The low rumble of his voice sent thrills careening down her spine to lodge between her thighs. Desire aside, her feelings for him were so much more than that. He had a depth he haddn’t before. “So much cheek in you, Major,” she murmured with what she hoped was a saucy grin as she stilled her fingers in her lap.
“Indeed.” He prowled toward her, his eyes glittering like dark sapphires. “But you did invite me over for these past twenty minutes. I can almost feel the longing in you,” he whispered even though they were alone.
Heat slapped at her cheeks when he came to a halt before her, his presence filling the space, the scent of him wrapping around her. “Do hush. Simon will return in minutes.”
“Ah, then it’s a test of skill and stealth I’m up against.” He took hold of her hands and effortlessly brought her into a standing position. Her knitting tumbled to the floor at their feet, as did the shawl draped about her shoulders. “I could never resist a challenge.”
Trembles moved through her body. His big hands enveloped hers, the callouses an interesting contrast on her skin. “Meaning?” She could barely utter the word from a suddenly tight throat. Her pulse beat like a mad drumbeat as she stared up at him.
“I’m going to kiss you senseless,” he said and then, with a particularly wicked grin that stole her breath, he took her into his arms and lowered his mouth to hers.
Sarah was lost the instant his lips met hers. When she assumed he would lay claim to her, he teased her with gentle nips and nibbles, licked the corners of her mouth, caressed her bottom lip. She clung to his shoulders in an effort to remain upright, but as he drew a line of butterfly kisses beneath the edge of her jaw and along the column of her neck, she sighed and melted against his strong chest.
The kitchen door slammed, and with a sigh of regret and her senses spinning, she pulled from him but couldn’t look away.
A rueful grin curved his sensuous lips. “Our timing is atrocious.”
She could barely manage a chuckle as she pushed at his shoulder. “Hasn’t it always been that?”
“Sooner or later we shall have our moment,” he whispered as he returned to the leather chair, but there was a suspicious bulge at the front of his trousers.
Sarah sank onto the sofa—oozed onto the cushion was a more apt term since her bones had turned into cooked porridge from the heat of his kiss—and she took her handiwork into her lap once more as Simon burst into the room.
“I love the snow.” The boy smiled at her. “You are flushed, Mama. I hope you’re not ill.”
Oh, dear God. When had he grown so observant? She exchanged a guilty glance with Cecil, who gave her a maddening grin the boy couldn’t see and shrugged. “I’m not ill, but perhaps it is a trifle warm in here.”
Simon nodded. “The Major should go outside with you. The snow is quite cold.” Then he darted to the stairs. “You can come tuck me in, Mama, but I probably won’t sleep. I’m too excited about everything.”
Too well do I understand that feeling. I only hope I won’t be disappointed.
Chapter Fifteen
December 24, 1814
Decorating the cottage began in earnest, and Cecil soon found himself perched on a ladder, nailing evergreen boughs above each and every doorway merely because Simon asked him to, and the fact that it brought out a delighted smile on Sarah’s face. Beyond that, his own excitement had ramped exponentially. Over the years, the holiday was dismal at best while at war, so he looked forward to what tomorrow would bring.
And this year was extra special, for he’d finally found a home he never knew he wanted... or needed. Once his mother had died, his father had thrown himself into his political ambitions. Perhaps it had been a way to counter the grief, but he wasn’t around for Cecil or his brothers. Then, the boys scattered. Two went to war while the third retreated to the church.
Perhaps it was also time to reconcile with the remaining blood relatives, because life was short, and Sarah had made him see that. After Christmastide, he would see about making contact with his brother. If all went well, a trip to London would be in order, but he wouldn’t go alone, and having Sarah by his side—even Simon—would make him that much stronger.
Such thoughts distracted his focus and he swayed on the ladder.
“Watch out, Major Stapleton,” Simon warned, his eyes round with alarm.
“Please have a care, Cecil,” Sarah murmured with her arms uplifted as if she would catch him in the event he tumbled from his perch.
