“I suppose,” he said slowly and carefully, drawing closer to her. “I am beginning to feel it now.”
He leaned down then, determined that this time, she would not escape. He saw a tiny bit of panic flare in her eyes as his face neared hers, but she didn’t back away. He brought his hand to the back of her head, and before she could have another moment to think about what was happening between them, he brought his lips to hers.
It had taken months, but he finally tasted his wife. And now that he had sampled, he wanted more. He didn’t want to scare her away, but it was difficult to keep himself from taking more than this sweet, chaste kiss. He could sense her hesitancy, however, so he held himself to what she offered, her lips soft and warm under his. So as not to scare her, he began to slowly move them over hers, tempting, slightly teasing, and he knew the moment she allowed her resistance to begin to ebb away. For her body, so tense and tight, began to sink into him seemingly of its own will, the ice beginning to melt as her soft form came flush against his. He ran his tongue over the seam of her lips, and she opened to him, allowing him in, and he felt the exhilaration down to his very soul.
For he knew this was more than simply sharing a kiss with her husband. This was opening up to him in more than just the physical sense.
She tasted like the spice of the pastry she had been offered at their last stop, and, like the temptation of sugar, he wanted more of her — more than was appropriate to ask here, in the middle of these evergreens, the snow beginning to swirl around them. In fact, when he finally broke away, he was shocked to find the snow was now coming down in droves. When had that happened?
He looked down to find her staring up at him in amazement, and he was filled with a sense of satisfaction that it took a moment for her to come back to her senses.
“I — Hunter, I—”
He shook his head, smiling at her. “You don’t have to say anything,” he murmured, stroking her red cheek with his gloved thumb. “But we should get back.”
She looked around her, taking in the sudden snowfall with as much surprise as he had.
“Goodness, but it’s coming down!” she exclaimed. “We should go.”
This time, when they took a seat in the sleigh, he lifted the blanket over both of them, feeling her leg pressed against his. When she didn’t move away, he smiled. Perhaps there was something to the Christmas spirit after all.
9
“Oh, my lord, my lady!” Mrs. Shepherd hurried toward the door as they let themselves in, shaking off the snow. Scarlett looked over at Hunter and couldn’t help but begin to laugh, for the snow covered his riot of curls as though he were wearing a powdered wig. It was quickly beginning to melt as they stood in the entrance of the foyer, plastering the curls to his forehead. She was compelled to reach out and brush them away from his face, but stilled her hand before it acted of its own accord.
“My, but it’s frightfully cold out there!” Mrs. Shepherd continued, bustling around them as she helped Scarlett with her cloak. “You’re both going to catch a death of a cold if you don’t warm yourselves at once. My lord, where is your hat? Come, come.”
Scarlett smiled warmly at the woman who reminded her of a nursemaid the way she was fretting over the two of them. It was sweet, though, really, and she allowed her to continue her ministrations.
Abbot walked into the room then, his march the same steady pace he continued wherever he went. The house could be on fire and Abbot would still move with his measured steps out the door.
“My lord,” he said, “Spicer has prepared everything for your departure, but he wonders whether you might prefer to stay the night, with the way the weather has turned.”
Scarlett looked over at Hunter, who cocked his head to the side as he contemplated Abbot’s words. He turned toward the door as though he could see through it and he sighed.
“Perhaps you are right, Abbot. It has grown rather late, and it will be difficult to see through the snow. I am to have dinner tomorrow with Lord Falconer, but if I leave in the morning we should still be able to make it time. I have items of importance I wanted to discuss before he departs for his own country home, so that everything will be in order by the time Session resumes. However, if I ready my notes tonight, then I shouldn’t need to do so once I make London. Yes, that will be well.”
Was he speaking to her, to Abbot, or to himself? He had begun wandering through the adjoining Oak Hall as he muttered away, apparently not noticing he was dripping melting snow over the floorboards.
“He’ll be going to his study,” said Abbot — was that disapproval in his tone as he watched his employer meander down the hall?
Scarlett shook her head as she gathered her skirts and followed after her husband, as her rooms were in the same corridor as the study. Where was the man who had just kissed her in the snow, who had turned the cold into magic swirling around her? He was gone, lost to the Hunter who was completely wrapped up in his work. Though she now knew that his purpose was the admirable sort, she would have preferred that he include her in the conversation, if what he had to see to was so pressing.
This was the problem with men, she thought as the hope that had stirred in her belly simmered into anger. They made you believe one thing, charged your emotions, and then in the next moment they brushed you aside as though it all meant nothing. She rubbed her forehead. She should know better. Well, it was just a kiss. A bit of fun, really.
But as she closed her door and sank back against it, she knew, deep down in her soul, that she was already beginning to lose the battle of defending her own heart.
Scarlett awoke the next day determined to change her focus. She had accomplished her goal with Hunter — she had made him see the error in his ways, demonstrated all that he had been blind to in trusting his steward with sole responsibility of his estate. With any luck, he would be rid of Stone and conditions could begin to turn around for his tenants. It would be a new beginning in the new year.
