Nearly five inches shorter than his own six-foot frame, the young woman went up on tiptoes to peer at his face.
Luke resisted the uncomfortable urge to shift under that scrutiny. Being the recipient of disapproval and insolence was as foreign to him as the Latin language had been when his tutor had first set out those books.
Merry sank back on her heels. “You have no idea what I’m talking about.”
Damn, she’d always been more clever than half. “I do know whatever it is has you displeased.” He flashed a sheepish smile.
Her heart-shaped features remained set in an unimpressed mask. “I’m here to decorate for the holidays,” she began slowly, as if schooling a lackwit.
“Which, given your love of the Christmastide season, I should expect would be something you enjoy.” He’d said too much. It was a rare and uncomfortable slip.
Her eyes formed perfect circles in her face as—for the first time since she’d rung that bell, knocked him on his arse, and then seen to dressing him—she was the one knocked off-kilter. “You… knew that?” she asked softly.
Knowing was a vast shade different than remembering. The former implied he’d been oblivious to Merry Read, the other that he’d been a solitary, lonely boy more aware of the joys his steward’s daughter had found around a house that had been only a sterile kingdom he’d one day inherit.
He gave an uncomfortable clearing of his throat. “How could I forget you and my brother trolling the halls, singing Christmas carols outside my rooms as I studied?”
A wistful smile hovered on her lips. “You remember that?”
“It had been intentional, then,” he said as that mystery from his youth was at long last answered, and here at the unlikeliest of times by the unlikeliest of participants in that revelry.
Her eyes sparkled. Around the chambers of his mind, the blend of her and Ewan’s exuberant laughter pealed in an echo of that long-ago day, and he was struck by the memory of his own wistfulness in that moment before he’d had his knuckles rapped and his Latin lesson resumed. “I remember it quite well,” he murmured.
“It was never about teasing or tormenting you, Luke,” she said in a low voice. “It was only to get you to join us in the fun.”
Which he never had. His facial muscles strained under the effort it took to keep the mask in place. “I had my studies and—”
“Your responsibilities as the heir to one of England’s oldest, most-respected titles,” she intoned in a scarily perfect rendering of the words he’d uttered and the tones he’d uttered them in long ago.
He started. She should remember that long-ago day when he’d uttered those very words?
“Yes.” Merry took a step closer. “I remember that,” she said, following with an unnerving accuracy the path his thoughts had traversed. “As such, I’m well aware that you have far more pressing obligations to command your attention than assisting me in my endeavors this holiday season.”
The young woman had hit the nail on the head with that assumption. There were any number of commitments expected of him. There was just one difference—he didn’t give ten damns about any one of them. Not any longer. “If I’ve understood you this morn, Merry, you do not wish for my help. Am I correct in this?”
The minx had the good grace to blush. And here he’d believed the headstrong free spirit incapable of that expression. “You are.”
There it was. At last, she’d bluntly spoken what she truly wished and felt—she didn’t want him near her or her assignment this holiday season. Given that, he’d expect she’d at least dip a curtsy and be on her way, off to the task that his mother had ordered her here to fulfill. When she made no move to go, Luke winged a brow up. “Is there anything else, Merry?” he asked dryly.
The color deepened in her cheeks. Merry further straightened her narrow and already erect shoulders. “No. No,” she said. “That is all, my lord.”
It did not escape his notice that she’d my-lorded him. How could he explain the regret that sluiced inside at that formality she’d thrown back up into place? Because he was first, foremost, and only ever the future earl.
Except, as she turned to go, there was no deferential curtsy. Instead, Merry gave a snap of her skirts and marched off.
He stared after her retreating frame until she disappeared down the length of the hall. His mother had sought to saddle him with a nursemaid to keep him out of trouble. That alone should be reason enough to thwart her plans.
I’m well aware that you have far more pressing obligations to command your attention than assisting me in my endeavors this holiday season.
She wanted nothing to do with him or his help. And gentleman that he had been raised to be, the situation merited he honor the young woman’s wishes.
Alas, he was no longer the gentleman she or anyone—himself included—recognized.
Luke grinned, and whistling Hark! The Herald Angels Sing, he sought out his offices and set to work plotting.
Chapter Four
Four o’clock in the morning was Merry’s work time of choice.
It was early enough that most lords and ladies hadn’t yet arisen, so there wasn’t the worry of being underfoot or, more important, having an employer underfoot, overseeing all, and dictating what they felt a room called for.
That morn, she arose and set out to inventory the greenery available to her in the countess’ limitless gardens.
Her head down, Merry evaluated the list she’d assembled last evening.
Ivy.
Mistletoe.
Sprigs of garland.
The list was incomplete. Since she’d begun going through her morning ablutions, she’d visited and revisited her notes. Alas, since she’d arrived yesterday morn, she’d been distracted. Hopelessly distracted.
And for the unlikeliest reason. Or, to be more precise, the unlikeliest person.
Lord Luke.
But the gentleman in the foyer had been Luke as she’d never seen him or known him. In fact, she’d never believed he could be… well, the person he’d been yesterday.
