On that count, Burnell had hinted as much on the train journey, asking if she wanted everyone to think her dull and stodgy. Well, he hadn’t put it quite like that—but it was what he’d meant, and Mrs. Bongorge was of the same opinion. She’d seen right through Burnell’s attempts to appear romantically interested.
Pushing down her tears, Cornelia stumbled away, leaving the women’s voices behind her. Hadn’t she given up caring what people said? After all, none of them knew her.
Only her aunts could claim that but, even with them, she hid her deepest wishes, and her fears. The true impulses of her heart were hers alone, held safe from prying eyes.
She hardly saw where she was going. Reaching her room, the door seemed to shift and dissolve. She wavered, her knees suddenly weak.
All at once, a hand slipped about her waist and she was staring up into dark eyes.
“Cornelia?”
When had anyone spoken her name so tenderly?
A wave of longing rose within her. She wanted him to pull her close and hold her there. She needed his warmth.
“Kiss me.” She sighed the words so faintly, she wasn’t sure he’d heard but his head lowered. She stood on tip-toe, reaching for him.
He gazed at her a long moment, and then his mouth met hers. His lips were soft but his arms were commanding, pressing her to the hardness of his body. She opened to the gentle intrusion of his tongue and, in answer to her small moan, he deepened the kiss.
She didn’t want to think; only to be here.
He scooped beneath her bottom, lifting her higher, so that she was entirely in his arms, her face above his.
“Cornelia?” His voice was rougher than before, heavy with desire for something more than their kiss.
She was aware of his knee pushing between her skirts, and he was breathing hard, his lips moving to her neck, his mouth trailing kisses along her collarbone. His jaw grazed the upper curve of her breast.
She might let him push open the door and carry her to the bed. Lose herself to his hands and mouth and his demanding masculinity; lose every memory of hurt and just let herself feel.
But how could she let that happen when it would be a lie? This was passion and nothing more—but still she struggled, not wanting to return to herself.
“We shouldn’t…”
“Are you sure about that?” His voice was husky.
“I mean…you shouldn’t kiss me like this.”
“How should I kiss you?”
Breathless, she opened to him again, letting his tongue enter her mouth, wanting to surrender to everything he was offering her.
It was a wicked, intoxicating kiss—fierce and dangerous—and she fell into it with abandon, her limbs weak with longing.
Only the sound of far-off laughter woke her to where she was. She pushed against his chest and, with a groan, he allowed her feet to find the ground but he didn’t release her.
He rested his forehead against hers. “What do you want, Cornelia?”
What she wanted in this moment wouldn’t bring her heart contentment—not the sort that lasted; she wasn’t naive enough to confuse what was happening here with love.
As voices floated up the stairs, footsteps and the swish of skirts, she pulled free.
Once safely inside her room, Cornelia leaned back against the door, willing her pulse to steady itself.
What had she been thinking!
Her lips still throbbed with the imprint of Burnell’s. Closing her eyes, she touched her mouth with trembling fingers. No one had warned her that a kiss could feel like that, making her forget where and who she was.
She hadn’t wanted it to end—the intimacy of his lips, and his body pressed to hers. All power and heat, holding her aloft with ease, his hands firmly where they had no right to be, and his mouth—grazing the softness of her neck and breasts.
She’d done nothing to stop him—even though she’d known the kiss was reckless; not just because someone might have seen them, but reckless in other ways.
Sitting on the bed, she reached for Minnie, resting her forehead against the terrier’s soft tummy.
If I do have any intention of finding a husband, I mustn’t let this happen. I might summon my courage to enter Society again. Might find a man who could be a true companion; a man who cares more for what I am myself than the reputation that follows me.
A man like Burnell?
She needed to put that thought out of her mind.
She’d been upset and he’d comforted her in the way most natural to him.
Sitting up, she caught sight of the book once more—The Lady’s Guide to All Things Useful. Was there a chapter on husbands? Flicking through the pages, she found what she was looking for:
A woman may live her life perfectly without any husband at all, if she has the companionship of friends and the satisfaction of intellectual pursuits.
