Читать книгу Make Her Wish Come True Collection - Ann Lethbridge - Страница 18
ОглавлениеNoise filled the dining room as the entire family—children, the aged aunt, parents—and Gregor sat around the long mahogany table. It’d been quite a feast and the half-devoured pudding still decorated the centre, with two tall, silver candlesticks festooned with evergreens standing guard on either side. To Gregor’s surprise, the children had been included in the supper and were still seated at the far end of the table and attended by their nurse. The twins chattered together, joined by their three-year-old cousin and Miss Daisy, who didn’t look happy at being seated with them. Once in a while she would flash Gregor a bright smile which he gladly returned, more amused than annoyed by her fascination with him, though it was Miss Rutherford’s attention he longed to capture tonight.
She sat beside him, appearing as unhappy about her place at the table as Daisy. It was as if the laughing woman hurling snowballs at her sister and brother had never existed and he very much wanted her to return. Whenever he tried to draw her into conversation, she offered him little more than simple answers to his questions before turning away to speak with her brother-in-law, leaving him to the aged aunt who sat on his other side and had no end of stories to tell.
When at last the aunt fixed her attention on Laurus, and the brother-in-law turned to speak to his wife, Gregor leaned close to Miss Rutherford, catching the notes of her lily-of-the-valley perfume over the rich nutmeg spice of the pudding. He took a deep breath, allowing himself the brief indulgence of her scent before he spoke.
‘I may have to adopt him.’ He nodded to where Pygmalion sat beside his chair. ‘He won’t leave my side.’
She studied the dog. ‘Aunt Alice is very attached to her dogs, all of them. She isn’t likely to part with even this little terror. Pygmalion may make you stay here.’
‘Won’t your parents mind?’
She tossed him a sly little smile and even without the glow of sheer joy on her face, she was gorgeous. Her hair was drawn up in ringlets at the back of her head, the faint gold in the brown made darker by the red ribbon wound through her locks. She wore a dark-green velvet dress dotted with leaves embroidered in a lighter green thread which shone with the candlelight whenever she moved. ‘As long as you don’t disturb them while they’re with their plants, or trample the seedlings, you could be a herd of elephants residing in the house and they wouldn’t notice.’
He fingered the small spoon next to his plate. ‘Then I think I’ll stay.’
This struck the smile off her face and she reached for her wine glass, taking a long sip before seeming to regain her courage. ‘Won’t your mother miss you?’
‘No.’ Gregor let go of the silver before his tight grip bent it. ‘I wasn’t her favourite son, as she insists on reminding me every time she tells me it should have been me and not Stanton who died of smallpox.’
‘How can she be so cruel?’
‘She didn’t want me. She barely wanted my brother, but Stanton was her duty. I was the spare my grandfather, who controlled the money at the time, demanded. My mother is none too happy about Stanton’s death proving my grandfather right.’
‘I’m sorry she’s so severe.’ She touched his arm, the sweet care which had first drawn him to her years ago filling her round eyes. He stared at the creamy hand resting on the dark blue of his coat, the pressure of each fingertip as vivid as if she’d touched him naked. As if feeling the spark, and remembering their place among so many people, Miss Rutherford withdrew her hand and folded it with the other in her lap.
‘They were as severe as yours are amiable…’ Gregor breathed.
She settled her shoulders and glanced around the table, pursing her lips in disapproval. ‘My parents are too amiable. As you can see, they allow everyone and everything to run wild.’
‘Don’t wish for too much discipline. My father was a man of stern self-control who expected obedience from his wife and children. He demanded we always behave in ways which would instil awe, if not fear, in those around us. It’s why we didn’t get along. I didn’t hold with his notions of our importance because I knew it was a lie. My parents put on a façade of unity and strength in public. In private, they were bitter, miserable people with no love or real purpose in life except to make everyone around them wretched. We never celebrated anything like your family does, or enjoyed a house filled with such laughter. Your parents love each other and you, as do your siblings. Learn to embrace it, Miss Rutherford.’
* * *
If only it was so easily done. All her life, she’d stood in the midst of her family’s chaos, attempting to carve from it some tranquillity, yet they kept intruding, laughing and calling her dour when she asked them to understand. They didn’t, they couldn’t and they never would. Even when it came to Lord Marbrook, they didn’t see things the way she did. Once when Lily had asked her mother why she continued to encourage Laurus’s friendship with Lord Marbrook, her mother said if he was Laurus’s friend, then he must be good and it was only Lily taking things much too seriously which left her tainted by the ball. Lily had tried to make her mother see how Lord Marbrook’s actions had influenced others against her, but it was no use. Her mother agreed he’d behaved poorly, but thought there must have been a good reason for it, though Lily could never guess what beyond Marbrook arrogance it might have been. Her mother failed, like the rest of the family, to realise the damage the viscount had done, though recognising reality was never a Rutherford strength.
She looked around the table at her sisters and their husbands. Rose’s hand rested lovingly on Edgar’s forearm as she smiled at her sons where they sat at the end of the table. James smiled back, but John was too busy stroking Toddy, the second-smallest dog and the most docile, the one he liked to carry around whenever he was here. The dog would muddy up the boy’s bed later and track in more dirt than was already soiling the carpets. Yet Lily seemed the only one to ever notice or care. Even Lord Marbrook was taken in by the charm of it, but he couldn’t see the extra work it meant for the servants or how yet another set of sheets would be stained beyond repair, money paid to replace them.
