Mistletoe Wishes

by Anna Campbell

  She bit her lip, without looking away from the empty hills. Already she missed Joss so much. At last, she understood the true cruelty of her situation.

  She’d been lonely for years. Since she’d left her father’s vicarage after his death. Worse since her mother passed away.

  But Joss’s absence was a physical pain, a crippling loss. Loneliness bit far more viciously, when it focused on one desired person.

  Finally she saw what she wanted—dreaded—to see. The light was nearly gone, but against the snowy landscape of the high hills, the man leading his horse was clearly visible.

  Joss must have decided to walk to save Emilia’s leg. Maggie frowned. If he ran into bad weather with a lame horse, he mightn’t reach the village.

  “Dear God, keep him safe,” she whispered into the dusty, hay-scented shadows gathering around her. Her breath formed clouds in the freezing air. “Keep him safe, even if he forgets me and never comes back.”

  The sound of a human voice after the long silence made Bob whicker from his stall. Smith twined around Maggie’s legs, with a plaintive miaow to say she hadn’t been fed since Easter.

  Still Maggie watched as the man and his horse climbed up toward the pass and disappeared over the brow of the hill.

  He’d gone. And with his leaving, all the warmth and laughter and joy—and, yes, the promise of passion—had gone, too. If Maggie’s life had felt bleak before Joss’s arrival, now it seemed unbearably barren.

  She struggled to find the will to move, to put one foot in front of another. Smith complained again, and she bent to stroke the cat’s black and white head.

  Duty called. Emotional devastation didn’t change that.

  Feeling as though she was ninety years old and every movement hurt, she settled the animals for the night. As she crossed the yard toward the house, it started to snow. How she hoped Joss was approaching shelter.

  Back in the kitchen, she slumped onto the settle in front of the roaring fire. It was nearly dinnertime, but she didn’t do anything about preparing a meal. The thought of food made her stomach curdle. Smith curled up on her lap and bore Maggie’s sobs with good grace—for a cat.

  She could live without Joss. She’d only known him four days. That shouldn’t be long enough to change her whole future. A few kisses, some companionship, a compatible soul to share laughter. None of these things were necessary for survival. Although they’d been so very nice.

  She’d go on. She had to.

  And perhaps in time, he would come back as he promised.

  But the precious intimacy they’d found during these snowy days would never return. The bond between them had been a product of their isolation.

  Most likely Joss wouldn’t come back, and she’d continue as she had before. It would be as if nothing had happened. Because in the world’s eyes, nothing had. Nobody would ever know she and Joss had shared this house without the benefit of a chaperone. There would be no local gossip about the naughty housekeeper up at Thorncroft Hall, and what she’d got up to with the London visitor. Even if Joss had left her as innocent as when he’d arrived.

  Or almost.

  She remained a virtuous woman. Her chastity had been assailed, and she’d emerged triumphant.

  Maggie didn’t feel triumphant. She felt bereft and alone. Anger beat back her despair as she fumbled for her handkerchief and blew her nose.

  Twenty-five years of spotless propriety, and what did she have to show for it? Her good reputation and respectably preserved virginity didn’t make her any happier.

  She’d never imagined resenting the moral strictures she’d always obeyed. But as she sat forlorn in an empty house, when she could be enjoying Joss’s kisses and lying in Joss’s bed, her choice didn’t seem nearly so clear-cut.

  Joss had guessed how close she verged to throwing over her principles. He hadn’t left just because he feared for his own restraint. He’d left because he knew that Maggie hovered a kiss away from surrender.

  She’d never learned how to dissemble, and he was a perceptive man. He must guess she was falling in love with him. To his credit, he’d done the only thing a man of honor could do. He’d gone.

  And to her credit, she’d let him go.

  She didn’t feel much like patting herself on the back. Instead she felt like her courage had failed her when she’d most needed it, and as a result, she’d made the greatest mistake of her life.

  Oh, she knew the price of following the primrose path. The fishing village in Kent had its share of fallen women and bastard children. And her gentle, loving parents would never understand why she might go against everything they’d taught her to believe.

