Falling Stars by Loretta Chase

Falling Stars
    Wiltshire, England,
    11 December 1818
     
    If a man could sleep through the racket of early morning London, Marcus Greyson told himself, he could certainly sleep through the noise of lively children. He pulled the pillow over his head, but he could hear it all the same: shrill voices and the thumping of little feet up and down the corridors. Even in the intervals of silence, he was waiting, braced for the next outburst of shrieks and thumps.
    With an oath, he flung the pillow aside and dragged himself out of bed. He had slept only three hours. That, evidently, was all the sleep he was going to get. A glance at the window told him morning was well advanced—a winter morn so crisply bright it made his eyes ache.
    Despite his grogginess, Marcus washed and dressed quickly, while his mind ran over a dozen possible excuses he could give his elder brother and sister-in-law for turning up in the dead of night.
    Julius and Penelope probably still weren’t aware he was here.
    They had all been asleep when he’d come. He had simply let himself in with his own key, and gone up to the room they always kept ready for him. While they’d be delighted Marcus had changed his mind about spending Christmas at Greymarch, they were sure to wonder about his bizarre traveling schedule.
    He gave his thick mane of tawny hair the usual slapdash brushing, and pulled on his coat. Since he didn’t have a reasonable explanation, he might as well give an unreasonable one, so ludicrous they’d be too busy laughing to ask any more.
    He opened the door and stepped into the hall just as a matched pair of fair-haired little girls came barreling round the corner. One neatly dodged and shot past. The other tripped over his foot.
    Marcus caught her before she hit the floor and briskly set her back on her feet. As he met her dazed blue stare, he inhaled sharply. He knew those eyes... no, it was impossible.
    “Delia! Livy!” came a feminine voice from the stairway.
    His head swung toward the sound.
    “Yes, Mama,” the little girl called out. “We’re just going to the schoolroom.” Flashing Marcus a grin, she darted down the hall.
    “Not before we have a discussion, young ladies.”
    Even while his mind denied, disbelieved, his senses recognized, and stirred.
    The voice’s owner came round the corner, then stopped dead.
    All else stopped, too—his heart and breath—as though they’d collided physically. The impact sent him reeling into the past.
    He had met her in summer, but hers was winter’s beauty. Her hair was pale sunlight framing the snowy purity of her skin, and there was winter, too, in her eyes, clear, ice-blue. Christina.
    He regained his breath and managed a bow. “Mrs. Travers.”
    “Mr.... Greyson.” The fingers of her left hand curled and uncurled against the grey woolen gown. No wedding ring. When had Arthur Travers died? Some two or three years ago?
    “I was not...” Her full mouth formed a tight smile. “I was unaware you were here. Penelope said—that is, no one mentioned your arrival.”
    That low voice with its trace of huskiness... so like a caress... He pulled his wandering mind back.
    “They couldn’t have known,” he said. “I arrived late last night. A spur-of-the-moment decision.” His heart was beating too fast—because he was taken aback, Marcus told himself. He knew she and Penny still corresponded, but from all he’d heard, Christina hadn’t left Cumbria since she was married. He hadn’t been told she’d be here, and couldn’t possibly have expected it.
    He backed away a step. She did, too.
    “How... pleased Julius will be,” she said. “And Penelope. And of course, the boys. They’ve boasted of their uncle to the twins.”
    “The little girls,” he said tautly. “Yours, obviously.”
    She nodded. “Delia and Livy.” Her ice blue gaze melted a fraction. “Seven years old last month. And dreadful hoydens, as you’ve probably noticed. I hope their noise didn’t wake