Nor could he see how far outside the circle of love and contentment she sat. While her sisters enjoyed the comforts of husbands, homes and children, she was left to grow old with nothing but her paintings. She was fast becoming a spinster aunt.
‘Miss Rutherford, our conversation in the greenhouse—I wish to discuss what happened between us at your sister’s wedding,’ Lord Marbrook cautiously began in a low voice, drawing Lily from her gloomy musing.
‘Now you’re threatening the merriment of the evening by bringing up such a distasteful subject.’ She tried to laugh, but her throat was so dry it hurt. She reached for her wine, the indignity of her current situation, the one he had no small hand in, burning like the brandy-soaked raisins in the pudding.
‘I don’t wish to upset you, but I feel I must apologise for what happened.’
Lily jerked around in her chair so fast, she thought she might split the silk seat covering. ‘Why? What can your apology achieve except an easing of your own conscience? It can’t undo the opinion your behaviour created of me, or force the gossips to take back every nasty thing they said about me.’
Her voice rose, briefly attracting Aunt Alice’s attention before Laurus drew it away.
Gregor stared at his plate and the half-eaten slice of pudding covering the fine rose pattern of the china. His jaw worked, but he said nothing and regret began to creep up Lily’s spine. He’d been humble enough to apologise and she’d thrown it back in his face, but there was truth in her accusation, one they both couldn’t ignore.
At last he let out a long breath to make the candles in front of his place dance. ‘You’re right, but I don’t know where else to start. I’ve regretted what I did from the moment my father escorted me from the ball. It was he who ordered me to cut you, who insisted I act like a Marbrook. I wanted to please him because I thought it would make a difference in how he regarded me and convince him not to send me to France. It didn’t. I should have ignored him and helped you, the way you’d helped me in the alcove.’
So Mother was right, there had been a reason beyond arrogance to explain what he’d done and it was a good one. It eased a portion of her anger, but didn’t banish it. In the end, no matter what his motives, he’d attempted to relieve his problems at her expense.
‘Lily, what is Sir Winston’s daughter’s name?’ Petunia asked from across the table, watching her with a strange little frown, as though something about Lily’s conversation with Lord Marbrook didn’t sit well with her.
‘Catherine Fordham,’ Lily replied and Petunia resumed her conversation with Rose and Mama, though not without casting more curious scrutiny in Lily’s direction.
Lily picked up her napkin and raised it to her mouth, whispering to Lord Marbrook from behind it, eager not to attract any additional attention from anyone else in the family. They weren’t known for their discretion. ‘Why apologise now when it no longer matters?’
As if sensing Petunia’s scrutiny, he turned slightly in his chair to face Lily, looking at her from beneath his brows with an intensity to make her shiver. ‘Because it does matter, I see it in your eyes when you look at me, I hear the pain in the few barbs you’ve allowed yourself, every one of which I deserve.’
‘Lord Marbrook, do you have any experience with water dogs?’ Charles asked, leaning around Lily to address him.
‘I’m afraid not,’ he politely answered, as if he and Lily were only discussing the weather and not her disgrace.
An answer received, Charles returned to his discussion with Edgar.
Lord Marbrook leaned closer to Lily, his voice heavy like distant thunder. ‘I’d intended to visit your home the day after the ball and apologise, but I couldn’t. The next morning my father packed me off to France. With little more than an hour’s warning, he sent me away to a hell I wasn’t prepared for. Now it’s over and I wish to make right the wrongs my family has done to its tenants, to other families and you.’
Lily took another sip of wine, struggling through the confusion of her feelings to think and breathe. She didn’t doubt his sincerity, or his need for absolution, yet she withheld it like Pygmalion had gripped her paintbrush, unable to let go of the pain and embarrassment she’d endured in exchange for something as wispy as words. It was wrong and she knew it, but she couldn’t help herself. ‘What do you possibly hope such a belated apology can achieve?’
He was about to answer when Daisy called out from across the table in a voice loud enough to silence all but Aunt Alice, ‘Lord Marbrook, what are you and Lily discussing in such a serious manner?’
‘Daisy, mind your manners and stop making a fool of yourself,’ Lily responded, the interruption disturbing her as much as Lord Marbrook’s sincere revelations. Never before had she wanted her family to leave her alone as much as she did at this moment and all of them seemed intent on intruding, as usual.
Silence swept up one side of the table and down the other. Even the boys paused in eating their pudding to stare at her with big eyes.
‘Lily, apologise to your sister at once,’ her father demanded. ‘The remark was uncalled for.’
‘It wasn’t.’ Lily kept her back straight despite the scrutiny being given to her. ‘Can’t you see how she’s behaving?’
He levelled a forkful of pudding at her. ‘That’s for me and your mother to worry about, not you.’
‘You should worry about it. It might be fine here with the family, but what if she does it somewhere else, in front of someone who might mind.’ She looked pointedly at Lord Marbrook. ‘She’ll embarrass herself and all of us.’
