Christmastide With His Countess

by Ellie St. Clair

  13

  Hunter dressed with immaculate care that night. Why, he wasn’t sure. Scarlett was already his wife — he shouldn’t need to go to great pains to impress her.

  And yet, he longed for nothing more than for her to look at him with the same enthusiasm she did everyone else who came into her life — and that damn Yule log.

  “You look very dapper, my lord,” said Spicer as he finished smoothing the final crease in Hunter’s cravat.

  Hunter grinned at his valet. “Thank you, Spicer,” he said. “I have you to thank, of course.”

  “I must say, that is a tremendous pocket watch.”

  “It is, isn’t it?”

  Hunter lifted the gold plated watch in his hand, turning it round and round. He noticed something then on the back of it, an inscription he hadn’t seen previously. He moved over to the sconce, holding the watch up to the candlelight.

  December 25, 1813.

  Today’s date. She had planned this long before she even knew he would be home, before she even knew his story of wishing for one. Guilt tugged at his heart then, for if the snow hadn’t fallen as it did, he would be back in London, leaving her here alone on Christmas Day. Would she have given him the watch? Or sold it elsewhere? He could hardly ask her without breaking the little trust they were beginning to build. As it was, she had given it to him only to aid in his work in London, not to arrive home in time for dinner — for she apparently had no plans on being in his townhouse awaiting him.

  He placed the watch back in his pocket, his heart warming at the first true gift he had ever received. He supposed Lavinia would have given him something in the past, had she herself been used to the custom of giving and receiving. But alas, that notion had never been a part of their cold childhood.

  “You’ll be heading to church then?” Spicer asked, and at Hunter’s nod, he found his cloak and gloves and laid them on the bed.

  “It’s become mighty cold, my lord,” he said, “but I believe the path is clear enough to the village for the horses and sleigh. Just have to hope it doesn’t snow much between now and then.”

  “We shall have to hope, Spicer,” he replied and went out to find his wife.

  Perhaps she was the one requiring a pocket watch, he thought minutes later as he waited for her in Stone Hall. If she took any longer, they would be late for the church service. He was about to find Mrs. Shepherd to ask her to collect his wife when he heard footsteps on the stairs above him. He looked up, at first noticing the step he heard was from her hard black boot, for it would be foolish to go out of doors in the little kid slippers she loved.

  But his gaze quickly traveled upward, and his heart seemed to stop as he took her in from her toes to the top of her head.

  She was extraordinary. Breathtaking. He had known it before, of course, but there was something about her at this moment that he couldn’t put a finger on.

  Her green dress was wide around her shoulders, the gold embroidered edges bordering her delicate collarbones, joining together at the bodice in the middle, a gold tucker covering most of her breasts, the tops of the tiny mounds showing just enough to tempt him as his eyes rested upon her. A gold braid emphasized her narrow waist, from where the green of her skirts billowed out to wave around her ankles, a gold petticoat peeking out from underneath.

  As beautiful as her dress was, it was her face that held him. Her chestnut hair with its highlights of cinnamon was piled high on her head, with pieces falling softly around her face, drawing his attention to her sculpted cheekbones and the hazel eyes that held his. She bit her full bottom lip, the rosy red of it beckoning him to run up the stairs as fast as he was able and take them under his. He held himself back, however, as he felt the presence of servants gathering behind him.

  “Beautiful,” he heard Spicer breathe, and if Hunter were able to tear his eyes away from his wife, he would have glared at him with all of the jealousy and possessiveness of a man in love.

  For he was. He loved her. Despite the wall of ice she had built around herself, he had come to know this woman over the past couple of days — which was foolish in itself, to fall in love with someone after a two-day acquaintance. And yet, he had. Any frostiness remaining around her was simply there to protect herself. Warmth was what truly emanated from her, was part of her very soul. The few times she had bestowed upon him a glimpse into the woman underneath, she stirred something within him that he had never known was there.

