by Carla Kelly
To Cassie’s surprise, Mr Royston joined in with a beautiful baritone and the woods echoed with the first verse followed by the chorus.
‘I suppose that is a hint for me to cut down the ivy next,’ he said, pretending to grumble.
‘This way,’ Lucy said, dashing off.
Mr Royston winked. ‘Her enthusiasm is catching.’ He put his hands on his hips and looked down at the branches. ‘Is this enough for your purpose?’
‘For mine and half the village, too,’ she said, then winced at how ungracious she sounded. ‘Thank you. Our decorations will be the finest they have ever been.’
Diana reached for a twig. Mr Royston caught her hand. ‘Careful, I have never seen so many prickles as there are on this tree. Or so many berries.’
‘I think the two go hand in hand,’ Cassie said.
He crouched down, cut off a small twig, denuded it of the prickly leaves at one end and handed it to Diana with a flourish. ‘My lady’s bouquet,’ he said. ‘Mind it does not bite you.’
She giggled and held it clear of her body.
‘Say thank you,’ Cassie said.
Diana grinned at him. ‘Thank you, Mr Royston.’ She lunged at him, gave him a hug and ran off in her sister’s wake. ‘Lucy, look what I have,’ she called.
‘You had better make another,’ Cassie said, blinking back the stupidest tears at his kindness. ‘For Lucy. If you don’t mind, that is?’
It had been awfully sad when their older brother had competed with the girls for their papa’s attention. Herbert had been a beastly tease, jealous of the daughters of his father’s second marriage, though he had always managed to hide his nastiness beneath an innocent smile when his father was around. Herbert had hated that his father had married his housemaid. He thought it undignified.
Cassie guessed that Herbert was the reason his father had looked far higher for his third wife. The daughter of an earl no doubt seemed like a pretty good catch. Unfortunately, no matter what her brother had promised in regards to introducing Herbert to the ton, he had been unable to overcome the beau monde’s distaste for the vulgarity of the heir to Clifford Norton’s fortune. None of the top-drawer gentlemen’s clubs had accepted Herbert’s nomination and he’d had to settle for third-best. Something that had left father and son less than pleased. They’d got their own back by finding a legal way out of providing the settlement arranged upon her marriage, because her family had failed to live up to their half of the bargain, leaving her penniless except for her jewellery.
‘I don’t mind in the least,’ Mr Royston said, smiling, his gaze following the little girl with true warmth. ‘You are doing a fine job with your daughters, Mrs Melford.’
Heat rushed all the way to her hairline. When was the last time anyone had offered her a compliment? Her husband had deemed her a disappointment when her family had not come through with their promises of advancement, and even more so when she had not produced the second son he wanted so badly, while Herbert had ridiculed her at every opportunity until Clifford was sure he had made a very bad bargain indeed. ‘They are my stepdaughters. They missed their mama dreadfully when she died, but when I married their papa, we liked each other on sight.’
He held out an arm and she took it. They walked in the same direction the girls had gone. Cassie could hear their voices not too far ahead.
When she glanced up at Mr Royston, she saw curiosity on his face and discovered she welcomed his interest. During the past hour or so in his company, she had forgotten her worries about money and was actually enjoying herself. ‘What did you want to ask?’
He looked surprised and then pleased. ‘You are very young to be a widow and already responsible for two half-grown daughters.’
A polite enquiry as well as an observation. ‘I was young when I married, barely eighteen. I was my husband’s third wife.’
His expression became grim.
She turned her face away, not wishing to see either sympathy or disgust. She had made her choice knowingly. It was either that or reconcile herself to being a spinster aunt to her brother’s children for the rest of her life, consigned to serving as a drudge for her family as needed. By marrying Clifford she’d had her own home to manage and her girls to love. After Clifford died, she’d been almost glad she had no children of her own to fall under Herbert’s repressive thumb. Except she wasn’t glad. Not one bit. Children would have been the only good thing to have come out of her marriage.
