Page 14 of Her Christmas White Knight

Master Farrar paled. “I’m not sure. Things are so expensive, and I’m so poor now.”

“Fear not. We shall manage.” Myall cocked an eyebrow at the housekeeper. “Do you know where he hid his coin?”

“I know where the hanging pocket hidden in here is, but I didn’t want to move it anywhere safer. Your father’s memory is faulty—if he recalled where he’d concealed the money, then found it gone, he’d panic.”

She dipped her hand into a bowl of dried rose petals and lavender and produced a leather hanging pocket.

Undoing the drawstring, Myall counted some bright gold coins into his palm, then held them under his father’s nose.

“See, Father? Five and twenty angels here, and that’s less than half what’s in the pocket. This will be but one of many caches, I’ll warrant, hidden all about the house.”

Master Farrar shook his head. “I need that money to buy bread. It costs over a guinea a loaf now, you know.”

“Nay, Sir. A large loaf costs but a tuppence. You have become ill, I fear, which has confused you and made you forget your numbers. But no matter. We’ll soon have you right again.”

Myall had gentled his voice as if he were speaking to a small child. It was hard to believe that only yesterday, Julia had seen him with his sword at another man’s throat. What a splendid husband he would make for some fortunate woman! A superlative lover, too, if her taste of him all those years ago was anything to go by. But alas—that lucky lady would not be her. She was now a nobody, while he—if his father took him back—would be rich.

Myall Farrar would be looking for a marriage to benefit the family business. He’d need a wife who could provide him not only with a good dowry but heirs of his body as well. She had lost a babe when still in the womb—surely, that was an omen she’d never be able to keep a child full-term.

“Mistress Wentworth—you look down in the mouth. I fear I’ve been neglecting you. Come—a word in private, if you please.”

Repressing a sigh, she followed Myall into the passageway. She realized now that she would have to refuse his offer of joining him and his sister for dinner on the morrow. Hal would be disappointed, of course. Only she knew she couldn’t abide sitting at Myall’s table, longing for him, and knowing he was forever beyond her reach.

He lifted her chin with a finger, forcing her to look at him. “Look not so downcast, my dove. Whatever secret cares you harbor, put them aside for this season. And fret not about your goose—it can be given a stay of execution. Father has a dovecot, and if Goody Sarah has been feeding the birds, we’ll dine on fine fat pigeons on Christmas Day. And if she’s neglected them, I’ll simply take one of these angels and purchase a brace of geese.”

His finger was warm. She imagined his hand cupping her face, his lips plundering hers, and felt her cheeks heat again. Being in this man’s company was a torment she had never anticipated.

“I have to decline your invitation. My apologies to your sister.”

He held her chin, his dark eyes boring into hers. “Oh, no, you don’t, Mistress. You’re not abandoning me now. I want to remind my father of this season’s joys, such as good company and sumptuous feasting. I can’t manage this Herculean task with just Goody Sarah and Helena to help. We have to impress Helena’s suitor, Sir Aidan Blake, so I shall also need Hal, and I definitely need you. I need your decorations, too, to make this house come alive again—I’ll pay you every penny of their worth.”

“You’re very generous, Sir, but—”

“Come now—you wouldn’t deny me your aid, would you? As you have doubtless guessed, my father has a malady of the brain and suffers from delusions. I must act fast before he gets any worse. I must bring in a physician, but to do that, I need Father to trust me. I believe he might if I can give him a Christmas to delight his heart and remind him how much he loves and needs his family. Think on it, Julia—you would be making a fragile, old man and his disfigured son very happy.”

“Disfigured? Never say that.” The shackles around her heart finally fell away, and she reached up to stroke the uneven skin of Myall’s cheek. “I don’t see the damaged flesh. I see only the spirit of the man, and he is the most great-hearted fellow I’ve ever met.”

He turned his head to kiss the palm of her hand, then leaned down until there was barely a whisper of air between them.

“So—you’ll help?” His gaze trapped her, and his need surrounded her. It wasn’t just his need for her assistance that she sensed. It felt as if he needed more from her—much more.

“I will.” His lips were so close that she scarcely dared to breathe.

“Be sure to bring plenty of mistletoe with which to deck the house, I pray, for I hope to be doing a good deal of this.”

Then finally, in answer to all her hopes and dreams, he kissed her.