Mistletoe Magic

by Virginia Brown

  Before she could speak, his mouth came down on hers in a kiss that made her knees too weak to hold her up, and she clung to him, hands curled into the front of his coat. She kissed him back, love and hope and relief melding into passion as she strained to relay it all in that kiss.

  Nothing mattered now that he was back and holding her. The past days of anxiety and despair seemed as only a bad dream. Questions could come later. Now she just wanted to feel his arms around her, let him awake that magic that lay inside when he touched her.

  He cupped her face in both his hands, fingers caressing her, drifting over her skin to her ear, then her hair. Then he stopped. “Good God. What is this on your head?”

  “A wig. Did you think I suddenly sprouted horse hair?”

  “God only knows what you might do, but let us free you of this abomination.” He suited action to words and removed her hat and wig, then the little cap that bound her hair, freeing it to lie loosely around her shoulders. He smiled. “That’s better. It began to feel rather awkward kissing Sir Andrew instead of my betrothed.”

  “I missed you, too.”

  Laughing, he took her hands in his and held them, brushing kisses over her knuckles as he murmured, “There is much to tell. I have been to London.”

  “So I was told. Excuse me, my lord, but I need my hand to scratch, if you don’t mind. That awful wig itches.” It was rather embarrassing to have to scratch at such a moment, but if she did not, she would not be able to concentrate on anything but the half-dozen places that itched.

  “By all means,” he said, and released her hands, amusement curving his mouth. “I hadn’t expected my news to be met with interest and curiosity.”

  Using both hands to assault the itches on her scalp, she paused and peered up at him through the tumble of her hair. “Excuse me? Is that a rebuke? I should hope you would not be so lax in judgment that you dare imply I should be sitting here pining and waiting on your return with news when you didn’t even have the courtesy to inform me of your departure?”

  “Well, I—”

  “Ten days, my lord, without a word from you as to why you left or even if you would return.” All the anxiety she had felt during those days, wondering if he had suddenly tired of her, if he had been toying with her, all bubbled to the surface and spilled over. Pushing the hair from her eyes, she continued, “Not even a note left to explain yourself, sir. I had to hear from Lady Howard that you were ‘sorry’ but not that you would return, that illness or tragedy had taken you away, or any good explanation for your abrupt absence. It is unconscionable and did me an injustice when I do not believe I deserve to have been treated thusly.”

  She stopped, a bit shocked that she had said everything she had been thinking and fearing for the past week and a half, and saw from his expression that he had not expected it either. He stared at her, his dark eyes veiled by thick lashes, studying her as if he anticipated more. When she stared back, he finally held out his hand.

  “Pax. You are right. I should have come to you instead of leaving it to others to give you the message. I did not want you to be disappointed if I failed.”

  “Failed at what?” She shook her head, confused. “I have no idea why you left or what mission took you away.”

  “I know. I thought to do you a kindness, yet caused you more harm. Come and sit by the fire and I will explain all to you, but please, if you do not mind, give me your sword first.”

  A faint smile touched her lips. “If you worry that I may use it, be at peace. It is dull as a butter knife and too unwieldy in my hands to be of any harm. But please, take it, as it is a terrible nuisance to wear.”

  Before she could unbuckle the sword, he pulled her to him again, laughing into her mussed hair. “Oh, my love, you are ever a delightful surprise.” He kissed her soundly, then led her to a chair near the fire. “Sit,” he said, “while I tell you my news.”

  Dazed from his endearment, hoping that he did, indeed love her, she nodded and sat in the chair, arranging the sword so that it did not get in the way. “I am quite ready to listen, sir.”

  “I suppose I should start at the beginning,” he muttered, raking a hand through his hair, his handsome face serious. “First, a brief history of how I came to be accused of theft. After taking the East Indies from the French, Britain decided we no longer wanted them for a variety of reasons, with which I will not bore you. So, we returned them to the Dutch in the Anglo-Dutch Treaty of 1814. It takes time to transfer power, you understand, and as Bonaparte was running rampant over most of Europe, Lieutenant Governor Raffles was still in charge in April of 1815. My ship, the Renown, was assigned to assist with the transfer of items from Java to England. I was bloody tired of being under fire from French ships, so I was quite glad to find myself in the East Indies instead.

