Margaret was completely bundled up against the cold. Thick coat, gloves, shawl wrapped around her head, giving the barest hint of the rich red hair that colored his dreams. The only part of her left uncovered was her piquant face.
Yet Joss found himself more powerfully seduced than he’d ever been by a reckless widow, welcoming him into her bed and wearing the merest whisper of silk.
Despite the cold, his blood warmed at the thought of Margaret wearing a whisper of silk.
“Remember that anything that goes up has to come down after Twelfth Night, and the person most likely to be cleaning up is me.”
He wanted to say that he’d be here, too. That he’d never leave.
Which was utterly mad. The house, however lovely, was in the middle of nowhere. He’d known the girl for three days.
A fortnight ago, he’d come close to quarreling with his mother, when he’d said he wasn’t coming home for Christmas because he couldn’t tolerate her matchmaking. Yet right now, if some angel floated down and asked him what he wanted for Christmas, he’d say he wanted to look at Margaret Carr until the day he died.
Sheer lunacy.
Joss summoned a light tone—more difficult than he’d expected—and sent the girl a mocking glance. “Tch. Tch. It’s poor spirited to be so hardheaded at Christmastime. If all we did was worry about cleaning up, we’d never do a damned thing.”
She frowned, although laughter still danced in those lovely eyes. “Your family will miss you. You’re clearly the king of Christmas.”
He should feel guilty. They would miss him, especially his mother, who loved nothing better than getting the whole family under one roof for the Festive Season. It would seem odd, not going down to the old house on the Sussex Downs, the house that had first sparked his love for fine architecture.
“I’d rather be here with you,” he said, before he could stop himself.
Maggie looked startled. “Thank you.” She considered his statement further. “I think.”
He spoke quickly to gloss over the sudden awkwardness. “If anywhere needs a visit from the king of Christmas, it’s Thorncroft. Why, when I arrived, you wouldn’t know it was the Festive Season at all. Not a ribbon. Not a garland. Not even so much as an echo of a carol. It’s like the house Christmas forgot.”
“Well, you’re fixing that,” she said drily.
He reached over to take her basket and toss it into the back of the cart. “See? I note a hint of cynicism. That’s the sort of attitude we have to change. And fast. Clearly this is a Christmas emergency, and that’s why fate has sent me to your door. There’s no time to be lost. Point me to the woodlands.”
***
Maggie laughed. And found herself laughing again and again, as she and Mr. Hale wandered the snowy woods behind the house in search of greenery. She’d thought they’d cut a few sprigs of holly before they headed home, but the cart was soon laden with boughs of pine and holly, enough to make the whole house bright.
The weather held while they were outside. Now and again, there was a glimmer of pale sunlight through the thick clouds. But as they turned back to the manor, the snow started again.
She turned her face up to the flakes and out of childish habit, stuck her tongue out to catch a couple. When she realized Mr. Hale was watching her, she blushed at her nonsense.
“It’s supposed to be lucky,” she said defensively.
“I hadn’t heard that.” He stared at her as if he’d never seen a woman before.
“Mamma and I used to play games in the snow. I don’t know if it’s a real superstition or not, but we always did it.” Her eyes flickered down, then up again. “You must think I’m silly.”
He smiled at her, and her foolish heart stuttered, although surely only the fading light lent such tenderness to his expression. “It’s nice to see you being a bit silly. You mostly seem to take life very earnestly.”
She should tell him to mind his own business. But she found herself responding honestly. “In recent years, I haven’t had much fun. We used to. Papa was a very jolly vicar. Everyone loved him, and his parishioners were devastated when he died. They wanted us to stay in the village, but they were so poor themselves, we couldn’t take their charity. Mamma and I continued to celebrate Christmas after we came here. I just…I just seem to have got out of the habit.” She smiled at Joss. “Thank you for reminding me that it’s the season of goodwill, not the season for sitting around feeling sorry for yourself.”
“You’re such a sparkling girl.” Her gratitude didn’t seem to please him. Instead he looked troubled. “You should have the world at your feet.”
She fought to keep her smile in place, although she cringed at the poor figure she cut with her lack of sophistication and drab clothes. When she’d give anything to dazzle him with her wit and beauty.
And all was not lost. He’d called her sparkling.
“Well, I do have the king of Christmas in my thrall,” she said lightly.
To her surprise, he touched her cheek with one leather-gloved hand. The contact was over in an instant. Surely she must imagine the blast of heat sizzling through her, heat that made a mockery of the freezing air.
“You do at that,” he said softly.
Her lungs stopped working, and she found herself enmeshed in his gaze, unable to break free.
Bob shattered the stasis. He butted his square head against Mr. Hale’s arm, protesting at standing still in the falling temperature. Maggie watched Mr. Hale come back to reality, as he turned to rub the pony’s nose.
Bob was clearly his devoted slave. Joss Hale had a gift for inspiring affection, Maggie had noticed. She hated to think she was quite as susceptible as the pony was to the man’s disheveled charms, but she suspected she was. Right now after her happiest hours in years, she couldn’t summon the will to resist a fall that began to seem inevitable.
