The Christmas Visit: Comfort and JoyLove at First StepA Christmas Secret

by Moore, Margaret

  She turned away. “Stop saying such things, my lord.”

  “I’m telling you the truth.” He stepped closer and caught her around the waist, letting the mistletoe fall. “I’m also going to kiss you.”

  Chapter Six

  And he did, capturing her lips and moving his with firm, deliberate, delicious leisure.

  She’d never been kissed in her life, let alone by a man she found compelling and attractive. Anything she had ever felt before—happiness, contentment, a sense of belonging—paled compared to the wondrous emotions his kiss elicited.

  Her arms encircled him, holding him close. Her breasts pressed against the strong wall of his chest as his hands slid up her back. Still kissing her, he undid her hair and let it tumble loose about her shoulders.

  His tongue pressed against her lips, silently seeking an invitation. Instinctively she parted hers and, when he deepened the kiss, her limbs seemed to melt like ice in sunlight.

  During the long nights on ward duty, watching over a patient or tending to a restless child, she had dreamed of being held in the arms of a man who loved her. Of being kissed with passion and desire. Of no longer feeling so alone and unwanted and unloved. That there was hope a man would care for her as she could only imagine.

  This man was like the very embodiment of her dream lover. A hero of old come to life, just for her.

  A fantasy.

  Reality intruded and it was like a gust of wintry wind. This was no different from the fancies she used to harbor at Christmas in her childhood when, in spite of her situation and every previous Christmas, she would dream of waking to a host of presents and a Christmas feast of roast goose and gravy, sweets and pudding. Disappointment inevitably followed, until she’d learned to expect nothing.

  She could expect nothing from him, either, except more disappointment and heartbreak. It was ridiculous to hope that the Earl of Cwm Rhyss could ever truly love the matron of an orphanage in Llanwyllan.

  She broke the kiss and pulled away from his warm, exciting, passionate embrace.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “This is wrong,” she said, stepping back, summoning her determination to do not what she desired, but what was necessary. “We shouldn’t be kissing.”

  His expression grew wary, and the look in his eyes…she wouldn’t look at his eyes.

  “Then I’m wrong to think that you like me?” he asked slowly.

  “I do like you. You’re everything—” She stopped herself before she betrayed too much. Her feelings couldn’t change the fact that they were from two very different worlds, and always would be. “You’re a kind, generous man.”

  “And I think you’re an utterly amazing, desirable woman,” he said as he reached out for her again.

  She moved farther away from him, and the temptation he offered. “Here, in this place, under these rather extraordinary circumstances. But we barely know one another. We’ve only just met.”

  She straightened her shoulders and mustered her resolve. “You’re a lonely man who thought no woman would ever want you again. I’ve proved you wrong. What you feel could be the result of that, and nothing more.”

  “You think what I feel for you is gratitude that you don’t find me hideous?”

  “I don’t know what you’re feeling.”

  “Except that you’re certain of what it is not. So what do you feel for me?” He spit out the next word, as if it tainted his tongue to speak it. “Pity?”

  “No, most definitely not pity.”

  He pulled her close. “I assure you, Gwen, what I feel for you is more than gratitude or lust or simple affection. It’s more than I ever felt for Letitia, or any other woman. I want you in my life.”

  Oh, heaven help her, she wanted to believe him! She wanted to believe that he loved her, and that what she felt for him was the sort of love that could triumph over any difficulty and render the differences in their status and position meaningless. But she couldn’t have such faith, not yet. “Loneliness and altered circumstances can make people believe their feelings are deeper than they are. When we return home, things will be different, and you might soon feel differently, too.”

  “You truly believe that?”

  “I’ve known wounded officers who imagined themselves in love with their nurse. I’ve seen them marry and I’ve heard what happened after they returned home. Away from the battlefield and the hospital, they had nothing in common. More than one bitterly regretted what they’d done.”

  “Then they can’t have been truly in love.”

  “And neither are we. You’re an intelligent man who’s lived in the world. You know I’m right to doubt that what’s happening between us will last.”