Where we take a husband, we must remember that he holds our happiness in his hands—and no woman can be content wedded to the wrong man.
Choose wisely and well—for marriage is a union not just of bodies but of minds and hearts. Its foundation lies not in passion but in respect, and love which cares as much for another’s happiness as our own.
Well, there was nothing revelatory in that.
Cornelia tossed the book aside again. She didn’t need a manual to remind her that passion formed shaky ground upon which to build a future with someone.
She’d eat her shoe before giving Lady Pippsbury the satisfaction of thinking she couldn’t hold Burnell’s attention, but she would need to guard her heart in the process. Having Burnell appear besotted to pique the curiosity of other men was one thing. It would be quite another to believe that this was anything more than a charade.
Chapter 12
Late, the next morning…
Cornelia knew she must face not only Burnell but her hosts and fellow guests, or appear unutterably rude.
Trays of spiced punch and hot mince pies circulated amidst those gathered in the grand hall. Like herself, they’d been instructed to wear their warmest clothes, to take part in a contest of sorts.
Failing to see Burnell among them, Cornelia cursed him for abandoning her again. They’d hardly convince anyone of him being head-over-heels if he kept finding diversion elsewhere.
“Now, remember, Cornelia,” Blanche patted her arm. “Whatever is afoot, men like a challenge. This is a contest in more ways than one, and lions chase hardest when the gazelle is running. Mr. Burnell is not the only cat on the prowl.” Blanche winked, threatening to unhinge one false eyelash.
All fell silent as the duke made to speak. “Although Lady Studborne won’t be able to join wholeheartedly in the merriment, she’s determined to entertain us.” He looked fondly at his wife. “With the snow deep as it is, the usual riding pursuits will be difficult, but as the snowfall has ceased for the time being and the sun is shining, we may try our hand at sleighing.”
There was a flurry of animation among the Pippsbury girls.
“The groundsmen have been busy this morning, setting out flags around the lake and lower meadows, and driving the first sleigh to make a pathway, so no-one will go astray. It should take no more than half an hour but Melinda and Tommy, who’ll be your timekeepers, are convinced it can be done quicker.”
Armed with stopwatches, the children gazed up at their father. “And you’ll take us out at the end, Papa, so we can beat the best time?” Melinda’s eyes were alight with excitement.
“I certainly shall.” The duke placed a hand on each of their shoulders.
“As you see, it behoves you—” Lord Studborne cast a half-apologetic look at the assembly, “to ensure a worthy challenge is set.”
“Admirable idea!” declared Colonel Faversham. Nancy had assured Cornelia that the hairpiece was back with its rightful owner but it seemed he was taking no chance of losing it today, wearing a snug deerstalker hat, with the ear flaps secured beneath his chin. “If we might choose our racing partners, I ca
ll dibs on the Misses Everly. I took a gander earlier; plenty of room for three upfront, I’d say.” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.
The baron stepped forward. “And I’ll drive Mrs. Mortmain.” Coming to her side, his eyes were flashing with a determination Cornelia could hardly fathom. “Burnell can’t hog you for every bit of festive fun. No ring on the finger yet, hey! Must let other fellows get a run at you!”
Cornelia fought a wave of disgust. It was barely eleven in the morning but the baron reeked of whisky. Either he’d drunk late into the night or had begun again at breakfast.
“Actually, Billingsworth—” Lord Studborne smiled in a conciliatory manner, “I hear Mrs. Bongorge is an expert with the reins. As modern men, we might agree to let the ladies drive.”
“How marvellous!” Mrs. Bongorge clapped her hands. “Estela, you must come with us of course.”
The baron could hardly argue.
“Perhaps you’d set out with me, Mrs. Mortmain.” Lord Fairlea offered his arm but, before Cornelia could accept, the duke interjected. “Two of the Misses Pippsbury might join your sleigh, Baron, leaving room for the marchioness and her other daughters to drive with Lord Fairlea.”
