“It’s only … it’s only that I will be missing an important meeting,” he managed. “Of course I am pleased to be here with you.”
Her eyes narrowed, and he wasn't sure what he had said that vexed her so, but she didn't seem particularly happy with his response.
“Tell me, Hunter,” she said, standing and walking over to the ladder, and he followed her to help her straighten it, her scent of spruce and frankincense strengthened by the boughs around them. The entire house now smelled of her, and it was already driving him mad. “What is it that bothers you so about Christmas? Why did you never celebrate?”
He sighed. He hadn’t wanted to speak to her of this, to give her any more of himself until the time she decided to open herself up to him, but it seemed his wife was relentless when she wanted something — just look at the current state of Wintervale.
“My mother hated Christmas,” he said, wandering out of the hall into the Green Room beyond, and she followed. He took a seat in front of the fire, to ward off the cold that was filtering in, and she settled herself across from him in a matching Chippendale leather armchair. He shrugged. “There’s not much else to say, really. One year Nia decided that she would celebrate Christmas with or without the rest of us. We were here that Christmas. Nia cut boughs off the trees in front of the house — the ones that line the drive, you know which I mean. My father was furious. Said she had ruined the entire aesthetic. She spent the rest of the day crying in her room.”
“That’s terrible,” Scarlett murmured, bowing her head. “What of the other traditions? Do you go to mass? Do you give the servants their Boxing Day gifts?”
“We go to the church service,” he said with a shrug. “But only for appearances. There is no special meal after, no Boxing Day, no visit to the tenants as you have already forced upon me. Christmas is just another day.”
She cocked her head to the side as she studied him, and despite the frostiness that so often emanated from her, something seemed to melt as she contemplated his words.
“Well, Hunter,” she said with conviction. “This year you have no choice but to experience and celebrate Christmas. So you best prepare yourself.”
Was that a threat, or a promise?
They both jumped when they heard a slight cough from the doorway of the room, breaking the tension that had filled the air.
“My lady?” It was Spicer, his arms filled with greenery, with Scarlett’s lady’s maid just visible behind him. Ah, so this was the girl Scarlett had spoken of, who was so interested in his valet. It seemed Spicer wasn’t too averse to her attentions, from the way he kept glancing back at her, his cheeks a bright red. “We have the rest of the greenery for this room. Marion — ah, that is, Miss Parker, she has everything well organized for the rest of the house.”
Scarlett wore a satisfied grin, and Hunter tried not to chuckle. Somehow, he had a feeling his wife was behind this particular meeting between the pair of them.
“Wonderful!” she said, rising to her feet and clapping her hands together. “Perhaps you can climb the ladder, Spicer, as it seems I’m but an inch too short.”
“I’ll do it,” Hunter heard himself say, and all eyes turned toward him as he stood. For some reason, the thought of another man coming to the aid of his wife stirred a bit of jealousy within him. Which was ridiculous. It was not as though Spicer posed any threat of garnering his wife’s affections. But a man needed some pride, now, didn't he?
“You’re not … busy?” Scarlett asked, an eyebrow raised.
“Not anymore,” he said with a shrug. “There is no chance of me making my meeting with Lord Falconer tonight, and when I am able to travel, I am already prepared to discuss my proposal.”
“You’re — you’re decorating for Christmas, my lord?” asked Spicer, his eyes wide, and Hunter fixed what he hoped was his best glower on the boy. “Yes, Spicer,” he said, trying for patience. “Now, what’s next?”
“Here,” said Scarlett, picking up the ball of greenery that had fallen from her hand to the floor when Hunter had caught her. “Why don't you hang the mistletoe?”
He raised his eyebrows as he looked at the sprig. “Is that what you nearly killed yourself fixing to the top of the door?”
“I find, Hunter,” she said with a saucy grin, “that one can never have too much mistletoe. It provides for a rather fun game of avoiding it — or looking for it — depending on your preference.”
