The Mistletoe Countess

by Pepper Basham

  “You saw my scarf then?”

  “Indeed. A good choice for the Great Hall.”

  She pressed in a little closer to him in gratitude, and he tightened his hold, their faces pointed toward the view. “I’m sorry I left you alone, Grace.”

  “I hope you’ve learned your lesson,” The teasing in her voice peaked his grin.

  “Yes, but I hope I’m a faster learner in the future.” He unwound his scarf and tucked it around her neck before placing another kiss to her lips. He looked back to the estate, a memory she’d particularly enjoy coming to mind. “Do you see that garden on the east side? The small one near the edge of the river?”

  “The one with the tall evergreen growing out of it?”

  “Yes, that one.” He closed his eyes, his cheek against her head. He’d never known such an unadulterated sense of rightness, such clarity in a choice. He almost chuckled out of sheer astonishment. He’d never have chosen Grace, but God knew what he’d needed. What his heart, future, and even Havensbrooke needed.

  Frederick would make up his fumblings to Grace. He would show her a pure, faithful heart, if God gave him time. “It was my grandparents’ garden. My grandfather built it for my grandmother upon their marriage as a little haven for them. Mr. Archer, our gardener for decades, said the two of them would disappear into the garden for hours together with only the sound of birdsong and laughter.”

  She turned her face toward him, her eyes, her lips enticingly close. “I read a book about a lovers’ garden once.”

  “Of course you did.”

  “It was very romantic.”

  He touched her chin and tipped her face up to his, dipping to take a longer kiss than he’d taken a few minutes before. She made a sweet, contented hum in her throat as he deepened the kiss, his body warming to the taste and feel of her.

  “I think that should be one of the first gardens we recover then.”

  He nodded and turned with her back to the scene. The snow had increased in thickness, blanketing the world in white and giving a heavenly sheen to the gray stone of Havensbrooke. A good reminder of redemption and hope. “I would wall myself up to read when I was younger. Find nooks, often in my grandparents’ garden, because it made me feel closer to them.”

  “You were not much different than me, it seems.” Her statement came with a sadness, a hint of understanding.

  “In many ways I wasn’t.”

  Her gaze asked for more information, but her lips did not. That would be for another time. The longer story. But not for today. Today was for making happy memories.

  A flash of red in the distance caught his attention among the snow. A red Ford Touring, perhaps? He couldn’t quite make it out, but it was leaving from the direction of the old ruins. He didn’t know anyone with such a car. Why would someone be near the ruins? Especially someone with such a fine car? A chill settled over his skin.

  A rush of protection shot through him as the car turned a bend and disappeared from view. It was likely a driver who’d lost his way among the country lanes. Or some tourist out to discover a grand house open for exploration. He shrugged away the concern, just as a low rumble sounded in the distance.

  Grace’s head turned toward the sound. “Does the train run near Havensbrooke?”

  “Not near enough to hear it.”

  Another rumble resounded with a bit more clarity. Her back straightened with tension. “Then…then what was that?”

  “Nothing but thunder.”

  “Thunder?” She spun around, her eyes wide. “But it’s snowing!”

  He placed his hands on her arms and searched her face. “Thunder snow is rare, but nothing untoward. I’m sure it will pass soon enough.”

  “Thunder snow?” She flinched back from him and then dashed toward the footpath. “Why on earth would England have something as horrible as thunder snow?”

  Another round of thunder sounded, this time even closer. She took off at a faster pace, Zeus at her heels.

  “What is wrong?”

  She didn’t appear to hear him, for she had taken off down the path, skirt flying.

  “Grace!” He followed in pursuit.

  “I’m sorry, my dear Frederick, but I cannot stop,” she called behind her. “I’m rather terrified of storms. It’s a ridiculous, childhood panic, but there’s nothing to be done for it. I’d thought I’d escaped them in winter.”

  He chased after her down the path, her speed impressive. “What inspired such a fear?”

