An Enchanted Christmas Collection : Regency Romance
Page 18
Taking the footman’s hand, she stepped from the carriage in the hopes that the conversation was done with.
“Remember, Jemma, I know you better than anyone, so I will know if you are unhappy.”
Jemma sighed theatrically. “After years of being in society my view on marriage has changed, Thomas. Crickley will expect me to run his house and be an elegant accessory when required, but little else.”
“That is an exceedingly emotionless way to look at the rest of your life, Jemma.”
Deciding that silence was her best course at that point, she held Thomas’s arm as they walked up the steps and through the red brick façade. The air was crisp and snow had fallen the previous two days, so the noises around them were muted. They passed through the door and were greeted by a servant dressed somberly in black.
“I am not happy, Jemma, and will state one last time that if you should wish to break this engagement then I will help you do so.”
Thomas had been her big brother; he’d protected her when her parents had not, and she understood why he was angry with her, but right at that moment, she wanted nothing more than to enjoy herself and forget, if only briefly, what was to come.
“Enough now, Thomas, or the Christmas gift I have had made for you will be given to someone else.”
Jemma had expected grandeur and was not disappointed. Walking into the entrance hall, she found it lit with many candles and decorated with boughs of holly. The walls were painted in the softest blue and framed with gold, and carpets of red added to the visual feast. Everywhere she looked she saw wealth and grandeur, from the curving staircase sweeping left and right to the gilded frames hanging on the walls with Cavanagh ancestors.
“It’s a Christmas tree,” Thomas said, noting her surprise at the large tree taking up a great deal of space in the entranceway. “Cavanagh has had one for the last few years; it seems his wife has an uncle who embraced the tradition while in Germany.”
“It is lovely, and smells marvelous.”
It was adorned with many things, from nuts to what looked to be sweets.
“Don’t stand under any mistletoe or kissing boughs,” Thomas cautioned as she began to take off her heavy velvet cloak. “Believe me, there will be plenty of them. Good God, what the hell are you wearing!”
“My costume,” Jemma said, looking down at the soft white Grecian dress beneath the matching cloak that draped her body. She’d had it made by her modiste, and thought it rather lovely. The fabric was diaphanous and floated as she walked, and the gold braid around her waist added just the right touch. The bodice was draped and cut low enough to show the tops of her breasts. Her hair hung in one long plait to the side, and more braid circled her head.
“Your chest is barely covered!” Thomas spluttered.
“Of course it’s covered,” Jemma said, looking down. The problem was there was just quite a bit of it, and she usually took great pains to keep it hidden. However, tonight she felt the need to be different. A wildness had taken root inside her since she had decided to attend the Cavanagh ball.
“I cannot take you in there dressed like that.”
Thomas sounded in pain and Jemma rolled her eyes.
“For pity’s sake, Thomas, stop being dramatic. I shall be quite all right, and as I have already stated, am sensible enough to not fall prey to unscrupulous rakes like yourself.” Unless I want to, Jemma added silently.
“Keep your hood up,” Thomas said, reaching for the soft white material of the matching white cape she wore over her costume and pulling it up to cover her head, “And that Christmas gift had better be a good one, after everything you have put me through.”
“I cannot keep it up all evening, surely?”
“You will bloody well do as I say because right now, I am very close to throwing you over my shoulder and returning to the carriage. And can you not pull it around your chest so you are not so exposed?”
“No, I cannot.”
Thomas muttered something unflattering, but she did not acknowledge it. The problem was she was almost a head shorter than him and a great deal lighter, so he could, and often had, thrown her over his shoulder just to get his way.
“Very well.”
“I will not be responsible for ruining your reputation.”
“Don’t be dramatic, Thomas. There will be plenty of guests here I know, and I’m sure they shall cause my reputation no harm as I have no intentions of courting trouble.”
“As I know you almost as well as myself, I know that is a whopping untruth. You can find trouble by simply stepping foot outside the house.”
“Society thinks I am the epitome of a well-bred lady, cousin. In fact, Lady Vacien asked me to give her daughters a few pointers.”
“Society,” Thomas gritted out, “is easily fooled."
Jemma admitted the truth to these words. She had always been a hoyden, but masked it well when required.
They climbed the stairs, smiled and nodded to other guests, none of whom she recognized, as they, like she and Thomas, wore masks and costumes.
The room they entered was as long as it was wide. Light came from several lamps along the walls and a huge candelabra hanging above their heads.
“I have never seen such a sight,” Jemma said. Before them, hundreds of guests were dancing or talking, and the noise was extremely loud.
Everyone was masked and costumed in a variety of disguises. She saw naval officers and people dressed in Grecian costumes such as hers.
“As those that haven’t already left to spend Christmas with their families have only a few nights left to enjoy such frivolous entertainment, dear cousin, the mood here is even more dangerous than usual, so have a care, and do not stray from my side.”
“There seem to be hundreds of people here, Thomas; surely everyone has accepted their invitations.”