She cocked her head at the pair of young servants making eyes at one another near the door, and then winked at Hunter, and he nearly choked. Who was this woman?
Scarlett had to laugh at her husband. As much as he grumbled about the trees she had brought into the house, she could tell he was enjoying himself. Before long, he was getting into the spirit, telling the footmen just where the evergreen boughs should be hung, and arranging the sprigs of ivy, holly, and rosemary over the dining room table with as much precision as a housemaid.
She leaned against the door of the room watching him until he finally must have sensed her presence.
“Are you ready?” she asked him.
“Ready for what?”
“To find the Yule log, of course.”
“Can you not just take one of the logs already cut?” he asked, a pained expression on his face, and she couldn’t resist teasing him further.
“Of course not,” she said. “We must venture into the woods and find the very best.”
“Why didn’t we simply find one the other day when we were gathering the boughs?”
“Because,” she said with an exasperated sigh, “This is a tradition. Every Christmas Eve we choose the Yule Log then light it for the remainder of the season.”
“It’s Christmas Eve?” he asked with bemusement, and she rolled her eyes at him.
“Of course it is.”
“Hmm,” he said in wonderment. “I was going to return home today. I didn’t realize Lord Falconer would want to meet on Christmas Eve.”
“Apparently he has the same regard for the holiday as you do,” she said with an arched eyebrow. “Well, I will be going. You are welcome to join or I will meet you here once I have found what I’m looking for. I am rather an expert, you know.”
“And what, pray tell, qualifies someone to become an expert at choosing a tree branch?”
“A Yule log,” she corrected him with a pointed stare. “It comes from years of experience, Hunter.”
“Very well then,” he said, feigning disinterest. “I suppose I had better come learn from a master.”
She couldn’t help the grin that stretched over her face. “I’ll meet you outside after I change my gown.”
Hunter had thought they would simply find a tree, cut a log, and be done with it. But no. Scarlett inspected tree after tree, always finding a reason why it didn’t suit. Too thin, too thick, too much greenery. Fortunately, they hadn’t wandered far from the house, just to the first line of trees in the distance. Wintervale, in fact, was still in sight.
“You know,” he remarked, “there are perfectly good logs in the shed beside the manor.”
She quelled him into silence with a look, and he threw up his hands. At the very least, the snow had finally stopped falling, though it was piled so high he knew it could be days before he would be able to leave for London. His wife was stuck with him. Although, the frozen walls around her seemed to be melting somewhat, so perhaps now was the time to see if he could bring them down entirely. When she allowed it, she showed him glimpses of the person she was when she wasn’t trying desperately to keep as far from him as possible. The woman who gave to his tenants, who was beloved of children and servants alike. Could she find room in her heart for him — and did he want her to? He could admit that the thought scared him a bit, but also brought about a longing that he hadn’t known was within him.
“I’ve found it!” she finally exclaimed, and he breathed a sigh of relief. He hefted the axe from his shoulder. “Do you have any instructions as to where I should cut?” he
asked.
“Here.” She drew a line with her finger, and he went to work. It was slow going at first — Hunter hadn’t exactly spent his youth outdoors doing hard labor — but soon enough he found a rhythm, and before long his wife’s Yule Log lay at her feet.
“Perfect!” she exclaimed, and a thrill ran through him at the joy that overcame her due to something that he had done for her. Well, he supposed, if something so simple could make her happy, then so be it. If only she would look at him the way she looked at the Yule log.
He reached out a hand toward her, though for what purpose he wasn’t sure, when a voice cut through the frosty air toward them.
“Hunter? Scarlett? Where in heaven’s name are you?”
“Nia!” Scarlett called out, making her way to the break in the trees. “We’ll be there momentarily!”
The moment broken, Hunter picked up the log and began trudging after her. Damn his sister. He had been looking forward to another stolen kiss with his wife. It seemed the only way he could capture her was to take her unaware, and he didn’t know when he would have another moment like this one. Christmas only lasted so long.
