Invitation to a Cornish Christmas

by Marguerite Kaye

  Oh, he was smooth, all elegant soft words and handsome smiles as he flirtingly implied he’d done her a favour. He would want something in return. She needed to be clear with him that she’d not asked for his attentions, nor did she wish to encourage those attentions now that they’d been given in a most spectacular fashion. ‘I do thank you, Mr Kitto. I enjoyed our duet, but do not think for a moment that this makes us friends.’

  He merely chuckled, unfazed by her bluntness, and, sweet heavens, had he just moved closer to her when she was trying to push him away? The man’s audacity knew no bounds. First flirting in church with her sister and now flirting with her with her family just feet away. ‘Why so unfriendly, Miss Treleven?’

  His voice was an intimate caress, the rest of the company relegated to another world while he seduced her beside the piano. A new thrill of awareness went through her—an awareness that reminded her that for all her protective efforts to shield herself, she was in trouble. This man was a master at breaching walls. Rosenwyn summoned her best defence. ‘I know you, Mr Kitto, and I know why you’re here. Your reputation precedes you.’

  He smiled most wickedly. ‘Reputation, Miss Treleven, or rumours?’

  ‘Is there a difference in your case, Mr Kitto?’

  Chapter Three

  Rosenwyn Treleven didn’t back down from a fight, Cade would give her that. She was fierce when another sort of woman would have retreated from her claims. Whatever she was hiding, she was defending it for all it was worth. Did she realise such a strategy only made her more intriguing? That her audacity made her fresh, a welcome change from the worldly women he was used to? Attracting him could hardly be what she wanted. Quite the opposite, in fact.

  Beyond her shoulder, the group was fully engaged in charades with Reverend Maddern as mediator. No one was paying them any attention, he could flirt all he liked, draw out her secrets at his leisure. Cade leaned against the piano and looked deep into her eyes, a gesture that worked well with the ladies of the Hapsburg court. ‘Then tell me my sins so that I might atone for them.’

  Rosenwyn Treleven had apparently never heard of the Hapsburg court. His efforts had no effect. She rolled her eyes. ‘Please, do not waste your time. I am not impressed with your lines or practised poses, Mr Kitto. I know exactly the sort of man you are.’

  ‘What a leading statement, Miss Treleven. I have no choice but to ask “what sort of man is that?” as I am sure you know.’ He would push her to her limits if she insisted.

  ‘A man who would rather be anywhere than here, who thinks he is above Porth Karrek.’ Her words were as frank as her gaze and more than a little startling. He’d not been expecting that answer, especially since he’d gone to great lengths to hide it. Had he not been jovial at the table? Had he not agreed to play for them with pleasant ease? Had he not given them two brilliant performances this afternoon? Yet, this impertinent beauty with sharp green eyes had laid him open in the span of a few short hours.

  ‘You’re rather bold to have come to such a conclusion on the acquaintance of the dinner table,’ Cade replied smoothly, but he was wary now. Perhaps there was a limit to how much he liked her lack of pretence. If she saw that much, what else did she see? ‘What would make you think such an uncharitable thing? Porth Karrek is my home.’

  ‘And you’ve been away for ages.’ Her answer came too fast, her gaze spearing him. She was certainly sure of herself. ‘You don’t want to be here. It was in your eyes at church, just for a moment when you looked out over the congregation, and then again at lunch when Eaton asked you to play.’

  ‘I had no idea I was so transparent,’ Cade replied wryly. ‘Pray tell, if you know so me well, where do I want to be?’

  She did not even hesitate. ‘In London, moving from party to party. I’m sure even out of Season, London is more entertaining than Porth Karrek.’

  ‘Is that what the rumours tell you? Tsk, tsk, Miss Treleven, for listening to gossip. I am well aware of the reputation the society columns cultivate for me.’ He leaned close. At this distance he could breathe her in, the scent of cinnamon and vanilla, the smells of a warm winter kitchen, a scent at odds with her sharpness. ‘The truth is, London is too expensive.’ He’d been forced to leave just when London was getting interesting with the founding of the Royal Academy of Music.