‘You’re the only one embarrassing yourself tonight,’ her father snorted and stuffed the pudding in his mouth.
She looked down at her hands in her lap and the orange paint still staining the corner of one thumbnail. She scratched at it but it wouldn’t budge, the skin around it turning red with her effort. She’d wanted so much to appear confident in front of Lord Marbrook. Instead, she’d once again been made to look ridiculous, this time by the people who were supposed to love her the most. A loneliness she hadn’t experienced since she’d sat on the ballroom floor while the other young ladies had laughed at her filled her again.
‘Enough scolding for one night.’ Lily’s mother rose from the table, bringing the men to their feet. ‘It’s Christmas Eve and we must enjoy ourselves. If the men don’t mind forgoing their port, we’ll play charades, then Aunt Alice will play the pianoforte so we may all sing carols.’
‘I think we can sacrifice our port for tonight of all nights,’ Sir Timothy offered, his usual joviality returning as he held out his arm to his wife. ‘Come along, everyone.’
The adults filed out of the room, ushering the children along in front of them. The young ones resumed their lively banter, all except Daisy, who stomped away on Rose’s arm complaining bitterly about Lily.
Lily didn’t rise, but stared at the uneaten pudding in the silver dish in the centre of the table until only she and Lord Marbrook remained.
‘You should go with the others, or you’ll miss charades.’ She wished he’d leave, she very much wanted to be alone, but he didn’t.
‘I’m sorry about what happened, I didn’t mean to cause you distress.’
‘This time it’s not your fault, it’s mine, always mine.’ She snatched the napkin off her lap and tossed it on the table. ‘My family can act as ridiculous as they please, but if I dare point it out, or suggest they show some restraint so they don’t become laughing stocks, I’m the wicked one, not my sisters, my brother or even my nephews. Only me.’
He laid his hands on the back of the chair beside hers, his fingers long and graceful beneath the crisp white of his shirt cuff. ‘I know what it’s like to sit outside the circle of your family and feel they don’t understand you and how lonely it can make you, even in the midst of so many. Unlike my family, yours is happy and they love you. It’s something to cherish far more than the opinions of others.’
He was right and she didn’t want him to be right, she didn’t want anything except to be alone with her paints and the patience of the canvas. Instead she was here, being reminded again of her awkwardness and loneliness. If only someone would cherish her. Rose and Petunia had Charles and Edgar, but there was no one to stand beside her and support her when people scolded her for trying to be sensible and there likely never would be.
Swallowing hard against the pain in her chest, she rose and at last faced Lord Marbrook. The tender sympathy in his eyes tore into her as much as her father’s rebuke. She didn’t want Lord Marbrook’s sympathy, or to appear so pathetic in front of him.
‘If you’ll excuse me, I don’t want to miss charades.’
She fled the room, afraid if she stayed he would see her tears.
It was some time before Gregor slipped into the sitting room to join the Rutherfords in their game of charades. Laurus stood in front of the fireplace, entertaining everyone with what could only be described as a feeble attempt to depict an elephant. It amused the children who sat in a half circle on the carpet in front of him guessing all manner of large animals and roaring with laughter. Gregor allowed himself a small smile at the sight. He’d never sat at his parents’ feet to watch some relative make a spectacle of themselves. He’d never sat on the sitting room carpet in his entire life, even the carpet on the nursery floor had been for walking on, never sitting, or playing or, heaven forbid, laughing.
Miss Rutherford sat in the back of the room near the French doors, the glow of excitement surrounding the others failing to reach her. The moonlight from outside spilled over her sadly rounded shoulders while the fire from the Yule log warmed her high cheeks and flickered in her eyes, though the light wasn’t enough to reignite the sparkle which had filled them this afternoon.
Pygmalion trotted away from Gregor to join Miss Rutherford, rising up on his back feet and placing his front paws on her knees. She frowned at the small dog and raised her hand. Gregor thought she meant to shoo him away. Instead, she drew the dog up into her lap, clutching her to him and stroking his fur as though he were her last friend in the world. The sight of it tore at Gregor and he moved around the back of the room, behind the family, to join her.
‘I think the rumours of the beast’s ferociousness are unfounded,’ Gregor offered as he settled himself in the lyre-backed chair beside hers.
‘I’m stunned.’ She shook her head at the animal. ‘He’s never sat with me before.’
‘Perhaps he recognises someone in need of a friend.’
Her hand paused between the dog’s ears before she resumed her steady scratching, making the dog’s eyes narrow with delight. If it could sigh, Gregor felt sure it would. Miss Rutherford did, a small one which whispered across Gregor’s hand where it rested on his thigh, making him want to slide his arm around her and draw her head down on to his shoulder, the same way her eldest sister now sat with her husband.
Damned fool, his father would have said if he’d seen such a display, always disapproving of the regard Gregor had shown to others, but he wasn’t here to stand over him with censure at best and indifference at worst.
‘You asked me in the dining room what I hoped to achieve with my apology,’ Gregor hazarded, determined to finish what he’d come here to do. ‘I’d very much like to be your friend and for you to be mine.’
Lily stroked the dog, staring straight ahead as her brother finished his turn and relinquished the floor to Lord Winford. ‘Why?’
