Page 33 of How the Belle Stole Christmas

The Duchess of Hardwicke, Fiona Everly, née McClane, adjusted her fan and stepped onto the polished floor. Music swirled around her as couples filled the space at this private Christmas house party. Fewer than two dozen guests had been invited, carefully chosen for this quiet, intimate celebration.

“Shall we?” Baron Ellis Thornbury bowed with a flourish.

Fiona forced a polite smile and let him lead her into the dance. His hand closed around hers, his posture stiff, his smile unyielding. She felt absurdly like a nervous debutante—her palms damp and her stomach in knots.

He was not much taller than she was, only by a few inches, a stark contrast to her husband, who towered over her.

Why was she comparing him to her husband?

She couldn’t say. But she had to admit that his shorter stature made the dance physically easier. She did not have to crane her neck to look up; her hand rested neatly on his shoulder while the other lay in his palm.

He moved confidently, and she could not deny that the steps flowed well.

Still, something about this evening irritated her. Thornbury’s cologne stung her nose, his voice grated against her ears, and the ballroom air pressed down, heavy and stifling.

“Has anyone ever told you that you have the most extraordinary blue eyes?” the baron asked.

Nobody seems to ever tell me anything else. Fiona bit back the words. “Eh, well, thank ye, my lord.”

“Oh, please, Fiona, darling. I’ve asked you to call me Ellis a million times.”

Yet, I have never given ye leave to call me Fiona. “Of course, Ellis.”

He grinned, candlelight catching in his eyes. “Dearest Fiona, you know I keep quite the collection of jewels in my safe. I daresay there’s a sapphire necklace that would suit your eyes perfectly…” His voice drifted off, the meaning unmistakable—if only she would agree to be his mistress.

This was hardly the first time he had hinted at offering her such a position. Nor was he the only one. Everyone knew her marriage was a cold one, yet no one seemed to understand the strange, steadfast devotion she and her husband had shown each other for decades.

Nobody knew of their agreement.

She and her husband had decided there would be no liaisons and no scandals until both their children were safely wed.

Now, four full months free of that bargain, Fiona told herself she was ready to embark on this new phase of life—a life without Edward. Yet she could not quite bring herself to imagine Baron Thornbury as the man she would take to her bed.

She could have picked someone else. But the younger men seemed hardly more than boys in her eyes. Thornbury was a few years her senior. And he was a baron. Respectable, titled.

Not that such things mattered. She carried her own rank, and nothing outranked a duchess except the queen. Still, it seemed somehow lowering to take a man without a title, as if it would demean her husband’s name or his pride.

Why Edward’s pride should matter to her at all, she could not say. Yet it did.

For her own conscience, she would rather choose a man who was unmarried or a widower…

She couldn’t imagine being in the place of Thornbury’s wife, inviting guests to her house party, only for her husband to dally with them.

Though she also took lovers to her bed. They had led openly separate lives for decades now.

“I would love to show you the full extent of my collection of jewels,” Thornbury said, his grin smug. “You would find it quite diverting, I think. People claim it rivals the King’s in size. I even acquired the infamous unbreakable lock to guard it—the Braham lock. Have you heard of it?”

“Aye, of course.” Fiona managed a soft smile.

“Unbreakable, unpickable. No one has yet opened it without a key. And I keep my key hidden well,” he said with a wink. “But I can arrange a special viewing just for you if you wish.”

She nodded politely. “Mm… absolutely.”

“My father was the true collector,” Thornbury continued, puffing with pride.

“He traveled widely to acquire the rarest stones. Have you seen turquoise? I daresay it would suit you better than sapphire. He brought a cache of them from France, though of course, they are mined in Persia. My father never ventured so far.”

Fiona smiled politely, letting him continue his one-sided conversation. Dear Lord, please, dinna let this night be so dull.

If Edward were here, he would already have made her laugh.

More than once, he had driven her to such helpless mirth that champagne came bubbling from her nose, his wit as sharp as it was unexpected.

He had never cared much for dancing. In all their years together, they had managed perhaps a dozen turns at most. Yet she could still recall the weight of his hand at her back, large and steady, warm enough to span her whole waist.

She pressed her lips together, fighting the ache. No doubt Edward was not thinking of her now. He was surely amusing himself with some eager, youthful beauty—something he had been waiting decades to indulge.

Why she was so undesirable to him while other men fawned over her would forever remain a mystery.

A loud bang came from somewhere outside the ballroom, followed by a sharp scream.

Everyone stilled, and for a brief moment, Fiona was glad she could step away from her dance partner before the dance was over.

But relief soon turned to worry as the orchestra stopped playing, eerie silence enveloping the ballroom so everyone could hear shouts coming from downstairs.

A crash followed, then more shouts, and the sounds of footsteps moving closer and closer.

Fiona froze in place, her eyes darting around in fear. “What—?”

Ellis straightened, looking confused and frightened. “It must be the servants! Probably broke a vase, the clumsy lot.”

How long did it take for someone to break a vase?

A second scream came, closer this time, and then another bang.

This time, Fiona knew exactly what she was hearing. It was the unmistakable crack of a pistol firing.

Fiona’s stomach dropped. Her heart raced. Something was very, very wrong. “I dinna think it’s the servants…”

All eyes turned toward the main double doors, the clatter of footsteps getting closer from the corridor.

Fiona’s panicked gaze assessed the ballroom, searching for possible exits.

The doors leading to the balconies were closed against the storm.

It was certainly an avenue of escape, except they were on the second floor.

A jump from that height, even onto the snow, was bound to hurt.

Two side doors punctuated the far wall, leading to the music room. But that room was backed into a corner, with no other doors aside from the ones into the ballroom. No way out.

The main double doors burst wide, crashing against the walls.

A rush of cool air swept in, snuffing several candles and drawing startled gasps. Six—no, seven—men surged inside, kerchiefs tied across their faces, pistols leveled at the crowd.

Highwaymen!

Gasps and screams filled the room.

The tallest of them all, with wild dark hair and a scar across his brow, stepped forward. “Nobody move! Anyone runs, anyone screams, and ye die.”

The crowd stilled at once.

Fiona’s heart pounded.

Another man, much younger than the first judging by his eyes, moved closer to Ellis. He sneered. “Ye remember me, don’t ye?”

Ellis’s lips trembled. “I don’t.”

“Of course ye don’t,” the man spat. “I used to be yer footman until just a few days ago. Cast out right before Christmas like a cur, thrown out on my arse. Ye might no’ remember nor care… But I do.”

“Y-you! You stole from me!” Ellis squeaked. “That’s why you were turned away.”

“All I took were the old rags ye didn’t need. But tonight… Tonight I’ll take back what ye owe me.”

Ellis stammered, his face pale.

The younger highwayman grabbed him by the coat and shoved him toward the far wall. “Show me to yer safe. Now.”

Guests pressed together in fright. Lady Pelham, an older woman standing by Fiona’s side, gasped and swayed on her feet. Fiona bolted toward her and managed to catch her just before she fell to the floor and hit her head.

It seemed Fiona’s prayers had been answered…

Tonight is not going to be dull after all.