He gave a curt nod. “You’ll see me sooner or later.” But she’d be formally betrothed to Postings by then. The less they saw of each other, the better. Her attraction to him was obvious, and though he was trying hard to deny it, he was dangerously attracted to her as well. The London gossips, particularly Lady Phoebe Withnall, would immediately pick up on the heat between them and not hesitate to destroy Adelaide’s reputation. He didn’t give a fig about his, for any scandal associated with him would only enhance his appeal.
He escorted her downstairs and they were soon joined by her father and an overly perfumed Helena. She graced her stepdaughter with a smile as welcoming as a blizzard, not a hint of warmth to be found in her features. What did Hugh Farthingale see in her?
Desmond was quite adept at playing Helena’s game and with a subtle glance, he conveyed adequate warning that he’d destroy her if she ever insulted Adelaide again. The woman received his message and strained to be polite to Adelaide. The innocent was so delighted, so eager to forgive both adults, that it was painful for him to watch.
He also knew by the snarl on Helena’s lips that she was going to draw her claws and hurt Adelaide the moment he wasn’t around to protect her. He decided to write a note of caution to Evie, ask her to watch over the girl and report to him if matters got out of hand.
Rupert hurried in, and after muttering apologies, joined them for the remainder of the meal. “Uncle Rupert, I’ll be riding to London with my father and Helena,” Adelaide said, unable to hide her glow of happiness, not that she had any reason to hide it. She’d dreamed of this moment for ten long years.
“You will?” Rupert’s bushy eyebrows furrowed in a frown. “Well, I suppose it makes sense. The sooner you’re in London, the sooner your father can arrange for a proper wardrobe for you.” He made no attempt to hide his admonition.
“A few gowns,” Helena said, each word as brittle as ice. “After that, she’ll be Mr. Postings’ responsibility.”
Adelaide blushed. “Assuming he offers for me.”
“He will,” Helena assured. “He wants your father’s business.”
Rupert set down his fork with a clatter, his bechamel sauce splattering on the table linens, and attempted to rise from his chair. “And he’ll gain a beautiful wife in the bargain. He’ll quickly come to realize that Adelaide’s the true prize.” If it weren’t for a sudden back spasm that forced him back into his seat, Rupert might have done physical harm to his cousin and Helena.
“Uncle Rupert,” Adelaide chided, leaping up to attend to him. “You’ll throw your back out again if you don’t calm down. Helena meant nothing by it. We all know his interest in me is about the business. You needn’t protect me from the truth.”
Desmond knew he ought to keep his damn mouth shut and not meddle - like a Farthingale - in their family affairs. But if he heard Adelaide defend the indefensible one more time tonight, he was going to explode. He drained his glass of wine in one gulp and set it on the table. “Miss Farthingale...” Shut up, you idiot. “Miss Farthingale–”
“No, not you too! Please, er... um... Lord Blackfell.” She left Rupert’s side and came to stand beside him. He was already on his feet and straightened to his full height so that he towered over her. She wasn’t in the least intimidated. “If you’re thinking to defend my honor, then sit back down. I can defend myself. Not that I feel the need to do so with my own family.”
“You and your uncle are my guests at present. I will not have either of you slighted.”
She groaned softly. “Are you in your cups, my lord?”
So what if he was? The girl was beautiful enough to drive any man to ruin. Beautiful and achingly vulnerable. “I am no such thing.” Because if he truly were in his cups as she’d accused, he’d be hauling her into his arms and kissing her with enough heat to set fire to the whole damn dining room. Hell’s bells. Everyone was gaping at him, servants included.
“Can we please not quarrel on our last evening together,” she said in a whisper, glancing around the table, but Desmond knew she was directing the plea at him. “Having us all together is a dream come true for me. This will be the best Christmas ever. I look forward to celebrating it with all of you.”
Desmond stifled a groan. Helena was going to dig her knife so deep into the girl, it would cut through bone.
“A lovely thought, child,” her father said and raised his cup to toast her.
