The Mistletoe Wager

by Christine Merrill

  He was staring into her eyes, and it made things difficult. For it reminded him of the way she’d looked at him that night, and how it had made him feel, and why it had been so easy to throw caution to the winds and kiss her when he had known he had no right to.

  But this time she managed to look away from him, instead of drawing nearer. ‘Of course,’ she said, and then she closed her eyes and dropped her head, as though praying that humility would be sufficient to bring this awkward scene to a close.

  He brought her hand to his lips and held it there. Her skin was soft against his, and he lingered over it for longer than a simple apology would warrant, imagining what it might be like to kiss her palm, her wrist, and all the rest of the white skin leading to her lips. And then he smiled, remembering that this was what had caused the problem five years ago. The suspicion that all parts of Rosalind Morley were eminently kissable, and his sudden, irresistible compulsion to test the theory.

  And now she was looking up at him again, over her outstretched hand, as though the kiss were causing her pain when he suspected that it was an excess of pleasure that was the problem. Should he take another liberty with her, she would yield-just as she had the last time. And he would probably run away from her-just as he had been running his whole life, from any situation that smacked of responsibility.

  And so he released her, smiling. ‘There. I hope it is settled at last. There is nothing wrong with you, Rosalind Morley. Nothing at all. Never mind what your father says, or what others might think of you. You are perfect just as you are.’

  It occurred to him, in an idle, confusing way, that it would take a lifetime to catalogue the things about her that were perfectly suited to his temperament.

  ‘Thank you.’ Her voice sounded hoarse, as though it were difficult for her to speak. He wished that she would call him Tremaine, and return some sharp rebuke that would put things back to normal between them. But instead she murmured, ‘I must go. To see about…something. And you must come as well. I…’ She touched her hand to her forehead, trying to remember, and then looked into his eyes again and went very still.

  Her vision cleared and she muttered, ‘Apples. That is it. We are bobbing for apples. Harry is there. I have managed to get Elise to come out of her room, but she is looking very cross with him, and threatening to go back to bed with a megrim.’

  ‘So I must let your brother drown me to put her into good humour again?’

  ‘If you would be so kind.’

  She held out her hand to him, and he was more than ready to follow wherever she might lead. But when he smiled at her, she looked so worried that he put on his most perturbed expression and yawned. ‘The least you could do is deny it, you know. If you wish me to behave, you will do much better with flattery than you do with the truth.’

  ‘If I flatter you, it might cause your head to swell more than it already has.’ She gave him her usually cynical smile. ‘I dare not risk it, Tremaine. Come on, then. We can finish this business by New Year if we apply ourselves to it.’

  Chapter Twelve

  Rosalind pushed him into the hallway ahead of her, announcing, ‘I have found him.’

  Harry beamed in triumph. ‘And about time. Do not think that you can avoid the party, Tremaine. It is hardly keeping in the spirit of the bet if you do not try.’

  Nick sighed, and prepared for a dunking. ‘Very well, then. What have I to do to get you to leave me alone?’

  ‘Play our little game.’ Harry led him into the hall and gestured expansively towards the centre of the room. ‘We have all had a turn, and the other guests are eager to see how you fare.’

  True to his word, there was a large crowd gathered around a basin of water, and the air smelled of apples. The daughter of a lord was holding a fruit in her hand and shaking the water from her pretty blonde locks, and everyone was laughing heartily and congratulating her on her success.

  There were calls of encouragement from the crowd, accompanied by drunken laughter.

  Tremaine approached the pan of water with caution, and looked down at the abused fruit floating there. He stalled. ‘And I am to…?’ He looked down into the water again.

  ‘Put your face in, grab an apple and bite.’ Harry was grinning.

  He knew that Harry would never be so foolish as to kill him in front of witnesses. The worst that would happen would be a wet head. Embarrassing, of course. But not so terrible, really. It would be over in a minute. Nick stepped up to the basin, bent awkwardly at the waist, and placed his face near the water.

