“Don’t look like that,” she commanded, her tone breathless from their kiss.
Trent stared unblinking as her words ran through him and over him, and stole all possible reason. For years, his father, his mother, his brother, had treated him as the afterthought to Owen the heir and as such undeserving of affection or attention or even thought. The secret yearning he’d kept fully buried until this very moment was that he longed to be wanted for more than the pleasure he could give a woman. “Winnie,” he said hoarsely, incapable of more than that. She loves me. Her words unleashed a dizzying lightness in his chest, even as with her next words, she jolted him back to the danger of her pledge.
“I love you,” she repeated this time urging him with her eyes to believe those words. Nay, welcome them as truth.
Then horror crept slowly in. Waves of panic lapped at his muddled thoughts. He’d kissed Munthorpe’s sister, against a tree, in Hyde Park. No honorable gentleman went about kissing his friend’s sister. Not when that same friend had been quite clear in his hopes and expectations for Winnie’s future match. Trent took a staggering step away. “I kissed you.”
She stretched a hand toward him and he recoiled. “I kissed you in return.” She let her hand fall to her side.
Trent continued backing away. He shot a frantic gaze about. If anyone had witnessed them—
“No one saw us.” He yanked his gaze back to her. A soft, tremulous smile pulled at her lips—at her very swollen, well-kissed lips. “Would it be so very bad if anyone did?” Her words emerged as a tentative whisper.
Desire coursed through him. Trent slid his eyes closed. “Yes.” His blunt utterance came out harsher than he intended. Discovery would have resulted in a public betrayal of his friendship with Munthorpe and his entire family. “That was a mistake,” he rasped.
His words chased away that winsome smile that could light the whole of a gray, dreary London. “If it feels right, it is no doubt right.”
Those words tauntingly drawn from carelessly spoken words years and years ago drew a pained, broken laugh from his chest. “I was speaking about the bloody timing of your shot, then.” Not of ravishing her with kisses in Hyde Park.
She lifted her shoulders in a casual shrug that only made a mockery of his unsettledness. “It seemed to apply.”
How was she so calm when he was a bumbling mess of incoherent thought?
“No.” Trent ran a shaky hand through his hair. “No, it does not apply. You are…” He motioned to her.
Winnie raised a single eyebrow, a feat he’d also spent years attempting to teach her. A feat she’d mastered and now used against him. That long-ago memory stabilized his unsteady world. “You are James’ sister,” he hissed.
Winnie turned up her palms. “Being his sister has no bearing on my love for you.” She scowled. “Will you stop wincing every time I say I—” He flinched. “Love y—eep. Where are we going?” she demanded, as he guided her by the forearm and led her back down the path to respectability.
“Home.”
“I’m not a child.”
Lust surged through him and his shaft hardened at the memory of her silken skin and plump lips and—“We are leaving,” he bit out. “You are returning home and to the blasted Countess of Weston’s bloody Christmastide celebration.” And wedding to your damned paragon.
Wisely, for the first time in all the years he’d known her, Winnie fell mute. With stilted silence between them, they arrived at the carriage. A short while later, he set the conveyance into motion. Fury all but poured off an angrily quiet Winnie. He kept his eyes trained forward.
Yes, but soon the lady would be off to the countryside and when she left in her bloody carriage to make a blasted match with one of the estimable guests present there, Trent at the very least knew she tasted of chocolate and honey and he’d been the first to taste those lips. That would have to be enough.
Chapter Five
He’d kissed her.
Seated at the windowseat overlooking the quiet London streets, Winnie dangled one leg over the side and distractedly swung it back and forth. All these days she’d spent believing he’d seen her as nothing more than a bothersome younger sister had been ripped apart by one outing in the park.
A grin pulled at her lips and Winnie touched her fingertips to her mouth, which still burned from the memory of his kiss. Ceasing her distracted swinging, she wrinkled her nose. Granted, the horror stamped on Trent’s face before he’d stormed off was better served one who’d removed his mouth from a cold, slimy trout he’d plucked from the river, but he’d kissed her. She sighed. And surely there was more there if Trent had kissed her so?
