, to see the sincerity in her eyes, the hope, and all the things he could not give her.

  “And what will you do on your wedding night when your husband realises you’re not a virgin? Will you pretend it’s your first time?”

  “N-No, of course not. I should never be so deceitful.”

  “When, then, Livvy? After he’s married you and it’s too late? Or before? Don’t you see? It will make him doubt you, doubt the kind of woman you are. It might ruin your chances.”

  He could see his words had struck home, and he did not know whether to breathe a sigh of relief or weep. No, strike that, weeping was certainly his favourite plan, along with howling with rage and frustration and drinking himself into an early grave. Damn it, no. No. He was not going to drink.

  I am not drinking.

  King hauled in an uneven breath, waiting only for Livvy to tell him she’d come to her senses before he made his escape. Then he’d go for a walk, or perhaps a swim. Yes, a swim in the sea should just be icy enough to cool his ardour. Perhaps then he’d be able to think straight again; perhaps he’d drown and end this misery now before it got worse. For it would get worse. He would have to leave sooner or later, and one day he’d read an announcement in the paper with details of her marriage to some lucky bastard who would not deserve her any
more than King did.

  “Well, you have a point.”

  King nodded, letting her words wash over him, so that he didn’t really register the next ones until they shot straight to his groin like a lightning strike.

  “But surely there is pleasure to be had without… you know, taking my… my maidenhead? We could do that, couldn’t we? Please?”

  Oh, damn him to hell.

  She’d said, please.

  Please.

  Holy God and all his angels.

  He was doomed.

  Chapter Fourteen

  13th December 1818.

  Plans for seduction, George makes a conquest, and an unexpected visitor.

  Livvy watched as the Earl of Kingston ran away. Again.

  Were all libertines so highly strung? Honestly, it was infuriating that he kept stopping just when things were getting interesting. Only, she’d felt the desperation in his kiss, seen the heat in his eyes. For a moment she had doubted it when he’d spoken to her so cruelly, but he’d not been able to follow it through. He’d capitulated almost immediately, the moment he’d seen the hurt in her eyes, and that’s when Livvy had known for certain. The Earl of Kingston was a good man, an honourable man, and he liked her, maybe he even cared for her, just a little, but more than that… he wanted her.

  The knowledge was powerful. It simmered beneath her skin, making her too aware of all the empty spaces inside her. She felt like the damned house, decaying from neglect and lack of care and increasingly empty as everything of value was stripped from her. If she chose this, it would be for herself. She would marry any man who met her increasingly low standards—providing he wasn’t cruel and didn’t make her flesh creep—if it meant security for the children. If, as she suspected, no one would have her as she had no dowry and was getting too long in the tooth to ensure the production of enough babies to ensure a boy, then she would stay with the children and do whatever it took to keep everyone together and safe and well. In all of that there was nothing for herself, besides providing for and being with her nieces and nephews whom she quite obviously doted on. But there was no hope for love or romance or her own happiness, so… why not? Why should she not have this and… and yes, damn it, use the experience to make a man of her choosing, choose her.

  She knew it could not be King. She knew that. Her heart wanted to shrivel and die whenever she made herself face the truth, but she did know that. He had no money, and even if by some miracle he chose her, his father would never forgive him. She could never ask that of him. No, King could not help her and the children, even if he wanted to, and… and she did not think he wanted to. Oh, he was far kinder and gentler than he wished anyone to know and she knew their situation pained him, but wishing he could help and wanting to take on another man’s family, children that weren’t even hers…. No. No man in their right mind would want that. A fact which made the whole business of her aunt’s party utterly pointless, but….

  Livvy sighed and put her head in her hands. A smile tugged at her lips as she remembered the panic in King’s expression when she’d asked him to take her to bed. His beautiful eyes had widened with alarm and grown as dark as a night sky, and she knew he would say yes. Which was, of course, why he’d run away. He’d hope she’d not have the nerve to go through with it and simply avoid her until she came to her senses. Except that Livvy felt like she had only come to her senses in these past few days. She had never really known what it was she wanted, let alone who, and… and now she did. Even if it was beyond her grasp, even if he was beyond her grasp and she wanted to sob for the impossibility of it, there was happiness too. It was a wistful, hopeless kind of happiness perhaps, but the dream was hers at least. It was more than she’d ever had before. So, if King was waiting for her to behave like a young lady ought to and act with good sense and decorum, well… he was going to be sorely disappointed.

  “So, this is where you’re hiding, is it?”

  King looked up with a scowl to see Walsh standing with legs akimbo, arms crossed and a look of unrepressed merriment in his eyes which was, frankly, irritating.

  “I am not hiding,” King retorted, now both lying and hiding. Oh, bloody hell.

  Walsh gave George, who was sitting on the floor beside King, a pointed look.

  “Do you believe him, lad?”

  “Ing?” George said, giving King a reassuring pat. “Pego.”

  Walsh snorted. “Aye, reckon so.”

