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

by Moore, Margaret

  “Well done, Miss Wardlow,” Sir Andrew congratulated when he caught up to her in the hallway.

  Charity sighed, regretting that there was no other way of collecting the information she needed to help Olivia. “I wish I did not have to resort to trickery.”

  “Would you rather stand at the dinner table and ask which one of the ladies present gave birth to Mackay’s love child?”

  The ridiculousness of such a thing made her laugh. “Of course not.” Then she smiled at the reversal in Sir Andrew. Just yesterday he had been trying to persuade her to mind her own business, and today he was approving her methods.

  He settled his hand at the back of her waist as he guided her toward the music room. The warmth and strength of his touch made her feel absurdly feminine. “Did you mean what you said to Miss Lindenhouse?” he asked.

  “Every word,” she admitted.

  “Then you have had an experience similar to hers?”

  “Oh, well, not that. Mr. Lingate would never take such liberties.” Good heavens! Had that sounded as prudish as she thought? She looked up to see if Sir Andrew had noticed. He gave her an odd grin and his thumb stoked her spine. Chill bumps raised the fine hair on her neck. Pray he did not realize the devastating effect he had on her. “I, ah, meant that I would never breathe a word of her confidences, and that I did not think any the less of her for having been deceived.”

  He nodded. “I thought as much. That is very open-minded of you, Miss Wardlow, when the rest of society would condemn her as a loose woman. But I agree with you. Women are given an unfair burden where purity is concerned—an unfortunate result of men’s inability to govern their own morally. My gender has little room to judge.”

  She nodded. “Lately I have begun to think that fewer women than one would suspect are…ah…”

  “Virgins?” he supplied with a small smile.

  “On their wedding nights,” she finished, unable to meet his eyes for the indelicacy of their subject. “Perhaps more matches than one might think are made for expedience.”

  “And that shocks you?”

  “No, Sir Andrew. Nor would I judge them.” How could she when she had allowed Sir Andrew to kiss her in a manner so intimate that she had almost succumbed? “Indeed, I have recently…that is, I can only guess how deeply those emotions run. My hope is that they do not later regret acting on those feelings, as does Miss Lindenhouse. Such a thing may be of little consequence to a man, but it has life-altering consequences to a woman.”

  “Yes, regrets would be a great pity,” Sir Andrew agreed. “But if such a thing was of little consequence to a man, he would be the wrong man to give such a gift.”

  Charity glanced up at Sir Andrew and did not miss the sympathy in his smile. For some unaccountable reason, she thought of Julius. Would he be the right man to give such a gift? Heaven help her, she had begun to wonder.

  The music room was empty and she sighed with relief. She needed a moment to collect herself before making polite conversation again. She heard the click of the door closing as she sat on the piano bench and tickled the keys. Sir Andrew came to sit beside her and lifted her chin with one finger.

  “Why so melancholy, Miss Wardlow. Is it Mr. Greene’s behavior? Should I have a word with him?”

  “That would be meddling, would it not?” she teased. “No, he must have no idea that Miss Lindenhouse has admitted to anything or he might begin to talk. Do not worry. We have ways of dealing with men like Mr. Greene.”

  “We?”

  An unfortunate slip of the tongue. She could hardly admit to being a member of a group of avengers. “Women,” she explained.

  “I shall trust that,” he said, leaning closer.

  He was going to kiss her again. Mentally she tried to think where Julius was supposed to be. Not that she did not want him to discover her kissing Drew MacGregor. No, it was that she did not want him interrupting this time. She lifted her face to his, anxious for the bittersweet tingling his mouth evoked.

  “Sweet Charity,” he murmured against her lips. She shivered. Those two words had preceded both his kisses and she could not help but think of them as harbingers of bliss. She was already tingling with anticipation.

  As sweet and evocative as his other kisses had been, this one was deeper, demanding, as if he had taken her measure and knew he could ask more of her. She parted her lips and let him in, meeting his heat with greedy need. She slid her arms upward, wrapping them around his neck and fondling the silky cool curl at his nape.