  She finally resumed her slow march down the stairs toward him, her eyes never leaving his until she was a step above him.

  “You look beautiful,” he finally breathed, and she simply smiled up at him.

  “Hunter green.” He heard the whisper behind him, and he turned his head to see Scarlett’s lady’s maid had joined them in the entryway. Did she just wink at him? No, he shook his head. Surely, she wouldn’t. But he certainly didn’t miss the impish smile on her face as she took the hand of his valet and led him out of the room.

  “You look beautiful this evening, my lady,” Mrs. Shepherd finally said, breaking the silence, and his butler nodded as well, holding out his arm, upon which their cloaks were draped.

  “You best be going or you’ll miss the service,” he said. “We will be along shortly behind you. Your sister awaits in the sleigh in the drive. I know she has invited you for dinner, but if you choose to return home — because of the weather of course — Cook has promised to have a fine Christmas meal prepared.”

  “We will be home,” Hunter said, his voice thick.

  “Very good, my lord!” His butler and housekeeper looked thrilled, though why they cared, he wasn’t sure.

  “What?” Scarlett asked, surprise registering on her face.

  “I said we will be home after mass,” he repeated as he steered her out the door. No more games, no more visitors, no more intrusions.

  Tonight, his wife would become his.

  Scarlett kept stealing glances at her husband throughout the church service. She had been to the village church every Sunday morning without fail since she took up residence at Wintervale, but tonight, the church had been transformed. The copper brick walls had turned a dusky amber with the glow of the candlelight from the sconces that lined the building. The choir’s tones were hushed and melodic, celebrating the joy of the baby born so many years ago, the air filled with the smell of straw upon which a porcelain collection of shepherds, wise men, livestock, and Mary and Joseph themselves gathered around the baby Jesus.

  But for Scarlett, it was more than the warm, cheerful atmosphere that surrounded her. It was the man beside her. Something had changed within Hunter, though she wasn’t sure what it was or what had caused it. His usual nonchalant air was gone, replaced by a man with determination written all over his face. His jaw was tight, his cheekbones pronounced, his eyebrows drawn together.

  One thing was certain — she had never seen a more handsome man in her entire life. He may not have celebrated many Christmases before, but he certainly knew how to dress for one.

  When she had walked down the stairs of Stone Hall toward him, his blue-green eyes had turned from their usual warmth to a shade darker somehow as they focused so intensely upon her. If only she knew what he was thinking. She wanted to ask, but for once in her life, she was too nervous. For his answer could change everything between them, and she wasn’t altogether sure she wanted that.

  In fact, she thought as the congregation rose for the mass to begin, she had no idea what she wanted any longer. A multitude of emotions curdled in her stomach, as she both longed for her husband as well as feared what could happen if he were to leave her. When he would leave her, that was, for he was surely returning to London in due time.

  She looked down at her lap, seeing his broad, strong hand just inches from hers. If theirs was a different relationship, she would only have to lift her hand and bring it down upon his for his warm touch to suffuse her. But she couldn’t — not now, despite how much she yearned to be closer to him. As it was, they
were pressed close together in the tight pew due to the filled church, and every time he moved, she had to shut her eyes for a moment as his hard body against hers sent all kinds of shivers through her.

  She swallowed hard, looking at him out of the corner of her eye, and used all of her power to focus on the service and not on her husband.

  Scarlett couldn’t remember mass ever being quite so long. The moment the last hymn concluded, Hunter jumped up, took her hand, and began leading her to the door as fast as he was able to reasonably move.

  “Hunter—” she began, catching sight of Lavinia waving at them from across the church. Wintervale was between Lavinia’s home and the village, so she and Baxter had insisted on collecting them.

  Hunter turned and waved to his sister before pointing to the door. Lavinia, wanting to visit, pouted but Hunter shook his head, and Scarlett was amused by the unspoken argument between brother and sister.