  He dutifully chased one of the remaining apples around the edge of the pan, while Harry stood behind him, pretending to offer encouragement.

  ‘You have nothing to be afraid of.’

  Harry was laughing at him, the miserable bastard. But he could hear Elise laughing too, so he soldiered on.

  ‘The water is not so very deep. You will not drown,’ Harry said. And then he whispered, directly into Nick’s ear, ‘I’m right behind you.’

  Nick leaned too close to the water, trying to escape him, and took a quantity of it up his nose. He gasped and shot upright again, coughing, to the laughter of the crowd around him.

  Harry clapped him smartly on the back to clear his lungs. ‘There, there. You have it all wrong. You are not to drink the water. You are to eat the apple. Try again.’

  He glared at Harry and stared at Rosalind. ‘This is part of your brilliant plan, is it?’

  She gave him a frustrated smile, and said, ‘Take your turn and let others have a chance.’ She rolled her eyes and cast a significant glance at Elise.

  ‘Very well. But if anything untoward occurs I will hold you responsible, even in the afterlife.’

  ‘Tremaine, do not be an ass.’ She pushed past her brother, took him by the back of the neck, and pushed his face down into the water.

  This time he had the good sense to hold his breath, and came up dripping, with an apple in his mouth. To complete the humiliation of it, Elise was leading the crowd who laughed at his discomposure.

  ‘That was not so bad, was it?’ Rosalind grabbed him by the collar and pulled him out of the way of the next player. Then she took the apple from his mouth and offered him linen to dry his face.

  ‘Did I perform to your satisfaction?’ he asked, tipping his head to drain the water from his ear.

  ‘You were most amusing. Elise is laughing again-at you, and in front of Harry. That cannot but help put him in a good mood.’ She took a bite from the apple that he had caught.

  He watched her slender fingers caressing the fruit, her red lips, so memorably kissable, touching the place where he had bitten, the delicate workings of her pale throat as she chewed and swallowed. And suddenly he knew how Adam must have felt when Eve came to him with a wild scheme that he knew would end in disaster. He had agreed, because how could he have refused her, even if it meant the ruin of all?

  ‘It will not be long, I think, before Harry decides his pride is not so very important.’ She looked speculatively at Elise. ‘Then perhaps I shall be able to turn the rest of the party over to his wife.’

  ‘And when she is back as mistress of this house what shall you do?’ he whispered. ‘Do you mean to see Pompeii, then? Once you have your freedom?’

  The apple froze, halfway to her mouth, and she gave him a blank stare. ‘What do I mean to do? Harry is right, Tremaine. You are an idiot. Harry will send me home after the holidays. I will return to Shropshire and my needlework, my jelly-making and my good works.’

  He snorted at the idea. ‘Do you miss home so much?’

  ‘I do not miss home in the slightest. But where else am I to go?’ She took another bite of the apple.

  He watched her lick a drop of apple juice from her lip, and fought down the desire to suggest some good works she might try that had nothing to do with making jelly. ‘Now that you have left your father’s house, you might enjoy travelling. For you seem to have a taste for adventure.’

  She laughed. ‘Tell me, sir, whe
n you are in the city, what do you drive?’

  He thought for a moment. ‘At this time I have several carriages. A curricle, of course, and a high-perch phaeton as well. Pulled by the finest pair of matched blacks in London.’

  She gave a little moan of pleasure, and then looked him square in the eye. ‘We have a pony cart, which Father allows me to drive to the market in Clun. But only when the weather is fine and no one else is free to take me. The rest of the time I must walk.’ She pulled a stern face, probably mimicking her father. ‘But never alone. My father warns against the dangers present for young ladies travelling alone. But what they are I have no idea.’ She gave a dry sigh. ‘A trip to Pompeii might have seemed a lark to you, but it would be no more likely for me than a trip to the moon.’

  Rosalind was making her future sound quite grim, so he rushed to reassure her-and himself-that it needn’t be so. ‘Do not fear, little one. Some day you will find a man who will take you to Italy.’ Although he found that thought to be strangely annoying.