  “You don’t believe in love at first sight?”

  “No, I don’t. Lust at first sight, attraction and temptation at first sight, but not the kind of love that lasts a lifetime.”

  His intense, steadfast gaze finally faltered. She was both relieved and sorry to see that her words were finally having some effect.

  “Sincerely spoken,” he said softly, “and if you doubt it, I have no choice but to doubt it, too.” He raised his questioning eyes. “Yet you do like me?”

  She nodded.

  “And I know you felt desire for me, as much as I feel for you.”

  She couldn’t deny it, for that would be a lie. “I do, and therefore, I must ask that you refrain from trying to kiss me again.”

  The look he gave her! “I may not be the gentleman I was, Miss Davies, but I haven’t become a lustful lout. Of course I’ll respect your wishes, and keep my distance, too.

  “Now you should go to bed. You’re exhausted. I’ll watch the boy and wake you if he stirs.”

  It was better that he be angry rather than looking at her with such longing and desire; otherwise, she might succumb to the desire she could scarcely subdue. “I’ll agree only if you’ll wake me in a few hours. You’re exhausted, too.”

  “I don’t think I’ll be sleeping tonight—trying to control my base animal desires should keep me awake.”

  He sounded more bitter, more angry, more hurt, than he had when speaking of Letitia, and that realization increased her anguish. “My lord…Griffin…”

  “Go to bed, Miss Davies. And leave me alone.”

  Gwen stood at the window as the sun rose in a glory of pink and orange, tinting a thin line of clouds high in the sky. The sunlight reflected off the snow outside seemed celestial in its brilliance. Everything looked clean and new-made, like hope hiding reality.

  For the snow would melt, just as whatever happy dream she’d dreamed here in this cottage would disappear when life returned to normal.

  The change was already beginning. When Griffin had awakened her in the night, he’d said not a word, and neither had she. It was her fault, of course, but there could be no other way. To believe anything else was to deny the reality of the world, to think that life could be like a fairy tale. She knew full well it was not.

  The doctor would soon arrive, and Bill Mervyn, and then she and Griffin would part. At least she could have the satisfaction of knowing that she’d helped Teddy, and spared him from the fatal consequences of so bad a broken bone.

  She heard Griffin stirring behind the curtain and moved to the hearth, ostensibly checking Teddy, who still slept.

  “How’s the boy this morning?” Griffin asked gruffly when he appeared.

  She immediately noted Griffin’s drawn features. She straightened at once, all resolutions to keep her distance disappearing in her concern.

  “Are you ill?” she asked as she hurried to feel his forehead.

  “No,” he said, grabbing her hand before she could touch him. His brows lowered as he frowned. “Keep away, Miss Davies.”

  Frustration replaced concern. “Any man of sense would appreciate that what I said last night was right. Any man who truly cared for me wouldn’t press me for a different answer. I told you I have only my virtue to call my own, and I won’t give it up for a pa
ssion that may be as fleeting as snow on a warm rock.”

  “Miss Davies?” Teddy called weakly.

  Gwen forced herself to put aside her frustration as she went to Teddy’s side. It was immediately obvious he was still in pain. Ignoring Griffin, who was putting the kettle on the fire, she prepared a little more of the laudanum.

  How she wished the doctor would get here soon! That anybody would get here soon and end this waiting for the inevitable.

  “Da!” William shouted from the loft. “It’s Da! He’s come on a horse!”

  For a moment, it was as if time itself stood still. Cradling Teddy, Gwen hesitated, the spoon halfway to his lips. The tea canister in his hands, Griffin stood motionless beside the table.

  The spell broke when William clambered down the ladder and ran to the door. Gwen finished giving Teddy the medicine, while Griffin returned to making tea and cutting the last of the bread.

  Bill Mervyn appeared in the doorway. “How’s Teddy?” he anxiously asked as he scooped his younger son up in his arms, his attention focused on the boy in the cot.