And that was all she needed of him. Nothing more — or so she continued to tell herself.
“Good morning, my lady.”
“Good morning, Marion,” Scarlett smiled at her maid as she bustled into the room and began to efficiently pull various dresses from the wardrobe.
“What activities have you planned for this morning, my lady?” she asked as she held up a riding habit in one hand and a morning gown in the other.
Scarlett, sitting up under the blankets with her legs crossed, looked up at Marion, sighing as she placed her elbows on her legs and her chin in the palms of her hands, contemplating the girl and the clothing she held.
“I’m not entirely sure,” Scarlett said, tilting her head to the side. “I had thought perhaps to return home to visit my mother today for Christmas Eve and Christmas dinner. But first, I did want to add some festivity to this house. I’ll be back before Twelfth Night, so will have plenty of time to enjoy it. Besides that, I think the rest of the servants would like it — do you agree?”
“I do, my lady,” Marion replied with a convincing nod. “Everyone loves a bit of Christmas, and it doesn’t seem this house has ever had any.”
“Why do you think that is?”
Marion shrugged. “Mrs. Shepherd said that the family has hardly ever been in residence, as the marquess and marchioness have another home they prefer, and when Lord Oxford has been here, he doesn’t celebrate the season at all. Mrs. Shepherd thinks that they have never celebrated Christmas before.” Her voice dropped to a whisper, though no one else was near to hear them. “It’s rather sad, isn’t it my lady?”
“It is,” Scarlett agreed. “Well, then, Marion, it is up to us to share it with them. I’ll wear the morning dress while we ready this house following breakfast, and then we’ll leave this afternoon for my mother's, how does that sound?”
Marion replaced the riding habit but turned around hurriedly. “Oh, my lady! I was so caught up in discussing the decorations that I completely forgot to tell you — while a ride may be possible,
there is no way we can make the visit to your mother’s today.”
“What do you mean?” Scarlett looked at her quizzically.
“The snow, my lady — it came down all night!”
Scarlett pushed back the blankets, shivering as her feet touched the wooden floor. This room needed a carpet near the bed. It was an unusually cold winter, that was for certain. She padded over to the window, gasping when she looked out below. For what had been a foot of snow the day before had turned into mountains of it overnight. The snow blanketed everything — the maple trees, which were bare with the winter, the evergreens, and all of the gardens that stretched out below her south-facing window.
“My goodness!” she exclaimed. “I’ll never make it through there, even on horseback.” She whirled around to look at Marion. “And Lord Oxford will certainly not be able to London.”
Marion shook her head, the slightest of smiles curling the edges of her lips. Ah, yes — the valet. It meant he would be staying as well. “No, my lady,” she said. “It seems you will be spending Christmas with the earl.”
“Mrs. Shepherd!” Scarlett called into the maid’s sitting room as she looked for the housekeeper, Marion trailing behind her. Mrs. Shepherd came bustling out of the room, Abbot following along behind her.
“Ah, there you are!” Scarlett exclaimed. “Splendid. Now, Lord Oxford and I collected greenery yesterday while we were visiting the tenants, and it must still be in the sleigh. I’d like to decorate the house this morning, being that it is already Christmas Eve, and that will be decidedly important. Oh! And my mother wrote and said she would be sending mistletoe, which one of her friends brought up from the south. Did it arrive?”
“It did, my lady, earlier this week, and we will be readying it. Not to worry, we will have the house prepared for you by tomorrow.”
“Oh, but Mrs. Shepherd, I would love nothing more than to help. Is there any ribbon about? Or paper, perhaps? Come, let’s arrange everything in the blue drawing room.”
It was small, private, and Scarlett had taken it on as her own private sitting room. It had been rather cold when she first arrived, but now it was filled with her favorite things that she had brought with her from her parents’ home — the quilt her nursemaid had knitted for her, the small paintings and portraits of family members that reminded her of home.
Now, the footmen were lining greenery upon the floor, and Scarlett took command, instructing the maids on how to create the perfect boughs and balls of greenery.
“And this,” she said with flourish as she picked up a piece of it, “is mistletoe. Careful now, young ladies, that you don’t find yourself below it with a man who may not be of your choosing.” She winked at Marion, who blushed up to the roots of her auburn hair. Scarlett had noticed the valet, Spicer, had paid particular attention to Marion this morning. When Scarlett asked him where his lord was, he said she could find him in his study. Scarlett simply shrugged, deciding that it didn’t matter.
“Marion,” she murmured to her maid in a low voice, drawing her over to the side of the room, next to the marble fireplace, where a cheery fire burned. “I completely forgot to tell you. It seems your Mr. Spicer is unattached. And now, you shall spend Christmas with him. I do hope all works out well for the two of you, but promise me you will be careful?”
Marion simply smiled and turned away, and Scarlett pulled at a strand of hair that had fallen out of her messy chignon, winding it around her finger as she contemplated Marion and Spicer, who were now shyly conversing. Perhaps love could work for some, she thought wistfully as she tied together the ball of mistletoe along with some of the evergreen boughs they had picked from the forest floor. She pushed back the memories of yesterday that continued to try to invade. It meant nothing. Simply a bit of fun.
