Glancing up, she saw Fitz glowering at her stepsister, a look that she ignored. When he caught Cesca watching, his expression softened, and he gave her a wink—which sent thrills rampaging up and down her spine.
Raising his voice above the general hubbub, he said, "I won't hear of Miss Francesca Heathcote spending the night in the so-called haunted room. I will take it, and she may have my room up in the attics."
Of course. Fitz was not just a hero of the battlefield. He was a gentleman too. Cesca swelled with pride.
"Now Fitz—that's not the way this works," stated Alicia. "We already agreed what the forfeit for the loser was going to be. And as I'm the winner, on account of having ten raisins, I demand we adhere to the original agreement. But to make it fairer on my sister, I'll wager my entire hoard of gold sovereigns that she can't spend all night in that room."
"I doubt there's actually a ghost," Cesca said quickly. "Please don't put yourself out for me, sir. I'll take my loss in good part and declare you'll all envy me in the morning for having had the best night of any of you. And I'll have the pleasure of being six sovereigns richer," she added, glancing sideways at Alicia.
Fitz's lips parted, but she shook her head. She would not be made to look small by Alicia. She'd stay in that room until doomsday if it put Alicia's nose out of joint.
Her attention was diverted by Captain Brandt leaning over her with a jug in his hand. "Allow me to offer you something to help you sleep," he offered, with a feral smile. "If you're dead to the world on brandy, not even the demons of hell can disturb your rest." He poured out a generous portion, along with a few of the leftover raisins.
She smiled her thanks, took a sip and chewed on some of the fruit, then pulled a face. A raisin soaked in brandy lost a good deal of its sweetness. She could see why the whole idea of the game of snapdragon was to pluck the fruit out quickly.
As the brandy worked its soporific magic on a group of people already tired from the exertions of the evening, yawning became rife. Cesca proclaimed her intention of heading to bed immediately, determined to show no fear. Alicia's petty little scheme would fail, and she'd lose her gold.
Cesca made her way up the creaking stairs by the light of a guttering candle and entered her room. It didn't look frightening. It had a bed, a chair, a chest and a large fireplace. An ewer and basin stood on a stand by the window—all very prosaic and not in the least bit supernatural. Sighing, she hung her bonnet on a hook behind the door and was about to do the same with her cloak, when she heard a soft scratching on the wooden panels.
"Who's there?" she whispered, as the hairs on the back of her neck prickled. Alicia, come to gloat? Or to give her a reprieve?
"It's Fitz," was the whispered reply. "May I come in?"
She lifted the latch immediately to admit him. Once inside, his presence filled the room, chasing away the shadows like a glowing beacon in the night. She barely resisted the urge to launch herself into his arms.
Closing the door behind him, he strode across to the fireplace. “It’s damn cold in here, Cesca. You’ll catch your death.” He crouched before the hearth and busied himself stoking up the flames before turning to face her. "I'm still happy to swap rooms with you—I don't give a damn what anyone else thinks."
Her voice wavered as she replied, "I'm fine. I'm not afraid of a phantom that probably doesn't even exist. I've taken the captain's advice and dosed myself up with brandy, ready to sleep like the dead."
“I can’t tell you how much I want to taste your lips right now,” he murmured, extending a hand toward her. "But first, it’s imperative that we work out what—" He was interrupted by a metallic scraping sound on the other side of the door.
A sense of dread washed over Cesca. She ran to the door, lifted the latch and tugged, but it wouldn't open.
On the other side, Alicia giggled. "I got the key from the landlord, Cesca, to make sure you can't cheat. I'll be back at first light to let you out and give you your winnings from our wager. See how generous I am!"
Too astonished to protest, Cesca stared at Fitz open-mouthed, as Alicia's light footsteps skittered off down the passageway. He blinked a couple of times. Then a slow smile spread across his handsome features.
"Well, Miss Francesca Heathcote," he said, his voice ripe with promise. "It looks as if we're going to be spending the night together."