Gregor took a deep breath, then began in a voice just above a whisper. ‘Many times in France I thought of you and the way you’d sat beside me in the alcove listening to my complaints. We were strangers and yet you treated me with the tenderness of an old friend. It would have been nice while I was in France to have received letters from you and known there was someone, besides Laurus, who cared if I came home safe.’
Lily drew the dog a little closer to her chest. ‘Surely your parents cared, even a little.’
‘They didn’t. I wasn’t my brother, only an unwanted disappointment best got out of the way.’ He rubbed his thumb in a circle over the scar on his thigh hidden by his breeches. ‘I’m sorry, Miss Rutherford, to burden you with such things. I know it isn’t proper, but for some reason I feel you more than anyone else will understand.’
She shifted in the chair, holding tight to the dog as she moved, and he thought she might rise and flee from him as she’d done in the dining room, but she didn’t.
‘I do understand and please call me Lily. Only not in front of the others. If they heard us on such intimate terms, there’d be no end to the teasing.’ The smile she blessed him with dipped all the way down to his toes, bringing one of equal joy to his lips.
‘I’ll call you Lily in private, and you’ll call me Gregor. Will that suit?’
‘Yes, very well.’
They sat together watching Lord Winford take his turn at charades, listening as the children and adults called out animals only for Lord Winford to shake his head in reply.
‘He’s a goose,’ Lily said, but only loud enough for Gregor to hear.
‘You think so? I thought he might be a carriage.’
‘No, Charles does some kind of fowl every year. Once it was a duck, another time a swan. He’s quite taken with fowling.’
At last Lady Winford guessed her husband’s character and he sat down, relinquishing the floor to Sir Timothy, who squatted down, then rose, throwing out his limbs in a display Gregor could only imagine was meant to imitate a flower blooming.
While the family called out guesses, Gregor leaned in close to Lily, noting the slight separation between her full breasts above the fitted bodice of her gown. He swallowed hard, very much wanting to press his lips against the soft skin and revel in the heat of her. His body began to stiffen at the thought, but he forced it back, determined to behave like a gentleman.
‘What did Laurus mean earlier when he said you’d painted the entire family?’ he asked, his breath disturbing the small curl at the nape of her long neck.
Lily turned to face him, so close to him he could see the single small freckle just beneath her right eye. He expected her to lean away, but she remained near him, her voice sliding like satin across his cheek. ‘The portraits in the entrance hall are mine. I did them.’
An unmistakable pride filled her voice.
‘Will you show them to me?’
She looked back and forth between him and her family, the small curl dangling near her ear brushing her cheek as she moved. ‘Now?’
‘Unless you wish to be chosen as the next person to do a charade, then yes.’
She grimaced at the thought. ‘Then we’d better hurry before someone guesses Father is a rose.’
She set the dog on the floor. It didn’t bark, but trotted behind them as they slipped out of the room and down the hallway. Candles twinkled in their holders, catching the red of the berries pressed among the shiny holly leaves decorating each table and painting. Down the opposite hall, in the far wing of the house, the high strings of a fiddle drifted in like snow through the open ballroom door. The music was joined by the laughter of the maids and footmen and the sounds of their shoes banging over the wooden boards in time to the lively song as they enjoyed the servants’ Christmas Eve celebration.
The candles glittered as much in the entrance hall as they did in the hallway, but without the heat and fire of the Yule log, the air took on something of the crispness of the cold night outside.
‘I painted these.’ She waved her hand at the numerous portraits of her family lining the walls and following the rise of the stairs. On either side of the door hung the ones she’d done of her parents. They looked back into their house and up at the line of children arranged on the wall above the stairs, each with hair the same shade of brown as their mother’s. ‘I’m to do little Adelaide’s soon, and John and James once they learn to sit still.’
‘Then they may be adults by the time you manage it,’ he observed, making her eyes dance with delight.
‘And perhaps not even then for I don’t think they’ll ever settle down.’
‘I’d like to sit for you while I’m here, if you don’t mind.’
The suggestion seemed to catch her off guard and she chewed the bottom of one full lip before an impish smile to mimic the ones her nephews often wore split the tender bud. ‘If you’d like, though I’d have thought you’d been painted enough today.’
She was teasing him and he wanted more of it. His father would never have allowed such humour at his expense, but Gregor wasn’t his father, or his brother, and he never would be.
‘I assume Pygmalion shares your talent for oils?’ He pointed to the slashes of paint on the wall at the bottom of the stairs, the faint stain of blue and yellow sitting just beneath the bright red.
Instead of the frustration she’d exhibited with her family at dinner, she rolled her eyes with some humour at the marks. ‘That brush wasn’t the first one the little beast has snatched from me. He’s quite well behaved now, but usually he’s stealing all manner of things. If the holly and mistletoe weren’t so high, he’d have them, too.’
She pointed to the sprig of mistletoe with one last berry clinging to the leaves hanging from the brass chandelier. Only then did either of them realise they were standing beneath it, in the centre of the stone circle inlaid in the floor. Lily slowly lowered her hand, as aware as Gregor of what their present position implied. He studied her face, noting the eager nervousness in her eyes, as if, like him, she wanted a kiss, but feared it at the same time.
