What the bloody devil?

Anthony broke away from Kate at the sound of Freddie Woodville’s voice. Jesus Christ and all his saints. What was he doing here?

Searing anger shot through Anthony replacing the sweet pleasure he’d felt only seconds before. He turned, his hands sliding from Kate’s stiffening body to fist at his sides. “I might ask you the same thing, Woodville,” he snarled savagely. His knuckles cracked. “Where’s Violet?”

“My wife, thank God, is still waiting in the carriage.” Freddie Woodville advanced across the chamber with sure strides. His gaze shifted to his sister who still stood in the doorway to the drawing room. “Katie, I didn’t expect to see you here. Are you all right? If Stanton has hurt you—”

“You vile bastard. I’ll have your guts for garters.” Anthony’s ire exploded in his chest and he launched himself at the blackguard. They went down onto the Turkish runner then rolled onto the freezing cold, unforgiving flagstones, both of them trying to gain the upper hand. Anthony’s elbow connected with Woodville’s jaw but then the dog kneed him in the guts, winding him. He was vaguely aware of Kate screaming and shouting at them to stop as he rolled on top of Woodville and landed a glancing blow to the side of his head. Then to the cur’s mouth. Another male voice joined the cacophony of sound.

Then both he and Woodville were drowning in a deluge of wine. Or more precisely, wassail punch.

Coughing and spluttering they fell apart. When Anthony looked up it was to find Kate standing over him like an avenging angel, her rose-gold hair a fiery halo, her green eyes blazing. In one hand she held the empty silver wassail bowl.

“Stop it. Both of you. How dare you tear each other apart like this,” she snapped, her voice an angry lash. “It’s Christmas for heaven’s sake!”

A furious Uncle Harold stepped forward. “Now see here,” he fumed. “I’ll have none of this disgraceful brawling in my house. If you want to take this outside and settle it like gentlemen, by all means d—”

“No.” Kate stamped her foot. “There will no more fighting. No brawling, no dueling, no nothing, do you hear me? I’m sick to death of both of you. Your feud is puerile. Grow up.” With that, Kate threw the wassail bowl onto the floor where it landed with a crash before she stormed across the Hall toward the vestibule and the front door. “I’m going to greet my new sister, offer her congratulations on her nuptials, and wish her a Merry Christmas,” she called over her shoulder. “The rest of you can join me or go rot.”

Anthony pushed himself to his feet and wiped the wine out of his eyes. Christ. What a mess.

Thunderous anger still roiled through him at the knowledge of what Freddie Woodville had done. But beneath all that lurked another feeling—a grudging respect for Kate for standing up to them. For putting them in their place.

She was a virago but she was right. It was Christmas and he was a guest in another nobleman’s house. Not only that, he’d now publicly compromised the baron’s niece. Shame washed through him. He was no better than bloody Freddie Woodville after all. “My apologies to you, Lord Rookhope. My ... emotions got the better of me. I will leave if you wish me to.”

Woodville also staggered to his feet. He wiped his split lip. “For God’s sake, Stanton. Don’t be bloody stupid. It’s the middle of the night and it’s snowing. Don’t upset Violet by being an ass.”

Anthony took a menacing step forward. “Don’t tell me what to do or say where my sister is concerned, Woodville—”

Uncle Horace cleared his throat. “Ahem, gentlemen, I do believe the ladies are coming inside.”

A moment later, Violet swept into the Hall in a flurry of snow, her lavender-gray eyes growing wide with horror when she took in Woodville’s wine-soaked state, and bruised and bloodied countenance. “Freddie! Just look at you! Anthony, I cannot believe you would do this.” She turned to him and glared. “You’ve hurt my husband.”

Anthony scowled and his fingers twitched. “Not nearly enough, Violet.”

“Didn’t I tell you to stop with this nonsense?” warned Kate as she approached. She put her hand on Violet’s arm. “I’m going to show my new sister to one of the guest bedchambers. And I suggest the rest of us,” she met everyone’s gaze in turn, “retire as well.”

