The Earl's Christmas Consultant

by Bianca Blythe

  There was a glimpse of the lake at the clearing, and she noticed a figure on it.

  The earl.

  The man was skating by himself, and her heart tightened. His movements were strong and athletic, and he easily glided from one side of the lake to the other. Her cheeks warmed at the memory of her grasping hold of his hand, fearful of venturing more than a few steps onto the ice. Perhaps he didn’t flee because she was his servant. Perhaps he fled because she was much less accomplished than him.

  She went to the woodman’s cottage and unlocked the shed with the key the housekeeper had given her. She found the ax quickly, relocked the cottage and proceeded to the gathering of spruce trees. She grasped the ax in her hand. She’d never actually cut down a tree before, but the procedure seemed basic. She just had to hit the trunk with sufficient frequency and force until the tree toppled downward. The difficult thing would be to drag it back to the house, though she hoped the snow would at least lessen any damage. People might think the Christmas tree sufficiently strange without it appearing also misshapen.

  She moved quickly, despite the temptation to watch the earl skate, until she came to the grove of spruce trees. Flora inhaled the pleasant scent and selected the most symmetrical tree. It was nearly twice her size.

  A prickle of nervousness ran through her as she raised the ax. Her work before had not comprised of wielding medieval weapons, and she inhaled.

  Then Flora struck the tree. The ax hadn’t gone very far into the trunk, and yet it seemed to be stuck there. She bent down and yanked it out.

  It’s a start.

  She bent down and proceeded to strike the same spot.

  “What on earth are you doing?” A deep voice bellowed behind her, and she dropped the ax. It tumbled toward her toes, and then strong arms were about her and pulled her away. “You could have hurt yourself.”

  Flora’s heart beat wildly, and she turned in the man’s arms and tilted her head up.

  Not that she had to look.

  She already knew the owner of the voice.

  It was the earl.

  The man still clasped her in his arms. His eyes flashed, and she was conscious of the feel of his muscular arms as they held her tight. Her bosom was crushed against his chest.

  “Let me go,” she said. “Now.”

  WOLFE DROPPED HIS ARMS, and Flora stepped from them. He shouldn’t have been holding her so tightly. He shouldn’t have been holding her at all. “Forgive me.”

  He wobbled, and she looked down.

  “You’re wearing skates! You could have hurt yourself.”

  “I could have hurt myself? I’m not the person wielding a dangerous weapon.”

  “Those are more dangerous to your ankles,” she said.

  “I don’t care about my ankles,” he said. “I care about your life!”

  She blinked. “It’s simply an ax.”

  “And you’re cutting down a tree! It could fall down and crush you.”

  “I would step away before it did that,” she said. “Now I am working,” she said. “You can kindly go.”

  “You mean... You don’t intend to stop?”

  “I’m cutting down a Christmas tree,” she said. “I’m almost finished.”

  He gazed at the trunk of the tree. It did appear somewhat mangled.

  “That’s not a suitable task for you,” he grumbled.

  “And what is? Waking up at dawn for years? Scrubbing stairs? Until I became a lady’s maid and stayed up late at night to worry about my mistress’s attire? Truly, this task is not so unpleasant.”

  He felt his cheeks heat. Hades’ Lair did not demand such physical labor from him.

  “Forgive me,” he said again.

  “Just...go,” she said, picking up the ax.

  “Naturally.” His voice sounded husky, and he shifted his legs awkwardly. He’d practically sprinted the few feet from the ice when he’d seen her, and he wasn’t entirely certain how he’d managed to do so.

  “You can hold onto my arm,” she said.

  “That’s—er—unnecessary,” he said.

  “Last night you kissed me,” she said brusquely. “And now you cannot even touch my arm?”

  “I took advantage of the situation,” he said. “Of your...beauty. I am deeply, deeply sorry. And I will not do so again.”

  “You think I’m beautiful?” she asked.

  “That is not the part of the apology that you should be noting,” he said.

  “No?” Her eyes glimmered. Devil it. They looked like little stars. It was the sort of thing that made him want to give her more compliments, especially since they would all be utterly true.

  “If you think I’m beautiful, why did you run?”

  “Because I’m your employer, devil it. It wouldn’t be suitable.”

  “You run a gaming hell,” she said. “You’re hardly a man with flawless morals.”

  “Well, I won’t have any flaws that include hurting you,” he said. “You’re far too important.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Obviously.”

  “Then why did you not ask me what I might desire?” she asked.

  “What you desired?”

  She nodded.

  He didn’t have an answer. “But surely you couldn’t have wanted...?”

  Her cheeks pinkened, and she looked away. “Please go.”

  Right.

  He stumbled away, grasping hold of a tree branch, and then another one.

  “Don’t—”

  Flora’s call came too late. In the next moment, the branch, and Wolfe, toppled down. He was aware he was lying on spruce branches, that provided a bumpy barrier against the cold snow.

  “Fiddle-faddle.” Flora’s voice sailed toward him, and in the next moment she was kneeling beside him. “How are you?”

  “Still breathing,” he said, but his voice was hoarse, and when Flora’s head appeared beside him, her expression seemed distinctly worried.