Gregor remained where he stood, allowing the tinkling of ‘Here We Come A-Wassailing’ on the pianoforte and the voices of the family singing the carol at one end of the hall and the servants’ laughter at the other to cover the stretching silence between them. He could drop a quick peck on her cheek, pluck the last berry from the hapless branch and they could smile and laugh and return to the sitting room, but he didn’t move. He couldn’t manage something so innocent because he wanted to enjoy the feathery caress of her fingers against his neck while he took her in his arms, pressed her body to his and felt her breasts flatten against his chest as he tasted her full lips. He’d asked for her friendship and she’d granted it, but in this moment, he wanted a great deal more.
He took a hesitant step forwards and she didn’t move, looking up at him with anticipation. She wouldn’t flee if he dared to claim her lips, nor would she push him away or chastise him. It was as frightening a prospect as it was exhilarating and her silent entreaties drew him closer. He raised his hand to her face, his fingers so close to her skin he could feel the heat of it. The embroidered leaves on her dress shimmered as she took in one deep breath after another, waiting, as eager as him to steal the last berry off the mischievous plant.
Gregor leaned closer, his lips aching to know hers, all desire to be a gentleman forgotten. He’d won her forgiveness and friendship, now he wanted her heart.
‘There you both are. I wondered where you’d gone to.’ Laurus’s voice cut through the moment, dampening the waver of the candles across her face and making them jump apart.
With some frustration Gregor glanced to the plant, the lone berry mocking him as much as Laurus’s knowing look as he hustled into the entrance hall.
Gregor exchanged a worried glance with Lily, wondering if she blamed him for this near compromise of her in front of her family. He’d made such small gains with her, he hated to think his weakness might lose them. Whatever irritation she experienced, it didn’t reveal itself in her eyes, which crinkled at the corners with the same frustration at the interruption Gregor felt as he flexed his cold fingers behind his back.
Lily watched her brother’s approach, not sure what to expect. She’d nearly kissed Gregor and in front of Laurus no less, but instead of wanting to creep away in shame she was mad at her brother for interrupting them. Thankfully it was Laurus who’d stumbled on them and not someone else. He was far more discreet than either Rose or Daisy, but even he wasn’t above commenting on such a discovery. Standing beneath the mistletoe, St Nicholas himself might forgive her for extending a viscount a kiss. However, for all her desire to claim the near indiscretion was simply a result of the season, she knew it was something more and the idea was as terrifying as it was exhilarating.
‘Come on, we must prepare.’ Laurus grabbed Lily by the hand and linked his arm with Gregor’s to lead them down the opposite hall towards the ballroom.
‘Prepare for what?’ Lily demanded, her slippers rustling over the stone as she worked to keep pace with the men.
‘The arrival of the Lord of Misrule. We must be ready to appear before the carols end.’
‘You need us to help you get dressed?’ Lily asked as Laurus stopped outside a door set in the panelling of the hallway walls.
‘I’m not going to be him this year, Gregor is. And you’re to be his Queen of Folly.’
Oh dear. ‘But you love being Lord of Misrule, why won’t you do it again?’
‘Because the twins are expecting it and I want to surprise them. No one will suspect Lord Marbrook, especially if you’re with him. Everyone knows you don’t like him.’
Lily’s cheeks burned as she glanced back and forth between her brother and Lord Marbrook who seemed to be taking his friend’s ribbing in his stride. ‘That’s not true. How can you say such a thing?’
‘I’m glad to discover I’ve been mistaken in my assumptions.’ He pulled open the door, revealing the large cupboard behind it. It’d been a priest hole in the days of King Henry, but was presently used to store linens, candlesticks and other odds and ends. ‘Now inside, both of you, and get changed before Aunt Alice reaches the end of her repertoire.’
He hustled Lily and Gregor inside where the clothes he’d pulled out for the masque were strewn over the old trunk where they were usually stored. A single candle burned in a brass holder on one of the shelves, its dancing shadow casting a strange eeriness over the room already believed to be haunted by the children and a few of the older servants.
‘As soon as you’re ready, we’ll go back. I can’t wait to see John’s and James’s faces when they realise it isn’t me who’s the Lord of Misrule this year.’ Laurus closed the door on them, leaving them alone.
‘I suppose we’d better prepare,’ Gregor suggested, picking up a velvet doublet in a shade of red to make a cardinal jealous.
‘Yes. Aunt Alice only knows about five of the old carols and I believe she’s already through two of them.’
Lily picked up a robin-egg-blue damask gown with a wide neckline and full hips, both cut more in the style of Old Queen Anne than the current Queen Charlotte. She wrinkled her nose at the mustiness of it as she slipped it over her head, catching the wide sides before it fell past her shoulders to puddle on the floor. Whatever great-grandmother had worn this had been much wider than Lily, who’d have to find a way to make do for there were no other dresses in the trunk.