  King glowered at his upstart valet and tried to remember why he kept him on and then remembered the poor bastard had been on half wages for months and kept his mouth shut. Perhaps George had a point. He gathered up the scattered bricks and began setting one on top of the other for perhaps the twentieth time that day, but George never seemed to tire of knocking them over again. He would shriek with laughter and clap his hands together with delight, and King wondered if he’d ever been that easy to please. Had he ever been so perfectly happy without being off his head drunk or wreathed in clouds of opium smoke? If he had, he certainly couldn’t remember it.

  He looked up at a decisive tap, tap at the window, to see Mr Moon’s beady eye regarding him through the glass. King repressed a shudder.

  “Don’t you dare,” he said to Walsh as the fellow moved towards the window. “The bloody thing is evil. It nearly took my finger off.”

  “Ing,” George said soothingly, stroking his hand. “Gog, bite… oof, oof.”

  He pointed at the crow.

  “Yes, he did bite,” King said indignantly. “But he isn’t a dog, George. It’s a bird… er… a crow. Remember. Ke Re Ow.”

  “Gog?” George asked.

  “No. Not a dog.”

  George gave a disconsolate sigh. So King turned the child’s attention to the tower of bricks he’d just finished. “Look what I built, George, isn’t it―”

  George knocked the tower over, and the blocks crashed to the floor, scattering across the rug and clattering over the parquet beyond.

  “--grand?,” King finished, shaking his head and pretending to look sorrowful, which only delighted George all the more, naturally.

  The little boy cackled with laughter, rocking back and forth and grabbing at his toes, almost toppling over backwards.

  “Yes, yes, laugh at my misfortune why don’t you? The universe seems to enjoy the same sense of humour as you do, my lad,” he grumbled, reaching for the bricks again.

  Walsh scuttled about the room too, gathering the bricks up and setting them down in front of King. Rather to King’s surprise, Walsh deigned to sit on the floor too, and the two of them rebuilt the tower while George looked on with anticipation shining in his eyes.

  “So, how did you come to be babysitting?” Walsh asked.

  King frowned. “I’m not entirely certain. The eldest girl, Susan, is it? She was carrying him about, but then that blasted piglet ran past, apparently wearing the sash of her new dress. Well, I shouldn’t like to be whoever was responsible for putting it on the creature, I can tell you. Set off like a little dervish, she did. So the next thing I know, George here is thrust at me, and she goes off in hot pursuit.”

  Walsh gave a bark of laughter and then narrowed his eyes at King. “So, why didn’t you give him to one of the others or take him to the kitchen? Gelly would have taken the lad off your hands.”

  “I don’t know,” King said with a huff. “I couldn’t be bothered. Besides, George has provided the most sensible conversation I’ve had since I got here.”

  “Ing? Where is Libby?” George asked, his expression grave, a little frown on his sweetly rounded face.

  “Yes, King, where’s Livvy?” Walsh asked, a knowing glint in his eyes.

  King glowered at him. “Far from me, if she’s got an ounce of sense.”

  “Where we find Libby, Lib, Lib?” George said, pointing at the door.

  “I don’t know, George,” King replied, touching the child’s cheek and wondering at how soft it was. “Shall I take you to Gelly? She might know.”

 
“Gelly in the kitchen. Gelly got cake!” George said, grinning broadly and scrambling to his feet.

  “That’s a yes, then,” King said, chuckling. He put out his hand to George, but George lifted both arms towards him.

  “Up,” he said, a determined glint in his eyes.

  King hesitated. “Oh, very well, but no tugging on my cravat, do you hear?”

  “No vat,” George said solemnly, shaking his head.

  King laughed and lifted the little boy up.

  “Close enough, old man,” he said, a little startled when the child curled his arms about his neck, crushing his cravat, naturally. King stilled, an odd sensation kicking about behind his ribs.

  “That suits you, my lord. If you don’t mind me observing it,” Walsh said, smiling.

  “What?” King looked back at his valet, too distracted to have heard his comment.

  “You’d make a good father, I reckon. Pity you dislike the idea so much.”

  “Yes, well, I do,” King replied at once, almost angry now, frowning at Walsh.

  “Ing?” George said, anxiety in his voice.

  King let out a breath. “Sorry, George. Come along. Let’s go and find Gelly and have some cake.”

  “Need to be quick, Miss. Those clouds….” Spargo nodded at the darkening sky overhead.

  “I will,” Livvy nodded, jumping down from the dog cart.

  She didn’t bother pointing out she didn’t have enough money to take long. Spargo knew it. As it was, having to spend coin on fripperies made her stomach turn, but she needed some ribbon and thread to finish making over Ceci’s old gowns, and so it was rather more imperative than perhaps it appeared.

  The door to the haberdasher’s opened with a tinkling of the overhead bell, and Livvy smiled at Mrs Cardy.

  “Miss Penrose,” the woman said, her rosy apple cheeks dimpling with pleasure at the sight of Livvy. “I swear, I thought you’d forgotten us it’s been so long.”

  “As if I could do such a thing, Mrs Cardy, and it has been too long. I hope you can forgive me. What with the children and one thing and another… well, I don’t know where the time goes.”