‘My husband needed a female influence for the girls. He also hoped—’ To say more about his other ambitions might not be wise. ‘And I was in need of a husband. The girls mean a great deal to me.’ The thought of losing them... The lump in her throat made speaking impossible.
He put a hand over hers. Warmth permeated her glove. Surely not possible, not through two thicknesses of leather. They walked into a clearing where the girls were tugging at vines wrapped tightly round a tree. She let go of his arm, ostensibly to help, but also for distance. The man made her heart race too fast. Made her want things she’d given up on long ago.
The fault lay with her. She liked his gentle gruffness with the girls. And she liked the rare smile that showed another softer side of his nature. And, truth be told, no man had ever given her such undivided attention before. Her knees weakened every time he offered her one of his little courtesies. And despite his wicked kiss, his manners were those of a gentleman. Perhaps he was some distant cousin to the noble Portmaine family for whom he worked.
‘Come help me, Mama,’ Diana asked from amidst a tangle of ivy. She tugged on a trailing vine. As Cassie lifted her gaze to follow the vine’s length up the tree trunk, she noticed it wasn’t the only plant life in residence.
Naughty excitement rippled through her.
To redirect her thoughts, she wound one end of Diana’s vines over her elbow like a skein of wool. Mr Royston helped Lucy do the same with her untidy bundle until they had two nice neat rings that each girl could carry over one arm.
‘Why don’t you girls take these back to the cart?’ Cassie said, repressing the shocking urge to giggle. Women built on her proportions never giggled. ‘Mr Royston and I will bring the holly. Lucy, please make sure your sister doesn’t trip along the way.’
‘Yes, Mama.’ Clearly proud of her responsibility, Lucy put her bundle of ivy over one arm and took her sister’s hand. Cassie watched them walk along the winding path until they were out of sight. She smiled up at Mr Royston, feeling surprisingly feminine and small compared to his bulk. ‘Thank you. The girls haven’t had an outing like this in a very long time.’
‘It is I who should thank you for your invitation.’ He bowed slightly. When she didn’t move he walked towards her, a puzzled look on his face. ‘Is everything all right?’
She held out a hand as if waiting for him to offer his arm in support. When he came close enough, she put a hand on his shoulder and went up on her toes and kissed him on the mouth, not a simple brush of lips, but the soft pressure of mouths melding. Sandalwood, earthy forest and warm man filled her nostrils. She touched her tongue to the seam of his lips and he parted them on a small sound deep in his throat. His strong arms enfolded her, drew her close and he deepened the kiss. His tongue tangling with hers in a lovely silky slide of tenderness.
She leaned into him, curling her fingers into the silky soft hair at his nape. Her body hummed with pleasure and desire. Her limbs softened. She arched against his body, felt the press of his wide chest against her tingling breasts and sighed her contentment.
He broke their kiss, resting his forehead against hers as if to regain his balance. ‘Mrs Melford, what is the meaning of this?’ His voice was low and deep and deliciously wickedly teasing, but it also held hope for more of the same.
She leaned back a little and with a smile directed her gaze upwards, some twenty feet or so above their heads. ‘Tit for tat, M
r Royston.’ She held her breath. A bolt of nerves held her in thrall. Had she gone too far?
Glancing up at the mistletoe ball high in the branches, a boyish grin lit up his face. ‘Tit for tat, then, Mrs Melford.’
Gruff, yes, but that smile warmed her through and through. The dawning sensual expression on his face, as if he found her attractive, made her heart stumble. ‘Please feel free to call me Cassie, when we are private.’
His eyes widened. No doubt he wondered just how private she was planning they would be. ‘Agreed, if you will call me Adam.’
A wicked shiver fluttered low in her belly. A breath caught in her throat. Too far. Far too far. Clearly, she was getting out of her depth. She stepped away. ‘We should go, or the children will come looking for us.’
* * *
By offering her name, this deliciously lush but prim and proper woman hinted at wanting him for more than friendship or aid. There was no other explanation possible.
