When She Was Naughty (A Christmas Short Story)

by Tessa Dare

  This encounter had left Chloe wholly unmoored, but she knew one thing for certain. Good idea or not, he was going to kiss her. He knew it. She knew it. It was destined to happen.

  But apparently not quite yet. The wait drew out to an eternity. She didn’t mind waiting for other things. Christmas was all about anticipation, after all. But this? It was sweet, aching torture. She couldn’t bear it for another heartbeat.

  So she grasped him by the tassels of that hideous waistcoat. And with a jingle of bells, tugged him close. “Lord Cheverell, I’m beginning to think you’re all talk and no kiss.”

  His mouth quirked in a knowing half-smile. For once, he didn’t seem to mind her teasing. And for once, she didn’t mind being corrected.

  His hands took her by the waist. His head lowered until their breathing mingled. His lips found hers, after months of searching.

  And Christmas came two hours early.

  Chloe’s lips melted under his. He truly did know what he was doing. She might have had her first kiss from a boy, but this was her first kiss from a man. A delightfully strong, determined man with sensual tension coiled in his body but tenderness in his kiss.

  Could this be real? Was it actually happening? In lieu of pinching herself, she squeezed the ring in her hand until the diamonds bit into her palm like a row of teeth.

  With her free hand, she touched his face. His jaw was smooth-shaven, but when she caressed his cheek, the faintest rasp of whiskers scraped her palm. She slid her hand to the back of his neck, weaving her fingers into his dark hair and letting the heavy locks run through her fingers. So much softer than she’d expected.

  A masculine groan rose in his chest. The sound sent a thrill racing through her veins. He gathered her silk gown in fistfuls, pulling her body close to his.

  She was breathless. His hair might be soft, but the rest of him? The rest of him was decidedly not so.

  Even as a relative innocent, Chloe knew he wanted more from her than a kiss. She also knew he would take nothing she didn’t freely offer. She felt fiercely desired, and at the same time, protected.

  Cherished.

  Safe.

  So she surrendered to the kiss, giving herself over to exhilarating sensation without the slightest fear or shame.

  He explored her mouth with confidence and skill, and though she hadn’t his experience, she tried to be a quick study. They traded soft kisses, then searching ones. Giving and taking. And oh, the teasing. She was delighted to learn that teasing was part of this, too. She did have a talent for teasing.

  As he pressed kisses to her neck, she arched and gasped with delight. Each slight brush of his lips ignited a wildfire of sensation.

  She’d always prided herself on appreciating life’s smallest pleasures. But while she’d been paying attention to bluebells and miniature teacakes and faint breezes in her hair, she’d overlooked what should have been unmissable. The six-foot-tall, broad-shouldered, classically sculpted demigod of wicked kisses who had been standing right there all along.

  She’d been nonsensical.

  He lifted his head and looked down at her, breathing hard. “You’re laughing.”

  “A little.”

  “At me, I suppose.”

  “No. At myself. It’s nothing. Carry on.”

  “Carry on, you say.” He shook his head. “If only I knew how. You will be the end of me.”

  “Drat. I forgot to be disappointing.”

  “That was a doomed effort from the start.”

  “I’m a bit rattled myself, you know. A mere hour ago I was convinced that you thought me a nuisance. Suddenly you’re speaking to me of love and pressing jewels into my hand. And now I’m reeling from that kiss.”

  “I warned you about the kiss.”

  “You needn’t gloat about it.” She pushed a stray hair from her brow. “It’s all so confusing. I don’t know what to say.”

  “You say ‘no,’ Chloe. Unless you wish to marry me, live beside me always, share my bed nightly, bear my children, grow old with me, and eventually be buried at my side under one headstone.” He took her face in his hands and stared into her eyes. “Unless you love me, you say ‘no.’ And I will never trouble you again.”

  She couldn’t make her lips form the word. It was so unfair of him to demand an answer like this. She couldn’t possibly tell him ‘yes,’ and it didn’t feel wise to say ‘perhaps.’ But something wouldn’t let her say ‘no,’ either.

  There had to be some other word available.

