The Mistletoe Wager

by Christine Merrill

She looked from her husband to the people around them. ‘I know. It is the wrong venue, if we do not want our problems known to all of London. But at least I know that you cannot walk away in the middle, before you have heard what I mean to say.’ She took a deep breath. ‘In daylight, you treat me like a child if I wish to discuss matters of importance. But at night it is clear that you know I’m a grown woman, for you do not wish to talk at all. You visit me regularly enough. But I assume that you are hoping for a result from those visits. It must be gravely disappointing to you.’

  She felt his spine stiffen. And suddenly it was as though she were dancing with a block of wood. ‘I was under the impression that you enjoyed sharing a bed with me.’

  ‘I never said I did not.’

  He began to relax again, and his fingers tightened on her waist in a way that offered a return to intimacy should she be inclined.

  She continued. ‘But, pleasurable or not, I am beginning to think that nothing will come of it.’

  ‘Nothing.’ He grew stiff and cold again. ‘And I suppose you think you will do better with someone else? Is this one more way that you believe Tremaine to be my superior?’

  ‘I did not say that.’ For she was not the one that needed an heir.

  ‘But neither are you denying it.’ He stopped dancing and released her. ‘Go to him, then, and see if it is better. It is obvious that I have nothing that you want. And I certainly cannot buy you children.’ Then he turned and left her alone on the floor.

  Rosalind leaned against the closed door of the library and felt the breath come out of her in a great, choking sob. She had done an excellent job controlling her emotions, in regard to Tremaine. And now it was all collapsing. It had taken years to convince herself that her first response to him had been the result of alcohol and inexperience. She had been sure that if she met him again she would find him no different from a hundred other town bucks. He would be no more handsome, no quicker to take advantage of a foolish girl, than if he were a man of better character.

  But in comparison to the other men of her experience he was still perfection: sharp-witted, urbane and funny. And at such moments as he chose to turn his attention upon her he was no easier to resist than he had been that first day. And when they danced…

  It was not fair. It simply was not. To be in the arms of a man one barely knew and feel convinced that one was home at last, finally in the place where one belonged. To feel all the wrongness and confusion of the rest of her life vanish like a bad dream. And to know that when the music ended she would find that she had confused dreams and reality again. Nicholas Tremaine was the fantasy. Not all the rest.

  If she could have a moment alone to gather her wits she would return to the ballroom as though nothing strange had happened. She would claim any redness of the eyes as brought about by cinders from the Yule Log.

  ‘Rosalind? Open the door, please. We need to talk.’

  She glared at the wood, as though she could see through it to the man on the other side. ‘I think we have talked more than enough, Tremaine. I have nothing to say to you at the moment.’

  ‘I need to know that you are all right before I return to the dancing.’

  ‘I am fine. Thank you. You may go.’

  ‘Rosalind! Open this door.’ He was speaking more loudly than necessary, perhaps so that he could be heard clearly through the oak.

  She rubbed at the tears on her cheeks. ‘Don’t be an ass. I am perfectly all right. Go back to the dancing, and to your…your…usual partner.’ The words came in little gasps. Even without opening the door it would be obvious to him that she was crying. She winced at having revealed herself so clearly.

  ‘Now, Rosalind.’ His tone had changed to coaxing. ‘What you think you saw in the hall today-it was nothing.’

  ‘Nothing?’ she parroted back. ‘Tell that to Harry, for he says much the same thing. But I am not blind, nor foolish, nor too young to know better. I can recognise “nothing” when I see it. “Nothing” is what we share. But you and Elise have “something”.’

  ‘Barely anything, really. We are old friends, just as I have told you. Exceptionally close, of course.’

  ‘Everyone knows about your “close” friendship, Tremaine. As apparently they always have. Nothing has changed in all these years. Everyone here can talk of nothing else.’ She tried not to think of that first foolish Christmas, when she had had no idea of the truth. And how much easier it had been to know only half the facts.