His heart squeezed and a piece flew into her keeping. “I am quite fine. No need to worry.” When was the last time anyone had cared on his behalf? Quickly, he turned his face to the wall and hammered a nail into the greenery so they wouldn’t see his confusion. “This is the last of it,” he said once he’d wrestled the excess emotion under control. “Shall we return downstairs?”
“Major?”
“Yes, Simon?”
“Is it still snowing?”
“I believe it is. Why?” Cecil exchanged an amused glance with Sarah.
“Could we go play in it? I always thought it might be fun, and Mama only goes outside if you’re with us.”
Cecil caught the guilty blush spreading into her cheeks and the sensation of falling assailed him, yet he remained firmly rooted on the old wooden ladder that had belonged to his father once upon a time. “That is an excellent idea, my boy.” The words slipped out before he could recall them. Sarah’s eyes widened, but the joy in Simon’s face was nothing short of angelic. His throat constricted. “Go find your coat. I’ll join you presently.”
The child didn’t waste any time. His steps echoed, but Sarah lingered.
“Thank you for doing this for him,” she whispered, and she touched a hand to the small of his back. “It’s a sweet gesture.”
Heat emanated from the point of contact. “It’s my pleasure and privilege.” He climbed down and then faced her. “I’m doing this for us. We all need the festive atmosphere.”
“Agreed.” She went up on the tips of her toes and kissed his cheek—his right cheek regardless of the shrapnel scars that ravaged the skin. “And you say you’re not a hero. When a child looks at you like Simon does, how can you not believe it?” Before he could reply, she vanished down the stairs.
He allowed himself a small grin even if his chin trembled slightly. How indeed.
“You have to move your arms and legs at the same time, silly,” Cecil teased as Simon lay on his back in the snow. They’d tramped beyond the trees and into the pristine expanse of snow-covered field, where he was instructing the boy on how to make a snow angel. “Flap as if you were a bird.”
Except, the boy wasn’t coordinated enough, or he didn’t understand. “Show me.”
Cecil tossed a look to Sarah. “Do it with me.”
“I don’t think that’s wise. It’s cold and I don’t want to get wet,” she hedged and pulled her cloak more tightly around her.
“You’ll be fine.” He dropped to the ground at Simon’s left side and peered at Sarah until she did the same at his right. “Now watch us, Simon. With luck, when you stand, you’ll leave behind a perfect angel.” Then he demonstrated the technique, and the initial awkwardness and embarrassment fled in the face of Simon’s delighted laughter ringing out in the chilly air. “That’s it. You’ve got it.”
He sprang up from his spot on the ground and carefully hopped out so he wouldn’t disturb his creation. A simple heft of the boy’s slight frame launched him from the littlest angel. Cecil moved to Sarah’s location, and she looked so innocent and happy as she lay there with sparkling eyes that his heart skipped a beat. “Let me help you.” He extended a hand, and when she grasped it, he hauled her upward as if she weighed nothing at all. The force of his assist brought her crashing into his chest, and they both laughed, but heat lingered in her gaze. For the moment, he was forced to ignore it while Simon watched them. “Look.” He turned her about. “As I said, a perfect angel.”
The three forms upon the snowy gr
ound bolstered his spirit, for they’d left behind the essence of what they were: two adults and a child, flying in different directions but connected just the same.
“That was splendid fun, Major!” Simon hopped up and down, his eyes alight. “What next?”
Sarah slanted a sideways glance at him. Beneath her breath, she said, “Somehow, I don’t believe you’re talking about the snow angel.”
He laughed, for how could he not? “You’re beginning to know me all too well,” he murmured back, before he addressed Simon. “Let’s keep walking. I’m certain we’ll find entertainment along the way.” He offered his arm to Sarah, because it was the gentlemanly thing to do, and he smiled as she accepted, but when Simon slipped his mittened hand into Cecil’s free one, his whole world spun and then became centered like it never had before.
The simple things in life were infinitely the best and once more he blinked away tears of gratitude, for in surviving the war as he had, when he’d thought all was lost, he found... this.
After a while, their tramp through the meadow became yet another game when Cecil stooped and formed a snowball. He tossed it in Simon’s direction and laughed when it smacked into the boy’s shoulder. The look on the child’s face as he went from annoyance to wonder tugged at Cecil’s heart.
