The Earl's Christmas Consultant

by Bianca Blythe

“The maid brought them up to me.”

  “Probably because they were cooling in the kitchen,” Flora said. “Do you like them?”

  “They’re delicious,” he said.

  “Then I’ll make more.”

  “I didn’t hire you to be a cook,” he said.

  “And Christmas biscuits are an important part. Your cook told me she hadn’t even planned to make a Christmas cake.”

  “Well, surely there’s time...”

  “It’s supposed to be made a month in advance,” Flora said. “I’d hoped the biscuits could distract people.”

  “Don’t forget the mulled wine.”

  Flora giggled, and Wolfe wanted it to be because she remembered yesterday.

  “So this composer,” Wolfe said tentatively. “Is it the same person you played when I first met you?”

  Her smile broadened. “Indeed. In fact...I wrote it.”

  “Truly?”

  Flora smiled. “You needn’t look that surprised.”

  “Oh, no.” He scratched the back of his neck and attempted to muster a look of utter calm.

  “Are you surprised because I’m a woman?” she asked.

  “Naturally not,” he insisted. “But music is a whole language of its own.”

  She shrugged. “Yes. You could say that.”

  “And you’re a—er—”

  “A servant,” she said.

  He nodded.

  “I am,” she said. “I wasn’t always though,” she said softly.

  “Naturally. I’m sorry.”

  She’d been playing merrily before he came into the room.

  “Forgive me,” he said. “I’m simply astounded. But I don’t understand... Why would you keep it secret?”

  “I would rather not talk about it,” she said, and Wolfe narrowed his eyes.

  That would not do.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “That’s it,” Wolfe said. “We’re going outside.”

  Flora was not allowed to appear sad. He clasped her hand and pulled her from the piano seat. He shivered slightly, though that was likely because of the slight coolness of her fingers.

  Not the narrow distance between them and the view it provided of succulent lips and large hazel eyes.

  Naturally not.

  He dropped hold of her hand, but forced a smile on his face and vowed to cheer her up.

  “Where are we going?” she asked.

  “That’s not important,” he said, frantically thinking of a place she might find amusing. “The important thing is that we are going to have a good time.”

  She blinked, and then her lips spread into a smile that made him certain he was doing the correct thing, even if he’d already spent the entire last day with her and he was fairly certain most people would not deem it appropriate to spend so much time with one’s female staff.

  “The past is behind us, but right now, a good time is imminently possible,” he declared.

  “Oh?”

  He nodded. “I’m sure there are more things I can teach you about Christmas.”

  “You didn’t even know about the magic of mistletoe,” Flora protested.

  Wolfe smirked. “That’s true.”

  Flora narrowed her eyes, as if not quite believing him. That was because she was clever. Of course he knew about the wonders of mistletoe. He’d known back in Eton about it, and perhaps on reflection, that’s why he was eager to have his sister meet someone at Christmas. The holiday was rumored to be magical, even if he’d never seen any evidence.

  “Put on your coat and boots,” he said.

  “Oh?” She raised her eyebrows.

  “And then follow me,” he announced.

  “Just where do you plan to take me?”

  “Not far,” he said. “We won’t even take a sleigh.”

  “I suppose you desire to admire the grandeur of the home from the other side. Because I’ve already seen it.”

  “I know, silly thing,” he said.

  She flushed, perhaps at the familiarity, and the back of his neck warmed.

  “Come on,” he said, ushering her outside. “I just need to speak to a footman.”

  She frowned. “Are you certain this is not your method of flinging me from the house?”

  “Nonsense.” He grinned and then moved quickly downstairs. He wasn’t going to wait for a footman to answer a bell. He had an idea for where to take her, and it was wonderful.

  He soon procured a bag from the footman and slung it over his shoulder. Flora didn’t need to see the contents. Not yet at least.

  They left the manor house.

  Flora started toward the stables, but he grabbed her hand.

  “This way,” he said.

  “But there’s no road...”

  “What’s a few inches?”

  For a moment her eyes widened, and then she giggled.

  They moved over the snow. Their gait became more awkward, and he clasped onto her hand, lest she fall. Falling was the sort of activity that might lead to her catching a cold, and he had no intention of getting her sick. He wondered how her father had died.

  They rounded the house, and then he led them toward the clustering of trees. Beyond the trees was the woodman’s cottage, and beyond that, was the lake, which his valet had mentioned was frozen and which the downstairs staff had confirmed.

  “You’re taking us to the lake?” Flora’s voice wobbled, and she glanced uncertainly at him.

  “I’m taking us ice skating,” Wolfe declared.

  “But I don’t know how—”

  “I’ll teach you,” Wolfe said nonchalantly. “I believe you mentioned an interest.”

  Her cheeks pinkened. “That was years ago.”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  He hadn’t been skating for years. Wolfe inhaled the crisp, clean air. The sky was gray, but it no longer snowed. Evidently yesterday’s snowfall had sufficed.

  Finally, they came to the clearing through the trees. Hills sloped in the background, but it was the glassy center Wolfe pointed at.

  “Some of the servant boys went this morning. It should be quite firm.”

