A Mistletoe Vow to Lord Lovell

by Joanna Johnson

  ‘Shall I pass you your sheet while I’m down here?’ His voice held a wicked edge beneath the hoarse want and Honora was powerless to stop a small smile as she closed her eyes.

  ‘I don’t think I’ll need it again tonight. Do you?’

  Chapter Thirteen

  Kneeling carefully, Honora placed another handful of kindling into the parlour grate, attempting to bank it around the Yule log in an ordered pile, although there was little hope of concentrating while Isaac insisted on trailing soft, delightful kisses down the back of her neck. Each one turned her bones to water just a little more until she turned to him with a stern frown, the impact of which was dented slightly by the twitch of her lips.

  ‘Isaac. You were the one who said this thing should have been lit yesterday—Christmas Eve instead of Christmas Day, I believe is the tradition. I was too busy drowning to light it last night, so if you don’t let me get on with it now I’ll go for my flintlock. You know it’s still in my reticule, just itching to greet an aggravating husband.’

  Isaac’s mouth curved in return, but he stepped away from her with a bow, his parting shot one gentle finger caressing her nape to make her shiver. ‘My apologies, madam. The very last thing I’d want to be is a distraction.’

  Honora watched him out of the corner of her eye as he dropped into an armchair pulled up to the fireplace, sinking back with legs outstretched. For a man who claimed not to be trying to draw her attention he was failing miserably. His crisp white shirt gleamed in the Christmas Day sunlight streaming through the window opposite where he sat. When he brought both arms up to rest behind his head he only succeeded in displaying the outline of muscles concealed tantalisingly beneath. In all Honora would much rather have abandoned the Yule log and gone about the enjoyable business of removing said shirt from its owner, but the lump of wood wouldn’t burn itself and she knew how keen Isaac had been to include her in the tradition.

  ‘So? What happens now?’

  ‘You take a splinter from last year’s log...’ he leaned forward to offer a sliver of wood taken from his waistcoat pocket ‘...and use it to light this year’s. Once it’s aflame we’ll keep it burning all throughout today and then smouldering until Twelfth Night.’

  ‘For what purpose?’

  ‘Prosperity for the New Year and the warding off of evil. Keeping a shard of the previous log is supposed to protect the household all year until a new one is burned next Christmas.’

  She took the splinter and carefully set it alight, a spark from Isaac’s tinderbox leaping up to claim it. A vulnerable flame flared into life, dancing at the tip of the shard of wood and illuminating Isaac’s face as he smiled down at her. ‘Although I’m not sure I need a felled tree to bring me prosperity this year. You’ve given me more than I deserve already.’

  Honora flushed. It made her pulse flutter to hear Isaac speak so tenderly, the memory of the previous night still vivid at the forefront of her mind when he had spoken similarly intimate words to thaw any last vestiges of doubt she could have had. Ever since that moment happiness had chased away the shadows of her lonely past, even Charlotte’s condition strengthened by yesterday’s foray into the outside world. Doctor Harcourt had decreed she had finally turned the corner, perhaps something in the shock of Honora’s accident jolting Charlotte out of her daze—stranger things had happened, he’d said sagely, and Honora hadn’t the heart to disagree.

  ‘Is that right?’

  Honora stole a peep at Isaac, taking in the streaks of grey scattered through his chestnut hair and the pleasing shape of his profile. If anybody had told her, on the freezing night he appeared in her house, how he would transform her life she wouldn’t have believed them and yet he had. The man she’d disliked at once for his arrogance and similarity to Frank had proved her wrong and now when she looked at him it was with love that made her heart feel full to bursting. She’d never expected this paradise, never sought it, but he had given it to her none the less—a home and a family, and the perfect acceptance she’d never dreamed would come to her.

  ‘Of course. Perhaps a little more mightn’t hurt, however. If you’ll do the honours.’