  She put her hand over his where he cradled her cheek. “Justin.”

  “Chloe!” The call rang out from the front portico. “Chloe, is that you out there?”

  Oh, Lord. Her mother.

  “I’ve been searching all over,” Mama said, minding her steps as she made her way across the frost-slicked paving stones. “It’s time for the caroling to begin, and ever since Lionel’s voice changed we’re lacking in sopranos. Why on earth are you out here? You’ll catch your death of—” Her mother stopped short, some ten paces away.

  Chloe could only imagine the picture they presented. She, wearing his coat. He, undressed to his shirt sleeves with his waistcoat undone. The two of them, clinging together like burrs.

  Her mother composed herself. “Why, Lord Cheverell.”

  “Look away,” Chloe whispered to him, frantic. “It’s The Eyebrow.”

  “The what?”

  “The Eyebrow.” She shielded her face with one hand. “It makes you confess everything. Close your eyes. Save yourself.”

  “It’s too late for that. I was a lost cause months ago.”

  When Mama reached them, she sighed. “Chloe Anne Garland. Couldn’t you be gracious to Lord Cheverell for one evening? What mischief have you wrought on the poor man now?”

  Chloe sputtered. “What? You’re blaming me?”

  Her mother turned to Lord Cheverell. “I do apologize for my daughter. Mr. Garland and I tried our best with our children’s upbringing. But there were eleven of them, you know. They can’t all be successes.”

  “No, it is I who must apologize,” Lord Cheverell said. “Mrs. Garland, I owe you and Mr. Garland an explanation for my behavior. Perhaps we could go inside, and—”

  “Please do not trouble yourself. No explanations are necessary. Mr. Garland holds you in the highest regard, as do I. We know you’d never contrive such a scene on purpose.” She arrowed a glance at Chloe. “Really, Chloe. It’s like the land steward’s son all over again.”

  “I was fourteen! And all the way in Hampshire! How do you know anything about it?”

  Mama’s slender brow arched. The Eyebrow knows all.

  Lord Cheverell cleared his throat. “Mrs. Garland, I must insist that—”

  Gravel crunched beneath heavy wheels as his coachman brought the carriage around. A footman jumped down from the box to open the door with a flourish and bow. “At your service, my lord.”

  Mama shook her head at Chloe. “See, now? He’s leaving. You’ve chased the man away.”

  “I’ve not been chased anywhere,” Lord Cheverell said.

  “He’s engaged this evening.” Chloe rued the words as soon as they left her lips. Not the best choice of phrasing, considering the ring still pressed in her hand.

  “Is this true, Lord Cheverell? You have an engagement?”

  “I’m not certain.” He gave Chloe an inscrutable look. “I truly should pay my regards to Mr. Garland before I leave.”

  Mama clucked her tongue. “No, no. I will hear nothing of it.” She removed the topcoat wrapped about Chloe’s shoulders and returned it to its owner. “We bid you Happy Christmas, Lord Cheverell.”

  She elbowed Chloe in the ribs.

  “Yes, of course.” Chloe made an ungainly curtsy. “Happy Christmas.”

  “To you, as well.” He made a solemn, if perplexed, bow.

  Mama linked arms with Chloe and briskly guided her back toward the house. In a low voice, she said, “You are fortunate indeed that it was I who happ
ened upon you just now, and not someone else. You have a father and four older brothers inside, all of them in their cups. If any of them had witnessed this, they’d be devising the world’s first hexagonal duel.”

  “Mama, I did not scheme to corner Lord Cheverell, or cast my virtue at his feet, or whatever it is you think I’ve done.”

  “I know you didn’t, my dear.” She squeezed Chloe’s arm. “He’s in love with you.”

  Chloe’s toe caught on a clump of frozen mud. “You knew?”

  “It’s been evident for months. To me, at least.”

  “You might have warned me,” Chloe said numbly. “I had no idea.”

  “I believe professions of love are best heard from the source. What are your feelings toward him?”

  “A few hours ago, I would have told you I thoroughly disliked the man, but now... I don’t know.”