  But love had its own imperatives. And sitting in front of the fire on her own—and facing a life that promised more solitude—she couldn’t help thinking that sin might have its compensations.

  ***

  The lantern revealed an endless fall of white against the blackness. Joss sensed the hillsides crowding closer and closer as he approached the pass. The wind howled about him with an inhuman shriek. Despite the protection of his hat, icy water trickled down the back of his neck. Beneath his booted feet, the road was treacherous with ice. Behind him, Emilia continued to make awkward progress, favoring her lame leg.

  “Not far now, girl,” he said, but the gale whipped his words away.

  Probably a good thing. They were a damned lie.

  He’d thought he was cold the night he stumbled onto Thorncroft Hall, more a matter of good luck than good judgment. It didn’t compare to this icy hell. Yet he couldn’t be much more than a mile away from the hall.

  He staggered into a thick snowdrift and only kept his balance by wrenching at Emilia’s rein. He rapidly reached a stage where rational thought failed. One stubborn vow played over and over in his head.

  I must leave Maggie. It’s for her own good.

  I must leave Maggie. It’s for her own good.

  Each grim syllable tolled like a dirge, as he lumbered onto the road that took him back to his real life.

  His real life wasn’t this backwater. His real life was business, and London, and his friends and family, and the beautiful, sophisticated women who passed through his bed without leaving a trace on his heart.

  It was pure winter madness that right now only one woman’s face lived in his memory. She was a slender redhead who was far too good for him.

  Emilia nuzzled his back, and he realized he’d come to a dead stop in the blizzard. Even his thick wits recognized this was the surest way to ensure he never left this valley alive.

  He took a swig of his godfather’s brandy and patted his horse’s snowy coat. “I’m sorry I dragged you out into this,” he said through chattering teeth, as he slid the flask back into his pocket. He faced into the strengthening wind, which had veered around to blow straight toward him. “I had no choice.”

  But as he trudged ahead, making minuscule progress, he couldn’t help remembering Maggie’s stricken expression when he’d left. He’d nearly turned back at that moment, said to hell with honor. Joss Hale would recognize no law but the law of desire.

  Was he out of his mind to struggle out here, when a mile behind him, Maggie waited? Warm. Welcoming. Beautiful.

  Innocent. Unprotected. Gallant.

  No, he couldn’t ruin her for his own selfish pleasure. He wasn’t such a cad, God blast it.

  Joss gritted his teeth and narrowed his eyes against the flying snow. He pushed on and with every step, he battled to find some shred of compensation in doing the right thing, when wickedness was, oh, so tempting.

  Chapter 9

  Maggie had fallen into a troubled doze in front of the fire when the door to the kitchens slammed open, letting a blast of freezing air inside.

  Groggy and stiff with sitting still so long, she stumbled to her feet. Her sudden movement dislodged Smith, who jumped down from her lap and stalked off with her tail waving in displeasure.

  “Joss…” she said, wondering if she was dreaming.


  She hadn’t really been asleep. Or at least she’d thought she wasn’t.

  Forbidden joy overwhelmed her. Then she looked at him more closely, and concern overcame every response but the need to help. “You look terrible.”

  He was utterly exhausted, with his eyes sunk back in his white face. Those deep lines between nose and mouth were like chasms.

  Joss took a dragging step across the threshold, dropped his hat and saddlebags to the floor, and turned to fumble with the heavy old door. She rushed forward and slid her shoulder under his arm. He was freezing, shivering so violently that she had trouble holding onto him.

  “I couldn’t get through the pass.” His voice was hoarse.

  “Oh, my dear,” she said, before she could think to censor herself.

  He wasn’t getting far with closing the door. She gave the heavy door a kick to shut it and helped him across the short distance to the hearth. Thank goodness the roaring fire kept the kitchens so warm.

  Frantic, she tugged off his wet outdoor clothes and threw them to the floor. Her anxiety grew as he stood passively under her attentions. Joss Hale was many things, but passive wasn’t one of them.

