Kissed at Christmas

by Christina McKnight

  Still, her heart told her it might not be too late.

  She could save him. Find out where the bullet had entered him and staunch the flow of blood.

  It had to have been gunfire that brought him down. She’d noted the flash as if it were very close to her, but she couldn’t stop to see who’d fired the weapon.

  There was no time for that.

  Perhaps her time had run out already.

  “Lady Mallory!”

  The shout was familiar, but she kept moving toward the figure crumpled only a scant few paces from the hedge maze. If he were still in danger, she would be at his side through it—for what else did she have if she lost him?

  A family who would rather keep her hidden? A brother who outright detested her for something she could not control? An aunt who sheltered her from the world but truly had done more harm than good?

  That could not be all that was meant for her.

  It wasn’t enough. It never had been.

  But this man, Silas, had changed all of that when he offered for her hand. Oddly, he likely didn’t realize he was saving her, just as she’d saved him at the tavern—the way she meant to save him today, if it was in her power. She would spend their entire lives saving him, if necessary.

  “Mallory!” The voice finally broke through her determination, and she halted, turning toward whoever shouted for her. “Mallory, stop!”

  It could not be. She would not believe it.

  Silas stood no more than twenty paces away, his face ashen with fear.

  She looked back at the man lying on the ground, noting his subtle movements.

  In an instant—or perhaps it was longer—Silas was at her side.

  “Silas…but…the vision,” she mumbled, her entire body trembling as she gazed up into his familiar clear blue eyes. Her hands moved of their own accord to cup his smooth cheeks. He was real and standing before her. “Who—what—I was wrong, dreadfully wrong.”

  “Shhhh.” Silas kept a hold of her, his comforting voice bringing a calm she’d never known. “It is only Slade, my brother, he is likely on one of his larks. And what is this mention of visions?”

  “He is not shot?” Her voice was shrill, her throat burning from her earlier scream. When he shook his head and gestured toward the fallen man—Silas’s brother—she noticed him pushing to his feet. “Twins?”

  She’d witnessed the scene through Silas’s eyes, not her own. It was his vision she’d seen, not a prediction of her own fate.

  As a pair, they moved to Slade. The resemblance to Silas was shocking. The only difference of note was Slade’s hair. It was cut shorter and did not have the unruly curls Silas favored.

  “Slade,” Silas growled, keeping her close to his side. “What is the meaning of this?”

  The man’s sheepish grin was as dissimilar to his brother’s severe smile as his sheared locks. “I found I lost a hefty amount at the tables and needed a quick exit before Lord St. Giles came calling for my debts.”

  “You’ve been at Keyvnor for no more than two hours.” Silas released her long enough to scrub at this face. “How is that possible?”

  “Not my night, dear brother, not my night. Besides, I wouldn’t put it past St. Giles to open fire on me. Thought it in my best interest to play dead, as it were.”

  “You thought it in your best interest to what?” Irritation laced Silas’s tone, and his brow drew low further darkening the night as anger rolled off him in waves, much like the sea battering the cliffs at Tetbery.

  Slade finally noted Mallory, his stare taking her in from head to toe as he responded to his brother. “You know, let the man think he got me.”

  “You are incorrigible.” Silas’s exasperation was evident.

  “Yes, but that is why I am so bloody sought-after,” he said with a chuckle as he stared at the terrace behind them. “Speaking of which, I best be going before St. Giles finds me here.” With a quick bow, he turned to her. “Lady Mallory Hughes, I presume?”

  “Yes.” Her voice quaked, and she took a deep, steadying breath before continuing. “That is I.”

  “Your resemblance to your sibling is also remarkable,” Slade crowed before turning and rushing toward the hedge maze.

  “Wait!” she shouted. “You know my brother?”

  “I may owe him a quid…or five hundred,” Slade threw over his shoulder with a shrug as he disappeared into the maze.

