Love for all Seasons

by Knight-Catania, Jerrica

  “I believe he likes me. He did kiss me after all.”

  That got Isabel’s attention. “He kissed you?” she asked, unable to hide the dismay in her voice. She’d always assumed Emma would be the first one to receive a kiss, but somehow she suddenly felt left out. Or perhaps left behind. Either way, she didn’t like the feeling.

  Emma nodded. “Yes! And it was wonderful, Izzy. I wish I could explain it, but I can’t. It’s magical.”

  “And you’re ready to bank the rest of life on one little kiss?”

  “Well, two, really—”

  “Two?” Isabel’s gaze shifted back to Lockwell at the piano. Damn. Why hadn’t she kissed him in the library? Why hadn’t she taken charge and demanded he kiss her?

  Because she was a coward. And a ninny. And all kinds of other words that describe someone who lacked any spine.

  “Oh, Izzy, please be happy for me,” Emma begged.

  “I am, Em, truly I am,” she lied. She wanted to be happy for Emma, so it was really only a half lie. She was just finding it hard to believe. Or accept.

  Nonetheless, Isabel at least had to give the appearance of being happy for her, so she pasted on a bright smile, and said, “Emma, if you’re happy, then I’m happy.”

  Emma grabbed her and squeezed her so tightly, Isabel worried her stuffing might come out.

  “I love you, Izzy,” she said into her ear. “And I know one day you’ll find someone, too. A man who won’t mind that you read books and sing horribly.”

  Isabel tried to laugh at her sister’s joke, but the laugh came out more like a strangled croak. She looked towards Lockwell again, then back at her sister. “I think I may retire early, Emma. Do you mind?”

  Emma smiled softly at her. “You will stand beside me in the morning?”

  Isabel fought the lump that rose in her throat. “Yes, yes, of course I will stand beside you.”

  They hugged one last time and then Isabel made her escape. Another moment in that room would be her undoing. She needed space and time to sort out all the horrific feelings boiling inside her. Feelings that were completely foreign to her. She’d never longed for a man before. She’d never been jealous of her sister before. What the devil was happening to her?

  As badly as Damien wanted to follow Isabel from the room, he knew he couldn’t. The abrupt end to the music would call attention to him, and there would be no escaping unnoticed. Besides, he needed to talk to Heathfield, wherever he was.

  As a matter of fact, the only other man in attendance was Sir Thomas, and he looked rather nonplussed, if you asked Damien.

  He looked to Lady Emma, who had what he might call an ethereal glow about her. Was it possible…? She spoke excitedly to her cousin and Miss Mason, but he couldn’t hear a word she said over the pianoforte. Blast his ability to play.

  Thankfully, it didn’t much matter, for the rest of the party finally returned to the drawing room. Damien removed his fingers from the keys and rushed to Heathfield’s side. Only Lady Emma got there first.

  Damien watched as Emma looked up at Heathfield, her eyes all doe-like and her smile serene. Heathfield returned the saccharine gaze, and Damien’s pulse raced. Blast it all, did they mean to…? No, they couldn’t possibly be planning—

  Lord Norland clinked a small spoon to the side of his wine glass, calling everyone to attention. “Everyone, please raise your glasses,” he said. “To celebrate my daughter’s betrothal to Lord Heathfield!”

  The women in the room tittered and cheered, while the men replied with “Here, here!” But Damien just stood rooted to his spot. Damn it all, he was losing another friend to matrimony. He could only pray that Andrew hadn’t yet succumbed to marriage. If he ever returned to the country, they could carouse as bachelors together again.

  “Where is your sister?” Lady Norland asked of Emma.

  Emma barely spared a glance for her mother as she replied. “She’s gone to bed, Mother.”

  Not bloody likely. If he was taking the news this badly, it was possible Isabel might be preparing to throw herself from one of the castle turrets.

  “Many felicitations, my friend,” he said to Heathfield, and then to Emma, “I shall pray for you.”

  Lady Emma giggled, and Heathfield seemed to take the joke in the spirit it was intended.