  “Oh. It’s beautiful.”

  He grinned. “Come on. Let’s go.”

  “I’ve never ice skated before.”

  “That’s why I’m going to teach you,” he said.

  She drew back. “I don’t have skates...”

  “I’ve brought my sister’s,” he said, removing glossy white ice skates from his bag.

  She drew back. “Would she like that?”

  “She’s not here,” he said. “Besides, I remember you being friends.”

  “That was a long time ago,” Flora said.

  Wolfe shrugged and led her to a stone bench some ancestor had had placed there. He gestured for her to sit and then knelt on the snow. It crunched beneath him, but he only smiled at her.

  “I’ll help you.”

  “I’m a lady’s maid,” she said. “I’m aware of the process of putting on boots.”

  “The trick is to tighten the laces,” he said authoritatively.

  He helped her slide her feet from her boots. He leaned nearer her, close enough for them to kiss, a thought that should not occur to him and sent butterflies fluttering through him all the same. Her feet were small, even when swathed in thick woolen socks, and he averted his eyes, lest he linger on the sight of her ankle.

  “Perhaps you should do them after all,” he said, and his voice sounded hoarse in his ears.

  Wolfe was accustomed to being surrounded by women who frequented the finest Parisian dressmakers, who wore dresses that highlighted their cleavage in vibrant colors that enhanced their coloring. Flora’s hair didn’t gleam like gold and her cloak could hardly have been termed anything but basic. And yet, at that moment, he wasn’t certain he’d ever seen a prettier sight.

  Dark tendrils peeked from her woolen hat, and her skin was flushed from the cold. She shivered slightly, and he hastily put on his ice skates. He then took her h
and. Their fingers didn’t touch: they both wore mittens. And yet some emotion seemed to rush through him anyway, some fire that warmed him and made him uneasy in the cold.

  It wasn’t possible that he...cared for her.

  Wolfe wondered whether he should curse the inconvenience. One wasn’t supposed to ponder the perfections of one’s servants. And yet Flora wasn’t just a servant, and a strange hopeful feeling seemed to flutter in his chest. It was the same feeling that made him think of pulling her into his arms, and the same feeling that made him think of kissing her.

  He swallowed hard and reminded himself she was only here briefly. After Christmas ended, she would go to Cornwall, far from Scotland, far even from London, and he would never see her again. Earls did not call upon women who worked as companions to widows in Cornwall, and something in his heart panged.

  He shook his head, as if the action would dissipate his sudden sentimentality. After all he was, what else was he supposed to do with himself now? It was perfectly natural for him to want to spend time with her. No guests had arrived yet, and it was important he monitor her progress, and that they discuss details.

  He didn’t desire to dwell on the fact that inviting her to go ice skating could be described as distracting her and that they could not very well install an ice pond in the ballroom for the guests to enjoy.

  Skating with her now was purely pleasure, even though it involved excessive layers of attire and the risk of falling on slippery ice. He hadn’t intended to go skating with her this morning, but he was happy he’d invited her. Ice skating always cheered him up. It would be pleasant to focus on something besides ledgers.

  He grasped her hand firmly and strode toward the pond.

  “I don’t think I’ll be very good,” she warned him.

  “It will be fun. I promise.” He turned to her. “But if you don’t like it at any point, you can simply tell me and we’ll stop.”

  She smiled hesitantly and moved tentatively over the snow. He offered her his hand and she took it.

  He hadn’t realized that teaching someone ice skating necessarily involved holding their hand, and something in his heart ached, like a note of warning. Finally, her legs seemed to straighten and her shoulders moved back, and she flashed a smile at him.

  They wobbled as they walked through the snow on their skates and then he stepped onto the ice. He smiled, enjoying the new texture of the ice beneath him. He’d forgotten just how much fun he’d had with this. He glided over the ice and then returned to help Flora onto it.

  She stepped tentatively onto it and then stopped. “It’s slippery.”

  “That’s the point.”

  “But it’s very slippery.”

  “I won’t let anything happen to you,” he promised, not certain if he was only speaking about the ice.

  She inhaled. “Very well. I suppose I could try.” She extended her hand to him, and he helped Flora all the way onto the ice.

  He clasped her hand on his. She tightened her grip, and his stomach lurched. He inhaled, willing away the strange flutters in his heart, and guided her. Her legs were stiff, as if she’d locked them.

  “I can’t move anywhere,” she said sternly. “It’s impossible.”

  He grinned. “Not impossible.”

  She craned her neck down to inspect her skates. “I’m sure there must be a better way to construct these.”

  “They work fine. You just have to bend your knees slightly and move your feet to the right and left.”

  THE MAN WAS IMPOSSIBLE. He seemed to think skating easy.

  Flora inhaled the crisp air and gazed at her surroundings. The manor house was barely visible through the trees. Hills jutted up around the lake.

  Flora stumbled, and for a horrible moment, she thought she would fall. It would not be the most dignified manner to behave before an earl. “I think people are supposed to learn skating when they’re younger.”

  “I don’t know,” Wolfe said. “I think I’m enjoying it this way. I find this much more amusing.”