“As I have already stated, it is an event everyone looks forward to each year.”
“I am quite sure that is Mary Rolland over there in that gaggle of milkmaids; perhaps you could walk me over there and leave, content I shall come to no harm.”
“I have a feeling of impending doom,” he said dramatically.
“I have assured you I will behave, Thomas, so please, I beg of you, do not feel you need to stay at my side all evening. Now, as no one else is wearing their hoods up, I am removing mine because it draws attention.” Jemma removed her hood, and then slid the silk off her shoulders.
“I cannot believe you left the house half-dressed,” he hissed.
“Don’t be silly, I’m wearing more than most of the woman present,” Jemma said as her eyes surveyed the guests looking for something to distract her cousin from her lack of clothing. “Thomas, that Cleopatra is throwing you come-hither glances.”
“She is rather pretty,” he said, easing his grip on Jemma’s wrist.
“I see a rather impressive Caesar making his way to her side, cousin; I suggest you intercept her before he does.”
“I will if you promise to stand with the milkmaids until I return.”
“Of course.”
He left to pursue his Cleopatra, and Jemma turned right instead of left, away from the milkmaids.
The combination of masks and costumes made it hard to recognize anyone, which suited her, as Jemma had no wish to encounter any of her family or fiancé’s friends. In two weeks, they would leave Thomas’s country estate for her fiancé’s estate and her wedding. Since the day she’d agreed to marry Lord Crickley, Jemma had been gripped by a desperate need to do something she’d never done before. She wasn’t entirely sure what, but she wanted it to be reckless because her rebellions had only ever been small, for all Thomas moaned about her escapades. This would be her last chance to do something that challenged the boundaries she had always lived within.
A small wicked thought had entered her head after her betrothal was announced, the kind an innocent well-bred woman should never have, but Thomas could not stop her thoughts no matter how often he’d tried.
Crickley had coerced Jemma into marriage because he had caught her father cheating at cards, and apparently it was not the first time, but this time Crickley had the leverage he wanted to force Jemma into marriage. Her mother would be broken were the news about her father to come out.
Ever since she had agreed to the marriage, she had felt the rash need to give her innocence to another. Jemma knew she would not act on her rebellion, but she savored it anyway.
Attempting to push the dangerous thought aside, she let her eyes circle the room. It was unlikely she would experience anything more than a few heated kisses here, and she would settle for that, if only she knew how to find them.
Her eyes were drawn to a tall dark-haired man who wore the dress of a highwayman. Entirely in black, from mask to boots, he stood out from those more colorfully attired around him. He danced with a grace unusual in one so big and partnered a woman who looked suspiciously like Miss Cynthia Talbot. Dressed as a cherub, complete with wings and a bow, she was looking up at her highwayman with what Jemma suspected was adoration and seemed to be dancing scandalously close, not observing the correct distance.
Jemma could honestly say she had never looked that way at a man in her life, and doubted she ever would. Her husband would certainly never inspire such emotion from her.
As if sensing her thoughts, the man’s head lifted, and even though she was some distance away, and they both wore masks, Jemma knew his eyes held hers. The breath lodged in her throat as his mouth tilted into a smile. Heat started in her cheeks and traveled slowly down through her body. It was a simple smile, something she had shared with many before this night, and yet she felt it everywhere. Jemma literally tingled all over. She couldn’t seem to drag her eyes away from him. She could only see his mouth and chin, but was sure he was handsome. There was something about him… a magnetism that seemed to reach out and touch her.
Closing her eyes was the only way Jemma could break the contact. When she opened them, her head had tilted a few degrees to the right. Good Lord, she’d never had such an intense reaction to a man before, and she didn’t even know him or his name, had never uttered two words to him. Well, at least she didn’t believe she had. Perhaps coming here had been a mistake, if this was how she reacted to a random stranger, especially considering her foolish thoughts. Pressing a hand to her chest, Jemma attempted to soothe the rapid thud of her heartbeat. Had her reactions been due to her betrothal? Was desperation making her react to strange men?
“Foolishness, Jemma,” she muttered, thoroughly disconcerted by her reaction. Taking a glass of wine from a footman, she drank it down in a few gulps, enjoying the crisp bite. Before she could stop herself, Jemma was searching her memory for large men with black hair.
“May I have this dance, my Grecian goddess?”
The man before her was dressed as a Roman gladiator. His eyes were level with Jemma, so he was not blessed with the tall figure of the highwayman, and the leather tunic stretched over his stomach suggested he enjoyed his food and libations. For all he did not have the man in black’s impressive presence, he had round red cheeks and a smile that was genuine.
“Thank you, kind gladiator, I would be honored.”
Ignoring Thomas’s wish for her to stand with the group of women until he returned, Jemma stepped onto the dance floor. It was liberating to be anonymous, and she would enjoy her freedom for the brief time she had it.
“I have tried in vain to recognize you, my Goddess; will you give me a clue as to your identity?”