  “I think I shall take your sister’s lead and turn in myself.”

  “You won’t stay for a drink, Lockwell?”

  Damien smiled. “I’ve had enough,” he said, and then took his leave.

  “Somehow I knew I’d find you here.”

  Isabel whirled around. “You really must stop doing that,” she said, trying to calm her racing heart. “I might have fallen to my death.”

  Damien studied the wall that came up to just below her breasts. “That would have to be quite a fright, then.”

  Isabel turned away from him to stare back out at the snow as it fluttered down from the darkness. “I would like to be alone, Lockwell,” she said, unwilling to participate in witty banter anymore tonight. She waited to hear his footsteps, but there was only silence. When she turned around again, he was still there.

  “I heard,” he said simply.

  That was all he needed to say for the tears to form in Isabel’s eyes. She quickly looked away from him, refusing to let him see her cry. No one had seen her cry since she was a child.

  “I was thinking what a shame it was that I was losing my friend,” he continued, and The air turned warmer as he moved next to her and leaned his elbows onto the wall. “A good friend cannot be replaced, and marriage…well, it changes a man. Even the ones who don’t necessarily love their wives or care to spend time with them change too. They won’t stay at the club quite as late or drink quite as much. And God forbid if his wife is with child.”

  There was a pause, and Isabel wondered if he had a point. Probably not. He was mostly spewing excrement as far as she could tell.

  “But then I thought about you.”

  Isabel froze. That certainly caught her off guard. She didn’t think he thought about anyone but himself.

  “Emma is your twin—your very best friend in the whole world, isn’t she?” He paused for an answer, but she didn’t give one. If she spoke, she’d cry. “You’re losing much more than I am. I can find a new friend to carouse with me, I suppose, but a new sister…those are harder to come by, or so I hear.”

  She appreciated his attempt to lighten the mood, but it was in vain. She was devastated over this whole thing. “When Emma wrote that letter,” she said, trying to keep her voice as even as possible, “I never thought Heathfield would actually come. And then when he did come, I thought for certain he would be outraged about the deception and that he’d leave the castle and never look back.” She closed her eyes and shook her head. “I never once imagined they would be married within twenty-four hours of his arrival.”

  Lockwell chuckled. “Believe me, I never imagined it either.”

  Silence fell between them. Isabel wanted to ask the question that was eating her up inside, but she wasn’t sure if she was ready for the repercussions.

  “What is it?” Lockwell asked, and Isabel realized he’d been staring at her.

  “What is what?” She tried to look surprised at his question, but she somehow knew he could see right through her.

  “You have something you want to say,” he said confidently. “Go on. Say it.”

  Isabel’s heart leapt into her throat. She looked down and played with the fringe of her shawl, unable to look him in the eye as she asked, “Why didn’t you kiss me?”

  Damien couldn’t stop the smile that spread his lips wide. “Why, Lady Isabel, did you want me to kiss you?”

  Her face set into an annoyed frown. “No. I mean, yes. I mean…oh, don’t confuse me, you blackguard, just answer the question.”

  “Why is it so important?”

  Isabel bit her lip. “It’s not. It’s just that…”

  Damien moved an inch closer to her. “It’s just th
at what?”

  She tried to back up, but he kept moving forwards until she backed herself right up against the wall. “It’s just that…I thought you were going to. And then you didn’t.”

  “And were you disappointed.” It was a statement, not a question.

  Isabel shrugged. “Not at first, really. Not until…” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “All right, yes. I was disappointed. I wanted you to kiss me. There. Now you can gloat to all your friends how your little game wor—”

  Damien didn’t give her the opportunity to make a cake of herself. Instead he cut her off with the kiss she was practically begging him for. And the kiss that, truth be known, he had been longing for.

  He pressed his lips to hers. They were so soft and tasted of cinnamon and apples, like the wassail she’d been drinking earlier. But most surprising to him was the fact that he didn’t want to take his lips away from hers. Ever.

