Lords, Snow and Mistletoe

by Bianca Blythe

  “I think I have sufficient luck.” He hesitated and then moved closer.

  FLORA WAS DISTRACTED by his presence. His lips were so near hers.

  “After all,” the earl said, pulling her closer. “I’ve met you.”

  “You don’t mean that,” she said.

  “I do,” he said, more seriously.

  His eyes locked hers, and everything changed. The world shifted.

  The earl wasn’t supposed to be staring at her like that. His eyes weren’t supposed to be softening, and he wasn’t supposed to be closing the distance between them.

  “I must be the luckiest man in Scotland. The moment I needed assistance with this ball, you put up that advertisement.” He pushed a wayward curl behind her ear causing her to flush. “I’ve never been one to celebrate Christmas, but I think I’m beginning to believe that Christmas may be magic.” His eyes bore into hers.

  This can’t be happening, Flora thought as Wolfe leaned down, and she closed her eyes and lifted her chin to meet him.

  He kissed her. The word was insufficient at describing the bliss that she experienced. She’d heard people praise the action of kissing, but she’d never known mere lips could make energy thrum through one’s being.

  Their lips danced, even though Flora had never realized dancing was a function lips could have. Wolfe’s lips seemed to be the absolute master at it though, and she could feel his hands on her neck.

  Finally, Wolfe pulled back, and Flora released him immediately, feeling a hollowness as he stepped away.

  “Forgive me.” Lord McIntyre broke away. “That was uncalled for.”

  She stared at him. Her heart beat madly.

  “I should go.” The earl moved, and his footsteps sounded heavy on the wooden floor. The noise reverberated in the room, a testament to its emptiness.

  DEVIL IT.

  He shouldn’t have kissed her.

  And yet he’d almost kissed her before. Not kissing her seemed a difficult task.

  He frowned. What sort of man couldn’t keep their hands off a servant? Not a good one.

  One wasn’t supposed to desire one’s maid. It was practically a cliché. One expected perhaps older, tottering aristocrats to occasionally succumb to mistiness when viewing their maids, but that could be attributed to the fact that tottering old men did not generally go out. Carriage rides were unpleasant even when one had one’s full health. Wolfe was hardly tottering, and he’d been referenced frequently as one of London’s top rogues.

  Hiring Flora had seemed like a good idea, but he was wrong: it was the very worst one he’d ever had.

  Chapter Fourteen

  She’d been kissed.

  Flora would have preferred if the man giving her first kiss had not looked horror stricken immediately afterward and she certainly would have preferred it if he had not rushed from the room.

  Apart from those events, the kiss had been nice.

  Exceedingly nice.

  She stared at the mistletoe. Perhaps people said it was bad luck to refuse a kiss underneath it, but now she’d accepted a kiss, and nothing good had come from it.

  She strode upstairs, removing the pins from her hair. She shouldn’t have bothered trying to look pleasant. It hadn’t taken the earl more than a few seconds to remember who she was, and why kissing her was a terrible matter. She wondered if he’d ever fled from any other woman he’d kissed. She suspected he had not.

  She climbed into her bed. She’d thought it luxurious to have a single room when she arrived, but now she would be happy to have some company. Her heart continued to beat a nervous rhythm, not calmed by the frigid sheets.

  She’d taken pride in her work as a maid. If she hadn’t been good at her position, she never would have become the duchess’s lady’s maid. The earl had only complimented earlier on fulfilling her role as a Christmas consultant well, but any accomplishment did not matter: in the end, she was simply a servant.

  She supposed there must be some honor for him in the fact he didn’t desire to take advantage of her, but she’d known him when she was a young girl. He was the only person who’d heard her music. And yet, he’d fled.

  She attempted to sleep, and when she finally awoke, she was surprised that she’d managed any sleep at all. Last night’s experience continued to course through her, and she dressed hastily, eager to concentrate on something, anything else.

