Under The Kissing Bough: 15 Romantic Holiday Novellas

by Kathryn Le Veque

  “How does that sound to you, Adelaide?”

  She shook out of her thoughts and smiled at him. “Wonderful.”

  She didn’t know this man. He readily admitted to being grumpy and unfriendly, but she had yet to see that side of him. So far, she liked him. She couldn’t deny it. He wasn’t oafish either. He wasn’t condescending or mocking as she’d expected him to be, although he had an aura of power and authority. He also had a dangerously appealing smile. The corners of his mouth would turn up slightly, as though it was as far as his lips could stretch.

  No. Don’t think of his lips.

  His manner was gentle and he appeared willing to spend time with her. Of course, he was merely being polite. All elegant ladies and gentlemen knew how to feign politeness. Isn’t that why they called it Polite Society?

  They settled in a corner of the common room just close enough to feel the warmth of the fire blazing in the hearth but not too close to be overwhelmed by it. Lord Blackfell helped her to remove her cloak. She closed her eyes and held her breath as his big hands grazed her shoulders. She tingled at his touch anyway. Lesson learned, holding one’s breath doesn’t prevent you from feeling the heat of a man’s touch - especially Lord Blackfell’s touch - or responding to it.

  Fortunately, he didn’t appear to notice.

  He removed his cloak and handed both to a passing maid before settling on the bench across from her.

  He rested his forearms on the table and quickly surveyed the other occupants drinking at their tables which was a good thing because her body was still tingling and didn’t seem inclined to stop. The less attention he paid to her, the better.

  “So what are we to talk about, Adelaide?” He shook his head and ran a hand roughly through the waves of his blond hair. “May I call you that? We’re practically family, after all.”

  She nodded. Family. Of course. He didn’t think of her as a tempting morsel, but as an irritating little sister. “Yes, Adelaide is fine. No one has called me Miss Farthingale in years. Usually it’s ‘Adelaide, stop talking’ or ‘Adelaide, you’re late to supper’ and often it’s nothing but silence because the sisters periodically take vows of silence to atone for sins they haven’t committed because they’ve never been out in the world to do anything wrong.” She slumped her shoulders, knowing she was rambling and probably making no sense. “Now you understand why I’d make a terrible–”

  He reached out and caught her hand. “Why do you always do that?”

  She slipped it out of his grasp since she understood that he wasn’t interested in holding her hand but merely intent on stopping this particular conversation. “Do what?”

  “Dismiss your worth. There’s nothing wrong with you. Don’t let others define who you are or impose limitations on your dreams. And my name is Desmond. You may call me that whenever we’re alone or among family. Hell, you may call me that whenever you wish.”

  She shook her head. “Very kind of you, but even I know that calling you Desmond in public will cause scandal.”

  He refrained from responding when a serving maid came to the table with a teapot and a cup and saucer for her, and a cup of mulled wine for him. Then another servant came behind her with plates of rabbit stew and warm, crusty bread.

  Adelaide inhaled deeply and said grace as soon as the servants left their side. “I didn’t realize how hungry I was until now.”

  “Nor did I. I’m famished.” He nodded for her to start eating and he did the same. They ate in silence, Lord Blackfell resuming their conversation when they were almost done. “As I was saying, call me Desmond. Or simply Des. That’s what my sister calls me. As for those gossip rags catching wind of this supposed intimate use of our names, they won’t mind. Scandal sells their papers.”

  “Every once in a while our local laundress would manage to smuggle one of those gossip sheets to me. Unfortunately, there was no good place to hide it in the abbey, so I hid it in the barn until I was through reading that particular issue. Then I’d give it to the goats to eat.”

  He laughed. “An interesting way to destroy the evidence, so to speak.”

  “I had to dispose of it, unfortunately. I couldn’t be found with pagan literature or else I’d...” Her voice trailed off, for she was horrified about what she’d been about to reveal.

  His eyes darkened, glowing like fiery emeralds. “Adelaide,” he said softly, but there was no mistaking his anger, “did they beat you?”

