Reawakened by His Christmas Kiss

by Jessica Gilmore

  But before she went she allowed herself one last lingering glance at the slumbering girl. At the stained glass in the window behind her and the way the light played across her supine figure. At the little dog curled up at his mistress’s side. At the anticipation on the sleeper’s face, the way her lips were parted ready. At the shadow at the window, the glimpse of thorns and the determined man ready to slash through them.

  Some people thought the story insipid—a heroine who merely fell asleep and waited to be rescued—but Alex had always thought it the ultimate romance that no matter how lost you were, someone would find you. That you could be hidden behind one hundred years’ worth of trees and thorns and someone would still see you, know you and fight for you.

  She no longer felt like that. Now she knew better. Now she knew the only person to fight for you was you. And that sometimes the only way to do that, the only way to save yourself, was to retreat and keep all the things that could hurt you at bay. No hope, no love, no dreams.

  But for one moment, as she walked through corridors she knew better than she knew her heart, listening to the chatter of two over-excited girls, she allowed herself to wish, just briefly, that she still believed in fairy-tales.

  CHAPTER SIX

  ‘ALEX!’

  Alex turned at the sound of the high-pitched voice and saw a small child speeding towards her. It had turned even colder over the last few days and the trees glistened with morning frost, the grass crunchy white underfoot.

  ‘Good morning, Scarlett.’ She caught the small girl before she barrelled into her, suppressing a smile at the layers of clothing, the thick padded jacket, hat and gloves and the bright orange wellies on her small feet. ‘Living the Hawk brand, I see.’

  ‘Of course.’

  Finn caught up with them and her breath caught in her throat. It was most unfair that he had turned out even more attractive than the boy she had loved, especially with his chin coated with overnight stubble, his hair tousled and his expression relaxed.

  ‘Thanks for the other night,’ he added. ‘The press party seemed to go very well.’

  ‘I’m never satisfied until I see all the reviews but I’m cautiously optimistic,’ Alex agreed. ‘Thank goodness the weather held for the afternoon. I’m not sure treetop treks and biking woodland trails would have been so much fun in the rain. It’s just a shame the nature walk looks so bare at this time of year, but the interpretation was really good, so they got the gist of what you want to achieve.’

  ‘The tweaks you made really enhanced the whole experience, especially housing some of the journalists here—even the ones in the Bunkhouse seemed to have fun, judging from the comments I heard at breakfast yesterday. Thank you.’

  ‘Just doing my job.’

  ‘It wasn’t your job to return these two scamps to their bed, though.’ Finn glared mock sternly at his nieces, and they shrieked and rushed along the path ahead. ‘Thank you for keeping them out of trouble. That was above and beyond.’

  ‘It was no problem. They’re nice girls.’ She paused, not wanting to prolong the conversation or bring up any more shared memories, but her curiosity overran her good sense. ‘They must miss their mum. Where is Nicky? She was pregnant when I...’

  Dammit, this was where curiosity took her. Right back to that night. And there were so many reasons not to go back to that night. Self-preservation for one.

  Self-preservation took many routes. It meant not thinking about watching her father stagger out of the lake with a lifeless body in his arms. It meant not remembering the media storm, the reporters at every gate. It meant not reliving her rigid fear, sitting in the back of a police car as she was taken in for questioning, camera flashes blinding her.

  And self-preservation meant not thinking about the photos or the moment she saw them all over the front pages. It meant remembering that this man couldn’t be trusted, no matter how warm his gaze as it fell on his nieces, how attractive his crinkled smile.

  A smile that was currently playing around his mouth as he watched Scarlett gravely hopscotching along the path leading through the woodland.

  ‘Nicky finally signed over custody to me this summer.’ As he spoke the smile disappeared and Finn’s jaw set firm, his mouth a grim line, his eyes unreadable.

  ‘Custody? You mean she isn’t around at all?’