“There you are!” Lavinia called from the doorway. Heaven forbid his sister would spend one moment more than necessary out of doors. “My goodness, I have been looking everywhere for you!”
“We can’t have been gone more than an hour,” Hunter grumbled, and Scarlett shot him a look of consternation.
“It is lovely to see you,” she emphasized. “How did you make it through the snow?"
“The sleigh, as much as I hate it. But I could hardly believe it when I heard my brother would be in residence over Christmas! Why, I suppose there is a first for everything. And oh, Scarlett, the house looks absolutely beautiful.”
“Doesn’t it, though?” Scarlett asked, clasping her hands together.
“I can hardly believe Hunter allowed it!”
“Well,” he said, and they both turned to him. “It is not as though I allowed it, exactly. If I had not offered my assistance, I believe Scarlett would have killed herself in an attempt to drape the very ceiling in evergreen boughs.”
Lavinia smirked at him, to which he sighed. He loved his sister, but oh, she could be annoying, with her assumptions about his every action.
“You must stay for dinner tonight, Lavinia,” Scarlett said. “I know Hunter would love the opportunity to spend time with you. It’s been so long.”
Actually, Hunter would have preferred to spend the evening better getting to know his wife, but he supposed dinner with Lavinia would have to come first.
At Scarlett’s look of encouragement, he forced a smile on his face. “Yes, Nia,” he managed. “Do stay for dinner.”
“Lovely!” she said, clapping her hands. “I’m so glad you asked because, in fact, I brought Baxter with me. He’s waiting in the billiard room. I do believe he has helped himself to your brandy, Hunter, I hope you do not mind. Anyway, you know how I feel about the sleigh and the cold. That is how much I love you, brother. Now, we must discuss tomorrow. We will go to mass and then have a small dinner party, and of course you must attend. Baxter’s family was supposed to join us, but with the snow preventing travel, it will likely be the four of us as well as Lord and Lady Raymond — Madeline, of course. We’ve met them in the village, Scarlett, you remember her? Oh, and I can hardly forget the New Year’s party we will have. I told you of that, didn’t I? No? Well. It will be great fun, and you must attend.”
“Tomorrow is fine. As for New Year’s, we — I, ah … will likely be back in London by then,” Hunter managed. He had forgotten that his sister could speak with greater speed and alacrity than even the most experienced lord of the House. And Baxter. He groaned inwardly. The man was an absolute bore. But he loved Lavinia, and for that, Hunter couldn’t fault him. “But thank you.”
“Well, then, you must come, Scarlett — if you are staying here,” she said, to which Scarlett nodded and Hunter’s heart fell slightly. He had hoped that perhaps she would change her mind and accompany him back to London. But apparently, a few stolen kisses meant nothing had changed regarding their future together.
“I suppose I should go see to Baxter,” he said, handing his cloak to the patiently waiting Spicer.
“My lord,” Spicer said in a low voice as he stepped up next to him. “Perhaps before you see to Lord Keppel, you might like to light the Yule log with my lady?”
“Ah, yes, very good, Spicer,” he said. If Scarlett took such joy from finding the damn log, then lighting it should be even more thrilling.
“Lady Keppel.” Mrs. Shepherd bustled into the room. “How lovely to see you, my dear! I have had Cook prepare your favorite biscuits and they are set out for you in the drawing room. Do come.”
Lavinia looked back at Scarlett, clearly torn between seeing the log lit and her waiting biscuits, but Scarlett waved her on. “Go on, Nia,” she said. “I’ll quickly prepare for dinner and be with you in a moment.”
“Very good,” his sister said, stealing a glance at Hunter as well as his wife before smiling surreptitiously and then sauntering out of the room behind the housekeeper.
“Well,” said Hunter after a moment when silence stretched between them awkwardly. “We best light the thing, shall we?”
“Yes, let’s!” exclaimed Scarlett, clapping her hands together with the excitement of a child, and Hunter grinned. “Where shall we light it, do you think?”