  Finally, Lavinia threw up her hands, took her husband by the arm, and led him to the door while Hunter had already pulled Scarlett through and was donning his fur hat.

  “Hunter!” she admonished him once she finally caught up with the two of them, pushing up her glasses as they had apparently fallen down her nose in her haste to follow after them. “What is the rush? I was simply speaking with—”

  “We have to get home.”

  “Whatever for?”

  They stepped out into the cold night air, which was now filled with swirling snowflakes.

  “For we must return before the snow leaves us stranded here in the village. Do you not see how thick and fast it is coming down?”

  Scarlett turned around in a circle, ascertaining that Hunter was, indeed, correct. Snow was beginning to collect upon the thatched roofs surrounding them, icicles hanging from their eaves. She couldn’t help herself. She threw her arms out, let her head hang back, and opened her mouth to collect snowflakes as they descended toward her.

  “Scarlett! What in heaven’s name are you doing?” asked Lavinia, although Scarlett could hear the laughter in her voice.

  “Collecting snowflakes!” she exclaimed, raising her head to look at her sister-in-law. “Did you never do such a thing?”

  “No!” Lavinia said somewhat incredulously. “Our parents would have seen it as quite … improper.”

  “Well, I suppose it is,” said Scarlett with a shrug. “Though Hunter is right. We best be going.”

  “Did I hear you correctly?” he asked with a teasing look of astonishment. “I believe you just said I’m right.”

  “Well,” she admitted, “for once you are.”

  He held a hand out to help her into the waiting sleigh, and despite the layers of gloves between them and the frigid night air, a jolt of heat coursed through her from where they touched right to her very center. Get a hold of yourself Scarlett, she thought as he sat next to him underneath the blanket keeping out the cold.

  “So…” Lavinia began speaking before she was even fully inside, ignoring her husband who had already rummaged in his pocket to pull out a flask before the sleigh even began to move. “You will come for dinner tonight, will you not?”

  “No,” Hunter said curtly before turning his gaze toward the passing landscape. Lavinia’s smile fell, and Scarlett leaned forward.

  “We would love to Lavinia, truly we would,” she said with much more tact. “However, we are concerned about the weather, and we wouldn’t like to impose upon you overnight.”

  “Of course you may!” she exclaimed, but Hunter was already shaking his head.

  “I’d like to spend Christmas alone with my wife,” he said pointedly, shocking them all into silence with the exception of Baxter, who choked on his drink.

  “Very well, then,” said Lavinia, her eyebrows raised but a smug smile crossing her face. “We will leave you alone. But do come tomorrow instead?”

  Scarlett simply nodded, and when the sleigh slid into Wintervale, Lavinia leaned back into the cushion behind her. “Have a lovely evening.”

  14

  They had just entered the foyer, the heavy wooden door swinging shut behind them, when Hunter decided he had had enough of this bloody awkwardness between them. He was about to take Scarlett upstairs right then and there, but he stopped suddenly when he caught sight of her face, as it was full of wonder, fixed on the room in front of her.

  “What in the…” her voice trailed off and he followed her gaze, beginning to stride forward with an arm at her back as she walked next to him wordlessly.

  For strewn across the oak hardwood floors were evergreen needles and white and red petals — from what type of flower, he had no idea, although he was sure they were from his conservatory — lining the path before them through the oak-paneled hall, leading into the dining room. Spicer and Marion suddenly appeared, holding out their arms to divest them of their cloaks.

  “Spicer,” Hunter ground out, “what is the meaning of this?”

  “Just a bit of Christmas cheer, my lord,” he said quietly.

  Hunter noticed Scarlett send a look of incredulity toward her maid, but Marion simply winked. Dazed, the two of them continued on into the dining room, finding Mrs. Shepherd and Abbot awaiting them, large smiles on their faces. Had his staff gone mad?

