Winter Wishes: A Regency Christmas Anthology

by Cheryl Bolen

  She’d shuddered at that, and as she turned away, he’d added softly, “I’ll get you in the end.” She’d armed herself with a penknife after that.

  But at least she had received no scold or awkward questions from Papa, so perhaps the footman hadn’t recognized Gawain—in which case, he might come again tonight. She hoped so; it would be a long, anxious night without him. She slipped out of the drawing room with the excuse of fetching her embroidery, but went straight to the library to make sure the window was unlocked—and found Marcus the footman bolting it shut. She gasped, a hand to her thundering heart. Did her father know?

  Marcus glanced about. “Never fear, my lady,” he murmured. “I’ll leave the side door unlocked instead.”

  She gaped at him, disbelieving. “What if my father finds out? He’ll dismiss you!”

  “I wouldn’t do this for anyone else, but Master Gawain asked me to. He is a true gentleman who will protect you.” He reddened. “Begging your pardon, my lady, but it fair riles me that his lordship cares so little for your comfort and happiness.”

  “Thank you, Marcus,” she whispered and fled. What the footman must think of her! Although perhaps he thought Gawain meant to marry her, and she hadn’t the courage to disabuse him of this belief. He would find out soon enough.

  Relieved that Gawain planned to come, she fetched her embroidery and spent the rest of the evening awhirl with anticipation. Fortunately, discussing recent numbers of The Lady’s Monthly Museum with Mama, Mrs. Denton, and Jane wasn’t a taxing sort of occupation.

  At last she was alone in her bedchamber, waiting, alive with…longing. She hadn’t seen the Cavalier all evening. Perhaps he had taken offense and didn’t wish to speak to her. Saddened by his absence, she read the long, mournful poem again, trying to understand why the Cavalier had insisted that Gawain read it, too. It didn’t say anything that would spark love, or rather, lust; he repented his folly and stupidity, begged forgiveness for his many sins, and fervently hoped that two hearts would soon be joined again.

  “I don’t understand,” she murmured. If the poem wasn’t part of the Cavalier’s campaign to get her to take a lover, what was it? “Why was Gawain supposed to read this?”

  “Because it’s the only way I can speak to him,” the ghost said, and she jumped. She’d felt so alone, and yet he was right here.

  “What, you changed your mind about abandoning me?” Her voice quavered. “You dictated a poem to him last night.”

  “I, write such drivel?” he said. “Never, not even if he could hear me dictate.”

  She stared at him. If she’d been thinking clearly, she would have known that he couldn’t have dictated the poem to someone who didn’t hear him. “Gawain wrote it?”

  “His poetry is trumpery stuff, not the equal of mine, but it proves his love.” She was still staring when he added, “Dear child, I shall not abandon you. Rather, in place of your father, I give you to a man who will love and care for you.”

  She took a deep breath. Like Papa, he thought he knew best. But he meant well. And Gawain had written the poem!

  “I beg you, do not abandon me in your turn.” He raised a gauntleted hand. “Hearken, your lover comes!”

  He vanished, and almost immediately a soft tapping had her scurrying to move the clothes press away from the door.

  Gawain slipped inside, closed the door behind him, and shoved the clothes press into place. He turned, smiling. “Darling Isolde.”

  “Gawain,” she whispered. She couldn’t think what to say.

  She didn’t need to, for he pulled her into his arms and kissed her. His lips were cold but his breath was warm. “I’ve been waiting all day for this,” he said. “Wind kisses are all very well, but they don’t compare with the real thing.”

  Then he kissed her again, and without thinking she put her arms around his neck and kissed him back.

  Oh. Such heaven…

  She must get a hold of herself. Soon his hands would stray to her derriere, and God only knew where after that. She pulled back. “You wrote that poem.”

  He laughed, but continued to hold her gently in the circle of his arms. “My secret is out.”

  She closed her eyes. She mustn’t let this comfort and delight overwhelm her. He’d spoken of love…but in poetry, it usually meant lust. All he wanted was to bed her. And to show her that it could be pleasant. He didn’t intend anything else.