  She blushed. “Not often. Only when I was exceptionally disobedient. Mostly I was sent to bed without any supper.”

  “And that happened often?”

  “I... may we speak of something else?” She didn’t want to meet his gaze, but there was something compellingly protective in his manner and she’d crumble if she looked his way. “Please tell me about London. Is it very big? Of course, it must be.”

  He took a sip of his wine. “It’s big and bustling. Quite festive, but at the same time there are many parts of it that are dark and dangerous. Don’t go anywhere on your own.”

  “Uncle Rupert has already warned me. I have no intention of exploring on my own. I’m sure there will be a Farthingale or two available to show me around.” She spared a glance at him.

  He was still staring at her in that deliciously fiery and protective way. “Send word if no one is available and I’ll take up the slack. No, I said that poorly. It would be my pleasure to show you the sights of London.”

  Goodness, she’d love to spend time in his company. Would it be permitted? She stared at her food, nudging it around the plate with her fork while she considered an appropriate response. “You’re obviously a busy man. I couldn’t take you away from important work.”

  “Does that mean you don’t wish to spend time in my company? The truth now, Adelaide.”

  She hadn’t considered lying to him. She was a terrible liar, which is why she was often punished for her insolence and sent to bed without her supper. “I’d enjoy spending time with you. Very much. But I don’t think Mr. Postings would approve.”

  She noticed the flex and strain of his muscles as he shifted in his seat. “Ah, that name again. Who is he?”

  “I’m not sure yet. I think he’s courting me. He visited me twice at the abbey at the suggestion of my father. Mr. Postings is a business acquaintance of his. They’re thinking of merging their interests.”

  “And using you as the dividend to seal their bargain?” The question came out as more of a growl, his disapproval obvious. She returned his frown. It wasn’t any of his bee’s wax, and if it would please her father and get her out of that abbey, who would it hurt?

  She tipped her chin up and scowled. “England was built on royal alliances. What is wrong with that? And how many members of the ton ever marry for love? Very few. Most marry to acquire wealth and stature. What about you? Will you marry for love? You strike me as too cautious.”

  He reached over and tucked a finger under her chin. “I may not care about following my heart, but you’re a Farthingale. Everyone knows that Farthingales marry only for love.”

  Her scowl deepened. “I’ll marry whomever I choose and for whatever reason suits me.”

  “Adelaide, that’s a load of hog swill. You’ll be miserable unless you marry for love.”

  “Why do you care? Isn’t it my concern? You don’t even know me, so how can you understand my hopes or desires better than I do? I may be innocent, but I’m no sparkly princess who sleeps under rainbows and believes life is a spring meadow filled with wildflowers and soft, cuddly rabbits hopping about.”

  She’d made her point and ought to have stopped, but she was tired and overset and hated that he was probably right. “If encouraging Mr. Postings’ courtship will gain my father’s approval and keep me from being sent back to the abbey, then I’ve gained as much as anyone else in this transaction, haven’t I?”

  He slapped his hands on the solid wooden table and rose to his imposing height. Goodness, he was big. Handsome and big. “Move over, Princess
Sparkles,” he said, coming around to her side of the table and nudging her down the bench to give him room to sit beside her. He edged her back until her shoulders met the corner of the wall and then he placed his hands on either side of her shoulders to neatly trap her. “You’d gain nothing but sorrow. It doesn’t take a brilliant mind to understand the sort of girl you are. You are precisely that sparkly princess who sleeps under rainbows.”

  “I do not sleep under rainbows.” But she felt the ache to do just that, to have a perfect and happy life with someone she loved. She felt it to the depths of her being.

  “You may understand how the world works,” he said more gently, “but you’re not cynical or mercenary. You’ll hold out for love because you want those butterflies and chirping birds flitting outside your door. You want to find the man who will melt your heart and put a gleam in your eyes. So find him. Don’t settle for a cold bastard like Postings.”

  “He’s a gentleman! You don’t even know him.”

