They moved closer until they were only inches apart. His woodsy smell was intoxicating. His warm breath upon her cheek and neck sent shivers down her arm. She wanted him to bring his lips closer and kiss her, touch her, anything.
“Give us a few minutes, miss,” Cook said in a booming voice, jarring Cicely from her daydream. She quickly moved away from John, avoiding eye contact.
“We will prepare a nice warm bath for ye in your rooms,” Mags continued. “Miss Amelia is taking hers now.”
“Thank you, Mags.”
One of the kitchen girls rushed forward then handed a blanket to her and one to John.
Cicely avoided his gaze but felt it on her as surely as if he were touching her.
“I am afraid between the two misses, it will take some time ’til we can have your bath ready, m’lord.”
“A bath will not be necessary. A pitcher of warm water will do well enough for me.”
Cicely tried not to think of him washing in a pitcher of water, but the images flooded her mind, and her artistic talent envisioned the slope of his shoulder, the chiseled curves of his chest. She looked at him, and he was staring at her again. Is he thinking of me the same as I am of him? Her face burned.
Mags approached. “The girls will help ye with your bath, miss.”
Two maids curtsied to her.
“Thank you, Mags.” Cicely stood to leave, and John’s gaze was upon her still. “Stop staring at me,” she demanded and glared at him.
“Why? Is it so terrible?”
It was exactly the opposite of terrible, which was the issue. “Yes, Lord St. Ives, it is.” He made her feel things she did not understand. It was all quite confusing. She left before he could reply, but his rich, deep laughter followed her down the hall, bringing a smile to her face.
Chapter 3
John paced inside the parlor, staring at the door, waiting for Cici to appear. When it opened, it was Cousin Emily, and he frowned.
“Really, John. I thought you would be happier to see me,” she admonished.
“Of course. I am always thrilled to see my favorite cousin.” He smiled. Emily was more of a mother to him than a cousin. He had missed her and her expressive green eyes.
“Your only cousin,” she scolded with a grin.
“Not anymore. The four little ones are my second cousins.” He winked at her.
“You are correct. I am special no longer.”
“You will always be special to me.” He hugged her, inhaling the expensive French perfume she loved and that he always remembered to send her.
“Incorrigible,” she murmured in his ear.
He pulled back to look at her heart-shaped face and bright-red curls. “Always.”
She smiled, and he felt like a child again, basking in her approval. After his mother had died giving birth to him, Cousin Emily had raised him as her own and protected him from his selfish, cold-hearted bastard of a father, the Duke of Ainsley. Were it not for Emily, John would not have become the man he was.
“Come, sit with me.” She moved to a pair of chairs in the corner, far from the other guests, and John joined her.
“We have much to discuss. It has been too long.” A hint of sadness was in her voice.
He understood and shared that sadness. “Three years, five months, and six days.”
She gasped. “Tell me you are not truly keeping count.”
“No. But if I were, would you feel terribly guilty?” He smiled at her.
She looked into his eyes and smiled back. “Yes. Terribly.”
“Then it is a good thing that I was guessing. I have missed you,” he said, his voice cracking.
“And I you.” Her eyes glistened.
“Promise me we will not allow such a long time to pass between visits ever again.”
She harrumphed. “It is not what we allowed. It is what your father machinated.”
“What do you mean?” He frowned. Any mention of the duke always put him in a foul mood.
She smiled at him. “Let us forget it. It is of no importance anymore. I can guarantee that we will not be parted again if we do not want to be. We are coming to London for the season.” She looked around as if making sure no one else was listening. “Lord Townsend’s heir and Thomas’s middle brother died in India last month. Thomas is next in line for the Townsend title, but we have not told anyone yet. Lord and Lady Townsend wish to wait until after the holidays before anyone is told—even the children will not know until then.”
“It is always sad circumstances to gain a title in such a way, but the vicar is a good man. He will make a wonderful baron. However, I fear you will only make a tolerable lady.” He winked at her.
She pulled back in feigned shock. “John St. Ives, you are a dreadful young man.”
“Sadly, I have been in London too long.” He shrugged.
Vicar Thomas was Cousin Emily’s husband and Cici’s father. John had known him as long as he had known Cici, and other than the man’s lack of attentiveness for his first wife’s children, John could find no fault with him, especially when he made his cousin so happy.
She chuckled. “Lord and Lady Townsend want us to attend them in London this season so that society may gawk at us.”
“I will be pleased to have you so close. Will the whole family be coming?” He tried to seem as nonchalant as possible.
“No. Only William and Georgianna will accompany us. I fear Cicely would not enjoy the Season as much as the rest.” Before John could comment, she continued, “I have heard of your kindness to Georgianna, helping her make her way.”
The implication in her tone made John say, “Maybe too kind. I fear the girl has set her cap for me.”
“Would it be such a terrible thing to marry my stepdaughter?” Emily’s eyebrow arched in suggestion.
Instead of Georgianna’s petite form, all John thought of was Cici and her golden eyes. “No, it would not,” he conceded, “but I have no interest in Georgianna.”
Emily sighed. “She will be disappointed.”