“What has you grinning, scamp?”
With a startled shriek, she tipped sideways and fell to the floor in a loud, painful, and undignified heap. Her brother stood framed in the doorway. At her prolonged silence, he cocked his head. “You startled me,” she mumbled and climbed indignantly to her feet. She smoothed her palms over the front of her purple skirts.
“I see that,” he drawled as he entered into the room.
Her earlier annoyance fled. “You were to go riding today. With Trent?” Her heart gave a funny little leap. She cast a glance over her shoulder, out the crystal windowpane for hopeful signs of the tall, powerful man who’d owned Winnie’s heart for nearly all her life.
James yawned and continued over. “We’re meeting at our clubs, instead.”
She frowned. Blast and damn. “But—” She’d known as much, but part of her had secretly hoped he’d come to see her. Then, her profession of love would have sent any reputed rogue into hiding. “He…”
Her brother narrowed his eyes and studied her a moment. “He what?” His usual affable mask fell, replaced by a protective brother’s concern.
Swallowing a curse, she feigned a smile. “Nothing. It was merely he’d promised to take me to the Frost Fair and I was very much looking forward to going.” She propped her hands on her hips. “Since my own brother couldn’t be bothered to accompany me.”
And just like that, he was restored to unsuspecting brother once more. James ruffled the top of her head. “Bah, nothing there but shops and child’s games.”
“Where is your sense of excitement, James? It is nearly Christmas. And there is ice for skating and—”
Footsteps sounded in the hall outside the doorway. They looked as one, as the butler appeared. “Lord Trent Ballantine.” Her heart skittered a beat.
A charged quiet descended as Trent looked between brother and sister. Then he locked his gaze on Winnie. At the hot, powerful stare he trained on her, her breath caught.
James broke the silence. “Ballantine, splendid timing.” He inclined his head. “It seems you promised to relieve me of my brotherly responsibilities and see Winnie to the Frozen Fair.”
“Frost Fair,” Winnie whispered. She clutched her skirts and tried to make sense of the frozen planes of his harshly beautiful face. If he’d been a rogue fleeing her profession of love, why was he here even now? Those actions did not belong to a man who did not desire more with her. Or mayhap he’s merely being polite, you silly goose…
“I say, you two are rather peculiar,” James said, alternating his stare between them. “I don’t think I remember a time when the both of you were ever this—quiet.”
That seemed to snap Trent to the moment. Immediately in place was his lazy half-grin. “You’ve other responsibilities to see to that preclude you from joining your sister and I at the Frost Fair?” He would join her. Despite his mad flight from her yesterday morn, he’d returned. Surely that meant something.
Red splotches filled her brother’s cheeks and he glared at Trent.
She wrinkled her brow. “Do you have somewhere to be, James?”
He tugged at his cravat. “Just business to see to before we take our leave for the holiday.” He coughed into his hand. “Well, then, I expect you two are off to the Frozen Fair.”
Winnie and Trent spoke in unison. “Frost Fair.”
He held out his elbow. “Wee Winnie?”
Through the years she’d come to appreciate the expert he’d become at needling her. As such, his childhood moniker was meant to rankle. She arched an eyebrow. “I’m no longer a child, Trent.” And the kiss they’d shared indicated he knew as much, too. As did the guilty flush on his cheeks. Taking mercy, Winnie forced herself to a sedate pace and made her way to him. She placed her fingertips along his sleeve. The muscles of his forearm jumped at her touch and she cast a glance upward.
His facial muscles momentarily contorted, and then smoothed, so she might as well have imagined that reaction. “You are certain you do not wish to join us?”
She reflexively tightened her fingers. How did James not hear that entreaty when it fairly seeped from Trent’s eyes and coated his words?
