Silent Night, Sinful Night Page 22

  “Of course. And I’d also help you keep your sexual appetite in check when it comes to their innocent daughters.”

  “I’m not some kind of sex fiend.”

  “Yet it seems the only thing you’re interested in.”

  “No. Everything about you raises all sorts of healthy appetites in me. I feel . . .” Should he say not so alone? “Connected. Does that make sense?”

  She took three steps, strolling out of the gazebo with her head bent. “I need to think about it.”

  “What’s there to think about?” Winston followed her, walking in a circle around her. “Don’t you want the sole heir of the governor-general of British Honduras at your beck and call?” At that, he left her while he squeezed himself through the fissure in the vines to see whether there were any other guests in the maze or if they could just simply walk out unseen.

  “There was a time I thought I did,” he thought he heard her murmur behind him.

  “What was that?”

  “Oh, nothing. If you’ll excuse me, I need to freshen up.”

  Stepping aside to let her through, he felt slight panic rising in him. She was going to leave him, but he needed her by his side to make sure she behaved. He had to think on his feet now. “Beatrice, I need to go to town later in the day for a bit of Christmas shopping. Care to join me?”

  “I don’t know. I’m not one to make much of a fuss over the holidays. The shops will be crowded and . . .” She seemed so pensive all of a sudden.

  “But you must! Mother isn’t well and I’m tasked with all the new year’s presents for the servants and the few tenants in charge of the orchards. I have no idea what to get the women or any of the children. Besides, don’t I deserve a boon for such a pleasant morning in the maze?”

  She sighed and laughed at the same time. “Humbleness is a virtue, you know. I’ll go. Only for your mother’s sake—and for the sake of the poor servants who would be stuck with your bad choices in gifts.”

  “Jolly good,” Winston drawled, and put on his brightest grin.

  She halted and turned, squinting as if she tried to see into his mind and read what was there. “That’s twice you’ve said that. It does sound strange coming from you. I’d expect it from a commoner, or even a sailor. But you?”

  “I’m more than meets the eye.” Winston shrugged, surrounding himself with an air of casualness.

  “That I’ve already figured out. The rest is a bit hazy still.”

  And that was exactly how it should be, Winston thought. He figured if he kept her guessing enough, she wouldn’t read him as quickly as others and lose interest in him.

  4

  The streets and waterways of Belize Town were crowded as usual. Rosie preferred to stroll on foot through the whitewashed and clay-roofed market as they were, but many others came and went by both small and large boats. The merchants were more than happy to serve customers via land or sea.

  Again Rosie was struck by the contrasts of this place. The shops, stalls, and carts all decked out in their Christmas finery seemed almost mocking amid the crumbling ancient ruins and warm sunshine. It addition to the decorations, every merchant had a sign or ad offering advice on the best gift ideas. Rosie wondered if Winston had really needed her help or if he’d had other motives for asking her along.

  Winston looked around, his eyes darting everywhere in the crowded market. His expression could only be described as overwhelmed. “Where in the world do you suggest we start?”

  “Why don’t we window-shop first? Take a turn around the whole market before we buy anything?”

  “Really? What would that accomplish, just walking and not buying anything?”

  She could easily tell he was not one of those peacocks adept at shopping. Most likely his valet and his mother before that bought all his clothes and most everything else for him, not that he didn’t look just wonderful in those valet-bought clothes.

  “Well, think of it as a battlefield and we’re preparing for battle. The first thing any good warrior would do would be map the scene, then develop a strategy and decide on the best places for attack.” He just stared with almost the same expression, so she tried to explain more. “You wouldn’t want to attack the first spot you come to when there’s a much better spot farther afield but all your ammunition is spent by the time you get there.”

  He continued to stare and blink for another second as if she’d sprouted two heads or turned purple. Finally his concerned look turned into a broad smile “I surrender to your shopping expertise, Captain.” He even bowed, sweeping his arm wide, indication she precede him. “Please, lead the way to victory.”

  “Cheeky!” She gave his arm a light slap as she passed him.

  Soon they made one complete loop past all the shops and stalls and now stopped to peruse the massive window display at the British Mercantile.

  After discussing tactics for this first skirmish, they ambled in. Everything a good British citizen far from home might want was inside. A display of finely crafted Barlow jackknives right next to a magnetic compass in a cherrywood box with brass repoussé and chasing caught her eye. She smiled and tugged Winston’s arm, pulling him toward the case. “I can’t think of a boy on earth who wouldn’t be happy with a knife like that as a gift.”

  Rosie watched Winston’s eyes almost twinkle, perhaps with the memory of his own first jackknife. It was hard to imagine such a large, fit man as a small boy. It must have been nice to get such a treasured holiday gift.

  “That compass . . .” Winston’s words trailed off, but she thought she caught him looking longingly at the piece before he shook himself like he’d just woken from a dream. “I completely agree. A boy’s greatest treasure is a good knife. I knew bringing you along was a capital idea.” Winston waved a salesman over and placed his order.

