Disenchanted Christmas Read online

  But where?

  By the time she finally reached her destination, her fingers were frozen and her brain wasn't far behind. When she opened the front door, she tripped over the corner of the rug and fell into his arms.

  * * * *

  Blake had heard a rustling, scraping sort of noise at the door and just as he crossed the floor to investigate, it had opened and Bethany tumbled in. He left off fussing with his necktie in order to catch her. Shock tightened his chest. She was cold and shivering.

  "What the hell?" He half dragged, half carried her to his wingback chair and gently pushed her into it. Grabbing a blanket, he tucked it around her then bent to add another log to the fire. "What happened? Why are you not at the restaurant?"

  "I … I have been let go." Her eyes swam with tears, magnifying her distress, and when she met his gaze, he was taken aback by the unfathomable sadness there. "In one week I have lost everything, Blake. Everything. I cannot provide for the children any longer, but I cannot give them up."

  To his mortification, the tears overflowed onto her cheeks. "They fired you? Why?" He withdrew a handkerchief from the pocket of his trousers and pressed it into her hand. "Did you do something wrong?"

  "Depends on how you look at it." She blew her nose. "It appears my bad luck has sullied my reputation and made me unfit for work at the illustrious hotel."

  "I am so sorry." He felt ineffectual. Her tears discomfited him and triggered an answering helplessness. "Did our … my arrangement color the decision?" The last thing he wanted on his conscience was to be the crux of her destruction. Kneeling down, he grasped her hand. "How can I be of assistance?" Magic would help, but how to impart it secretly in order for it to be useful?

  "Aunt Bethany!" The shrill cry interrupted whatever she would have said as John pelted down the stairs and rushed through the room.

  Blake glanced over his shoulder, speechless.

  "Why did you make Aunt Bethany cry?" An expression of fierce protection crossed his little face as his fists pummeled against Blake's back.

  "Easy now." He turned, holding up his hands to defend against the attack. "John, I would never make your aunt cry. I wanted to find out who did. Will you let me do this?"

  John frowned with his bottom lip thrust forward. He pointed a chubby index finger. "I am not leaving. I am the man of the house."

  Sure to stifle his laughter, Blake nodded. "I agree. You and I need to have a conversation about just that after I am through here."

  The boy gave him a solemn nod.

  Blake met Bethany's moist gaze. "Talk to me."

  "It was nothing you did or said. Most likely, the owner will replace all the girls he thinks are not attractive enough. Some of us had long feared this eventuality." She shrugged. "It does put me in a precarious, and very desperate, situation." She reached out a hand and ruffled John's curls. "All of us."

  "Do we have to move again in the middle of the night?" He twined the fingers of one hand into the fringe of her blanket. "I like it at Mr. Wenchal's house. I feel happy when he is here. Like it is Christmas all the time."

  "Thank you for the compliment, young one." He forced a laugh even though his stomach clenched. The boy was very close to the truth.

  Her glance swept between him and John. "No, sweetheart, we will not be moving—at least not right away. We will stay until Christmas, I promise." She bent and pressed a kiss to his cheek, invoking a stab of jealousy in Blake’s chest. "Go upstairs and wake your sister. We will need to leave for school soon enough."

  He watched the youngster scurry to do her bidding then turned his attention to Bethany. His heart lurched when she gave him a smile. "Do not trouble yourself, Bethany. I will escort Sarah to school. You stay in the warmth." When he attempted to rise to his feet, the gentle touch of her hand on his arm stopped him.

  "In light of the new circumstances, I would like to begin earning the money you offered me as soon as possible." She swallowed and lifted her chin. "I meant what I said, once Christmas is over, I will take the children elsewhere and you may return to your previous lifestyle."

  As if that would ever be possible in this lifetime.

  Her devout insistence over payment continued to irk him. "Is that all you want from this arrangement?" Suddenly, the shaky grasp he had on recreating a nostalgic Christmas slipped from his hands. "Damn it, Bethany, I can go to the bank right now and withdraw every cent I promised." Careful to lower his voice, he continued, "We will go upstairs, have sex and you can be on your way. Is that what you see happening? Is that what you wished for? No romance, no soft words or mutual kisses building up to the moment? Just the deed, the exchange of money and nothing else?"

