He captured her hand and held it there against him. “If you are willing—”
“I—”
His smile died. “It’s Pershore, isn’t it.” His nostrils flared. “I see how he looks at you. You would rather have him than me? I thought…”
“I’m sorry. I… I don’t know what to say.”
“Then this conversation is over.” Tight-lipped, Benjamin walked off.
Only then did Anna come back to reality and realized how many others were in the parlor, and she flushed. So many prying eyes, so many wagging tongues. Why, someone might send in a bit about her and the duke to The Teatime Tattler!
And if one of the gossipers were to find Jasper…
Forget the mistletoe. Anna dashed forward when someone cleared his throat behind her.
She whirled around to see Jasper standing there. Her heart pounded so loudly she wondered if he could hear it. “Jasper,” she breathed.
He gave her a small smile that eased the tightness of her chest slightly. Then he looked up. “Oh, look.”
“Mistletoe.” She wanted to grin but couldn’t.
“What’s wrong?” He lifted his hand to tilt her head up.
“Benjamin kissed me here,” she blurted. She winced. “I really do like to over-share with you.”
His lips quirked. “I do like that you are honest, even when you think I won’t like what you have to say. Now, was he a good kisser?”
“I must confess I have nothing to compare his kiss to.” She shrugged. “Perhaps you could remedy that?”
There might have been whispers around the room, but Anna didn’t care. She closed her eyes and accepted Jasper’s kiss. It was far too quick for her liking, but it sent a thrilling shock through her, from her lips down to her toes.
“Well?” Jasper asked.
Dazed, Anna stared up at him through half-lidded eyes. “I think you might be a hero after all.”
“So you prefer my kiss?”
“I would prefer for you to…” She clapped a hand to her mouth. How could she be so forward?
Jasper merely smiled at her, his eyes sparkling, and she had a feeling he knew exactly what she had nearly said.
* * *
* * *
After visiting the orphanage—the children had rallied to Anna to hear her stories, and Jasper had delighted in watching her tease and delight them—Jasper wanted to spend more time with her, only she went off with Lady Emily and some of the other ladies. Jasper set out to find himself something to drink when he spied Barnet heading for the front door, a footman trailing behind him and carrying his luggage.
“Leaving?” Jasper asked. “Why not stay through the holiday?”
“I’m not much for celebrating at the moment.” The normally smiling duke was positively frowning.
“What is going on?”
Barnet appraised him. “Anna did not tell you? My engagement is off, and I thought that perhaps she would consider me… and she clearly prefers you instead, and while there are other eligible women here, perhaps it would be best for me to stay away from the ladies and refocus on who and what I truly want. Not jump from the boiling pot to the fire beneath it, if you understand my meaning.”
Jasper clasped his shoulder. “I am certain you will find the right lady for you one day.”
The duke wrinkled his nose. “And you’re certain it’s not Lady Anna?”
“Ah, no.”
“But she is for you?” the duke pressed. His lips curled into a slight smile.
“Well… you see…” Jasper rubbed the back of his neck.
“If you care for her, if you love her, let her know. Go to her. Be happy. And get out of my way. I mean to leave.”
“If you insist.”
Jasper watched as the duke bid a few others adieu before he attempted to seek out Anna. He did not find her however, and he went to bed that evening distraught yet ever hopeful that the morrow would be a much brighter and happier occasion. After all, it would be Christmas Day.
Chapter 16
25th December, 1812
It wasn’t until after the Christmas service that Anna realized the duke had left. All throughout the night, she had endeavored not to think about either the Duke of Barnet or the Earl of Pershore. Life was not always about love and romance and kisses, whether freely given or stolen. Not all were as fortunate as she was, and visiting the orphanage hammered that point home rather clearly.
But the service left her in such bright spirits that, although she hoped the duke would one day find happiness in the arms of the lady meant for him, she wanted to see no one other than Jasper.
Before dinner started, she returned to her room to freshen up, and the moment she left her room again, she spied Jasper. He met her gaze, a slight curl to his lips.
She blushed as he approached her.
“You look lovely. Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas,” she murmured. “My mother and father arrived late last night and will be here for dinner. Did I see your mother at church?”
“You did. My parents are both here.” He held out his arm. “If you are ready, I’ll escort you to—”
She laid her hand on his arm. “A moment please.” Anna swallowed hard. “Perhaps today isn’t the day for this, but, Jasper, I really do wish to know what happened—”
He grimaced. “You are quite right. Not today.”
“One day, though?” she persisted.
Jasper said not a word.
Anna tried not to let her hopes be dashed, but she could not help it. She feared she did not mean as much to him as he did to her if he would not share what event had hurt him so in his past.
Oh, how I hope I am wrong about that!
