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“Anne,” he said in a ragged voice.

  “Robert.” She rose and held him, leaning her face against his lapel as he slumped against the wall. “I love you,” she whispered. “A few more days. A week. A month. Soon, we will be together. But you must not leave.”

  He seemed almost ready to agree. She could swear she saw the beginnings of a weak nod. Then their hiding place was filled with light as the curtain drew back.

  Barbara Lampett’s face was shocked pink at the sight of them. Anne wondered what, if anything, she had seen, how long she had been standing there, and whether she’d heard their muffled groans.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, “I had no idea…” She turned quickly, shielding her eyes.

  Robert stepped in front of her, pulling composure from thin air with a quiet curse. Then he said, “I am sorry you were a witness to my disgraceful behavior, Miss Lampett. And that you had to experience it, Miss Clairemont.”

  He was speaking so hurriedly, spinning wild lies to hide her part in it. “My fate is in your hands, miss,” he said to Barbara, “as is the honor of a lady…I will be leaving Mr. Stratford’s home early in the New Year and returning to London. There will be no further risk of another incident.” And without another word he walked away from her.

  In his absence Anne was babbling apologies, pleading with Barbara, admitting to everything. And God help her, she was weeping. Why could she not manage to stop? Perhaps Robert was right. He should not stay in the house until this was settled. Each time she saw him, she would want him. If she could not hold her tongue and dissemble now, what might happen next time?

  But if he was not there, how could she find the strength to end it?

  The other girl hugged her, shushed her sobs and promised she would keep the secret. And when the housekeeper called out to her from the end of the hall, Barbara dropped the curtain and answered, pretending that she had been alone and leaving Anne to compose herself.

  As if that was even possible. She suspected that composure was to be a thing of the past. Life had been so much easier when she had not expected more from her future than peace and quiet. Now that she had begun seeking happiness it seemed that, no matter what she did, there would be shouting and tears from someone. Perhaps from several someones.

  Without a Christmas miracle, someone would need to be badly hurt and she would be the one at fault.

  Chapter Six

  It was just past dawn on Christmas morning. And judging by the sounds emanating from the front hall, Joseph Stratford had gone mad. It hardly came as a surprise. Robert had found him wandering in the house wearing his nightshirt just a few days ago. His condition had deteriorated steadily since then, with dark hollows forming in his cheeks and bags under his sleepless eyes.

  It was probably just as well that Robert had forced himself to stay another night, if only so that he might calm the wild man and get him to cease from shouting Merry Christmas before his guests took notice of him. “Stop making such a racket, Stratford, or you will wake the whole house.”

  Joseph was grinning like an idiot and pumping his hand as though he expected water to spout from his mouth. “A Merry Christmas to you, Breton. And might I take this moment to say I never had a truer friend, nor a better partner.”

  “And I might say the same of you,” Breton said, feeling even worse than he had. No matter how he might feel for Anne, he could not keep lying to his friend. “And that is why I must speak. I know it is not the time or place. But there is something I wish to discuss. I did not get a wink of sleep last night and I do not think I can stand…”

  But Stratford would not stop speaking. Robert increased his volume and his tempo, trying to shout his confession over the other man’s ravings.

  Then he stopped. For he had been almost certain, a moment ago, that Joseph had said he was going to break his engagement to Anne.

  Robert’s own words slowed to a trickle, as he tried to comprehend what his friend was saying. Stratford was about to ride to town, visit the Clairemonts and put an end to the betrothal. And more than that, he was urging Robert to act.

  How did Stratford know? What had he heard or seen? Had Barbara Lampett spilled their secret? And why did he care? For it did not seem that Stratford did. Robert had but to give the man a few minutes to set the cat amongst the Clairemont pigeons. And then, he could ride to the rescue, stepping in to offer for the distraught Miss Anne.