Cornelia’s heart sank. Lord Fairlea was the only one she might consider as a possible suitor and, as Burnell hadn’t bothered to join them, she supposed she’d be left with Reverend Nossle and his wife.
The Reverend was setting upon his third mince pie however, and seemed to have no desire to venture into the snow, while Mrs. Nossle was protesting a delicate chest and a preference for keeping Lady Studborne company indoors.
Cornelia had resigned herself to joining her aunts and the colonel when all eyes turned towards the grand staircase.
Descending nonchalantly, Burnell gave Cornelia a slow smile and inclined his head politely to the others.
She ought to be cross with him but her relief was far stronger than her annoyance. More than that, the very sight of him made it suddenly difficult to breathe.
Do get a hold of yourself. Cornelia gave the back of her hand a pinch. It’s all for show, remember.
“Hope I’m not too late to partake of the fun.” Reaching her side, he dropped his voice low. “Glad to see you dressed more sensibly than on your last trip outside.”
By the look of the rambling garlands of holly and ivy decorating the inside of each sleigh, it appeared the children had been given liberty with their paints. Meanwhile, ribboned bells interwoven through the harnesses created a charming tinkling as each pair of horses set off.
The duke and duchess stood on the front steps behind Thomas and Melinda, who waved furiously, shouting encouragement.
“The reins are yours, I believe.” Burnell looped them through her hands so they wouldn’t slip.
“I can’t!” Cornelia hurriedly handed them back. “Once we get going, think of the speed. I won’t be able to hold the horses.”
“Easy there. Some things you only learn by trying.”
Frowning, Cornelia clenched her fists around the leather and flicked her wrists, setting the horses in motion. For a few minutes they drove in silence, Cornelia keeping her focus on the horses’ tossing manes.
It didn’t seem so difficult, after all, and they were soon some way from the Abbey, all about them sparkling, frosted white.
She wasn’t sure what to make of Burnell, or her feelings where he was concerned but, right now, she was resolved to enjoy the surrounding beauty and the freshness of the crisp winter air. Everything here was unhindered and open, and there was no one to tell her what she should be doing or saying. Maddening as Burnell was, he never judged her in that way.
Snapping the reins again, she made the horses trot a little faster and her heart lifted with a sudden feeling of joy and freedom.
“Looks like you’re a natural. Shame it’s so darned cold though. We get snow in Texas, but not like this; leastwise, not that I remember.”
“There are blankets.” Cornelia indicated over her shoulder.
“That sister of mine thinks of everything.” Burnell retrieved one from behind, folding it over Cornelia’s lap, then did the same for himself.
His leg pressed briefly to hers as he reached over but he acted as if nothing was amiss; he was clearly intent on avoiding awkwardness.
“What’s it like where you’re from—Texas, I mean?” Cornelia had wanted to ask for a while; she couldn’t help being curious.
“Nothing like here. None of your dainty hedgerows and squared off fields. Mostly desert and mountains and skies that roll on forever—leastwise in the part we’re from.” His voice drifted and he looked off towards the other side of the lake.
The tinkling sound of bells carried across the frozen water from the leading sleigh. Their horses were keeping a steady pace but the others appeared far ahead. Cornelia had a feeling they were taking the competitive element of the entertainment far more seriously than she.
“I’d like to see it…I mean, it sounds majestic.” Cornelia didn’t want him having the idea that she expected anything from him. She shifted in her seat. “I haven’t travelled as much as I’d like. Hardly at all, in fact.”
“The world’s a big place, that’s for sure. Plenty of sights to see if you’re not happy where you’re at.” Burnell shrugged. “We all make our own choices.”
It was the sort of answer she’d come to expect but his blitheness rankled nonetheless. He could travel on a whim, going wherever he liked; alone if he felt like it. She had the means to do so but not the liberty.
She’d done her best to guide her happiness but there were restraints upon what she might achieve. At the British Museum for example, Mr. Pettigrew would never give her more responsibility than she had at present. As long as she remained in her basement room and didn’t make a fuss, she was tolerated—nothing more.