  Isaac gestured to the cold grate crowned with glossy holly. The Yule log sat proudly below its spiky bower and with a flourish Honora touched it with the burning splinter, a slow smile crossing her face as the small flame licked outwards and began to grow.

  ‘Your first proper English Christmas tradition. What do you think?’

  ‘I like it.’ Honora knelt before the flames, their warmth caressing her skin and casting orange light across the carpet. At her back she felt Isaac reach out to play with a stray curl, the soft sensation capturing her attention at once.

  ‘I’m glad. The first of many.’ She heard the smile in his voice and tipped her head back to rest against his palm, feeling warm fingers sliding through her hair. ‘Why don’t you sit up here with me? We can watch the evil flee together, tail between its legs.’

  With a raised brow Honora got to her feet, the rich skirts of her new Christmas gown rustling as she went. Wrapped in creamy yellow, her clear skin shone and her curls gleamed in beautiful raven contrast, something Isaac had made sure to tell her as he’d watched her dress that morning from the warmth of their bed.

  ‘I’m a thirty-five-year-old woman, Isaac, and you’re not far from forty yourself. I’m not sure this is a dignified way to behave,’ Honora reprimanded her husband as he held out a hand to guide her down into his lap, but she took it all the same and the now familiar sense of peace washed over her as she settled against his chest. No doubt it was foolish to act like two young things in the first flush of love, but that was exactly what she felt like, and when Isaac’s arm came comfortably round her waist to draw her closer she knew he thought the same.

  ‘I’m glad you are. You’re a woman of experience and wisdom, not some green young girl—and none of them can match your loveliness.’

  ‘Such pretty words.’

  She dropped a light kiss on his cheek and felt the arm around her waist tighten. His fingers trailed the length of her arm, finding the pulse ticking below the thin skin of her wrist and stroking invitingly. ‘And I meant every one.’

  He gathered her closer against him, trapping her arms and taking advantage of her imprisonment to nibble one sensitive ear, scattering stars through every nerve. Her breath caught for a moment at the melting sensation and only the prospect of one of the maids coming in to bank up the Christmas Day fire stopped her from sinking completely into Isaac’s embrace and allowing him to do as he would.

  ‘That’s certainly more than Frank ever did. I wonder now if my parents saw his dishonesty at once, long before I realised it myself. They had the measure of him in no time at all.’

  She straightened the skirts of her cowslip dress, for the briefest of flickers allowing the moment she had introduced Frank to her parents to surface in her mind. She’d been so desperate for them to like him, in her weakness for that handsome man entirely blind to his faults. He’d been offhand to Pa and hardly more civil to her mother, Honora recalled now with a twist of shame, but at the time all she could see was Frank’s blue eyes and all she could hear was his deep voice, and the look of distaste her parents had shared had only made her angry.

  ‘But I’m not Frank.’

  As he so often seemed to manage, it was as though Isaac could sense the direction of her thoughts. He gathered her to him again, but this time with more protective than roguish intent as he captured her hands. ‘He was a low creature who only ever thought of people in terms of how useful they were to him. It doesn’t surprise me in the least he never valued your parents—you weren’t to blame for falling for the charming mask he so often showed to the world, concealing the ugliness behind it.’

  With her head resting just below Isaac’s chin Honora couldn’t see his face, but she blinked now at the sudden and unexpected bitterness she heard rumbl
e through his chest. Surely there was no reason for Isaac to sound so personally slighted, so vehement in his language it made her pause, and yet there it was, real loathing that seemed more than some casual dislike. It was a strange response—unless, perhaps...

  Did Frank do something to wound Isaac? Is that why his contempt for him sounds so severe?

  ‘You speak as though you hated him.’ She traced a pearl button on his cuff, attempting to keep growing curiosity out of her voice. ‘Why would you feel so strongly? I know you had little in common, but why would that make you dislike him so?’

  For a heartbeat Isaac didn’t reply—and in that half-second span Honora’s suspicion flared like a lit match, sparking into life to burn with bright concern.

  ‘His treatment of you is something I find difficult to forgive.’