* * *
27th December, 1812
The rest of Christmas Day was a lovely affair. At the start of the meal, Anna seemed a little subdued, but as the meal progressed, she smiled and laughed and was of great cheer, and Jasper found himself watching her more than talking with her. She was so kind to everyone, always paying out compliments and obviously not seeking one back in return. Her kind spirit drew him to her even more than her beauty, and he knew then that he could share everything with her.
He hadn’t the chance on Boxing Day, what with the visits to the orphanage, but on the next day, he sought her out and found her in a surprisingly empty room, sitting on a rug curled up in front of a roaring fire. The glow of the flames gave her a halo, and she looked so like an angel that he had to creep forward, lower the book from her hands, and kiss her.
Laughing softly, she pushed him away. “Don’t you think that you might not do such things when others could see?”
“I think you make me forget to think.” He held her hands and sat beside her. “I did not want to spoil the holiday with such talk, but now… now I would like to tell you a story of my own, if you are willing to hear it.”
“Does this story have anything to do with a certain dashing Earl of Pershore by any chance?” she asked with a twinkle in her eye.
“Indeed it does. You see, I fancied myself in love once before, and the lady in question claimed to return my affections. She seemed ever so delighted to marry me, and we settled down to make all the arrangements, and papers were signed, the license procured… But the moment she caught the attention of a duke, she broke off our engagement. This all happened in Sweden, while I had been there with my family, and, well, it made me want to avoid all people, especially once I realized that she was pregnant by the duke before I even learned she preferred him to me.”
“Oh, Jasper.” She clasped his hands all the tighter. “I’m sorry—”
He shook his head to still her words. “That is not the worst of it. She spread terrible lies about me, claimed I had dalliances with multiples ladies while engaged to her, which wasn’t true, but it was when she said that I had struck her—I would never hit a lady!—that she was able to turn even my friends against me. Few believed my side of the tale, and even fewer realize how much lies and gossi
p can cut a person down, strip them to the bone.”
“Why would she do such a thing?”
“From one of my loyal friends, I heard gossip—so who knows if this is true—but supposedly she had been involved with another man behind the duke’s back, and he was the one to hit her.”
“So she said it was you to try to keep the duke.”
“Exactly so. Then we returned to England, and I’ve found it near impossible to let others in, even those I used to be friends with, but you, with your tendency to speak your mind and to over-share, well, you cannot seem to keep a secret from me. And even if you could, I still would trust you.”
“Trust me with what?” she whispered, looking up at him through lowered lashes.
“Why, with my heart of course.” And he kissed her again.
She giggled. “Kisses at Christmas…”
“And every day of the year,” he promised.
Perhaps Christmas kisses were the best kind of all.
About Nicole Zoltack
Nicole Zoltack loves to write romances. When she's not writing about gentlemen and their ladies, knights, or superheroes, she spends time with her growing family. She enjoys riding horses (pretending they're unicorns, of course!) and visiting the PA Renaissance Faire. She'll also read anything she can get her hands on.
Website: http://www.NicoleZoltack.com
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Other books by Nicole Zoltack
The Test of Time
Regular girl plus Regency lord equals complicated love life especially when unpredictable time travel is involved.
* * *
Love Before Honor
The story of a medieval knight, a Regency lady, and the magical Christmas that brings them together.
* * *
Masked Love
A maid and a lord fall in love at a masquerade ball, only he is betrothed to her lady.
* * *
Starry Love
Elizabeth loves a stablehand, but will she be forced to spend her starry nights with another?
* * *
The Magic Incarnate series (A Question of Faith, A Matter of Doubt, A Balance of Power, A Journey of Despair, A Measure of Gloom, and A Glimmer of Hope)
If Crystal can’t control her magic abilities, she’ll lose more than her faith, her boyfriend, and her mom. She just might start the apocalypse.
* * *
Guns and Fangs
A vampire huntress won’t rest until they’re all dead, but then she meets him, and everything changes.
* * *
Bloodlust
The forbidden love story of a barbarian princess and a goliath.
* * *
Woman of Honor, Book I in the Kingdom of Arnhem trilogy
A young girl struggles to become a lady knight and falls in love with the crowned prince despite herself.
* * *
Knight of Glory, Book II in the Kingdom of Arnhem trilogy
A knight finds himself torn between two very different women as he attempts to save Arnhem from war.
* * *
Champion of Valor, Book IIII in the Kingdom of Arnhem trilogy
Despite war encompassing the world, a selkie and a mage try to find a way to be together.
* * *
Black Hellebore, Book I in the Heroes of Falledge trilogy
Becoming a superhero. Fighting a supervillain. Falling for his deceased girlfriend's twin. Nicholas Adam's life will never be the same.
* * *
White Hellebore, Book II in the Heroes of Falledge trilogy
New challenges, new villains, and a second chance with his first love troubles the happiness Nicholas Adams has forged.
* * *
Scarlet Magi, Book III in the Heroes of Falledge trilogy
A new heroic witch tries to find her place in a world she no longer recognizes.