  Mallory stood silently at Silas’s side long after his twin had disappeared from sight, the fog of their warm breaths mingling in the cold December air. At some point, the evening chill had fled, and a heat now surrounded her.

  It finally hit her then, Silas had touched her face, held her gaze, and no vision had invaded. She’d sensed it coming, waited for it to slam into her conscious, but something in his stare had kept her grounded in the present, not some alternate future.

  “Tell me of these visions…”

  Mallory kept her eyes trained on the maze when she spoke for fear his interest would quickly turn to disgust, and he draw away from her. “When I come into contact with people—skin-to-skin—or touch objects, I see things. Things that have yet to happen, but will in the future.”

  “And you saw this moment with Slade?” he asked.

  “Yes, when you and I touched that first day at Tetbery—”

  “Your eyes?” It was a question he did not wait for her to answer. “They cloud, turn a deep grey as if a storm rolls over your sight.”

  “You noticed?” It was then she turned to him. His spoke with near reverence, not the sickened tones others used when speaking of her skill, not that more than a handful of people had been trusted with their family affliction. “My father begged me not to speak of it until after we were wed.” She turned away from him then, ashamed she’d agreed to dupe Silas. “I understand if my curse is—”

  Silas lifted his hand, caressing her arm before pushing back her hood. “It is not a curse. It is a gift…a very special, awe-inspiring gift.”

  “Not according to my family,” she confessed.

  “Then they are not looking upon the situation with open eyes.” His finger lifted her chin until their eyes met. “What have you seen of our future?”

  She knew her eyes clouded with his question—not with a coming vision but sorrow, defeat.

  “Come now, tell me.” His thumb lightly caressed her cheek.

  “In every vision of my future, which I see only through touching those close to me, I am alone.” It was gut-wrenching to admit. “But our betrothal gave me hope for a different outcome.”

  “And who says you’re destined to continue down the path those have envisioned for you?”

  “My visions have never proven false before tonight. And even with that, it was not completely inaccurate,” Mallory said, shrugging. She could not let Silas know how much she prayed the visions would not come true.

  “Then I think it is up to us to change the path fate has set for you.” He drew her close, their bodies pressed together, melding as if she belonged there, in Silas’s embrace. “Would you like to know what I think on the matter?”

  “I think I would,” she whispered into the night, her stare holding his. If she looked away, perhaps this moment would disappear as if it had never come to pass. She could not stand to live with that.

  “I think,” he started, pausing to place a kiss on her forehead, “we are bound by far more than our betrothal agreement. We will not be held apart by someone else’s vision of our future. With only the Christmastide moon above, and you and I below, I promise to give you the future you seek. I can promise you a home—several homes, if that’s what you wish—a family, and me. If that is enough…”

  “More than enough.” It was as if he’d read her mind, knew the things she longed for most, and promised to give all he possessed to make her not just content in their marriage but happy.

  “That is, if you can look past Slade’s rakehell ways and are fond of troublesome young girls who ask too many questions,�
�� he continued in a rush.

  “You need not convince me, my lord,” she said with a smile. “Even without the signed betrothal, I believe you are correct. We are bound under the Christmastide moon.”

  “My family is not extensive—” he paused, glancing toward the castle. “—well, until recently, I haven’t thought my family larger than my siblings and mother, which is not much to offer, but they are kind people. Loving and caring. They will support you—us, in whatever future we decide to embark on. I may not have unlimited funds as most men of the ton, but we shall live comfortably—in London, or at Ditchley Hall, if you prefer.”

  It was more than she’d ever dreamed possible for her future.

  Above them, a sudden glow caught her notice—the moon, it was as if it had brightened, acknowledging the truth Silas spoke and binding them together ever the more.

  It was then it hit her…with more force than any vision had.

  “My home, our home, will be wherever we are together, be it London or your country estate.” There was no fear with Silas at her side. If he deemed London was where they needed to be, then she would be there with him. If he preferred a quiet existence in Hampshire, so be it. He would never allow any harm to come to her, and she’d already promised herself to care and watch over him. “I will follow you anywhere.”