Her brother snorted. “I shall leave you two your fun, and thank you for seeing to the responsibilities as chaperone.”
A strangled sound came from Trent’s throat.
“Are you all right, man?” James asked, eying his friend more closely. “I say you aren’t at all yourself.”
“Fine,” he said, his tone gruff. He inclined his head, and then with jerky movements, guided her from the room. Usually possessed of a smooth elegance, Trent lurched through the halls at a clip. She hastened her steps to match his frantic pace.
“Would you slow down?” she panted as they turned at the end of the corridor.
He stiffened but adjusted his steps, moving at an even pace that matched her smaller strides. They reached the corridor and several servants rushed forward with their cloaks. And as they took their leave with murmured thanks, this day may as well have been the day prior—except with one kiss—all had changed. They had changed and she’d never have them go back to the way it had been before when she’d been nothing more than Wee Winnie to him.
When he handed her atop the carriage bench, he did not unceremoniously throw her as he’d done yesterday but rather assisted her with a gentleness that sent warmth through her. After her maid was settled upon the back of the curricle, he set his team into motion.
With the streets largely empty, the carriage rolled along briskly through the cobbled streets. The cool wind hit her face and she closed her eyes and turned her face up to the sky. Breathing deep, she allowed the purity of the clean winter air to flood her lungs. It sent a giddy happiness through her. A smile played at her lips, and she opened her eyes. Nay. It was him. Her skin pricked with the sense of being studied. She moved her gaze upward.
Trent studied her through thick lashes. “Yesterday should not have happened.”
For a moment, she thought she’d merely imagined those harshly whispered words. She tipped her head.
“In the park,” he offered needlessly. She knew very well what he referred to.
“I don’t—”
“You are James’ sister,” he hissed and then drew in a steadying breath. He shifted his focus back to the streets before them. “What happened was a fleeting moment of… of…”
Winnie narrowed her eyes. “Of?” she snapped.
“Madness.”
Yes, that dizzying loss of control and euphoric joy melded with a hope of forever certainly felt like some form of insanity. “If that is madness, Trent, then take me to Bedlam now and let me never go.”
He cursed blackly one of those curses he’d taught her long ago, to her mother’s shock and chagrin. “You do not know what you are saying. I am a rogue.”
“You were a rogue,” she shot back.
“I’m still a rogue.”
That pronouncement devoid of emotion stabbed at her heart. He spoke with such a cold matter-of-factness, she rubbed her arms.
“I am a second son,” he went on. The matter-of-fact way in which he enumerated the reasons he shouldn’t belong to her lashed at her for an altogether different reason.
“Do you think that matters so very much?” she asked quietly. He didn’t believe himself worthy of her. How could he not see that he was more honorable and good than any nobleman her family wished to pair her with?
Trent flexed his jaw. She dropped her gaze to his white-knuckled grip upon his reins and then raised her eyes to his face once more. “It does matter.”
“Not to me,” she said simply. “It never did.” What mattered was that when other gentleman hadn’t wanted anything to do with a peculiarly forthright lady who spoke her mind and enjoyed those pursuits favored by noblemen, Trent had never sought to break her and conform her into who society expected her to be.
He closed his eyes a moment. “It does.”
“To your father it did,” she said gently.
Pain flared in the emerald depths and for an instant, she hated herself for forcing him to confront that age-old hurt. “I suspect you’ve buried that away and not spoken of it.”
“How…?” His words trailed off.
“How do I know?” she finished for him. “My family attended summer picnics with yours. We attended dinner parties. Did you think me so empty-headed that I should fail to note his disregard?” She’d spent the better part of ten years hating his late sire for that cool indifference.
“It matters not, Winnie,” he said tiredly. Trent navigated his carriage through the thickening crowds, onward to the frozen Thames. “The fact remains you are James’ sister.”
She opened her mouth, but he drew the carriage to a halt, effectively ending the discussion. Winnie firmed her jaw. Surely he knew she’d not simply cease speaking on it. For as he leapt to the ground and helped her down, it did not escape her notice that at no point had he denied caring for her in the way she longed for him to care.
