An Enchanted Christmas Collection : Regency Romance

by Wendy Vella

  His features fit his size. Dark arrogant brows curved over forest-green eyes that she knew could fell a person where they stood. He was not a man who pandered to the egos of others, she knew that about him and supposed his standing in society suggested that he did not have to. His nose was large, cheekbones high, and jaw strong, but it was his mouth at that moment that caught and held her eyes. It was curved upward in a smile, a genuine one, and the first one of its kind Jemma had ever seen.

  Something settled heavily in her stomach, a weight that she had no answer for. Was it because he was big like Leander had been, or was it that after that night she had become aware of men… most especially tall, dark-haired men? Was she to become a lightskirt in her head? The thought was a disturbing one. So disturbing that she got to her feet so quickly that her chair tumbled over.

  “Are you well, Miss Partridge?”

  “Thank you, yes, Lord Harrington, a slight headache only. I shall retire if you will all excuse me.”

  “Shall I walk you up, Jemma, as it is rare for you to have a headache?”

  “No, Thomas, but thank you for the offer. It is merely all that time spent being jolted about in the carriage. I shall be set to rights after a good night’s sleep. Good evening.” Jemma curtseyed, and then left the room. She found herself nearly at a run as she reached the stairs, then scampered up them and into the room she was to share with her mother. Once there, she shut the door and leaned on it.

  “What is happening to you, Jemma?” she whispered as her heart slowly settled.

  Undressing, she pulled on her warm nightdress and slipped beneath the covers. An hour later she was still awake, her mind twisting and turning with thoughts of Leander, her upcoming marriage, and now Lord Harrington.

  How could she long for a man she knew nothing about. A man she would not recognize even if she were to stumble into him. A man who had given her more than she’d ever expected to experience in her lifetime. Her body constantly remembered and yearned for Leander’s touch. She wondered if Lord Harrington made love as her Leander did, then cursed herself a fool for doing so.

  When her mother entered the room, she pretended to sleep, as she had no wish to converse. Lady Partridge slipped into the bed beside her minutes later, and she felt a soft kiss on her hair, bringing on the ridiculous sting of tears. Jemma could not remember the last time her mother had done that. She lay listening as her mother’s breathing grew heavy.

  Her thoughts kept her awake for so long, Jemma was sure she did not actually close her eyes until the early hours of the morning, and then it was to dream of a tall dark-haired man.

  She woke at dawn, cold and tired. Her mother had managed to steal most of the blankets, and Jemma had no energy to wrestle them back. She got out of bed and quickly washed and dressed in her thick stockings and two chemises. Slipping on a blue dress, she then pulled on her black leather boots and quickly wrapped her coat around her shoulders before collecting her scarf, gloves, and bonnet. Leaving the room quietly to the sound of her mother’s gentle snores, she made her way through the inn. Tying her bonnet, she wrapped the scarf around her neck and slipped her fingers into her gloves before opening the front door.

  She would spend hours cooped up inside the carriage again today, so she decided on a walk before she did so. The day was extremely cold, with flurries of snow in the air. Heading out of the courtyard, Jemma turned down the quiet country lane and increased her stride.

  Rolling hills glistened with frost, trees were tipped with ice, and she encountered several seemingly happy cows with swishing tails, who came to the fence to watch her with their big brown eyes.

  “Morning, ladies.”

  She received a moo and moved on. Jemma liked walking, especially outside of London where she could inhale the fresh, albeit icy, air. She would clear her head of all the silly thoughts that had cluttered it last night and since her episode with Leander. The man had been a magician, surely? Or was that what it was often like between men and women? Jemma seriously doubted that because her mother had told her to expect nothing from her union with Lord Crickley but a child, and as she disliked him and was only marrying him to save her family from scandal, she knew this to be the truth.

  “Pleasure does not come from the marriage bed, daughter, and it is merely your duty to produce an heir, then your husband will seek other pastures.”