  A gentle hand caressed her cheek, slipped a strand of hair behind her ear. “Lovely Isolde, I could kiss you forever, but we have work to do tonight. Or at least I have, if you’d rather not.”

  “Rather not what?”

  “Go up to the north attic,” he said.

  “Good God, why?” she cried.

  A fist pounded on the door. “Isolde! Open this door immediately!”

  It was Papa! Isolde put her hands to her cheeks and whispered, “Quickly, you must hide!”

  Gawain hesitated, scowling. “I’d prefer to confront him.”

  “Please don’t.” She raised her voice. “What do you want, Papa?”

  “Who is in there with you?”

  Gawain strode across to the window, flung open the casement, and climbed out. “Close it behind me,” he mouthed.

  “Papa, there’s no one.” Drat, why must her voice tremble? She dashed over to the window. Gawain was climbing down the drainpipe.

  She shut the window, drew the curtains, and hastened to the door.

  “I heard you talking.” Her father pushed on the door, but it scarcely budged, thanks to the clothes press. “What is the meaning of this? Open the door, girl.”

  “Just a moment.” She dragged the clothes press an inch or two away from the door at the same moment as her father shoved hard. She tumbled to the floor in a heap.

  “What the deuce?” Her father stormed in, saw her sprawled on the carpet, and put out a hand to help her up. He glanced about the room, his glower…more like a smirk. “Who is in here with you?”

  “No one except the Cavalier. He’s gone now.”

  “Then why the clothes press?” He got down on his knees, candle in hand, and peered under the bed. He came up looking disappointed.

  She put her hands on her hips. “To prevent my suitors from getting in.”

  He huffed. “You’re a widow, not an innocent.”

  “Yes, and I don’t want them in my bedchamber!” She almost shrieked it. “You’re my father. You should protect me, not aid and abet men I dislike to accost me.”

  “I don’t know how else to get you married off,” he muttered. “If you insist on being missish, why didn’t you have Millicent sleep here again?”

  “You ordered her out the night before last, Papa.” She blew out a breath. “If I push the clothes press against the door, anyone who tries to get in will make a frightful amount of noise.”

  “Humph.” His brows drew together. “Nebley says he saw a man prowling in the corridor and heard knocking.”

  “Mr. Nebley was spying on me? How dare he!”

  “He was, ah, concerned for your safety,” Papa said grumpily. “He fetched me.”

  “Concerned that someone else would get the ten thousand pounds, you mean. He’s an interfering busybody, and I wouldn’t marry him if he were the last man alive.” She had an idea. “By the bye, the Cavalier doesn’t approve of any of the suitors you chose.”

  “That ghost,” her father said, “has made your mother’s life a misery. If he weren’t dead already, I would gladly run him through.”

  “Did he really tell her to keep the pendant?” Isolde asked.

  “So she says,” her father growled. “Hogwash, if you ask me, but it’s caused nothing but trouble.” At the sound of footsteps, he glanced into the passageway. “Go back to bed, Nebley. She’s well, and if you had any bollocks, you would have tried seducing her yourself.”

  Mr. Nebley murmured something low and bitter. His footsteps retreated.

  Papa turned back to Isolde and narrowed his eyes, but a hint of
that smirk still marred his disapproving expression. “Are you sure there was no one here, miss?”

  She clenched and unclenched her fists, doing her best to control her annoyance at being called miss as if she were still a child. “Who could possibly be here? Lord Cape? He’s too ill. Sir Andrew? He’s loathsome. And Mr. Denton, if you recall, is a married man.”

  Papa glowered. “Aye, that’s all very well, but whom did Nebley see?”

  “The ghost, I assume. Lord Cape and his valet have both seen him.”

  Papa digested this. “Cape is a fool.” He paused. “But so is Nebley—a jealous one. Still, if you’re sure you don’t want him—”

  “I’m sure.” Heavens, was Papa actually considering her opinion?

  “I don’t see what’s so unpalatable about Dirks. He’s an excellent fellow in the prime of life.”