  He cleared his throat. ‘It is not quite as it once was. When I first met you, Elise and I had an understanding, and I was not free. Now? Now we have a different sort of understanding. And until I can sort it out I cannot call my future my own.’

  ‘Your future is no concern of mine, Tremaine. Nor do I wish to speak of how it once was. Frankly, I would rather forget the whole thing. I wish it had never happened.’

  There was a long pause. ‘And is that why you ran from the room after we danced? Because it reminded you of the first time we waltzed? I remember it well.’ His voice had gone soft again, quiet and full of seduction. ‘You were spying on the other dancers. I put a finger to your lips, to let you know that what we were doing was to be secret, and I pulled you out of the doorway and waltzed you around the corridor.’

  She remembered the finger on her lips, and the feel of his arms. And how, when she had been confused by the steps, he had held her so close that he could lift her feet from the ground and do the dancing for both of them, until she had dissolved into giggles. And then the giggles had changed to something much warmer, almost frightening. He had set her back down on her feet rather suddenly, and put a safe space between them to continue the dance. She wrapped her arms tightly around her own shoulders, trying to focus on the disaster that had ended the evening and not on how wonderful the dancing had been. But she would always remember her first waltz as a special thing, no matter what had come later.

  His voice was quieter, more urgent. ‘And I distinctly remember thinking, Ah, my dear, if only you were older…’

  She dropped her arms to her sides. ‘Really? Well, I am quite old enough now. And it makes no difference. Elise still leads you about like a puppy, and you still dawdle behind, sniffing after any available female. And if any of them get too close, you have Elise and your poor broken heart as an excuse to remain unmarried. Do not think you can play that game with me, Tremaine, for I know how badly it will end.’

  ‘Rosalind.’ He said it softly, and she waited for what might come next.

  When nothing did, she said, ‘Go back to the ballroom, Tremaine. And leave me in peace. Just as I wish you had done five years ago.’

  There was another pause, before she heard the sound of his footsteps retreating down the corridor to the ballroom. She crept further into the room and went to sit on the sofa, where she had so often found Tremaine. She laid her hand upon the cushion, imagining that there was still some warmth there. Why did everything have to be so complicated, so unfair? She was quite sure that of the four of them she was the least to blame for the mess they were in. Why was she the one who was being punished? For she suspected that, despite what he might feel for her, in the end she would be no closer to Nicholas Tremaine than she had ever been. He was everything that she longed for and always had been. But for the fact that he did not want her, he would be perfect.

  The door of the library opened and Elise stalked into the room, showing no respect for her privacy. She dropped down on the couch beside Rosalind and stared into the fire. ‘I do not understand your brother in the slightest.’

  Rosalind glared at her, wishing with all her heart that she would go away and take her close friend with her. ‘Then you are truly suited. For neither does he understand you.’

  ‘Harry claims to want me back. But now that I am here we do nothing but argue.’

  ‘You were doing that before, were you not?’

  ‘I was arguing. But he did not respond. And now?’ She shrugged. ‘It seems I can do nothing to please
him. He misunderstands me at every turn, and I cannot convince him that I do not prefer the company of Nicholas.’

  ‘Perhaps because he finds you in Tremaine’s arms in a public hallway begging you to give in to his desires?’

  Elise stared at her in confusion, and then said, ‘Today? That is not at all what was going on.’

  Rosalind cast a jaundiced eye upon her. ‘And did you tell Harry that?’

  ‘I told him that things were not as they appeared.’

  ‘Small comfort. You will not unbend sufficiently to put his mind at rest, but you still think all your problems are caused by what he does or does not say?’

  ‘You do not understand,’ Elise argued. ‘He becomes even angrier when I speak the truth.’

  ‘Well, let me be forthcoming, since you set such a high price on honesty,’ Rosalind snapped. ‘You were unhappy before you left because you did not know his mind, but now that you know it you are still not satisfied. Perhaps you are the one who cannot be pleased, Elise.’