  Uncomfortable with this discussion, she had not questioned her mother, but she had wanted to. Did other pastures mean her husband would visit his mistress? This idea was pleasing to Jemma. She was sure lying with her future husband would be a horridly uncomfortable affair when compared with what she had shared with Leander. Thus she wanted to do it as infrequently as she could. If Lord Crickley got his pleasures elsewhere, she would be happy, as that would mean he would not bother her with his amorous intentions.

  Nothing would ever compare with the meeting of souls she had experienced with Leander.

  “No more, Jemma.” She had to try and push him from her head. That was done with now, and there was no going back. She was committed to Lord Crickley to save her family and nothing could be done about that fact. She would always have the memory of that night, but never again would she experience what they had shared.

  Jemma saw a gate and headed for it. The latch was frozen, but she banged it several times with her fist and managed to free it. Opening it she walked through, closing it behind her. The grass was long enough to soon drench the hem of her skirts but she didn’t care. It was so quiet here, almost as if she were the only person for miles. Reaching the edge of the pond, she bent and poked at the ice with a gloved finger. Was it iced over completely? Could she walk on it—did she dare try?

  Standing, Jemma stepped onto the edge with one foot. She wished Thomas were there; this was what they had loved to do in the winter on his estate. He had three lakes, and when they iced over, they would walk or skate over them, doing silly movements and making each other laugh.

  The ice held beneath her foot, so she leaned on it and heard no creaking sound. Stepping on completely, she slowly skirted the edge, slipping and sliding and feeling her spirits rise with every giggle. Soon she was walking fast, her arms like windmills to keep herself upright. The song was next, a small ditty they had made up as children, and she sang it now loudly to the cows, who were approaching her cautiously.

  “Yes, it is not an everyday occurrence I am sure, ladies, to see one such as I behaving in such a manner, but I am in need of some levity, so pray have pity on me, and go about your business.”

  She ventured toward the middle of the small pond and began to slide. Her balance had always been excellent, and often while Thomas ended on his backside she had stayed on her feet.

  “I had not realized cows were so undiscerning in their musical tastes. You sing off-key, Miss Partridge, and very badly.”

  “Eeeek!” Jemma screamed, arms flapping as she looked at the tall, dark man now standing at the edge of the ice.

  “If you fall I will not be coming to save you, as the ice may hold you, but I doubt it will hold my weight also.”

  She skidded and slid, finally managing to keep her balance, and when she was steady she made herself look at him once more. His collar was up, he wore no hat or scarf, but his gloves were black leather. He looked alert and handsome, standing there in the weak gray morning light. And due to her new found awareness of large dark men, Jemma’s heart was beating a small rat-a-tat-tat.

  “I never professed to hold a tune, my Lord.”

  He tilted his head to the side as if studying an unknown species.

  “No, I don’t believe you did, but aren’t you ladies meant to be accomplished in that type of thing?”

  “A gross generalization, Lord Harrington. To infer that because I am a woman I am then able to hold a tune is like me suggesting because you are a man you can use a sword with skill.” Jemma made herself turn away from him and continue her slow walk around the ice. This allowed her to keep herself busy, thereby ignoring the
strange workings of her body due to his arrival at her pond.

  “I am quite skilful with a sword, to be fair.”

  “How wonderful for you.”

  “Did you check the ice before walking upon it, Miss Partridge?”

  “Of course. I am not a complete fool, Lord Harrington.”

  “I was not suggesting you were, I was merely concerned for your welfare.”

  She fell silent, hoping he would simply leave. Alas, he did not.

  “Dare I ask as to what you are doing, Miss Partridge?”

  “Walking on the ice, Lord Harrington.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I want to.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I enjoy it.”

  “Why?”

  “It is fun!” Jemma snapped, nettled. “Because it does not meet the criteria of acceptable activities for ladies in your strict guidebook, my Lord, does not mean it does not meet mine.”