“As is half of London. I swear they hunt me like a fox on Boxing Day.” He tried to keep the frustration from his voice, but he was tired of being fawned over because of his future title. He never knew who was truly a friend or merely interested in using him for his status or, worse, to gain the duke’s ear.
She frowned. “I will speak with Georgianna and make sure she directs her interests elsewhere.”
“Thank you, Cousin Emily.”
“I think that you should simply call me Emily now. It is not as if you are still in skirts.”
He stiffened. “I was never in skirts.”
She laughed. “Yes, you were, and you were so cute.” She pinched his cheek.
He blushed and narrowed his eyes. “We shall never speak of that again.”
“Of course not.” She pressed a hand to her mouth and widened her eyes in feigned remorse.
The bell was rung for dinner, cutting their reunion short as the vicar came to claim Emily. “John, when did you arrive?” The man held out his hand, and John took it.
“This afternoon, Vicar.”
“You must call me Thomas, son.”
John smiled and stood a bit taller.
“What has it been?” Thomas asked.
“Eight years.”
“My, my, so long.” Thomas frowned. “I wish that I had been able to join Emily and the children when they met you in London. Sadly, my duties would not allow it.”
“Yet, it is good to see you now.” And it was. John had missed the calm that always surrounded Thomas even when everything else was chaos.
“Have Cicely or the others seen you yet?”
“Yes. I was sledding with them this afternoon.”
“That is good. My, how you have grown. Just looking at you and my children makes one feel quite old.”
Thomas and Emily shared a look that made it clear that four children had not dimmed their adoration for one another. It made John hopeful that he would find some
one he cared for in such a way. Maybe someone with golden eyes. He glanced at the door a final time then, disappointed, went in for dinner.
The long table in the middle of the dining room was covered in white linen, gold-trimmed plates, and heavy silverware. The room was lit by two large candelabras and various sconces around the room.
Fortunately, Lady Townsend was not a stickler for precedence when in the country, allowing her guests to sit where they wish, providing that they alternated by gender to ensure that each of the ladies was properly entertained by a gentleman on each side.
John moved down the table to join a few of his friends from London, most of whom were Lady Townsend’s relations. Lord Brinley and Miss Brinley, the children of Lady Brinley, who was Lady Townsend’s sister, shared her dark hair and green eyes. Brinley was a broad man, while his sister was curvaceous with full red lips. Their cousin Lord Coulton was the son of Lady Townsend’s brother and had the same green eyes, but his hair was golden blond. The man was a notorious rake in every sense of the word.
Never far from Miss Brinley was Lord Ashton, a charming fellow always keen for a lark. The two were inseparable, and for four years, the town had speculated about an impending engagement, yet nothing had been announced.
Just as the dining room doors were about to close, Cici glided into the room. If John thought she was beautiful before, he was left speechless by the vision walking toward the only empty seat, beside him.
A few black curls framed her face, but the rest of her hair was swept back into a simple chignon, leaving her long, beautiful neck bare. Her gaze met his and sent a surge of hunger through him. Her white gown gave her an air of innocence that suited her, but the bodice was cut much lower than that of her day dress, leaving a very appealing decolletage on display for him to admire. The long white skirts of her gown were filmy but gave no hint of the shapely legs underneath, but he vividly recalled how they had felt, and he shifted uncomfortably in his chair.
“Forgive me for being late,” she pleaded to no one in particular. “I was helping to get the children settled.”
“No doubt a monumental task,” Lady Townsend commented with an affectionate smile from the foot of the table. Lady Townsend was older but still of fine face and form, with not a hint of gray to speak of in her dark hair.
“Yes. They talked me into telling them an exceptionally long story.” She looked at John with pursed lips and raised eyebrows.
“More about Cici the Incredible?” he whispered.
“Of course. I fear that we shall have to come up with some adventures for them.”
She smiled, and it warmed him. He loved the affection that she held for her siblings. As an only child, he found the chaos and humor of a large family exciting. He had never considered it before but knew that he would want to have a large brood himself one day, perhaps even a few with gold-specked eyes.
“Lord Coulton, your sister is quite a good companion for my sister, Amelia. I am so happy that you were able to bring her with you,” Cici said.
“That is kind of you to say. I am certain Sophia has talked the poor child’s ear off,” Lord Coulton replied in a droll, amused tone that held a hint of a slur.
“Quite the contrary. She is the only person of my acquaintance that has ever kept up with Amelia’s enthusiasm for speech. They were just educating me as to why a young lady of fourteen years is an outstanding dinner partner and how they should be allowed to attend dinner in mixed company.”
The table chuckled again.
“An argument as old as time. I remember clearly explaining the same to my mother when I was their age,” Miss Brinley said.
Lord Ashton looked at her. “I cannot recall you ever being barred from the dinner table at such an age.”
“Persistence always wins out, Lord Ashton.” Miss Brinley smiled.
Ashton arched his eyebrows in a way that indicated the words held a deeper meaning for the duo.
“I believe you are confusing persistence for bullheaded, unrelenting stubbornness,” replied Lord Brinley.