“Very sensible,” agreed Lord Rookhope. “A good sleep and we’ll all see things differently in the morning. The Christmas Day service at St. Stephen’s begins at ten o’clock. I trust I shall see you all there?”

Anthony grudgingly agreed along with everyone else because it was the expected thing to do. He turned away as Woodville followed Violet and Kate up the stairs. His disappointment and anger sat like a bitter lump of coal in his mouth. He was too late. His sister had married a man of dubious character and of bad stock considering his sire’s sorry history. No matter that Frederick Woodville was heir to a barony and wealthy estate. He doubted he’d ever forgive him for his duplicity.

Just as he doubted he’d ever forget Kate Woodville’s kiss ...

He groaned and dragged himself up the stairs. The taste of her. Her soft moans ...

The kiss they’d shared had been incomparable. Just like her. He’d been hoping to get a good sleep but not now; he’d be tossing and turning all night, and probably for many nights to come. Because one thing he was certain of, Kate would never let him kiss her again.

* * *

St. Stephen’s Church, Fenwick, Cumbria

Christmas Day, 1812

“Katie, if you could spare a moment ...”

Kate paused beneath an ancient yew tree in the churchyard of St. Stephen’s and glanced up at her brother from beneath the felt brim of her dark blue bonnet. Snowflakes danced in the air between them. “Of course.”

Violet, who was on Freddie’s arm, smiled at her shyly. “We’ve been thinking about you and all that you’ve been through over the past few days. Anthony,” she threw a baleful look over her shoulder to where her brother stood beneath the church’s portico, talking with Uncle Harold and the vicar after the service, “he was an absolute toad to have dragged you away from the house party at Hollystone Hall. We know how much your charity means to you, and if you think you can endure another journey, we would be happy to take you there in our carriage.”

Freddie nodded then winced; courtesy of Lord Stanton, he was sporting a swollen split lip and there was a sizeable bruise on one cheek. Kate also suspected his injured shoulder gave him grief given the way he held his arm so gingerly against his side.

“If we leave tomorrow we should be there in time for the charity subscription ball on New Year’s Eve,” he said and grimaced again as he adjusted the position of his left arm. “I shall pay for the tickets for all of us so you needn’t worry about that. I’m sure you’ll be able to shore up some support for The Benevolent Society for the Women of Whitechapel during the night. Even if it’s just to engage the Duchess of Haverford’s public nod of approval for your cause.”

Warmth flooded Kate’s heart. The duchess’s support would indeed go a long way to repairing any damage Lady Stanton might have done. “Thank you. Both of you. I must confess, I’d all but given up on the idea of attending. But if you would do that for me, I would be most grateful. And you know, I think it would be beneficial if you were to be presented to the duchess as Mr. and Mrs. Woodville. It might help to quell any gossip. Not that there’s likely to be any, but you never know ...”

Violet’s brow lowered into a deep frown. “I’m quite worried how Mama will take the news. If we could just secure Anthony’s support ...”

Kate touched her arm. “I think your brother will warm to the idea of your marriage in time. It was quite a shock to find out you’d eloped.”

Freddie’s mouth flattened. “I’m still fuming about Stanton’s cavalier treatment of you, Katie. How hypocritical of him to be worried about Violet being ruined when that’s exactly what he did to you!”

“Shhh.” Kate looked back toward the small group on the portico. Most of the villagers attending the Christmas Day church service had moved on, but still, one couldn’t be too careful. “I have not been ruined. How many times do I need to say that? No one knows about my unconventional trip here with Lord Stanton, and the events of last night, except Uncle Harold and you two. And if we just keep it that way, it will all blow over.”

Freddie snorted. “If I didn’t despise the man so much I’d insist he make an offer for you, Katie.”

Violet’s eyes lit up and she clapped her ands together. “Oh, that would be wonderful. Anthony would make a most excellent husband for you, Kate. He really is very sweet beneath all his scowls.”

Kate shook her head. “I’m sorry, Violet. Please do not take it as personal slight, but I do not wish to marry your brother, or indeed, anyone. Certainly not a man who has been coerced into marrying me.” She arched an eyebrow as she looked at Freddie. “I could think of nothing worse.”

