‘The roads won’t be passable under all that. I’m afraid you have no choice but to put up with Charlotte and me a while longer.’
‘Oh.’ Honora’s breath misted the glass as she leaned forward to look down. Her heart, already leaping from her closeness to Isaac, picked up a little more, flinging itself against her bodice as though trying to escape.
I don’t have to leave immediately. I can stay with Isaac a few more days.
The realisation flickered inside her like a flame dancing in a breeze and she had to steel herself not to smile. It was a ridiculous, inappropriate reaction, but one she found she couldn’t help.
‘I’m sorry to have to trespass further on your hospitality. Perhaps I could pay you in more badly made Christmas decorations? I’m afraid I’ve little else to offer.’
Isaac’s lips twitched and he cast a look up at the lopsided kissing ball hanging above their heads. ‘Would you? I think I’d like one in every room. They give the Manor a distinctive air, I feel.’
‘Very well. I’ll get started at once.’
Isaac’s smile broadened—and then faded, another expression taking its place that wiped any amusement from Honora’s mind.
‘You know what traditionally happens under one of these.’ He gestured upwards to the cluster of greenery and Honora felt her mouth dry at once. Surely he wasn’t suggesting what she thought he might be...? The tick of her pulse became more of a roar in her ears as she tilted her head to look into his face.
‘I do.’
‘But not in this case, of course. I know last time, at the inn, you didn’t appreciate the idea...and there’s still the small issue of my being—what was it?—one of the most unpleasant men you’ve had the misfortune to meet. Probably in my case you’d rather dispense with tradition.’
If she hadn’t been able to see his face, she might have thought he was joking. Instead she saw the real question in his eyes, an honest enquiry that demanded an answer, and her voice was uncharacteristically low and quiet when she replied.
‘I think you must know my opinion of you has changed given recent events. How I felt when I first met you is not how I feel now.’
‘I see.’ Isaac nodded and Honora saw the movement of his throat as he swallowed, a reflexive action she couldn’t help but copy. All of a sudden it was difficult to breathe, the atmosphere in the library now heavy with something unspoken that surely Isaac must feel, too. ‘So we needn’t abandon the usual Christmas customs entirely? You wouldn’t find this one entirely revolting?’
‘No. I think perhaps I could bear it. It would be a shame to have made such a flawless decoration and not allow it to fulfil its destiny, after all.’
Honora’s face felt as though it had burst into flame as Isaac’s mouth quirked again.
‘I agree. In the spirit of Christmas, then, and to celebrate your craftsmanship...’
Time seemed to slow as Isaac bent his head, two wordless gazes locked on to each other in a blaze of cautious desire. Honora could hardly bear the achingly unhurried closing of the gap between them, Isaac aiming for her cheek and brushing it softly—until at the last possible moment all good sense abandoned her and she turned her head, her lips finding his and rejoicing at feeling their touch once more.
If Isaac was shocked at her bold action, he showed no sign. He didn’t recoil, or flinch, or behave in any way like a man unwilling to press his lips against Honora’s and steal every breath from her melting body with earth-shattering skill. His hand came up at once to steady her curving waist and she gasped to feel the heat of his palm through the sombre material of her gown, scalding as though each of his fingers contained real fire to burn her yearning skin.
She was a tall woman, but still she had to reach up to meet his questing mouth with hers, her own hands now rising to anchor him in place. With one at his shoulder and the other tracing the short hair at the base of his neck she felt Isaac shudder, but surely only with the hopeless wonder that coursed likewise beneath Honora’s skin at such unexpected, heated contact she’d never thought to experience again. Locked together in an embrace so tight nothing could have slipped between them, she nearly sagged in his hold, her legs weak with longing and distant amazement at her own nerve. What was she thinking, turning her head so brazenly to accept Isaac’s kiss? And why on earth hadn’t she sought it sooner, this slice of heaven she never wanted to end?