Across from her, Gregor cast aside his coat and dark grey waistcoat and stood only in his breeches and shirt. A touch of chest was just visible through the openings between his shirt strings. As Lily stared at the contrast between his skin and the linen, the chilly priest hole grew a great deal warmer. The idea that this was wrong, very wrong, whispered through Lily’s mind as did the music from the fiddler down the hall. With Gregor standing so close in a state of simple undress, it was too intimate and, were it not Christmas Eve, too scandalous. Whatever new faith she’d developed in Gregor, she hoped he deserved it. Otherwise he’d return to London and tell who knew what tales of his time alone with her in the priest hole and she’d never be able to set foot in society here or in London again.
‘Can you do up the doublet?’ Gregor slid on the velvet, then turned his back to her.
Beneath the short-waisted garment, his dark breeches sat tight against his buttocks and the sight of the round, solid firmness made her blush. Thankfully he couldn’t see her red cheeks or her curiosity as she stood behind him, fingers trembling as she did up the laces. She tried to breathe evenly, to give no hint of her nervousness but it was difficult with the hue of the skin of his back just visible through the shirt. She wanted to trace the curving arch, feel the sinew and muscle of it, but she didn’t dare let one finger accidentally slide along the line of it. She was as much afraid of how he might react to such an intimate touch as how she would.
‘I’m done,’ she said at last, both regretting and relieved by the end of her task.
He turned, regarding her as he had under the mistletoe, as though there was more to this than simply the merriment of the moment, or his desire for friendship. It was the same sense of belonging and need she’d experienced with him in the alcove four years ago, the one which had been as badly interrupted now as then.
‘Hurry up in there,’ Laurus called through the door. ‘Aunt Alice is already halfway through “The Twelve Days of Christmas”.’
‘I’ll do up your gown now,’ Gregor instructed, taking her by the shoulders and turning her around, his finger sweeping the open neck of her dress before he let go. ‘We don’t want to keep the little ones waiting.’
The bodice only grew a touch tighter as he tied the laces, but it could have been strangling her for all the trouble she had breathing with him so close.
‘Turn around and let me see,’ he instructed.
Gripping the skirt of the dress, she turned with stiff steps to face him. If he didn’t look so strange in the doublet, she’d feel silly standing here in a dress which was much too big. Already the heavy damask was sliding from her arms. With no shoulders to help keep the dress in place, she’d barely make it down the hall before it would sink around her feet. ‘It’s still too large.’
He snatched a red bodice from the pile of clothes. ‘I have an idea.’
His sandalwood scent teased her as much as the closeness of his cheek to hers when he dipped down to slide the satin under her arms and around her waist. She stared straight ahead at the faded outline of a saint on the far wall, determined not to meet his eyes as he paused beside her, so close she could hear him breathe, feel the heat of his skin against hers. All she need do was turn and their lips would meet. She forced herself to remain still, but she wanted to turn, very badly.
At last he straightened, slowly as if he regretted moving away.
She let out a long breath, then looked down at the red satin around her waist, holding the wrinkled thing closed. ‘It’s backwards.’
‘It doesn’t matter.’ His fingers worked the laces through the eyelets, brushing hers as he tightened the strings. She tried not to breathe too deeply, afraid of bringing his hands closer to her breasts than they already were. Her nipples grew taut against her stays as his hands moved lower towards her waist, making her head swim as if she’d had too much wassail.
When at last he tied off the laces, he stepped back to admire her, not with a critical eye, but with the heady interest he’d shown beneath the mistletoe. She was thankful the little branch was still on the chandelier and not in here, for if it was, she’d surely throw herself against him and claim the last berry, and his lips, for her own.
She laced her hands in front of her, determined to put an end to such ridiculous notions. This morning she’d detested him, now she wanted to forget herself with him? Even during a magical season like this it was beyond comprehension and belief. He’d asked for friendship, not passion. ‘How do I look?’
‘It only needs one more thing.’ He plucked a wreath of dusty fake flowers from the top of the pile of clothes. ‘A crown for the queen.’
He lowered it over her hair, his hands lingering by her temples as though he meant to gently take hold of her before he lowered them to his sides. His eyes remained fixed on hers as she adjusted the crown, frowning when a few silk petals fell off to decorate the skirt of her dress.
When she was done, she slid a domino off the old clothespress where Laurus had draped it. ‘And you must have a mask and a cape.’
His fingers brushed hers as he took the cape from her. In a swirl of musty black velvet, he flung it around his broad shoulders, then tied the ribbons at his neck. Lily picked up the matching black mask and held it out to him. Instead of taking it, he bent down, inviting her to slide it on. He held it to his face as she tied the laces at the back of his head, the thickness of his hair like sable brushing against her palms as she worked.
When she was done and he straightened, there was something more rogue than misrule about him, an air of confidence not diminished by the red doublet, but enhanced by the mysterious darkness of the domino. Taking him in, Lily wondered what it would be like to stand beside him at a London masque in a dress better suited to her than the old blue damask. In masks, no one would know who they were and she’d be free to whirl and turn about with him, enjoying his smiles in a crowd as easily as she did in this closet. For the first time in years, she contemplated accepting Rose’s invitation to join her in London for the Season. With Gregor by her side, even in a mask, she felt sure she would not fear society as much as she did.
‘What do you think?’ he asked, turning as well as he could in the cramped confines of the priest hole.
‘No one will guess it’s you and not Laurus. You’re matched in height and the domino and mask hides your hair and most of your face.’