  “Good evening, my lord, my lady,” Mrs. Shepherd greeted them. “Mass was lovely, wasn’t it? We will leave you now. We simply wanted to ensure all was well. We hope you have a lovely dinner.”

  Hunter looked over to Scarlett, seeing that she shared his surprise and suspicion.

  “Abbot,” he said before his butler could clear the doorway. “Do you care to share what is occurring here?”

  “It is Christmas, my lord,” his butler said with a small smile. “And it’s about time you celebrated it properly.”

  And they were gone with a click of the door handle, leaving Scarlett and Hunter alone in the dining room. Except it no longer looked like the dining room that he knew. A rich crimson tablecloth covered only one end of the long dining table, with a straight-backed chair placed at the head of it, another just beside, their curved legs seeming to reach toward one another as they framed the corner of the table.

  The table settings were intimately close, the only light besides the fire was a few lit candles, while the heavily gilt Chippendale chandelier hanging over the table in bold outlines and delicate detail remained dark. While the room was dim, it was also somehow warm and inviting. Hunter turned to Scarlett, holding out his elbow. “It seems, Scarlett, our servants had plans of their own for us tonight.”

  Her lips twitched at his suggestion, but she nodded, and if he didn’t know better, he could have sworn that a blush rose in her cheeks. He held his arm out, and she slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow, her long, slender fingers gripping his upper arm.

  Hunter looked down at the top of her head, but all he could see were her curled tresses as she kept her face turned away from him, facing out toward the feast that awaited. The only noise was the sound of their booted feet on the oak floor as they walked toward the table. Through the window, stars twinkled in the dark sky overhead, creating a shimmering backdrop on this Christmas night.

  Hunter pulled out Scarlett’s seat, purposely brushing his fingertips along the satiny skin of the back of her neck as he pushed her chair in slightly behind her, and he could feel her shiver underneath his touch, though she said nothing.

  When he took his seat, he brought his chair in even closer to her so that their knees rested against each other, his foot sitting between hers. She chewed her lip, her eyes flitting from one side to the other, and he could sense her trying to decide what to do next. She had an unconscious tendency to worry strands of hair round and round her fingers, despite what it did to the state of whichever hairstyle he was sure her maid had painstakingly concocted. Now, she pulled on the strands that were falling low, nearly to her breasts, the tops of which were peeking out of her bodice, beckoning to him. Clearly, she had no idea what she was doing to him.

  Fina
lly her spicy eyes became hooded, and it seemed that her body won the internal war being waged within her as she leaned on her elbows closer toward him.

  “So … Hunter,” she said slowly, raising her eyes to meet his. “What do you think of Christmas so far?”

  “I think,” he said, reaching out to pick up the wine which had been waiting in front of him, and satisfaction coursed through him when he saw her swallow as she watched his fingers rub the edge of the glass. “It has been altogether surprising,” he said.

  “You seem … different tonight,” she said somewhat nervously.

  He sat back in his chair, contemplating her. Her chestnut hair was still in its elaborate style, though more strands had fallen down over her shoulders and chest. As she ran her fingers through a strand, he wanted nothing more than to replace her hand with his own — but he stopped himself as he didn’t want to scare her.

  Over the last couple of days, he had learned that his wife was one who didn’t hesitate to take a risk, to put herself ahead of any fears or concerns she might have. He didn’t expect her to back down from him, but he also wasn’t sure what type of reaction to expect from her. Would she accept him and all he offered her, or would her guard come up and would she push him away once more?

  “I suppose you could say that the Christmas spirit has come over me.”

  “Oh?” she said, raising an eyebrow. “And what is it that has so enthralled you?”

  “Well,” he drawled. “I believe it began with the ride through the snow, followed by the snowball fight in the woods. Then it continued with our sleigh ride, your idea to present the tenants with gifts. And finally, the decorations, the Yule log, the church service, and, of course, the mistletoe.”

  “The mistletoe?”

  “Yes,” he said, winking at her, “the mistletoe.”