Starting across the courtyard towards the open doorway, Catherine was so busy dreaming of how she would decorate the castle for the holiday season that she was not truly watching where she was going and, when a particularly strong gust of wind hit her just as her booted foot met a patch of ice, she felt herself flying forward through the air, her bonnet ripped away and her cloak tangling in her flailing limbs.
Catherine braced for what she knew would be a painful - and likely very physically damaging - impact on the cobblestone courtyard. However before she could so much as brush the stones with the hem of her gown, she was swept up in a pair of strong and powerful arms as if she weighted nothing at all. She could not see much of her rescuer. She only knew that he was large and obviously strong, for he had caught her easily and lifted her as if she weighed nothing more than a feather.
She could feel the faint scratch of whiskers against her cheek as he shifted her in his arms and she caught a faint whiff of bergamot oil. In short order, his fine lawn shirt was soaking wet, revealing the dark shadow of his crisp chest hair to her prying eyes. His shoulders were broad. She knew that, too, for she had now rested against his massive body for far longer than was proper. Not that she particularly cared at the moment, even though she recognized that she should.
Perhaps most peculiarly, however, for the first time in her life, Catherine felt...safe, for lack of a better word. It made no sense at all, for this man was obviously a servant but yet she could not help but acknowledge the comforting sensation that washed over her when her rescuer shifted her in his arms again, tucking her more securely against his massive, muscular chest. She felt as if she belonged to him somehow. As if nothing could harm her while this man held her close. Which was utterly ridiculous. She knew that. However for a moment, she savored the sensation, which, in her life, had been rarer than the most precious of jewels.
Then, without even time to protest - not that she truly wished to do so anyway - the man carried Catherine up the short set of steps, through the front door of the castle and then promptly placed her upon her feet without so much as an inquiry into her health. Everything happened so quickly, and yet even after her feet were firmly on the floor, she could not lose the sensation of being in the man's arms, the safety she had felt there, or the desire to snuggle deeper into his embrace that had stolen over her in those all-too-brief moments. Those peculiar sensations, however, had seemed to last a lifetime, leaving her uncertain and confused.
Giving herself a good mental shake, Catherine prepared to give the houseman or butler or whoever he was a piece of her mind. Best to deal promptly with what she could see, Catherine supposed, and sort out her renegade feelings and emotions later. This disquiet was likely the result of her longing for the past and this particular place, anyway. Those feelings were not real. Her rescuer was.
Though this man's intentions were obviously good, a servant simply did not scoop up a lady as if she was mere baggage and then unceremoniously dump her in the front hall without even a word. Was the new owner of Hollywell such a heathen that he did not employ properly trained staff? Or was it a case of when the owner was away, the servants would play? And forget their places? Well, whatever the reason, Catherine would not stand for it. Not while she was in residence anyway.
However when she looked up, prepared to scold the man, she was greeted by the greenest eyes she had ever seen framed by hair so thick and black that it was almost blue. The man now towering over her had high, almost slashing cheekbones and a wide, sensual mouth that made her quiver inside. There was a ruggedness to him that was absent in most of the men she knew, and Catherine felt her blood quicken in her veins and a dampness begin to form...elsewhere, which shocked her more than just about anything. Catherine was no stranger to physical desire or want. Even though she had not felt those things for her husband, she was able to recognize the changes in her body for what they were.
She desired this man. Fiercely. Powerfully. Even though she very much doubted that she affected him the same way.
Gazing up at him now, Catherine was struck by the realization that he was everything she had ever desired in her imaginary, "perfect" man. He was all that she had dreamed about as a young girl, and nothing like the husband she had been given by fate. This man was tall and commanding, well over six feet and broad shouldered, with a gaze so fierce that she wanted to look away but found that she could not - no matter how hard she tried. There was little doubt from the way he carried himself that he was in charge within these walls. And suddenly, Catherine ached for him to command her in the same way he commanded Hollywell - which was utterly ridiculous and completely foolish. Yet she felt it just the same.
In that moment as she licked her lips and attempted to gather her wits, Catherine was struck with the certainty that this man was not a servant. Not even a land steward. No, this was a man accustomed to being in control. Of everyone and everything around him. This man, much to her distress, was the new owner of Hollywell. He was in residence. He had not departed for the Continent as Nicholas had promised. And he did not look precisely pleased to see her.
"Who are you, my good woman, and what do you mean dropping in upon my household unannounced in the middle of a blizzard?"
No, Catherine decided, he was not pleased to see her at all.
Chapter Two
Julian Valette, a French nobleman who should have been the current Comte De La Croix, glared down at the woman he had just hauled inside of his castle from the wilds of the storm raging outside. When his stable hand, Marcus, who was just finishing feeding the horses for the night had run inside to inform him that a carriage was struggling up Hollywell's drive, for a brief moment, Julian had thought one of his most trusted servants mad.
