by Alexa Aston
Emeline, her face alight with enthusiasm, tapped the table with her fingertips. “Aye, we’ll have to purchase supplies anyway, so that’s a perfect opportunity. Och, we should have dancin’, too, I think.”
A shadow flitted across Skye’s face. “I’m not sure how much dancing I should do. I’m still in mourning, after all. I didn’t mean for this to become a production. I don’t want to inconvenience the staff or cause them more work.”
Liam’s wife waved a graceful hand. “Nonsense, Skye. I for one am verra curious about Christmas traditions. My aunt didna observe the holiday at all, and a little dancin’ would do ye good, I think. Besides, ye’ll be with family and friends and nae one is goin’ to scowl at ye for enjoyin’ yerself.”
Liam had found himself a rare gem in Emeline MacKay.
Eyes shiny, Kendra leaned forward. “Are we goin’ to exchange gifts?”
Quinn glanced around the table.
He already had a gift for Skye. He’d purchased the Luckenbooth brooch in Edinburgh, meaning to give it to her for a betrothal present. It would suit just as well as a Christmas gift and if all went well with Liam today, the brooch would also mark their upcoming nuptials.
“I think that’s acceptable. Nothin’ expensive, just tokens. After all, the season isna about gifts.” Liam leveled him a hard, piercing look, which Quinn responded to with a glib smile.
“I dinna ken about that. The Magi brought gifts to the baby Jesus,” Quinn unnecessarily reminded Liam. “Verra valuable gifts for that time period, if I recall my history correctly.”
He wasn’t going to allow Liam’s cantankerous glowers, grimaces, or scowls to discourage him. God’s teeth, he hadn’t humbled himself, accepted his inheritance, and resigned his position for a cause he believed in with every fiber of his being to allow Liam to deny him the thing that he most wanted in the world.
“I believe ’tis customary to give a token to the staff, as well,” Liam’s mother murmured, a slight crease between her brows. “Though I have nae idea what would be appropriate.”
“Mama and Papa always gave them coin since the servants knew best what they were most in need of.” Skye waved her free hand. “And usually a couple boxes of bonbons or other sweets. They were permitted a special feast of their own and dancing belowstairs as well.”
Quinn ran his thumb across the back of Skye’s hand and felt her tremble. This extraordinary woman was worth every sacrifice he’d made, and every one he’d make for years to come. She cut him a sidelong glance, her sweet mouth sweeping upward, and he knew beyond any doubt, he’d made the right choice.
He’d chosen her.
Liam stood, and Prince lumbered to his side. “Ladies, if ye’ll excuse me. I’ve much work to do. Especially if I’m to take a few days to fetch supplies and greeneries for ye.” He directed his attention to Quinn. “When ye’re finished with yer meal, please come to my office. I’ve a few things to discuss with ye.”
His fork at his mouth, Quinn paused, glancing upward.
I’ll just bet ye do.
Liam wore an indiscernible expression, and that proved worrisome given the inflection Quinn had detected in his voice.
Skye glanced between the two of them, a tiny, troubled furrow between her winged blonde eyebrows. Ah, she’d heard the nuance in his tone, too.
“Of course. I shouldna be more than a quarter of an hour.” With deliberate nonchalance, Quinn turned his attention back to his eggs. Best to not let Liam see he had any concerns. He’d not be dissuaded in his quest. Skye would be his, and he’d prefer to remain Liam’s friend afterward.
Feeling Liam’s intense gaze on him, he looked up and forced a genial smile.
With a rather brusque nod, and his mother watching his retreat with a speculative glance, Liam quit the room.
“Ye’ve been well?” Quinn asked Skye in a low tone meant for her ears only. “And Patches?”
Skye brushed an orange cat hair from her sleeve. “Yes, we are both fine,” she responded just as quietly. “She continues to give Aunt Louisa fits though.”
“Skye?” Aunt Louisa said, drawing her attention. “Would it be appropriate to hire a string quartet?”
Quinn would wager Benedict she’d noticed the private exchange between him and Skye, and this was her way of bringing it to an end. It did rather gall to be such a close family friend and yet still be considered so utterly unbefitting to be Skye’s suitor or husband.