  “God knows I tried,” he said through chattering teeth. As the heat worked on him, he began to steam gently.

  “I know you did,” she said softly, pushing him onto the settle and going on her knees to tug off his icy boots.

  And she did know. She suspected he’d tried far past the point where most men would have given up and turned back.

  He was staring at her the way he’d stared at her when he first arrived. “You’ve been crying.”

  She must look a complete fright, but when he reached out and touched her cheek, she almost didn’t mind. “Yes.”

  “I’m sorry, Maggie.”

  Sorry he’d left her and made her cry? Or sorry he came back? He looked too tired to meet emotional demands, although tomorrow they’d have to talk about what happened now. “How’s Emilia?”

  “I soon realized she wasn’t likely to make it. If she was in a better state, I’d have done my best to go on.”

  Maggie’s lips turned down in disapproval as she stood up. “Then you’d be a fool. This…feeling between us isn’t worth dying for.”

  “Isn’t it?”

  “No,” she snapped. She’d nearly lost him. To hide the queasy terror that thought aroused, she headed into the pantry to fetch some brandy. “Here. It will help.”

  As he accepted the bottle, he turned his face up toward her. Already some of the life came back into his features, but the hand that pulled out the cork was shaking. While he drank from the bottle, she went into the linen store.

  When she emerged, carrying towels and blankets, he was slumped in the chair. The sag of his body expressed deathly weariness, and his long legs stretched toward the fire.

  “Do you want me to dry your hair?” She might still sound angry, but the rusty taste of fear was sharp in her mouth. And guilt. How could she have let him go? She knew the dangers.

  He raised his head to observe her brandishing a towel like a weapon. “No, thank you. I can manage.”

  The brandy and the fire had started to work their magic. That deep rumble of a voice almost sounded like usual. He reached out for the towel and began to wipe his neck and shoulders.

  She didn’t turn her eyes away when he stood to remove his coat. “Do you want to take off your breeches, too?”

  “Why, Miss Carr, you make me blush,” he said with an attempt at his usual humor.

  “Don’t make a joke of this, Joss.” She whirled on him, wanting to fling herself into his arms and hold him forever. Wanting to punch him hard for putting himself in danger for something as insubstantial as honor. “You could have died.”

  “I’m sorry.” With clumsy movements, he tugged off his shirt and let it fall to the floor. All urge to clout him evaporated, as did every drop of moisture in her mouth.

  In the firelight, his chest was magnificent. Golden and powerful. Crisp black curls outlined his pectoral muscles and trailed down his flat belly to disappear beneath his leather breeches.

  She bit her lip and stared at him wide-eyed. He limped close enough for her to smell the outdoors on his skin, and beneath that, the unforgettable essence of Joss himself.

  “Don’t be angry, sweetheart.” His hand curled behind her neck, and he cupped the back of her head. “I’m safe.”

  She wasn’t, and she knew it. But when he called her sweetheart, nothing could stop her sliding her arms around him. His skin was chilled, and she cuddled closer to share her warmth.

  The intimacy of the embrace was extraordinary. She felt each breath he took and the subtle shift of muscles across his back, as he moved his hands up and down her spine in wordless comfort.

  “You’re a wild and reckless fool,” she muttered into his chest.

  He twined his arms around her. “I’m sorry I frightened you,” he whispered, leaning his chin on her head. “I won’t do it again.”

  “You’d better not,” she said indistinctly, pressing her nose into his skin. As he warmed up, the glorious scent of Joss overpowered the scent of snow and wind.

  “I promise.”

  The tenderness in that bass voice banished the last of her anger. Anger that was purely a reaction to overwhelming dread. If he’d died out there…

  If ever she’d doubted how deeply her feelings for Joss Hale went, her quaking, unreasoning panic at the thought of losing him told her that she was in real trouble. When he’d left her, her world had turned cold and unwelcoming. But the idea of a world without him in it somewhere, even if far away, had been more than she could endure.