With scruff on his cheeks and his jacket discarded, he’d had the look of a rogue or scoundrel.
He’d also possessed a biting dryness she didn’t remember. No, he’d only ever been polite and respectful and proper.
When she’d casually set to work buttoning his jacket, he’d simply been the stodgy Lord Grimslee whom she’d pitied as a boy for his seriousness. But this Lord Grimslee had a flat belly carved of muscle. His was the physique not of the padded peers, but of the artists she’d worked alongside in France.
From the corner of her eye, she peeked at the row of familial likenesses on the wall, and there staring down at her was Lord Ewan. In the portrait, he wore the familiar smile of his youth.
She’d so admired Lord Ewan and had been looking forward to her reunion with him… and yet, she’d not given him a single thought since she’d stumbled upon his stodgier, stuffier brother.
Or rather, the stodgier and stuffier brother he’d been. The gentleman in the foyer had borne no hint of the always scowling boy of her reminiscences.
“Stop it,” she muttered. She’d far more pressing matters to attend than the physique of Luke, the future Earl of Maldavers.
The pencil in her fingertips quivered.
Or the devilish half grin on his firm lips.
As if to mock those musings, she looked up once more at Lord Luke’s visage. It was a more recent rendering. Attired in dark sapphire with a snowy cravat, the austere figure bore no likeness to the man she’d come upon yesterday. This was Lord Luke as he’d been. This was Lord Luke as he’d always be, even with the aberration of yesterday.
That sobering reminder proved enough to bring her back to the task at hand.
Quickening her pace, Merry reread her partially completed list.
Cypress Branches
Nandina
Though it was unlikely the countess would have that elegant shrub, only new to Europe.
Spindl
e tree leaves
She was missing something. What was she missing?
Merry stopped abruptly. Of course! “Hol—”
“Well, hullo to you, too, Miss Read.”
With a shriek, she collided with a hard wall.
Or rather, a hard wall that was Luke’s muscular chest.
She shot her arms out to stop herself from landing on her buttocks right there in the middle of the countess’ corridor.
Luke, however, already had her by the shoulders, steadying her. All the while, the folder that had been knocked from her hands sent papers sprinkling down like a heavy snowfall. “I daresay you’d be the first to be knocked head over heels by me.” He grinned.
It was the wicked, devil’s grin he’d briefly worn yesterday. And there was only one certainty—one would be wise to not dance with the devil at the Yuletide season. And if he wore that smile, ever, no lady’s heart would be safe.
As if to punctuate that very real danger, her heart thumped erratically. “Forgive me. I was not looking where I was going.” Dropping to a knee, she scrambled to gather up her pages.
Luke joined her on the floor, and shock brought her head shooting up.
“What are you doing?”
“I think it should be fairly obvious.” He didn’t pause in his efforts. “Nay, it should be completely obvious.”
And yet, it was obvious and, at the same time, not.
Because servants had long been invisible to Lord Luke. Merry had long been invisible to him.
Not that he paid her any attention now. Now, he moved quickly about the corridor, rescuing her notes and maps. It didn’t fit with who he was or, for that matter, any of the lords or ladies whose households she’d worked in.
“You don’t help servants,” she blurted.
He froze, her pages held in an uneven pile within his grip.
An immediate wave of guilt followed for having called him out for past behaviors, particularly when he assisted her in this moment.
But when he looked up, he wore that scoundrel’s smile. “I’m not the same man I was.” He winked and resumed cleaning up her mess.
Merry sank back on her haunches. Rogue’s grins? Winking? Winking? Nay, Luke certainly wasn’t the respectable and serious man she recalled. At every turn, she found herself vastly preferring this unbuttoned-down version of his previous stodgy self.
“Here we are,” he said and jumped up. With one hand, he proffered the slightly sloppy stack, and the other he held out to help her to feet.
Without hesitating, Merry placed her palm in his. He folded his larger hand over hers in a hold that was tender but strong. As he drew Merry to her feet, a delicious tingling where he touched her traveled to her wrist and up the inside of her forearm.
Merry yanked her hand free and made a show of organizing her papers.
What madness was this response to Lucas Holman, the Viscount Grimslee, of all people?
There was only one certainty—he needed to be on his way. She didn’t need a thoughtful-to-his-servants scoundrel with a quixotic touch anywhere near. “I thank you for your help,” she said, her voice coming out more than slightly unsteady to her ears. And to cement the reminder of the station divide between them that he’d always kept perfectly erect, Merry dropped a curtsy.
His brows came together. “Did you just curtsy to me?”
She might as well have tugged a glove free, slapped him across the face, and called him out for all the outrage there. Her lips pulled at the corners. “If you could not tell, then I daresay that is hardly a testimonial to my skill.”
“I’ve known you since you were in the nursery.”
“I didn’t have a nursery,” she pointed out. She’d had a cottage, and the only visits she’d had to the manor house had been to join Ewan in play.
Luke frowned. “Since you were a babe, then,” he corrected, still as hopelessly lost when it came to recognizing humor, even droll attempts at it.