“I think that is a fantastical suggestion.” Skye’s swift sideways glance and the tiny upward tilt of her lips revealed she’d guessed her aunt’s true motive, too.
“Which day would we have dancin’?” Dowager Baroness Penderhaven asked. “I believe there are twelve days of revelry, are there no’?”
“Yes, we always had guests and a grand feast the evening of Christmas Day. Other activities and entertainments were planned over the course of the other days, with the festivities culminating on January fifth.” Sadness transformed her countenance for a minute. No doubt, planning the merriment was bittersweet for her.
“Well, we mightna be able to celebrate as masterfully as my sister did every year but I, for one, think ’tis a marvelous way to commemorate Martha’s and Charles’ memories.” The dowager baroness’ eyes grew misty, and she blinked rapidly. “I’m so glad ye suggested it, Skye. I think it may be just what we all needed.”
Quinn bent near, whispering in Skye’s ear. “Just seein’ ye again is all I need to make this the most marvelous Christmas ever.”
Such a ridiculous thing to say. He’d already admitted to never having participated in holiday jollity before. Still, he meant the sentiment behind his words.
Her eyes softened, and he had to set his jaw to keep from sweeping her into his arms and tasting her mouth. When her focus trailed to his lips, he knew beyond a doubt she harbored thoughts of kissing him, too, and he stifled a groan.
She cleared her throat and averted her gaze. “Do you have any special dishes you’d like prepared for Twelfth Night, Quinn?”
A long-ago, hazy memory stirred of his mother placing a serving of orange pudding before him. He’d always adored the dessert but, until this moment, had forgotten the first time he’d tasted the delicious treat.
“Orange puddin’.” The words slipped from his mouth before he realized it. “My mother used to make it.”
“Mine did, too,” she whispered.
“Walk with me, Skye,” Quinn said impulsively. He needed to see her alone, away from curious eyes and ears, so he could tell her unfettered what brewed in his heart. “Tis cold, but if we bundle ourselves, it shouldna be too uncomfortable.”
“All right.” Her attention scooted to one of the windows, the sun streaming through the melting frost on the pane. “It’s really quite lovely outdoors with frost covering everything.”
Most women would’ve refused him outright, so cold was it outside. He hoped that meant she was as eager to be alone with him as he was with her.
Painfully aware three pairs of eyes regarded them with acute interest, he said, “I’ll see what Liam needs to speak with me about, and I’ll meet ye in the rose salon in an hour. Will that be convenient for ye?”
As if she’d suddenly become aware of those peering at them, Skye withdrew her hand from his and angled her head. “Yes, that’s fine.”
After excusing himself, Quinn made straight for Liam’s study. If Liam refused his request for her hand, would Skye consider eloping? Would her family disown her if he did? Ballocks, he couldn’t ask that of her.
Mouth pressed into a grim line, he strode the corridor to Liam’s study, very real anxiety knotting his stomach.
Chapter Nine
As promised, an hour later, bundled in so many clothes and outerwear she could scarcely move her arms, Skye awaited Quinn in the rather gaudy rose salon. Arm in arm, Emeline and Kendra had gone off toward the ballroom, their heads bent near. Probably already making holiday plans.
Aunt Louisa sat before the robust fire, knitting.
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Patches had been banned to the kitchen after a well-executed sneak attack on an unsuspecting skein and hopelessly tangling the wool.
Skye was quite sure she sweated like a lathered racehorse beneath her many layers of clothing, and if Quinn didn’t arrive soon, she’d be forced to start peeling clothing from her person.
“I really should insist someone chaperone ye, but I wouldna force anyone into the frigid weather.” Aunt Louisa glanced up from whatever the black thing was she knitted. “I shall ask ye to stroll along the terrace, so I can see ye from the window.”
Located on the rear side of the house, the terrace enjoyed afternoon sun when there was any to be had. As the clock had not yet chimed ten, deep shadows covered the flagstone and the frost hadn’t begun to thaw there.