  Elise shook her head. ‘That is because he is not being logical. One moment he wants me, the next he tells me he would marry again. He tortures Nicholas, but tells me to go back to him. He wants our life to be just the way it was before I left. But if I must lie to him, and tell him all is well, then what good will it be to either of us?’

  ‘Before he was trying to hide the truth, to keep the peace. But now that he must face facts, he is as angry and stubborn as you are.’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘Yes. You. You refuse to admit that you were happy, just as much as he refuses to admit his unhappiness. And if neither of you can manage a happy medium?’ Rosalind sighed. ‘Then I expect you will continue to make those around you even more miserable than you make yourselves.’

  ‘We are making other people miserable?’ Elise gave her a blank look. ‘I fail to see how. Everyone here seems to be having a delightful time.’

  Rosalind stood up and threw her hands in the air. ‘I stand corrected. All is well, and everyone who matters is perfectly happy. And, since that is the case, I need not concern myself with the situation. I am going to my room.’ She stalked to the door of the library. ‘And it will serve you all right if I do not come out until Easter.’ With that she stamped out of the room, allowing herself the luxury of both a muttered curse and a slam of the door.

  Elise waited until she was sure that her sister-in-law had gone well away, and then followed slowly up the stairs to her own room. Was it only a few hours ago that she had been convinced her problems were almost over? And now Harry was angry with her and Rosalind even angrier. Only Nicholas was still her friend. But it was most unwise to rely on him any longer if he wished to be free. Rosalind was right: she was making everyone around her miserable.

  Elise sighed in defeat. The sooner she learned to hold her temper and her tongue, the better it would be for all concerned. She would go to her husband, take all the blame onto herself, and beg him to take her back. Perhaps she would never have the sort of marriage she wanted, but anything would be better than the chaos around her now, and the aching loneliness she had felt when Harry had left her on the dance floor.

  She sent her maid away and undressed hurriedly, leaving the clothes in a pile on the floor. She rummaged in the wardrobe for the dressing gown she had worn on her first night with Harry. Would he remember it after all this time? Perhaps not. But if Nicholas was right it would not matter overmuch. Once she had come back to his bed Harry would cease to be angry with her. And if she could lie in his arms each night, the days would not be so bad.

  She wrapped her bare body in the silk and went to the connecting door. For a moment she was afraid to touch the knob. What would she do if he had locked it against her? But it turned as easily as it always had, and she opened the door and entered her husband’s room.

  To find it dark and empty. The candles had not been lit. The fire was banked low in the grate. And the bed was cold and still neatly made.

  She hesitated again, and then went to it, climbing in and crawling beneath the covers to wait for Harry. The night wore on, and the linen was cold against her skin. So she pulled her wrapper tight around her, curled into a ball and slept, shivering through fitful dreams.

  She awoke at dawn, still alone.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The next day, Rosalind felt even worse than she had after storming off to her room. She’d spent the night staring up at the ceiling, thinking of all the things that had gone wrong and all the ways the people in her life had failed her. And after a few fitful hours of sleep she had woken to find that her problems were not just a bad dream. The house was just as she’d remembered it: full of people she did not want to see ever again, and manned by servants who were just as slow and disobedient as ever. But, since it was Boxing Day, she was obliged to thank them for the fact, and respond to the lack of service with light duties and generosity.

  After a cold breakfast she went down to the library, to take it all out on Tremaine. He was lounging in his usual place by the fire, eyes closed and feet up, as though the struggle of tying his own cravat had caused him to collapse in exhaustion.

  She pushed his boots from their place of elevated comfort. When they hit the carpet she glared down and kicked them for good measure. ‘Get up this instant. You are required in the drawing room.’

  He sighed. ‘For what possible reason could you need me? Are there not enough drunken fools available to bend to your will? I swear, I still have the blue devils from last night.’

  So the tenderness while they had danced was to be explained by an excess of champagne? She said, in a voice that she hoped was painfully loud, ‘Then it is about time you learned moderation. A headache is no more than you deserve. Now, get up.’