After all, there were no guests expected, at least not for a few more days, and especially not in this wretched weather. Moreover, the grand drive that led to the castle was not something that one simply stumbled onto by accident. Hollywell had been built as a fortress and that meant accessing the estate, even by land, was designed to be difficult. No, no one ventured up his drive unless they meant to do so. Therefore, he had taken it upon himself to go out to investigate this strange coach - and in the meantime, pray that it was not his thieving cousin returned to see what else he could pilfer from Julian. After all, the man had Julian's rightful title. Wasn't that enough?"
Instead of his cousin, however, Julian had been greeted by the sight of a traveling coach laden with trunks, a driver, two tigers and two outriders, indicating that the visitor was of the nobility. Or at least had coin enough to pretend to the position. His next thought was that the visitor was his new friend Lord Candlewood, but a letter that morning from the esteemed duke indicated that the man was well ensconced at Seldon Park for the season with his new wife and otherwise occupied by a small gathering he was hosting for a friend's wedding at the estate. It was unlikely that Nicholas would abandon his guests to seek out Julian, no matter how urgent the matter. After all, there were messengers and the post for that sort of thing if necessary.
Then, Julian had glimpsed the booted, feminine foot emerge from the coach, followed by a toss of silk and a flash of lace undergarments. At that delightful sight, his stomach had sunk to the floor. The last thing he needed or wanted was a female in his castle. Particularly one who likely hoped to wed him in short order, also likely by trickery, and claim a portion of Hollywell as her own domain. Along with a sizeable chunk of his fortune, as well.
He couldn't see this female well, but he had a suspicion that she was much like all of the others who had come to call upon him without invitation - if not a bit more audacious given the amount of luggage she was toting behind her. She was likely young and beautiful, barely out of the schoolroom and, at best, a simpering idiot who cared only for fashion and the latest hairstyles. She would probably bat her eyes at him and claim that she had become lost - her luggage belying that lie, of course - and only needed shelter until the storm passed.
In short, she would be eve
rything that Julian despised in a woman and very little that he found attractive. And, if this storm did not ease by dawn, he would then be forced to entertain her and her entourage for several days, perhaps even until the Christmas Eve gala ball he had planned for the local gentry. If the chit was still here when his guests arrived? Well, that was not a scenario that Julian cared to even think about, so therefore, he decided immediately, she would not be present when others came to call. He would make certain of it. Even if meant tossing her back out into the storm with her baggage behind her. He was not a cruel man, but he was also not about to be manipulated, either.
For he would not be coerced into taking a wife he did not want and who wanted nothing more from him than his wealth and title - such as that was. No matter how pretty she might be.
Yes, he was in need of a wife eventually, but he would not be trapped into taking one that he did not care for, and one who believed that Voltaire and Machiavelli were Parisian fashion styles. No, he had higher standards than that.
He wanted someone who challenged him, a woman who desired him and him alone, even if he never regained his title. A woman of character and substance who was witty and charming and lovely, one who appreciated history and, preferably, one who loved this castle as much as he had come to over the last year that he had owned it.
Adventurous intentions in the bedchamber would be a delightful bonus as well, but truly? He cared more about her character than her body or her skill at bedsport. Fucking could be taught. Intelligence could not. So long as the lady had a proper mind of her own and was not afraid to use it to its full potential, he could accept shortfalls elsewhere. A pretty face, in his experience, did not make up for a dull mind.
She need not be young or old, for he cared little about age, himself the product of a union between an older English woman and a much younger French comte. His future - and likely non-existent - paragon of a wife simply needed to be the right woman for him. Julian very much doubted that such a lady existed, mind you, but there were plenty of young chits scattered about Cornwall and beyond who seemed determined to try to fit the rather strict qualifications he had set out for a bride.
Needless to say, Julian had witnessed this very same scenario play out so very many times as of late that he was weary of it. When word had gotten out that an unwed gentleman who might be a French count was living alone at Hollywell, the parade of unwed young ladies and their matchmaking mamas through his front door was never ending. And if he locked them out? Well, those ladies were a clever lot and usually managed to find a way inside, hoping to be caught in a compromising position with him as soon as possible. Which was the very last thing on Earth Julian desired. He was not looking to wed right at this very moment after all, and if he was? Well, in order to annoy his thieving cousin's branch of the family further, he'd be much more likely to pick a French whore than he was an English debutante. Maybe. If he was feeling particularly contrary.
Yet, somehow, this woman now standing before him had not felt like a debutante in his arms as he had caught her when she fell. Instead, she felt like a woman. With a woman's curves and a woman's derriere. And, having bedded his fair share of women over the years, Julian had a fair idea of what a true woman felt like when he held her. So no, this woman was no simpering miss, especially since, as she collected herself after he deposited her in his entryway, she did not immediately begin to cry or whimper or start up with any of those other feminine tricks that he so despised. Instead, she simply appeared to take a moment to gather herself before looking up at him, her eyes flashing fire.
And it felt as if someone had punched Julian in the gut.
Somehow, his body had deciphered what his mind had not been able to. This was, indeed, a woman, and a very beautiful one at that. She was older than he had expected, likely in her third decade, with honey-blonde hair that, even soaking wet, curled about her face enchantingly. Her lips were the perfect bow shape, their pink hue returning as she warmed up in his front hall. She had high cheekbones and a peaches and cream complexion that not even the most perfect of debutantes could claim.