The rest of the meal, which felt endless to Desmond, proceeded uneventfully. Rupert excused himself to retire to his quarters. “Blackfell,” he said, taking Desmond aside as the rest of their party strolled out of the dining room and into the music room for drinks and entertainment by a string quartet, “now that Adelaide will be returning to London with her father, I don’t wish to hold you up just for my sake. I can hire a carriage to take me home once my business is concluded. It should only be another day. The contracts are drawn up and merely await signatures, but there’s no need for you to wait around.”
Desmond shrugged. “I don’t mind. We’ll leave the day after tomorrow.”
Rupert nodded. “That’s very decent of you.”
He said nothing, merely ran a hand roughly through his hair. In truth, he had a bad feeling about Adelaide’s father and Helena. He wanted to wait around to make certain all went well with their departure and that Adelaide still wished to ride with them.
He remained polite throughout the musical entertainment and lingered downstairs for a drink with Mr. Greer after everyone had retired to their chambers for the evening. Finally, he returned to his room and began to slowly undress, his thoughts on Adelaide and the fact that he’d been churlish on their last night together.
And the fact that because of the earlier room exchange with her parents, she was sleeping next door to him... a thin wall separating them... and another damn, adjoining door that had better be locked. Sturdily locked. Not one of those flimsy latches that would loosen at the slightest jiggling.
Don’t try it.
But he knew that he had to, if only to ensure that it was securely closed. Better to check it now while he still wore shirt and breeches, although he’d already unbuttoned his shirt. Breeches were still buttoned, but those buttons would pop if his loins grew any harder.
He took a step toward the door.
Stop.
Don’t.
Bollocks. His fingers curled around the knob. The damn thing clicked as he turned it. Be locked. Be locked!
And then the door swung open.
He caught sight of Adelaide.
A cannon burst exploded in his chest.
Hell’s bells, he’d forgotten how to breathe.
IF YOU LOVED ME
CHAPTER EIGHT
The well oiled door silently swung wide open to reveal Adelaide standing beside the fireplace, her ginger hair unbound and tumbling over her shoulders. She wore a thin night rail that barely covered her curves and hid nothing of her outrageously sensual body now illuminated by the fire’s glow. Des watched, still unable to catch his breath as she languidly stretched her body and purred, and all he could think of was to have her in his bed and deliciously purring for him as he touched her naked body and brought her to–
“Des! What are you doing in here?” She stumbled toward the bed, no doubt attempting to retrieve its coverlet and wrap herself in it. Her wide-eyed gaze remained fixed on him. “Oh, no. My fault! I thought the door was a cupboard. I unlocked it, but never got around to stowing my things. I... I didn’t know our rooms were connected.” There were two pieces of furniture between her and the bed. She tripped over both, falling over the chair and managing to smack her hip against the small table.
He caught her before she tumbled to the ground.
Big mistake.
She gaped at him with big, blue eyes and a luscious pink mouth that was open and inviting. His gaze fixed on the outline of her breasts as they rose and fell against her thin night rail. More explosions rocked his body as he watched her rosy nipples turn pebb
le hard beneath the sheer fabric.
A gentleman would have released her and returned to his quarters with a hastily muttered apology, but he’d never thought of himself as a gentleman. Even if he had been one, Adelaide’s body was enough to turn him into an unrepentant sinner. Wordlessly, he put his hands on her hips and drew her up against his damp skin.
She gulped. “Your shirt’s open.” She gulped again. “Blessed saints.” Her breaths became fast and ragged. “What are you doing?”
“This,” he said in a throaty murmur and lowered his lips to kiss her with enough heat to torch this inn, to torch an entire village. He needed to touch and taste her, to feel the pressure of her soft lips against his mouth, to feel the silky curves of her body against his hard torso. He needed to do something drastic to get the unbearable ache out of his heart.
This probably wasn’t the best way to do it.
Not kissing her, not holding her, was the far better plan, but she would belong to Postings by next week and that had him rattled.
All the more reason to keep his hands off her, but he couldn’t.