  “I fear we are both guilty, Miss Partridge.”

  “Of what, Lord Harrington?” Jemma walked and slid in a circle, ignoring the cold seeping through the soles of her leather boots. She would not leave now, not with him already believing her addled in the head. Staying was in her best interests because he would continue to think her odd, and she could work up to disliking him again, and the fluttering in the pit of her belly would go away.

  “Of misjudging each other after our rather brief but disastrous first encounter. I had hoped after last night’s tentative olive branch that we could attempt to at least be civil.”

  “Oh.”

  “Yes, oh.”

  “I was going to apologize once,” Jemma said, circling the other way.

  “But?”

  “But I realized you were a pompous ass, and that it was best I avoided you instead, in case I said something even more insulting.” The truth would set her free, Jemma thought.

  He laughed. It started as a soft chuckle and progressed into a deep booming laugh that had the cows lifting their heads to watch him and the fluttering in Jemma’s belly turning into so much more.

  “I am not deliberately a pompous ass, Miss Partridge.”

  “Then why are you?” She made her circle wider to bring her closer to where he stood.

  “It is expected of me.”

  He wasn’t laughing now; it had fallen from his face to be replaced by a scowl. His words were short and clipped. Jemma had to stop and look at him; she needed to read his expression. It was closed as if he were shutting himself away.

  “That makes no sense. I mean,” she quickly added as his brows lowered further, “You should be who you want to be, not what is expected of you, surely?”

  His laugh held no humor this time.

  “In an ideal world perhaps, but not in the one I inhabit, Miss Partridge. I am a wealthy man who sits in the House of Lords. I run several estates and the finances for my family, which is vast. I do not have the privilege of being who I want to be.”

  “Whereas I, who do nothing but sit about playing the piano, singing badly, and awaiting the day I can marry, can be exactly who I want to be?”

  “Do you always do that?”

  “What?” Jemma snapped.

  “Misconstrue words?”

  Jemma heaved a sigh. “Not always, but some people bring out the worst in me.”

  “And I’m one of those?”

  “It would seem so.”

  He threw his head back suddenly and looked up at the sky, and she looked at the long line of his throat and felt her mouth go dry. What would it be like to kiss him there?

  Oh, this just has to stop.

  She should have thoughts like this only for Leander, not Lord Harrington.

  “Do you ever wish you could run away, Miss Partridge?”

  “Every day.”

  “Shall we then?”

  His words held her speechless for several seconds.

  “Where shall we go? Thomas suggested France. Paris at Christmas is lovely, so he said.”

  As he looked at her again, she noted the scowl had gone, and his eyes seemed softer, his face now relaxed. The tension of minutes before had gone.

  “It is, and yes that would be nice, but I was thinking of a long voyage somewhere, that would take many weeks.”

  “I’ve always wanted to go to Egypt.”

  “Intriguing place. I rode a camel while I was there. Strange and wonderful creatures.”

  Jemma wasn’t sure she could take much more of this conversation and this new chapter in her relationship with this man.

  “I want to see the pyramids.”

  “They are among the most amazing things I have ever seen. I stood at the base of one and looked up, and for the life of me I could not work out how man had managed to create such a wonderful structure.”

  “Thus is the workings of a man’s mind when compared to a woman’s. I would wonder whose footsteps I was walking in.”

  He laughed again, a soft rumble coming from his chest.

  “If you wish to run away, Lord Harrington, I’m not quite sure why you simply don’t?”

  His eyes held hers, the green depths suddenly intent.

  “As I have already explained, Miss Partridge, I have responsibilities that do not allow me to simply disappear.”

  “Scotland then. Run away to there for a few months. I’m sure your responsibilities will be there when you return.”

  “Such is the working of a woman’s mind that she believes it is as easy as that.” He dismissed her words.

  “Such is the working of an arrogant, overbearing lord,” Jemma replied calmly. “Who believes his world will cease to exist if he leaves his post.”