  ‘Is that the only reason you’re here? Money? Or is there something more?’ Good Lord, the woman didn’t stop. The picture she painted made him out to be a mercenary or a coward.

  He did not like the other implication, which hit too close to home. The Landgraf’s wife had ruined Vienna for him. ‘If you’re suggesting I’m running from a jealous husband’s temper, you’d be entirely in the wrong.’ He might dally with married women, but he was careful not to let things go too far and he was scrupulous in his choices. He stayed away from the wives of jealous husbands. But he did worry—had word of the debacle in Vienna reached as far as Cornwall? That would be surprising indeed, even after the months that had passed. But he had to know. ‘Whatever gives you the idea that something sordid is involved? Moreover, why do you care?’ The last was meant to throw her off balance, to remind her they were flirting here, not conducting the Spanish inquisition, that perhaps her interest in his proclivities signalled her own interest in him. But she did not take the reminder.

  ‘I have five sisters, sir. I wouldn’t want you to lead them astray.’ Ah, so this was about her sisters and not Vienna. Thank goodness. He couldn’t manage another disaster.

  ‘Could I?’ He challenged her with his eyes. He was on more comfortable ground now. This was the type of conversation he was used to navigating.

  ‘You know you could. You’re that sort.’

  ‘That sort? And what sort is that?’ If she wanted to call him a rake, he would make her spell it out. He deserved that courtesy at least.

  ‘The handsome sort.’

  ‘You think I’m handsome? I am surprised. Something complimentary from you at last, Miss Treleven. I will consider it progress.’ Although, progress with her was irrelevant. Miss Rosenwyn Treleven and her opinions did not signify. He was not here for romance or for dalliance. Even if he was, he would not pursue such things with her. For one, she saw too much of him. Honesty made for a crowded bed. Bodies should be naked in bed, not souls.

  Green eyes flashed. ‘Consider it nothing at all, sir. Just an observation.’

  ‘Like the dust in your eye this morning?’ He chuckled. ‘Perhaps there’s another reason you’re so unfriendly other than on your sisters’ behalf?’ Not that he cared, he reminded himself. Still, it was galling to his pride to think there was a woman he couldn’t charm. He’d charmed the most beautiful women in Vienna and Paris, women lovelier than Rosenwyn Treleven and far more worldly. Of course, he wasn’t trying to charm her. Perhaps he should? It would certainly serve her right to fall victim to the charms she railed against. But that would only prove her point—that he was a superficial flirt. Best to stay away from her and her assumptions, yet he found himself awaiting her answer, wondering what uncomfortable truths might fall from those pink lips next.

  ‘Besides, I’m not suggesting you’re running. I’m suggesting you’re hiding.’ That did not make it better.

  Cade gave a derisive chuckle. This time she was wrong. How little she knew! ‘If I was hiding, I assure you I certainly wouldn’t come here.’ His demons could find him too easily. Here, every nerve was exposed. Everywhere he’d looked today in church the past was on display, and his shell was so very fragile even after all these years if a mere church service could get to him.

  It was time he went on the offensive. Perhaps she saw something of herself in him? ‘May I assume the blade cuts both ways? What are you hiding from in Porth Karrek? You’re a woman of status and a bit of fortune. Surely you can do better than Porth Karrek. You needn’t be here.’ From Falmage’s comments at dinner, she hadn’t been here. She’d had Seasons, but t
hose had come to an end a year ago. By necessity or by choice? It was hard to tell. Miss Treleven looked to be in her early twenties. She had reached that dangerous age of possibly ‘having outgrown London’, if one was being delicate. On the shelf, if one was not. Had Miss Treleven with the fiery hair and sharp tongue not taken? Was that her secret?

  ‘Unlike yourself, I happen to like it here.’ Her chin took on its defiant tilt, her smile smug as if she’d won some victory. Cade didn’t think. He just responded, his temper overriding the last of his patience. He’d done her a favour this afternoon and she was repaying him poorly.

