Merry passed her gaze around the copse, eyeing the trees as they went.
“How did you learn of this?” he asked.
“I’ve been traveling these past years. Your family was generous enough to send me abroad to visit households throughout the Continent.” Shivering, Merry rubbed her palms frantically back and forth in a bid to bring some warmth to some part of her body. “I spent time with one noble family, where the lady of the household was from Portugal. The Regiment of the local high-Sacristans of the Cistercian Order wrote of Christmas branches that, upon Christmas Eve, were adorned with the brightest oranges. The other servants secretly derided the lady for that tradition, and I?” She smiled wistfully, remembering the eccentric older woman. “I was just so very fascinated, I wished to know everything about it.”
Her skin tingled in a way that had nothing to do with the cold. She glanced over and found Luke’s hooded gaze upon her. She cleared her throat. “I trust you find it silly.”
“Quite the opposite,” he said swiftly, and with his spare hand, he claimed one of hers. “I find myself…” His eyes moved over her face. “Riveted,” he murmured.
At that slightest of pauses, her breath quickened and her chest rose and fell quickly, for in that moment, she could almost believe he spoke of her.
Cold as she was, she didn’t want this moment with him to end. For in this very instant, she wasn’t working or serving in the role of future housekeeper charged with the task of organizing the family’s festivities. She was simply a woman conversing with a man about knowledge she’d gained in her travels and had shared with no one… because lords and ladies didn’t speak to maids.
Wind whipped through the trees, stirring their branches. The frigid winter air sent snowflakes battering her cheeks, stinging her with their cold, and yet, his eyes upon her face, a heated look that bespoke desire, sent warmth radiating from her belly and fanning out, touching everyplace inside her.
It couldn’t be desire… and yet, if it was not that which held them frozen here within the abandoned grounds of Green Park, what was it?
She wet her lips, and his eyes slipped a fraction lower as he took in that distracted movement. “Luke,” she whispered, capable of nothing more than his name.
He lowered his mouth toward hers, and closing her eyes, Merry tilted her head back to receive his kiss—a kiss that did not come.
She struggled to force her lashes up.
His heavy features were strained. “I’m a gentleman,” he said hoarsely. “I’ll not do anything that you do not—”
Merry leaned up on tiptoe, erasing the space between them, and claimed his mouth for her own.
He froze and then, with a groan, devoured her lips, slanting his over hers. Again and again.
Thump.
She dimly registered the fall of the saw, and then his hat tumbled to the ground at their feet.
Clutching the fur-lined collar of Luke’s cloak, Merry pressed herself against him and returned his kiss with unfrenzied abandon.
It was her first kiss. The first in the whole of her nearly thirty years. Not a young footman or village boy or bold son of any employer had ever even so much as attempted to steal an embrace. As such, she’d wondered what it would be like… and had believed herself incapable of inspiring desire so that any man would want to kiss her.
Only to see that belief proved to be a lie, here and now in Luke’s arms.
His arms came around her, and she melted into him.
She moaned against his mouth, and he slid his tongue inside, stroking that bold flesh against hers, a brand that scorched and marked her as his. Her legs weakened under her, and he caught her hard to him and guided her back. Her back knocked against the wide trunk of a tree, and with his body as an anchor, he pressed her lightly against that tree and continued making love to her mouth.
“Luke,” she moaned against his lips, and his name, breathless and weak, seemed to drive him into a frenzy.
He deepened their embrace. The moment proved fleeting, however, as he continued his exploration, placing kisses on her cold cheeks, his breath warming her, his touch setting her afire.
Merry panted, and her hips took on a rhythm of their own as she undulated and moved against him in a bid to get closer.
The branches swayed noisily overhead, dancing in time to nature’s fury and Merry and Luke’s own passionate waltz.
Craaaaack.
Luke wrenched his mouth from hers, and with a curse, he hurled them out of the way. A small limb tumbled down a mere fraction of an inch from where they’d stood.
With that, reality came crashing in, an unwelcome, despised visitor in what had been the singularly most erotic, magical moments of her life.
Merry stood, her breathing coming hard and fast, as she fought for some semblance of a normal cadence.
The thing with having never been kissed was that a woman didn’t know what to say after her first one.
In the end, she didn’t have to say anything.
Clearing his throat, Luke swept up his forgotten hat and the saw. “Shall we?”
Shall we what? Continue their embrace? Find another place that was warmer and—
He was already scouring the grounds. “I think I have one,” he said triumphantly.
Dumbly, Merry followed his gaze to a ten-foot evergreen that was perfectly rounded and had a perfect point at the top.
He had… simply moved on? To Christmas trees? While she was here, her heart threatening to pound out of her chest and her body still burning?
“Merry?”
“Of course. It’s perfect,” she blurted.
That morn, when they’d set out to Green Park, she’d been determined to be free of his company because she’d not wanted him around while she saw to her work. Now, everything had shifted… and yet, it had also remained the same. The last thing she wanted or could afford was having Luke Holman, the Viscount Grimslee, about. Not because she didn’t want him near, but because she did. And that desire could only be dangerous.