  “I’m so sorry, my lord,” she said. “I didn’t mean for you to—”

  “Fall?”

  She nodded, and the pained expression remained on her face.

  “It just means that I was right to be suspicious of you chopping down the tree,” he said. “I recognized it as a danger...for me.”

  She gave him a wobbly smile. “Is there something I can do?”

  “You can fetch my boots,” he said, gesturing in their direction. “And then we can bring this tree to the manor house. At least it’s fallen down.”

  “So you’ll be able to walk?”

  He rolled off of the spruce and flexed his feet experimentally. “I think so. I just have one question.”

  “Mm...hmm?”

  He started to speak, but his heart seemed to have caught in his throat. He inhaled. “You told me that I didn’t ask you what you desired.”

  “Oh.” Her cheeks were certainly pinkening again, and she busied herself with smoothing the crushed spruce branches.

  “What did you mean?”

  She was silent, and for a horrible moment Wolfe thought he might have been imagining everything.

  “I’ve known you since I was very young,” she said, her tone more serious. “And I happen to be your servant now, but I don’t want you to think of me as only that. Because I don’t think of you simply as my employer.”

  “Then the kiss was not unwelcome?”

  “It was not,” she said.

  The three words were simple, but for him, they seemed the most marvelous words in the world.

  He squeezed her hand, and even though her hand was gloved, and even though his hand was gloved, energy still surged through him.

  “I know you’re a rogue,” she said hastily. “And I know that I should stay far away from you. After all, you have a bad reputation,” she said.

  “Perhaps,” he said lightly.

  Wolfe had found the fact he ran a gaming hell often made people assume all manner of things about him. It didn’t make him cruel, and unlike the peop
le who visited the gaming hell, he was always working.

  Wolfe knew that telling women that he was not truly as roguish and rakish as everyone said he was would be considered odd. He could let them believe that he spent his evenings wandering from ball to ball, bedding this woman and that woman, when truly the only place he was tethered was to the office in Hades’ Lair.

  “I’ve never harmed any woman,” he said. “I think if you’re an earl of a certain age you automatically get termed a rogue, whether you subscribe to their principles of seduction and abandonment or not. I don’t.”

  She shot him a smile that seemed to twist his very insides. “You did leave the ballroom quite hastily last night.”

  He nodded.

  “Besides,” she said, more seriously. “I am leaving for Cornwall directly after Christmas. I won’t see you again after that. I don’t want to spend the rest of my time here avoiding you, or having you avoid me.”

  Cornwall.

  It had seemed like a relief when she’d said for the first time that she didn’t plan to stay in Scotland, or even London. And yet now the word caused his heart to pang, even though everyone knew Cornwall was supposed to make one think of chalky cliffs and quaint fishing villages.

  “You’re right,” he said. “Then in that case...” He still lay on the snow, and he pulled her toward him. This time, he didn’t hesitate. He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to taste her, to feel her lips dance with his.

  The next minutes were pure bliss. It certainly didn’t matter that he was being pressed deeper into the snow. All that mattered was that Flora was in her arms, and that she seemed to be just as happy to be there as he was. He’d been a fool before.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Wolfe entered the ballroom. The day had been blissful, even if it had involved dragging a bulky tree from the lake to the manor home, and even though Wolfe wasn’t completely convinced having a tree in a ballroom was a good idea.

  Flora had managed to wrangle the tree into a makeshift holder that involved a surprising amount of ingenuity. The tree had water, as if it were a rose or tulip sitting in a vase.

  In five days Wolfe’s sister would arrive, and in seven days it would be Christmas, and the ball would happen. Wolfe didn’t want to think about what would happen on the eighth day. That was when his driver would take Flora to the village, and where she would take the first of many mail coaches that would take her all the way to Cornwall, and away from him forever.

  Soon she would be gone, and the other servants might send him alternatively sympathetic looks or ones of disdain. He didn’t want to break the trust that they had in him. And yet, if being properly involved meant not spending time with Flora, he couldn’t do that. Flora’s mere presence filled him with an energy he hadn’t known he lacked. If Flora didn’t mind his company, he would not retreat from her. He’d done that last night, and it had only caused his chest to ache and to have a sleepless night.

  “I think we are going to have a late night decorating this tree.”

  She smiled, and the world was wonderful. His heart felt light, and he helped her attach thin candles onto the tree.

  AFTER THEY’D EATEN, Flora contemplated the long stretch of ballroom. A single candle flickered golden light through the room, and her heart felt full.

  “You look beautiful,” Wolfe said.

  “I didn’t dress for dinner.”

  “You’re already spectacular.” He seemed to contemplate her and then he rose and strode toward her.

  Most likely he was going to take her into his arms again, a new habit that Flora was already exceedingly fond of. Instead though he lowered himself into a bow.

  “May I have this dance?” Wolfe asked.

  Flora’s eyes widened. “I don’t know how to dance.”

  “Then I’ll teach you,” Wolfe said.

  She nodded.

  He stepped closer to her. “Personally I am quite fond of the waltz.”