He expected Adelaide to slap him and push away. Instead, her hands slid up his chest to brush aside his shirt so that she could cling to his bare shoulders. She responded to his kiss with innocence and passion, obviously as hungry for him as he was for her.
“Adelaide...” What more could he say? Be mine forever? He’d known her for a mere three days. But that didn’t stop him from running his hand up the front of her nightgown and cupping her exquisite breast.
He was a cur.
A mindless, besotted cur.
He kneaded the lush mound in the palm of his hand and began to stroke his thumb across her already taut nipple.
She moaned, holding nothing of her pleasure back as he bent his head and took one budded tip between his lips and began to suckle.
“Mother in heaven!” She wound her fingers through his hair and held him close. “Des,” she said with a sob, “I wish it was you. If only you loved me.”
That brought him abruptly to his senses.
But he drew away gently and placed a soft kiss on her lips. She was still clutching his shoulders and he felt her excited breaths against his chest. He groaned, wanting to ask her to marry him, but he’d only known her three short days which was too little time to know anyone well enough to take the drastic step she was hoping for. Besides, she held a frightening power over his heart and he wasn’t ready to surrender it yet.
She gazed at him in confusion. “Is there no hope for us?”
He ran a hand raggedly through his hair. “You mistake the reason for my kiss. What I intended to convey is the importance of attraction between a husband and wife. Not you and me as husband and wife,” he hastily added the moment he noticed her eyes turn to azure starlight. “Between you and Mr. Postings. You can’t marry him unless–”
She gasped. “Unless he makes me feel the way you just did?” Her hands curled into fists and the blue sparkle in her eyes turned fiery. “That is the cruelest thing anyone’s ever said to me. How could you? Especially knowing how I would respond to you. How much I... oh, get out! Go back into your cave and stay hidden there until the world ends. Don’t you dare approach me again, not ever. And you thought Helena was cruel? She’s nothing compared to you.”
He knew he’d just ripped out her tender heart and tossed it to the ground. Stomped on it. Kicked it around because stomping on it wasn’t hurtful enough. Why had he entered her chamber? To satisfy his need for one more kiss and then go on his merry way?
Stupidest reason ever contrived, for now he was more deeply in love with her than ever.
So why couldn’t he trust his instincts? Why couldn’t he give her the power to stomp all over his heart as he’d just done with hers?
Deep inside, he knew she’d always cherish the love he gave her. But he’d been hurt too often, had the promise of happiness dangled before him and then harshly yanked away so often, that he’d lost the ability to trust. He needed time. He needed more than these three days.
He wasn’t about to fall on his knees and give up all control.
The words he truly wanted to say caught in his throat. “Safe travels, Adelaide,” was all he managed instead.
***
Adelaide sensed something was wrong the moment she came downstairs early the next morning and saw the look on Mr. Greer’s face. “I was just about to send one of my maids up to you, Miss Farthingale. To deliver this. It’s from your father.”
“Oh.” She felt all the blood drain from her body and pool in a messy puddle on the floor. She didn’t need to read the note he held in his outstretched hand to know what her father had written. Change of plans. Had to leave without you. Ta, ta. See you never. But she took it from the kindly innkeeper and thanked him before hurrying into the inn’s gaily decorated parlor and collapsing into one of the plump chairs beside the hearth.
The hour was quite early and she didn’t think any of the other guests were stirring yet, but Mr. Greer had already lit the fire. It’s heat did little to chase the cold ache from her heart.
Ignoring all the trappings of holiday spirit and good cheer, she unfolded the elegant paper with trembling hands and attempted to read it. Her tears fell and blotched the words. It mattered little. She could make out most of what it said anyway, mostly about his and Helena’s change of plans and a lame assurance that they would see her in London on the night of Lady Postings’ party. “Happy Christmas to you too,” she muttered and tossed the note into the fire.
She took a deep breath, needing to compose herself before she faced Desmond and begged a ride to London. She took another deep breath because everything was spiraling out of control and she didn’t know how to fix all the rips to her heart. So she buried her face in her hands and allowed herself to cry.
