Page 4 of Her Christmas White Knight

“Are you just going to stand there gaping at me? You insult me, Sir.”

He struggled to believe the evidence of his own eyes. Yet, the pain around his heart could not be denied—it really was her. Why was she dressed like a pauper and living in this freezing, dingy room? It must be some kind of jest or masquerade. He’d always thought Julia the type of girl who enjoyed making mischief at others’ expense.

After all these years thinking about what he would say or do when he saw her again, his wits failed him.

“How now, Mistress Wentworth. How do you fare?” was the best he could manage.

She tutted angrily at him, and the sack wriggled.

“You can see exactly how I fare. Now go away, Myall.”

“So, you do know me then, despite the scars.” It still seemed impossible that he should have found her again.

“Of course, I know you. But I don’t appreciate you charging into my lodgings like a bull at a gate. Get thee hence.”

“But you have my goose,” he blurted out. A pox on’t! He hadn’t meant to accuse her—though the truth was painfully obvious.

“What, this goose? Nay, ’tis mine. I’ve been trying to calm it so it will go to sleep.”

“You’re keeping a goose in here?” He glanced around the room. In very truth, it looked more fit for fowl or fiend than an English gentlewoman.

“I’m sure you won’t mind me taking a look.” He thought for a moment. “My goose had a bare patch in the middle of its breast.”

He saw her turn pale. Judging from the state of her, she desperately needed the bird. But so did he. He moved closer.

“Let me see.” He held out his hand.

“I imagine I can’t stop you when you’ve set your mind on a thing. Very well.” Julia lifted the sack, releasing a furious bundle of feathers and attitude. Myall managed to establish that it was, indeed, his goose—just before it nipped his fingers.

“Ouch!”

Julia looked smug. “If it was your goose, would it attack you so?”

He had to move fast to reach the open door before the goose did. Once trapped, it flounced around the room, not allowing him anywhere near. He was being unmanned by a bird in front of the one woman for whose good opinion he’d always hoped.

“’Tis my goose, and you know it,” he complained, sucking his fingers. “That bare patch is plain for any to see.”

“Are you telling me there’s only one goose in all of London with a few breast feathers missing?”

She was standing face-to-face with him now, knuckles on hips, displaying those luscious curves that he remembered with such startling clarity. Although generally, she was thinner than she had been. Hardly surprising, considering the life she appeared to be leading now.

He softened his tone. “Julia, I need that goose back, if you please.”

“I need it, too. It came onto my land, so it’s my property now. I’ve confiscated it.”

“If you wish to abide by that rule of the law, then, strictly speaking, it would be your landlord’s—as I presume that you’re merely a tenant here. But we both know it is my goose.”

“It doesn’t want to be yours.”

The bird now sat on the truckle bed that Myall had sent flying, and fixed him with a demonic eye.

“How would you feel if I fetched a constable—or several, in fact, to reclaim my property?”

“I should have known that you’d threaten me—despicable, cowardly fellow that you are. I used to think you better than other men, but now—”

Shock, wounded pride, and agonizing hurt clutched at him, and he could barely breathe. Or was the breathlessness because her face was so close to his that it would take a mere tilt of his head to kiss her?

Damn everything to hell. He was fighting with the only woman who’d ever made him happy. No man in his right mind would do that.

“Enough.” He spun on his heel and stalked out of the room, not bothering to close the door. The goose could do what it pleased. Let Fate decide.

If it weren’t for his disfigurement, Julia would surely never have been so cruel, so insulting. His father had been right. He’d been a fool to risk his good looks and ruin his chances of a match with a woman of quality. Julia’s reaction to him was all the proof he needed.

Let her have the accursed goose if she needed it that badly. At least he’d never have to set eyes on her again and suffer the agony of a wound that had never fully healed.