‘Then let’s be off to make our mischief.’ He held out his arm to her, throwing back the side of the short cape with the flourish of a musketeer.
She clung to the hardness of his arm beneath the shirt, the heat of him spreading through her and settling low inside her stomach. It’d been like this before when he’d escorted her onto the dance floor at Petunia’s wedding, the eyes of all the guests on them as they’d taken their place in the line. For the first time the thrill of dancing with him, not the moment it had all turned sour, dominated her memory of that night.
‘You two make quite a Christmas pair.’ Laurus whistled as they stepped into the hall. ‘Now come on. I can’t wait to surprise everyone.’
He led them back to the sitting room, waving them to a stop outside the door. He leaned forwards just enough to peer inside without being seen, watching as everyone drew out the last line of the long song. ‘And a partridge in a pear tree.’
The family clapped and Laurus waved Lily and Gregor forwards.
If Lily expected their entrance to be one of the measured Marbrook ilk, she was pleasantly disappointed. With a mischievous wink, Gregor clasped her hand and pulled her into the room. Just over the threshold he let go and flung out his hands to announce his appearance in a booming voice to startle the children and amaze the adults.
‘The Lord of Misrule has arrived!’
‘It’s Laurus,’ James and John cried at once and, along with Daisy, jumped to their feet to rush at the Lord of Misrule. Poor little Adelaide, too young to understand, buried her face in her mother’s chest and let out a wail.
‘It isn’t Laurus.’ Lily’s brother stepped in behind the Lord of Misrule and John and James’s eyes grew as wide as pewter plates, along with half the adults.
‘Then who can it be?’ Daisy cried.
‘You must follow me to find out.’ Gregor led the children in a merry dance around the room, snatching one of the tin horns off of the floor and blowing a very off-key but lively tune. The children followed, jumping and skipping around the furniture in imitation of the Lord of Misrule while the adults clapped and laughed at the sight. Lily followed in amazement, stunned to see Gregor so carefree. Though he was nothing like the rest of his family, even he possessed a distinguished reserve which he happily cast aside tonight.
As he rounded the sofa, he caught her hand and pulled her to the door. ‘Come, my fair queen, we must lead the way to the servants’ ball.’
His hand was tight in hers as they marched together in time to the boys’ loud singing and tooting of horns. Lily’s sides hurt as she laughed and spun with Gregor, turning with him to enjoy the beaming faces of the children and the adults who followed behind them as they led the way to the servants’ celebration.
The ballroom, at one time the great hall, was a long room with a high timber ceiling and a wide stone fireplace at one end. The parade of merrymakers broke into the centre of a country dance, taking up places in the line to join the servants who clapped and twirled to the lively tune of the fiddle. Rose partnered with the butler and joined him in the dance, while Petunia, holding a now-mesmerised Adelaide, stood along the sides as Charles swept the old housekeeper nearly off her feet. Daisy promenaded with a footman while the two young scullery maids danced with John and James. Lily’s parents joined in the line, taking their place just beneath Lily and Gregor, who led the reel as the top couple.
Lily held on tight to Gregor’s hand as he led her through the steps, his laughter rising with the music. Past the darkness of the mask, his green eyes were alight with his excitement and, when the dance made her and Gregor face one another to sashay down the line, something more.
When all the couples had passed, James and John began to chant, ‘Unmask! Unmask!’
The servants and adults soon joined in until Gregor led Lily back into the centre of the line. Holding up her hand, he had the two of them bow to one side and then the other before he let go of her to pull back the hood and sweep the mask from his face.
A gasp of surprise rushed through the room, nearly snuffing out the candles before the servants’ murmurs of astonishment silenced even the fiddler. If Gregor was aware of the stir he created, he didn’t show it as he smiled at Lily, his hair ruffled over his forehead and damp with perspiration.
‘Well done, well done.’ Laurus appeared now and clapped, snapping all out of their astonishment to join him in their thanks.
Soon the fiddler struck up the next dance and the servants, bidding goodbye to Sir Timothy and Lady Rutherford, resumed their celebration while the family wandered back towards the other wing.
Gregor and Lily were the last to leave, lingering far behind the family which said their goodnights at the bottom of the stairs. Rose and Edgar led their tired boys up to their rooms, the twins protesting going to sleep even while they yawned and rubbed their eyes. Even Daisy moved with heavy feet as mother and father ushered her up to bed, followed by Petunia and Charles and little Adelaide, who snored on her father’s shoulder.
Lily was sad to see them go and for the evening to come to an end. The troubles in the dining room seemed so long ago and she didn’t want to lose the lightness and excitement surrounding her now. It stretched out to encompass Gregor, the smile on his face not dimming as they stood together at the bottom of the stairs. The flush of excitement illuminating his face made him seem younger, as though the troubles with his family and his time in France no longer haunted him.
‘Well done, Marbrook, well done.’ Laurus clapped his friend on the back.
‘A very exhilarating reign.’ Gregor took off the cape, then shrugged out of the doublet.
‘I expect the same level of enthusiasm tomorrow night at the ball.’
‘We’ll make it one you won’t forget.’ Gregor laughed as he exchanged with Laurus the doublet for his waistcoat and coat.