He flattened his hand against her spine and dragged it upwards, leaving a trail of pure sensation in its wake that made her gasp again. She could have sworn she felt him smile against her lips, grazing them gently with his teeth before ducking lower to find where her pulse raced below her jaw, pressing his mouth to the sensitive spot and with one light nip reducing her bones to water.
Isaac must have been able to feel the rhythm of her heart beneath the thin skin and doubtless relished his effect on her, finally indefensible proof his handsome face had succeeded at last in breaking down her studied indifference. Perhaps the knowledge would inflate his ego, but Honora couldn’t manage to care—all she could think was how good it felt to be within the circle of two strong arms, her breath coming fast and shallow and the feeling of Isaac surrounding her completely, in the air she breathed and the scent of his skin and the sound of her own heartbeat thrumming loud enough for the whole world to hear.
With her eyes closed and head tipped back, it took her a moment to realise the library door was creaking open. Only when the rustle of Charlotte’s dress met her ears did Honora jolt out of Isaac’s grip, cheeks glowing and lips flushed and guilt written all over the two faces that turned in the girl’s direction.
She stood on the threshold, looking from one frozen countenance to the other with the distinct impression she knew she’d stumbled across something she shouldn’t. Charlotte might have been innocent, but she wasn’t stupid. Honora cringed—there was no way she wouldn’t realise what she had just interrupted...
Although it’s just as well she did. You evidently can’t be trusted to behave yourself when left alone with Isaac, a strict little voice at the back of her mind spoke up disapprovingly. Brazen, that’s what you are. And foolish beyond imagining.
‘We were just looking out at the snow.’ Isaac waved a hand towards the window, his usual confidence apparently quickly restored. ‘It’s too deep for Miss Honora to leave us today as she’d planned so she will be staying a few days longer. I thought you’d be pleased.’
‘Oh!’ Charlotte’s face lit up as if someone had lit a candle behind it, prompting a flutter of fondness behind Honora’s breastbone even as she struggled to catch her breath. ‘I’m more than pleased! In truth... I was hoping to ask you—’ She broke off for a moment to cast a pleading look at Isaac, who gazed questioningly back. ‘I wanted to ask if you would stay for Christmas? Unless you have other plans, of course?’
Honora’s lips parted in surprise and she couldn’t help a cut of her eyes in Isaac’s direction. To stay until the roads were clear was one thing—might lingering be more than Isaac would want, especially now that second kiss had stirred up more confusion between them?
‘Stay for Christmas? I’m not sure...’
‘Won’t you help to persuade her?’ Charlotte turned the full force of her periwinkle charms on Isaac, who stood so tall and straight beside Honora she felt her fingers twitching to reach and entwine with his own.
Stay here for Christmas? Is that wise? And would Isaac even want me to?
The desire to accept Charlotte’s invitation was immediate, flaring inside her like a struck match. There was nothing awaiting her return to Somerset, after all. Nothing called her back, her home no longer her own, and the only friend she had doubtless busy with her own family for the festivities. Honora was all alone and the sudden ache not to be was more powerful than her usual caution. It was dangerous to grow closer to Isaac, she knew, well aware now of his determination to avoid tender feeling—wasn’t it a
risk to allow her growing regard for him to continue, doubtless strengthening as each day passed?
In all probability, the little voice agreed dourly, and yet what other choice do you have?
She felt Isaac’s gaze upon her and met his eye, her skin tingling as his lips curved upwards.
‘Well, Miss Jackson. It seems my ward has spoken and I’m loath to disappoint her. Will you oblige her and stay for Christmas? If you can tolerate another fortnight in our presence?’
Charlotte took a step forward, hands clasped before her so beseechingly Honora knew there could be only one answer.
This could be a mistake. I could well be letting myself in for more heartache I thought I’d never feel again after I lost Frank.
She sensed Isaac at her shoulder, waiting wordlessly for her reply. That kiss had changed things between them, surely—although whether for better or worse only time would tell.