  They continued to meander through the large store, also picking out four sets of silver sugar cutters tied with a creamcolored silk ribbon to a brown-paper-covered loaf of the finest quality sugar and several leather and silver mugs called blackjacks. The salesman went to the back to gather everything they’d bought and package it together so they could take it with them instead of arranging delivery to the house some time later. “It just feels more like Christmas this way,” Winston explained with a wink.

  Rosie thought it was as good a time as any to try and add more pieces to the brawny, handsome puzzle beside her. “You know, most men in your position would have sent the housekeeper or possibly his valet on this errand.”

  “Who doesn’t enjoy a bit of holiday shopping to get in the spirit of the season?”

  Most people would, she wanted to agree, but she wasn’t sure she’d ever actually felt the spirit of the season. “Still, you must care for your mother very much.”

  “I do. She’s a good woman who hasn’t had the easiest of marriages or the best of health. And I suppose I agreed to come out of guilt, too. I haven’t been around much in the last few years.”

  There again was that vague mention of him having his own mystery pursuits outside the family. They had had this conversation before, and she didn’t expect him to tell her much more this time than he had before—but she had to try. “You mentioned business before, not content to be a man of leisure and the future governor-general?”

  “I have no intention of being the governor-general ever.” The answer was abrupt.

  “Well, you are right. You most certainly aren’t like most men. But doesn’t your family expect you to be?” If he felt some guilt for whatever it was he was off doing, perhaps she could play on that.

  His answer was delayed by the salesman’s return. He handed the brown-paper-wrapped package to Winston and they headed back out to the street.

  Rosie was surprised when he chose to continue their conversation as soon as they emerged into the sunshine. “I’m sure they are still hoping I will do what’s normal for a man of my station. Along with every mother hen in attendance at the house at the moment. But let’s just say I’d like to keep wh
at little soul I have left instead.”

  Rosie raised an eyebrow at such a dire prognosis. “That bad, is it?”

  “It can be.”

  Rosie pointed to a stall selling the perfect present for some of the younger females on the list. Beautiful little knitted bags trimmed with ruffles or netting and beads. They were very well done with intricate patterns of birds or flowers or fruit.

  “Lady Latimer, I concede to your womanly expertise on this one. Pick out the five you like the best.” He bowed and stepped back a little.

  Rosie trailed her hand lightly over the delicate purses. She tried to pick out ones of equal quality but different enough so one girl wouldn’t feel like another’s was better or too similar.

  An odd memory surfaced. Girls she knew when she was younger would make similar things and take them to the back door of millinery shops, hoping to make a few coins or, perhaps even better yet, be hired on in some capacity. Rosie had had higher ambitions than being a dressmaker’s maid. With the help of a good teacher, she’d taken a different route altogether.

  She found the perfect ones, and Winston paid the tanned young mother bouncing a babe on her hip. What she would have given to have gotten a gift like that, just once . . . It was of no matter. She had much finer things than these now.

  Winston surprised her by holding up his hand as the woman gathered with her free hand the bags Rosie had chosen. “Very fine choices. But, tell me, which one do you like the very best?”

  Rosie thought for a moment and picked a simple white and navy one with a bird in the center surrounded by daisies and fine white netting with pearl-like beads for the trim.

  “This one is yours, then.” Winston’s large hands almost looked obscene picking up the dainty object by its thin twisted silk cord.

  “Oh, no, I couldn’t.” She didn’t like him being so nice to her.

  “Of course you can. It’s just a small token to say thank you for the help.”

  Rosie took the bag, folded it gently, and placed it in the larger one she was carrying. She turned her head away and started down the street with a barely audible “Thank you,” coughing the unwanted emotions away.

  When she had the unexpected sentimental outburst under control again and tightly locked up deep within her, she turned the conversation back to him. “So, Mr. Matthews. If not the governor-general, what do you want to be when you grow up?”

  “Having been raised in both England and the West Indies, it’s hard not to develop an affinity for the sea. There is a magic to being at sea that calms me, makes me feel at home. And there is still much money to be made in trade and shipping.”

  “New money. My, my, Mr. Matthews.” She teased. “Not afraid to get your hands dirty, are you?”

  “No, actually, I’m not afraid at all to get my hands dirty in all sorts of ways, half of which you couldn’t imagine.” His hand swept lightly across the small of her back.

  Oh, but she certainly could. Before her cheeks turned bright red with the scandalous thoughts swirling in her head, Rosie searched the vendors’ carts for a distraction. “Oh, look! These bayberry candles would be a very nice gift.”

  Even when she was low on funds, Rosie always bought bayberry candles over tallow when she could find them. They burned better and longer than tallow with a much more pleasant scent, yet they were still a good deal cheaper than beeswax. The bundles of six candles tied with a dark green velvet ribbon and decorated with a sprig of the berries would make a nice gift without being so extravagant the receiver would be afraid to burn them.

  Winston bought ten bundles, and they both laughed when the old woman with very few teeth who sold the candles chanted, “A bayberry candle burned to the socket brings food to the larder and gold to the pocket.”

  Their next stop was a tobacco shop. She thought it would be good for his shopping ego to make at least a few purchases from an establishment where his own expertise far exceeded her own. All men, it seemed, knew their cigars. Rosie closed her eyes and breathed in the warm, dark scents while Winston made his own purchases.