“We’re too slow for Bob.” Maggie caught a faint huskiness in Mr. Hale’s voice that hinted he, too, had felt that strange connection with her.
He started to walk back toward the house, one hand holding Bob’s bridle, not that he needed leading. The pony had been born on this estate. Maggie fell into step beside them. An unexpectedly tranquil silence descended, broken only by the crunch of feet in the snow. The rest of the world lay hushed under the curtain of white.
When she stumbled over a branch buried in the snow, Mr. Hale took her arm, and she didn’t pull away.
“There’s another Christmas superstition in the valley,” she said, after they’d covered most of the way back.
“Oh?”
“Yes. If a stranger crosses your threshold in Advent, it means good luck.”
He gave a soft huff of laughter. “I hope to God that’s true.”
“I’m sure it is.”
But was she? When he left, she’d feel lonelier than ever. She’d barely endured her humdrum life, when she’d had nothing to compare it to. But after a mere three days in the company of this vigorous, attractive man, she already knew that Thorncroft would feel like a desert when Mr. Hale was gone.
Chapter 6
“Look what I found,” Mr. Hale said, coming back into the hall from the kitchens, where he’d gone to fetch a basket for the pine cones they’d collected yesterday.
Maggie turned from tweaking the holly she was arranging above the huge stone fireplace. They’d spent the morning decorating the hall. The formerly bare and unwelcoming space was now green and fragrant, and redolent of the season. All the other downstairs rooms sported vases crammed with holly.
“We should get a Yule log,” she said.
He laughed. “For someone who needed to be coaxed into celebrating Christmas, you’re getting into the spirit of things. We’ll fix it up tonight, when we come back from skating.”
“From what?” Then she noticed what dangled from those large, adept hands. “Oh, you found the skates. I’d forgotten we had them.”
“I didn’t know Uncle Thomas indulged.”
“I think t
he previous owner must have left them behind.” Although skating seemed an innocuous occupation for that wild young buck, given what she’d heard about him.
“Well, shall we?”
She shot the skates a doubtful look. “I haven’t been on the ice since I was a child.”
He took both sets of skates in one hand and extended his other hand toward her. “I won’t let you fall.”
She wished she could be so certain. And she wasn’t talking about sliding around on the ice.
Since yesterday, she’d given up any pretense of keeping Mr. Hale at a distance. This morning, he’d touched her often, seemingly casual little contacts, helping her carry things, or lifting her down off the ladder. And she, knowing the risks she took, hadn’t said a word to deter him.
Perhaps she was already skating after all—on very thin ice indeed.
Maggie might be inexperienced, but she wasn’t stupid. She knew a girl asked for trouble when she encouraged a young man to touch her and smile at her and spend time alone with her.
“It might be fun.” She stepped forward and took his hand, loving the way those long fingers wrapped around hers.
He was so warm. That was irresistible on a cold day like this. Goodness, it was irresistible in a cold life like hers.
She was falling, whatever promises he made to her. And she wasn’t doing much to save herself.
“Is there a pond?” The spark of approval in his green eyes made her heart swell with happiness. “There must be, or they wouldn’t have skates here.”
“There’s one that freezes solid most winters. Shall we go and see?”
“Get changed, and I’ll meet you down here.”
She rushed upstairs on feet that flew, because she didn’t want to be away from Mr. Hale any longer than she needed to be. After all, she’d be without him for a long time once he left her.
***
There was something evocative about silent woods where the only tracks belonged to wild creatures like deer and pheasants and rabbits. It was still freezing, but the snow overnight hadn’t been as heavy.
The pond, as Joss expected in this magic kingdom, was perfect for skating. Long, and wide enough for acrobatics should he decide to show off, and fringed with willows turned to white lace with frost. A thick branch even extended over the ice, ideal for them to sit on while they strapped on their skates.
Slipping a little, he ventured out to test the thickness, but a lifetime’s skating with his family already told him that the ice would easily bear the weight of two people.
Margaret hovered on the bank, looking uncharacteristically nervous. Carefully he made his way back to her. The ice was deuced slippery, which boded well for a good afternoon’s sport.
She was bundled up again, like she’d been yesterday. When he reached out to take one gloved hand, he was pleased at how readily she accepted his touch.
He’d been touching her most of the day. The pleasure had soon turned to torture. Because the brief, chaste contacts weren’t enough. He wanted more than to place a hand at her waist to steady her as she climbed up to drape ivy over a picture, or suffer the cool brush of her fingers as she passed him the scissors.
His fingers itched to linger and explore. His arms ached to draw her close. He burned to kiss her.
Hell, he wanted to do much more than that.
Margaret had no idea how close he’d come this morning to slamming her up against the wall and kissing her to the edge of madness.
But every time his desire threatened to overmaster his honor, she looked at him with such shy trust that he couldn’t do it. She was looking at him like that now.
“Don’t tell me you’re scared,” Joss said in gentle reproof.
She cast an uncertain glance at the pond. “I’d much rather watch you.”
“Not good enough. I’ll hold your hand.”
More torture, not that he had any intention of denying himself the privilege. He squeezed her fingers in silent encouragement and pulled her toward the branch over the pond. When she resisted, he looked back with a smile.