  “On April 5th that year, I was moored off Batavia when I heard explosions around sunset. At first it sounded like cannon fire, and it continued throughout the night. The next day, falling ash revealed it to be of volcanic origin, but I assumed it to be in the Merapi mountains.” He paused, frowning, then looked up at her with a faint smile. “It would have done little good if we had known where it originated, I suppose, but I think of the poor devils that were at the mercy of it and wonder. At any rate, I had taken aboard in the hold some of the cargo the Lieutenant Governor wanted shipped back to England. There was an ancient head of Buddha, two large tablets with Javanese inscriptions, artifacts from a Hindu temple in Prambanan, and a few of Raffles’s personal items included. In particular, a very heavy and ornate silver tureen and a purse full of silver coins were packed in a crate. At the time, I knew only what was written on the bill of lading I was given, and instructed my ship’s purser to catalogue them and see they were safely stowed.”

  “And he stole them,” she said, suddenly seized with hope he had found proof of his innocence. But he shook his head.

  “No. Delaney is an honest man, and would never have stolen. We continued to load cargo, all accounted for by my purser. Five days later, again around sunset, after I sailed under orders to investigate the area, I docked at Fort Rotterdam to check on the well-being of Lord Wakefield. I was moored there when more explosions sounded in the distance. They continued through the night. Wakefield and I knew the volcano must be erupting, but I wasn’t sure where it was located. At first light, and not much light it was because of the falling ash, we sailed southward. By the time we reached Sumbawa and could see Tambora, only flames still burned on the lower part of the mountain. The entire peak was gone. So many dead, on the beaches, beneath ruined houses . . . Will and I did what we could, but there was not much to do. We gave fresh water and rations to the few survivors we saw, then sailed for Batavia to report the devastation.”

  He drew in a deep breath as if reliving the experience, and she remained quiet, finally understanding some of his turmoil. After a moment, he gave her a faint smile.

  “Raffles sent as much help as he could, once we reported to him, and I finished loading my ship with cargo. It was a confusing time, what with efforts to help survivors, the turning over of Java to the Dutch, and my purser coordinating our efforts with the ship’s purser that was to take the Lieutenant Governor back to England. Mr. Channing was a frequent visitor aboard the Renown. He dined at my table.”

  A muscle leaped in his jaw, and he stared down at his hands for a moment. When he looked up, his eyes had gone hard and black, like obsidian, emotionless and cold. “I docked in London and unloaded my cargo. I spent a few days in London before traveling to our country seat to visit my father. I was there when officers came to demand the return of missing items. I had no idea what they were on about, but returned to London with them and gave them all the personal papers I had available. They had already confiscated bills of lading and accounts, of course. No charges were filed against me, but it rather quickly became rumored that I had stolen artifacts from the Cro
wn. The Regent himself sent me a rather peevish complaint of my poor management, all but saying I should return items he longed to see saved for posterity. Naturally, I resigned my commission.”

  “Naturally,” she said when he went quiet. “And you went to London because you had word of this Mr. Channing, I perceive?”

  He smiled. “You are very astute. Yes. Wakefield has papers and notes belonging to the former Lieutenant Governor, as Raffles has written a book about Java he hopes to publish. He and Lady Leighton read through them and found evidence of the proper bill of lading, as well as a bill for the ship on which Mr. Channing sailed. He had taken a berth on the Thomas Bensley to leave for Australia on the 28th, so I had only two days to get to London and find him before he left.”

  “Did Mr. Channing steal the items from your ship?”

  “They were never on the Renown. Channing packed and labeled them, wrote the bill of lading, and we stowed crates in the hold that held worthless artifacts and a cask of Portuguese wine. Channing loaded the items of value labeled as his own personal furniture, and sailed with them when Raffles left Java. In London, he had them carted away, with none the wiser.”