As they settled on the evergreen tree, Merry committed to not taking any more help from Luke after this day.
No matter how much she wished to.
Chapter Six
Luke had always been one to rise early.
Little rest for those of rank was the mantra his father had ingrained into him as a boy of four, when he’d been mastering his letters before the sun had even started its climb into the sky.
Since then, by three every morn, he was awake and groomed to face the day of business dealings and responsibilities.
It was an hour that most members of Polite Society would call ungodly.
Of course, as one who’d lived a life that wasn’t licentious, he’d had no long nights of drinking or revelry, and so rising so early had never been a chore, not even as a young man just out of university. No, aside from the past four-month deviation from those norms, after the end of his betrothal to Josephine Pratt—now Josephine Everleigh—he’d risen before the roosters.
He’d never known a single soul to rise and face the day so early…
Until yesterday.
Until Merry.
Merry Read, who kissed without restraint and tasted of gingerbread and orange and mint, a confectionary treat more intoxicating than any of the spirits Luke had drowned himself in these past months.
She was the reason he now waited in the same corridor he’d run into her when she was on her way to organize the holiday festivities.
Today also marked the first day he’d not awakened seized by the sting of regret and misery over the decisions he’d made in the name of honor.
Now, as he stood with a shoulder resting against the silk wallpaper, he felt only an eager anticipation to see her. Collecting his gold watch fob, Luke consulted the timepiece.
She’d be punctual.
If after her day of travels, she’d been awake and moving about yesterday at four o’clock in the morn, she’d be here now.
Restlessness filled him as
he craned his head, searching for a hint of her.
And then he heard it.
“Bring a torch, Jeanette, Isabella!
Bring a torch, to the stable call
Christ is born. Tell the folk of the village.”
That slightly off-key contralto came softly down a nearby hall. He’d been a patron of London opera for some years. He’d attended performances throughout each Season, witnessing the performances of some of the most magnificent singers. Not a single one of those flawless, on-pitch voices held so much as a glimmer next to Merry’s lively voice.
And he found every muscle in him straining toward that approaching songstress as the lyrics grew clearer and clearer.
“Lovely cakes that we have brought here
Knock! Knock! Open the door for us!
Knock! Knock! Let’s—”
Merry turned the corner and came to an abrupt stop.
His heart knocked against his chest, and as his lips curved in an effortless grin, he knew he was smiling like a lackwit, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He, who always donned a careful mask among all and guarded his pride with the same ferocity the king did his crown. “I believe the word you’re looking for, Merry, is celebrate.”
“How…?”
Luke pushed away from the wall and strolled the twenty-five or so paces toward her. “How do I know the lyrics?” Before she could speak, he broke into his own discordant song.
“Ah! Ah! Beautiful is the Mother!
Ah! Ah! Beautiful is her child
Who is that, knocking on the door?
Who is it, knocking like that?”
A smile dimpled her full cheeks. Had he even once made his former betrothed smile in this way, with a vivid brightness reflected in her expressive brown eyes? “I was going to ask how you continue to find me as you do, but hearing you break out into song has been vastly entertaining.”
He pounced on her words. “Ah, so you have been seeking to avoid me?” Folding his arms at his chest, he gave her a pointed look. What accounted for the crushing disappointment her admission wrought?
“On the contrary. I was seeking to begin my work for the day.”
On the contrary? Luke was unable to suppress another smile. Nor did he wish to. It felt surprisingly good to smile. Who would have imagined?
Merry shifted the sizable stack of books and journals in her arms.
“Here,” he said, already reaching for her burden.
She took a step back. “What are you doing?” The proud minx fixed a stern frown on him.
“Helping?”
“I don’t require help,” Merry said so quickly, her words rolled together.
This time, unlike before, she didn’t attempt to soften that rejection.
“Ah, but everyone requires help now and then.” He again reached for her precariously balanced stack.
She merely adjusted her protective hold, angling her books out of his reach. “This would be one of the then times, then.”
A laugh burst from him.
He couldn’t help it.
Because she was so damned honest, and he was so damned accustomed to people not speaking freely and openly with him. And it felt so good. So very, very good.
Merry eyed him like he’d gone mad, and perhaps he had… but it was the absolute most wonderful form of madness, one that filled him with a lightness and joy.
Her. It was because of her.
“You’re mad,” she said, her eyes wide.
She’d called him mad. Luke laughed all the harder, doubling over from the depth of his amusement. “Yes, more than a bit, I s-suspect,” he managed between great guffaws.
Merry inched closer and peered up at him through narrowed eyes. “Or is it that you’re drinking again?” She sniffed at him.
“I’m not drinking.” Nor had he craved so much as a sip to lose himself in since she’d stood over him, ringing that vexing bell.
She eyed him for a long moment. Tapping her right serviceable boot on the carpeted floor, she contemplated him.
He flashed his greatest attempt at a winning smile.
