His Mistletoe Bride

by Vanessa Kelly

  Finally, he stirred, gently nudging her leg with his foot.

  “Are you awake, Phoebe?”

  “Yes.”

  He turned, rolling her onto her back. Propping himself up on one elbow, he gazed down at her as he stroked back the damp hair clinging to her brow. As she stared back, studying him in the fading light of the fire and the single branch of candles on her dressing table, her heart sank. He bore the expression of a man completely in control of himself, not one who had just flung himself wholeheartedly into passion’s delight. And in his eyes she saw a retreat behind that discouraging high wall, the one he tended with his quiet determination to keep everyone at bay, including her.

  “Are you all right?” he asked. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

  “No, I am well,” she responded automatically. “How are you?”

  Drat. That was not the question she wanted to ask him.

  He dropped a quick kiss on her lips before sitting up. “Exhausted.” He threw her a wry grin. “You wore me out, my sweet. As much as I’d like to spend the rest of the night making love to you, it’s very late and I have an early meeting with more candidates for the estate manager position.”

  Not looking exhausted at all, he strode across to her dressing table, giving her a very interesting view of his muscular backside. He snuffed out the candles on her dressing table and then crouched down to bank the fire. Shadow and light played over his muscles, accentuating the lean power of his naked form.

  “You must be tired, too,” he said, glancing back over his shoulder. “I’d be a brute to keep you awake any longer. I know how much you have to do to get the house ready for the Christmas party, and that’s without taking account of our overnight trip to the abbey.”

  Phoebe narrowed her eyes at him. Uncharacteristically, her husband was suddenly very near to babbling, apparently trying to deflect any attempts at conversation about what had just happened between them, including that she had confessed to loving him.

  Chores completed, he quickly returned to bed. Pulling her into his arms, he arranged her so that she faced away from him, with her backside snuggled up against him. He gave a contented sigh and draped an arm over her chest. “Go to sleep now, sweetheart,” he murmured. “We both have a long day ahead of us.”

  “Lucas—”

  “Shh,” he murmured as he stroked her arm. “Time for sleep.”

  A very short time later he slept, his steady breathing stirring her hair. She lay quietly, far from slumber, as she reflected on an astounding fact—when dealing with matters of the heart, her fearless warrior husband turned tail and headed for the hills.

  Chapter 25

  Lucas stared at the Morning Chronicle, pretending to read, just as he was pretending to eat his breakfast. Mr. Christmas was pretending to wait on him, mostly by resetting the silverware and tidying up the sideboard, hanging about as if he expected something to happen. When Lucas continued to ignore him, the butler released a melodramatic sigh and slipped out, leaving him to eat his breakfast in the magnificence of the manor’s formal dining room.

  He sighed out his own exasperation as he studied the cavernous room. Perhaps Phoebe could arrange to convert one of the drawing rooms into a family dining parlor. If he had to eat one more solitary meal in moth-eaten Jacobean splendor, he would become demented. The damn room was freezing, too, as Phoebe could attest. His poor wife usually came to dinner wrapped in at least one woolen shawl and she still shivered her way through every repast.

  His wife.

  The wife he’d left asleep in her bed while he crept out early this morning, unable to decide what to do with her. Their explosively sensual encounter had left him stunned, and while he’d been trying to recover his wits she’d blurted out her impossibly naive admission of love. It had caught him completely flat-footed and unable to respond. He felt many things for his wife—tender, affectionate things—but love wasn’t one of them. He’d been in love before and it felt nothing like this. Love consumed a man, burning him up from the inside out. It turned him into a snarling, obsessive beast who would betray his oldest friend in order to possess the woman he loved. He would lie, cheat, and sell his soul to gain her, destroying whatever stood in his way.

  Lucas knew love, and what he felt for Phoebe bore no resemblance to the ugly emotion that he’d fallen prey to so long ago.