“Is this a snowball fight, Major Stapleton?” Simon asked as he brushed off the remnants of the packed snow from his coat.
“I believe it is.” With an amused glance at Sarah, Cecil grinned. “Do you wish to play?”
“Ever so much.” He bobbed his head with enthusiasm. “It is just like you said you did with your brothers when you were a boy,” he breathed, his eyes wide.
“Indeed.”
If possible, the child’s eyes went even wider. “I believed we would do this and now we are.”
“Never lose hope,” Cecil managed to choke out from a tight throat. When Sarah surreptitiously wiped at her eyes, he sobered. “Shall we pick teams? Do you choose your mother or me?”
Simon’s gaze bounced between them, clearly conflicted. Then, he grinned. “I choose Mama, for it will be jolly fun to throw against you, Major.”
“Very well. Choose your positions,” he said with mock-command in his voice.
Quickly, Sarah pulled Simon away from him a bit. They held a whispered consultation and set to forming a stockpile of snowballs while Cecil couldn’t hide his grin. The woman had a natural knack for ground artillery.
Then the battle began.
Back and forth snowballs flew, some finding their marks, some going wide. Through it all, laughter sparkled over the sounds of splatting missiles. One of Cecil’s snowballs caught Simon square on the head and knocked his slouch cap eschew.
“Unfair, Major!” But when he sent his next volley, two of the balls pelted Cecil in the chest and neck. Icy cold snow slipped beneath his collar.
“Well done, lad.” Had he ever passed an afternoon quite like this and enjoyed it? Not in recent years to be sure. “Somehow your mother has remained untouched. Shall we rectify that?”
“You wouldn’t,” she said, and the warning in her voice was clear, but Simon advanced upon her with a snowball in hand. “I’m on your team.”
“A snowball fight should be equal among all parties, Mama,” Simon said, sounding quite sure of himself. Then he cocked back his hand and let his missile fly.
It struck Sarah right in the center of her chest, exploding upon impact, much to the delight of the boy.
“Nicely done!” Cecil hooted with laughter at the look of annoyance that crossed her face. “Keep going.”
Between Simon and him, they pelted her with enough snowballs that it appeared as if she’d fallen into a snow drift.
“Mercy! I cry mercy,” Sarah said, her voice breathless, her cheeks red from the cold, her kissable lips curved upward in a smile, her eyes sparkling. A tendril of her hair had escaped its knot and had snaked its way from beneath the bonnet to lie as a fetching temptation over her shoulder. “I surrender. Clearly the two of you are superior.”
“We won!” Simon’s shout of victory echoed over the meadow and made Cecil chuckle all the harder.
“What should we do with our prisoner, Simon?” he asked as he caught her around the waist with an arm and waggled his eyebrows.
The grin that spread over the boy’s face was decidedly wicked. Where had he learned such a thing? “We should kiss her and then turn her loose. No matter than she lost fair and square, she should have a second chance. And she’s a good cook.”
“Ah. A fine idea.” Cecil couldn’t help his delight. He winked at her. “You first, Simon.”
“Come, Mama,” he said with all the soberness of a general accepting the surrender of a losing party. “Offer your cheek.”
She did so with a quick huff. “You two are quite ridiculous.”
The boy ignored her comment. He noisily bussed her cheek. “Your turn, Major.” He gestured with a hand as if granting a grand favor.
“Thank you.” Cecil came close and dropped a light peck onto her other cheek.
“No.” Simon frowned. “Grown-ups are supposed to kiss on the lips. Everyone knows that.” He rolled his eyes. “Try again, and this time give it some stick.”
“Oh, I don’t know...” The blush in Sarah’s cheeks expanded to her whole face. “It’s not proper.”
Simon snorted. “Mama. These are the rules.”
“That you just made up,” she reminded him with a wary look at Cecil, but longing flared deep in the brown depths of her eyes.
“It matters not.” Impatient, the boy waved a hand again. “Get on with it, Major.”