  “It’s Austrian,” she said.

  “I’m quite fond of things from that region of the world,” Wolfe said airily, and he arranged her arms. “Now follow my lead.”

  He explained some of the intricacies of the dance, and then they danced together, even though there was no music, no guests and no ball.

  “I think it must be very late,” she said finally.

  “And yet I’m not sleepy,” he said.

  “I’m not either,” she confessed. Sleep was rather an impossible concept when one’s heart seemed to leap and twirl.

  Flora and Wolfe strode together through the corridor to their rooms. At the top of the first flight of stairs Wolfe tilted his head. “Would you like to see my room?”

  The question was perhaps not one of only an option to evaluate interior décor.

  Flora wasn’t ready for the night to be over, and she nodded.

  “Come.” Wolfe took her hand and led her to his room.

  He lit a candle and placed it on a bookcase.

  “So this is what an earl’s room looks like,” Flora said.

  “Does it remind you of a duchess’s room?”

  Flora assessed her surroundings. The room was a deep dark green, a testament to the man’s love for nature. A large four poster bed sat in the room, facing large windows.

  The sun had long set, and she only saw an inky black sky.

  “This must be beautiful in the morning,” she said.

  She blushed. Perhaps it was somewhat inappropriate to mention what it might look like during the day. He was taller than her, and made her feel small. He was all muscular planes.

  Desire pulsed through her body, soaring with a speed not even the most adept pianist could equal.

  He pulled her closer to him, wrapping sturdy arms about her. The man wasn’t supposed to feel so warm. It was winter. And yet touching him seemed to send flames dancing through her very soul.

  And then his lips brushed against hers again. This time they were behind the sturdy wood door, most likely placed there centuries ago, and in no risk of collapsing.

  “It’s wrong,” he said finally.

  “I don’t care.”

  “You should leave,” he said, but his voice sounded faint, and he still stroked her back. “I cannot harm your reputation.”

  “Though that is kind of you, I don’t have much of a reputation to ruin.”

  “Indeed.” He stopped stroking her momentarily, and his eyebrows rose up in obvious surprise.

  “I mean because I’m going to Cornwall in a week,” she said.

  This time he stopped stroking her. “I’d prefer it if that was not the reason,” he said. “I’m going to miss you.”

  “Oh?” She assessed him. Somehow she hadn’t imagined him missing her. She’d known she would miss him...but that was different. His life was full and complete. She didn’t even know if there was a piano in Cornwall, or if there was, whether she would be permitted to play.

  “But you’re still here now,” Wolfe said, even though his voice wobbled somewhat.

  He carried her in his arms and sat her down on the bed. Her heart thumped madly, and she was conscious of the momentousness of this moment.

  His hands stroked her body, as if seeking to memorize each curve, as if finding the shape of each limb fascinating.

  He traced her collarbone, and then he feathered kisses over it. Heat soared through her at his touch.

  He clasped her toward him. “You are magnificent, my dear,” he said firmly. “Utterly magnificent.”

  She wrapped her arms about him, and he drew her even closer.

  “And now you must really go, before I ravish you,” he said.

  “I’ve heard that ravishing can be a nice experience,” she said.

  He groaned. “Flora.”

  Somehow the sound of her name on his lips was wonderful. She was still on the bed, and he kissed her more.

  She’d been aware of his powerful presence long ago, and he’d reminded her of his athleticism when he’d skated so easily. But even though she
may have said before that muscles could be intimidating, she only felt safe in his arms.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Flora stirred in a strange new bed that was more comfortable than anything she’d experienced.

  “Good morning, my dear,” Wolfe said, giving a kiss on her forehead.

  She scrambled up. “I shouldn’t be here.”

  “I disagree,” he said lightly.

  She glanced at the fire. It was lit, and it most certainly had not been lit late last night when they’d entered the room.

  “I’m afraid the maid already noticed you,” he said.

  “So the secret is out,” she said.

  He nodded. “Do you mind?”

  Her throat felt dry. “I suppose it doesn’t matter,” she said finally. “Since I’ll go to Cornwall next week.”

  The happy expression on Wolfe’s face vanished for a moment, but then he smiled. “I’m glad that you are not upset. Now let’s have a leisurely morning.”

  “I’m not sure I know how to have a leisurely morning,” she confirmed.

  “Then it is good I am an expert in the matter,” Wolfe said, kissing her again.

  One kiss easily turned into multiple kisses.

  It was no longer dark, and she could not pretend to herself that she was truly having a dream. This was Wolfe, and he was beside her, and it was wonderful.

  He pulled her toward him, and she continued to kiss him, feeling a hunger she’d not known she’d possessed.

  “WHAT WOULD YOU HAVE done if your father hadn’t died?” Wolfe asked, stroking her hair absentmindedly.

  “I always wanted to be a pianist,” Flora mused.

  “But I can help you with that,” he said. “I know the music scene in London. There are many excellent charitable organizations that can be of use to you, some of which I am on the board for. Once I return to London I can do that. You needn’t go to Cornwall at all.”

  Somehow the thought of her being in London filled him with joy.