  “Doing well,” Gwen answered. “Better than I’d hoped.”

  “Thank God!” Bill cried as he rushed to Teddy’s bedside, not bothering to take off his boots or his coat or hat. He set William down, then knelt beside the cot.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Gwen saw Griffin put on his greatcoat and hat. “I’ll tend to the horse,” he muttered as he slipped outside.

  “I can’t thank you enough, Miss Davies!” Bill said, gratitude lighting his face.

  “I couldn’t have come if the earl hadn’t brought me,” Gwen said, but Bill didn’t hear. He was too busy brushing the tousled curls back from his injured son’s forehead.

  In spite of the laudanum, Teddy opened his eyes and smiled weakly. “Da?”

  “Yes, my boy, my son,” Bill said roughly, surreptitiously wiping his eyes, one hand on Teddy’s arm, the other around William beside him. “Here I am, and here I will stay.”

  “Is it Christmas Day?”

  “Not yet, my son.”

  Teddy clutched his father’s mittened hand. “I don’t want to miss it.”

  As Gwen watched them, an unbearable ache, a longing for something she had never missed before—had never known to miss before—overcame her.

  She turned away—and nearly collided with Griffin, who had returned and was standing right behind her. Still in his greatcoat and hat, he caught hold of her shoulders to steady her, then looked into her eyes. In his, she saw a longing that matched her own, a yearning that made her heart turn over and the hope she’d tried to conquer since he’d kissed her struggle to break free.

  Sleigh bells jingled in the yard.

  “I think that’s the doctor,” Gwen whispered.

  “Yes, it is,” Griffin answered, not taking his gaze from her face. “I saw him coming up the road.”

  Very soon now, she would be back at the orphanage, back to the only sort of home she’d ever known. The only kind of home she would likely ever know.

  Griffin let go of her and turned toward the door. “I’ll see to his horses, too, while you confer about your patient.”

  Then he was gone, and in the next moment, the jovial middle-aged Dr. Morgan, black bag in his hand, his hair, mustache and muttonchop whiskers as white as bleached linen, bustled into the cottage.

  “Now, where’s this young lad who chose such an inconvenient time to break his leg?” he asked as he removed his overcoat and handed it to the waiting Gwen. “Jones nearly had apoplexy when it started to snow again. Mighty odd weather, I must say.”

  Bill got out of the way to allow the doctor to conduct his examination. Trying not to think about Griffin or returning to the orphanage, Gwen waited with bated breath, hoping she’d done everything right.

  “Most competently set, Miss Davies,” the doctor pronounced. “I couldn’t have done it better myself. Rest, a fresh bandage and something for the pain is all Teddy should need.”

  “Then I can return to my children?”

  “Yes, indeed,” Dr. Morgan replied as he measured out a spoonful of liquid from a bottle he took from his bag.

  The door opened and Griffin paused to knock the snow from his boots.

  “I’ll take you back to Llanwyllan in my sleigh,” the doctor offered.

  “Thank you,” Gwen said. “That would be most kind.”

  “Since that’s settled,” the earl announced, “I’ll be on my way. I’ll send Jones with a cheque for the children’s Christmas, Miss Davies, as I said I would.”

  She couldn’t believe she’d forgotten about that.

  He turned to leave. “Merry Christmas.”

  “Merry Christmas,” said Bill, Teddy and the doctor simultaneously.

  “And thank you,” Bill added fervently.

  “Goodbye and Merry Christmas!” William cried, running to the door and waving cheerily.

  Gwen said nothing at all.

  The dining hall at the orphanage was a vision of slightly supervised pandemonium. The initial rush of excitement had passed, and now, as the children and staff finished the Christmas feast, exhaustion was beginning to take over.

  Gwen was exhausted, too, from the last-minute rush of preparations, then rousing all the staff and children for the ply-gain, a predawn candlelight procession to the church for singing, followed by the Christmas service. She’d tried not to hope that the earl would be there, that no matter how they’d parted, he’d no longer be a recluse.

