Читать книгу Christmas at Thornton Hall - Lynn Marie Hulsman - Страница 9

Snapping back to the present, I realized I’d let the fire die down in my little cottage. I tossed a log onto the dying flames and gave it a jab with the poker. Blame it on the cold and the darkness, but alone was the last thing I’d wanted to be right then.

Forgetting about Edward and all our history together had been easy enough when I was in London and didn’t have to lay eyes on him. But being here at Thornton, with him standing in the flesh before me, right in the kitchen where we’d met, a million moments we’d shared together came back to mind.

Something knocked softly up against the old wooden door of Dove’s Nest. A branch? Or was it just the wind? I walked over to the window, and pulled the curtain aside, but it was too dark to see. I heard the knocking again, louder and deliberate. Someone was at my door! Edward? My heart skipped a beat as I turned the knob.

“Juliet, I need to ask you something,” Jasper Roth said, pushing past me and closing the door.

“Now?” I couldn’t think of anything else to say. I could count the number of times people had come to my cottage while I was in it on one hand.

“I know it’s late. I can see you’re ready for bed.” He looked me over. “I was going to catch you up at the house, but you slipped out the back.”

I was keenly aware that we were both standing there in our pajamas. Alone.

“I didn’t slip out. I just came to my cottage, nothing wrong with that.” I felt weird, like he’d read my mind, because I’d just been thinking about slipping out to take Edward his handkerchief.

“Anyway, I had to wait until everyone left the kitchen before I could come.”

“Why?” I asked, though I knew full well. “You’re my boss and you just came to ask me a question, right?”

He raised his eyebrow, and gave a wry smile. “It’s past midnight. People will talk. Speaking of which, what was Terrence getting at in the kitchen tonight?”

“Do you want to sit down?” I asked, gesturing to the little table, with its two ladder back chairs.

He crossed past me, and sat on the bed. I let myself imagine, for a second, how it could be if things were different. But things weren’t different. He was my boss. More to the point, he was married, for better or for worse. “I can’t stay long.”

“Obviously.”

“So what does Terrence know?”

I pulled a chair out from the table, and sat on the edge, taking care not to relax. “What is there to know?”

He sighed. “Nothing. There’s nothing to know. Of course.” He looked at me very seriously, and then smiled. “Tell me what he thinks he knows.”

I hesitated. “Well,” I began slowly, “he saw us. The last time I worked here.”

“Saw us what?” His eyes were amused.

“He saw us drinking together in the dining room, the night we had the port.”

“Ah.”

“But I told him nothing happened! I mean, we didn’t even kiss…” My cheeks were getting hotter and hotter, despite the chill of the room. Why did I say the word “kiss”? He sat listening, like he had all the time in the world.

Was he going to admit to his part in that moment that was so intimate, even Terrence could spot it, or was he going to leave me twisting in the wind? I felt like he knew I wasn’t telling the whole truth, which was fair enough, because I wasn’t. When Terrence had grilled me the following night, I’d caved under his expert interrogation …and half a bottle of wine. I’d filled Terrence in on the whole story of Nantucket the year before, and how Roth and I had blurred the line between servant and master, dining together, walking on the beach, and that…embrace. How he had confided in me during his wife’s nervous breakdown.

“That’s true.”

I waited for him to elaborate, to add to the story. He just sat there on the bed, relaxed and confident, looking like he owned the place. I felt something slowly rising up in me, maybe anger. Or was it humiliation? Wasn’t he going to admit to his part? I might not have proof, but I knew he’d wanted me. Didn’t he? I scanned his face for a clue. Feeling foolish, a distant alarm bell was reminding me that I didn’t know how to handle myself around men. My Achilles’ heel was reading how they felt about me. This discomfort was more than I could bear. Was it better to die old and alone with a hundred cats?

A few minutes ago, I’d desperately wanted company. If you’d offered me Jasper Roth dressed for bed, I’m sure I would have answered, “Yes, please!” Now I wanted nothing more than to throw him out.

“All right then,” I snapped, standing up. “I guess there’s nothing more to say.” I crossed to the door, and swung it open, letting in a blast of cold air.

He rose from the bed, and walked over to where I was standing. “If you say so.” He turned from me, and walked toward the house. “Goodnight, Juliet,” I think he said, but it was hard to tell because he was facing away from me.