  “His advances make me ill,” she retorted.

  “Tsk,” her father said. “You’re becoming irrational like your mother, which just goes to show you need a firm, guiding hand. Dirks is a man like any other, and a handsome one, too. Cape isn’t a bad fellow, either.”

  Two seconds ago, he’d said Lord Cape was a fool. If anyone was as irrational as Mama...

  Isolde sighed, and Papa shook his finger at her. “For everyone’s sake, you must marry again soon. As for nocturnal visitors, you had better be telling the truth, young lady. Dirks wants you badly, and I won’t hold it against you if you bed him before the vows are said.”

  Somehow, she managed not to shriek, and at last he left.

  Chapter 6

  Gawain hastened around to the servants’ quarters to find Marcus, meanwhile pondering his next move. He had sought out his father that afternoon and put his proposal before him. “What do you say to my marrying Lady Isolde?”

  After a pause, Sir Wally had said, “That must have been an outstanding kiss.”

  Gawain grinned. “She’s a lovely girl. I liked her as a child, and now I find her irresistible.”

  “Have you asked her?”

  “Not yet,” Gawain said. “It will take some persuading. She’s dead set against marrying again.”

  “Hardly surprising,” said his father. “What about Statham’s feelings on the matter?”

  Gawain shrugged. “If she’s willing, I’ll take her whichever way I must, but it would be preferable if you and he were in accord.”

  Sir Wally grunted. “I don’t think much of him, but it’s his lunatic wife who caused this stupid feud.”

  “Both Isolde and I want the feud to end, but I haven’t yet suggested to her that marriage might be the way to accomplish it.”

  “I daresay your mother will be agreeable, as long as she gets the pendant back,” Sir Wally said. “She never mentions it, but she was deeply hurt by Lady Statham’s deception. Does Lady Isolde understand that?”

  “She does, and she wants to do what is right, but for now she’s at her wits’ end trying to pacify her mother and show respect to her father, while fending off the advances of several greedy men.” He took a breath; just the thought of her suitors got him riled. “As I told Mama, she has decided to go north to live with James and his wife. If she refuses me, I’ll insist on escorting her there. I can’t allow her to go running off on her own.”

  Sir Wally chuckled. “My knight-in-shining-armor son. You were well named. May you succeed in your quest.”

  Gawain felt himself reddening. “Thank you, Father. I hope I shall.”

  Now, he pondered their kisses and his chances of success. He returned from the servants’ quarters just as Isolde reappeared at the window. She opened it, craning her neck in the direction of Burke Hall.

  He said softly, “I’m right here.” He blew on his fingers to warm them and made his way up the drainpipe again.

  “Why didn’t you leave while you had the chance?” She giggled as he toppled into her bedchamber. “You’re out of your mind.”

  He shut the window and took her in his arms, shaking with silent laughter, and suddenly she was laughing too, and clinging to him in return.

  “You’re so cold!” She ran her hands up his back, and he laughed again with sheer joy “Shh!” she whispered. “We must be very quiet, or he’ll hear us.”

  Gawain should, at this point, have turned his mind to practical matters. Instead, he said, “I know a good way to keep quiet,” and kissed her.

  The moment Isolde gave in was one of sheer, lunatic delight. Not simply the pleasure of kissing him, but of realizing she was excited about going to bed with him. Hesitant still, but not disgusted in even the tiniest way.

  Not even when the tip of his tongue touched hers. In fact, that tentative greeting from his mouth to hers sent a shock of desire straight to her privates.

  He let her go and rubbed his hands together. “The ghost and his problems will just have to wait. Let’s get into bed and warm up.” He took off his shoes and stockings and then his coat.

  She watched him, suddenly unsure. She wasn’t quite ready to remove her nightdress. What if he leered?

  He reached into the pocket of his coat and pulled out a key, then strode to the door and locked it.

  She gaped. “How?”

  “I tapped on the window of the butler’s pantry, and Marcus brought it out to me. Took him all day to get it, he said.”

  She couldn’t help laughing. Both Marcus and the Cavalier were doing their best to give her to Gawain.