  He draped an elegant hand over his brow. ‘Do you show such cruelty to all your guests, Miss Morley? Or do you reserve it especially for me? If I were in my right mind I’d return to London immediately.’

  ‘Do not think you can fool me with idle threats. The roads have been clear for several days, but you are still lying about on this couch, insisting that you will leave at any moment. If you mean to go, then stand up and do it.’

  ‘Very well, then. I admit it. I intend to stay for the duration of this farce, until I can see Elise safely back into the arms of her loving husband.’

  She glared down at him. ‘As always, I cannot fault you for your devotion to Elise. Let us hope, once she is settled and you are long gone from this place, that you can find some other woman who is worthy of such unwavering affection. But for now you will have to content yourself with my company, and I need your help.’

  He gave an elaborate sigh, to prove that her words had little effect upon him. ‘Very well. I am your humble servant, Miss Morley. What do you require of me now?’

  ‘Elise is out of temper with Harry again. She looks as if she has not slept a wink. Harry is little better. He appeared at breakfast still in his evening clothes, smelling of brandy.’

  ‘And what am I to do with that? Make possets and sing lullabies?’

  Rosalind smothered the desire to kick him again, and to keep kicking him until she had made her feelings known. She took a deep breath and said, ‘We are having charades. Elise adores the game, and I’m sure she will play to show the world that nothing is wrong. Harry means to remain in whatever room has the punch bowl, so he is easily controlled. I have prepared clues to remind them of the happiness that is married bliss. The game will either leave them in the mood for reconciliation or murder. At this point I do not really care which. Either would solve my problem.’

  ‘And what do I have to do with all of this?’

  She narrowed her eyes. ‘You need merely be as you are-incorrigible, irritable and unbearable. Harry cannot help but shine by comparison.’

  He sat up and glared back at her. ‘You have no idea what it means to know of your confidence in me. You have decided I’m unbearable, have you?’

  She lifted her chin and said, with all honesty, �
��Yes. I have.’

  ‘I was dragged here against my better judgement. For reasons that have nothing to do with the sincere celebration of the holiday and everything to do with schemes concocted by you and your brother. I am forced to be the bad example so that everyone else may shine. And yet you find fault with my behaviour?’ He had gone white around the lips, and was looking at her with a curious, hard expression, almost as though she had hurt his non-existent feelings.

  She shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot, and for a moment she was tempted to retreat. But then her anger at him got the better of her, and she retorted, ‘You talk as though you are the injured party in all this. I am sorry, Nicholas, but you are not. In my experience, you are just as I have described you. You are wilful, self-serving, and have no thought to the comfort of anyone but yourself. Because of this, you are finally getting what you deserve.’

  He stood up and came near to her. When he spoke, his voice was so soft that only she could hear it. ‘You have a very limited experience where it concerns me.’

  She shook her head. ‘I have more than enough.’

  He stared at her for a long moment, as though there was something he wished to say. Or perhaps he was awaiting a sign from her.

  She glared all the harder, and deepened her frown.

  At last, he said, ‘In your eyes I will always be a monster who ruined you and then abandoned you. Very well, then. Let us play-act. And I shall be the villain, since you have cast the parts.’

  He stepped past her and stalked to the door. On his way he stopped, looked down at the floor, and scooped up the tattered ball of mistletoe, which was out of place again. Then he turned back, glared at her, and threw the thing into the library fire.

  Nick preceded Rosalind into the drawing room and took a place at the back of the room, arms folded. The little chit had all but told him that he was repellent to her, and now expected him to do her bidding like a common lackey. Rosalind Morley had never been anything but trouble to him from the first moment he had laid eyes on her-cutting up his peace, altering his plans, and disappearing in body but remaining stuck in his mind like a burr, a constant irritant to his comfort. He had wondered on occasion what had become of her after they had first parted. In moments of weakness he had even thought about enquiring after her, before common sense had regained the upper hand. If a single dance with her had turned into his life’s most fateful kiss, there was no telling what a casual meeting or a friendly letter might become.