“It is a family trait, brother.” Miss Brinley beamed. “Is that not so, Aunt Mary?”
“I cannot agree that it is a family trait. However, if you are referring to a character flaw that you inherited from your mother, my dear sister, then yes, that description is apt,” Lady Townsend replied without looking up from her plate of roasted duck and artichoke.
Miss Brinley frowned and opened her mouth to reply, but Lord Ashton jumped in and brought the conversation back to more polite topics. “I am looking forward to a trip to the village tomorrow.”
At that, the conversations split off into couples or trios discussing their plans for the next day, Christmas Eve, and a final shopping trip into the village.
“And what do you plan to do tomorrow, Miss Cicely?” John emphasized the last two words heavily.
“I would like to see if I can find anything special in the village for the children.” She took a delicate bite of the duck and licked some of the juice from her lip.
His breath caught, and he nearly forgot what he was about to say. “It is admirable how dedicated you are to them.”
“They are my family. Having a different mother does not change that. Plus, they bring me joy every day. You recall how dreary it can be at the vicarage without a bit of entertainment.”
The thought of Cici tucked away in the country with no entertainment other than her siblings broke John’s heart. For the first time, he realized how he had abandoned her and moved on with his life. He should have insisted she come to London or even asked after her when Georgianna arrived. To his shame, he had not. He was determined to change that and to speak to Emily about Cici coming for the season. “Would you like an escort to the village tomorrow?”
“That would be nice.” She smiled, and it lit up her eyes. “Thank you.”
Their conversation moved on to discussing their favorite gifts as children and the many adventures they’d had. Before they knew it, the meal was done. The ladies were rising to go to the drawing room, while the gentlemen would retire to smoke, drink, or play a round of billiards before joining the ladies again. All John wanted was to continue talking to Cici.
Before she stood to leave, he whispered to her, “Do you really wish to join the others?”
“Not particularly.”
“Good. Join the ladies then excuse yourself in five minutes. I will meet you in the hallway.” He squeezed her hand under the table. Her mischievous smile reminded him of the hoyden he had known all those years before.
“You are not going to get me in trouble, are you?” she whispered in a voice that made him feel as if that was exactly what she wanted.
Noticing the room was nearly empty, he kissed the back of her hand. “Never.”
Chapter 4
The skin on her hand burned where his lips had touched, and a quiver of excitement raced through her. It was as if they were children again, planning to sneak off on an adventure and hoping to evade her siblings.
Cicely followed the other ladies into the music room, which was one of her favorite spaces at Townsend Abbey. The walls were white with gold designs depicting flowers, butterflies, birds, and many classical figures. The room was staged with gold velvet sofas, white-and-gold striped armchairs in clusters, and cream-colored Aubusson rugs with pink roses. Along the walls, various instruments were displayed, such as a large golden harp, a grand pianoforte, and a collection of stringed instruments.
She quickly found Emily, her stepmother, to make her excuses. “I am quite fatigued after sledding. Would you mind if I retire for the evening?” she asked, feigning her most pitiful look.
“Of course, my dear.” Emily touched the back of her hand to Cicely’s cheeks and forehead. “You do not feel warm, so it is likely just fatigue as you say.”
Cicely smiled over Emily’s concern. Their relationship had been close from the start and had only grown stronger over the years.
Cicely headed for the door, but Aunt Ma
ry snared her before she reached it.
“Where are you going, child? I need you to play for us, or Evelyn will. I love my niece dearly, but she is not sufficient to the task.” Aunt Mary glanced around the room at the other ladies in attendance: Lady Campbell, her two unmarried daughters, and Miss Pratt. “Nor am I confident about the Misses Campbell or Pratt, though I recall that the Pratt girl might play the violin. I am not certain if I am brave enough to verify her skill level.”
Cicely rubbed her neck, trying to ignore the flush of guilt creeping up it. “I am sorry, Aunt Mary, but I am feeling tired and was going to retire.”
Aunt Mary’s gaze narrowed, and she searched Cicely’s face. “You are not ill, are you?” Aunt Mary repeated the same touch test as Emily, and Cicely nearly laughed. Her aunt might not have had children, but she mothered and spoiled as if she had a nursery full of her own.
“No, I am not ill. I promise I will play tomorrow night.” Cicely smiled, praying her aunt would not challenge her further.
Aunt Mary sighed and eyed Miss Pratt. “Then wish me luck. The chit will either be an extraordinarily good or extraordinarily terrible violin player, as it is not a forgiving instrument. I shall have to ring for Carstairs to bring me something to block out the sound as a precaution before I ask Miss Pratt to play.”
“A wise decision, Aunt Mary,” Cicely replied with a chuckle, wondering if Aunt Mary stuffed her ears when the children played or even when she had been learning herself, ages before.
Aunt Mary hurried off, and Cicely left the room.
“Pssst,” John hissed from around the corner at the end of the hall.
Seeing only his head poking out brought her back to her childhood, when he would show up at her window and she would try to sneak out without her siblings noticing. However, one of the three almost always did.
Christmas Surprise (Regency Holiday Surprise Book 1) Page 2