She also clearly possessed a lush, feminine body, one he all but itched to feel beneath his fingertips again, even though he knew that down that particular path lay trouble. After all, Julian had caressed her curves as he had held her in his arms, even though now they were covered by her cloak, depriving him of the sight of her in what was certain to be a very fetching gown. He knew what she felt like against him, bringing him to almost instant arousal. He needed to feel her lush body against his again. Badly.
However it was not her body, delightful as that part of her was, that held him captive at the moment. It was her eyes. They were a violet color so striking and rich that he had never seen the like in all of his life. There was also a depth to them he had not found in other women. Those violet eyes of hers held secrets that spoke of pain and longing, of something heated and restless and above all, passionate. This woman was passion personified. He could tell, from her lush lips to her pert nose, she would be a firebrand in the bedchamber, not to mention elsewhere. And he wanted her. Fiercely. With this one look, Julian's body roared to life, hard and aroused, ready to mate - preferably with this delectable creature in front of him. The first woman to stir his interest in an age.
Julian did not like it. Not one bit.
Something of his displeasure must have shown on his face for the woman in front of him raised her chin a notch and glared at him as if he was in the wrong. "It would not have hurt for you to have introduced yourself, my good man, even if our first meeting was not precisely proper."
Even her voice was seductive, sultry and low, with just a hint of gravel beneath. It took all of Julian's noted self-restraint not to simply lay her down upon the floor and have his way with her. Even in front of the servants.
"Forgive me, my lady," he snapped icily, hoping to put some distance between them and praying he could bring his unruly body back under control, "but I have little experience with uninvited guests who arrive at my home in the middle of the storm. Particularly guests of the female variety."
"I was invited to Hollywell! I would not just appear on someone's doorstep without an invitation! I am not so crass as all that!" She was fairly vibrating with anger now and she was magnificent in it. He also rather wished a hole would open up in the floor and swallow her before he did something utterly stupid - like cart her off to his bedchamber and not emerge until he had sufficiently lost himself in her lush body.
That would not be good - for anyone. Though it would be extremely pleasurable. Of that he had no doubt.
"Invited by whom?" Glaring at her, Julian was fairly confident he would have remembered inviting a woman as tempting as this one into his home.
"By a Mr. Julian Valette, the current owner of Hollywell. And, despite these games you play, I strongly suspect that you are, in fact, Valette, and that you are merely toying with me, though I have no idea why. Or what pleasure you derive from doing so." She sniffed disdainfully, her mouth drawn up into a rather kissable-looking bow, though Julian suspected that expression was more out of uncertainty than anything else. And he would gladly show her what true pleasure actually was. If only he was certain she would not backhand him for his actions.
Then the brazen woman cleared her throat, clearly finding her inner strength. Lord, why was he being punished so, with a woman so tempting that he felt as if he was losing his mind? "As this was once my family's home, I made arrangements thought my friend, Lord Candlewood, to stay here during Christmastide. I was informed that the castle was to be empty, save for the staff. He did not tell me that Hollywell now included an impertinent new owner who has not vacated the premises as promised."
She was a clever one, this hellcat before him and his cock ached all the more because of her smart mouth - which he longed to silence with his kiss. Still, he would play her game. For now. In his last letter, Candlewood had mentioned that an old friend of his, a St. John whose family had once owned Hollywell, m
ight stop by for a time and that the duke would appreciate it greatly if Julian would make his old friend feel welcome. This woman before him was clearly not St. John, but he would still like to know her name before he tossed her back outside - even though his body was protesting that impending action rather vigorously.
"Nor did he tell me to expect impertinent females of a certain age." Julian smirked at her as she fumed in silent rage that almost matched his own. "And you are? Miss?"
For some reason, his words seemed to stop the woman where she stood, some of the fight leaving her, her face becoming little more than a polite mask and the fire inside of her abruptly dying. She froze in place, as if his words had physically hurt her. Julian was utterly confused, for all he had done was ask her name, which he truly did not know. They only thing he knew was that she could not be St. John. Beyond that, Julian was at a loss.
"There is no need to be cruel, you know," she whispered, hurt now evident in her tone, and then looked at him directly, her violet eyes so dark with an emotion he could not name that they were almost black. And once more, Julian was even more lost than he had been mere moments before. "I know I am aged beyond the point of attraction. You need not point it out to me."
Julian shook his head in disagreement, more than a little bewildered. "That is not what I meant." Then he frowned. "And you, my good woman, are far from old. But that aside, I am afraid that I still do not know your name."
She drew herself up taller, though the top of her head still barely reached to the center of his chest. "I am Lady Catherine St. John Oakley, the dowager Countess of Crossbury." She cleared her throat, obviously still upset. "As if you did not already know."
St. John? This delectable creature was St. John? Julian shook his head. Damn the duke and his machinations anyway. He and his Italian author of an idol would have made a fine pair with their schemes.
Christmas At Hollywell (The Seldon Park Christmas Novella Book 4) Page 2