Violet leaned her head against Freddie’s shoulder and Kate couldn’t help but envy their happiness just a little. “Oh, Kate, you are missing out on so much. But I understand your reluctance to wed unless it is a love-match. I really do.”

Freddie gave Violet a little squeeze. “There is much to recommend marriage under the right circumstances.”

The right circumstances. Nothing was right about the circumstances surrounding her and Lord Stanton. He might have kissed her, but it didn’t really mean anything. It only happened because they’d both imbibed too much wine and they’d succumbed to the impulse to follow a silly Christmas tradition.

Although nothing about that kiss had felt silly. Or inconsequential. If Lord Stanton cared for her ... Or even loved her ... Kate mentally shook her head. Good heavens, she must still be feeling the effects of the wassail punch to be entertaining such ludicrous thoughts. Lord Stanton had barely regarded her all morning.

He was clearly regretting their kiss and wanted nothing more to do with her, especially after her tirade last night. Not that he didn’t deserve a decent scolding for attacking Freddie.

Freddie and Violet broke into her thoughts as they bid her adieu, then arm-in-arm, made their way to their waiting carriage beyond the lychgate. Kate had shared a carriage with her uncle whilst Lord Stanton had walked the mile and a half to the church on his own. Her gaze wandered back to the portico, which was a mistake; Lord Stanton was looking directly at her, and despite the bitter cold of the morning, her face grew warm beneath the weight of his somber stare.

She dare not contemplate what he was thinking.

Turning away, Kate followed the gritted path toward the graveyard for something to do whilst she waited for Uncle Harold to finish conversing with the vicar. Neither of her parents were buried here at St. Stephen’s in the Woodville family plot. They’d both passed away in London.

She missed her mother and her strength. She wondered what she would advise her to do in this situation. Harden her heart and continue along the lonely path of independent spinsterhood or look for love in life? She’d never believed in the idea of true love before, but seeing Freddie and Violet together and their incandescent happiness, it made her wonder if she should be more open-hearted in the future. Frivolous mistake or not, no matter how much she wanted to deny it, Lord Stanton’s kiss had awakened a side of her she never knew existed. Made her foolishly dream about love. About having a family of her own. And children ...

“Miss Woodville.”

Kate started and turned to find Lord Stanton close by. “My lord,” she said stiffly but added nothing else. She had no idea why he should want to speak with her.

He looked tired as if he hadn’t slept in a week. There were dark circles beneath his gray eyes and his wide mouth was set in a grim line. Kate shivered. Whatever he was about to tell her couldn’t be good. But when he didn’t say anything at all and the tense silence continued, Kate prompted, “I don’t suppose you wanted to wish me a Merry Christmas again ...”

He gave a small huff at that. “My apologies. I don’t feel particularly merry this morning.” He glanced away, over her shoulder toward the graves before his gaze returned to hers. “I wanted to apologize to you. For last night. I had too much to drink and my manners deserted me. I shouldn’t have kissed you. It was wrong. And I’m sorry. If you agree, I think we should both forget it ever happened.”

Kate fought to keep her expression neutral even as the sharp prick of rejection pierced her heart. Which was quite absurd because hadn’t she been trying to tell herself the very same thing, last night and all this morning?

She drew in a steadying breath, praying her voice wouldn’t quiver. “Yes,” she said, attempting to plaster a polite smile on her face, “I agree. Let us forget all about it. It meant nothing. Nothing at all.”

Lord Stanton inclined his head. “Thank you ... As I said last night, you are remarkable.”

And then he turned on his booted heel and walked away.

Oh. Kate gripped the nearest headstone as a blast of regret hit her. Why did he have to go and say that? For one mad moment, it made her think that perhaps she’d somehow got everything wrong.

But as Lord Stanton’s tall, rigid form disappeared behind the hedge abutting the lychgate, her sensible, ever-practical side told her that she hadn’t. He might have bestowed another compliment, but he was just trying to soothe the sting of his ungallant behavior.

Wasn’t he?