“Sparkles. Bloody hell.” Desmond knelt beside her, giving her no time to wipe away her tears before he cupped her face in his big hands and turned her toward him. “I knew it. Did they leave without you?”
He sounded furious, no doubt because he didn’t want her riding with him all the way to London. Well, too bad. She had no other way to get there, so he was stuck with her for another day. Perhaps two. She didn’t want him to see her like this, but she couldn’t seem to hold back her traitorous tears. “Why are you awake this early?”
“I was worried about you,” he said, his voice exquisitely gentle as he stroked his thumbs over her damp cheek to wipe them dry.
She tried to turn away, but he wouldn’t let her. Now she was not only miserable but angry. “Worried? Hah! I think you and Helena are in a hideous competition to see who can hurt me most. It’s a very close call. You’re both doing an excellent job to... to...”
“Bollocks,” he muttered and bent to kiss her, but she turned away. She could no longer tell what he was thinking or feeling, only that he didn’t love her. She twisted out of his grasp and withdrew the yule bough she’d stuffed in her reticule. “This needs to be tossed into the flames as well. I’m going to cut it into little bits, whack it with an axe for good measure, then toss it into the roaring fire piece by piece and watch every last leaf and twig burn.”
He caught her hand and held it lightly. “Stop, Sparkles. I’m worried about you.”
“You needn’t be. A girl can only take so much disappointment before she stops believing in rainbows and moonbeams and learns to toughen her heart. So don’t call me Sparkles. I’m Adelaide. That’s all. A girl nobody wants.” She leaned close to the fireplace and began to break apart the bough. “I don’t need my father. I don’t need Mr. Postings. And I especially don’t need you.” She tugged at the bough when it proved harder to tear apart than she expected.
“Bollocks,” she muttered, repeating his mild oath. “You haunted my dreams again last night, Des. So much for sleeping with this stupid thing under my pillow. It doesn’t work. It’s made a mockery of the ancient lore.”
“How so?” he asked, the hint of a smile crossing his l
ips, but she couldn’t be certain because tears still clouded her eyes and she couldn’t see his face clearly. All the better. He was too handsome by far.
She frowned at him. “I just told you. My dreams keep showing me you, even though Mr. Postings is the man I’m supposed to marry. Assuming he still wants me, which I doubt. Stupid lore. Stupid shattered hopes and dreams.”
“Give me that.” Desmond took the bough out of her hands and set it on a nearby table. “Let me see your hands. You’ve cut them.” He gave her no chance to protest before he withdrew his handkerchief and pressed it to one palm and then the other. “I’ll have the innkeeper bring in soap, water, and a clean cloth.”
Adelaide rolled her eyes. “Stop making a fuss. It doesn’t hurt.”
“Be quiet, Sparkles. Nobody likes a marchioness who whines.” He continued to dab at the bloody cuts on her palms.
“I told you not to call me Sparkles. And I’m not whining. Most of all, I’m most definitely not a marchioness. I’d have to be married to a marquis for–” She gasped. “But I’m not married to one. The only marquis I know made it very clear last night that he has no use for me.”
“That marquis is an idiot.”
She gazed at him in confusion. “You do realize I was referring to you.”
He nodded. “I do. I’m trying to make amends and beg your forgiveness,” he said with a wince. “That Yuletide bough doesn’t lie, so if your dreams were truly of me, then who am I to tempt fate?”
Her heart was beating so fast, she feared it might burst. “Oh, Des. It’s all right. I forgive you, but you don’t owe me marriage for hurting my feelings. I’ve been hurt by those closest to me and managed to endure. I will admit to feeling wretched right now, but I’ll recover.”
“I hope so, Sparkles. Because there’s nothing so beautiful as your smile or the glow in your eyes, and I’d never forgive myself if I was to blame for crushing that precious light out of you.” He shook his head and sighed. “A mere four days. I suppose that’s how long it takes to know one’s heart. I knew it long before that, but didn’t want to trust it or believe that I could fall hopelessly in love so fast. I never thought I would find love.”
Under The Kissing Bough: 15 Romantic Holiday Novellas Page 90