  She flinched as another rumble echoed closer. “Daffodils.”

  Daffodils?

  “It’s a rather novel-worthy explanation, actually.” She forged ahead, her words coming in broken breaths. “My mother died giving birth to my baby brother when I was seven years old. Lillias was away with Father—and the baby came early. Too early, the doctor said, but I didn’t know those facts at seven, of course. All I knew was something was wrong and the terrible storm outside the house seemed to link to the conflict inside the house.”

  He rushed ahead to help her over a fallen log. “Thank you.” She offered a brief smile before taking off again, but he kept hold of her hand. “Icicles in sunlight.”

  He squinted over at her, but she didn’t seem aware of her off-topic words.

  “Over the crushing thunder and flashes of lightning, I heard my mother’s screams of pain…until they stopped forever.”

  He squeezed her fingers. “Dear Grace.”

  “As silly as it sounds, even now, I…I can still hear her screams in the thunder.”

  “What did you do to find comfort when you were at home?”

  She shrugged, keeping her hand in his as she pulled him through the forest, Zeus leading the way far ahead. “When I was younger, Father said I would crawl into the cupboard and bury myself beneath pillows, but as I grew older, I’d sing very loudly to offset the volume of the storm—or I’d crawl into my sister’s bed and have her talk me through it.”

  The snow had thickened, falling with impressive heaviness. Another roar boomed above their heads, louder than all the others. She released his hand and took up her skirt to move faster. “Strawberries, ice cream, ladybugs.”

  “Ladybugs?” He stumbled and then caught up with her. “What are you doing?”

  “Distracting myself with happy thoughts.” The house garden came into view, and another swell of thunder rolled close by. “Puppies, horses, babies’ feet, children’s laughter.”

  The entire situation struck an alarming mixture of humor and sym-pathy, but the humor was slowly winning as she continued her list.

  “The smell of books, Christmas trees, cobblestone streets.” Grace’s hair had come completely loose and fell about her shoulders in damp ringlets.

  Thunder rolled again, louder, quickening her voice pitch. “Chocolate pastries, amber scents.” She turned with almost a smile on her pale face as he opened the side door of the house for her and Zeus. “Your kisses are a new one to add to my list.”

  And he grinned as if God had hand delivered an early Christmas gift to him directly in the middle of a winter thunderstorm. He pulled Grace against him and turned her kissing talk into action. She gasped against his lips at another round of thunder but didn’t pull away. Instead, her hands slid up into his hair and held him in place. His wife was a fast and enthusiastic learner. A definite benefit for what he had in mind.

  With a gentle break in their contact, he ushered her into the house.

  “Oh that was wonderfully distracting. Could we do it again?”

  “I have every hope we shall, but in a more private venue.” He placed his hands on her shoulders as she moved in for another kiss. “Can you find your way to your bedroom? I’ll be up directly.”

  Those fascinating blue eyes rounded as if wounded.

  “I promise, darling. I need to speak with Brandon, and then I will come to you.”

  She nodded, her bottom lip wobbling before she started toward the grand staircase at almost a run. “Kisses, hugs, laughte
r, more kisses.”

  Frederick turned in time to see Brandon beside him, staring at Grace’s retreating form, both brows raised to nearly touch the man’s hairline. Frederick couldn’t tame his grin. “She’s terrified of thunder.”

  Brandon turned his attention slowly to Frederick. “I see, sir.”

  “With that in mind, Brandon, would you please inform the servants that Lady Astley and I wish not to be disturbed this afternoon.”

  His brows rose again, and he lowered his gaze. “Yes, sir.”

  “And once the snow has cleared, would you have someone ride out to the ruins to have a look about? Even hire a couple more men for the grounds, if you will.” Frederick surged toward the stairway. “I’d like some extra eyes around the estate.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Frederick bounded up the stairs, intent on providing a thorough distraction for his lovely wife. He could hear her frantic singing from outside the closed bedroom door and struggled to keep his laughter in check before entering. Why, oh why had he been afraid to give his heart to this authentically beautiful creature?