Chapter Fifteen
Seeing the expression of shock on Francesca's face, Fitz forced himself to stop exulting and tried the door. It wouldn't budge.
He strode across to the window, opened it and looked out, and down, at the frozen snow. Then Cesca's arms were around his waist, and the exultation returned.
"No, Fitz. You can't possibly be thinking of climbing out the window!"
He'd rather hoped she'd say that. He might break his neck, or freeze—and there was no way of knowing how long it would take for someone to respond to his knocking when he tried to get back into the inn. Not to mention the fact that he was only wearing his evening clothes. Closing the window, he turned and took her in his arms, pressing her against his body, his hand cupping the back of her head.
"Don't worry," he told her. "We'll find a way to save your reputation. I had my own room for tonight, and no one's going to know I didn't sleep in it. I can hide when the maid gets here in the morning, then slip out before anyone sees me."
"I'd rather have a ruined reputation than let you climb out of a high window on the coldest night of the year," she said, her voice muffled against his chest.
"Yes, but your papa would be none too pleased if you were ruined in the eyes of Society." He wished it weren't true. Since Alicia's attempts to trap him into marriage, he was ceasing to care about the mores of Society and was tempted to deliberately flout them, as they seemed to fly in the face of everything good.
In fact, he could break those rules right now, and damn the consequences. Kissing the top of her head, he said, "You should get into bed—this room's still chilly."
"Perhaps it's the ghost." She shivered.
"Right," he said, releasing his grip. "Let's get you into bed and warmed up. They've done you a hot brick or put a warming pan in, I trust." He strode to the bed and pulled back the covers. Yes, there was the warming pan. He moved it up to heat more of the mattress.
"My skirts are still damp from the snow. I'll have to sleep in my chemise."
He'd be sleeping in his shirt. Everything else was still damp. Was there a truckle bed he could sleep on, and a spare blanket? "We'll dry our wet clothes in front of the fire. Remove your gown, and anything else that's damp, and hang them up while I set up my bed." He maneuvered her toward the fire, then turned his back while she undressed, and peered underneath the canopied bed. Damn. Nothing but a pair of chamber pots. He'd have to sleep on the floor. Still, he was a soldier. He'd slept in far worse places, under more dire circumstances.
"No truckle. Never mind." He straightened up. "We'll manage. Are you done?"
"The bed’s big enough for three, so I imagine they didn't think it necessary to provide an extra one. You can turn around now."
He did. And his mouth went dry. She had her back toward him, and the light of the fire filtered right through her thin chemise, gilding her sumptuous pear-shaped figure in glorious gold. His loins tightened, and he swiftly turned away. He'd known temptation would assault him tonight. He'd overestimated his ability to resist it.
A good dose of cold air would dull his ardor. Leaning against the bedpost, he stripped off his outer clothes, then padded across to the hearth in bare feet to see what drying space was left. Cesca had turned toward him, and now he could see the rich swell of her breasts beneath the chemise. Deuce take it!
"Get into bed before you freeze," he growled.
She blinked at him, then scurried past, flushing. Had she been watching him undress? He suspected she had. He hoped she had. He slid the coverlet off the bed, wrapped himself in its folds, and lay down in front of the fire.
"Good night." He rolled o
ver so he could face the roaring flames and lose himself in their mesmerizing dance. Anything to take his mind off the fact that the love of his life lay just feet away. It didn't help. Sleep, he feared, would be a long time coming. Besides which, there was a good deal of rustling coming from the bed.
"What are you doing?" he asked eventually.
"I've been trying to take the pins out of my hair. I don't want to stab myself in the eye while I sleep. And I keep trying to get comfortable without burning myself on the warming pan, and I'm trying to double up the blanket, so it's hotter. It seems silly, us having to divide the bedclothes when we could be sharing them."
Really? Sharing them how, exactly? He got to his feet, wrapping the counterpane around his shoulders. She was sitting up in bed, her hair half hanging down her back, the rest in tumbled disarray about her ears. He would have laughed if his male member weren't telling him to think about something far more critical.