  Still, he could have done better than simply rolling over and going to sleep. He might not love Phoebe the way he had loved Esme—thank God—but he would cherish her, protect her, and shower her with as much affection as his cynical heart possessed. He would do everything he could to make her happy. He would do it for her sake and for the added benefit that making her happy made him happy, too. It might not be everything Phoebe wanted, but he’d do his best. She deserved it. She deserved—

  “Lucas?”

  He jerked, dropping his paper into the remains of his breakfast. His wife had slipped into the room as silently as a ghost, appearing a few feet away. But unlike a ghost, Phoebe shone with life and color, from the glossy black locks curling around her face to the faint blush pinking her clear complexion to the pretty green gown that lovingly hugged her figure.

  But more than that, the light in her eyes shone forth with a compelling mix of honesty, determination, and vulnerability. When she looked at him like that, it never failed to bring out every protective instinct he possessed. His chest suddenly tightened with urgent need, but he beat it down and dredged up a smile as he rose to his feet. “I beg your pardon, Phoebe. I didn’t hear you come in.”

  She returned his smile with a tentative one of her own. “I am sorry to have interrupted your reading.”

  He pulled out the first chair to the right of him. They had decided after their first meal that it was ridiculous to be shouting at each other from opposite ends of the long table. Since then, she had always made a point of sitting next to him, and he looked forward to those quiet, intimate meals in their absurd dining room as one of his favorite parts of the day.

  “You didn’t.” He pushed in her chair, dropping a kiss on the top of her head as she sat. “Did you sleep well, my love? You stirred not a bit when I got up this morning.”

  She quickly glanced up. Some emotion, perhaps surprise, flickered in her eyes, then disappeared.

  “Very well. I must have been more tired than I thought.”

  Lucas went to the sideboard, inspecting the various offerings. “It’s no wonder, given how hard you’ve been working,” he said, loading up her plate. “Both at the manor and in the village. Mr. Knaggs informed me yesterday that you and his wife have been making great strides in reorganizing the school.”

  He returned to the table with eggs, several rashers of bacon, kippers, and toast. When he set the plate in front of her, she gave him a comical look of dismay. “Lucas, I cannot possibly eat all this food.”

  He sat in his chair. “You can and you will. You’re wearing yourself to the bone, and I’m not happy about it. We have plenty of servants to do the work around here. I want you to use them more.”

  She picked up her fork, staring at her loaded plate as if wondering where to begin. “I will, but there is so much to be accomplished to ready the manor for Christmas. I cannot afford to laze about like a fine London lady.”

  He snorted. “You’re the farthest thing from lazy I know.” He leaned over and gently grasped her chin. “And I will be most unhappy if you wear yourself out so much that you don’t have time for me. I have plans for you, as I think you found out last night.”

  Blushing, she plunked down her fork and gave him an adorable scowl. “Really, Lucas. I hardly think it proper—”

  The door clicked open and Christmas entered, bearing a carafe. Phoebe bit back whatever little scold she had been about to deliver in favor of gracing the butler with a sweet smile.

  “Good morning, Lady Merritt,” Christmas said. “May I pour you a cup of coffee?” The man managed to make the simple request sound like an invitation to a hanging.

&
nbsp; “Yes, thank you.”

  While the butler poured her coffee, Lucas took the opportunity to change the subject. As much as he enjoyed teasing her about last night’s activities, it might be best to avoid the topic. Knowing Phoebe, she might use it as an opening to question him about his feelings. “Well, Madam Wife,” he said in a hearty voice, “what plans have you for today?”

  She peered at him, her fork halfway to her mouth. From the look in her eyes she knew exactly what he was doing, but he held her gaze, refusing to back down. She shrugged, then took a bite of her food, taking her time before answering. “Mrs. Knaggs and some of the children are coming to the manor, to help me gather the greenery for decorations. We are also going to search for an appropriate Yule log for the fireplace in the entrance hall.”

  Lucas frowned. “Surely you intend to take some of the servants with you. I don’t want you wandering around the estate by yourself, Phoebe.”

