His old greatcoat fit her fairly well, and he complimented her on how very gentlemanly she looked. That elicited a grin and a bow, despite the fact that with that long, curling tail of hair and those very long eyelashes no one could be fooled by her clothing for as much as a second. He led the way outdoors, offering his arm to help her negotiate the low snowdrifts on the drive. Before they reached the edge of the lake, though, something occurred to him, and he stopped.
“Wait here for just a moment,” he said, and strode back to the house.
Udgell pulled open the front door just as he reached it. “Your Grace?”
“Decorate for Christmas,” he said.
The butler actually blinked. “You instructed that we were to dress the house during the night after all your guests had arr—”
“Yes, I recall. Bring it out now. Everything. I want fresh holly and ivy. And make certain we have a supply of chestnuts. And raisins.”
“I— Yes, Your Grace.”
“Don’t dawdle. And begin in the drawing room. That bit, at least, is to be finished by the end of dinner.”
Once he turned away, the butler shut the door rather firmly. Adam ignored that. A chit who hadn’t had a proper home in fourteen years and who now lived above a gentlemen’s club had never had a Christmas at a grand house. She’d already said this was her best Christmas. He meant to give her one to remember.
When he returned to her side, she wrapped her arms around his sleeve. “Is everything well?”
“Yes. Quite. So tell me, have you ever fished at all before?”
Sophia shook her head. “I once read Beakey’s book about the subject; evidently, according to him anyway, fishing is very nearly a religious experience.”
“Ah. I think you’ll find that it’s much more about worms and not sliding off your chair.”
She laughed. “If that’s the case, I shall master the sport in no time.”
His gamekeeper, Jack Daily, had selected a promising location close to the forest side of the lake. By the time they reached the spot, the fellow had already finished sawing a two-foot hole in the ice and had placed a pair of wooden benches on either side. Several feet away, a brazier with a small fire sat atop a sled.
“With yer pardon, Yer Grace,” the gamekeeper said, doffing his hat, “the worms is dug in too deep. I took the liberty of seizing a couple of chickens from the kitchen. The gizzards and necks and bits of feet, anyway.”
“Well done, Daily. Miss White is a novice, so please aid her accordingly.”
“Upon my honor, Yer Grace.”
To his credit, the servant didn’t even bat an eye as he took in Sophia and her unique wardrobe. Instead he helped her over to one of the benches, handed her a fishing pole, and placed a piece of a chicken’s innards on the hook for her.
“Now, miss, you’ll want to drop it into the hole. It’s weighted so it’ll sink, but ye have to flick it up and down. Pretend yer a bug that’s fallen in and yer drownin’, trying to get back out.”
Sophia nodded. “May I be a grasshopper?”
“Aye. Breams like ’em some juicy grasshoppers.”
“I’ll be a beetle,” Adam supplied, baiting his own hook and dropping it into the water. “Hold the pole lightly, but be ready in case you get a nibble. Don’t jerk it out of the water, or you’ll lose the fish.”
“Aye,” the gamekeeper took up. “Tease it, like ye want to kiss it.”
“Daily.”
The servant blushed bright red. “I beg yer pardon, Miss White. That were—”
“It was fine,” she interrupted, grinning. “A very good description. I knew precisely what you meant.”
Adam lifted an eyebrow, gazing at her from across the hole in the ice. “Oh, you did, did you?”
“Certainly. A little forward, a little back, until you’ve drawn him to the surface and his doom.”
She was laughing, but Adam decided it was a damned good thing she hadn’t set out to seduce him. He seemed to have no ability at all to resist her charms. And the fact that he could relax around her precisely because she had nothing to gain by befriending him hadn’t escaped him, either. Sophia White was unique in nearly every way he could imagine.
“Oh!” she exclaimed, jumping. “I felt a tug!”
“Be easy now,” Daily instructed. “Lure him to his doom.”