  Her hair spun in wet ringlets around her face, and she’d already shed her gloves, taken off her wet coat, and even removed her shoes and stockings.

  That made his job much easier.

  As he entered, another burst of thunder sounded, and Grace ran directly into his arms, burying her head in his shoulder. “Do you think thunder snow is worse than regular thunder? What a horrible combination of two very different things. Snow is so lovely. Thunder is…” She shuddered and pushed her head into the crook of his neck.

  With a gentle touch to her chin, he tipped her face up and took her mouth with his. She groaned into him, inciting his pulse and determination. His hand glided down her back, noting the placement of her buttons. Too many.

  His palm slid up her arm and over her neck, before taking a slow detour down the side of her body.

  She gasped. The thunder shook again. Her fingers dug into his shirt, fisting with more fervency, her breath a quiet whimper.

  She needed something to do.

  “Grace, darling, would you do me a favor?”

  She looked up at him, half confused, half terrified, her azure eyes so close.

  “My shirt is damp. Do you think you could unbutton it for me while I help you with yours?”

  Her gaze sharpened with awareness as her pink bottom lip dropped. She nodded and slowly unwound the first two buttons of his shirt, her eyes searching his. Trusting him.

  As another rumble roared around them, he kissed away her whimper and her fingers found their way to his other buttons, slowly, bungling through the movements at first, but making excellent progress. He’d never wanted to cherish anything—this moment, her—so much in his entire life.

  Without breaking the kiss, he finished the work of her blouse and slid it off her arms, chasing her pearl-like skin with his lips down her neck to her collar bone. He caught her as her knees weakened and her breaths dissolved into a moan.

  “Grace,” he breathed her name over her skin.

  She pushed his shirt from his shoulders, her palm sliding over his chest as if fascinated by the touch. Fire followed the trail of her fingers.

  “Kissing is a very good distraction.” Her words shook out on a shaky whisper.

  He gathered her fingers into his and brought them to his lips, never breaking eye contact with her. “And a very good introduction.”

  Her brows rose, and he pressed his forehead against hers, his palms sliding down her arms to tug her against him. “Let me love you, Grace, as a husband to his wife.”

  Her lips took a slight turn, and she brought her palms to his cheeks, their breaths mingling, lips almost touching. “Please do, my dear Frederick. Love me.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  The fire from the fireplace doused the room with a golden glow as Grace blinked awake. Was it nighttime? She yawned and stretched, her body humming with warmth and pleasant exhaustion. Why was she still in bed? She sat up, only to realize she was perfectly naked, and then the delicious scenes from the past hours materialized in her mind and she dropped back against the pillows.

  Heaven on earth. A husband loving his wife certainly exceeded anything Grace could have imagined. Gentle, passionate—all the mystery from Lillias’s subtle comments and fiction’s strategic wording finally emerged in this glorious act of…love.

  She tugged the blankets up to her growing smile. What a remarkable design! A divine combination of tender, exhilarating, and wonderfully roguish. She turned on her side toward Frederick’s pillow and her smile dissolved. Her swoon-inducing husband was woefully absent. She twisted the blanket up around her as she sat, scanning the room and nibbling her bottom lip.

  Her father had always accused her of being overly exuberant. Perhaps she’d gotten too carried away for a proper lady, but Frederick hadn’t seemed to mind at all. Although, there was the moment she’d acciden-tally hit him across the face, but surely he couldn’t hold her accountable for that.

  It was his own fault after all. Her grin slipped wide. His own villainous fault.

  Heat soared into her cheeks, and she released a sigh. Perhaps she should go in search of him to apologize? She looked up at the ceiling, reasoning it out. The thought didn’t feel right at all.

  A click at the door alerted her to someone’s approach. She tugged the blankets closer and peered around the bed curtain. With quiet steps, Frederick entered the room, tray in hand, looking deliciously disheveled in his breeches and partially buttoned shirt. He placed the tray of tea and sandwiches on a nearby table and stoked the fire, his bare forearms glinting gold in the firelight.