  He sighed, pressing her closer along her spine, and pushed the bench away from the piano to pull her onto his lap. From that vantage, he nibbled at her earlobe, his breath hot and moist in her ear. She shivered again and a little moan slipped from somewhere deep inside her as she dropped her head back to offer her throat. Sir Andrew was coaxing the strangest, most tantalizing feeling from her and she wanted it to go on forever. Why was it that, once he had begun this sweet assault, she forgot everything else in her quest to find…what?

  He accepted the invitation of her offered throat, leaving kisses and nibbles in a path to the hollow. There he rested his attention, seeming to savor the pounding of her pulse. Simultaneously, he ran one hand up her side and around. His fingers found the deepest part of her décolletage and worked inward to liberate one breast. She was dimly aware that her nipples had grown taut and ached for his touch, but when his mouth closed around her, she was deliciously shocked. Cupping his head, her fingers tangled in his hair, she tried to pull him closer, though nothing separated them now but their clothing.

  As he repositioned her on his lap, she noted a firm pressure against the center of her sex. Oh! She wanted more of that, too. She wiggled to deepen the contact and Sir Andrew gasped. She drew apart from him to see if she had hurt him. His eyes were closed and a grim look hardened his features.

  “Charity, if you do that again I will surely disgrace you.” He opened his eyes, now as dark and turbulent as a midnight sea. “Go, if you do not want to suffer Miss Lindenhouse’s fate.”

  She hesitated, uncertain if he was teasing her again or perfectly serious. When she did not move, he dropped his head to her breast and circled the nipple with his tongue. He bit lightly at the hardened nub and began to slide her gown up her legs.

  Dear Lord! He’d been serious! Even as the sharp yearning returned, the short separation from his mouth had restored enough of her senses to bring her to her feet and propel her to the door. She hesitated there long enough to smooth her bodice and make certain everything was in place before turning the lock to make her escape.

  His voice followed her out the door. “If you play with fire, Charity, you are going to get burned.”

  Chapter Six

  Drew watched Charity descend the grand staircase to the sound of the dinner bell. She was wearing a soft pink confection with a puddle of a short train. The neckline was daringly low with a delicate narrow trimming of embroidered lace that barely saved her modesty. He knew Charity well enough by now to know that she had intended her gown to be provocative. It certainly provoked something primal in him.

  Her hair had been done up to the crown, then fell in spiraling curls down her back, leaving that tempting neck bare. He wished to God she’d dressed for him, but her glance around the hall and her quick smile when her attention lit on Lingate told the tale. He squelched a stab of disappointment.

  Perhaps he should not have warned her of his intentions this afternoon. When he’d locked the music-room door behind them, he’d fully intended to introduce Charity to the next level of sensualism, but after their discussion of Miss Lindenhouse, how could he prove himself to be as dishonorable as Mr. Greene? Oh, make no mistake, he wanted Charity Wardlow, and she was ripe and ready despite that she was a novice to real passion, but he would not take advantage of her innocence just to seduce her. She’d come to him fully mindful of what she was surrendering, or he would not take her at all.

  Mackay’s bride-to-be had shuffled the place cards again tonig
ht, mixing the names to allow the guests to make new acquaintances. Was it coincidence that placed him across from Charity, or a little help from Mackay? She acknowledged him with an aloof nod and a blush. Her friend, Mrs. Forbush, was seated beside him and Julius Lingate was on her other side.

  Conversation was innocuous enough with Grace Forbush introducing new topics the moment the current one grew stale. He took a moment to marvel at her social adroitness before he resolved to be difficult.

  “Tell me, Miss Wardlow, have you enjoyed making new friends here in Oxfordshire?”

  She seemed confused for a moment, then fastened him with a defiant look. “Indeed, Sir Andrew. And I have you to thank for it. You’ve been ever so accommodating.”

  He grinned. So, she intended to hold him accountable for her meddling. Very interesting. “And are you finding the…activities to your liking?”

  Her color heightened further, but she could only stare at him. Unless he missed his guess, she knew he was referring to their kisses and the sweet little scene in the library mere hours ago. She opened her mouth and the tip of her tongue emerged to wet her lips, but she seemed incapable of speech.

