A Mistletoe Vow to Lord Lovell

by Joanna Johnson

  Whatever had passed between them at the foot of Wycliff Lodge’s sweeping stairs had been a mistake. She knew that for certain. It was a momentary lapse, nothing more, and she should put it from her mind before she risked giving it more importance than it deserved. Of course touching a handsome man had given her a short, sharp thrill. Wasn’t it more contact with an attractive male than she’d had in above three years? Any woman might experience a moment of weakness if she’d lived as a nun for such a long time and Lord Lovell was tempting enough to make any female with a pulse sit up and take notice.

  And that’s as far as it goes. I noticed and now I will stop noticing, easy as that. Even if I do like a man with salt-and-pepper hair.

  Honora gave herself a little shake.

  Did. Did like, I mean. Not any longer. And that’s that.

  The woman sitting beside her leaned forward a little to whisper something to her husband, who looked across at Honora apologetically.

  ‘I beg your pardon, madam. I wonder...my wife gets so bilious when we travel by coach. Would it be too much to ask if I might switch seats with you? I’d like to sit beside her if I may.’

  ‘Oh.’ Honora felt herself tense, the desire to refuse flaring immediately. As it was she had tucked herself neatly into a corner as far away from Lord Lovell as possible within the cramped cabin, able to disregard him completely as long as she kept her face turned to the window.

  ‘I wouldn’t ask, only she’s...in delicate health, at present.’

  One swift look down was enough to show Honora what he meant. The young woman’s warm cloak covered most of her gown, but a slight bump was just discernible beneath it and her face was nauseously pale.

  As always the sight of another with child skewered Honora with a lance of pain so sharp it might have made her gasp if she hadn’t grown accustomed to it over years of suffering. It was the same bittersweet mixture of happiness for the mother-to-be and agony for herself that always flowed over her with no mercy and this time was no exception. Every time it brought home to her in brutal clarity everything she would never have for herself—and now Frank was in the ground any chance at all lay with him in the silence of the grave.

  Three pairs of eyes were fixed on her, waiting for her to speak. Even Lord Lovell had glanced up from his paper, although she didn’t look at him as she tried to arrange her face into a pleasant smile despite the chill wending its way through her innards.

  ‘Of course. Of course I’ll swap.’

  She exchanged places with the man and settled into his vacated seat, acknowledging the couple’s thanks with another painful smile. They had no way of knowing what it cost her to curve stiff lips, although an unwelcome murmur from beside her suggested she hadn’t been entirely successful.

  ‘Are you unwell?’

  She gave Lord Lovell a sideways glare. At the sound of his quiet voice so close to her a curious tingle threaded up the back of her neck, but she stubbornly ignored its delightful stirring of the hairs at her nape. ‘No.’

  ‘You look troubled.’

  ‘Is that any wonder?’ she hissed, one eye on the couple opposite who had thankfully retreated back into their own world. ‘Now I have to sit next to you for the next who knows how many hours?’

  Lord Lovell made a sound that might have been a humourless laugh. ‘Ah. Is that what it is?’

  Honora gathered her pelisse about her, tucking it in fastidiously to avoid having to reply. As if she would ever tell Lord Lovell, of all people, of her secret sorrows. She wouldn’t even tell him her shopping list for market, let alone the sadness that lived inside her and would never go away, how she missed the parents from whom her shame held her back and the desire for a family that gnawed at her bones. He wouldn’t understand and he certainly wouldn’t care, probably too preoccupied with counting his money and searching for mirrors to look in to bother with anyone’s feelings but his own.

  ‘I thought we agreed not to speak any further.’

  ‘We did, didn’t we? Forgive the intrusion.’

  He disappeared again behind that damned newspaper and Honora took the opportunity to surreptitiously run a hand down the back of her neck. Sitting so near to Lord Lovell seemed to have lit a taper beneath her skin, the sensation at her nape triggered by his murmur alarming in the extreme. At this distance she could just catch the scent of his shaving soap—expensive, no doubt—and hear the steady rhythm of his breathing that made her own want to match its slow march. Secreted beneath layers of black bombazine she felt suddenly hot despite the December chill and with a frown angled her body as far away from Lord Lovell’s broad form as the small seat allowed.

  I won’t regard this. Any of it. I know better and I’ll do better.

  Her eyes were growing heavy. A combination of the coach’s rocking motion and having lain awake for hours the previous night made it tempting to close them for a moment and surrender to the sweet call of sleep that sang her name. It would mean an escape from the sight of the pregnant woman in front of her with a new life growing and a husband who loved her—and a temporary reprieve from Lord Lovell, rude and handsome and dangerously close.

  I shouldn’t. It’s probably impolite. Most things seem to be.

  Unaware Honora watched them, the husband tenderly stroked a damp curl back from his wife’s forehead and squeezed her hand, receiving a shaky smile in reply. It was such a picturesque scene Honora almost smiled herself, before the ice in her belly won out. She would never have a man care for her like that, comforting his beloved as she carried his child. Even in the first days of their marriage when she thought Frank meant the pretty words he spoke they had been lies. She had never been loved like that and never would be, too poor and unusual for most men to consider. Back in Somerset her reputation was questionable to say the least and no man was brave enough to see past it to the woman within—even if she had wanted one to. The knowledge clamped her in a tight fist of unhappiness and she looked away, seeking distraction in the world trundling past outside the coach window.

