A Very Scandalous Fairbanks Christmas (Those Very Bad Fairbanks #14)
Chapter 1
CHAPTER 1
I t was the perfect gift.
Miss Caroline Fairbanks smiled as she hurried toward the wooden rocking horse, its polished mahogany gleaming under the flickering light of the small shop on High Holborn. The exquisite craftsmanship—delicate carvings of rearing stallions along the base, the saddle etched with fine details—made it the ideal present for Lily, the only person from her extended cousins for whom she did not have a gift. Caroline had searched endlessly for something special, and here it was, waiting for her as if fate had led her to it.
How serendipitous that she had even ventured this way! She had only intended to collect a hat for her brother but had been drawn to the little shop tucked between a bookbindery and a confectioner’s. Now, she felt rather triumphant.
The chime of the bell above the door tinkled as she stepped inside, bringing a smile to her lips. A glance upward revealed mistletoe hanging in the doorway. How scandalous. The trend had become rather bold this season, with mistletoe appearing in doorways across London, inviting improper embraces.
With a shake of her head, she strode toward the rocking horse, her boots clicking softly against the wooden floor. A few patrons lingered among the shelves, examining delicate porcelain figurines and holiday trinkets, but her focus remained fixed on the carved stallion in the far corner.
As she reached for it, a large shadow loomed in her path.
A tall, broad-shouldered gentleman draped in a winter coat dusted with snowflakes stepped into her view of the wooden horse. He smelled of crisp pine and something darker—spiced leather, perhaps? The scent was warm, unmistakably masculine, and utterly distracting.
Caroline hesitated, then stepped aside to maneuver past him—only to falter as he lifted his hand. No. No, no, no . He was reaching for the rocking horse!
Panic flared. Without thinking, she lurched forward and grasped the polished handle, hastily attempting to lift it.
Good heavens. It was alarmingly heavy.
She gasped at the unexpected weight, her arms trembling as she tried to hoist it toward her chest. Surely, it would not do for a woman who had worked so hard these last two years perfecting poise and grace to drop a wooden horse in the middle of a respectable establishment.
A deep chuckle rumbled beside her.
Before she could protest, the gentleman reached over and plucked the horse from her grasp with infuriating ease.
Caroline was about to thank him when he turned as if to walk away, and it dawned on her—he meant to take it! The audacity! Her mouth parted. She quickly composed herself, drawing her shoulders back and schooling her features into polite disapproval.
“Forgive me, sir, but that horse belongs to me,” she said crisply, though she accompanied the words with a gracious smile.
He turned then, and she was ensnared by piercing silver-gray eyes.
His gaze was cold, amused, and utterly unimpressed as they swept over her body. The gentleman was impeccably dressed in dark trousers, a blue waistcoat, and a tailored winter coat. His windswept hair curled at his nape, adding to his effortless allure. His mouth held a sensual curve, his cheekbones were strikingly sharp, and his nose carried a regal pride.
The Earl of Walcott .
Recognition hit her with the force of a carriage wheel over cobblestone. Though they had never been introduced, she knew of him—everyone in the ton did. Daniel Hadley, the aloof, unsmiling earl who rarely graced social functions unless duty absolutely demanded it. A man who, if the whispers were true, had ice and disdain running through his veins.
And here he stood, smirking at her.
Caroline lifted her chin, determined to remain unfazed by his handsomeness and privilege. “I would appreciate it, my lord, if you would set my wooden horse down.”
“Do you make a habit of claiming ownership over items you cannot lift?” he drawled.
Heat flushed Caroline’s cheeks. The insufferable man. “It was not a matter of capability, my lord, but rather of timing. This wooden horse belongs to me as I reached for it first.”
His brow arched. “Did you?”
She pinned a polite smile on her mouth. “Yes.”
His gaze flickered to the rocking horse he now held with effortless ease, then back to her. The amusement in his silver eyes deepened, and something inside Caroline bristled.
“I hope you are not attempting to claim this horse for yourself but was rather being courteous in relieving me of its unexpected weight,” she said
“Then it would seem we are at an impasse,” he murmured.
“We are?”
His mouth quirked. “Yes.”