  ‘She’s flitted in and out of their lives for years. Every time she swears she’s made a change. So I set her up in a house, make sure there’s enough money for the girls, and then she meets another loser. Next thing I know he’s moved in or she’s moved out, and six months later the girls are returned to me for another “holiday” while she sorts herself out. It might be two weeks, it might be a month, or longer. I’ve had enough of enabling her. They need stability. Especially Saffy.’

  ‘Yes. I see. She does seem fragile.’

  They walked a little further in silence before Finn spoke again, his words tense and clipped. ‘I should have done something sooner, said something sooner, but I didn’t want to alienate Nicky. They were her daughters...what if she banned me from seeing them? And, despite everything, I wanted to believe that her heart was in the right place. She protected me, you know, from the worst of my dad’s drinking. Even when she did something wrong her motives were good. I had to keep giving her the benefit of the doubt. But then Saffy...’ He stopped and rubbed his hand against his jaw.

  ‘Then Saffy what?’

  Finn sighed, and she could see the indecision in his eyes as he weighed up whether or not to answer.

  ‘She reminded me of you,’ he said at last.

  Alex’s breath caught at his words, chills numbing her every nerve.

  ‘That look you had when your parents would go away and you’d be waiting for them to come back, or when your mum barely knew you were there. That hopeful look. It used to break my heart then, but seeing it replicated on Saffy...’ He shook his head, lost in some memory. ‘I was no longer a boy. I have money, and a home, and I can give her the stability she needs. I thought Nicky would fight me for them, and I was prepared to involve the courts if I had to. Even though I know she loves them. But she just gave in.’

  ‘Maybe she gave in because she loves them. Because she knows it’s for the best.’

  But Alex’s heart was hammering so loudly she could hardly hear herself speak. She’d always thought she’d hidden her fear of rejection from everyone, including Finn. She’d worked so hard to be the smiling, impetuous, devil-may-care child her parents had wanted. Never cried, never sulked, never followed the rules. Charming, wild and beautiful. A Beaumont through and through.

  Beaumonts didn’t need or ask for approval and they felt stifled by rules and stability. Alex had done her very best to feel stifled too. But if Finn had seen it was all a pretence had others seen it too? Her parents?

  ‘Maybe,’ said Finn. ‘I’d already bought Blakeley and I started to invest in turning it into the kind of outdoor centre I wanted it to be, decided to stop travelling so much. Moving my life here properly made perfect sense. The girls can go to the local schools. Stop chopping and changing, stay in one place.’

  ‘And Nicky doesn’t see them at all?’

  ‘She’s in India right now, but she can see them whenever she wants for as long as she wants when she’s in the UK. So long as it’s here. She has a bedroom here that’s hers alone—not that she’s even seen it. But the girls stay with me until they are out of formal education. That’s the agreement.’

  ‘Wow. That’s a big commitment.’

  ‘I didn’t have a choice. I couldn’t let them down. I’ve done enough of that. Letting people I care about down.’

  His words hung in the air until Alex could hardly breathe. Did he mean his father, belligerent and difficult, refusing all offers of help? Or his sister, searching for an elusive happiness even her children couldn’t provide? Or was he talking about back then? When
he’d promised to be her knight but ended up her betrayer?

  ‘No, you had a choice and you chose them. Even with money and a home that’s an unselfish choice to make. Being a single parent is hard even when children have always known love and stability.’

  ‘Which is why they come first. Their happiness is paramount.’

  ‘Of course.’

  Despite everything that hung between them, all that lay unsaid, all the secrets and lies and betrayals, she couldn’t help but admire Finn for his dedication—and she allowed herself one tiny wish: that someone had put her first when she’d still needed somebody to care.

  * * *

  Once again Finn found Alex almost impossible to read. She had been curious about the girls, understandably, and she had sounded sympathetic whilst asking questions, but there was still an otherworldly air around her, as if she were miles away from here, in a different existence entirely.

  That was probably what made her so good at her job. That sense she was somehow remote, untouched, that nothing really affected her. He’d seen her at work during the press party. Always watching, introducing, stepping in with a cool smile and a light but steely touch, making sure every message stayed on brand, that the assembled journalists experienced what she wanted them to experience. So unlike the girl he’d known, who had felt everything so very deeply a harsh word could cut her.