  ‘That’s convenient for you then, since you don’t seem to be going anywhere else.’ He shouldn’t have said it. The implications were mean, cruel even, but he’d had enough of her conjectures and judgements. She froze, her face becoming stone-hard and just as expressionless. Her dancing eyes shuttered and he felt the loss of their keen vitality. They weren’t playing at a war of words any more. Although she stood beside him, she had withdrawn from him completely. There was no scold, no rebuttal, just silence where sharp repartee had been moments before.

  He ought to fill that silence with an apology. No gentleman called attention to a woman’s lack of success on the marriage mart to her face no matter how sharp-tongued she was. It was poorly done and all because the truth of her darts had stung him. But in his newly pricked anger, he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

  Laughter went up from the charades game and Miss Treleven made a show of turning her attentions towards the noise with exaggerated interest. ‘I do believe I’ll join them. If you’ll excuse me, Mr Kitto?’

  The opportunity to apologise slipped away with her. He’d bungled that entirely. Bungling things with women was certainly new for him. He hadn’t charmed her. He’d insulted her. And for what reason? Because she’d insulted him? With the truth? Was that why he felt so wounded? Or was there another reason? Surely it couldn’t be that he’d wanted her to think better of him when he didn’t care about her opinion. To prove it, he’d return to the party and show her how much he didn’t care by enjoying himself. Then she could revisit just how much he didn’t want to be here.

  * * *

  The best revenge would be to enjoy herself and show Cador Kitto his insinuation that she was somehow socially undesirable, a spinster in the making, had no effect on her. Determined to have her revenge, Rosenwyn sat on the sofa, surrounded by her sisters, and threw herself into the game. But revenge was only revenge if the other party was aware and it seemed Cador Kitto wasn’t. Either that or he’d had the same idea as she in proving the other wrong.

  Instinct told her it might be the latter. She rather thought in hindsight that he hadn’t been trying to hurt her with his words as much as he’d been trying to protect himself. She’d got to him, been too bold with comments she should have kept to herself. Then again, she’d been doing a fair bit of protecting, too. Not only of her sisters, but of herself. Cador Kitto was good-looking with classic, dramatic features, blue eyes that gazed right through a woman as if he could—as if he wanted—to see into her heart; a look he’d no doubt cultivated to much success in the European courts.

  He was certainly a test to the protections she’d put up in the year since the incident with Dashiell Custis. How strong was her resolve? It seemed she was not immune to a bit of curiosity where their visitor was concerned. Her mind was intrigued by him. What was his story? What had happened to him after he’d left Cornwall? What had shaped him? Did he still have family here? If so, wouldn’t he be happy to see them? Happy to be back at last? She couldn’t imagine not wanting to see her family. Why was he so reluctant to be back? Although he didn’t seem too reluctant at the moment. In fact, he seemed right at home.

  On the other team, Kitto was standing shoulder to shoulder with Cassian and Inigo, all golden and laughing as they called out guesses to Eaton’s mime. Rosenwyn looked away. It had been a mistake to look at his mouth, to think about his mouth. It was a mouth made for the taking and giving of kisses with its firm upper line and its slightly softer lip below. It was a commanding but generous mouth. Objectively speaking, that was. Not that she wanted to try out the hypothesis. Kisses always led to other things, to other troubles. Kisses were dangerous that way.

  Ayleth nudged her. ‘He’s not an easy man to look away from, is he?’

  She flushed, embarrassed over being caught. ‘I was merely looking in that general direction, not necessarily his direction.’

  Ayleth laughed, unconvinced. ‘It’s all right to look, you know. It doesn’t mean you have to marry him. Besides, you aren’t going to let Dashiell Custis prevent you from falling in love again, are you? What does that prove? Or change? He was rotten and you were lucky to find it out before it was too late.’ ‘Too late’ in Ayleth’s mind meant before giving in to Dashiell’s rather persuasive appeals to elope and live a romantic happy ever after.

  ‘This isn’t about Dashiell,’ Rosenwyn said firmly. While it hadn’t been too late for avoiding the public debacle of an elopement, it had been too late to avoid other, more private aspects that not even Ayleth was aware of. Rosenwyn had kept those to herself and thankfully been spared the need to make those aspects known to her family. She’d been lucky in that regard but she was still embarrassed to think how close she’d come to playing Dashiell’s lovesick fool. She’d thought herself smarter than that. ‘I just happen to think Mr Kitto and I would not have much in common.’ Around them, the charades game finished.