‘I hope so.’ Laurus winked at Lily as he took from her the crown of flowers before she slipped the bodice and dress down over her hips and stepped out of the old garment. Then Laurus pointed over their heads. ‘With only one berry left, it seems a shame to leave the poor thing hanging.’
‘Goodnight, Laurus,’ Lily cried, half-serious, half in jest as she tossed the old gown over her brother’s shoulder.
‘Goodnight.’ He skipped up the stairs, disappearing into the darkness at the top with a whistle.
Lily should have been angry at Laurus for his implication, but it was difficult to think of anything with Gregor standing so close. Here before her wasn’t the arrogant lord who’d refused to acknowledge her after her fall, but the young man who’d told her of his troubles in the alcove. What might have happened between them if the secret heartaches they’d shared hadn’t been interrupted by his family’s arrogance? There was no one to interrupt them now.
While he did up the buttons on his coat, Gregor examined the sprig of mistletoe and the lone berry still clinging to it. ‘It does seem a shame to leave it.’
‘You must excuse my brother, he has quite the teasing sense of humour,’ Lily remarked, trying to change the subject and draw Gregor’s attention away from the sprig hanging over them like some sword of Damocles. The intimacy was already too much without the encouragement of the small plant. ‘Even when he isn’t the Lord of Misrule he can’t completely relinquish his duties.’
‘I know. He was like that at school, always moving Parson Verrell’s books. It’s why I liked him. He was everything my brother and father weren’t.’
Some of the merriment faded from his eyes and he ran his fingers through his hair.
She didn’t want him to be sad, but as happy as he’d been in the ballroom. ‘Laurus may regret appointing you Lord of Misrule. Everyone is sure to insist you come back next year and he’ll find himself dethroned.’
He straightened the collar of his coat. ‘I’d gladly come back, if your family will have me.’
‘I’m sure they will.’
He raised his eyes to meet hers, a fire burning in their depths which nearly stole her breath away. ‘Would you?’
‘I’d welcome you much sooner, if you’d like.’ Her boldness surprised her, but she didn’t regret it.
Gregor reached up and plucked the last berry off the sprig, then stepped closer to tower over her. He raised one hand to her face, cupping her cheek with his palm, the pulse in his fingertips fluttering against her temple.
Her toes curled in her slippers as he leaned in, his breath sweeping her face. She closed her eyes, expecting the brush of his lips over her cheek, so she wasn’t prepared for the meeting of their mouths. As his firm lips enveloped hers, she fell against his chest with a sigh, raising her arms to encircle his neck. He met her embrace, deepening the strength of his kiss as he wrapped his arms about her waist, his hands wide on her back as he drew her closer to him. He bent over her ever so slightly as though wanting to draw her inside of him. She would gladly disappear into him if she could, remove the thin obstacles of her dress and his shirt to meld completely with him. In the openness of the entryway, she could only part her lips and allow his pressing tongue to caress hers.
She’d studied so many classical paintings of nymphs possessed like this by gods, but until this moment, she hadn’t understood the sheer power of a man holding a woman, his breath drawing out hers.
Lily clutched Gregor even tighter as her knees went weak from the pressure of his tongue against the line of her lips, curling and drawing her tongue out to meet his. Low down against her stomach, she felt the hardness of more than his hips, the heat of it increasing the fire already licking up inside her. If he were to ask her for more, she’d gladly give it, surrendering to him and the desire threatening to consume them both.
‘I’ll see if Adelaide left her doll downstairs, Miss Smith, while you look in the nursery.’ Petunia’s voice from the hall upstairs broke through the haze of Lily’s passion, snuffing it out like a drop of water from an icicle on a candle. ‘She must have it or she won’t sleep.’
Lily broke from Gregor’s embrace and took a few steps back. With shaking fingers, she straightened her dress, smoothing out the wrinkles. Petunia’s light step filled the entrance hall before she reached the bottom, pausing on the last stair to look back and forth in curiosity at them.
‘Lily, what are you still doing up?’
‘I was showing Lord Marbrook my portraits.’
‘In almost complete darkness?’
‘It isn’t that dark,’ Lily challenged, though even she could see the candles had burned down far enough in the chandelier to make the hall far darker than propriety allowed.
Before Petunia could challenge Lily, Miss Smith appeared at the banister above them.
‘I’ve found Adelaide’s doll, ma’am. I’ll see to it she gets it at once.’
Petunia nodded, then fixed her attention back on Lily. ‘You should get bed. Tomorrow will be a late night.’
‘Of course. Goodnight, Lord Marbrook.’ Lily dropped a delicate curtsy, glad for the low light for it hid the blush she was sure covered her chest and neck.
‘Goodnight, Miss Rutherford.’ He pierced her with a singeing glance from beneath his brow as he bowed.
Petunia turned and with a flick of her head instructed Lily to follow her. Far from being irritated at her sister’s command, she followed, nearly floating up the stairs and ignoring her sister’s searching looks. Let her wonder, she didn’t care. Gregor had kissed her, not the playful peck of the Lord of Misrule, but the passionate embrace of a powerful man. It made Lily shiver in the darkness and anticipate the rising of the Christmas sun more than any child in the house. It would mean seeing Gregor again.