Skye had rather hoped to walk in a sunnier location, but she’d not argue the point for fear a chaperone would be procured, and then any opportunity to converse privately with Quinn would be lost.
“Of course, Aunt Louisa.”
Her aunt must know she wouldn’t do anything improper, but now that Liam was her guardian, she supposed they must take a more active interest in Skye’s activities and whom she entertained.
Earlier, when Quinn had entered the breakfast room, her heart had fluttered like a wild bird in her breast. Such giddiness had sluiced through her that her doldrums of the night before seemed trite and nonsensical. The promise in his warm, green gaze when it had rested upon her had given her great hope.
Careful not to appear too eager, Skye slid a sidelong glance to the still empty doorframe then to the mantel clock. Quinn was six minutes late but, likely, he’d left his overcoat in his bedchamber which was in the manor’s other wing.
Even as she finished the thought, he strode through the doorway with animalist ease and grace, holding his black cocked hat. That charming smile, which never failed to make her stomach do strange things, quirked his mouth. Lord but he was striking. If she lived to be a toothless, gray-haired, old tabby, he’d never fail to stir her this way.
“Please forgive my tardiness.” He didn’t offer an explanation but canted his head toward the Dowager Baroness Penderhaven as he extended his elbow to Skye. “Are ye ready?”
“Yes.” She gathered her muff and placed her hand in the bend of his elbow.
“Quinn, I already advised Skye, and I’ll request the same from ye. Make yer stroll up and down the terrace so that I can see ye. It wouldna do to raise eyebrows or create gossip fodder.”
“As ye will, my lady,” he intoned quite formally with a slight tilt of his head as he placed his hat atop his light brown hair.
Skye prudently refrained from reminding her aunt that she’d walked alone with him dozens of times before he’d departed. No doubt, Aunt Louisa had noted Quinn’s marked interest in her at breakfast—as had Liam—and decided to take her duties as chaperone more judiciously.
Neither Skye nor Quinn spoke as he escorted her to the entrance, and Simmons opened the double doors for them. The sun had melted the morning frost on this side of the house, but Quinn was still careful as he guided her down the steps, lest she slip.
They circled the manor and, as directed, stepped onto the terrace and proceeded to wander its length. Wiggling his gloved fingers in a cocky manner, he winked at the dowager baroness as they passed the window.
Skye smothered the giggle rising to her throat at his antics, not at all certain in her current mood that Aunt Louisa would appreciate her mirth.
Her aunt gave him a somber nod before returning her attention back to her knitting. Skye hadn’t missed the corners of her aunt’s mouth twitching at his silliness.
Only he could take a severe situation and, with a dab of mirth, lighten the mood.
Tucking her palm more firmly into his elbow, Quinn placed his other hand atop hers. “I missed ye, Skye.”
She’d already learned he wasn’t a man prone to flowery phrases or poetic nonsense, despite his witticisms. He said what he thought and what was in his heart.
“I missed you, too. Very much.” So very much she feared her heart would truly break when he hadn’t returned when he said he would.
They’d reached the far end of the pavers, and she gasped, pointing to a frost-covered cobweb spun between a nearby shrub’s bare branches. “Oh, Quinn, look. It’s as delicate as spun lace. Isn’t it beautiful?”
“’Tis, indeed.” He smiled down into her upturned face, grazing a fingertip over her cheek. “Ye are far more exquisite.”
She permitted her eyelids to flutter closed, and a contented sigh whispered past her parted lips, certain he meant to kiss her.
“We’d best keep walkin’ else the dowager baroness will come lookin’ for us, love,” he murmured in his soft brogue.
That was another thing she adored about him. When he spoke, she could listen forever to the musical lilt of his deep voice. She opened her eyes to find dual green pools gazing at her longingly. Swallowing and wresting her desire under control, she yanked her gaze away.
They took up their stroll again, but they’d only gone a few paces before Skye chuckled. “I don’t understand the sudden need for all of this propriety. We’ve been alone many times before, and neither Liam nor Aunt Louisa was the least concerned. Why the sudden change?”