  “He wanted to sneak me upstairs, but I told him climbing the drainpipe was more romantic.”

  He was absolutely right about that. She didn’t need a mirror to know she was smiling like a besotted fool.

  He tossed his coat onto the sofa and motioned toward the bed. “Coming?” He slipped under the covers, still wearing his shirt and breeches.

  Her heart beat chaotically. “With so many clothes on?”

  He held the covers open for her to climb in beside him. “Let’s get properly warm before we start thinking about taking our clothes off.”

  “I can’t help but think about it.” She snuggled close and put her arms around him. He was cold, but she was the one who shivered…from nerves. “Oh, Gawain. One moment I’m excited, and the next I just don’t know.”

  “Patience, my love, my darling. We have all the time in the world.”

  My love. My darling. She mustn’t let those sweet words make this more than it was. He was a dear friend and would be her lover for a night. That was all.

  He pressed a lingering kiss on her forehead. “Now. About the north attic.”

  “Thinking about that won’t warm me up.”

  She felt his smile against her temple. His mouth feathered gently lower. “I believe the Cavalier kept people away from there on purpose. I think he’s protecting something there.”

  “Such as what?”

  He nuzzled her ear. “Another pendant—or rather, the missing half.”

  He was a distraction and a challenge. She noted every pleasurable reaction as if she couldn’t quite believe them. “Missing half?”

  “Yes. There’s something unusual about that pendant. My mother loved the gold filigree but lamented that the heart hung lopsidedly rather than upright as it should—as if the jeweler had placed the loop for the chain in the wrong spot. But because it was old, she was reluctant to risk having it repaired. I think there were two hearts that, if hooked together, would hang properly.”

  “Whatever gave you that idea?”

  “The Cavalier’s poem mentions his longing for the joining of two hearts once again. If I recall correctly, there is a space in the filigree work that could easily accommodate a hook of sorts.” He looked as if he would have said more, but instead pressed his lips to the corner of hers, a delicate touch that made her moan. Her heartbeat quickened, and she blushed at his mastery over her senses. With Simon, she had never, ever experienced anything like this.

  He withdrew and said, “What if the other heart is in the attic somewhere, stowed away in a box or a trunk, and he has been
protecting it all these years?”

  “But why? Surely if he’d told me, I would have searched for it and asked my father to get the pendant, so we could join them together again.”

  Gawain pondered. “I don’t have an answer for that. But it does explain why he wanted Lady Statham to keep my mother’s pendant. Once it was here, he wanted it to stay. He can’t retrieve the other half, either. That’s up to us.”

  “He called himself a poor, helpless ghost, which I thought was flummery, but maybe it’s the absolute truth.” She pushed herself up on one elbow. “Let’s suppose your brilliant idea is correct.”

  He shrugged, looking adorably abashed. “Well, we shall see.”

  “Seriously, Gawain. Suppose there is another heart, and we find it and join the two together. Then what?”

  His warm hand ran delicately down her spine to rest on her hip. She tensed, not sure whether this was good anticipation or bad. “Then I will have to find a new excuse to visit you,” he said.

  “That’s not what I meant,” she said with an uneasy laugh.

  “I know,” he said. “But I don’t care much about your ghost. I care about you, Isolde.”

  That made it even worse. She didn’t know what he meant. “You’re very kind.”

  “Nonsense.” He rolled onto his back and lifted her atop him.

  A mistake, Gawain thought immediately, for she tensed again. “I—I don’t know, Gawain.”

  “What don’t you know, sweetheart?” He did his best not to squirm under her, although she couldn’t help but feel his erection.

  “Whether I can do this.”

  “It’s not a question of whether you can, but of whether you want to.” He took a breath and concentrated on remaining still. “Stop thinking about what happened in the past. Concentrate on what your private parts are telling you now.”

  “Um…”

  Her uncertainty tugged at his heart, and meanwhile, he was so hard it hurt.

  “Close your eyes, Isolde.” She did as he asked, but in the dim light from the fire her eyelids fluttered as if she still wasn’t sure.