  She spun the apple core on its stem, looking for a place to set it. ‘I do not understand why everyone is so convinced that I cannot find a husband. As it so happens, I find them frequently enough. And then I find them wanting. I have had three proposals, just this year. All fine, upstanding men, who were willing to offer me a life no different from the one I have: full of restrictions and cautions and common sense. It appears being a wife is little different from being a daughter, and so I will have none of it. In this, at least, I am in full agreement with Elise. If a husband does not offer the love and respect I truly desire, and means to treat me no better than an overgrown child or an inanimate object, then it is better to do without.’

  This took him aback. ‘You have refused suitors?’

  ‘Yes, I have. The rest of the world does not find me so repellent as you must, Tremaine.’

  Here he was supposed to offer a compliment. But his glib tongue failed him, and the best he could manage was, ‘I would hardly say you were repellent.’

  She gave him a tired look and batted her lashes. ‘I shall cherish your sweet words on my journey back to Shropshire.’

  ‘But there must be some other alternative. Another place you could go…’ He racked his brain for a better answer.

  She set the apple core on the tray of a passing servant, and took back the linen she had given him to wipe her hands on it. ‘There is not. The fact of the matter is this: I have no other female relatives, and a father who wishes help with his parish. When I am finished here I will go where everyone expects me to go. Where I am needed.’ She tipped her head to the side. ‘Although I must say the parish would be better off if my father was encouraged to marry the widow who comes to see to the cleaning of the church. She is a very organised woman, and a skilled housekeeper. He is very fond of her. They would make an excellent match.’

  ‘If this woman is so well suited to your father, then why does he not offer for her?’

  ‘Because then what would become of me? While the widow is suited to my father, I do not like her at all. And two women under the same roof would be one too many, when those women are not in harmony. Any progress my father has made in finding a new wife will be thwarted by my return home.’

  He could not be sure, but he thought for a moment she glanced at him in a most strange way, and the pause before her next words was a touch longer than normal.

  ‘Unless there is any reason that I should not go back to Shropshire.’

  ‘When your brother is finished with you he means to send you back to your father, with no care for your future?’ The thought rankled, for it was most sweet to see this girl doing everything in her power to help the brother who cared so little for her.

  ‘When he presented the idea of a house party, he offered me my pick of the bachelor guests to prevent my flight.’ She glanced around the room and frowned. ‘Of course since he neglected to invite any single gentlemen, it has done me no good to entertain them. I have never seen so many happily married men, so many wives and children.’ She gave another sidelong glance at Tremaine. ‘You are the only unattached man in the house.’

  ‘That was most unfair of him,’ Tremaine agreed. ‘But do not worry. I am sure when you least expect it you will find someone to suit your tastes.’

  ‘The men who seek me out are hoping for a moderation in my character.’ She glanced in the direction of Elise. ‘Someone more like my sister-in-law, who has grown in the last few years from a naïve and somewhat awkward girl into a polished lady. I, on the other hand, am very much as you found me when we first met: wilful, short-tempered, and prone to acting in haste and following with regret.’

  He suppressed a smile. ‘I will admit your personality is more volatile than Elise’s.’

  She shrugged. ‘When the men of England come to value volatility over grace and candour over artifice, then I shall have my pick of them. Now, if you will excuse me, I should see to the other guests.’ She walked across the room to Elise, and said something that made the other woman laugh.

  He took a moment to admire the two women together, and had to admit they had little in common. Elise’s cool beauty was paired with an equally cool wit. The sort that made a man long to melt the icy exterior and find the warm heart beneath. And Rosalind? Her kisses were as tart as Elise’s were sweet. And her skin and hair tasted of cinnamon and pepper.

  He stopped and blinked. It had been years, and yet he could remember everything about that single kiss as though he had stolen it moments ago. With each new sight of her, the past had come flooding back, sharper than ever. She smelled the same, her skin was just as soft, and her face held the same mix of devilment and innocence.