  It was not quite as he’d hoped. It would have been better if he’d been able to persuade Anne to make the break. But after what had occurred yesterday, he had no right to wish for further proof of the girl’s devotion to him. Some young ladies might find the strength to act against their parents’ wishes. Others never would. He would have to be content.

  And yet? He still wished for her to be strong.

  But perhaps she would grow so, with time. It was a problem for another day. For now, Robert paced the stones of the front walk, waiting for his horse to be brought round to him.

  Or would a carriage be better? He did not wish to give the wrong impression. Then he laughed as he realized that there was no need to worry. He could go in rags to their doorstep and it would not matter. He would not leave their home until they had promised Anne to him. Assuming that Stratford was as good as his word, of course. With a madman, it was hard to tell.

  But when he arrived at the Clairemonts’ home, it was clear his friend had come and gone, leaving chaos in his wake. The house was in an uproar, with whispering servants tripping up and down stairs and the sound of incessant weeping coming from the parlor.

  Mr. Clairemont met him in the entry hall, his expression as firm and unpleasant as ever. “Mr. Breton, it is Christmas morning and hardly the time for a social call.”

  “I can think of none better, sir,” Robert said, grinning back at him. “I wish to discuss with you a matter of some importance.”

  “And I said, now is not the time for that,” Clairemont responded, somewhat louder.

  “If you are referring to the hubbub that your family is in? Then I can go far to set it to rights. I wish to offer for your daughter’s hand.”

  For a moment, Mr. Clairemont could not manage to decide between bluster and relief. At last, he decided to bluff. “She is spoken for, sir.”

  “And I say she is not. You might try to keep it a secret, Mr. Clairemont, but I doubt it will last longer than the morning.” Not if he could help it. If the entire town did not know by nightfall, Robert would spread the story himself. “Do not think you will win Mr. Stratford back through pleading. I think his affections are fixed elsewhere, and I am equally sure that once he broke his engagement to your daughter, he was off to another, eager to plight his troth.” At least, Robert hoped that the mania he had exhibited was a sign of love and not a reason to send him in a cart to Bedlam.

  “He did not break the engagement!” Clairemont almost shouted. “It was that foolish girl that did it. She ruined everything.”

  Robert smiled. It seemed he had been given the only gift he wanted. Anne had broken it off after all. It had taken some pressing, of course. But in the end, she had removed the last shadow between them. “I am sorry, Clairemont. But with all due respect, I will not allow you to speak so of Anne. I have seen nothing foolish about her, other than her decision to accept Stratford. But since she agreed to that only to make you happy, I cannot fault her for it.”

  “That is utter nonsense,” the man spouted back. “It was an excellent match. Truly, the best she was likely to get in this area.”

  “Then you could have taken her to London,” Robert pointed out, offering a silent apology to his friend. “There she might have caught a title, for I swear she is as lovely as any girl at Allmack’s. But she was willing to stay in York and marry into trade to get your house back for you.” He gave the man a sharp look. “If it had been me, I’d have been happy enough to have a living, breathing daughter capable of such selfless love that she would sacrifice herself to fix your mistakes.”

  “She did not mind,�
�� her father insisted. But there was the first sign of doubt in his voice.

  “I do,” Robert said. “I am the one who loves her, and the feeling is reciprocated. I can give you a hundred reasons why I am the better man for her. But that is the only one that matters. Now are you going to offer excuses, while you try to find some other husband that suits you? Or will you let her follow her heart?”

  There was a dangerous pause. And for a moment he feared that Anne’s father would ban him from the house for his impudence. Then, without another word, Clairemont stepped out of his way and gestured toward the parlor.

  When he entered, Anne was there, her arms wrapped around the weeping Mrs. Clairemont, crooning almost as though she were holding a child. “There, there, Mother. It will be all right.”

  “How can it be? We have lost so much. So very much.”

  “And yet, you still have much to be happy with,” Robert supplied, startling them both. Anne shot him a quick, triumphant look before it crumbled again into the defeated countenance he was used to seeing when she faced her parents. She remained silent, but her eyes seemed to say, now see what we have done.