So the gamekeeper after three minutes liked her enough to adopt her choice of phrase. Adam shook his head, smiling. It seemed the only person Sophia couldn’t charm was his sister, and as far as he was concerned that was Eustace’s loss. He didn’t intend to miss out on any of it, himself.
* * *
“I’m certain this is one of the fish I caught,” Sophia said, motioning at her plate with her fork, “because it’s delicious.”
Adam sent her a mock glare from across the table. “You’re not in some way intimating that you caught better fish than I did, are you?”
“Better fish and more fish than you did,” she amended, grinning. She liked when he was at ease, relaxed and witty and amusing.
The oddness and awkwardness of three days ago seemed to have flown, thank goodness. She couldn’t imagine how dreadful it must be to be constantly compared to a man he detested, and by his own sister, to the point that he’d actually come to believe it himself. In some ways she was glad she’d spent so much time on her own, if that had been the alternative.
A shiver ran down her spine. She wouldn’t be on her own for much longer, and she was very likely to face a heavy daily dose of the same medicine that had poisoned Greaves. If Hennessy hadn’t threatened the Tantalus if she fought him, she would be halfway to America by now. Like Adam, though, she’d found herself in a position where she simply would have to clench her jaw, bite her tongue, and endure it.
She looked up at him again, grateful for the distraction. “They have a term for your good fortune, you know,” Adam countered.
“Skill?”
“Beginner’s luck.” He took another bite from his own plate. “And I instructed that you be served the fish I caught, to insure you the finer meal.”
“Ha.” Standing up, she leaned across the table to stab her fork into a piece of the baked bream on his plate. She popped it into her mouth. Then she made a face. “Oh, that one’s definitely yours.”
From the corner of her eye she thought she saw Udgell smile, but she pretended not to notice. Being caught with an expression on his face might cause the butler to expire. For a moment she wondered whether Lady Wallace would be dining on any of the fish she’d caught. Knowing the source of her meal would likely cause the marchioness to expire.
“Are you going to tell me why you kept me in the orangerie all afternoon and wouldn’t let me go up to change for dinner?” she asked.
“No.” His gray eyes practically sparkled as he answered her, so clearly something was afoot.
“Very well,” she said aloud. “But you know I’ll discover your plans eventually.”
“Eventually,” he agreed. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper, which he handed to her. “This came for you with the afternoon mail. It arrived just before dinner, so don’t bash me for keeping it from you.”
“I know you wouldn’t do that.” She looked down at it. “Oh! It’s another letter from Cammy.” Swiftly she opened it, skimming her eyes down the lines of neat handwriting. “She and Keating have read every book to be found at the inn, and Keating rode over to view the work on the bridge again today. He says he’s surprised, but you may know what you’re doing.”
“I’m all aflutter with the compliment,” Adam observed dryly.
Setting the letter aside for closer perusal later, she looked up at him. “How are the repairs going?” she asked, reflecting that she should have asked the question days ago. Of course she had an excuse, since Adam had been avoiding her, but someone could have told her. If she’d wanted to know. If she hadn’t known this holiday would be less enjoyable once her host turned his attention to his parade of potential brides
“Well. The snow tonight will set the schedule back by a day or so, but by Wednesday at the latest I should be able to send word to Keating and Camille to join us.”
“That’s grand!” she said, too forcefully.
When she’d received the Duke of Greaves’s invitation so close on the heels of Hennessy’s proclamation, she’d known immediately what she would do. She would have one grand adventure, at least, before she surrendered. Once here, of course, nothing had been as she’d expected. Over the last few days, even with the way she’d arrived, it had been … better than she’d imagined. Adam had made her feel special and wanted and even important. Would that change when his friends and his soon-to-be bride—whoever she might be—arrived?
Through the rest of dinner, even with his amusing banter, the question nagged at her. And then she felt selfish for wishing even for a moment that Cammy and Keating would have to remain at an inn over Christmas. That wasn’t fair to any of them, most of all Adam. He’d invited dozens of people to join him, after all, and she was the only one who’d managed to arrive. How did he truly feel about that, about having less and less time to choose a wife or lose nearly everything he valued and protected? This was just a pleasant diversion for her.