She took her partner’s hand as they met in the middle of the floor. His eyes were on her breasts, and she doubted he would find a clue there, as normally Jemma never bared them.
“I think not, gladiator; tonight is for secrets.”
She tried for a secretive look as his eyes returned to hers. His smile was instant, and Jemma wondered if she should have perfected the art of flirting more during her years in society, as she had seen other women do, batting their eyelashes, and offering alluring and sly smiles as they pushed out their breasts and swung their skirts. The problem was, she was a literal creature who could not tolerate fools and most evenings she liked to partake in discussions that had a purpose. Discussing the weather and other silly such subjects while trying to lure a prospective suitor had never agreed with Jemma. Perhaps if she had tried harder, she would not now be betrothed to a man old enough to be her father.
The highwayman was dancing also, and her eyes found and held his once more before she managed to look away. If this was how her body responded with just a look, what would it be like if he actually touched her? Perhaps she would locate Thomas after this dance and stay at his side; mayhap all her bold ideas about flirtations and other carry-ons were the stuff of silly dreams, as this intense reaction to a man she had not spoken a word to was unsettling.
When the dance ended, she let the gladiator lead her to where a circle of people stood discussing a great deal of nothing. She took another glass of wine, and this one she sipped slowly. She seemed to have no control over her eyes, as they looked to the floor, searching for the highwayman, but he was nowhere to be seen.
“And that is a good thing,” she muttered. Her reaction to him had been baffling, and Jemma put it down to her upcoming nuptials. She was not herself at the moment.
Chapter Two
Harry hadn’t wanted to accompany his brother to the Cavanagh ball this evening; he found the event boring and the people equally so. Phillip loved it, loved the anonymity and how a young lady could lose her inhibitions—and chaperone—long enough to let him steal a few kisses. He’d come because his brother had begged him to, and as it was on the way to his estate, he had agreed. Christmas was nearly upon them, and as Phillip’s social activities would be seriously curtailed in the country, he’d relented. His brother had sealed his acceptance by telling Harry it would do him good to unbend and tarnish his lofty crown. Just to prove he was not lofty, Harry had dressed in the costume his valet had organized on his behalf. It was not his choice, but there was a certain amount of irony in the fact that he’d never broken a law in his life and was not what a person would call reckless, and here he stood dressed as a highwayman. Phillip had laughed so hard he’d cried when he’d seen him.
“You must tell me your name, my highwayman.”
“But, Madam Shepherdess, our identities must remain secret or where would the fun be?” he said, easing her back from his chest once more. Phillip was right; women seemed to lose their inhibitions when they donned a disguise. Her little mew simply annoyed him, so he searched again and failed to locate the Grecian goddess.
The jolt of awareness he’d felt when their eyes met had shocked him. Harry was not the type to feel jolts of anything. How was it possible that he’d felt her eyes on him earlier whilst he was dancing with a cherub? He’d instinctively looked over his dance partner’s head and found her standing alone across the room. Her hair was the color of honey and hung in a long braid over one shoulder, coming to rest on the lush swell of her breast. Soft white material caressed and clung to her full curves, and her skin seemed to glow in the light from the chandelier above her head. She’d been looking at him, and he’d swear on his brother’s life that she felt the awareness between them too. Harry had smiled, she’d lowered her lashes and turned away, and he’d been able to draw a breath.
She’d then danced with a man dressed as a gladiator, her beauty eclipsing all others around her, and he’d had the irration
al urge to stomp to her side and make her partner him. Harry wondered if he was coming down with an ailment because he wasn’t a man for irrational impulses. She’d seemed to glide around the floor, and Harry had struggled to pull his eyes from her.
When the music finished, he looked for her, but she and her partner had disappeared, so he returned his shepherdess to her friends, and went in search of the goddess. He found her with a group, the gladiator still at her side. She was not overly tall; the top of her head would brush his chin, and he wanted to grab her to test his theory.
Control was important to Harry. He refused to relinquish it to anyone or anything—at least, he had until now. His control had fled with his first look at the Grecian goddess.
Moving behind her, he whispered in her ear, “Good evening.”
She turned quickly and stumbled, luckily it was toward him so he could reach out a hand and steady her. He briefly held her against his chest, enjoying the lush curves before placing her back on her feet. What would it be like to have her naked and pressed along the length of his body?
“Good evening.”
Her curtsey was elegant, and her voice cultured, although he heard the little hitch.
“May I have the pleasure of this dance?”
“I should not,” she said, and then her eyes darted left and right as if looking for someone.
“’Tis only a dance, madam, and as I have already witnessed you doing just that surely you can do so with me. Unless you are to dance with another?” Harry held out his arm.
“No, I am promised to no one else.”
“Excellent,” he said, capturing her hand and placing it on his arm. He walked them through the other guests.
“Do I get a say in this?”
“Is there a reason you don’t want to dance with me?” Harry looked into the small holes in her mask. He thought her eyes were brown, or possibly a dark green.
“No, I had just not thought to dance again so soon.”