  But only he had known that. She had been so adept at hiding her true nature. Did she still hide now? It was impossible to tell. But for a moment he badly wanted to find out.

  ‘Uncle Finn, can Alex help us choose our tree?’

  Scarlett appeared at his side, her cheeks the same colour as her name, her hair once again a tangled mess.

  He passed a rueful hand over the curls. ‘I need an uncle school to teach me how to do plaits,’ he said.

  ‘I told you. Emily’s dad watched online videos and he can wind ribbons through her hair. You just have to try harder,’ Scarlett told him.

  He tugged one messy plait. ‘Message understood.’

  ‘So can she?’ She turned eagerly to Alex. ‘We get to choose our very own tree from our very own woods and then we take it back and decorate it. And Uncle Finn has all these amazing Christmas tree ornaments; he collects them everywhere he goes.’

  Alex stilled, her cheeks paling. ‘I used to collect Christmas tree ornaments,’ she said softly.

  ‘Do you still have them?’

  ‘No. Not any more. I had to leave them behind when I left home. And some I gave away.’

  Finn curled his hand into a loose fist as she steadfastly avoided looking at him, but he knew they were thinking of the same time. Of her first modelling job in New York, when she was barely fifteen and barely chaperoned by her mother. She’d brought him back an ornament from a world-famous department store: a perfect glass apple. Far too delicate for his Christmas tree, and far too beautiful for a seventeen-year-old boy whose focus had been on school and getting out. But he had thanked her, and from then on, on every trip to every place, she had brought home two Christmas tree ornaments: one for him and one for her to keep.

  He still had every one.

  ‘So, can she?’ Scarlett asked.

  Finn searched for an excuse, a reason to let Alex off the hook, but before he could speak Saffy mooched up to them, her thin shoulders hunched under her anorak.

  ‘Are we going to choose this tree or not?’

  ‘I was just explaining to Alex what we are doing,’ Scarlett said with extraordinary dignity. ‘And inviting her along to be one of the party.’

  Finn looked at Alex, startled into a shout of laughter, and saw answering laughter soften her grey eyes, her mouth grow full and sweet with the natural curve of her smile. His breath caught in his throat. She had been a beautiful girl, but she had grown into a glorious woman. When she allowed herself to be natural. When her smile had meaning.

  His pulse began to thud as he stared, unable to look away, drinking in the sight. He didn’t care what she called herself, this was the only woman who had ever made his blood thrill; the only woman to make his heart thump so loud he was convinced it could be heard back at the castle; the only woman his hands ached to touch so badly the pain was physical. He knew how she tasted. Sweet and fresh and lush, like nectar. How she felt. Warm silk and soft velvet. And she knew him as well. For all she denied it.

  ‘Uncle Finn!’ Scarlett’s insistent voice brought him out of his reverie and he stared at her and blinked. ‘Ask Alex to join us.’

  And Finn realised that he wanted nothing more. Not just because of that shared conspiratorial moment of amusement, or because of the sudden visceral memories that had blindsided him, but because he suspected that Alexandra Davenport was even lonelier than Lola Beaumont had been.

  ‘Of course,’ he said easily, taking Saffron’s hand. ‘If you have nothing better to do.’

  ‘I...’

  ‘You might as well,’ Saffy said, staring down at the ground, and Finn saw Alex’s expression soften with recognition.

  ‘Only if you’re sure I’m not intruding.’

  ‘Yay!’ Scarlett started dancing around, hair flying. ‘Come on, Alex. After we choose the tree we’re going to decorate it and have hot chocolate with cream and it’s going to be the best day ever.’

  She flew off down the path, tugging a startled-looking Alex with her, and Finn followed on more sedately, still holding Saffron’s mittened hand.

  ‘Do you mind, Saffy?’ he said gently. ‘I know today is meant to be a family day...’