“Finished?” he asked on the tail end of that thought.
She set her napkin aside, and tried to do the same with all her worries about things she couldn’t change. When there was nothing to be done, worry simply took up space she could use for making pleasant memories. “Yes. And my bream was clearly superior to yours.”
“Mm-hm. Let’s adjourn to the drawing room, shall we? I’ve a mind to test your luck at faro.”
Sophia forced a smile. “I’m better at faro than I am at fishing. How many fish did you catch again? I’ve forgotten.”
“I caught three, and you caught … four, was it?”
“Five,” she supplied. “And the two largest.”
He stood. “Faro. Now.”
Her guilt easing at the sight of his genuine grin, Sophia joined him as they headed down the hallway. Adam pushed the drawing room door open and motioned for her to precede him. She did so, then stopped as soon as she entered the room. “Oh,” she breathed, delight tickling through her.
Gold and silver and red ribbons hung from the trio of chandeliers, twisting and crisscrossing each other on their way to all four walls. Bunches of fresh holly and ivy hung from all the chandeliers and draped across the mantel, red and white candles rising from the masses of greenery. On the end tables, baskets of glass balls rested, more candles set into them and sending a rainbow of reflected color singing about the room.
“Do you like it?” he asked from directly behind her.
“You made Christmas.”
“I had Udgell put Christmas out a bit early, but I’ll accept credit if y—”
“I love it,” she broke in. “It’s … magical. Thank you so much.”
“You’re most welcome.”
Sophia turned around, flung her arms around his neck, and kissed him. She couldn’t not do so. The beautiful joy of the room demanded it. Even if there had been a hundred people present instead of just the two of them, she would have kissed him, anyway.
Adam kissed her back, putting his hands around her waist to pull her close against his hard, lean frame. “If I’d known it would please you this much, I would have done it earlier,” he murmured, and touched her mouth with his again. “Though I don’t think I knew you well enough until now to realize how … important it would be to do so.”
“That’s why I like it so much,” she returned, turning her head to view the sparkling room again. “Because you did realize.” She felt a warm tear run down her cheek. Until that moment she hadn’t realized she was crying.
He lifted a hand and brushed the tear away with his fingers. “I probably could have told Udgell not to bother hanging the mistletoe,” he mused, kissing her cheek where the tear had been. “It doesn’t seem to be necessary.”
She spied the plant with its deep green leaves, hanging off one of the ribbons that looped before the fireplace. “That shows what you know,” she whispered, deeper excitement running like molten silver through her, and took his hand to lead him to the hearth and the thick rug before it.
* * *
Midnight had long passed when Adam opened his eyes. For a moment he wasn’t certain where he was, until he caught sight of the bouquet of mistletoe twisting lazily some twelve feet above his head. The drawing room.
Memory returned languidly, and he turned his head. Sophia lay against him, her head on his shoulder and his arm draped loosely about her hip. The fire behind them was nearly out, the glowing coals sending her glorious hair into a glinting, deep scarlet blaze across his chest.
And he, the man who always had something to do, somewhere to be, didn’t want to move. Naked, beginning to feel a bit chilled in the still room except for where her warm skin touched his, he felt … content. Him.
Then Sophia stirred. Adam quickly closed his eyes again, feigning sleep even as he decided that was a silly, childish thing to do. He felt her head lift, and then cold down his left side as she sat up. Evidently she didn’t feel the same contentment that he did, though his was rapidly beginning to fade.
She returned, sitting beside him, and the cool sensation of a blanket draped over him up to his chest. A moment later she lay down against him again beneath the blanket, and her lips brushed feather-light against his cheek. Her head settled on his shoulder once more, and he pretended to stir so he could circle her waist with his hand.