  When she didn't answer immediately, he shot to his feet, raking the fingers of one hand through his hair, unable to understand why the annoyance cut so deep. "I had thought we would operate on the pretense of being a family for the next ten days, perhaps cushion the blow of our original business plan. Obviously, you are very determined to focus on the carnal. Is that what you want?" His ears tingled and his nose itched.

  Damn it. He would not lose control. Not now.

  "You do not understand." She clambered into a standing position. The blanket slipped to the floor like a soft puddle. Outrage rolled from her in waves while her chest heaved with the force of her emotion. "I need the money to survive. What the hell do you know about struggling to make ends meet or counting every penny to make the decision between food and wood to heat your home?"

  God, she was beautiful even in the midst of high temper.

  He lifted an eyebrow at her use of a vulgarity and returned her glare. "Yet, I have offered you my home. For the foreseeable future you will not need to worry about your financial needs. Let me take care of you and the children. Why do you insist on making this so difficult?"

  "Because you are difficult." Her eyes darted and focused on something behind him. With a falsely bright voice, she said, "I thank you for the shelter, but I cannot, in good conscience, take your money unless I give you something in return. I refuse to be a charity case so that you might assuage your own guilt."

  He frowned. She wasn't far from the truth, but he felt the presence of the children behind him and wished to abandon the conversation. He could hear the slight exhalation of their breathing. When he spoke, he made sure it was in a whisper, "Then give up this foolish notion that whoring yourself is the best way." He reached out and slowly unwound the scarf from her neck. "Your presence here is enough. I cannot tell you the last time my home ushered in Christmas."

  Her chin trembled and he felt that same tremor echo over her skin as he brushed a finger along her jaw.

  "But after Christmas we need—"

  "Shh." Blake leaned forward until he could smell her elusive floral soap. "We will throw our efforts into the holiday. The future will meet us soon enough without wasting time worrying about it." When she gave him a tiny nod, he swung around to acknowledge the children who huddled together near the stairs.

  Two sets of big blue eyes peered at him with a mixture of sadness and hope. John had two fingers in his mouth while Sarah looked from him to Bethany then back again.

  If he had learned nothing else from his stint in the Northern Realm, it was how to coax a human into a better mood. "How is it possible that such angelic creatures like you can look so sad, especially when your Aunt Bethany and I are planning to search the neighborhood this evening for pine branches and the like to start our grand decorations." Ah, there was his reward. The smallest of smiles from the girl, but he wanted to banish the haunted air as well.

  From the whole tattered family.

  He edged closer to them.

  "Hmm, and I would wager if we went next door and badgered Mrs. Abermarle, she might bake a sweet or two, what do you think, Sarah?" The sense of duty he'd felt the moment this bunch spilled in from his doorstep grew. His own childhood holidays had been happy times. All he wanted was to share those same days with these two.

  After what seemed like
endless seconds, Sarah's smile widened and her eyes twinkled. "Do you think she will make us gingerbread? It's my favorite."

  He felt that grin all the way down to his toes as if it were a swallow of hot coffee. "Sweetheart, I think if you believe in something hard enough, it will come true."

  Please believe, he reminded himself.

  John jumped up and down beside his sister. "Can we have paper chains and if it snows real big can we make angels and snowmen?"

  "Of course." Blake wondered if he hadn't made a huge mistake putting off marriage all this time. Had he offered marriage to any of the women he'd been with over the years, perhaps he'd have had a couple of children of his own. Perhaps that was the magical key to his destiny among the human race.

  Shoving the thought away, he grinned. "However, with this weak snowfall, I doubt it, little man. Best start praying for a good storm, but yes to the paper chains and maybe hot cocoa for afterwards, especially if we tease your aunt long enough. Now, please, your dressing is only half done. You are trying your aunt's patience as it is."

  They didn't need a second scolding.