“Och, well, they’re nae numpty fools.” He cast a quick downward glance to meet her eyes before staring straight ahead once more. “They ken that I have the highest regard for ye.”
Regard?
That was a far cry from love; at least to her way of thinking.
Gaze lowered, she idly noted the soft crunching sound their feet made on the frosty flagstone. She had the highest regard for several men, none of whom made her breath hitch in her lungs, her heart beat with the cadence of a hundred African drums, or who made her feel wholly complete, as if her soul had found its other half.
Disappointment reared its pointy little head and proceeded to mockingly poke her with its sharp talons.
Had she misunderstood Quinn?
His happiness at seeing her again?
Surely not. He’d held her hand beneath the table, risking Liam’s wrath if caught.
But…he had been slightly reserved and lost in thought since entering the parlor. Just what had transpired between him and Liam?
They passed the salon windows, but neither glanced toward the house this time. She was afraid Aunt Louisa would read the frustration and pique on her countenance and mistake its cause. She hoped her bonnet’s brim hid her face sufficiently not to raise concern.
Skye brought her gaze up to meet Quinn’s pale green eyes. Gentleness and warmth glinted in their depths, yet a flintiness hardened his jaw that hadn’t been there at breakfast.
“Skye…?”
Drawing her to a stop next to a quaint wrought iron bench, he shifted his attention to the frost-laden lawns. This reticent man before her had replaced the charming, carefree rogue from breakfast. The air was surprisingly still and quiet, and if her nerves hadn’t been rattled by his change in demeanor, she would’ve savored the peace.
Instead, she studied the planes and angles of his face, the flexing muscles, the air of bleakness about him. Whatever he wanted to say, it wasn’t a marriage proposal. Dying a little inside, she forced her lips upward at the corners.
“Yes?” My, she sounded composed and not the least befuddled.
“I asked Liam for yer hand in marriage.” His mouth pulled into a taut ribbon, he gathered one of her hands in his. He didn’t act like a man who’d had his request granted. A man facing the gallows showed more cheer.
“What did he say?” Fearing she already knew the answer, she swallowed the sudden constriction in her throat.
How could Liam? How could he?
And what was more, why?
Why had he refused Quinn?
She knew why, the wretched addlepate.
I’ll never forgive him. I shan’t.
Because, even though Quinn was his close friend and welcome in hi
s home, Liam considered him an irresponsible libertine.
Quinn wasn’t good enough for her.
But he is. He is perfect for me.
How dare Liam?
He’d only been her guardian for two months, and he thought he had the right to make such a life-altering decision for her? Without even discussing Quinn’s proposal with her? Didn’t she have any say in the matter?
She dragged in a juddery breath, putting a halt to her wildly cavorting thoughts. She must give Quinn time to explain before stirring herself in a froth.
He laced the fingers of his hand with hers, a wry smile playing about the edges of his mouth. The humor didn’t soften the rest of his features. “He dinna say aye, but I’m no’ ready to quit the field, just yet.”
Determination emphasized the last few words.
What, precisely, had Liam said then?
All her earlier cheer about the prospect of planning a Christmas celebration flew away on the whisper of a breeze that gently flicked her bonnet’s ribbons. She bit the inside of her cheek to smother a very unladylike retort about her cousin.
Quinn lifted her fingers to his mouth, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “Tell me I’m no’ mistaken, and ye return my affection? Because I vowed to him, and I shall to ye as well, if that is the case, I willna give up. Ever. I shall prove myself to him and ye and the whole world if I must.”
A tremulous smile bending her lips, Skye touched his cheek. “Oh, Quinn. I do return your affections. I…I love you, and I thought my heart broken when you didn’t return as you’d promised. I could see no future, no happiness, without you.”
Green fire sparked in his irises, and he dared edge nearer, until his thighs touched her cloak. “Skye, love, I am humbled and thrilled to hear those words from yer pretty lips. I love ye, my bonnie English lass. And I promise, somehow, we’ll be together. I’ve only to convince Liam that I can be a good husband to ye. That I can love and honor ye in the manner ye deserve.”
His sweet words caused her eyes to grow misty.
How she loved this man.
