Free Christmas By Candlelight: Two Regency Holiday Novellas by Andrea Pickens Page B

disappeared from Royster’s face. “Now, now, there is no reason to be hasty.”
    “I’ve had a rather prolonged interlude in which to give your request careful thought,” replied Nicholas. “And the answer is, I won’t do it.”
    “If we discuss this in a calm and rational manner,” replied his father. “I’m sure we can come to an acceptable compromise.”
    “You may as well save your breath, Father. I can’t imagine any argument that could change my mind.” Nicholas angled his gaze to the portrait over the mantel. Lud, did all Wrenfax men look so imperious? “You see, I have made other plans.”
    The earl’s brows angled higher and The Stare took on a more pronounced squint. “The count will be deeply disappointed if I tell him you won’t attend the ball he’s giving in the young lady’s honor. Indeed, he might take it as an insult, not only to his family, but to Mother Russia.”
    “Russia?” Nicholas jerked his head around.
    “A very large chunk of frozen tundra to our east, populated with bears, beards and boyars,” came the dry reply. “Need I remind you that the alliance is of strategic importance to our country?”
    “No, I am fully aware of how much is at stake. But the truth is—’
    He was saved from having to explain himself by a muffled roar from just outside the library.
    “Step aside, lest you wish your spindly shanks to be fed to the wolves! I tell you, the earl will see me, regardless of the hour.”
    The family butler, who did have rather reedy legs, had a hunted look on his face as he opened the door a crack. “Milord, I tried to tell the, er, gentleman, that you could not be interrupted, but he wouldn’t take no for an answer.”
    “ Nyet indeed!” thundered the intruder.
    “It is quite alright, Belmont, your limbs are safe from snapping jaws for the time being,” said Royster. “You may allow the count to come in.”
    The butler pressed his frail shoulders against the paneled oak to avoid being flattened by the onrushing figure.
    With his greatcoat skirling around his high-top boots and the capes flapping like raucous ravens around his broad shoulders the count appeared even larger than he really was.
    “Merry Christmas, Yevgeny,” called the earl “Won’t you join me and my son in a toast to good cheer and—”
    “Nyet!” roared the count. “I cannot be merry at a time like this! I am—how you say—dis. . .”
    “Distraught?” suggested Nicholas. His own nerves were none too steady at the moment.
    “Yes! Distraught! Otherwise I would not descend upon your home and your holiday like a ravening bear. Of all my English acquaintances, you are the man I have confidence in, Royster.”
    “I will help in any way I can. What is the trouble?”
    “My niece was due to arrive in London the day before yesterday, but she has gone missing!”
    The earl’s expression sobered considerably. Setting aside the decanter of brandy, he sought to allay his visitor’s agitation. “I am sure there is no real cause for alarm. I know for a fact that the bad weather has delayed a number of travelers.”
    “Father,” said Nicolas.
    Neither man paid any heed to Nicholas’s quiet murmur.
    The count’s composure took a sharp turn for the worse as he started to pace before the fire. “One of the men I sent out in search of her discovered her coach, abandoned on a stretch of desolate road.”
    “We—” began the earl.
    “We were just coming to tell you that all is well and that your niece is quite safe.” Nicholas fixed the earl with a steady gaze and waggled a brow. “Weren’t we, Father?”
    The Stare took on a peculiar tilt, but years of diplomatic experience allowed the earl to reply without missing a beat. “Indeed. We were. But seeing as Nicholas deserves all the credit, I will defer to him in explaining all the details.” Folding his hands upon his blotter, Royster added dryly, “I confess, Yevgeny, I am as anxious as you are to hear exactly how he managed the