Scarlett gathered a large bundle of greenery as she made her way through the sitting room, passing through the Green Room, where she smiled at some of the footmen. It seemed the servants were rather enjoying this bit of festivity, as everywhere she looked all were getting in on the fun. Oak Hall — that was where she would focus her attention. It branched off the foyer and was continually used to reach nearly every other room of the house, by both herself and the servants alike.
Determining the best placement for her boughs, she began to retrace her steps, nearly running into the valet.
“Ah, Spicer,” she said with a smile, and he returned her look with a youthful grin. “Do you suppose you could fetch the library steps? I was thinking to hang this from the entrance into the room.”
“Of course, my lady,” he said, and returned moments later with the wooden steps, which reached fairly high, perfect for the tall bookshelves that lined the library. “Allow me.”
“No, no, I am perfectly fine,” she said, then remembering Marion tying together the greenery in the drawing room, she was inspired. “I am sorry to ask another favor of you, but I don't suppose you could fetch me more boughs?”
“Of course, my lady,” he said. “I’ll be back shortly.”
“Take your time,” she said sweetly, then began the climb up the steps.
Standing on the top step, she estimated she was still about an inch from the frame of the doorway, despite standing on the very tips of her toes and reaching as far as she was able. She only needed to stand on the very top of the steps, flush with the railing, and then she could reach the doorframe. She had always had decent balance, likely from years atop a horse. She took a step, smiling when she was at the correct height.
“Here we are,” she murmured, fastening the ribbon to the top. “Perf—” Her words were cut off with a shout, however, as the ladder began teetering beneath her. She flailed her arms wildly as she attempted to regain her balance, but suddenly there was nothing to which she could affix her foot, as the steps began to tip forward. She cringed as she prepared herself to meet the floor, but instead of hardwood crashing into her back, she was caught by a pair of arms that seemed to come out of nowhere. She opened her eyes to find her husband’s handsome face before her.
Hunter’s arms tightened around her, and she could feel his warmth through her dress. He pulled her even closer, as though he could keep her safer that way. “My God, you scared me.” His forehead came to hers, his lips but a breath away. Her pulse quickened, in part from her near-fall, but also from him. Oh, she could tell herself he had no effect on her, but her body was saying something entirely different.
When his lips descended, she met them with a desperation she didn’t know was inside of her. What was she doing? This was not following in line with her intentions. All thought left her, however, as he drank her in, and she felt as though she were drowning, from his taste to his touch to the weightless feeling from simply being held by him.
His lips left hers just as abruptly as he had kissed her, but he continued to hold her, the two of them staring at one another, his breathing just as ragged as hers.
Get ahold of yourself, Scarlett. Her attachment to him was growing, but as soon as the weather broke and the roads cleared, he would be back in London and she would be left here, alone. As the thoughts flooded in, she dropped her head, breaking their connection. When she looked back up, Hunter’s eyebrows had come together in a vee as he looked at her with some consternation.
“What were you doing?” he asked, his voice a mix of incredulity as well as a thread of anger.
“Decorating,” she managed. She would not be cowed by him, though it was difficult to focus when she was still slightly shaken from her near-fall.
“What were you thinking?” he demanded now as he strode toward one of the chairs lining the side of the room, setting her down upon it as he crouched beside her. “You were standing on the very top of the ladder! You could have killed yourself.”
“Well,” she replied calmly, her hand fisting around her locket, twisting it from side to side as she felt the need to defend herself. “I didn’t, now did I?”
He ran a hand through his curls as he stood and paced before her. �
�What is going on here, anyway? My entire staff is bustling around, covering the house in … in trees!”
“Do you not recall last night?” she asked, raising her eyebrows, and when he stopped his movements and looked back at her, she knew he was remembering more than simply gathering some greenery.
“Of course I do,” he muttered. “But I never thought this would be the result.”
“This is Christmas, Hunter,” she said primly, “and as we are both stuck here, you best get used to it.”
10
How could she sit there so calmly, as though nothing had just happened? Hunter had thought that his heart would leap out of his chest when he wandered into Oak Hall looking for his valet, and instead discovered his wife teetering dangerously on the top of a ladder. What if he hadn’t arrived in time? She could now be stretched out on the floor below him. She could have broken her neck, for goodness sake, and now she sat here, admonishing him for not enjoying the fact that she was littering his house with the scattering of trees and plants from outside.
“You’re right about one thing,” he muttered. “We are stuck here.”
“That’s a lovely sentiment regarding spending Christmas with your wife,” she said primly, and he looked down at her, at her hands which had finally stopped their fussing and were now folded in the lap of her cream morning dress. He reached down and straightened the material where it had slipped down her shoulder. His fingers stilled when they touched her bare skin, and her eyes dipped toward where they brushed against her. Did she feel the same fire that he did?
His breath caught as she turned her head, her eyes meeting his once more. Why did they captivate him so? He swallowed hard.
Christmastide With His Countess Page 7