"Shall I help with the hairpins?" He was eager to help with a good deal more than that but needed a proper invitation. "I'll take the warming pan out if you'd rather, or we could wrap some of our less damp clothing around it, so you don't burn yourself."
Don't get into bed with her, his conscience shouted. Don't even touch her!
"Yes, please, but my hair's the most important." She tugged ineffectually at a tangled coil.
With a sigh, he settled on the edge of the bed and began plucking out the hairpins. When he’d freed it all, he was barely able to resist running his hands through her hair so he could watch it cascade like golden silk between his fingers.
"Now slide under the covers and get warm," he commanded, feeling for and removing the warming pan. "I'll deal with this."
He was already halfway across the room before she said, "I don't think I can sleep after all the excitement. And there's still the problem of the ghost. Can't you sit beside me for a little while? We can talk until I fall asleep. There’s so much to discuss."
It was the invitation he had been hoping for, but also dreading. Thank heaven he had his back to her as he placed the warming pan in front of the hearth. The play of emotions across his face would either have terrified her or made her laugh outright.
He could do this. He could hold her in his arms and talk about the future, and they could enjoy the benefit of shared warmth. So long as they enjoyed nothing else, her reputation could be salvaged.
The restoration of his equanimity, however, was probably a lost cause.
Chapter Sixteen
Cesca snuggled into the crook of Fitz’s arm, resting her head on his shoulder. His body was hot, firm and comforting—but dangerous too, with that masculine allure which had been distracting her all evening.
Her hand stole across his stomach, enjoying the firm plane of flesh, straying, just briefly, to run a finger over the muscle below his rib cage. So strangely foreign, forbidden—and yet so familiar. How many times had she imagined this moment, and how long could she make it last?
“I’ve missed you so much.” She sighed, flexing her hand against his waist. “How could Alicia have been so cruel to us both? She was only fooling herself.”
“I thought her foolish too,” he responded, and she loved the way his voice vibrated through his body. She was heating up very nicely now—he was a million times better than a warming pan.
“At first I put her behavior down to her youth,” he went on. “She had a crush on me and acted upon it without thinking what harm it might do to others.”
“She became even more selfish after her mama died. I felt sorry for her, as did Papa I think, which is why we put up with it.”
“Indulging someone’s selfishness is never wise,” he agreed. “Much as I hate to speak ill of others, I find your stepsister small-minded, scheming and vicious. She has made us utterly miserable.”
“I’m so sorry. I should have tried harder to persuade Papa.” Cesca ran her hand up to his shoulder, resting her arm across his chest and holding him closer.
“So should I.” He kissed her hair again, with a tenderness that almost undid her. “I should have stood up to him too, and to my own father. But since his stroke, he’s been irascible and illogical, making it impossible to bargain with him. I would have felt so much guilt, bringing shame upon the family at such a time. Nonetheless, I ought—”
She brought her hand up to his mouth and pressed a finger against his lips, saying, “Hush. I don’t blame you for anything.”
He caught her hand and kissed the tip of each finger before replacing it on his chest. “I forbid you to feel sorry for me. Anyway, I have a plan to make all right again.”
“You do?” She smiled to herself, breathing in the glorious scent of his body.
"Yes. As soon as the roads are passable, I'm going to carry you off and marry you. We've lost six months already. I don't intend to lose any more."
Shaken out of her sensual stupor, she pushed up on her elbow so she could look into his face. “You’re serious?”
The flicker of the candle was reflected in his eyes, a deep, tiny flame that danced, and entranced her. His beautiful mouth was a hard line as he gave a single nod, and gazed at her, waiting for her reaction.
“There’ll still be our fathers to deal with,” she said anxiously.
“I know. But as soon as they have their first grandchild sitting on their knee, they’ll soften their hearts toward us, I guarantee. Could you cope with the scandal? Could you bear leading a less opulent life? For I might be disinherited. We’d have to live on my army pay, and you might find yourself following me and the regiment all over Europe. Mayhap even to India.”