“Oak Hall,” he decided immediately. “Then we shall see it every time we walk through.”
“That’s perfect,” she said, smiling at him in approval, and his heart flipped over in his chest. What was this now? Of course he wanted some closeness with his wife, to find some common ground, to try to beget an heir, but he hadn’t expected these … feelings to begin to stir for her. It was just the blasted Christmas celebrations. He pushed his emotion aside as he hefted the log in his arms. He would be more than pleased if she overcame her adversity toward him, but he didn’t need to become a lovesick pup himself.
They crossed the entrance together and were stepping into Oak Hall when Hunter heard Spicer clear his throat. With some exasperation, he turned to his valet, who stood in the entryway still. What did the man want now?
“Yes, Spicer?” he asked, trying to maintain patience.
“Ah, my lord, it is just that — you are standing under the mistletoe.”
“What?”
“The mistletoe,” he said in a loud whisper, pointing above Hunter’s head at the bough that Scarlett had risked her life to hang. More loudly, he announced, “I shall prepare your evening clothing, my lord.”
And with that, Spicer turned and walked the other way, whistling a merry tune.
Hunter turned to his wife to find her staring up at him, a smile teasing her lips. But then she caught his expression and her hazel eyes widened, the gold flecks glinting in the remaining light of day streaming in from the large windows staring down on them.
He threw the Yule log to the floor and took her in his arms, his lips descending on hers. Dear Lord. He was lost.
11
When, upon their marriage, Scarlett had decided to keep her husband as far from her as possible, she hadn’t been aware of the fatal flaw within her plan. She had never known the effect his kiss would have upon her.
Every time he kissed her, it seemed as though he was erasing more and more of the lectures her mother had instilled in her, the memories of her father so callously leaving them at any time for all manner of women. Did Hunter feel as she did when their lips met, when their eyes caught and held, or when she walked into a room? The longer she stayed here in this house with him, the more she was drawn to him, and that scared her more than she cared to admit. If only she knew whether she was the only one feeling this way. For this could be how he made many women feel, and before long he would be back in London, leaving her behind as just another part of this estate that he seemed to forget when he wasn’t in residence.
When he t
ook her in his arms and his lips came down upon hers hard and unyielding, however, all of these thoughts fled. He kissed her passionately, drinking her up with desperation in the movement of his mouth on hers, his tongue velvet as it caressed her, causing sensations to course through her, sending tingles down her spine. Her body was numb and yet at the same time had never been more alive.
She instinctively pressed herself into him as her arms twined around his neck, her fingers twisting around the locks of curls that she had been yearning to touch for the past few days. He stepped forward with her still in his arms, pressing her against the wall of the entryway, his hands beginning to move now, running up and down her back, her sides, inching up toward her breasts, and she wanted to feel them on her desperately.
“Hunter,” she murmured as she tipped her head back from his, but instead of releasing her, he brought his lips to her neck, and she gasped at the sensations caused by his slightest touch. What was this spell he had placed over her?
“Scarlett,” he responded, his voice as guttural as she felt. He stepped back, but only to take one of her hands in his. “Come, let’s go upst—”
“Ah, there you are, Oxford!”
Scarlett jumped at the intrusion, and Hunter closed his eyes tightly, as though he were willing the man away. He did not, however, release her hand.
“I will be there momentarily, Baxter,” he said tightly. “I am busy at the moment.”
“Your butler said something about a Yule log. I’ve always loved a good Yule log, I have. So I said to myself, why am I sitting here enjoying a glass of brandy alone when I could be in front of a roaring fire to welcome the season? So here I am!”
He chuckled, draining the glass in his hand, and Hunter rubbed his forehead with his knuckles. He was murmuring something which Scarlett strained to hear, but when she did, she abruptly stepped back in a bit of shock, though with just as much amusement at his choice of words.
Christmastide With His Countess Page 8