‘Thank you, Charlotte. That would be wonderful. I’m delighted to accept.’
Chapter Eight
Snow continued to fall in fits and starts as the days leading up to Christmas passed in a flurry of activity. There were yet more garlands of holly and evergreens to hang on every available surface, filling the Manor with scattered pine needles and bathing it in the light of countless candles burning in every nook and cranny. Oranges and cloves scented the air from pomanders placed at each hearth and delicious smells of spices drifted up from the kitchens as Charlotte’s carefully directed cakes and puddings were baked below stairs, making Honora’s mouth water each time she passed through. St Thomas’s Day was spent making up parcels of food and fairings for the poor widows who came to call, deprived of their husbands by illness or war and glad of the Christmas cheer contained in baskets Honora and Charlotte filled together at the great oak kitchen table. She might be forced to rely on something similar herself in the future, Honora had thought bleakly, but the next moment she’d pushed the idea aside. For now she was in a warm house, by some miracle, her friendship with poor Charlotte strengthening by the day—she should count her blessings and appreciate the here and now rather than fret about what might be to come when the snow finally stopped and she would be forced back into reality. For two precious weeks she could pretend all was well and that was not to be sniffed at.
Standing now at the dining room window, she looked out at the vast gardens stretching behind the Manor, attempting to turn her thoughts away from their habitual bent towards Isaac and the worries that had plagued her since their unexpected kiss. The snowy landscape was almost untouched, only one set of deeply pitted footprints leading away from the house toward a tangled copse of trees to one side of the submerged lawn. Their branches waved wildly beneath iron-grey clouds, the peaceful drifting of white flakes replaced now by the threat of a blizzard that grew with every passing hour. Before long the wind would be whipped into a frenzy and those dark clouds would release their menace on the world below, flinging ice down on the heads of anyone fool enough to venture outside.
Honora shivered. When was the last time there had been a storm so close to Christmas? Not since she could remember, the twenty-fifth usually dawning cold, but not stopping her from making the short walk into the next village for the Christmas Day service. Only on a handful of occasions throughout the year would she brave the stares of the congregation to settle into a pew, both her skin and uncertain reputation drawing attention she didn’t enjoy. If the weather stayed as fierce as she suspected it might now, then perhaps she might be spared the same ordeal this year—a different church, but surely the same reaction, mutters following her as she sailed down the aisle with as much dignity as she could muster.
I wonder what Isaac would think of the stares. Might he even spring to my defence as he did in the coach?
Not that she should wish for such a thing, Honora reminded herself sternly even as her heart gave a sharp lurch at the thought. Ever since their lips had met beneath the cluster of mistletoe hung at the library window, a reminder of her moment of poor judgement every time she stepped inside, it had become all the harder to ignore the weakness for her host that muttered to her night and day. She had long determined not to fall on the mercy of a man again and he had expressed his opinion of romantic relationships as a dangerous waste of time, so why could she not seem to remember those facts now it was more important than ever? There was nothing to be gained by entertaining her foolish weakness for that handsome face, yet it would seem her powers of self-control were still trying to elude her.
Glancing away from the window, Honora felt her ears redden as she recalled the traitorous urge that had whispered for her to turn her head, at the last minute changing everything. What had started out as an innocent tradition had morphed into something else and now every time she closed her eyes the same moment came back to visit her, the image of Isaac bending towards her with such gentleness in his expression it made her throat dry with sudden thirst. Her glimpse at his hidden kindness had made her want to know more, a perilous desire that could so quickly spin and consume her just as Frank’s cruelty had swallowed her whole.
A movement on the other side of the glass caught her attention, a flicker of blue among white and standing out against the darkening sky. She frowned for a moment, squinting into the gathering dusk, until a rush in her chest recognised what she was looking at before rationale caught up with her instinct.
