His Christmas Countess

Grant lifted his hands, scrubbed them across his face. ‘Don’t you dare apologise to me, Kate.’ He stared at her as though he had forgotten who she was, what they were doing there. Stared as if he was having a revelation and not a very happy one at that. Then he moved. Ten long strides took him past her to the door. ‘Get back to London first thing tomorrow, let me sort this out. I don’t know when I will be back.’

He stopped, turned on the threshold and came back to her, pulled her into his arms and took her mouth. The kiss was hard, possessive, almost punitive. Through her confusion she could taste his anger and his desire and, beneath it all, a sort of desperation.

And then he was gone, booted heels clattering down the steps.

‘Lady Allundale?’

Kate blinked and the room came back into focus. Mr Gough was standing in the doorway, regarding her warily. ‘Yes?’

‘His lordship has...er...left?’

‘Yes,’ she repeated and somehow managed to think of something other than Grant’s mouth on hers, kissing with the sort of desperation a condemned man might use if he were to be hanged the next day. ‘We are going back to London tomorrow morning, first thing. Please can you arrange that, Mr Gough?’

‘Certainly, Lady Allundale.’

‘Was that Papa? I didn’t know he was coming here. I heard him shouting.’ Charlie appeared from his bedchamber door, a clean shirt half on. ‘Papa never shouts like that.’

‘He has had a very trying day, dear.’ Possibly almost as trying as I have had. Kate forced back the hysterical laughter that was threatening. ‘We will be going back to Grosvenor Street tomorrow, first thing.’

‘Oh, good.’ Charlie’s anxious expression turned to a broad grin. ‘It is interesting here. I like the sea. But it’s not long until Christmas and we’ve got to get ready.’

‘Yes, of course.’ Kate hoped she looked less fraught than she felt. Christmas had completely slipped her mind. There was the anniversary of the old earl’s death to deal with and the challenge of creating a perfect new set of Christmas memories for Charlie and presents to buy and... And a husband who I thought I understood and now...

‘Run along and finish getting changed, Charlie. And try not to bother Mr Gough. He has lots of things to do.’

She went back and sank down into the chair, considered indulging in hysterics and concluded, rather wildly, that they would have to wait. ‘Wilson!’

‘Yes, my lady?’ The maid had a pile of folded underwear in her hands. Gough must have lost no time in telling her the news.

‘What is the date?’

‘The fifteenth, my lady.’

The old earl had died on Christmas Eve. They would travel back to London tomorrow and she must decide the best way to handle the anniversary for Charlie. Then there was Christmas to prepare for, which was also Anna’s birthday. When would Grant be back—and in what mood? No, this was definitely no time to have the vapours. Kate blew her nose briskly and found some paper and a pen. Lists were what she needed now. And my husband.

* * *

The clock struck midnight as Kate reached for the last sheet of paper and began to wrap up the pretty dress length and ribbons she had bought for Jeannie. All the presents had been bought in exhausting expeditions around the shops in the days after they got back from Southend.

All that was left was to worry about Grant. The note had arrived this morning from, of all places, Newport Pagnell. What he was doing there she could not imagine, nor could she gauge his mood, for it had simply read:

I will be there on the twenty-fourth. G.

Something had been written beneath that scrawled initial, then crossed out. She had squinted at it, held it up to the light, to a candle flame, and all she could make out was a small circle. Or perhaps a heart.

Now it was Christmas Eve. She had not dared hope, had hardly dared think about Grant and instead had plunged into planning, shopping and endless decision-making. The staff were not used to the family spending Christmas in London and seemed incapable of making the slightest decision without her. So footmen had been dispatched to enquire when evergreens would be available in Shepherd’s Market, Cook had been given guidance on two weeks’ worth of menus, decisions had been made on when the staff would have their Christmas meal, which carriages would be required for what church services and when a holly wreath should be hung on the front door.

Now Kate just wanted to sleep and not be plagued by dreams about Grant vanishing into the mist. She gathered up the scissors and ribbon, brushed paper scraps off the bed and took off her robe. As she reached for the snuffer, there was a noise from Grant’s bedchamber, then another. Muffled, cautious sounds. Sounds of someone who did not want to be heard.