  Perhaps she could find the woodman after breakfast to ask him for help in cutting down a tree, and she marched down the stairs.

  Mrs. Potter was already in the kitchen. “Good morning, dearie.”

  “Good morning.”

  Mrs. Potter’s eyes glimmered. “The butler told me that you dined with the earl.”

  “Oh.” Flora’s heart tightened. “We did.”

  Mrs. Potter seemed to be always smiling, but Flora was certain her smile became even wider.

  “Only to discuss Christmas matters,” Flora said hastily. “It was quite dull.”

  “Mm...hmm.” Mrs. Potter seemed to now be flicking meaningful glances at Flora.

  “There are quite a lot of details,” Flora continued.

  Mrs. Potter rested a hand on her waist. “I’ve been working for the earl for years, and not a single time did he suggest that we dine together. And I assure you, there are quite a few details that he needs to be involved in as well.”

  Flora felt her skin warm.

  “In fact,” Mrs. Potter continued, “he’s never even asked the butler to dine with him, though that may be because they’re both men.”

  “It wasn’t like that,” Flora said.

  “I think it was precisely like that,” Mrs. Potter said, her tone more serious. “The earl is a good man, but you should be careful, dearie. He’s not going to marry you.”

  “N-naturally not,” Flora stammered.

  She wanted to confide everything to Mrs. Potter, but after Christmas, Flora would leave for Cornwall, and Mrs. Potter would continue to work for the earl.

  “Does the woodman still live in the cottage by the lake?” Flora asked.

  “Yes, my dear,” Mrs. Potter said.

  “I wanted to call on him,” Flora said. “I need his services to cut down a tree.”

  Mrs. Potter’s eyes widened. “Is there a problem with one of the trees?”

  “Oh, no, they’re all magnificent,” Flora said. “He evidently does a wonderful job maintaining the grounds.”

  “We all do what we can,” Mrs. Potter said. “We don’t have many visitors, but we do like the place to be nice.”

  Other manor homes had elaborate gardens attached to them, but that hadn’t been Lord McIntyre’s father’s way. There were no mazes in which to be lost, and no rose bushes to smell, not that even the most fragrant flowers would be emitting any scent at this time of year.

  “But I’m afraid Mr. Duncan is visiting his brother in Dundee. He’s apparently taken sick, poor thing.”

  “Oh.”

  “That’s nice that he was able to travel,” she said.

  “There’s not that much work here,” Mrs. Potter said, “what with the late earl and countess having passed on. Their children don’t much care for this region. But it’s good the new earl has kept all of us old staff on. We do appreciate it, even if we don’t see him every year. It’s not what other people would do. Some people just have their staff travel with them to save on expenses. No one would blame the earl if he decided to do that.”

  The earl was kind and thoughtful.

  If the woodman was gone, she would have to cut down a tree herself. Flora put on her coat and boots after breakfast, and strode down toward the woodman’s cottage. She’d done the same walk yesterday, and the countryside had seemed more beautiful than any other place. It remained lovely, but the wind seemed sharper than the day before. The earl’s and her footsteps from the day before had been covered by new snow, and her feet seemed to sink deeper into the snow.

  No matter.

  Just reason why she had to get the tree t
oday. Perhaps she could have asked a groom for assistance, but Flora wasn’t wary of doing work. She could cut down a tree as well as any man. A groom or footman wouldn’t have any more expertise than her.

  There was a glimpse of the lake at the clearing, and she noticed a figure on it.

  The earl.

  The man was skating by himself, and her heart tightened. His movements were strong and athletic, and he easily glided from one side of the lake to the other. Her cheeks warmed at the memory of her grasping hold of his hand, fearful of venturing more than a few steps onto the ice. Perhaps he didn’t flee because she was his servant. Perhaps he fled because she was much less accomplished than him.