Isaac was struggling through the snow, retracing the single line of footsteps towards the Manor and dragging something along behind him. He was bent over, gripping his burden with both hands and his face screwed up against the chill wind throwing snow into his eyes. It pulled at his hair, rippling across the warm chestnut and tugging at the blue coat flapping on his back, but he didn’t stop, continuing onwards until he disappeared from view behind a box hedge covered in sparkling frost. He was making for the kitchen door, if she wasn’t mistaken, and after a moment of hesitation Honora left the dining room. Isaac looked as though he might appreciate some help and the notion of providing it was more pleasing than she knew she should allow.
Be careful, Honora. You’re in ever greater danger of letting yourself get carried away—and what’s worse, you know it.
* * *
Isaac sat down heavily on the soaking log and waited for his breath to stop sounding like a winded horse. All around him the kitchen hummed with activity like bees in a hive. Mrs Strimpel was the queen at the very centre and cast him sidelong looks that left no room for interpretation.
‘I’ll be taking the Yule log out in a moment. Just catching my breath first. No need for alarm.’
The cook bestowed a gracious smile on Isaac as if he was a little boy who had given the right answer to a question. She’d been a fixture at Marlow Manor since Isaac was in short trousers and he could well remember sneaking down to beg a piece of gingerbread or fresh-baked roll as a child, all while his father turned a blind eye. What would the previous Lord Lovell think of the current state of affairs at his ancestral home? Isaac wondered now for the first time. His son’s ward carrying the illegitimate baby of a perturbing guest’s errant husband, neither knowing the real truth of the other, but becoming closer friends every minute that ticked past. Father’s eyes would have lit up on seeing Honora, Isaac knew as he waited for his pulse to slow. An intriguing woman who any fool could see had piqued his son’s interest and might even question his ridiculous determination not to marry. Isaac’s reluctance to take a wife and expect her to weather the storm of labour had been a source of unspoken tension between the two generations of Lovell men and now Isaac tightened his grip on the sodden wood beneath his palms.
What Father would have seen is the very reason I should spend as little time in Honora’s presence as possible. If only I could make myself listen to my own good sense. He would have been right to pin his hopes on her creeping beneath my defences and I won’t be so arrogant as to ignore that danger.
He no longer worried Honora woul
d spread news of Charlotte’s pregnancy. That wasn’t the danger he recognised. The poor, motherless girl had clearly drawn Honora in with her unfeigned sweetness and obvious yearning for acceptance, doubtless touching the void in Honora’s maternal heart and filling some gap there like sand flowing into an hourglass. The threat he saw now was of a different kind and one he knew loomed larger every day.
The more time Honora spent at Marlow Manor the more his esteem for her blossomed like a stubborn bloom, unfurling its petals as though she was the sun that sustained it. Her kindness to Charlotte showed what lay beneath that caustic exterior and it called to him, her lack of judgement and compassion as attractive as the fine lines of her countenance. When she’d turned her cheek and let his lips touch hers under the kissing ball it had been all the delightful, unexpected, terrifying encouragement he needed to think his feelings might be returned—which was exactly what he feared.
If she came to care for me as I do her and then discovered I had concealed Frank’s involvement, along with the distasteful similarities that once existed between us...wouldn’t she hate me and resent Charlotte, and above all be devastated the child she longed for was given to another by the very man she had pinned her hopes upon?
The memory of her face when she’d told him of her sadness came back to taunt him and he couldn’t help an unconscious grimace. Any possibility of tenderness would be stripped away the moment she learned of his deception, warmth he had no business hoping for anyway. He didn’t want to form an attachment and neither did Honora—both of them with unarguable reason to avoid such complications—so why were they dancing around the very thing they professed not to desire, an entanglement that would only lead to pain? It was confusing and enticing and risky beyond measure, the chance of Honora discovering the truth about Frank making Isaac feel as though he walked on eggshells in his own home.
A Mistletoe Vow to Lord Lovell Page 12