  “Then you cannot be accused of stealing items that were never in your possession.”

  “Specifically, no. However, as Captain, I am responsible for cargo, crew, and conduct aboard any vessel under my command. I accept that, and I do not intend to seek reinstatement.”

  “So, Mr. Channing has gotten away with theft?” she asked indignantly. “That hardly seems fair.”

  “I would not say he has escaped punishment, no. After I found him, which took no small effort and involved Bow Street, he was brought before a magistrate. Partial evidence was then recovered from a storehouse near his residence, although the purse of silver coins is forever gone. It was, no doubt, spent at an ale house nearby. But the artifacts Raffles collected were found before being sold, so the Regent will be satisfied, and the silver tureen was discovered in Mr. Channing’s lodgings. It reeked of cheap wine, but I imagine it can be cleaned well enough.”

  She smiled. “So, you are free of suspicion.”

  “For all intents and purposes. There will always be a few who prefer to think me guilty, but I am not concerned with them. As long as you believe in my innocence, I am satisfied.”

  “But I have always believed in your innocence. Well, since Christmas, anyway.”

  He laughed. “That long? I am quite gratified by your trust. Was it my winning ways that convinced you?”

  “At the risk of disappointing you, no. It didn’t make sense that you would take such a risk for pure gain, as you are not avaricious, nor are you fanatically devoted to artifacts. It was more common sense that convinced me, I’d say.”

  “Although I’m a bit deflated, I am pleased to see you are as practical as always. If one of us has to be a bit impractical, I suppose that will be my job. So, am I now acquitted of all of the dreadful crimes you held against me?”

  “All but one.”

  He lifted his brows. “I am intrigued. What heinous deed have I missed?”

  “Miss Treadway.” She couldn’t believe she had mentioned the woman’s name, but it was out before she could stop it. Her face heated as he stared at her. He must think her dreadfully nitpicking, but it had bothered her that he would ruin a young lady without making reparation.

  “Eliza Treadway?” he finally asked. “Am I accused of ravishing her?”

  “I cannot say it went that far. I only heard you had compromised her, and she is ruined.”

  “That is a most serious accusation.”

  She nodded. “I thought so as well.”

  “If true, you could not wish to marry such a bounder, a man who would walk away from an innocent young lady he had ruined, I perceive.”

  Wordlessly, her throat tightening, she shook her head.

  “And you have held that against me from before our first meeting?”

  A silent nod answered him.

  “It is a wonder you have spoken civilly to me, or that your father entered into a marriage contract for you, if that is the case.” He clasped his hands behind his back, standing in front of the fire to gaze at her where she sat in the leather chair. “So, why did you continue, may I ask?”

  Miserably, realizing that this may dash any hopes she had to marry him, she said, “As I told you, I am a terrible coward. At first I did not want to face the gossips if I broke off our betrothal.”

  “Only at first?”

  She nodded.

  “And now? Do you still worry about the gossips?”

  She thought a moment, then looked up at him, meeting his gaze. “No. I have come to realize that there will always be people who wish to believe the worst. I do not have to pander to them or listen to them.”

  “And do you still wish to break our betrothal?”

  This was going to be difficult. She would have to confess her yearning to him without knowing if he felt the same. Drawing in a deep breath, she said, “No. I wish to marry you, sir. I have never wished for anything more than I do our wedding.”

  “Well, that is very convenient, as I have no intention whatsoever of setting you free of our marriage contract. But I would like to know just why you wish to marry me, especially if I am such a dreadful rogue?”

  Her throat closed, and she looked down. She wouldn’t—couldn’t—answer that, not without confessing everything to him. She fiddled with the hilt of the sword still at her side; it pressed into her hip in a very uncomfortable way. The log in the fire snapped and crackled, and the clock on the chimneypiece ticked away the minutes.