  She went to the woodman’s cottage and unlocked the shed with the key the housekeeper had given her. She found the ax quickly, relocked the cottage and proceeded to the gathering of spruce trees. She grasped the ax in her hand. She’d never actually cut down a tree before, but the procedure seemed basic. She just had to hit the trunk with sufficient frequency and force until the tree toppled downward. The difficult thing would be to drag it back to the house, though she hoped the snow would at least lessen any damage. People might think the Christmas tree sufficiently strange without it appearing also misshapen.

  She moved quickly, despite the temptation to watch the earl skate, until she came to the grove of spruce trees. Flora inhaled the pleasant scent and selected the most symmetrical tree. It was nearly twice her size.

  A prickle of nervousness ran through her as she raised the ax. Her work before had not comprised of wielding medieval weapons, and she inhaled.

  Then Flora struck the tree. The ax hadn’t gone very far into the trunk, and yet it seemed to be stuck there. She bent down and yanked it out.

  It’s a start.

  She bent down and proceeded to strike the same spot.

  “What on earth are you doing?” A deep voice bellowed behind her, and she dropped the ax. It tumbled toward her toes, and then strong arms were about her and pulled her away. “You could have hurt yourself.”

  Flora’s heart beat wildly, and she turned in the man’s arms and tilted her head up.

  Not that she had to look.

  She already knew the owner of the voice.

  It was the earl.

  The man still clasped her in his arms. His eyes flashed, and she was conscious of the feel of his muscular arms as they held her tight. Her bosom was crushed against his chest.

  “Let me go,” she said. “Now.”

  WOLFE DROPPED HIS ARMS, and Flora stepped from them. He shouldn’t have been holding her so tightly. He shouldn’t have been holding her at all. “Forgive me.”

  He wobbled, and she looked down.

  “You’re wearing skates! You could have hurt yourself.”

  “I could have hurt myself? I’m not the person wielding a dangerous weapon.”

  “Those are more dangerous to your ankles,” she said.

  “I don’t care about my ankles,” he said. “I care about your life!”

  She blinked. “It’s simply an ax.”

  “And you’re cutting down a tree! It could fall down and crush you.”

  “I would step away before it did that,” she said. “Now I am working,” she said. “You can kindly go.”

  “You mean... You don’t intend to stop?”

  “I’m cutting down a Christmas tree,” she said. “I’m almost finished.”

  He gazed at the trunk of the tree. It did appear somewhat mangled.

  “That’s not a suitable task for you,” he grumbled.

  “And what is? Waking up at dawn for years? Scrubbing stairs? Until I became a lady’s maid and stayed up late at night to worry about my mistress’s attire? Truly, this task is not so unpleasant.”

  He felt his cheeks heat. Hades’ Lair did not demand such physical labor from him.

  “Forgive me,” he said again.

  “Just...go,” she said, picking up the ax.

  “Naturally.” His voice sounded husky, and he shifted his legs awkwardly. He’d practically sprinted the few feet from the ice when he’d seen her, and he wasn’t entirely certain how he’d managed to do so.

  “You can hold onto my arm,” she said.

  “That’s—er—unnecessary,” he said.

  “Last night you kissed me,” she said brusquely. “And now you cannot even touch my arm?”

  “I took advantage of the situation,” he said. “Of your...beauty. I am deeply, deeply sorry. And I will not do so again.”

  “You think I’m beautiful?” she asked.

  “That is not the part of the apology that you should be noting,” he said.

  “No?” Her eyes glimmered. Devil it. They looked like little stars. It was the sort of thing that made him want to give her more compliments, especially since they would all be utterly true.

  “If you think I’m beautiful, why did you run?”

  “Because I’m your employer, devil it. It wouldn’t be suitable.”

  “You run a gaming hell,” she said. “You’re hardly a man with flawless morals.”

  “Well, I won’t have any flaws that include hurting you,” he said. “You’re far too important.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Obviously.”

  “Then why did you not ask me what I might desire?” she asked.

  “What you desired?”

  She nodded.

  He didn’t have an answer. “But surely you couldn’t have wanted...?”