  The snow sprinkled down around them. Damien only half noticed that it was coming down harder now. He didn’t much care. There could have been a maelstrom about them, and he was sure he wouldn’t have noticed. How was it possible that this bookish twit turned out to have the most kissable lips of any woman he’d ever kissed in his life? And he had kissed a lot of women. It didn’t make sense, but Damien didn’t care to question it just then.

  His hand reached up and found the nape of her neck. He cradled her head in his hand, pressing her face closer to his—as if it was possible to get closer than they already were. When Isabel opened her mouth slightly—probably to allow a bit of air in—he took the opportunity and plundered her with his tongue. She didn’t protest, much to Damien’s amazement. Part of him had expected a jab to the ribs for something like that. On the contrary, she opened for him, allowed him in, and returned the kiss with more passion and fervor than he’d ever received from a woman.

  And then, surprising him even further, her dainty hands snaked inside his coat and pressed against his chest, then roamed along his sides and finally came to rest on his back. He pulled her closer to him, until their bodies were pressed together, so warm on this cold, cold night.

  “Oh, my,” Isabel said when their lips finally parted ways minutes later.

  Damien smiled down at her as he caressed her cheek. “My thoughts exactly.”

  “Is it always like that?”

  Damien shook his head. “Never,” he whispered.

  Isabel’s eyes widened. “That can’t be true.”

  “But it is.” He tightened his grip around her waist. “It has never been like that…not for me, not ever.”

  “I’m sure you say that to all the girls.”

  To prove to her that he wasn’t lying, he lowered his lips to hers. “I may be an irreverent, waste-of-space scoundrel,” he said once he made sure she was thoroughly and soundly kissed. “But one thing I am not is a liar.”

  A ghost of a smile came to Isabel’s lips.

  “That is what you think of me, is it not?”

  “It’s certainly what I thought of you this morning,” she said without remorse. “But I think I may have been a bit hasty in my judgment.”

  “Well, I appreciate that you’re willing to admit when you might be wrong.”

  She smiled up at him, but there was a hint of sadness behind her eyes. “Thank you,” she said.

  “Will you be all right?”

  She nodded. “I think so. I’d better go before Nancy reports me missing from my bedchamber.”

  Damien wished he could go with her to bedchamber. What he wouldn’t give to warm Lady Isabel’s bed tonight. But even he wasn’t willing to take that kind of a risk. She may have been skilled in the art of kissing, but that didn’t mean he wanted to be leg-shackled to the girl.

  Still, he placed one last, lingering kiss to her lips then sent her on her way.

  Whether Emma wanted a Christmas wedding or not, it was what she got. Seeing as it was two days before Christmas, the small chapel was decorated in holly and ivy and so many candles that Isabel worried the place might go up in flames during the vows. The snow continued to fall outside, and part of Isabel hoped it would deter at least some of the cousins from making it to Danby Castle for the holiday.

  But mostly, she was thinking about Mr. Lockwell when she should have been focused upon her sister’s wedding. As she stood at the front next to her sister, Lockwell stood next to Heathfield. Isabel stole a glance at him and then forced her head to face front again. Only within moments, she was looking again in his direction. She couldn’t help it. And she couldn’t help her obsessive thoughts about him, about their kiss, about whether or not it meant anything to him or if only meant something to her because of what had happened with her sister. Did he kiss her out of pity? Did he mean it when he said it had never been like that for him? And was that even a good thing? Perhaps he meant it had never been so awful.

  Oh, good Lord. Her stomach churned and she worried she might have to run for the door to toss up her accounts on the front lawn of the chapel.

  When she looked at Lockwell again, he caught her by surprise, for he was also staring at her, a wide smirk set on his lips. Blast. He knew she kept looking at him. She tipped her nose up and faced forwards again, determined not to look at him anymore for the rest of the ceremony. It proved to be a feat of nature, that. It was as if an invisible string was attached to her chin and a band of fairies yanked upon it. Truly, it took all her strength not to look at Lockwell.

  But finally, the ceremony ended. Emma kissed Heathfield, and they practically skipped down the aisle out of the chapel. Isabel joined Lockwell in the center of the aisle and they followed the happy couple outside, into the lightly falling snow. While Emma’s maid furnished her with a long, scarlet cloak, Nancy brought Isabel’s usual grey one and wrapped it about her shoulders.