  He shook his head, and Mallory feared she’d misspoke. “No.”

  “No?” She knew her face paled for he leaned close, his hands cupping her face once more.

  “No, I’d prefer you stand at my side—my partner in all matters, not follow my lead.”

  Not follow his lead, Mallory pondered.

  Pushing to her tiptoes, she asked, “Do you truly mean that, my lord?”

  When he nodded, Mallory pressed her lips to his, their bodies drawing close—his arousal evident in the way his hard length pressed against her belly, even through the layers of clothes, she felt every glorious inch of him.

  Oh, though theirs was a marriage of convenience—managed and arranged by others—Mallory had little doubt it would also be a love match.

  The Christmastide moon as her witness, Mallory would love this man for as long as fate allowed her breath.

  Chapter 15

  April 1812

  Mallory sat in the atrium at Ditchley Hall, allowing her eyes to drift shut and a smile to settle on her lips. The humid air and scent of budding blossoms was her solace for the morning as servants scurried about the estate in preparation for her wedding to Silas.

  She set her pruning shears on the workbench beside the sack of soil she’d carried in from the old, decaying shed in the far corner of the lawn area without opening her eyes. The room, with its many varieties of plants and flowers, had become one of her favorite spots at Silas’s country estate since she and Aunt Hettie had become regular visitors after they departed Cornwall.

  Servants and family alike gave her time and solitude during the early hours of the day.

  Sybil, Silas’s precocious younger sister, feared what the humid air did to her ebony locks. Slade was more often than not in London—or the local tavern in search of a wager. Aunt Hettie’s knees made it nearly impossible for her to move through the cluttered atrium.

  Odd that she’d come to think of Sybil and Slade as family. They’d eagerly stepped into the roles of doting brother—Slade—and eager-to-please sister—Sybil. Mallory was happy for their welcoming nature and the opportunity to be a part of an actual family. They cared naught about her peculiar ways, nor judged her for her tendency to shy away from the unknown.

  Since the new year passed, Aunt Hettie and she had come to think of Ditchley Hall as home.

  Mallory sighed, opening her eyes and returning to her task as footsteps sounded on the cobblestone floor. The solid, confident stride was one she’d come to know—very well—over the past several months.

  Silas.

  Only he dared invade her brief hours of quiet.

  His steps stopped directly behind her, and his hands settled at her shoulders, gently caressing. In quick order, his lips pressed to the sensitive spot behind her ear.

  “Are you certain this is what you want?” he mumbled, trailing his lips down her neck.

  The intimacy sent a shiver through Mallory and was likely one of the reasons she continued to visit the atrium each morning. Without fail, Silas came to her, and they were afforded a few moments, sometimes hours, of privacy before anyone came looking for them. If Aunt Hettie suspected their secret rendezvous spot, she mentioned nothing of it to Mallory.

  “I am certain.” In truth, besides her commitment and budding love for Silas, there was nothing she was more certain of.

  “It was much for Sybil to ask.” He straightened behind her, and the warmth of his lips at her skin receded.

  “I am to be your wife—a countess, no less—and it will be partly my duty to see that Sybil’s debutante Season is a crush.” Mallory had never thought she’d readily agree to spend any time in London, let alone chaperoning and sponsoring Silas’s youngest sibling. Yet, when the girl had begged her to journey to town during the height of the Season, Mallory was helpless to do anything but agree. “Besides, I must familiarize myself with town life…it is long past time.”

  “What about your…” His voice trailed off, and they both knew what he spoke of.

  “They hardly come anymore, and none since our time in Cornwall has been the least bit unsettling,” Mallory said, setting her shears down and turning to face Silas. It was another peculiar occurrence. Her visions had receded, only invading every few weeks. And they spoke of happy years to come. Was it Silas whose presence kept the visions at bay? “With your mother returning to France after the wedding, even with your aunts’ assistance, Sybil needs a familiar face by her side.”