  Then he knelt on the floor in front of her, and pulled her hands into his loose grasp as he held her, forcing her to look at him. “Tell me, Chary—why do you want to marry me?” he asked in a husky voice that penetrated to her marrow, teasing the words from her.

  “Because I love you.”

  He smiled. “I hoped you would say that, my dearest love. We have danced around it long enough, haven’t we?”

  “We? I haven’t heard words of love from you yet,” she said tartly, and he laughed.

  “Ah, sweet Chary, I adore you. I love almost everything about you. You have the most beautiful eyes, have I told you? I would write sonnets to just your eyes, and your sweet, soft lips and those eyebrows—but I am no Shakespeare, so I will spare you.”

  As he took her chin in his palm and leaned close, she whispered, “Almost everything?”

  He was laughing when he kissed her, and for several minutes, there was no time to think of anything but Nick, his mouth drawing fire and longing and that strange aching inside her that convinced her there was indeed much more to connubial bliss than just kissing. The mysteries lay before her, soon to be discovered, and she could think of no better fate.

  By the time he stopped kissing her, he had pulled her into his lap where she snuggled like a kitten, purring with the lovely sensations he provoked with his mouth and hands. “If someone comes in and finds us here on the carpet, you realize we will be scandalous, don’t you?” he murmured against her ear, his breath warm and stirring loose tendrils of hair. She shivered.

  “Lord and Lady Scandalous,” she drummed up the energy to reply, head tilting back to allow him access to her throat. “It has a nice ring to it. Don’t stop.”

  He obliged her by pressing kisses from her ear to throat, pausing long enough to say, “It does sound much more sensational. Your sword is sticking into my ribs, if you don’t mind. May I?” He pushed her back, unbuckled the sword from around her waist, and tossed it to the chair, where it slid off onto the floor with a slight thump.

  Dazzled by tingling nerves and the parts of her that throbbed most insistently, she put a hand on his chest when he moved to drag her into his embrace again. “Clarify for me, if you will, about Miss Treadway, so I
may know the truth.”

  “Eliza . . .” He caressed her arm, took her hand in his and turned it palm up, pressing a light kiss in it. “Treadway is my . . .” He kissed her wrist, his tongue teasing a path along the sensitive skin. “. . . second cousin. She is fifteen, I believe. No wait, don’t pull away.” He looked up at her, dark eyes lit with desire, his mouth an erotic curve. “Eliza’s maid became ill while they were out shopping and I was sent to retrieve my cousin, one stormy day. Our carriage became stuck in the mud and we took refuge in a rather dubious tavern. It ended with me having to carry Eliza to a more respectable part of town as she did not want her pretty new slippers to be ruined. By the time I found a hack to carry us to her house, I was ready to dump her in the nearest rain puddle. She is the only Miss Treadway I know. I am quite certain her mother would be horrified to hear that she has been compromised by me. As am I. Vicious old cats. Now—is there anything else?”

  “Yes. Kiss me again.”

  He obliged, then got to his feet, pulling her up with him. “If we remain here any longer, we will well and truly be worthy of scandalous gossip. I will find your aunt—she is Cesario?—and bring her to you.”

  “Yes, Viola-Cesario. If we are not already scandalized by your carrying me off the stage, there are no good gossips left at Seabury.”

  “We are not that fortunate.”

  He kissed the tip of her nose, then left the library. She stood there smiling after him.

  TWELFTH NIGHT dancing was merry, with new faces sprinkled among the house guests that had lingered after the snow ended. Dinner had proven a bit awkward as Avonhurst was the high-ranking guest and unseated an earl, but everything else seemed to go smoothly.

  Wearing a clean coat—Georges had bemoaned the face paint smeared on the other one—Nick searched for Chary among the dancers on the ballroom floor. Lady Howard had at last been able to get the floors chalked, and the design of the Three Wise Men bearing gifts and a huge star had turned out nicely. It would be quickly scuffed to dust by dancers’ feet, but as the purpose was to lend traction to ladies’ slick-soled slippers, he supposed it didn’t matter.