  Perhaps a few minutes won’t hurt. I’d rather be asleep than trapped in this life anyway.

  * * *

  The bed Honora lay in was warm and soft and she rubbed her cheek against the smooth silk of her pillow. Perhaps it was odd that the spacious four-poster stood among the spruce forest of her childhood, songbirds hopping through the branches and even a whitetail deer tripping past, but Honora couldn’t seem to mind. The sights and sounds of wild Virginia surrounded her on every side, even the smell of fir coming back to greet her like an old friend. She hadn’t been back in five years aside from in her lonely memories and yet now it was as though she’d never been away, lying comfortably and taking in the beloved sights of home. She felt so safe, so perfectly at ease, and it seemed the most natural thing in the world to stay just where she was and enjoy the sunlit peace.

  Someone was approaching through the trees. Honora watched the indistinct shape come closer, completely unafraid and only mildly curious. Whoever it was wouldn’t hurt her. She hadn’t been hurt in Virginia. That had come later, when Frank had spirited her away to freezing England and crushed her heart beneath his boot—but here she had nothing to fear. Frank couldn’t touch her in the safety of this wonderful forest bed and she smiled to know she was protected by something he would never understand.

  ‘Honora.’

  Her smile widened. Was that Ma calling her name, the one she missed and loved so dearly? Summoning her back to their wooden house, made by Pa’s own capable hands?

  ‘Honora.’

  No. The voice was too deep to be her mother’s. Perhaps it was her father instead? Her kind old Pa, wanting her to come and practise her letters as she had as a child?

  ‘Honora!’

  The silky pillow beneath her head moved and she moved with it, trying to cling on even as it shifted under her. Whoever was calling her from among the trees was louder now, t
heir vaguely familiar voice too close to her ear...

  Her eyes snapped open.

  It took a moment for her to gather her wits and for an unpleasant second Honora had no idea where she was. The place was shrouded in darkness, pale faces staring like uncanny moons and her cheek pressed against something that was definitely the wrong shape for a pillow. From somewhere nearby came the whinny of horses and sounds of heavy loads being dragged across cobbles, of footsteps and men shouting to each other in the frosted night.

  ‘Good. You’re awake.’

  The voice from her dream came again—and this time there was no mistaking its owner.

  Honora lurched upright like a puppet on a string, horror flooding every vein. She turned to Lord Lovell with eyes wide, her mortified gaze switching from his face to the padded shoulder of his silken coat and back again.

  Heaven save me. I fell asleep on him!

  Her heart skittered horribly and a wild surge of heat roared up to consume her rigid face. Lord Lovell looked back at her with the most unreadable expression on his dimly lit features, perhaps a combination of strained endurance and—somehow so much worse—dry amusement that only made her cheeks flare hotter.

  Why didn’t he wake me before? How could he let me embarrass myself like that!

  She was still very close to him—close enough to feel the warmth that radiated from his body and the knowledge she had strayed even nearer still while sleeping was almost too much to bear. Her head had rested on that pleasingly solid shoulder, only a few thin layers of linen and silk separating his skin from hers, and she must have curved against him while she dreamed. In all it was the most discomfiting thing imaginable—and the most appealing, a fact that sent her shuffling away in alarm.

  ‘We’ve gone as far as I had planned for today. We’ll stay at this inn and then continue on in the morning.’

  She nodded, refusing to meet Lord Lovell’s eye. Shame and anger swirled inside her, but she would not give the infuriating Lord Lovell the pleasure of seeing her unease. No doubt he thought it entertaining to allow her to make such a spectacle of herself, but he wouldn’t get the better of her that easily.

  The young couple stepped down from the carriage first and then Lord Lovell followed, straightening his back with a contented sigh. He turned and held out a hand to Honora, offering to help her down to stand beside him in the moonlit night, but she stubbornly waved him away.

  ‘I can manage, thank you.’

  ‘Very well. If you’re sure.’

  I’m very sure. The last thing she would do was to give him another chance to make an exhibition of her, Honora resolved grimly. If she behaved with icy disdain, he wouldn’t get the opportunity, her dignity shaken a little now but perfectly able to be hitched back into place. She was a strong woman, after all, self-assured, confident, poised...

  Lord Lovell had moved away a pace or two and was peering up at the stone façade of the inn, but he looked over his shoulder to call back, ‘Oh, Honora?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Your bonnet’s askew from your nap.’

  * * *

  The candles flickered in a cruel draught that followed Isaac through the inn’s front door, but a fire leaping in the hall grate soon chased it away. Stepping fully inside, he chafed his hands together, cold despite his fine woollen gloves, and glanced about for Honora. She glided in behind him, head held high, her bonnet now perfectly straight, and he stifled a reluctant smile.

  You’re not giving her any reason to like you better, teasing her like that. Then again, she’s hardly trying much herself.