Oh, he was enjoying this entirely too much.
“Well,” she said, rallying her composure, “since you have already assisted in lifting it, I would be most grateful if you would also help me carry it to my carriage after I have completed my purchase.”
For the briefest moment, the silence stretched between them. A muscle in his jaw ticked, and his expression turned unreadable. Then, quite unexpectedly, he chuckled. A deep, rich sound that sent an odd little flutter down Caroline’s spine.
“Presumptuous,” he said, shaking his head. “I rather admire that. How interesting. If you will excuse me, I have no more time or inclination to cross wits with you.”
To her horror, he began walking toward the shopkeeper. Caroline’s stomach dropped. Dear heavens . He wasn’t actually going to buy it, was he? She gasped and hurried after him, her heart pounding as the earl strode toward the counter with the wooden rocking horse in tow.
Oh, no. No, no, no.
She could not let him steal her gift.
The shopkeeper, a balding, somewhat nervous-looking man, glanced up as the earl set the rocking horse on the counter. The poor fellow twitched at the sight of his imposing customer, his hands fluttering to adjust his spectacles. Before the man could utter a word, Caroline stepped forward with all the authority she could muster.
“This is my purchase,” she announced brightly, pressing her gloved fingers to the wooden horse.
The shopkeeper blinked. Then twitched again. His eyes darted from her to the earl. “But … his lordship was the one to bring it up, my lady,” he said hesitantly.
Caroline’s stomach dropped. Of course. The shopkeeper would naturally assume that the Earl of Walcott, a man of status, power, and—blast him—an infuriatingly steady presence, was the rightful customer.
Her lips parted, ready to argue further, but the earl simply gave a small, knowing smirk. Oh, how she wanted to slap it off his insufferable face. Desperate, she turned to him with what she hoped was the expression of a reasonable and genteel lady rather than a woman about to throttle an aristocrat in public.
“My lord, perhaps I could offer you another gift for the child you are purchasing this for?” she suggested, her voice honey-sweet despite her irritation.
A slight pause. Then, cool as the winter breeze outside, he said, “I am not purchasing this for a child.”
Caroline blinked. “Then … why are you buying it?”
His silver gaze held hers, unreadable and impossibly distant. “That concern is not yours.”
She gaped at him. “Not mine?”
“Not in the least.”
Flustered, she tightened her grip on the edge of the counter. “Well, I—I am purchasing this for my darling cousin.”
His brow quirked as if to say And that should interest me why?
Caroline inhaled sharply and pressed on, determined. “She has always wanted a wooden horse to practice on so that she might work up her bravery to mount her pony.”
The earl’s expression remained utterly unmoved. The man was carved from ice.
“That is not my concern.”
Caroline stared at him, aghast. He did not even attempt to feign civility!
“Good heavens,” she blurted. “You do not have the mark of a gentleman.”
His mouth twitched. “And you do not have the mark of a lady of quality. Where is your sense of decorum?”
Her cheeks burned like embers.
He leaned in slightly, not so much as to be improper, but just enough to ensure she would hear him over the growing noise of the shop.
“A true lady of quality,” he murmured, “would not be haggling over a toy with a man she has not been formally introduced to.”
A mortified flush climbed from her neck to her hairline.
The audacity. The arrogance.
Caroline glared daggers at him, barely resisting the urge to stamp her foot like a child denied sweets. Desperation forced her to turn back to the shopkeeper. “Sir, do you have another of these rocking horses?”
The man adjusted his spectacles and winced as if preparing for battle. “I fear not, miss. That was the only one of its kind.”
The only one.
Caroline could only watch as the shopkeeper wrapped her horse in brown paper and twine. Then, as if to add insult to injury, a footman in the livery of the Earl of Walcott stepped forward, took up the package, and strode toward the door. Caroline could only glare as the wretched man walked after his servant, his posture effortlessly composed, his movements smooth as ever.
Just before stepping into the waiting carriage, he glanced back at her, the lightest touch of mockery curling his lips. Then, with a graceful tip of his hat, he climbed into the carriage and disappeared into the bustling streets of London, taking her perfect Christmas gift with him.