  “Because I’m a taller person now and am more likely to have a more dramatic fall?”

  “No, that’s not the reason.” She looked down at her hand. His hand was over hers.

  She shivered and she thought it was not entirely because of the cold. This was about him. The thought thundered in her mind. She should not have found herself outside. Skating was a sport, but it had differed from any other she had known.

  The butterflies that had fluttered through her body when she was five years old descended now, despite the frigid temperature.

  “I should have invited you when we were children,” he said more seriously.

  She shook her head. “I would have been too shy to say anything”

  She directed her attention back to her skates. “Are you certain there is something amusing about this, or is the only amusement seeing other people fall?”

  “Why would you say that?”

  “Because I think it quite likely that I will fall soon.”

  “You haven’t moved.”

  “Standing here is actually quite difficult. I would appreciate a tree to hang onto.”

  “I’m not a tree.” Wolfe smiled. “But you can take my hand, and I assure you it will be less painful than if you fall.”

  “I suppose there’s some veracity in that statement.”

  “Come,” Wolfe said. “We’ll proceed slowly.”

  “Exceedingly slowly.”

  “My preferred pace.”

  “Very well.” Flora inched one skate forward and then slowly moved the other one to match it.

  She took some steps tentatively on the ice.

  “Good job,” he said, his voice full of encouragement.

  She laughed. “You’re enjoying this.”

  He shrugged. “Perhaps. I’m glad to have something to teach you, since you’re giving your Christmas expertise.”

  “I should never have mentioned that I hadn’t been ice skating before.”

  “You’re sure you’re not enjoying this?”

  She sighed. She was enjoying this. More than was proper. Her heart felt full.

  “Excellent,” Wolfe said. “I can already see your talent.”

  “Nonsense.”

  Wolfe smiled. It seemed nice that they were smiling again.

  “I’m sorry I lied,” Flora said, and her tone was more serious.

  “You didn’t lie,” Wolfe said. “That was your business. You created the advert, and we answered it. Though perhaps I should ask Harrison to do more thorough checks in the future. We were perhaps so eager to secure your services that we may have been a bit lax.”

  “You don’t mind I’m not what you expected?”

  “I don’t mind at all.”

  Flora’s feet wobbled. For a moment she’d forgotten she was on skates, but Wolfe put his hands around her waist and steadied her. She was aware of just how tall the man was, and she tilted her head up so as to see all of him.

  His eyes were kind. They’d been kind even when he was younger. He brushed away a lock of her hair. “Now you can see better.” Then he rearranged her hat.

  Flora’s heart thundered in her chest. The gesture shouldn’t have meant so much. He was just being gentlemanly.

  And yet she was aware even in the wind of his masculine scent that sent more flutters through her body. She glanced up at his profile, noting his chiseled features.

  He was older than before, but it was him. It was Wolfe, no matter how nicely he dressed himself now, no matter that this whole place was now his.

  Longing rushed through her. His eyes seemed to soften, and then even though she was certain he was much taller than she was, his lips moved toward her.

  Was he going to kiss her? Was she closing the distance? Was he reading her mind? It seemed like he was narrowing the distance.

  The thought was ridiculous. They were of such different classes. Her heart shouldn’t be thudding in her chest as if the world might change. Even though she’d t
hought she’d mastered the art of skating, for some reason even standing on her skates seemed risky, and her knees threatened to buckle.

  She averted her eyes, not because she didn’t want to look, to see the gold rim around the green irises, but because she didn’t want to be foolish. If she saw tenderness there, it must be her imagination, or it must be simply the tenderness a kind man might have for a wounded animal.

  And then she fell.

  Inelegantly.

  “Fiddle-faddle,” she said.

  The moment was broken.

  “I let go of your hand,” Wolfe said apologetically. “It was my fault.”

  “You were arranging my hat.”

  “Yes.”

  They didn’t mention what else it seemed he was doing. Perhaps it was her imagination. It had to be her imagination. After all, he was an earl, and she was his servant. He was handsome and brilliant, and any lady would be happy to have him.

  He probably had had many women in his life. Women who didn’t spend their days working and their nights tucked into attics, sharing beds with other servant girls.

  And yet her heart still thudded.

  “Perhaps we should return,” she said.

  “Yes,” he said. “We’ve done standing. That’s excellent progress. We can move to skating another time.”

  “I did move that inch.”

  “Yes,” he said merrily. “Yes. You’ve gone skating. I should go back too. I have much work to do.”

  “Truly? You brought work with you.”

  “Yes,” he said, though he didn’t quite meet her eyes. “After all, I run a very large, very prestigious organization. I have much to do.”

  “Naturally,” she said, and she was once again aware of the disparities between them. She must have imagined the almost kiss.

  She wasn’t prone to imagining things, but surely it must be something that would occur to everyone, sometime.

  Or perhaps it was simply the power of Christmas, that made even the most unlikely things seem possible. Perhaps not all Christmas magic was good.

  She turned her head sharply. “Those trees look quite interesting.”

  “Well, they look like the other trees,” he said. “But yes, they are interesting, I suppose.”

  His tone was all politeness, but she refused to blush.