As they rounded the bottom of the lake, the sleigh swayed and Burnell’s leg touched hers again but he didn’t allow the contact to continue, and his hands remained firmly on his knees. Despite herself, Cornelia felt rather piqued. He’d made no reference to the kiss that had occurred between them. Clearly, it meant little, or he’d have broached the subject.
She cast a quick glance sideways. “I must congratulate you, Mr. Burnell. Both the baron and Lord Fairlea were eager to have me join them. News of my new-found popularity is sure to circulate London in time for the new season. I may win myself a husband after all.”
Burnell’s expression stayed neutral. “Like I said—men always hanker for what’s sought after by others. Either that, or they want what’s supposedly forbidden.”
And what about you? She wanted to say. What is it you hanker for, Ethan?
Up ahead, the tracks led between overarching trees—a tunnel of sorts. Passing through, the branches, white with snow, dimmed the brightness of the sun and blocked them from view. If Burnell wished to slip his hand about her waist or steal a kiss, now would be the moment. To Cornelia’s chagrin, he attempted neither.
“I know all about what’s supposedly forbidden.” Cornelia sat up a little straighter. “At the museum, they think I don’t know what they’re up to, but I do!”
Burnell turned to her with raised eyebrows. “Sounds intriguing. Have you stumbled on a plot to blow up parliament, or assassinate the king?”
“Very droll.” Cornelia stirred the horses again. “I’m talking about the Secretarium.” She cast another oblique glance his way and was gratified to see him attentive. She couldn’t keep the satisfaction from her voice. “They act all holier than thou but they’re utter hypocrites. I know perfectly well what they’re doing when they sneak in to view what’s behind that locked door. They keep everyone else out by saying that the artefacts are inflammatory, only suitable for gentleman scholars to interpret—but I can vouch for there being nothing to cause any sensible person alarm.”
Burnell folded his arms, a small smile playing about his lips. “Overlooking the means you employed to gain access, what exactly did you see in this secret ro
om? I take it my ears are scholarly enough to withstand the shock.”
Cornelia shifted in her seat. “Well, there were a great many Greek drinking cups—you know the sort of thing, adorned with fornicating couples.” She rolled her eyes. “And quite a few bronze nudes. I didn’t want to hang about too long, in case anyone else appeared, but most of the other items featured phallic imagery in some way. There were some rather pretty Roman rings actually, with little…well, you know, engraved upon them. I read a paper ages ago, which said that even Roman children wore those, as they were a talisman of sorts—for good luck and safety. They weren’t created to be titillating.”
“Uh huh.” Burnell cleared his throat and nodded seriously.
Cornelia was aware that she was probably saying too much, but it had been a source of indignation to her for many years. “It’s ridiculous—all that gatekeeping—as if no-one else is capable of deciding what they ought to be able to look at. Those objects are connected only by the theme of copulation, which is something most adult persons have experience of. It seems bizarre that people may do something themselves quite freely in their own homes but may not look on depictions of the act—or, at least, not in a public place.” It felt good to give voice to her exasperation.
“I suppose the museum worries that, if it put them on show, they’d have visitors lining up around the block. It wouldn’t do at all to have so many people clamouring to get inside the place.”
“Exactly!” Cornelia gave the reins another vigorous flick.
Burnell let out a bark of laughter.
“It might be humorous to you but the principles are meaningful to me.” She was about to give him several more pieces of her mind when she realized he’d moved a good deal nearer.
“There’s no getting away from it, Cornelia.” Burnell’s breath was soft on her cheek. “Clandestine pleasures are sweeter than the sort we’re handed on a plate.” He pushed a curl from her face. “It’s why men are drawn to taming the most spirited colts. The satisfaction in pacifying the creature is all the greater when they fight hard.”
Have Yourself a Merry Little Scandal: a Christmas collection of Historical Romance (Have Yourself a Merry Little... Book 1) Page 44