  He glanced across the room at Elise, and tried to remember the kisses that he had shared with her the year they’d met. There had been months of dancing, laughter, and a few passionate stolen moments alone. But it was all a vaguely pleasant blur, and not nearly so clear as their time spent in friendship since. Try as he might, he could not sort the incidents of his engagement, supposedly the happiest time of his life, from his time spent with the dozens of other pretty girls he had known before and since.

  But he could still remember every moment of the hour he had spent with Rosalind Morley. The way he had felt when he’d looked at her. The way she’d felt in his arms. And how he had known it would be wrong to kiss her and done it anyway. She had positively glowed with an unsuppressed fire, and he had been helpless to resist.

  A sensible man would have pulled her out from under the mistletoe that night and sent her home to her father before anything untoward happened. It would have been far better to douse the fiery spirit, even if it had turned her tart wits to bitterness. Only a fool would have leapt into the flames and laughed as he burned.

  A fool, or a man in love.

  He turned away quickly and took a sip of his drink, hoping for a soothing distraction. But the spices in the mulled wine heated his blood rather than cooled it. Love at first sight. What an utterly prosaic notion. It lacked the sophistication of lust or the banal thrill of debauchery. It was gauche. Naïve. A simplistic explanation for a natural physical response to finding a beautiful young girl alone and willing, and taking advantage of the opportunity to kiss her senseless.

  And running away had been a natural response as well. He had given little thought to what the girl might have felt over it. She would have given the incident too much significance, since she had nothing to compare it with. He knew better. That brief intimacy, and his resulting obsession with it, was a result of too much whimsy in a season given over to such behaviour. To avoid such revelry in the future was the best way to keep one’s head and prevent further mistakes.

  He had ignored the vague feeling that his perfectly acceptable engagement to Elise was a misalliance of the worst sort. And the faint sense of relief he’d felt when Elise had rejected him. The feeling that he was very lucky to be free of it. His subsequent inability to find anyone to suit him better was merely selectiveness on h
is part. It did not mean that he’d given his heart away on a whim, several Christmases ago, and lacked the courage to find the girl and retrieve it.

  He shook his head. This was not an epiphany. This was temporary insanity-brought on by too many parlour games, too much punch, and a severe lack of oxygen from too many nights packed in tight at the fireside next to people who were happier in their lives than he. One did not make life-altering decisions based on a brief acquaintance with a girl, no matter how delectable she might be. And, even worse, one should not make them in the presence of mistletoe.

  Should he manage to get clear of his attachment to Elise, if he wished for the change to be permanent he should run and keep running. It would be even wiser to give a wide berth to Harry Pennyngton and all of his extended family.

  He took another sip of wine.

  But where would be the fun in that?

  His sip became a gulp, and he choked and spluttered on it, gasping to catch his breath.

  A hand hit him sharply between the shoulderblades, to help him clear his lungs. And then hit him again out of sheer spite.

  ‘Anneslea,’ he gasped.

  ‘None other.’ Harry was grinning at him again, revelling in Nick’s distress. ‘First I see you nearly drown in the apple bucket, and now in a single glass of wine? It is a good thing I am here to take care of you. Heaven knows what might happen if you were left on your own.’

  There was probably a double meaning in his words, just as there always was. But suddenly Nick found it impossible to care. He took in a great gulp of air, reached out and took Harry by the shoulders to steady himself, and announced, ‘I am a faithless cad.’

  Harry clapped him on the back again. But this time it was in camaraderie. ‘You have realised it at last, have you? Good for you, sir. And a Merry Christmas to you.’ Then he disengaged himself and headed back to the apple barrel.

  Nick stared after Harry, wondering if the man had interpreted that as an apology, or just a random statement of fact. Apparently, he had come to some level of self-awareness. But what was to be done about it? If he ran to Rosalind with the news, he was not positive that his discovery would be welcome. And even if it was, he did not dare risk breaking her heart again until he was sure how things would come out.