  ‘Certainly not your love of music or your accomplishment in that regard,’ Ayleth replied with soft sarcasm. ‘It didn’t look that way to me.’ Her sister elbowed her with a sly smile. ‘The two of you appeared engrossed in conversation.’

  ‘We were having a disagreement, that was all.’ She refused to disclose she’d all but called him a rake and that he thought her a missish spinster with no prospects. Was that how others saw her these days since her return from London? As someone who had failed? Who was destined for the shelf?

  ‘You know what they say: the line between love and hate is a thin one,’ Ayleth chided her encouragingly. ‘Perhaps you and Mr Kitto are merely testing one another.’

  Rosenwyn dismissed the idea with a shake of her head. ‘Don’t be silly. Why would I invest time in Mr Kitto when he’ll be gone after Christmas? A girl can have no expectations there.’ He was hardly the sort she was looking for: stable, honest, homegrown, committed to Porth Karrek.

  ‘You don’t have to marry him.’ Ayleth laughed. ‘The very reason that he’ll leave makes him safe, perfect in fact. Just a few stolen kisses under the kissing bough and nothing more. He might be what you need to put Dashiell Custis behind you. We could call him a transition.’ Ayleth rose and shook out her skirts. ‘I think I’ll go talk to Eaton, he’s planning a truffle-hunting expedition to Italy next summer. Do you want to come?’

  ‘To Italy?’

  ‘No, silly goose. To talk with Eaton.’

  Rosenwyn waved her sister off, seeing the simple ploy. She didn’t want to talk to Eaton as long as Cador Kitto was standing next to him. Certainly, Mr Kitto was intriguing both in looks and background, but there were other ways to assuage her curiosity without associating with him directly. He was Porth Karrek born. If she cared enough to solve the mystery of him, she could check the church records at St Piran’s. Sometimes the best way to manage curiosity was to appease it. Once she knew his secrets, Cade Kitto would no longer be interesting. That was the theory at least. Christmas was her favourite time of year. She would not let a newcomer who would be gone by New Year’s blight it.

  Chapter Four

  Cador Kitto’s presence wasn’t easily banished, however. The memory of him lingered long after the gentlemen had departed. It didn’t help that Marianne wanted to dissect the afternoon in detail while they sewed in the evening. ‘What do you think of our composer?’ Marianne asked the girls at large.

  Rosenwyn raised
her gaze from her embroidery hoop to study her sister in all her youthful enthusiasm. She’d been like that once—looking forward to her first London Season. That seemed years ago. Marianne was set to come out in London this spring. Gentlemen and dresses were all she talked about these days. She’d fit right in with London in a way Rosenwyn never had. ‘Don’t flirt with him, Marianne. He’s far too worldly for you to cut your teeth on,’ Rosenwyn counselled sharply, the words as much for herself as for her sister. There’d been moments today when those blue eyes had threatened her own good sense, when it would have been too easy to abandon her defences and give in to Kitto’s flirting. She could see all too well where Marianne was headed with her question. In her sister’s cloistered world, Cador Kitto would be an exciting visitor, fresh come from London, the embodiment of all she thought she held dear. But in the end, a man like Kitto would laugh at her.

  ‘I liked him,’ Marianne argued. ‘He was so stylish. His boots were from Hoby. Did you notice? He’s not so big, not like Eaton. Falmage intimidates simply by walking into a room. But Mr Kitto was just the right height. A girl could rest her head on his shoulder or look in his eyes as they danced without getting a kink in her neck, didn’t you think so, Rosie? You were right across from him at dinner and had the best view.’

  The best view of those teasing blue eyes that provoked and pleased by turn.

  What Rosenwyn thought was that she’d seen men like him in London, men who only acted like gentlemen at Almack’s. Men like Dashiell Custis who had nearly broken her country girl’s heart. Just nearly, though. Rosenwyn was smarter now and she would not let such a cad loose on her sister, on any of her sisters. ‘I think he’s not for you, dear.’