Once her breathing softened and deepened into sleep, he opened his eyes again. What kind of life had he lived, that he couldn’t recall moments like this? That he’d never experienced this … peace before now? Or that he’d never met anyone with whom he could simply relax before a dying fire? She’d covered him with a damned blanket, when he wouldn’t know whether she’d spared him a thought or not.
She’d said he’d made Christmas for her. If he could continue feeling like he did at this moment, he would gladly make Christmas for her every day. He would give her much more than that, if she would only allow him, if he could have some assurance that whatever drudgery awaited him in life, so would this … perfection.
Sometime after that he fell asleep again, and only awoke when a wet, snuffling nose stuck itself in his ear. “Damnation,” he muttered, shoving Brutus away from him. Sophia was gone from his side, but a second later he heard her quiet chuckle. “That’s a fine good morning,” he said as he sat up.
Sophia was perched on the end of the couch closest to him, her bare legs tucked beneath her and only her man’s shirt concealing the rest of her lovely form from him. “They were pawing at the door,” she explained. “If I hadn’t let them in, someone would have come to investigate.”
“No, they wouldn’t, if they valued their continued employment. Toss me my trousers, will you?” Once she did so, he pulled them on and stood. “You prefer tea in the morning, yes?”
“Yes, but—”
Before she could finish her protest he opened the door. “Udgell. A pot of tea.” He closed the door again.
“But I’m mostly naked,” she said, her voice squeaking, and shot to her feet.
“He won’t come in.” Adam crossed to her, putting his hands on her shoulders and kissing her.
She kissed him back, her mouth soft and surprising despite the occasional biting wit of her words. “So Udgell knows to leave the tea outside? You must do this often, then.”
“Hm.” Firming his grip on her shoulders, he pushed her back down onto the couch. “I’m occasionally moody, as you might have noticed,” he said slowly. “When the door is latched, he leaves the tea outside.”
“Oh.” She frowned as he dropped down beside her. “I wasn’t trying to say I was jealous. Because I’m not. Evidently I’m simply not witty before breakfast.”
“Witty enough to have a dog sneeze in my ear.”
That made her laugh. “That was a happy coincidence.”
Jealous. Generally he detested that word. It had signaled the end of more than one arrangement with a mistress. At this moment, however, part of him wished she was jealous. This friendship, however, evidently didn’t work that way. Aside from that, in a few short weeks she would be married, and to a vicar, of all things. Lucifer’s balls, she would be miserable. And damn Hennessy for selecting a torture for her when he might just as easily have been kind. The fact that he would be in a nearly identical circumstance might have been ironic, but he didn’t find it all that amusing.
“This moodiness of yours,” she said abruptly, her jaw tightening a little, as though she wasn’t certain of his reaction. “Is that why you have houseguests over Christmas? Not this Christmas, of course, but generally.”
And just like that she figured him out. He had friends whom he’d known for years with less insight into his character. They saw precisely what he allowed them to see. He could dissemble, laugh away her suggestion, or attack in a different direction, but that would be doing both of them a disservice. “Yes. I don’t like it here, but having a large number of people about makes it more tolerable. It gives me less time to myself, I suppose.”
“If you don’t like Greaves Park, why do you come?”
“It’s the family seat.” He shrugged. “If I avoided it, people would notice. I’m not about to advertise a weakness.”
For a moment she studied his face, though he had no idea what she thought she saw. “I know you don’t need my advice, but perhaps having Lady Wallace here makes the circumstance more … difficult than it needs to be. Especially this year.”
This time he drew a breath, pushing back against the tendrils of annoyance that began climbing through him. He rarely required advice, and certainly not from a gaming room chit. On the other hand, she wasn’t that easy to classify. “Not all of my guests are unconcerned with their reputations. As I’m unmarried, I require a female hostess. A family member. Especially this year.”
The door handle rattled, and both Caesar and Brutus began barking. “Hush, boys,” Sophia chastised, reaching out with both hands to scratch the mastiffs. Unlikely as it seemed that this petite woman could manage those massive dogs, they both melted into tail-wagging, leg-thumping heaps.
-->