  ‘But you spoke of a mask?’ Honora tweaked the button a little harder, her thoughts beginning to turn. ‘And the ugliness behind it—as though you’d seen it for yourself?’

  Isaac moved his position in the chair, still holding Honora close, but a fraction less tightly than before. If she hadn’t already wondered whether he was being evasive, his hesitation now would have roused her interest at once, the slight reluctance to respond to her questions more revealing than any answer.

  ‘There were occasions...certainly one occasion when I saw how he could be.’

  ‘What happened? What did he do to reveal himself?’ Honora ducked out from beneath Isaac’s chin and tried to catch his eye, resolutely turned away from her and fixed instead on the fireplace.

  She saw a complex expression pass over Isaac’s face and for the first time her curiosity segued into a beat of worry, a gripe in her stomach she didn’t want to address. Why was he being so coy? What was it he was thinking that he obviously didn’t want to share? Unease crept up inside her to threaten the simple happiness of only minutes earlier, when she’d curled into her husband’s lap and felt the warmth of knowing she was safe and loved at last.

  ‘Isaac? What is it? Is there something you’re not telling me?’

  He glanced down at her, dark eyes taking in the clear worry creasing her brow, then shook his head. ‘There’s nothing. I spoke without thinking, that’s all.’ Isaac smiled, but with another pang of uncertainty Honora saw it was too stiff to be genuine. ‘I hope in all ways to be a better husband to you than Frank ever was, Honora. I would never have you feel that unhappiness again.’

  * * *

  ‘Oh, Charlotte, that one’s beautiful!’

  Isaac followed the sound of female voices that echoed along the top corridor, coming to a predictable halt outside his ward’s rooms. From beyond the half-open door came the rustle of silk and appreciative giggles that would usually have made him smile, if the conversation he’d had with Honora two days previously hadn’t still been playing on his mind.

  She’d looked for all the world as though she knew he was hiding something from her and the same anger he’d felt at his mistake then returned to goad him now. He should have guarded his tongue and kept his contempt for Frank off his lips, but his real feelings had slipped out before he could stop them and now he feared Honora knew, that same suspicion she had harboured before bursting into new life. She was sharp and canny at the best of times. How could he hope she hadn’t noticed his evasiveness, when every glance told him she missed nothing with those bright eyes?

  All it would take is one more unguarded comment and the family we’ve built would lie in ruins. Honora’s heart would be smashed to pieces and she would never trust me again.

  Isaac paused with his hand flat against the door, listening to the merriment that issued from behind it, and felt his stomach tighten with the bitter regret never far from his thoughts. How long could he truly hope his deception would last? He should have told Honora in the graveyard, or even on the night Christopher was born as he’d intended—but he’d missed his moment and still the truth lay inside him like a canker, festering away until the time came for it to wreak havoc. The wife he had come to love would be devastated and there was nothing he could do to prevent it, her suspicions no doubt already raised and on keen alert for even the smallest of dropped hints to explain his clear dislike of Frank. He’d prided himself on how far superior a husband he would be to her first, but wasn’t he just as bad as that damned Blake, keeping Honora in the dark even if his reasons for doing so were to spare her from pain?

  ‘Is there somebody outside the door? It’s safe to come in!’

  Honora’s voice drifted from Charlotte’s chamber and Isaac’s insides knotted further at the note of happiness it contained. Honora must feel she finally had everything she’d ever wanted: a home, a family, a husband who loved her and whom she loved in return... But that joy would turn to ash once the events of the past months became known, causing agony for both Honora and Charlotte that could have been avoided had Isaac kept them apart. Instead he’d brought them together, fool that he was, and as he reluctantly pushed open the bedchamber door he had to fight to bring a curve to his lying lips.

  ‘What’s this? A masque ball?’

  He watched two faces turn in his direction, both wreathed with smiles that only made his own feel all the more false. Honora kept her place seated at the foot of Charlotte’s bed, Christopher lying contentedly in her arms, but Charlotte spun across to meet him, the pretty worked hem of her new dress flaring out as she moved.