  Her body warmed from the sight as if she hadn’t seen a set of forearms before, but they were his forearms. And that made all the difference. She traced a finger over her grin. Perhaps she was rather villainous too. She held her breath, waiting to gauge his reaction to her. If he frowned, she’d apologize profusely for her own villainy, but if he smiled…

  His gaze found hers, surprise softening to a smile. A smile. “Hello, darling.”

  She sighed as the sound of his voice left a trail of tingles across her shoulders. “I’m so relieved you came back.”

  A laugh shot from him. “Of course I came back. Why on earth would I stay away?”

  She smoothed the blankets around her, heat rising into her cheeks. “Well, I thought perhaps I’d either failed to please you, which seemed unlikely from your vigorous response, or you were horrified by my…enthusiasm.”

  He chuckled and approached the bed. A look she was beginning to recognize as quite rascally flamed to life in his eyes. “If you continue to make such a valiant effort to please me, Lady Astley, we may never leave this bedroom.”

  “Do you mean you weren’t offended by my fervor?”

  “Offended?” He sat on the bed and leaned in to kiss her, so gently her body swelled forward to extend the delightful embrace. “If half the women in England showed love with such fervor, there would be a sudden increase of satisfied marriages.”

  She smoothed her palm over his shirt. “I have no point of reference, so I’m experimenting as we go.”

  “Then count me as a willing subject.” He brushed a hand against her cheek, his thumb tracing the edge of her lips. “Experiment away.” He kissed her nose, her lips, then her chin. “Despite my past, dear Grace, I am quite a novice at loving. And you, my darling, love very well.”

  A shadow passed over his expression. Hints of his past, thoughts of other women came to mind. She shoved them away. He’d never been married except to her, and in this one act, they’d chosen each other. “It’s a rather fabulous invention, isn’t it?”

  He drew back from kissing her temple, his brow raised. “Invention?”

  “Yes.” She placed both of her palms on his cheeks, tracing the curve of his jawline. “When God says two shall become one flesh, I never understood, but we’re one. You and me. I—I belong to you, and you belong to me.”


  “I feel certain I’m in good hands.” He brushed her hair back from her face. “And I will endeavor to be a much better husband than I’ve been the past few days.”

  “You are a fantastic teacher at lovemaking.” She snuggled against his chest, resting a kiss against his neck. “I suppose you’ve had lots of practice.”

  With a groan, he collected one of her hands and breathed a kiss over her knuckles. “Many of my mother’s accusations are true. I was a broken man, trying to fill my brokenness with companionship but never belonging.” He looked down at their braided hands, emotion wrestling across his angled features. “I’ve had a great deal of practice at physically pleasing another and being pleased in return, but not loving. Nothing like this. And there’s no going back to anything else for me.”

  “I’m very glad to hear it, because I want your future, Frederick. All of it.”

  “You are too good for my heart, Lady Astley.” Those fathomless eyes, dark and deep enough to send her off-balance, searched her face with an intensity she didn’t understand—pleading, apologizing, exploring. “I’m not that man from my past anymore.” An unfamiliar vulnerability trembled in his baritone voice, awakening an awareness of the power she had at this moment—to either build him up to become the man he was meant to be or hold him back. “My future is yours. Alone.”

  Grace had once read a quote about a husband and wife that mentioned something about “promises forged in love from the soul outward.” At the time, she’d thought it sounded lovely, but the quote held a new, sweeter meaning after her newfound connection to her husband. What a tender and exhilarating way to express love with one another! Grace nodded heavenward in appreciation.

  Frederick had been wonderfully reluctant to leave her the next morning, but there was breakfast to be had and bathroom installments to be finalized, so he retired to his office. While Brandon sent Reeves in search of more garland, Grace began to form a Christmas gift list for the servants and took the opportunity to explore more of the maze-like house.