  Her cheeks pinkened, and she looked away. “Please go.”

  Right.

  He stumbled away, grasping hold of a tree branch, and then another one.

  “Don’t—”

  Flora’s call came too late. In the next moment, the branch, and Wolfe, toppled down. He was aware he was lying on spruce branches, that provided a bumpy barrier against the cold snow.

  “Fiddle-faddle.” Flora’s voice sailed toward him, and in the next moment she was kneeling beside him. “How are you?”

  “Still breathing,” he said, but his voice was hoarse, and when Flora’s head appeared beside him, her expression seemed distinctly worried.

  “I’m so sorry, my lord,” she said. “I didn’t mean for you to—”

  “Fall?”

  She nodded, and the pained expression remained on her face.

  “It just means that I was right to be suspicious of you chopping down the tree,” he said. “I recognized it as a danger...for me.”

  She gave him a wobbly smile. “Is there something I can do?”

  “You can fetch my boots,” he said, gesturing in their direction. “And then we can bring this tree to the manor house. At least it’s fallen down.”

  “So you’ll be able to walk?”

  He rolled off of the spruce and flexed his feet experimentally. “I think so. I just have one question.”

  “Mm...hmm?”

  He started to speak, but his heart seemed to have caught in his throat. He inhaled. “You told me that I didn’t ask you what you desired.”

  “Oh.” Her cheeks were certainly pinkening again, and she busied herself with smoothing the crushed spruce branches.

  “What did you mean?”

  She was silent, and for a horrible moment Wolfe thought he might have been imagining everything.

  “I’ve known you since I was very young,” she said, her tone more serious. “And I happen to be your servant now, but I don’t want you to think of me as only that. Because I don’t think of you simply as my employer.”

  “Then the kiss was not unwelcome?”

  “It was not,” she said.

  The three words were simple, but for him, they seemed the most marvelous words in the world.

  He squeezed her hand, and even though her hand was gloved, and even though his hand was gloved, energy still surged through him.

  “I know you’re a rogue,” she said hastily. “And I know that I should stay far away from you. After all, you have a bad reputation,” she said.

&
nbsp; “Perhaps,” he said lightly.

  Wolfe had found the fact he ran a gaming hell often made people assume all manner of things about him. It didn’t make him cruel, and unlike the people who visited the gaming hell, he was always working.

  Wolfe knew that telling women that he was not truly as roguish and rakish as everyone said he was would be considered odd. He could let them believe that he spent his evenings wandering from ball to ball, bedding this woman and that woman, when truly the only place he was tethered was to the office in Hades’ Lair.

  “I’ve never harmed any woman,” he said. “I think if you’re an earl of a certain age you automatically get termed a rogue, whether you subscribe to their principles of seduction and abandonment or not. I don’t.”

  She shot him a smile that seemed to twist his very insides. “You did leave the ballroom quite hastily last night.”

  He nodded.

  “Besides,” she said, more seriously. “I am leaving for Cornwall directly after Christmas. I won’t see you again after that. I don’t want to spend the rest of my time here avoiding you, or having you avoid me.”

  Cornwall.

  It had seemed like a relief when she’d said for the first time that she didn’t plan to stay in Scotland, or even London. And yet now the word caused his heart to pang, even though everyone knew Cornwall was supposed to make one think of chalky cliffs and quaint fishing villages.

  “You’re right,” he said. “Then in that case...” He still lay on the snow, and he pulled her toward him. This time, he didn’t hesitate. He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to taste her, to feel her lips dance with his.

  The next minutes were pure bliss. It certainly didn’t matter that he was being pressed deeper into the snow. All that mattered was that Flora was in her arms, and that she seemed to be just as happy to be there as he was. He’d been a fool before.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Wolfe entered the ballroom. The day had been blissful, even if it had involved dragging a bulky tree from the lake to the manor home, and even though Wolfe wasn’t completely convinced having a tree in a ballroom was a good idea.