She wanted him. Adam. Not heir to an earldom Adam, but lowly steward Adam. The man who sang Christmas carols with unfettered abandon. For once, the offer did not come with strings attached, financial or marital, though of necessity it could be nothing more than a very short dalliance should he let it go even that far.
He tossed the last of the holly cuttings into the wagon bed. ‘Stay well clear of those,’ he warned the two little girls.
‘We will,’ they chorused.
If there was to be dallying, how was it to be accomplished? He certainly did not intend an indiscretion to ruin her reputation with her neighbours, since once she left Ivy Cottage, she would likely rent something nearby.
Unless this was her way of seeking his aid to convince her landlord to let her stay. A cold hand fisted in his chest. She would have to know before they proceeded that it was not possible for him to grant such a favour. A sane man did not let every pretty female that crossed his path influence good financial decisions, no matter his lustful inclinations to the contrary.
The elation he’d felt, the anticipation, seeped away. He climbed aboard the wagon and set Soldier in motion.
Mrs Melford gave him a shy smile. She glanced at the sky. ‘I think there is more snow on the way.’
The clouds were darker than they had been before. Glowering. And the wind had picked up. It was as raw a December day as he could recall.
‘Snow for Christmas?’ Lucy said, looking between their shoulders.
‘Possibly,’ her mother answered.
The girl turned to her sister. ‘Snow for Christmas, Diana.’
The little girl squealed her excitement.
Charmed by their youthful enthusiasm, Adam grinned over his shoulder. ‘Then we must soon find this Yule log of yours, so you will be all toasty and warm at Ivy Cottage over the holiday.’
‘It is at the edge of the wood, that way,’ Lucy said, pointing towards Thornton House.
Soldier plodded patiently on.
‘There,’ Lucy directed.
‘Oh,’ Mrs Melford said, looking at a tree trunk which had been carefully sawn into large logs ready for transport. ‘I think Sir Josiah must have intended them to be taken to the manor house, Lucy. That is not the old fallen log you described.’
‘It is fallen.’
‘It was cut deliberately.’
‘Ladies,’ Adam interrupted, partly amused by the sort of argument his sisters had so often engaged in when he had lived at home and partly worried about proposing a solution. ‘I am sure Lord Graystone will not object to his tenant having a bit of Christmas cheer.’
‘He should be asked first,’ Cassie said firmly.
He had been. But she wasn’t to know that. How the devil to get around the conundrum of this woman’s pride without looking like a fool? ‘When I mentioned we were to gather a Yule log before he left this morning, he had no objection.’
She looked doubtful. ‘It was to be a windfall, Mr Royston. I would not like to take such a liberty.’
‘Then I will take it on your behalf,’ he said, jumping down. ‘If his lordship proves not amenable to your foraging one of these logs, I will buy it as a gift.’
‘I couldn’t possibly accept.’
‘A gift for Miss Lucy,’ he said.
‘Mama?’ the little girl said, her eyes large and appealing. The child had clearly perfected the art of wheedling.
Her mama took a deep breath. ‘Mr Royston, should his lordship require payment, then you will tell me and I will pay for it as we pay for our firewood. This is no different. You will let me know his lordship’s answer, if you please.’
And so her pride was satisfied while he was left uncomfortable in his wallow of lies. He must end this now and not see her again once he left her at her front door. Dallying with a respectable woman was not an option for a man who considered himself a gentleman.
He wrestled the log onto the cart and glared at it, hands on hips. It was decided. He’d deliver them, their log and bits of foolish greenery back to Ivy Cottage and that would be it. Lord Graystone would write to them from wherever he arrived next and inform them they had six months to vacate his property. A stay of execution was the best he could do and only because she was a woman alone.