Did he imagine that her own mouth pulled in an answering smile? “You’re not going to relent,” she said.
“I’m not.” He gave his lapels a tug. “I’m quite unrelenting, you know.”
“I’m starting to gather that,” she said under her breath in tones that could have never been construed as praiseworthy. “Very well. Come with me.”
And he rather thought he might follow her anywhere she would lead.
They entered the greenhouse, and he took in the indoor gardens. He rocked back on his heels. Vibrant of colors, from emerald-green leaves to crimson-red flowering plants, there was something almost otherworldly about the place. As if it was a world devoid of the clutter of man and existing only with nature’s perfection.
“Lovely, isn’t it?” she asked, following his thoughts with an unnerving accuracy.
“Quite,” he murmured in the greatest of understatements. Alas, he’d never been the wordsmith his two younger brothers were. “They are… lovely.” How had he never set foot inside the greenhouse before?
Because you’ve been too busy attending the familial finances and estates and maintaining the proper connections among Society’s most elite.
That was what had been expected of him since boyhood, and all he’d known. As such, he’d never considered any deviation from that.
“Now, why don’t we begin with an inventorying of all the…”
As Merry spoke, Luke took in the enclosed space constructed of glass, from walls to ceiling. Even at the early morn hour, the moon bathed the room in a soft glow.
The frosted panes and snow-covered grounds outside served in vivid contrast to the tropical blooms surrounding them. In here, he could almost believe himself insulated from the cold and ice of the winter season. It conjured imaginings of far-flung places he’d studied but never visited because he’d been too busy being everything he was expected to be. For the first time, he imagined a world far from this place, away from his responsibilities, where he lived only for the joy and pleasure Merry had spoken of yesterday.
“Before we do, however,” Merry was saying, drawing him back to the present, “we should take a moment to review the greenery.” She glanced over her shoulder at where he stood at the entrance to the room. Her eyes sparkled. “Have you changed your mind about assisting me this morn?”
He’d changed his mind on many things these past days. But being with Merry Read, being near her and helping her, had not—nor would ever—be one of them. “Not at all,” he said.
He needn’t have replied. She’d already set her stack down and proceeded to organize the materials within a fraying old folio. Next, Merry dragged out a stool and seated herself.
There was a no-nonsense aspect to her control and command, one that he’d never seen any woman in so possession of, and it proved headier than the spirits he’d lost himself in these past weeks. Months? It was all blurred beyond his focus on her. Like the flicker of the lit braziers that lined the corridor outside, desire sparked to life.
And here he was lusting after her, as he’d been since yesterday, when she should be so unaffected. Disgusted with himself, he hurried to take the seat across from her.
“Now,” she continued. “There are many steps that go into organizing a household party.” She turned a paper out toward him. “There is even more so when it comes to holiday festivities. There are games to be decided upon for the guests, meals to be planned and in collaboration with the housekeeper, the halls to deck.”
A memory trickled in of boisterous voices coming from the grounds fifty feet below his schoolroom window, two voices joined in song. “Joy to the World; the Lord is come!
Let earth receive her King!” he sang in an exaggeratedly deepened baritone.
Merry slapped a hand over her mouth, covering her laugh. Her narrow shoulders quaked.
He dropped an elbow on the table and rested a chin atop his h
and. “Are you laughing at me, Merry Read?” Once, he would have been filled with indignation at the idea.
How was it that this tall, spirited woman had shown him in just a handful of exchanges that there was no peril and only good in finding happiness in life around him?
Merry leaned over so only a foot separated them. Close as she was, he could see every twinkle dancing in her eyes. “I wouldn’t dare.”
He inched closer, so close their noses nearly brushed. “And what if I said I don’t believe that?”
She closed the remaining distance so that their noses did touch. “I would say you always were a clever one.”
This time, they both dissolved into laughter.
As one, Luke and Merry stopped.
That same intangible shift between them reared itself once more, as real as a life-force.
Their eyes worked in concert, moving over each other’s face.
Luke swallowed hard.
He wanted to kiss her.
I’m going to kiss her.
He tipped his head, the pull, her pull, too much.
Merry proved far stronger. “Where were we?” she squeaked, breaking eye contact and redirecting her attention to her materials, leaving Luke blinking slowly at the abrupt loss.
“As I was saying, we have to sort through which inventory of the greenery and flowers we have to be used for the holiday décor. Now, here.” She slid another sheet across the wood table, and as he picked it up, Merry proceeded to fire off instructions. “If you could search out the following items and somehow list them so I know what I have to work with and what I might still need to order.” With that, she set to work on whatever other task commanded her attention.
He was forgotten.
Just like that.
Giving his head a shake, determined to put her from his thoughts and channel his energy into the task before him, Luke looked down at the paper in his hands. Name after name of plants and flowers and trees and shrubs all stared back. Luke looked around the expansive gardens. How in blazes did she expect him to make sense of any of those—
Yuletide Wishes: A Regency Novella Duet Page 19