  “Lady Clairemont,” Robert said with an attempt at respect, going down on one knee before the woman. “You must not cry. It will be all right, I promise you.

  “Mary is lost,” the woman intoned. “The house is lost. And now, Anne has ruined herself.” She raised her head and shot her daughter a brief accusing look through the handkerchief that half shielded her face.

  There was so much that was wrong about that, he hardly knew where to start. But most of it could be dealt with later. The most important thing was the last. “Anne is not ruined in the least,” he said firmly.

  “She has refused the most eligible man in the Riding. Who would want her, after this disgrace?” her mother demanded.

  “I do.” That ought to be simple enough for even the most distraught mother to understand.

  “You?”

  “She was only marrying Joseph Stratford to please you. But she said nothing, because she would never do a thing to harm or upset you, if it was in her power to do otherwise. I have been trying to persuade her, before it was too late, that she would be much happier should she marry me.”

  He waited for some response that might show the mother had been won over as the father had been.

  But then, Anne spoke. “What he is saying is true, Mother. If there were a way to turn back the clock, to give you what you want, I swear I would do it. But I do not wish to marry Joseph, nor does he want me. I love Robert.”

  It warmed him to the core to hear the words. While she might have spoken them to him in the heat of the moment, he had never imagined she’d find the courage to say them aloud to her family.

  Her mother looked crestfallen. And Robert was sure that the watery gaze she turned on her daughter was meant to weaken her. “If you are sure then, that there is no other way, I suppose we will have to let you have your way in this.” It was said with such obvious disappointment that he was sure the weight of it would break Anne again, and send her back to searching for a course that could please everyone but herself.

  Instead she thought for a moment, and then looked at Robert and smiled. “I am glad that you see it that way. Robert and I will be married at the earliest opportunity.”

  Her mother’s jaw gaped wide in shock. It seemed that she expected Anne to do just as she wished and go running back to Stratford, even when an alternative presented itself. “You cannot…” her mother muttered, now she had realized that her hold was broken.

  “I do not see why not,” Anne said reasonably. “Before Mr. Breton arrived, I had a very interesting conversation with Mr. Stratford. I have not yet explained it all to you, but I am sure you will see, when all is revealed, that it is far better that I should marry Mr. Breton. For now you must trust me. Or not. Do as you choose. But either way I mean to have Robert.”

  The older woman’s face held many emotions, but none of them were pleasant. There was no gratitude, no sign at all that the happiness of her daughter meant a thing to her. In turn, Robert felt rage and resolution. Even if Anne had not found the strength to remove herself from the household, he would have taken her away by force to give her the love and respect that were sorely lacking in her own home.

  She was smiling at him now, open and unreserved, as she had on those first days when her engagement to Joseph had seemed a happy future and not some horrible mistake. “It means my Christmas shall be merry, at any rate.” Her eyes were twinkling with pure devilment, and she showed no sign of setting her parents’ minds at rest. After all they’d put her through, they deserved some share of worry. “And now that you have declared yourself to my parents, Robert, would you be so kind as to walk me to church? It is Christmas morning, after all.”

  “As you wish, Miss Clairemont.” He tried not to smile as he offered his arm to his beloved.

  She gave a sigh of satisfaction. “Exactly as I wish, Mr. Breton. It is, indeed, exactly as I wish.”

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  Christine Merrill lives on a farm in Wisconsin, USA, with her husband, two sons, and too many pets—all of whom would like her to get off the computer so they can check their e-mail. She has worked by turns in theatre costuming, where she was paid to play with period ballgowns, and as a librarian, where she spent the day surrounded by books. Writing historical romance combines her love of good stories and fancy dress with her ability to stare out of the window and make stuff up.

  ISBN: 978-1-4592-1637-2

  Virgin Unwrapped

  Copyright © 2011 by Christine Merrill

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  Christine Merrill, Virgin Unwrapped