“India would be fascinating. And though I know it would disappoint Papa, I’d be glad to travel with you. Being stuck at home is so stultifying. I’d make sure he had a good nurse to dress his gouty foot before I went, of course.”
“That should have been Alicia’s job too but she never lifted a finger to help, did she? You, on the other hand, have been a positive saint. But you have a right to a life of your own now, and I intend to give you that.”
Oh, how splendid it was to be lying here with Fitz, listening to his words of praise, his words of hope! But there was something else happening too. The feel of his hot, muscular body beneath her subtly exploring hand ignited little points of flame all over her skin. How would it feel to have his hand exploring her? It was a deliciously wicked thought.
She bit her lip to steady herself. What would happen if she were to ask him, outright, if he wanted her? “You mentioned grandchildren. But I assume we’ll have to wait until our wedding night.”
He gave a soft chuckle. “To all intents and purposes, this is our wedding night. If anyone were to catch us like this, there’d be no need to elope.”
Then why wait at all? As far as she was concerned, there couldn’t be a better moment.
“Are… I mean, can I hope that you’re interested in me in… er… that way?” she asked.
He laughed again, a glorious sound. “Sweet little innocent! Tell me—does this feel like disinterest to you?”
He captured her hand again and pressed it against his lower abdomen, where it encountered something rock-hard and potent. Shock mingled with wonderment, and her throat was too dry to answer.
“It’s all right,” he said, removing his hand. “It’s just an indication of how damned long I’ve remained celibate. Since my Cambridge days, in fact. There’s only one woman in the world I want, now and forever. And she’s in my arms at this very moment. I couldn’t be happier.”
Nor could she. Well, perhaps just a little happier. There were certain aspects of his body she was extremely interested in, which she was sure she’d enjoy learning about enormously. She hadn’t removed her hand from his erection yet and wondered if he’d noticed.
“Tonight’s little escapade has proved a blessing in disguise,” he continued. “Seeing you, being with you, has given me the strength I need to take the next step. We must be together, Cesca. I saw you flirting tonight and c
ouldn’t bear it. When we marry, I beg you will never flirt with another man, or I might have to call him out.”
“Such jealousy!” she said, smiling. “I’ll have to flirt frequently then and keep you on your toes.”
A growl rumbled through his chest, and the next instant, she was beneath him, trapped by his body. “Don’t tease me,” he admonished, “or I’ll show you what happens when you tease a man beyond bearing.”
“I’m intrigued.” Being beneath him, experiencing his latent power, shot arrows of anticipation right through her. Her breath went shallow.
His eyes narrowed. “Don’t tempt me. It would be wicked to take advantage of this situation.”
She thought about this for a moment, then said, “But if you made love to me, it would ensure I remained true to you. I couldn’t possibly entertain the idea of setting my cap at another man if you’d already made me yours.”
What had happened to polite, biddable Miss Francesca Heathcote? This other self, this primal being inside her, had emerged like a butterfly from a chrysalis. This new side of her ached to explore the delights Fitz could offer.
“So wicked,” he chided, then leaned his head down and nipped at her lower lip. “You’re asking me to make love to you?”
She blinked at him. “Only if you think you can manage it,” she teased.
"Damn you, woman," he exclaimed and lowered his head.
Chapter Seventeen
Francesca had imagined this moment so many times, though after Fitz had left for Europe, she’d killed the dream. She wouldn’t miss the dream though—because the reality was even better. The feel of his lips crushing hers, the mix of power and excitement that filled her at his touch—were wonderful beyond the scope of dreams.
His tongue—hot, heavy and lavish—stroked her lips. When he teased her teeth with it, she opened her mouth and welcomed him in, adoring his sure thrust of possession. She moaned softly, her head swimming, as his touch mastered her body. Her mind was a mere spectator. All that mattered now was sensation.
Timeless Christmas Romance Page 50