  A puzzled frown knit a fine line between Grace Forbush’s elegantly arched eyebrows as she glanced between the two of them. “I understand there is to be dancing tonight, Sir Andrew. Will you stay for it, or return to your room in Great Tew?”

  “Wouldn’t miss it,” he said, and grinned.

  “And there is to be wassailing tomorrow night,” Grace continued, to cover the awkward pause. “I understand Lord Edward has had to hire sleighs from the town to carry us all. We are to end up on the village green and attend church services afterward.”

  “Sounds vastly entertaining,” he commented blandly.

  “Two nights after is the wedding eve.”

  “Christmas Eve, too, if I am not mistaken.”

  Grace nodded. She glanced around their immediate vicinity as if seeking help with the conversation. “I believe I’ve heard rumors that there is to be a Lord or Misrule at the feast. Is that not so, Charity?”

  “I…I believe Olivia called it the Abbot of Unreason.”

  “’Tis the same thing in Scotland, is it not, Sir Andrew?”

  He paused for a moment, just to see if Mrs. Forbush would leap into the gap again. Instead, her lips curled into a sly smile. She was on to him. “Aye. The same. Did Miss Fletcher say who would be the Abbot?”

  “That is to be a surprise,” Mrs. Forbush said. “But now I think I know who I will recommend.” She turned to her right and smiled at a confused-looking Julius Lingate. “And you, Mr. Lingate? Are you enjoying yourself here in Great Tew?”

  Lingate, immersed in a study of Charity’s décolletage, looked as if he’d been caught thieving. “Me? Oh, I see. Yes, I hope to conclude a very important matter whilst I’m here.” He gazed at Charity with calf eyes.

  Charity smiled and blushed prettily, then looked down at her plate. Drew glowered at Lingate, hoping the man was wise enough to back off, but he doubted it. Men like Lingate were always so full of themselves that they thought everyone shared their own good opinion of them.

  Was it true, then? Was Lingate preparing to propose to Charity despite her lack of a fortune? Had he decided her social consequence was enough to compensate for her poverty? Damned discerning of him if he had. And damned unfortunate, too, because Lingate was too late. He’d never have Charity. Drew mentally contemplated pushing the London dandy off the back of a sleigh tomorrow night. If he could wait that long.

  Charity was in a fever by the time the orchestra struck the first tune in the upstairs ballroom. She glanced around, hoping to see Julius lurking, but he was already escorting Laura Tuxbury onto the dance floor. Well, she could be patient a little while longer.

  Her nerves zinged with excitement. He had as good as announced his intentions at the dinner table. And then she recalled the dark look on Drew MacGregor’s face. Her excitement evaporated and confusion set in. She had wanted Julius for what seemed her entire life. She had certainly looked no further than the end of her nose for the past five years. And then a dark-visaged Scot challenged her in a hallway and she was quickly forgetting everything else.

  The man was insufferable. He was a rake and a tease. He was certainly a debauchee. But oh, what a debauchee! He could make her heart sing, her pulse throb, her spirits rise and her senses reel. But that was not the stuff of marriage.

  Marriage was upbringing and experiences in common—it was being familiar and comfortable in each other’s company, wanting the same things from life and knowing what the future would hold. It was being agreeable, safe and sensible. She closed her eyes to picture herself in London, married to Julius, keeping his house and awaiting the birth of his child.

  A sharp and surprising stab of regret shot through her. Oh! It couldn’t be! There was certainly nothing safe and sensible about her feelings for Drew MacGregor—nothing familiar or comfortable. She’d be insane to entertain the mere idea!

  “Such a sultry look, Miss Wardlow. Dare I hope you are thinking of me?” Sir Andrew’s deep, mocking voice whispered in her ear.

  “Dare anything you please, Sir Andrew,” she murmured, glancing around to be certain they were not overheard.

  He grinned. “Then I think I shall dare a dance with you.” He took her hand and pulled her to the dance floor, making refusal impossible without a scene.

  Sir Andrew led her into the strains of a waltz, stepping into the rhythm without missing a step. He held her tight, his hand at the small of her back doing that odd little stroking move he had done that afternoon. She found herself relaxing, becoming fluid with his lead.