* * *
Much as he tried on the way back to the cottage, he could not keep his distance from this happy little family. They simply did not allow it. When Lucy sang ‘Here We Come A-Waissailing’ and Cassie and Diana joined in, silence wasn’t an option. When they moved on to ‘I Saw Three Ships’ and ended with a spirited chorus of ‘Deck the Halls’, the recollection of St Vire Christmases, his wife singing those same songs, threatened his composure. He both regretted and was glad when he drew Soldier to a halt in front of the cottage as they sang the last rousing fa-la-la.
He carried the log into the house and placed it by the hearth in the parlour ready for lighting on Christmas morning and then helped the girls with their hoard of evergreens. Once the children had their coats off, Cassie set them to work at the kitchen table cutting the ivy into manageable lengths.
‘May I offer you a cup of tea?’ she said to Adam.
‘We have shortbread,’ Diana announced.
‘Thank you, but, no,’ he forced himself to say. ‘I have work waiting at Thornton.’ He was surprised at how hard it was to refuse in the face of her obvious disappointment and that of the girls, but he managed a smile. ‘Soldier needs his stable and his oats after his sterling efforts, too.’ A plausible excuse that seemed to lighten the mood as she walked him to the front door.
She handed him the hat he had removed on entry. Her smile was shy, and hellishly tempting, and her gaze flickered upwards, above his head. ‘Thank you for your escort this afternoon.’
Mistletoe made a fool of a man bent on doing the right thing. She placed her hands upon his shoulders lightly, rose up on her toes.
A kiss. A friendly kiss was surely all she intended.
He took her mouth with his, felt warmth and softness and pliancy. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, to steady her, to bring her close. She melted against him with a soft sigh as their lips fit together perfectly. Common sense flew away.
A giggle came from the kitchen and she broke away, smiling regretfully. ‘Will you come for dinner tomorrow evening, if you are still here?’
‘I will.’ Blast, he should have said no. He stepped back, clutching his hat before him like a shield. ‘If it should so happen that I am.’ He would not be.
‘Let me know in the morning if you are not coming. We eat at five.’ She closed the door.
In his head, he cursed his weakness, yet somehow couldn’t stop himself from wondering if it really would be so bad to remain one more day.
Chapter Three
The stew was ready, the dumplings almost cooked and Cassie’s mind was going around and
around in circles. What had she been thinking, inviting a strange man for dinner? What on earth would the villagers say if they discovered that little titbit? It did not do to be the subject of wagging tongues in such a small place. Hopefully, given the weather, it was unlikely for anyone to be passing her cottage after dark.
In her heart, she’d known all of that and yet still she’d issued her invitation. There was something about him that made her think the man was lonelier than he would care to admit. After his kindness to the girls, it was only right that she should make him welcome.
She eyed the table Lucy and Diana had decorated with sprigs of holly. It looked cheerful. Cosy. She had even decided to use two of her beeswax candles in the candelabra for the occasion. She glanced at the clock and saw it was almost five. If she did not want to be caught in her apron again, she must make haste.
She ran up the stairs to her small chamber at the front of the cottage where she washed and changed into her Sunday-best gown. A glance at herself in the small cracked glass she had purchased in the market reminded her of her shortcomings, her dowdy appearance, her fulsome-to-overflowing figure. She heaved a short sigh. She was fooling herself if she thought he found her more than passably attractive. Likely his kisses had been spur of the moment, brought on by the spirit of the holiday season. They meant nothing. She touched a finger to her mouth, remembering the feel of his lips on hers.
So pleasurably shocking.
Would he kiss her again this evening? And if so, what would she do? Her heart raced. Dare she take what she wanted from this man before he went on his way? She wanted to. Widows were known to take lovers. To be bold and wanton. Was that why he had accepted her invitation tonight, when yesterday she thought he might not?
Was it really only the day before yesterday she had met him for the first time? She felt as if she had known him all her life, yet she knew nothing about him. Settling her cap upon hair drawn back in a neat tight bun, she crossed the small landing to the other chamber where the girls slept and did their lessons.
‘You look lovely, Mama,’ Lucy said.