  Inexplicable, illogical, unlikely, but she’d fallen desperately in love, and she had a grim premonition it was a lifelong affliction.

  Still, she hadn’t completely lost all connection with the mundane world. She stirred in Joss’s arms and prepared to step away.

  Joss tightened his hold to keep her close. “Where in blazes do you think you’re going?”

  “To put Emilia in the stables.”

  He didn’t release her. “She’s safely in her stall. I fed and watered her, and put a poultice on her leg before I came inside.”

  Maggie couldn’t believe what she heard. “You looked after her when you were so close to collapsing?”

  “My father taught me—care for yourself only after you’ve cared for your horse.”

  Her heart took a dizzying swoop, and she closed her eyes against a hot rush of tears. Curse him. What chance did she have against him?

  She knew what state he was in, yet he’d seen his mount settled before he sought shelter and warmth for himself. “You’re a good man, Josiah Hale.”

  He gave a grunt of self-derisive laughter. “No, by God, I’m not.”

  She knew he meant the words as a warning, but in her ears, they were a promise of sensual expertise. Maggie met those deep-set eyes, and a quiver of need set up low in her stomach, until her whole body was shaking. Tonight, tomorrow, perhaps the day after, but soon, she’d give herself to this man. And words like sin and virtue, and right and wrong would have no power to stop her.

  Because her fate opened up before her, for good or ill, she was content to postpone the difficult decisions that lay ahead. “What about your breeches?”

  He was wise enough not to tease her this time. “The leather keeps the water out.”

  His arms tightened, before abruptly he staggered away. She wasn’t feeling too solid either. Standing on her own two feet had her struggling to lock rubbery knees. The rush of blood to her head left her giddy and disconcerted.

  Because touching his naked skin hadn’t been entirely about comfort and shared warmth. How could it be? Maggie wanted this man, and she knew he wanted her. As the effects of his ordeal wore off, she’d noticed how he responded to her nearness.

  She touched him because she wanted to. She touched him for desire. For pleasure.

  For…love.

  But her first
priority now was to look after him. While it was a pity to cover up that superb torso, she passed him a blanket. “I should never have sent you away.”

  “You didn’t send me away. I went.” The straight look he shot her threatened to upset her wanton plans. When he wrapped the blanket around his shoulders, he looked like a dashing Roman. “We need to talk.”

  “Not now.” Avoiding that searching green gaze, she hooked up the wet shirt he’d discarded and bundled it near the fire. If she washed it after supper and hung it before the hearth, it would dry overnight. “Warm up. Eat. Rest. We’ll talk later.”

  And perhaps they wouldn’t.

  Another shiver rippled through her. This time alive with anticipation.

  “Maggie—”

  “Sit near the fire while I heat up some of yesterday’s soup.” She gestured to the stove. “You’ll be hungry.”

  She was hungry, too. Odd to think that not long ago, she’d felt like she never wanted to eat again. What a range of emotions the day had brought. Joy. Passion. Guilt. Sorrow. Despair. Fear.

  To her surprise, he obeyed her without an argument. Sign enough that he was still in a bad way. She beat back her fear and concentrated on her cooking. When she glanced across at him slouched on the settle, she was glad to see his eyes closed. Sleep was what he needed after what he’d been through.

  When the meal was ready, she crossed to shake his shoulder. “Joss, wake up.”

  The smile he gave her was so sweet, she almost took him in her arms. But right now, he needed food more than he needed her embrace. “Sorry. I dozed off.”

  “Have something to eat, then go to bed.” When she took his hand, it was no longer icy cold. She blinked away hot tears of relief.

  Maggie helped him across to the table she’d set, watching his halting progress with a frown. He was still moving with arthritic stiffness. With a groan, he collapsed into the chair.

  Knowing he wasn’t yet up to much conversation, she didn’t try to talk to him as they started eating. Only once he’d made short work of his soup and she saw some color return to his face, did she speak. “Tell me what happened,” she said, putting down her spoon.