  “Nor do I wish to. He’ll never make you happy or help you get over the pain and loneliness you think you’re hiding. You’re not fooling me. Your every glance and gesture screams it.”

  “How dare you! You’re worse than a curmudgeon, you’re an ogre. A mean, overbearing,” handsome as sin “ogre.”

  He drew back, lowering his arms so that she was no longer trapped. Not that he felt any remorse for her distress. No, he simply wanted to avoid the notice of the few remaining guests in the common room who were no doubt staring at them. “I won’t deny it,” he said quietly. “I don’t enjoy ton gatherings or spending time with idle debutantes who find me irresistible because I’m now heir to a dukedom.”

  “Then why don’t you hold out for love?”

  He shook his head. “I’m not like you, Adelaide. I don’t need a sparkle in my eyes. Never going to happen.”

  “Never? Oh, Des! I’m so sorry.” She put her hand on his broad shoulder and boldly kept it there even though she felt him stiffen. “I should have realized! I’m not the only who’s had a rough upbringing. That’s why you recognized my pain so easily.”

  The muscle along his finely shaped jaw tensed. “You’re mistaken.”

  She ignored him and continued. “I must have sounded so thoughtless and cruel just now. You’re not an ogre at all.” Heat rose in her cheeks, for she couldn’t imagine herself being so open with anyone, certainly not Mr. Postings. “In truth, I’m enjoying your company even though we’re having a difficult conversation. I wish we could simply chat about something less controversial. The weather is always a safe topic. Safe but dull. I’m very good at dull conversations. I have them with myself all the time.”

  She noticed his shoulders shaking and then he laughed out loud. He drained his cup of mulled wine and at the same time stood up, holding out a hand to assist her to her feet. “Our rooms must be ready by now. I’ll see you settled and then return down here to wait for your uncle. I’ll be leaving early, so I doubt I’ll see you in the morning. Perhaps we’ll meet again at one of the Farthingale parties.”

  She nodded. “I fervently hope so.”

  Oh, drat. Did she have to be so obvious in her desire to see him again? Fervently? He must think she craved more time in his company. Well, she did. But she didn’t want him to know it.

  He smirked, a dangerously appealing half smile that revealed he knew exactly what she was thinking and had no intention of encouraging her. He muttered an insincere reply about running into each other a time or two. “London’s big. Lots of balls, soirees, and musicales to keep you busy.”

  “I’ll see you at those, I hope.” She sounded hopelessly unsophisticated and he was no doubt cringing at the thought of her following him about like a lovesick kitten.

  “Perhaps.”

  He escorted her upstairs and waited while she entered her quarters. She took a moment to glance around the cozy room and let out a soft gasp when she noticed steam rising from the hot water in a tub positioned beside the fireplace. She turned back to him and smiled. “You ordered this?”

  He was standing in the doorway, looking impossibly big and handsome. “I thought you could use it after the long day. Your trunk will soon be brought up and I’ll send a maid to assist you. Lock your door once the maid leaves.”

  “Thank you.”

  He nodded. “Safe journey to London... Princess Sparkles.”

  “You too... Des.” She shook her head and smiled to hide her chagrin. She had never been pampered like this before and it felt good. She couldn’t wait to luxuriate in the heavenly scented water, take a long soak in it. It wasn’t just a bath, but one scented with lavender oils.

  She watched him saunter downstairs. He carried himself with a casual air of confidence that she found appealing. Too bad they couldn’t have spent more time together, for there was something about him that intrigued her. “I wish you were my Mr. Postings,” she whispered.

  Now why did that thought slip out?

  IF YOU LOVED ME

  CHAPTER THREE

  Desmond knew there was trouble the moment Rupert returned to the inn and slumped tiredly in the chair across from him. “What happened? Can the farrier not fix the wheel?”

  Rupert shook his head. “Wheel isn’t the problem. Apparently the undercarriage was damaged and that will take at least a week to repair.”

  “Too bad.” He called over the innkeeper and ordered a whiskey for each of them. “And a hot meal for Mr. Farthingale.” He waited for the innkeeper to hasten off, then turned to Rupert for the request he knew was to come, irritated by his own eagerness to accommodate.