  He hadn’t come. Her disappointment had been extreme, so much so, she was afraid she might never stop regretting being with the earl at Bill Mervyn’s cottage, because of the foolish hopes that had inspired.

  The earl’s nonappearance was the confirmation that her feelings for him were foolish and hopeless, and she had been right to tell him that once they returned to their respective homes, he would think differently.

  The bell to the outer gate rang, loud and insistent above the children’s voices.

  “Who can that be?” Molly demanded. “Can’t we have our Christmas supper in peace?”

  Gwen had to smile at that last word. The happy din wasn’t what anyone would call peaceful. “I’ll go,” she said, rising from the table. “It might be someone who needs our help.”

  It wouldn’t be the first time a child had been left on their doorstep. Christmas could fill a heart with despair as easily as joy.

  Once at the door to the main building, she put her shawl over her head and hurried across the cobblestone yard, taking care not to slip. Most of the snow that had trapped her with the earl had melted, but it was cold enough to make it icy in the shadows.

  She opened the wicket in the door, and the first thing she saw was the familiar black muzzle of a horse.

  He’d come. He’d come down from the mountain. Griffin…the Earl of Cwm Rhyss…had left his manor and come here.

  Her heart soared, until she quickly yanked its leash and brought it back to earth. He couldn’t have come here simply to see her, or he wouldn’t have waited until today.

  He hadn’t even sent a note with the cheque for a hundred pounds that had been delivered by Mr. Jones, as if Mr. Jones was acting for Father Christmas, not a man who’d kissed her and claimed to care for her. She’d sent the earl a brief note of thanks, along with the velvet cloak, her words sounding formal and stiff even to her own ears.

  Perhaps he wanted to witness for himself the happiness he’d brought to the children. And perhaps she had persuaded him to venture out into the world more, starting here, with grateful, happy children.

  In spite of her silent vow to act as if he were any other benefactor coming to call, her hands shook as she opened the gate.

  Sitting on Warlord, he wore his greatcoat and beaver hat, with his hair was drawn back in a tail. His mutilated ear was still covered, but the scar on his face was much more visible.

  “Merry Christmas, my lord,” she said, smiling and trying not to show how his unexpected arrival affected her.<
br />
  He dismounted and stood before her, his expression difficult to read in the waning late-afternoon light. “It may be for you, but this is the most miserable Christmas I’ve had since my accident.”

  She didn’t know what to say to that.

  “May I come in, or shall we stand here?”

  “Oh!” she cried, embarrassed. “Please, come in. You must meet the children. You’ve made them so happy with your generous gift.” She softly added, “Me, too.”

  He didn’t seem to hear her. Or perhaps he didn’t care about her gratitude. “Where may I stable my horse?”

  She led the way to the barn where they kept the three cows to provide fresh milk for the children. “You’re well, I hope?”

  “I’ve been better.”

  “Oh? You didn’t suffer any ill effects from escorting me to Bill Mervyn’s, I hope,” she asked, doing her best to sound like a dispassionate nurse.

  “I’m physically well,” he replied as he led his horse to the empty stall. He ran a measuring gaze over her. “I gather you’re not suffering any ill effects, either?”

  “I’m perfectly fine,” she assured him.

  He reached into the saddlebag and produced a bundle wrapped in brown paper. She wondered if it was a Christmas present, and was upset that she had nothing to give him, then chided herself for a fool. He wouldn’t be giving her presents.

  “You shouldn’t have sent the cloak back,” he said gruffly, handing the bundle to her.

  She quickly clasped her hands behind her back. “I couldn’t keep it, and I shouldn’t accept it now.”

  “Why not?” His dark brows lowered. “You should have a warm cloak as you go about your good works.” He studied her again, in a way that made her blush from the roots of her hair to the soles of her feet. “I should have told you to use part of my money to get yourself a decent dress, too.”

  “My clothes are serviceable and practical. That cloak is too luxurious for me.”

  He wasn’t pleased by her refusal. “If you don’t take it, I’ll burn it.”