  A cold flicker of alarm had swum through his nerves at the first touch of her head on his shoulder, each one already heightened in sensitivity from her sitting so near. When she had relaxed against him further, nestling closer and turning her head so her cheek might rest on the smooth fabric of his coat he had frozen entirely, unable to stop a rapid—and unwelcome—thrill from searing into his chest. The young couple opposite had smiled, evidently assuming Honora was his exhausted wife, so he’d had no choice but to smile back and endure the torture of that warm body pressed against his own, part of him hardly able to stand it—and another vexing, cursedly disobedient part enjoying every moment.

  Enough of that. Isaac peered down at his pocket watch, determined not to glance across to where Honora stood before the fire. Out of the corner of his eye he could see how the flames played over her face, her clear skin amber-gold in the soft light and the fine shape of her profile silhouetted against the leaping orange tongues. What he needed was to get away from her. That was all it would take to collect himself, a glass of something and a goodnight’s sleep in a comfortable bed, sequestered away from his irritating companion behind a locked bedroom door.

  She isn’t the only one who’s tired, after all. I haven’t slept properly since I learned of Charlotte’s condition and after today I don’t know what I want more than to close my eyes.

  Tensing his jaw on a yawn, Isaac looked about for the landlord. The man in question was talking to another traveller, but he broke off at Isaac’s approach, the tall, fair-haired traveller moving off in a way that struck Isaac as oddly furtive.

  ‘Can I help you, sir?’

  ‘I was hoping to secure lodgings for the night. For myself and the lady at the fireplace.’

  Isaac gestured towards Honora, noticing the fair-haired stranger had drifted closer to where she stood. He seemed to be watching her, something Honora appeared to notice, too, as she subtly shifted position so all the man could see was the back of her black coat.

  The landlord nodded. ‘Of course, sir. You’re just in time. It’s been a busy evening, but fortunately we have one room left for you and your wife.’

  Isaac stared at him. ‘Only one room? For me and my—?’

  ‘Your wife. That’s right. I’m very sorry, sir.’

  ‘But—’

  The rest of Isaac’s sentence tailed off as he felt a shower of cold water drench him from head to toe, absolute dismay and alarm coming together to drag pure frustration up from his soul.

  No. Surely not...he must be joking.

  He couldn’t even escape Honora in sleep? Isaac’s eyes darted toward her of their own volition, taking in her rigid back and the man that loitered a little too close to her—a sight that set him oddly on edge. What he wanted was to forget all about her for a few blessed hours, not be forced into even greater proximity with her and the bizarre reaction she provoked with no effort at all.

  ‘Are you quite sure there are no other rooms available?’

  ‘I’m afraid so. Not to worry though, sir.’ The landlord smiled encouragingly. ‘It’s a very comfortable room, well appointed.’

  With the muscles of his face feeling like granite Isaac mustered a nod. No joke after all, then.

  Honora would be horrified beyond measure when she learned they would have to share, no doubt disgusted and appalled and all manner of other unflattering adjectives to describe her feelings. For himself there was more annoyance than anything else, unable to snatch a moment alone and made to endure yet more time spent with a breathing reminder of Frank Blake.

  But what choice do we have? There’s no other inn for miles and even if there was I doubt we’d find it in the dark. She’ll have to put up with it—as will I.

  Isaac’s teeth were gritted so hard they almost squeaked as he stepped to Honora’s side. She looked up at him, suspicion growing in her hazel eyes as she took in the stiffness of his mouth.

  ‘What is it?’

  He bent his head a little to speak into her ear, aware the blond man still hovered nearby. She had delicate, well-shaped ears, he noticed for the first time...before shying away in vexation. ‘We will have to share a room tonight. All the others are taken.’

  Honora started back as if he’d struck her, glaring up into his face in clear affront. ‘What are you talking about
? This is no time for stupid jokes. I’m tired and I want to go to bed.’

  ‘As do I. Unfortunately, I’m in earnest.’

  She stared at him for a long moment, searching his features for the truth. He gazed back grimly, his irritation growing with each breath.

  ‘Absolutely not!’

  ‘Keep your voice down.’ Isaac stepped nearer still, turning a shoulder to the stranger who watched them from his place on the other side of the fire. Why the man didn’t look away Isaac didn’t know, but with his temper rising he had half a mind to stride over and ask him. ‘You’ll have a very cold and uncomfortable night on a hard stone floor otherwise. There are no other rooms.’

  ‘There must be.’

  ‘No. Believe me, I asked. Do you think I’d insist on it if there was any other choice?’

  ‘I don’t know what you’d insist upon.’

  The upward turn of Honora’s chin was even more irritating than her words and Isaac couldn’t help but bite back. ‘Don’t flatter yourself,’ he almost growled. ‘The landlord thinks you’re my wife. It will raise far less suspicion and cast no aspersions on your honour if we just quietly go along with it. It’s one night. Surely even you can manage that.’

  Honora bristled slightly, but there were shadows beneath her eyes and finally her exhaustion won out. ‘Fine. But remember—I have a pistol in my luggage.’

  ‘You remember—don’t flatter yourself.’

  Hitching a smile back on his face, Isaac gestured to the landlord waiting at the foot of a staircase leading up to the rooms above.