  Especially with those damned smugglers hanging about. The likelihood of daylight runs was small, but not unheard of. Harper suspected the gang had done them at least twice in the last several months. They weren’t as likely to attempt one now that the manor was occupied, but the idea of Phoebe and a bunch of children wandering about the woods by themselves worried him.

  She gave him a reassuring smile. “Mr. Christmas has arranged for two of the gardeners and William, who is one of the stronger footmen, to accompany us.”

  Lucas glanced at the butler for confirmation. Christmas let out another lugubrious sigh. “Everything has been arranged, my lord.”

  The man couldn’t have sounded more depressed if he was planning his own funeral. As much as the relentless cheer of Mrs. Christmas and the other servants sometimes tried Lucas’s patience, he was beginning to find the butler’s permanent air of doom rather irritating.

  Phoebe pulled a small watch from the slit in her gown and checked the time. “Mrs. Knaggs and the children should be here shortly. I must get ready.”

  Lucas rose and pulled out her chair. “Make sure you dress warmly, and wear your sturdiest boots. It’s very cold today. We even got an inch of snow overnight.”

  She glanced up at him, her eyes brightening and her gorgeous pink mouth curving in a delighted smile. He felt the pull of that smile deep in his gut, and he had to exercise a considerable amount of willpower not to draw her into his arms and smother her in kisses.

  “How wonderful,” she exclaimed. “That will truly make it seem like Christmas.”

  “It’s little more than a dusting, and it will likely melt as soon as the sun comes out. I wouldn’t get your hopes up that it will last.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “What a shame. Still, I am quite looking forward to the outing. The children are, too, I am sure.”

  “Especially the part where they come back to the manor to be stuffed with tea and cakes,” Lucas commented.

  As they walked into the hall, Phoebe threw him an uncertain look. “You do not mind, do you? I will make sure they do not disturb you.”

  He frowned. “Of course I don’t mind. I’m not an ogre, Phoebe. I don’t begrudge the children a few simple pleasures.”

  “I never thought you would,” she replied in a quiet voice. “But I know how busy you are. A houseful of rioting children would hardly be conducive to work. I will keep them confined to the kitchen, where I am sure they will be very happy to stay.”

  That made perfect sense, but it still annoyed him that she thought it necessary to tiptoe around him. “A little noise won’t bother me, I assure you.”

  She nodded and crossed to the stairs, then stopped and turned back to him. “Would you . . .” Her voice trailed off as she hesitated.

  He gave her an encouraging smile. “Yes, love?”

  “Would you like to join us today? I am sure the children would be delighted if you did.” She smiled shyly.

  He suspected the opposite would be true, but it touched him that she so obviously wanted to include him. He couldn’t imagine a more tedious way to spend a morning, but if it pleased her it would be worth the sacrifice, especially after the ham-fisted way he dealt with her last night. He tilted his head, pretending to consider it.

  As he expected, she began to fidget. “If it is too much trouble—”

  “Not at all. I have another interview this morning, and then I’ll join you.” The outing would probably do him good. He’d been spending too much time cooped up in his study, anyway, and he’d enjoy spending some time with her. Maybe if he was lucky he could even spirit her away for a little dalliance.

  More to the point, he couldn’t shake that nagging sense of worry when he envisioned her wandering about the woods, with only a few servants for protection. With smugglers on the loose. Until they were brought to heel, no one on the estate or in the village would truly be safe.

  Chapter 26

  Phoebe flattened herself against the door as the unruly pack charged past, tumbling into the kitchen garden. Their reedy, childish voices rose to an excited din as they dashed between the neat rows bisecting the snow-covered beds. Before she could stop them, three boys ran around the corner of the manor, shrieking as they chased each other right under the window of Lucas’s study.

  She sighed. Lucas hardly needed a noisy game of tag disrupting his work. She knew better than anyone the burdens that weighed on him, and the last thing she wished to do was test his admittedly formidable patience any more than she had to.

  Not that he had been anything but affectionate this morning, although she sensed the emotional distance between them. She was coming to learn that while her husband easily manifested displays of physical affection, he shied away from declarations of love—either in the giving or the receiving. Whether that resulted from his reluctance to let go the wounds of the past, or from the fact that he did not love her, Phoebe could not tell.