  “Understandable. Being loved by man like Lord Cheverell... Well, it is an overwhelming prospect. And loving such a man in return is not a task for the faint of heart. But your heart is anything but faint. It’s strong and stubborn. He sees in you a woman who could be his equal. That’s why he loves you.”

  They neared the door. Before they went inside, Mama turned to Chloe and touched her cheek. “Tonight was a close thing, Chloe. If your father knew of this, you’d be forced to accept the earl regardless of your feelings. I hope I’ve bought you some time to consider. However, I suspect you won’t have much of it.”

  Chloe kissed her cheek. “Thank you.”

  “Come along, then. I have carols to lead. And you have a heart to search.”

  Mama went inside. Before following her, Chloe looked over her shoulder.

  Lord Cheverell was still there, standing in the drive by his waiting carriage. He was watching over her until she was safely inside.

  And he was still wearing the ugliest, gaudiest, most repellently festive waistcoat in the history of Christmas.

  Chapter Four

  Justin woke to the sound of Christmas bells pounding against his skull. He rolled over in bed, buried his face in the pillow, and groaned.

  Last night.

  He had a hundred regrets about last night, and only seventeen or so were whisky-related.

  He dragged himself to a sitting position and rang for his valet. Today, he could not afford to stay abed. He had a great deal of damage to undo, and the first steps were a headache powder, a bath, and a shave, in that order.

  After that...Well, it was Christmas. He should probably go to church and do some repenting. Couldn’t hurt.

  And once it was well enough into the day to ensure they’d be awake and ready for callers, he must go to the Garland residence. Only the Christ child in the manger knew how that would unfold. Once he confessed the truth of last night, he might find himself staring down a pistol or four. She did have several brothers.

  But the prospect of a bullet-riddled torso was of no moment. His concern must be for Chloe.

  Last night, everything had happened so fast. In the moment, he hadn’t known how to correct her mother’s bizarre assumptions. But he could not allow anyone to besmirch her reputation or character on his account. Not even her own family. Most especially not her own family. He knew how dear she held them.

  He stumbled over to the washstand, where he splashed cold water over his face and gave his teeth a vigorous scrubbing with tooth powder. By the time Smithson arrived bearing his headache powder and a glass of fizzy water, Justin was feeling slightly human again.

  He downed the headache remedy in two swallows and returned the glass to the valet. “Ask the cook to send up two soft boiled eggs and dry toast, if you would.”

  “Yes, my lord. Since I’m off to the kitchen, what would you have her do with the goose?”

  “The goose? What goose?”

  “A young lady called this morning. She was bearing a Christmas goose. A gift from her family, I understand.”

  A young lady, appearing out of nowhere on Christmas morning? He could only think of one person it might be. Chloe.

  “When did this happen?” he demanded.

  “Not long ago. A quarter hour, perhaps.”

  He cursed. “Why am I only hearing of it now?”

  “I’m certain the butler meant to tell you as soon as you’d risen for the day.”

  “He should have roused me, damn it.” He stormed to his dressing room and began yanking garments from the shelves. A shirt. Trousers. Socks.

  Smithson set the tray aside and hastened to his aid. “Allow me to assist you, my lord.”

  “What I need from you are answers. What did she look like? Fair hair, blue eyes? Tempting figure, lips meant for kissing?”

  Smithson turned red as a beet. “I... I’m sure I couldn’t speak to most of that. But I believe she had fair hair, yes.”

  “Did she give her name?” Justin stripped off his nightshirt and yanked a clean shirt over his head.

  The valet began assembling a cravat, vest, and coat. “I imagine she did, but it was Moore who spoke with her. I didn’t hear.”

  “Damn it.”

  “She asked to speak with you, I believe. To pass on holiday regards from her parents. Moore told her you weren’t at home to callers.”

  A certain butler would be getting coal in his Boxing Day gift tomorrow.

  He shoved one leg into the trousers and hopped on the other foot, pulling them up. When he tried for the second leg, he nearly fell on his face. Once he’d buttoned enough buttons that the trousers wouldn’t fall down and leave him bare-arsed, he called it good enough. He tossed the socks aside. He took the first pair of shoes he saw and jammed his bare feet into them, then dashed from the room.