Moments later, I had shut the cottage door behind me and looked around to make sure no one was around to see anything they shouldn’t. The lights in the main house were off, but it looked like Rose and Seamus might still be awake. Losing my nerve, I considered retreating to my bed to lick my wounds in private. Damn Jasper Roth! As a matter of fact, damn all men! I’d give Edward back his handkerchief right now, and then my ties with all of them would be severed. Clean and simple.

The damp air enveloped me. Was it really twice as cold here as in London, or did it just feel that way? I wasn’t wearing a coat. I had pulled on a robe over my pajamas and slipped my kitchen clogs over my wooly socks. In my domed hand, I carried my tiny keychain flashlight, letting out only as much beam as I needed to find my way. If I shined it any brighter, people would notice me. The ground was lightly dusted with snow and the air was dead silent. The frozen twigs and sticks sounded like bullets as they shattered under my feet.

I rounded the back of the big house and saw only a dim lamplight in Edward’s cottage. Turn back, there’s your sign, Juliet. He’s already in bed. Leave well enough alone. I have to admit, I was a little relieved. Better to sever the ties without a face-to-face confrontation. I crept up to the handmade wooden platform that served as a porch, laid the handkerchief near the saddle, and weighed it down with a rock. The door opened, and I found myself staring at Edward’s bare feet.

“I thought you might be Father Christmas come early,” he said as I stood up. “But even through all those red flannel layers, I can see curves the likes of which the old man never hoped to aspire to.” I said nothing, trying Jasper’s trick. I was hoping he’d fill in the gap by talking, but he was too clever for me. He crossed his arms, and leaned against the doorframe, head cocked, smiling.

Finally, I caved. “I brought you back your handkerchief.”

“Good job, too. I don’t know how I would have survived the night without it,” he twinkled.

A light cut through the blackness and I saw that it was from Terrence’s window.

“Mind if I come in,” I said, pushing past him, over the threshold. “God knows what kind of gossip Terrence will be spreading if he sees me here.”

“What kind of gossip should he be spreading?” Edward asked, in his coffee-rich voice, crossing to the open-plan kitchen and turning on the flame under the kettle. I shook my head, involuntarily. Is there some law in the British books that cups of tea must be forced on all visitors, regardless of the time or occasion?

I walked past the sofa where there was a pile of bed pillows, with some rumpled quilts spread around. A hardback copy of the novel The Privileges splayed open on the sofa’s arm. There was half a bottle of red wine and a glass on the coffee table. Aside from that area, where he’d obviously been relaxing, the cottage was tidy for a man’s house. His shoes and boots were lined up in a row by the door and dishes were in the drainer. Through the open door, I could see that his bed was made.

“Well, he could tell people I’m a liar, and he’d be right. I’m embarrassed to admit this to you, but I don’t know if Ben is fine or not. I should have told you in the kitchen: we broke up. I caught him cheating on me, this morning.”

He looked right in my eyes. “Did you come to bring me my handkerchief or did you come to tell me you broke up with your boyfriend?” I took him in. He had on a hunter green ribbed turtleneck over a pair of Black Watch plaid pajama pants. On his head was a wooly cap, which looked hip and youthful in a way I hadn’t expected from Edward. The impulse to slide myself into his arms was so strong, I practically swooned. “Or,” he said softly, “is there something altogether different you came to tell me?”

I clutched the back of a barstool. A breakfast counter separated the kitchen area from the entrance hall. “I…I suppose I came to apologize for lying.” My face was growing warm.

“Is that another lie?” He leaned across the counter, his face inches from mine.

“Yes,” I whispered.

“Your Ben story seems less a lie and more a sin of omission. Anyhow, your secrets are your own to keep.” For half a wild second, I thought he might lean in and kiss me, but he stepped back into the kitchen. Reaching into the cupboard above his head for a mug, he said, “I was making tea, but would you rather have wine?”

Turn your body toward the front door, and walk out of it, Juliet. Coming here was a bad idea. Mother always counsels her patients who’ve ended a relationship not to start another for one year.

“I’ve already had a lot to drink, on a relatively empty stomach,” I told him, my feet carrying me around the bar, intending to head for the door.

“Is that the excuse you’ll give for kissing me?” he asked, taking a wine glass off the shelf and crossing to the sofa. With his back to me, he settled into the cocoon of blankets and poured my burgundy. I stood there, wondering what to do next – although we both knew what was going to happen. I’d known the minute I had made up my mind to give him his handkerchief back tonight.