A Suitable Husband
Chapter 5
I should not be doing this.
Marcel flicked a non-existent speck of dust from the pristine folds of his extravagantly lacy cravat and frowned at his reflection in the small mirror that was all his room afforded.
I should definitely not be doing this.
On the other hand, who was to know? He wore a mask and would assume an English accent. If his French intonations seeped through, his costume would provide an excuse—he sounded French, because he was Louise XIV, the great French king. In any case, who would expect to see the duchess’s chef dressed as le Roi-Soleil and dancing with her guests?
One guest. Or not a guest. A member of the family, rather.
For just one dance with her, I will risk all.
He doffed his tricorne hat as he bowed, the red-dyed ostrich plumes tossing gently.
Cissie Pearce had found the costume and had encouraged him to dare the masquerade. “What harm can it do? And don’t you worry none about the supper, Mark. You have it all ready, and I can watch your people.”
Was it a costume? Or something a former duke had worn? A white silk shirt with hugely puffed sleeves gathered to lacy cuffs, gold breeches tied below the knee over red stockings, a richly embroidered knee-length waistcoat, open from the waist, and, over it all, an ornately brocaded robe that just missed sweeping the ground as he stood. The cravat, buckled shoes, and a carved walking stick with a gold tip made up the rest of the costume. The wig had been in a different part of the attic but worked well enough: black, curly, and long enough to drape across his shoulders.
He answered the tap on the door cautiously, removing his hat and opening just wide enough that the visitor would see nothing but his head. It was Cissie, and he opened wider to let her in.
“Well, look at you.” Cissie was all admiration, clucking over the fine lace and the perfect fit of the shoes. “Let’s see you with your mask on. There. You’re that fine, Mark. Now be off with you, and don’t worry about a thing. Ain’t nobody up here but us, and if you go out down the main stairs, no one will know any different, but you’re a guest of the house.”
Swept along on her confidence, he found himself approaching the rooms where a bare three hours earlier he had been one of the servants setting up for the duchess’s costume party.
The rooms were full of kings and queens, gods and goddesses, Roman soldiers and cavaliers. Ah. There she was. One solitary shepherdess hovering in the supper room, keeping watch over the comings and goings of the servants.
The fates favored him. In the next room, the musicians began to play a waltz. Did he dare dance it as the current mode was in Paris? Yes. Ladies were taking the floor in the arms of their partners. Within minutes, he could be embracing his dear mademoiselle, albeit only on the dance floor. His breath caught at the mere thought.
Mademoiselle Grenford looked up as he approached, tipping her head a little to one side as she waited for him to speak.
“May I have the honor of this dance, fair shepherdess?” he asked.
She furrowed her brows for the briefest of seconds. “I do not dance, sir, but I will find you a partner—”
“Not dance? When your costume is made to swirl on the dance floor, and the music begs—nay, demand—for you to pay homage?” A slip there. He had pronounced homage in the French way.
Her eyes widened, but she said nothing, merely—oh joy—placed her gloved hand in his and allowed herself to be conducted through the doors to join the waltz.
They began slowly, his hands resting tentatively just above her waist, and hers placed lightly on his shoulders. He honored the respectable distance due to a maiden, but as they began to circle one another in the dance, his legs shifted past hers and could not avoid repeated touching.
Turn, turn, and turn again. The candles of the chandeliers seemed to whirl above them, the other dancers disappeared, and he and Mademoiselle Grenford were alone in the ballroom. She swayed and dipped and t
wirled with him, light as a feather but far more substantial, a delight to his hands, his arms, and his legs.
Her eyes fixed on his, her face flushed, she murmured, “Monsieur Fournier, what are you doing here?”
It was a dose of cold water, jerking him back to reality. Would she rebuke him? Tell the duchess?
“One dance,” he managed, almost begged. “I promised not to importune you, Mademoiselle, but I thought… In costume, no one would know if I stole one dance.”
Somehow, his feet kept moving, they kept dancing, round and round and round, their legs shifting past each other’s again and again, their eyes still locked.
She smiled, a benison beyond his deserving. “This dance is not a theft, Monsieur, when I give it willingly.”
“Give?”
He was in heaven. He was no longer dancing; he was floating several inches about the ballroom floor. She knows me even in my disguise. She dances with me willingly.
His heart was too full for speech, and she said nothing more as they continued around the floor, oblivious to everything except the music and one another.
Marcel stepped back when the music ended, dropping his hands from her waist to her hands, unable to resist touching her for a moment more. “Thank you, Mademoiselle. Thank you more than I can say. I will leave now, but you have given me food for many happy dreams.”
“No.” Mademoiselle Grenford folded her fingers around his and tugged him to follow her. By chance, they had stopped at the most poorly lit end of the ballroom, close to the corner where a door let on to a servant’s passage, and it was to this she marched determinedly, with Marcel bobbing after in her wake.
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