  “A cravat, my lord,” Smithson called. “A vest and coat.”

  “No time.”

  If she’d been here and gone within the past quarter hour, he might be able to catch her.

  He charged down the corridor, all but threw himself down the stairs, and ran to snag his greatcoat from a hook before flinging open the door. He stepped over the threshold and looked wildly about the streets and square.

  “Chloe!” he bellowed into the bright Christmas morning. “Chloe!”

  As he shrugged into his greatcoat, he heard steps behind him in the entrance hall. His worthless butler. “Damn it, Moore. Did she come by carriage or on foot? Precisely how many minutes ago did she leave?”

  “I didn’t leave.”

  He whirled about so violently, the tails of his greatcoat knocked over a vase on the entrance table and sent it crashing to the floor. He cursed in a very un-Christmasly fashion.

  But none of it mattered. She was still here.

  Chloe surveyed the shards of porcelain strewn across the floor. “I told your butler I’d wait in the parlor.” She surveyed him next. Her gaze roamed his half-dressed figure, unshaven face, and wild hair. “You look different.”

  “I look like a madman, no doubt.” He tried to catch his reflection in the glass case of the clock, pushing both hands through his hair to tame it. He only made it worse.

  “It’s not a bad sort of different.” Her gaze lingered on his unbuttoned shirt and the exposed wedge of his chest. Her cheeks bloomed with pink. “It’s interesting to see you when you’re not so starched and buttoned up.”

  “Well, you look the same as always,” he said, matter-of-fact. “Beautiful. Devastating.”

  “You’ve scarcely glanced at me.”

  “It doesn’t matter. By now, I just know. You could be wrapped in a shroud on a moonless night, and I’d know.”

  She knotted her fingers together. “Could we talk, perhaps? Somewhere with more seating and less broken pottery?”

  “Yes, of course.” He was an idiot.

  They went into the parlor. She took a seat on the divan. He headed for an armchair, but she patted the stretch of upholstery beside her. He couldn’t refuse.

  “Your housekeeper was good enough to send in tea.” She poured out two cups, lightening his with a splash of milk befo
re passing it to him. Exactly the way he took his tea. She didn’t even have to ask.

  It was all so...normal. Unexceptional. Suddenly, they were like an old married couple.

  No. Don’t think that way.

  “I’m sorry to have burst in on you without any warning. I needed to speak with you, in case you were forming any rash ideas of defending my honor. My mother, I am happy to say, does not actually believe me to be a brazen hussy.”

  “Then she must think me an unprincipled knave.”

  “No. Believe it or not, somehow she already knew that you loved me.”

  He couldn’t resist pointing it out. “You see? I told you it must be obvious to anyone.”

  “She’s not anyone. She has some kind of oracle embedded in her eyebrow. It’s uncanny. You’ll learn.”

  He’d learn? When? How? Why?

  “She didn’t want anyone to know about our little assignation. That’s why she wouldn’t allow you to speak to Papa. It would have forced me to accept you, and she believed I should have a choice.”

  “Your mother was right. I was a jackass, truly.”

  She sipped her tea. “We were neither of us exemplars of behavior last night. But the important thing is that no one thinks me a scheming seductress, and she won’t tell anyone what happened, and so you needn’t come to my father and brothers to fall on your sword or offer yourself for target practice.”

  “It is some relief that to know I won’t be shot today.” He drained his cup. “That would be the worst sort of Christmas.”

  “For us both.” She confronted his gaze. “Justin, why did you never say anything, in all those months?”

  He settled into the divan. Somehow it was easy to speak about it this morning. Maybe the daylight banished the melodrama, or perhaps the quotidian ritual of tea put it into perspective. He was grateful to unburden himself.

  “I know it must sound absurd, but I genuinely thought there was no need. I spent an inordinate amount of time in your company. I thought my admiration to be obvious. When you began to tease and provoke me, I was idiot enough to mistake it for flirtation on your part. Encouragement.”