After taking his time, Edward flipped back the corner of the quilts, holding them aloft. “You have to admit, it’s cold out there, alone.” I hesitated for a split second. “Come on then,” he said very gently. “Who’re you kidding?”

Live your least secretive life. Most of all, don’t keep secrets from yourself. My aunt’s voice rang in my head. Since the first conversation I had with him, I have wanted to press my body up against Edward, to cover his mouth with mine, to attack him without any of the shyness or reserve I had with Stephen or Ben.

“No one,” I admitted, sliding into the warm envelope of blankets, and onto his lap. “Ah,” I breathed out involuntarily. Even though I was terrified of where this might lead, I couldn’t help myself. I’d been waiting so long to press against him that the first thing I felt was something like relief.

He wrapped me in his arms and I tilted my face up to his, aching for a kiss. He looked into my eyes as we sat melting into one another, breathing the same air. “Please,” I whispered.

He reached around, stroking the back of my neck with his big, strong hand. Tangling his fingers upward, into my hair, he teased me, holding my head still. Brushing his lips slowly across mine, he moved back each time I tried to drink him in.

“Edward, please,” I sighed.

Clamping his mouth down hard onto mine, soft firm lips parted, and he turned my sigh into a moan. The only thing that existed was the warm lushness of his kiss. I was drunk. Our mouths moved together for what might have been minutes or centuries before I surfaced, becoming aware of all the sensations pulsing below my neck.

Underneath all of our fuzzy, wooly clothes, I could feel how tight and hard his body was. I was frantic with desire. Before I could think, I was straddling him, with my mouth still on his, my hands caressing the short, velvety hair under his cap. “Oh my good God,” I sighed, pushing myself against his lap. “Edward. You feel amazing.”

“There’s my girl,” he said quietly into my ear, as I was sliding my hand up his sweater, stroking past the down on his chest, up to the muscles of his shoulders. “I knew you were in there somewhere.” He managed to untie and pull off my robe without casting off the quilts. I literally couldn’t wait for him to unbutton my pajamas. The need for his hands on my skin was loud in my head. I pushed his hand under my top, and to my surprise, boldly showed him how to touch me. I could feel how aroused he was, but he followed my lead, all attention on my body, teasing me exquisitely until teasing wasn’t good enough. I knelt over him, pushing his hand down into my pajama bottoms, panting “yes, like that,” and “no, do this,” until, with him looking right into my eyes, I rocked and shook the way I never had with any man.

We disentangled and I gingerly lowered myself to his side, putting my arms around his neck, laying my ear on his chest to avoid looking at him. I could hear my own heavy breathing and I was embarrassed by how forward I’d just been.

“I’m sorry if…” I began.

“Don’t be sorry. That was beautiful,” he said to me, his voice vibrating through his sweater. “I’ve missed you. I didn’t know if you’d take a job here again, after our row.” He pulled back and took a long look at me. “You’re amazing, you know that. Promise you’ll let me do that again.”

I started to say what a bad idea it was to fool around with your co-worker, and what a mistake it had been, but who was I kidding. I knew I’d crawl ten miles to let him.

“Let you?” I said. “How about beg you?” I already felt starved for him. Inside my head, it felt like my brain had been replaced with warm, swirly, golden caramel. I couldn’t form a logical thought.

“I have wanted that since the first minute I laid eyes on you,” I said, matter-of-factly. “When we met in the kitchen, I wanted to put my hands under your clothes and feel your bare skin.” My mouth was saying whatever it wanted, unedited. My body was in control; my rational mind had lost the battle.

“That’s what I wanted,” he said simply.

“Well what’re your thoughts on letting me do a few things to you?” I whispered into his ear, gliding my hand across his lap to check his mood. Signs pointed to a positive outcome. And with one fell swoop, he picked the pile of blankets and me up, knocking over one of the wine glasses in our wake, and ferried me easily to the bedroom, even though we were pretty evenly matched, height-wise.

“My thoughts on that are impure,” he said, pulling his top off, exposing his calisthenics-shaped torso. “Filthy, in fact. Are you down with that?” In a split second, he was poised over me in a push-up, waiting for an answer.

Well, Juliet, whatever plan you were supposed to be sticking to seems like it’s out the window. Who knew I was so fickle? But with his mouth, and his hands on me, and the feeling of his…

“I have never been more down with anything in my life,” I said, rising up to meet him.