  “Blackfell, I don’t have a week to spare. I must reach Coventry by Wednesday. You’re bound for York on the morrow. Let us ride with you. We’ll hire a private coach from there. What do you say?”

  He made no protest, for the chance to spend another day with Adelaide appealed to him more than he cared to admit. More important, her willingness to give up her happiness simply to please an undeserving father rankled him. It was one thing if she cared for Postings or might grow to care for him, but he didn’t think that she ever would, and he intended to use this additional time to talk sense into her. “Very well, but we must leave early.”

  Rupert flashed him his typical toothy grin. “I’m in your debt, Blackfell. Happy to return the favor.”

  “Not necessary. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll be off to bed.” He finished his whiskey and headed upstairs. He’d been given the room at the top of the stairs, the one next door to Adelaide’s. He’d ordered a bath for himself and intended to shave this evening to save a little time in the morning.

  While others of his station often traveled with a valet, he’d never bothered to engage one. He’d managed on his own for most of his life and was used to privacy, a word that did not exist in the Farthingale vocabulary. No, indeed. He’d never have another peaceful moment to himself if he got tangled up with a Farthingale.

  Stripping out of his clothes, he washed and then shaved. He’d just finished and was about to remove the towel wrapped around his waist before climbing naked into bed when he heard a scratching sound from behind a tall, decorative screen that covered a portion of the easterly wall.

  He crossed the room and moved it aside to discover a door behind it. Connecting rooms? Such access was common enough, but surely the door was locked for Adelaide’s protection. He stared at the knob as it began to turn, and held his breath. Was the little widgeon foolish enough to open it?

  She released the knob. After a moment he heard her soft footsteps retreating toward her bed and heard the soft creak of wood as she settled in. “Sweet dreams, Adelaide,” he muttered under his breath, chuckling and at the same time groaning, for his body was responding to her nearness with a throbbing heat.

  An intense and fiery heat.

  Out of curiosity, he reached for the knob. He hadn’t a clue what he would do if the door turned out to be unlocked. He knew what his body wanted to do.

  That wasn’t going to happen.
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  The girl was an innocent. She was also a Farthingale, he reminded himself. If he had any sense he’d remove his hand from the door and retreat to bed. Alone. In lustful agony.

  Silently, he turned the knob. Because I’m a complete and utter idiot.

  Locked.

  He lifted his gaze upward toward the heavens. “Thank you.”

  Hell’s bells! What had he been thinking?

  He turned away and crossed to his bed, flipping off his towel and climbing naked between the sheets. Alone. Still in lustful agony.

  Fortunately, the morning chill did wonders for restoring his composure. Desmond was washed, dressed, and downstairs warming his hands around a cup of piping hot coffee by the time Rupert and Adelaide joined him shortly after sunrise. Adelaide stifled a yawn and smiled at him, the smile reaching into her beautiful, shimmering blue eyes. “Good morning, Lord Blackfell.”

  “Good morning, Sparkles.” The girl was dressed in a simple gown of dark blue wool with a shabby, patterned shawl thrown over it, no doubt a keepsake handed down from her mother and for that reason, she’d never part with it. Her cloak was sturdy and sensible but not at all fashionable. She still looked exquisite.

  She laughed and shook her head. “I’d be a lot more sparkly if I had another hour or two of sleep. I can hardly keep my eyes open.”

  “You can rest in the carriage.” He turned to a passing servant and ordered coffee for her and Rupert. “Drink up. We must be on our way soon.”

  A short while later, his carriage was brought around. Desmond assisted Adelaide inside while Rupert took another moment to settle accounts with the innkeeper.

  Desmond noticed the worn state of Adelaide’s boots as well. He frowned, not liking the way this girl had been neglected. The Farthingales would remedy all that once she arrived in London. Still, it bothered him that she had nothing, not even a pretty clip or ribbon for her hair. He’d buy her something in York.