  “And you are to be that familiar face.” He leaned down, placing a kiss to her forehead. “Yet, I cannot think to allow you to compromise your well-being to accommodate my family.”

  “Our family,” Mallory proclaimed, stepping back to look up into his clear blue eyes.

  “Yes, our family,” he said with a chuckle.

  “How is Lady Lichfield faring?” Mallory asked, hesitantly.

  “She still remains in her private chamber, but has allowed Aunt Regina to visit,” Silas confided. “I think she is counting down the days until her return to Paris.”

  “It is where she is comfortable, and we cannot deny her that.” Silas’s mother was an enigma that was not easily understood. The woman was almost childlike in demeanor and preferred her own company to that of others. Even Aunt Hettie had found it difficult to draw the woman out. “Aunt Hettie has spoken of your mother, and her happiness in Paris. She will be taken care of, and we shall visit when it is safe.”

  Silas wrapped his arms around Mallory and pulled her close. “Yes, I would like that very much.”

  “That is very good, because I must insist we see Mary Louisa as often as possible.”

  “When are your parents arriving?”

  “Mother sent word to Aunt Hettie that they’d be arriving today, likely before late afternoon.” It was the only unease that hadn’t been banished during the months spent getting to know Silas and his family. His family had been more than welcoming to her and Aunt Hettie. Mallory would go so far as to say that she’d grown closer to Slade and Sybil than she’d ever been with her own brother, Adam. “They will stay only two days and then return to London.”

  “That is likely for the best, However, we will journey to town next month.” Silas was determined to set to rights Mallory’s strained relationship with the marquess and marchioness, though Mallory had stated it was not something to hedge one’s bets on—as Slade commonly phrased it. “Oh, and I came in search of you for a reason.”

  “Other than a few stolen kisses?” she teased, thankful the conversation had steered in another direction. “Because I am not sure I can spare a moment if—”

  Silas captured her lips, cutting her words short.

  And Mall
ory could think of no other place she longed to be, and no other man she desired to be there with.

  It was still inconceivable that they’d found one another despite their different upbringings.

  Yet, with time, their bond had only grown stronger and deeper, defying everything Mallory had feared her future would hold.

  Silas sighed, their lips parting, and a frown creasing his face. “While I would relish nothing more than to remain here in the atrium with you until our morning nuptials, I fear we cannot.”

  An inkling of dread crept down her spine. “Why ever not, my lord?”

  “Because, our honored guest has arrived, and I cannot think of anything more fitting than to parade our love before the man, as he was fairly certain I would muck things up long before now.”

  Her stomach fluttered, and her heart raced at his mention of love. Swallowing hard, she said, “Surely, he was not so rude as to say that…”

  “But he was thinking it, I assure you,” he replied with a wink.

  “Then by all means, let us not tarry, and rush to greet the esteemed Mr. Horace Peabody to welcome him to Hampshire.” Their mutual family solicitor had been the source of much merriment over the past several months. Mallory had discovered he’d been the lone man privy to both Mallory’s secrets and that of the Lichfield family; yet, he’d championed their match. She was greatly looking forward to making the man’s acquaintance at long last. When Silas moved to her side and offered his arm, Mallory slipped hers through his without a second of hesitation. “I suppose we owe Mr. Peabody our most sincere gratitude, do we not?”

  “I guess it is only his due,” Silas said, straightening his shoulders. “Though, I am hesitant to abandon our solitude, even for Mr. Peabody.”

  Mallory patted his arm, her light laughter echoing in the vaulted room.

  As they approached the door that led into the main house, the frame shuddered as it swung open, crashing into the wall behind it. Slade skidded into the atrium, his boots slipping in a puddle created when Mallory had given the plants their morning watering.

  “What in the bloody hell?!” Silas immediately pushed Mallory behind him as if preparing for danger. “Slade, why are you panting so hard? And your pants look as if you’ve rolled in the muck in the stables.”