  A life filled with ‘uncles’ and ‘new daddies’ had left Saffron wary of outsiders, especially ones who tried to step into her inner circle. But to his surprise Saffy shook her head.

  ‘Alex is nice. She’s really good at reading stories too. She did all the voices. Even though it was a babyish story of Scarlett’s she made it seem really funny.’

  ‘That’s good. As long as you’re okay, Saffy.’

  His niece rolled her eyes in the pre-teen way she had perfected recently. ‘I’m fine. Come on, Uncle Finn, bet I can beat you.’

  And she was off, too-long skinny legs pumping furiously as she sped down the path, ponytail flying out behind her.

  With a mock roar of rage Finn took off after her, but underneath a beat of anxiety pounded insistently. The girls had been hurt enough. It was good that they liked Alex, but she would be leaving at Christmas. He had to make sure they didn’t get too attached.

  And it wasn’t just them he needed to watch. Having Alex back at Blakeley felt too right, too easy, especially when he saw glimpses of the girl he’d used to know. But they were both different people now, with very different lives, and far too old to believe in happy-ever-afters.

  It was surprisingly easy to find and agree on the right tree, and before an hour had passed they were all back in the castle for the promised hot chocolate, the tree cut and delivered by one of the estate hands.

  Alex paused as they left the kitchen, uncertainty on her face as the girls rushed into the sitting room. ‘Are you sure it’s okay for me to be here?’

  ‘More than sure. I need someone to help carry these mugs.’ Finn nodded at the large mugs filled with hot chocolate he’d just made, topped with cream and sprinkles, and slipped a packet of shortbread into his pocket before picking up two of them.

  ‘Biscuits not served on plates? Mrs Atkinson would be horrified,’ Alex said. ‘Shop bought as well.’

  ‘If you want to make some from scratch you’re very welcome to try.’

  Finn grinned as she shook her head.

  ‘Amber’s the baker in our house. She bakes to relax, which means there is always fresh bread and cakes and biscuits all over the kitchen. I’m dreading Emilia and Harriet moving out, leaving me to face temptation all alone.’

  ‘Send her to me. Feeding two growing girls is exhausting. I feel like a mother
bird, constantly pushing worms into open mouths.’

  ‘What a lovely analogy.’

  She picked up the remaining two mugs and slipped through the door he held open with his foot and into the sitting room, pausing uncertainly as she reached the threshold of what he knew was a room once familiar to her.

  In her day this had been the family room, a space used only by Alex, Finn and Mrs Atkinson. Her parents had rarely set foot in the domestic quarters. They had used the entire castle with careless entitlement, sitting on sixteenth-century chairs and sleeping in beds older than entire family trees. They had thought nothing of dancing on priceless carpets or leaving glasses on Chippendale tables.

  But the rooms and their contents had all been painstakingly cleaned and restored, and now the whole castle was open to the public. All except the west wing, which he’d turned into a spacious, comfortable home.

  ‘This looks amazing.’ Alex halted as she stepped into the sitting room. ‘I can’t believe the difference. Look how beautiful the floor is!’

  Finn had opened the room up into the old dining room beyond to create a large, welcoming space, with grouped sofas and chairs, a huge fireplace, and filled bookshelves in every alcove. Cushion-covered window seats ran the length of the room, and the pale grey of the walls showcased the bright, modern paintings he’d chosen.

  All the furniture in their living space had been bought especially, and every room was newly painted, every floor stripped and polished. He’d wanted a blank canvas, a new start, with no hint of the old aristocratic family imposing on his.

  The only part of the west wing that hadn’t been renovated was the long picture gallery which ran the entire second floor of the wing. That he hadn’t opened up to public view, despite the fame of some of the portraits.

  He hadn’t allowed himself to wonder why. But seeing Alex here, back in her home, he knew why. He hadn’t wanted to rake up the old scandal again with every visitor. He hadn’t wanted them to look at the cat-shaped eyes and pointed chins of her ancestors and remember her, gossip about her. Without knowing it he’d protected her, as he had failed to do so long ago.