  Chuckling, he turned to address Bethany. Her expression mirrored the same hope and anticipation that the children's did except hers had the power to melt his bones. "Sit down. I'll bring you a cup of tea then I am off with Sarah. There is one problem."

  "Tell me." Some of the joy dimmed in her eyes.

  "I have no idea which school she goes to or how to get there."

  "I suspected as much." She laughed then, a bright, tinkling sound that recalled fairy stories and the silly tales of the elves from Santa's workshop.

  If she only knew the truth about elves and their dark sides and vices.

  Bethany smiled. "Do not trouble yourself, Father Christmas. I will take John and see to Sarah's needs. This, at least, is something I know how to do for you."

  He nodded. "Thank you but no. I will see to them." No matter how proud the woman was, he would see to it that she had a happy Christmas as well.

  The prospect of playing house had never seemed more exciting. Whether Miss Cundiff realized it or not, she would end up in his bed eventually. His hope was that she'd come of her own choice and because she truly desired his company. That would be a perfect gift.

  What he wouldn't give for a Christmas miracle and for the first time he wondered if he should attempt to ask the Sovereign for a personal favor.

  * * * *

  After escorting Sarah to school, Blake and John set out for home through the gently falling snow. John seemed more concerned about his footprints on the sidewalk as he talked of inconsequential things. Most of the chatter flowed unheard through Blake's head until the word elf stopped him, literally, in his tracks.

  "I beg your pardon?"

  John gave him a bright-eyed glance. "I know about the elves, Mr. Wenchal. They're everywhere, watching us in case we cause mischief. They tell Santa." The boy sucked on his first two fingers then popped them out of his mouth. "You do not act like a grown up."

  "Why's that?" He refused to give away the facts if his companion didn't really suspect.

  "You laugh a lot. Grown-ups do not. They frown and grumble, like Aunt Bethany."

  "I see. Is that the only reason?" He held out a gloved hand and his insides warmed when John slid his much smaller one into it.

  "No. Your ears look pointy even though you try to cover them with your hat and sometimes they do it when you talk to Aunt Bethany."

  Cold dread trickled down Blake's spine. The boy did know, but he didn't quite have the whole story correct. "What if I told you I am an elf? Would you believe me?"

  "Yes."

  The simple acceptance of Blake's heritage surprised him. "You would not be afraid? A good portion of the time, elves are not the happy, short people portrayed in storybooks. They have other jobs than merely making toys."

  "I am not scared." John's gaze met his. "You should tell Aunt Bethany you are an elf. Are you afraid?"

  "Actually, yes." Speaking the thought aloud drove home his internal fears. "She will hate me because I am different."

  "Mr. Wenchal." This time John tugged on Blake's hand until they both stopped in the middle of a crowded intersection. "Believing is seeing. How can Aunt Bethany believe in you if you do not show her? Sometimes grown-ups need a lot of help."

  "True." He frowned, looked around at the milling pedestrian traffic that flowed about then nodded. "How did you get so wise for your age?"

  John shrugged. "Just growed like that I guess." A sly smile lifted his lips. "Can I see your ears?"

  "No. That is a secret for another time." Blake heaved a sigh. At least his identity was partially out in the open and the world as he knew it hadn't ended. Perhaps he could actually be himself this Christmas after all.

  Chapter Six

  Bethany yawned. She drew her needle through the fabric, frowning when a knot snagged the thread. Early yet on this Monday morning, and behind in her needlework, she'd risen before the children were awake, hoping the quiet would encourage her fingers to fly.

  She hadn't counted on the tiredness that settled into her bones like lead. Constant worry about their situation plagued her and stole her sleep. Recently, John had developed restless dreams in which he'd cry out and wake, shivering and talking of incoherent things. In most, he would babble about an elf. Not knowing what tormented him or why he'd developed the obsession with a mythical being, she did her best to soothe the boy, but remained on alert for the rest of the night.

  Now, she suffered from the sacrifice. "Oh, drat." Snipping the thread with a tiny pair of scissors, she rooted in her basket for a matching skein of the thread. "Hell’s bells," she muttered upon not finding any of the same.

  "Such unladylike language."