  “Goodness! Such a noise,” exclaimed Mrs. Knaggs as she bustled out from the kitchen passage. “I’ll round up those naughty boys, my lady, if you wish to wait here in the garden.”

  Phoebe nodded her approval before turning her attention to the four girls dancing around her, all talking at once as they vied for her attention. The boys ignored the girls, of course, too excited to do anything but tromp up and down between the vegetable beds, seeing who could make the biggest footprints in the snow. Today was a rare treat for them. An outing devoted solely to fun, ending in the manor’s kitchen with a feast of tea, scones, gingerbread, and even, Cook had promised, a piece of plum cake for everyone.

  She ran an assessing gaze over the little ones, worried they might yet suffer from the cold. The children had arrived at the manor a tattered, poorly dressed lot, and Phoebe had felt compelled to voice her concern to the vicar’s wife.

  “I know,” Mrs. Knaggs had replied with a grimace. “But you mustn’t think their parents fare any better. Worse, in fact. I thought twice about letting some of them come today, especially with the snow, but I knew their little hearts would be crushed if I kept them back.”

  Phoebe understood, but she could not allow the children to go out in the bitter cold so poorly dressed. She had dashed upstairs, calling for Maggie, and the two of them had quickly rummaged through her wardrobe for extra gloves, a muff, and several of her thickest wool shawls. Then she had dashed into Lucas’s room and bullied Mr. Popham into relinquishing a number of her husband’s warmest scarves. The valet had been stunned, clutching the expensive lengths of soft wool to his horrified breast, but Phoebe eventually prevailed.

  After swaddling the children in the mismatched collection of warm clothing—naturally, some of the boys had protested vociferously—she finished the job with extra pairs of gloves donated by some of the household staff. The results were comical, since the children resembled nothing so much as unkempt spindles of yarn, but at least the poor mites would be able to keep warm. And with the exception of Mr. Popham, all the servants had gotten into the spirit of giving, eager to contribute and chatting gaily as they helped the children prepare for t
heir adventure.

  “Well, Lady Merritt,” puffed Mrs. Knaggs as she steamed around the corner of the manor, her charges in tow, “I think we’re ready.”

  Phoebe glanced out to the manor’s broad lawn, where two groundskeepers patiently waited with the necessary tools and the cart to carry the greens they would collect, along with the Yule log. Will, the footman, came rushing out of the back door to join them.

  “All set?” Phoebe asked him.

  “Yes, my lady. And very happy to be here. The old earl was much too sick the last few years for any such festive goings-on. We had nary a sprig of greenery about the place. Everyone is right looking forward to seeing the old place tricked out as it used to be, and that’s a fact.” He beamed at her. “Especially the mistletoe. Everyone sorely missed that.”

  “Why the mistletoe in particular?” Phoebe asked as they tromped off in the direction of the apple orchards, the children gamboling behind them like clumsy lambs following their shepherds.

  Will threw her a startled look. “My lady, surely you know what to do if you’re caught standing under a sprig of mistletoe.”

  Phoebe shook her head. She had no idea.

  The young man’s face reddened as he cleared his throat. “Ah, well . . .” He trailed off, casting a helpless glance at Mrs. Knaggs.

  The woman nodded. “Nothing to be shy about, Will. Even the vicar has been known to catch me under the mistletoe.”

  Mrs. Knaggs smiled at Phoebe’s mystified glance. “If a young man catches a girl under the mistletoe, the girl must give him a kiss,” she explained. “For each kiss the man collects a berry, and when all the berries are gone, then the privilege is revoked.” Her eyes twinkled. “If there’s a lot of mistletoe hanging in the house, there can be quite a lot of kissing.”

  Phoebe opened her mouth, then shut it, not sure how to respond. Mrs. Knaggs laughed. “I know it sounds shocking, but it’s harmless fun. It’s tradition and, after all, you do live in Mistletoe Manor. You have a reputation to uphold.”