She sighed. “Of course I curtsied to you, my—”
“Stop,” he bit out.
Her lips moved, but no words came out.
“The days of that are at an end.”
“To servants curtsying?” she asked with feigned somberness. “And here I thought that was a custom as popular as tea and rain in England.”
“I referred to your curtsying.” His frown deepened. “I know you.”
I know you.
Those three words knocked her temporarily off-balance. His was an odd statement, given that she’d believed herself invisible to him. Merry made her eyes go wide. “And you don’t know all your servants?”
Color rushed his cheeks. “I do. What I was referring to was the length of our—” He abruptly cut off his words. “You’re teasing me,” he mumbled under his breath. Luke adjusted an already immaculate cravat.
Merry leaned in and whispered, “Just a bit.” How very… endearing this less-sure, more-open version of the viscount. For a very brief moment, she regretted that she’d declined to let him assist her in the organization of the countess’ impromptu holiday affair.
That staggering realization brought Merry swiftly back to her task at hand. “If you’ll excuse me, I have the greenery to see to.”
“Of course,” he said.
Continuing on her way, Merry consulted the countess’ crude map as she went… before she registered the figure moving in harmony with her steps. Merry stopped, and Luke matched suit. “What are you doing?”
He folded his arms at his chest. “Awaiting your instructions, Merry.”
It hit her. “You… still think to join me.”
He scoffed. “Hardly.” Luke grinned. “I intend to.”
She cocked her head. Somewhere in the house came the chime of a clock marking the quarter hour, and still she remained rooted to the thin red carpet lining the countess’ hall.
Merry didn’t know when it happened.
Having been gone traveling, she didn’t know how long it had been, but sometime in her absence, Lucas Holman, the Viscount Grimslee, had gone mad.
There was no other accounting for all the changes that had befallen him.
Not for the first time, she wondered at what had happened to bring about the transformation. Questions swirled, questions that she shouldn’t be having about the earl’s eldest son and heir.
Merry tried once more. “As I indicated yesterday, I don’t require help organizing the festivities,” she said gently, while infusing a firmness to her tone that she’d used on the servants who’d worked under her in her time in Europe. “And you agreed.”
She made to go.
Luke slid himself into her path. “I’m going to force myself upon you, Merry, so I suggest you accustom yourself to the idea.”
Merry strangled on a sound that was somewhere between a gasp and a laugh.
Luke’s eyebrows climbed to his hairline. “Not that way!” He shot a hand out so quickly, he caught her in the nose.
She cradled the injured cartilage.
“Good God,” he croaked. “I’m…”
“Not so very good at this?” she asked into her hand. Merry continued to venture completions to that unfinished statement. “Sorry? Usually not known for assaulting or threatening assault?”
“All of the above apply.” Luke tugged at his cravat until the previously immaculate knot hung in hopeless disrepair.
They remained locked in a silent battle. She, tensed. He, with his features relaxed in casual amusement.
The blighter. He was so very determined to join her, and by the firm set to his shoulders, he’d no intention of leaving.
But why?
Why was he so very adamant about joining her? Why, when she had no desire for his help?
Because there had to be some reason.
Which brought with it only more and more questions. Questions she was determined to get to the bottom of so she could end this unwilling fascination with him.
“Very well,” she allowed. “I’ll accept your help.” For
now. But there were two certainties: She’d have her answers, and after she had them, well, he’d last not at all in his role.
And then she could resume organizing the holiday gathering.
“Fetch your cloak.”
“My—?”
She gave him a look that silenced the remainder of his question. “Meet me in the foyer in twenty minutes, my lord.”
With that, Merry mentally adjusted her plans for the day.
Chapter Five
Merry had been clear at every turn that she’d no wish for his company.
She’d apparently tired of protesting and instead intended to off him.
There was no other accounting for the gleaming saw she held in hand.
Just then, she brought the serrated blade up and made a slashing motion through the air, and for one instant, Luke, halfway down the winding stairway, contemplated surrendering the battle.
Alas, Merry made the decision for him.
As she whipped around, her skirts snapped loudly about her ankles. “Shall we?”
Did he imagine that she lifted her saw and pointed it in his direction for an overlong beat before turning and starting at a determined clip for the front door?
The butler, Blake, emerged from the shadows and drew the panel open.
Wind gusted through the front door with a blast of cold. She was mad. “We are going out in this?” He hastened his steps to catch her.
“I am going out in this,” she called, her voice carrying in the winter quiet, made all the louder by the dearth of life in London at the holiday season.
He hurried to pull on his gloves. The leather articles, however, did little to chase away the chill, and in a bid to bring some warmth to his freezing digits, he rubbed his palms quickly together.
From out of the corner of his eye, he caught the sideways peek Merry stole in his direction, and he forced his arms back to his sides.
Why… why… the chit hadn’t anticipated he’d accompany her. She’d expected he’d find the frigid temperatures and the threat of snow hanging in the early morn sky reason enough to return to the comforts of his familial residence and set himself up with a paper and a glass of brandy to warm him.
Yuletide Wishes: A Regency Novella Duet Page 17