  ‘I’m looking at my Christmas gowns for the first time. This one is my favourite so far!’ She twirled again to let him see how the pale blue silk danced like a wisp of smoke, although Isaac reached out in alarm when she seemed in danger of overbalancing.

  ‘Be careful. You’re still not back to full strength. What would be the point in my ordering new gowns if you fell and broke your head while trying them on?’

  Charlotte threw him the indulgent look countless generations of girls gave fussy fathers, but she allowed herself to be guided to sit beside Honora and carefully take Christopher on to her lap. She settled the baby’s little cap more comfortably on his head and rocked him so fastidiously Isaac’s smile almost relaxed into something genuine, but then from the corner of his eye he saw how Honora watched him, studying him without wanting to be seen, and the ice circling in his stomach redoubled its vigour.

  She knows something is amiss. Or at the very least she suspects.

  ‘Are you well today, Isaac? I’ve barely seen you all morning. You must have slipped out of bed before I awoke.’

  Honora spoke mildly enough, but Isaac wasn’t fooled for a moment. To anyone else it would seem her attention was more fixed on Charlotte and the warm bundle on her lap, but Isaac knew beneath those clusters of shining curls his wife’s ears were pricked for his reply.

  ‘I’m very well, thank you. And yourself?’

  ‘Oh, fine. There’s certainly nothing on my mind.’

  The pointed inflection in that one word almost made Isaac wince, but he affected not to notice the none-too-subtle hint. Apparently one look was all it took for his wife to see some trace of the worries that scurried through his mind like insects, however, his face or actions showing something was taking place within. How did she do it? he wondered as he nodded vaguely, not trusting himself to answer further. It must be some female gift he would never understand, but there was no denying Honora’s suddenly piercing gaze made him feel exposed.

  ‘Charlotte? Why don’t you take another look in the trunk? I think there are a couple of dresses you haven’t yet tried.’

  Honora spoke pleasantly to Charlotte, but her eyes remained fixed on Isaac’s, not wavering even when Christopher was deposited gently into her arms and his mother hastened across the room with girlish glee to see what further riches were waiting to be discovered. Isaac returned her steady stare, feeling his heart begin to skip, but concentrating with manful effort on keeping his face perfectly still.

  Careful. This feels as though
it might be a trap.

  ‘Isaac?’ Still seated on the end of Charlotte’s bed, Honora peered up at him, her determined chin lifted, but for the first time a shadow of doubt robbing her of some of the confidence he had always admired. Her eyes sought his and in their depths he saw hesitation, the tiniest gleam of fear that fled straight to his chest and forced itself between his ribs. When she spoke her voice was lowered, shielding Charlotte from the murmured words. ‘Isaac, what is it you’re not telling me? You all but ran from our bed this morning and you haven’t been natural with me for two days. Don’t deny something troubles you. I’m not a fool.’

  Christopher gave a quiet whimper and Honora held him a little closer, arms coming round him, but with more than a suggestion she was also protecting herself. Whether it was from harmful thoughts that plagued her own conscience or from those she feared Isaac harboured he couldn’t tell, but the urge to catch her up and soothe her worries flooded through him like an unstoppable tide and unseen behind his back he clenched his hands into fists of dismay.

  ‘Nobody would ever think you a fool, my love. Who would dare?’

  He thought to make her smile, but Honora’s lips remained pressed into a straight line. ‘Then don’t treat me like one. If there’s something that disturbs you, I would have you tell me. I don’t want another marriage where secrets make it rot from within.’

  The eerie accuracy of her words stopped Isaac dead in his tracks. Looking down at his wife on her perch at the end of the bed, he could have swayed, horrified by how closely she had pinned down the truth. A secret that stretched between them, unspoken and yet with the power to destroy everything they had built. It was exactly what he feared and in her wisdom Honora had touched the very nerve Isaac had thought to guard.