  A small smile flitted around the edges of his mouth, but he swallowed it before it grew.

  “You really are an irritating woman, Miss Partridge.”

  “You really are an irritating man, Lord Harrington, and although I am enjoying this interlude I really must get back as my family is due to leave shortly.”

  “Wait, please don’t go.”

  Jemma laughed at his bland, unemotional tone.

  “Horrid man.”

  “Beastly woman.”

  Jemma giggled and made her way slowly toward him.

  “I must admit that I would feel more comfortable if you got off that ice.”

  “I was quite safe,” she said, sliding her feet.

  The crack was loud enough to make her shriek.

  “Run!” he bellowed.

  Jemma did, and she felt herself pitch forward. Seconds later she was lunging toward Lord Harrington. He caught her weight as she barrelled into him, staggering backward, carrying her with him. He tripped and then they were falling. She heard the breath rush from his body as she landed on his chest.

  “Oh dear, Lord Harrington, are you all right?” Jemma placed a hand on his chest and pushed herself upright to look down at him. His eyes were open, and only inches from hers, the green depths filled with laughter.

  “Perfectly, thank you, Miss Partridge. You are no great weight.”

  With her newfound knowledge of the male body, Jemma realized the one beneath her was a fine specimen indeed. Solid and banded with muscle, Lord Harrington was not dissimilar to her Leander.

  She braced her hands on his chest and tried to get herself off his body, but he simply placed his on her waist and held her still.

  “Why—”

  One hand cupped the back of her head and then he was kissing her. Jemma went rigid with shock and then collapsed against him as his mouth took hers in a soft kiss. She could not form a thought as her body pressed into his, and all those wonderful sensations that Leander had created inside her resurfaced. It seemed she was indeed a woman of loose morals.

  A loud snort to their right intruded, and Jemma quickly pulled back.

  “We have observers, Miss Partridge.”

  The cows were now only a few feet away.

  “I-I, that should not have happened,” Jemma said, rolling off his body as fast as h
er tangle of clothing would allow her. “I’m not sure why it did, but know that we shall both put it down to madness.”

  Far more elegantly than she, he regained his feet and faced her. His breathing, like hers, was fast, which told her that kiss had affected him also. She shouldn’t feel happy about that fact.

  “Forgive me, Miss Partridge, and you are right that should not have happened, but—”

  “Do not finish that sentence!” Jemma said, backing away.

  “Miss Partridge, Jemma—”

  “I must leave. Good day to you, Lord Harrington. I am leaving to meet with my fiancé, and shall see you at my wedding.”

  She ran from him, reaching the gate and throwing it open. Jemma did not look back until she was some distance away, and it was to see him closing the gate. Suddenly the word Leander popped into her head.

  “No!” She stopped walking and studied him as he started toward her. It could not be him, surely? But then her reaction to him had been the same. She’d felt the same desperate need to be close to him; awareness had shimmered deep in her belly as it had with Leander.

  “Dear God!” Turning, she picked up her skirts and ran as fast as she could back to the inn. She had to leave here now and then never be alone with that man again. Now she knew who he was, it would be even harder to not throw herself at him and beg him to run away with her and never look back.

  Chapter Six

  Harry had watched Jemma stop in the middle of the road and look back at him, her body suddenly motionless, studying him for long drawn-out seconds. He would have given over his entire fortune to know what she was thinking at that moment. Seconds later she had turned and fled.

  What the hell had just happened? Harry started to follow slowly. Was his reaction to Miss Partridge something to do with Hero? Was he that desperate to be near a woman that he had just ravished a respectable young lady—who was betrothed, no less.

  “What is it about you, Miss Partridge?”

  And why was he seeing her clearly now? Was that Hero’s doing also? He felt like the life he had always lived was slowly unraveling. He was feeling things he’d rarely felt before, seeing things in women he had never seen in them before.