  She hadn’t liked the thought of Christmas shopping, but it had turned out to be a very pleasant day indeed. Satisfied with their shopping, they headed for a small outdoor tea shop for refreshments. They sat in the shade at a small, brightly painted table, eating bite-sized mincemeat pies and sipping dragon fruit, lime, and mango punch.

  “You know, Beatrice, we’ve done hardly anything but talk about me on our outing. Tell me something about you.”

  “Like what?” When working, Rosie always tried to keep personal details at a bare minimum. Even with a well-thoughtout cover, the less information given, the better was always the rule.

  “Like what gifts did you enjoy getting for Christmas as a child?”

  Even with all her experience as a charlatan, Rosie wasn’t sure what to say to that. The truth was, she’d never gotten any. Maybe it was the holiday spirit that permeated the market despite the heat or some ridiculous sense of gratitude for such a small, silly gift she’d just received, but she gave him something as close to the truth as she’d ever dared. “I hate to dampen any of the merriment of the occasion, but I’m afraid I didn’t really get holiday gifts as a child.”

  “A lady of your station and who I’m sure was equally as beautiful as a child as now, why ever not?” Winston wasn’t joking. He looked genuinely saddened.

  She hated that. “When my father came to the West Indies, I was left behind with a puritan aunt who didn’t pay much attention to me or celebrate Christmas as most puritans don’t. After she died, I was sent to a girls’ school where almost all of the students went home for the holidays. There was a fine meal for the few of us who stayed but no gifts really. I wasn’t reunited with any family until I came of age.” The truth was, there were no parents or aunt. Although St. Nicholas’s Hospital for Better Education of Gifted Young Women was something of a school, it was more of an orphanage. They did have a fine meal every year provided by a local ladies’ charity auxiliary.

  But Rosie wasn’t bitter. She’d learned a trade she excelled at and made her way quite well enough.

  Winston set his cup down and took her hand. “But you’re not with your family this year either?”

  She gave his hand a slight squeeze, then let it go. It was harder somehow to tell her story with him touching her. “No. Mother went back to England for the winter, as funny as that is, and I agreed to accompany Lady Ellenton here as her companion.” She had actually uncovered that the elderly lady’s original companion was in need of some very quick cash, and Rosie had bribed her into not coming so she could take her place.

  That twinkle from earlier was back in his eye, like some great idea had suddenly dawned on him. “I will make it my personal mission to make this your best Christmas ever, then.”

  That was not a great idea. In fact, it was a very, very bad one. “No, really. You shouldn’t bother. It doesn’t matter to me. Isn’t finding Lady Ponsonby’s necklace your current personal mission?”

  “But how can I resist the challenge? I live for a good challenge or two at one time as the case may be.” He chuckled at his own wit.

  Rosie really didn’t want anyone, least of all Winston, trying to make up for something she’d convinced herself didn’t matter anyway. But she wanted to keep the mood light. His charm was contagious. “Oh, I can tell that you do. Why not try three or four challenges all at once?”

  They laughed then, finished their punch, and left the restaurant to head back without more discussion on the matter.

  During the lazy ride back in the open carriage, Rosie knew she should have protested more, but the thought of experiencing a happy holiday with someone like Winston suddenly had an appeal. Rosie wanted stability more than anything in the world. The reason why spending the holiday with him held a draw for her was because somehow it felt real and solid, even if she didn’t understand why it did. She’d never had a safe, stable life, never been able to depend on anyone but herself. But she’d co
nvinced herself she liked it that way.

  To her, money was the only thing that mattered, the only thing that equaled power and safety. She was constantly searching for the one mark that would give her the big payoff—that would let her retire. But there never seemed to be a last one— only the next one. She’d thought maybe the necklace was it, or maybe it was Winston.

  Rosie had to admit, it was a lovely holiday so far, all due to Winston. And now he wanted it to be her happiest holiday ever. Did he really? And, more importantly, did she want that, too?

  Rosie shook off the sentimentality. It was too dangerous in her line of work. Early in her career, she’d learned too many harsh lessons about trusting people to believe his motives were anything but ulterior. She was getting sloppy, and it had to stop. He had taken her far off her target. That had most likely been his plan all along.

  She was going to find the right time to prove he’d taken the necklace and get herself back on track with her original goal.

  Winston couldn’t say why, but he felt like hopping up the stairs and whistling a tune. Instead, he took two stairs at a time, eager to get to his room. He needed to freshen up and change for dinner and the party that was to follow.

  I’ve heard of a girl . . .

  When he’d given her that purse, Beatrice had been mortified and she hadn’t known how to react but to run to the next stall.

  Who lives by herself . . .

  Winston didn’t think the memory would ever fade. He’d nearly felt sorry for her then and there. But he’d enjoyed her predicament too much. He had witnessed the struggle on her face when she was torn between a giddy grin and an embarrassed frown. Evidently, she hadn’t seen that many Christmas presents in her life, if any, but now because of him she had at least one.

  Waiting for his boat . . .

  He didn’t really have any idea why it felt so special for him when he knew it shouldn’t matter all that much.