  Bethany sighed as she lifted her head and spied Blake lurking in the doorway. "Good morning. I hope I did not wake you." Frustrated, she tossed the handkerchief and the tools into the basket and slammed the lid shut.

  "You did not. In fact, I waited until I heard you rise before I began dressing." He advanced into the room to settle himself on the hearth near her rocking chair. "I promised the children yesterday we would gather pine boughs. With all the commotion, it did not happen and I would like to rectify that this morning."

  "You are in luck. The term has ended at Sarah's school and she is on holiday for a few weeks. It is six days to Christmas. Most likely the children will be very excited and very naughty." She met his gaze. "Quite frankly, I could use time to myself in order to complete a few presents."

  Blake's grin nearly knocked her from her seat. "Fear not, my lady. I have also decided to spend a few days at home for the holidays. The bank will not suffer from my absence and I will return next Monday, especially should you decide this arrangement no longer works for you."

  "Yes, well, we will talk of that when the times comes." She battled a severe case of anxiety at the thought of her future. It was nothing to the flutters in her stomach when she looked into his eyes. "You do not need to stay home for us."

  "Oh, I am very selfish in this endeavor." He laid a possessive hand on her knee. Warmth shot up her leg to settle between her thighs. "I wish to spend time with the children. They are only young once, you see, and I have been deprived of enjoying the season for too many years."

  Not trusting the twinkle in his dark gaze, she protested. "They are a handful at present. John especially. I cannot allow it." Panic welled in her throat. She couldn't give the kids into his care without accompanying them.

  "Not to worry. I can handle the boy. I used to be one, you know, and besides, he and I are getting along rather well." He captured her hands with his. "As for Sarah, dear, sweet, sad little Sarah, a nice brisk walk in the cold with the promise of lunch on the town will dash her melancholy away. I suspect she needs a bit of a masculine presence around, or at the very least, an adult to talk to that is not her well-meaning but strict aunt."

  "They need guidance." Her cheeks flamed when he lifted one of her hands
, turned it over and pressed a kiss into her palm, but she didn't pull away.

  She craved his touch, his attention.

  "They need fun and gaiety. They have had enough rules and sadness for two lifetimes. Let them enjoy this time." He gave the same treatment to her other palm. His gaze never wavered from hers. "Consider this your Christmas gift to me. I will make this week as memorable for the two as I possibly can."

  "I have done the best I knew how." She wanted to drown in the depths of his coffee-hued eyes. The warmth of the fire couldn't compare to the inferno he'd started deep inside from his touch or words. "It is so hard being alone."

  Why did she confess her deepest fears to him—almost a stranger—and a man she sensed could be more than a confidant if she'd let him? A man who exuded so strong an otherworldly presence that she wondered exactly what he wasn't telling her.

  "Even more good news. For now, you are not alone." He tugged on her hand and drew her closer until their lips almost touched. "Go wake the children, Miss Cundiff. I am giving you the day off."

  Bethany stared at him as if he'd suddenly sprouted wings. "You cannot mean that. You have no idea what you are committing yourself to." She freed one hand in order to brush the hair from his forehead. Soft and thick, she wanted to run her fingers through to the back, but her courage gave out.

  "I am willing to learn. You would do well to follow my example."

  He caressed her cheek, cupped her chin then claimed her lips with the lightest of kisses. A shiver rocked her body. Tiny ripples began in her stomach and ebbed outward to tighten her nipples and settle deep into her core with a desire she couldn't understand, let alone analyze. Pulling slightly away, she looked into his face and brushed her fingertips along his jaw line as if to memorize his bone structure. It would be so easy to give in. Watching him, she pressed her mouth to his.

  And fell headlong, trusting that he'd catch her.

  The heady sensations were intoxicating. Heat, excitement and longing bounced through her insides, playing havoc with coherent thought and leaving nothing behind but raw desire. She couldn't experience them fast enough. So quickly did she quest after them that she nearly toppled from the rocking chair and was obliged to grip his shoulders to stay seated. In many ways, it was an unfortunate move because she felt the hardness of his body, the texture of the tweed on his suit coat and the smelled the strong scent of his soap.