  “So, has Mr. Lingate bent his knee to you yet?”

  She smiled but refused to rise to the bait. “Were you trying to provoke me at dinner, Sir Andrew?” she asked.

  “I own it,” he admitted. “There you were, all moon-eyed over Lingate, and him such an undeserving lout. I could not help thinking what a waste you would be on one such as he.”

  She tilted her head back to look at his face. Was he serious? Or was he teasing again? There was no merry twinkle in his eyes, but a self-mocking smile on his lips. “I do not see men lined up for me, Sir Andrew. Am I better wasted wilting on the vine?”

  He shook his head and laughed. “Are you really so blind? Or just so focused on Lingate that you cannot see what’s in front of your face?”

  “You exaggerate,” she accused.

  His hand tightened on hers and he held her a little closer. “Close your eyes,” he said as he led her into a turn. “Come now, I’ve got you. This should be interesting.”

  Unable to refuse his challenge without looking frightened, she closed her eyes. Following his lead when she was unable to see was a lesson in trust for her, and she gained a heightened appreciation of his strength and grace, the sureness of his step and his self-confidence. A man would not have that measure of certainty without good reason.

  “Do not peek, Miss Wardlow,” he said in a low voice. “Simply tell me what Lingate is wearing tonight.”

  “His…his green jacket?” she guessed, trying to picture him at the table.

  Sir Andrew’s laugh was smugly satisfied. “Wrong. Keep your eyes closed and I’ll give you another chance. What are the decorations in the ballroom?”

  “Potted palms? Um…hothouse flowers? Oh! Holly, of course.”

  “That was guessing, not recollection. Try telling me what Miss Lindenhouse was wearing this afternoon.”

  How odd. As vague as her other memories had been, Miss Lindenhouse was etched clearly in her mind. “A burgundy day dress trimmed in white ruching, a small gold heart pendant, a—”

  “Exactly,” he interrupted. “You see what you want to see, Miss Wardlow, and you stopped seeing Lingate the day you decided he was what you wanted. You have not wasted another moment examining your choice or confirming your original opinion.”

  Could that be true? Could she have been so single-minded that
simple truths had escaped her?

  The music grew distant and Sir Andrew stopped abruptly. “Open your eyes and tell me what you see.”

  She looked about, feeling slightly disoriented. They were no longer in the ballroom but in the gallery overlooking the great hall. “I see the stairway swagged with garlands. I see holly and bows. I see—” she looked up into his eyes “—you.”

  “Look up, sweet Charity.”

  Sweet Charity. Her knees grew weak even before she lifted her chin to look toward the ceiling. There, as bold as you please, hung a hoop of evergreens woven with mistletoe, holly and red and white ribbons rippling softly in the air current. Pears, apples and lighted candles encircled the hoop.

  “A kissing bough,” she whispered.

  He smiled. “There may be hope for you after all.”

  He bent and deposited a kiss so soft and gentle that Charity had the impression it was almost more a thought than a deed. Oh, but when he deepened the kiss she felt his warmth seep downward all the way to her toes. He pressed her close and straightened, lifting her feet off the ground. She relaxed against his surrounding arms, trusting that he would not disgrace her in so public a place. She raised both her arms to circle his neck, afraid she would collapse in a boneless puddle if she did not hold on for dear life.

  An amused masculine voice penetrated the fog in her brain. “Well, look who’s been caught under the kissing bough.”

  Sir Andrew released her slowly, allowing her to gain her footing before leaving her unsupported. “You’ve got the devil’s own timing, Mackay,” he said.

  Their host was grinning at them, Olivia on his arm. “Give someone else a chance,” he said with a glance down at his bride-to-be.

  Sir Andrew laughed, relinquishing their spot beneath the kissing bough. Before she could escape to the ballroom, Mackay caught Olivia up in his arms and pressed a heartrending passionate kiss on her. She gave him a shaky sigh when he let her go.

  “Only two more days, Edward. Surely you can wait that long,” she whispered as a blush stole up her cheeks.