  “Lovely ceremony, don’t you think?” Lockwell appeared at her side, his top hat in place upon his head.

  “You look ridiculous in a hat,” she said to him.

  “I’ll try not to take that personally, seeing as your sister was just married and I’m more than certain you’re torn up inside.”

  Isabel wanted nothing more than to lambaste Lockwell for being so astute. How did he know so much about what she was thinking? No one ever knew what she was thinking—or maybe it was that no one had ever cared to know.

  “I’m very happy for my sister,” she replied, shoving her nose in the air, partly to look self-righteous, but mostly to make it easier to swallow down the lump that was in her throat.

  “That doesn’t mean you can’t be sad, Lady Isabel.” Lockwell’s voice was quieter now, and when she looked up at him, his eyes held a great deal of understanding. And compassion. And all other manner of kind expressions that one would never expect from a man like Mr. Lockwell.

  Isabel was spared having to respond as a caravan of coaches pulled up before them. They all piled in and traveled back to the estate for the reception. Several other cousins had arrived that morning, so it would be a bigger celebration than they’d planned. Isabel wished she could escape to her room until after Christmas, but Mother would never allow it. And besides, if she were in her room, she wouldn’t be able to see Lockwell.

  She took a deep breath. What had happened to her in the last day to turn her into the sort of girl who actually wanted to be in the company of that sort of man. If she were being completely honest, she would admit to herself that there was more to it than simply wanting to be in his company. But she wasn’t about to openly admit that she wanted to be in his arms again. That just sounded ridiculous.

  Once inside, Isabel followed the fold into the smaller of the castle’s ballrooms. The large one was being decorated for the Danby Yule Ball that would be held on Christmas Eve. The smaller one was already decorated with garlands and bows and dangling mistletoe. No doubt the servants had done that for this particular occasion.

  Breakfast had been laid out on the buffet, but the last thing Isabel wanted to think about was food with her stomac
h so unsettled.

  Emma flitted about the room, greeting cousins and aunts and uncles, introducing them to her new husband, and looking every bit the blushing bride. Isabel tried to smile at her sister’s good fortune, but the harder she tried, the more difficult it became to look happy.

  When the small orchestra started up, announcing that the dancing was about to begin, Isabel sank even further into her despair. There was no avoiding dancing at her sister’s wedding.

  “Are you feeling all right? You look slightly green about the gills.” Lockwell appeared beside her, looking calm and unflappable as always.

  She swallowed the panic that clenched her throat. “No, I’m not. All right, I mean,” she clarified. “Do you think anyone would notice if I left?”

  Lockwell gave her a look that clearly said she was out of her mind. “Ah, yes. I think everyone would notice. Good God, are you perspiring?”

  “Don’t poke fun at me,” she said, hating the petulant sound of her voice.

  “I’m not poking fun.” Lockwell procured a handkerchief and held it out to her. “Just being observant. Come now, wipe your brow and dance with me.”

  “At the same time?”

  “Preferably not.”

  Isabel took the handkerchief and blotted her forehead, though she secretly wished she could apply it to her underarms. Lud, but they were getting sticky.

  Once she’d thoroughly dried her brow, she handed the kerchief back to Lockwell. He tucked it away and then held out his hand to her. Isabel stared down at it.

  “Something the matter?”

  She looked up at Lockwell. “You don’t want to dance with me,” she said.

  “Oh, but I do. Come. Take my hand.”

  Isabel shook her head.

  Lockwell leaned closer and whispered in her ear. “I don’t care if you’re not a great dancer, Lady Isabel. I just need an excuse to hold you in my arms again.”

  Isabel stared back at Lockwell, resisting the urge to quickly clean out her ears and ask him to repeat himself. But he didn’t give her the chance. Apparently, he was tired of waiting on her. His hand clamped down on hers in a tight grip and he whisked her out to the middle of the floor, where Emma and Heathfield were already weaving in and out of a complicated pattern with one another.