Unable to quell the worst of his levity, Cecil snickered. “You heard him, and he’s apparently a very exacting commander.” Then he lowered his voice as he stepped into her personal space. “And you do look quite fetching rosy from exertion with snow clinging to you.”
She rolled her eyes in a fair imitation of her son. “Such gammon.”
“Only the truth where you’re concerned.” He placed a gloved finger beneath her chin and raised her face. “Always.” Then, acutely aware that Simon stood beside them watching with his hawk-like gaze, Cecil lowered his lips to hers in a tender, barely-there kiss. But her eyelids fluttered closed and the arc of her dark lashes laid against her pale cheeks in such a manner that his breath caught, and he repeated the gesture merely for the pleasure of it.
When he pulled away, she stared at him with round eyes and he stared back. Warmth filled his chest while a jolt of desire zipped down his spine and into his stones. Damnation. He was in love with her. It had happened without his realizing it, and now here he was, feeling as if he teetered on a ledge and on the verge of falling, plunging over the side of the familiar and into something new and strange and... wonderful.
“Good show,” Simon said. The sound of his voice yanked Cecil from his thoughts.
He glanced at the boy, caught a flash of sly satisfaction in his eyes, and he wondered. Had they been manipulated into a kiss all along? It didn’t matter. Nothing did right now in the face of the knowledge that his life was about to change...
...hopefully.
Then he cleared his throat. “Let’s continue on. I’d like to seek out an evergreen tree that might fit nicely into the house on the morrow.”
Sarah nodded. She touched her gloved fingers to her lips. Why? They’d shared more intense kisses before. “That is a German custom, and I’m not aware that many others in the village have adopted it for Christmastide.”
“All the more reason to do it. While in Europe, I grew enamored of it and vowed if I came home, I’d adopt the practice.” Then he frowned. “With your permission, of course.”
“You have it. I think it will prove a delightful addition. We can decorate it together tomorrow night after dinner.”
Simon’s eyes rounded. “A tree inside our house?”
“Absolutely.” Cecil grinned. “Are we of an accord?”
“Yes!” The boy jumped up and dow
n. “Oh, this has been the best day ever.”
He glanced at Sarah, who met his gaze with a smile. “I quite agree.” Would his good fortune extend to making his life with more of the same?
Another half hour of walking saw Simon flagging with fatigue.
“Let Mama carry you home,” Sarah murmured. She hefted the boy up with a grunt. “My, you’re getting heavy. Soon I won’t be able to lift you.”
Simon’s eyelids fluttered sleepily, but he grinned. “I’ll be a man soon too.” A shiver racked his slight shoulders.
“That you will.” She stopped in order to settle him.
“Let me,” Cecil offered. He took the boy from her arms, unbuttoned his greatcoat, and then held the boy against his chest, wrapping the coat about him. “It’s much too long a walk for you to struggle with. He hardly weighs more than my rucksack and equipment in the field.”
“Thank you. At times he is too much for me,” she admitted as they began the walk back to the cottage.
Simon snuggled into Cecil’s chest. With his eyes drooping, he sighed. “You’re the best, Papa.” Exhaustion wove through the comment and then just as quickly the boy as asleep, dead weight in Cecil’s hold.
Oh, God. His heart swelled so much he feared it might burst. Finally, he’d heard those most treasured of words from his son, even if they’d been spoken by accident, for the boy didn’t know of his paternity. Once again, tears welled in his eyes. He struggled to hide the wealth of emotion by burying his face into Simon’s curls.
Sarah touched his arm. “It doesn’t make you less strong to show your emotion, Cecil.” She squeezed her fingers about his forearm. “In fact, it shows how much strength a man truly has.” When he glanced at her, there was a trace of moisture in her eyes as well. “He must feel comfortable around you to have said something like that.”
He nodded. “Even still, I’m grateful for all you’ve given me, especially this time with him.” Feeling at sea with the wealth of new emotions, he shifted the boy against his chest and caught her hand in his. “If there hadn’t been you and him at the end of my journey, I shudder to contemplate what would have become of me.”
On a Midnight Clear Page 15
