A Warrior for Christmas (7 page)
Read A Warrior for Christmas Online
Authors: Beth Trissel
Tags: #romance,holiday,american,historical
Dimity flushed and looked away.
Her zealous admirer touched her shoulder. When she glanced around, he said, “It’s not quite Christmas yet but perhaps you will accept this modest gift.”
Corwin looked on in molten disbelief as the brazen attorney drew a gold heart-shaped pendent from his coat pocket. Only a man bent on betrothal would bestow anything so extravagant and romantic on a young lady, and before these onlookers. That sly wolf had timed his attack well.
****
What was Dimity to do?
She stared from the pendent shining in the candlelight to the hope gleaming in Geoffrey’s ardent gaze to the fire in Corwin’s furious regard. If she accepted this costly gift it would signify far more than she intended and Corwin would likely seize him by the throat. If she refused, Geoffrey would be humiliated in front of everyone.
Why had he done it, eager foolish man?
She swallowed and looked pleadingly at Corwin, begging him with her eyes not to fly at Geoffrey.
His jaw tight, Corwin stood. Turning on his heels, he strode from the room amid amazed glances. Doubtless, murmurs traveled the gathering, but she was spared these.
Her guardian got to his feet. “I apologize for my nephew’s departure. Sudden illness, a peculiar ailment he suffers from,” he offered in Corwin’s behalf. “Please, return to your food. Desert is forthcoming and Mistress Stokes assures me Whitfield has outdone itself this year.”
Heads wagged, likely tongues as well, and the gathering returned to their feast.
Still Geoffrey waited.
Dimity met his earnest gaze. He was her best hope of a normal woman’s life, but nothing in her wanted to share that life with him. From her aching heart to her innermost being she wanted Corwin, whatever the risk.
Not only were their guests dining exceedingly well, they were about to be meted out even more entertainment. “Pray excuse me, sir,” she said to Geoffrey.
He clasped her arm. “Shall I accompany you?”
“No, thank you. I fear you must excuse me,” she insisted and rose before she witnessed his dejection.
Petticoats swirling, she turned and hurried from the room, her one desire to find Corwin. He was nowhere in sight. She had to rein herself in to keep from running down the hall. Where had he gone?
She darted in and out of the library and the drawing room. A quick peek in his chamber told her he wasn’t there. He wouldn’t have gone below stairs to the kitchen, or upstairs to her chamber or any others she could think of.
She rushed into the entryway. Surely he wouldn’t ride away now? Pray God he hadn’t. It would be pitch black outside and wretchedly cold. Heart in her throat, she snatched her cloak from a peg on the wall.
The breeze struck her the moment she opened the door. Blinking in the frosty air, she stepped onto the front steps and shut the door. “Corwin!”
Would he even hear her over this bluster? She had no idea how loudly she was shouting. Desperation might give her much needed projection. “Corwin!”
Still no sign of him.
Her pointed brocade shoes were totally unsuited for walking outside but she must find him. At least servants had cleared the bricks of snow before their guests arrived. She placed her foot on the first step, then gingerly on the second. Shaking in the wind, she reached the bottom and stepped onto the cobbles.
By the light of the moon, she saw a figure emerge a short distance ahead of her in the direction of the stable. “Corwin!” Calling his name, she ran toward him.
He rushed at her and caught her up in a strong embrace.
“Thank God!” she gasped, and threw her arms around his neck. “I feared you had gone.”
He held her close. No words were needed to feel his tenderness.
“Promise you will not leave me,” she pleaded.
He pressed his lips to her chilled cheek and found her mouth. His kiss was anything but frigid and vowed what her ears could not hear.
****
Corwin guided Dimity back across the snowy cobbles and up the steps. He opened the door and stepped behind her into the house, then shut out the icy wind. The pleasing fragrance of beeswax and greenery co-mingled with the savory aromas of supper in the well-lit entryway, far more welcoming than his initial arrival at Whitfield. This was her doing.
Dimity lifted her sweet face to his, a look of hopeful promise in her eyes. The hood of her cloak slid back and her head glowed in the candlelight. Here was warmth to fill a man’s heart. He would ease the pain of what he’d left behind with the rich abundance he’d gained.
She shook from the cold and he drew her into his arms. “This is no night for you to be outside.”
Face turned to him, she replied, “Remember, I shall follow where you lead. You went out first.”
She had him there. And he’d been tempted to bolt. Never again. If he left, they’d go together.
He smiled at his tenacious little Quaker. “So if I should happen to stand under the mistletoe?”
Her lips curved enticingly. “I will stand beside you.”
“And if I should gain the courage to dance the minuet?”
“Your partner, sir.”
It was now or never. “And if I walk back into that dining room to announce our engagement?”
Her smile was radiant. “Wait until the stroke of midnight.”
“Why?”
“‘Twill be Christmas and I’ll know it’s possible then.”
Married to my high school sweetheart, I live on a farm in the Shenandoah Valley of Virginia, surrounded by my children, grandbabies, and assorted animals. An avid gardener, my love of herbs and heirloom plants figures into my work.
The rich history of Virginia, the Native Americans, and the people who journeyed here from far beyond her borders are at the heart of my inspiration.
In addition to American settings, I also write historical and time travel romances set in the British Isles.
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