“Don’t be a goose, Margaret. A woman who can defend her castle from a great brute of an invader can’t be scared of a little ice.”
“But I didn’t. The brute got in anyway.”
Yes, he had, hadn’t he? “You’re wittering again, my girl.”
Spreading his feet to keep his balance, he caught her round the waist and lifted her across to sit on the branch.
She scowled at him with adorable displeasure. “You can’t win every argument by grabbing me and putting me where you want me.”
“Why not? So far, it’s working.” He returned to collect the skates from the bank. “And don’t think of moving.”
“You’re such a bully,” she said without heat.
He smiled. “You just don’t like anyone else giving orders. Are you going to let me put on your skates?”
“If you insist.”
“Good.” Taking off his gloves, he dipped to his knees. When he lifted her foot, it looked absurdly dainty in his hold, despite the sensible half-boot. He took a moment to admire her shapely ankle in its black woolen stocking. Deftly he buckled on the skate. Then he repeated the action for the other foot.
“Stay there,” he said, his voice gruff as he fought the urge to bury his face in her lap. It was cold enough to freeze the balls off a polar bear, yet Joss felt so hot, he could explode.
He sat beside Margaret, and this time was cautious enough to keep his distance. All this agony was to no purpose, even if she said yes—and that was as likely as that freezing polar bear dancing a gavotte. He could hardly seduce the girl on a snowy bank.
Once his skates were on and he’d replaced his gloves, he stood and launched into a powerful glide across the ice. He came to a stop and twirled several times before facing her. It seemed he did want to show off.
Her face was alight with admiration. “My goodness, you look at home.”
He skated in and held out his hands. “Come on. You’ll like it.”
Inevitably his mind focused on something else she’d like. To his relief, she wobbled so badly on her skates, he had to put his licentious thoughts aside and concentrate on saving her from toppling over.
“Go slowly,” she said, at last finding a tottering balance.
“I won’t do anything you don’t want me to.”
Devil take it, did everything he said have to sound like an invitation to bed sport?
He stared into her eyes and waited for her to stand up straight and steady. Very slowly, he backed out onto the pond.
As he’d expected, she soon found her feet, and her grip on his hands loosened from the deathly clutch. “Better?”
She nodded, although the tense line of her lush mouth told him she wasn’t yet at ease. “Yes.”
“Can I let go of one hand?”
Shakily she released his hand, and for a few moments, they skated side by side. With every minute, she gained in confidence. Gradually he built the pace, until they glided smooth and graceful across the ice and the wind lifted his hair.
He glanced at her face and was delighted to see pleasure had replaced terror. Her cheeks were flushed, and her remarkable eyes were bright. He drew her around in a great swooping arc that sent her skirts belling out.
“You’ve remembered how,” he said, as she stopped beside him with breathtaking skill.
“I’d forgotten what fun it is.”
“We’ve hardly started,” he said, wanting to show her every pleasure in the world. And for once, he wasn’t thinking about what he wanted to do to her in his bed.
Right now, in her dowdy winter clothes, she was the loveliest woman he’d ever seen. He’d met society’s beauties, and none could hold a candle to Margaret Carr on this hidden, icy pond in the depths of wildest Yorkshire.
He caught her free hand and turned around fast, surprising an excited laugh from her. Then he caught her waist and skated swift as an arrow down the pond. And damn him, if she didn’t
keep up. When they reached the end, she pulled away to skate free. For breathless minutes, he pursued her as she swung off, laughing. When he reached her, he spun her into a wild waltz.
He’d always remember these blissful hours, dancing across the pond with Margaret. Meeting. Parting. Meeting again. Touching. Breaking away.
The short winter day drew in around them, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave the ice.
Until finally he caught her by the waist and deliberately overbalanced into a thick snowbank rising above the edge of the pond.
Laughing, she tumbled down beside him, gripping his hand tight. “Oh, that was a rotten thing to do.”
Breathlessly he struggled up on one elbow so he could lean over her and stare into her unforgettable face. He watched the laughter fade from her eyes, as they darkened with sensual awareness.
Knowing he broke every rule, but unable to resist, Joss lowered his head and placed his lips on hers.
Chapter 7
Maggie knew Joss was going to kiss her. She even had time to say the words that would tell him not to.
Except she’d wanted him to kiss her since the moment skating had turned into flying.
No, that was a lie. She’d wanted him to kiss her yesterday, when they’d had such fun in the woods, cutting the greenery for the house.
Fun…
Who knew what fun fun could be?
Today had been fun, too. But fun spiced with a physical awareness that made every word, every touch feel like the gateway to some profound transformation. When his lips, a delicious mixture of cold and heat, met hers, she arched up in silent welcome. She slid her arm around his neck, knocking his hat off into the snow.
He gave a muffled grunt of amusement against her lips, before everything changed to dark delight. The warmth of his lips turned her bones to liquid, as she sank into a new and glorious world.
She’d never been kissed before. Her first reaction was surprise at the intimacy. Sharing breath with Joss felt like sharing her soul. Then more surprise when he nipped at her lower lip. The brief sting sent a shock of pleasure rushing through her.
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