With her maid trailing behind them, they moved on to the bustling activity upon the ice. Brightly-colored tents covered the ice, with ladies on the arms moving between the peddlers hawking their goods. All excitement in this event spoken of in the papers and drawing rooms, now dimmed when presented with the truth that her feelings were not unreturned.
His words in the park, following their embrace, and his horrified reaction then and now spoke to a man at war with his conscience. And she was torn between loving him for his sense of honor, and exasperation. For did he truly believe his friend would frown upon a match between them? Granted James would not care for the kissing part, but the two men had been friends the better part of their lives. As such, how could her brother ever protest anything more between she and Trent?
They stopped at the edge of the ice, and feeling his gaze on her, she looked up. A gentle half-grin was on his hard lips, that smile which was only his pulled at her heart. “Well? Is it everything you imagined it would be, Winnie?” The wind tumbled a blond strand over his brow and her fingertips twitched with the urge to brush it back.
Emotion wadded in her throat, and she managed a nod.
“Shall we?” He held his arm out, and she eyed it a moment.
Surely he knew she’d follow him anywhere.
Arms folded at his chest, Trent stood at the edge of a colorful crimson tent. He studied Winnie through hooded lids as she assessed the table littered with the peddler’s wares.
She lifted a leather purse and turned it over in her hands, examining it, and for a moment, he envied the sack for the attention she bestowed on it. Then she set it down and reached for another. Trent clenched and unclenched his hands upon his sleeves. God help him. He’d fought this desire for Winifred these past two years and with that one kiss in the quiet of Hyde Park, she’d wound her way ever deeper into his thoughts, filling him with such a hunger, that no one kiss could ever suffice.
Then, with a harmony of thoughts that had always existed between them, she picked her head up and held his gaze. As the reputed roguish spare to the Marquess of Hollingbrooke, women had courted his favors. They’d desired a place in his bed, with no expectation or desire for more.
None of that matters…
A vise squeezed off his breath. For the desire lighting her eyes afire moved beyond the mere physical he’
d come to expect from other women and stood as testament to a woman who wanted—him. He forced his lips into a grin and gave a half-wave.
She smiled. Then the vendor, an older man with graying hair, said something and the moment was thankfully broken. Winnie shook her head and turned over the purse. With a graceful elegance, she picked her way down the long table and paused periodically to contemplate the other goods piling the surface.
“Of everything we can do this day, and all your excitement in coming here, Lady Winnie, you choose to shop?” he called out.
“Do, hush,” she scolded, not removing her attention from the goods. “There will be time enough for skating later.”
Despite the madness of wanting her as he did, and the ways he betrayed Munthorpe with his every thought and wish for her, his smile grew as he recalled the years he’d spent trying to instruct her how to ice skate. “You’re as eager as ever to take to the ice, then?”
An inelegant snort escaped her. She’d been as rubbish at skating as she’d been at billiards. Her eldest brother hadn’t cared to be bothered with her company on the ice, and Trent hadn’t been able to bear the sight of her trembling lower lip as she’d stood on the edge. Then her face lit and she settled her fingers on a small purse. She reached into her reticule and fished out several coins and handed them over to the vendor.
“At last,” he said, shoving away from the edge and wandering deeper into the tent.
“I am not done yet.” She wagged a finger at him. “You’re as impatient as you’ve ever been.”
“And you’ve developed an unexpected taste in shopping.”
With a saucy wink, she returned her search of the vendor’s tables. The older man frowned at Trent, apparently taking offense to him trying to rush off the only customer in the shop. “Ahh,” Winnie said, on a reverent whisper.
Trent curiously studied the small embroidery scissors. Setting down her recently purchased purse, she fished around her reticule for further coins and then handed them to the man. He hurriedly accepted them, as though he feared she’d change her mind.
A Very Matchmaker Christmas Page 6
