The Mistletoe Mistress (Saints & Scoundrels)

by Maddison Michaels

  “I’ve missed your kisses.” She was breathing hard, her face flushed and her eyes alight with excitement.

  He chuckled. “I only kissed you a few hours ago.”

  She wound her arms around his neck. “I meant, yesterday after I left your house. I didn’t get to kiss you for a full twenty-four-hours.”

  “And whose fault was that, hmm?” he rumbled against her ear as his hand slowly circled around the material covering her breast. “I did all I could to speak with you yesterday, but you refused to see me.”

  Holly pulled back from him slightly. “That’s because you were waving around a special license for marriage. Not the way to sweep a lady off her feet, let me assure you.”

  “Probably not,” he agreed. “Can I tell you something? As much as you’ve infuriated and challenged me over these last few days, I don’t think I’ve ever been quite so happy.”

  A gorgeous smile lit up her face once again. “You make me happy too. And I certainly can’t wait to feel you inside of me again.”

  Michael groaned at the thought, but before he could reply, the carriage started slowing. He glanced out the window and swore softy as Pembrook’s manner came into view. “We’re going to have to continue this later tonight, my dear.”

  “We’re here already?” Her eyes went round as she scrambled from his lap, across to the other seat and quickly straightened out her skirts. She then reached up and tucked away some stray strands of hair that had escaped her bonnet and took in a few steadying breaths. “How do I look? Presentable I hope?”

  She looked bloody gorgeous, but with a frown of annoyance, he realized that all the other men there would think that too.

  “What? Is something wrong with my appearance?”

  Michael shook his head. “You look fine. Too damned good, in fact.” He couldn’t be certain, but it looked like her lips twisted up at the corner a fraction.

  The carriage came to a halt and there waiting for them, were Lord and Lady Pembrook.

  “Welcome to Pembrook Manor, Blackthorn,” Pembrook’s voice boomed out a greeting as he walked over to the carriage door, now being held open by one of his footmen. “And my dear Mrs. Carlton, I’d heard you would be joining us as Blackthorn’s guest. A big welcome indeed!”

  Holly took the man’s extended hand and stepped down onto the gravel of the path. “My thanks, my Lord. I do hope that won’t be any trouble?”

  “Of course not,” the man assured her as he guided her over to his wife. Michael followed behind them watching as Holly greeted the lady of the house. He in turn then shook Pembrook’s hand and kissed Lady Pembrook’s gloved knuckles.

  As Holly and Lady Pembrook walked ahead of them, happily chatting away together, Pembrook and he walked alongside each other.

  “We have two adjoining rooms prepared for you both.” Pembrook angled his face around and winked at Michael, a large grin plastered over his florid fleshy complexion. “I do hope that will suit?”

  Michael nodded and raised his brow when Pembrook leaned in bit closer to him so only the two of them could hear.

  “I must say,” Pembrook whispered, “I was very curious to know who you were with in my study the other night and then when I received your note asking if Mrs. Carlton could attend with you, well then, let us just say the mystery was solved!”

  “How clever of you,” Michael began. “Obviously, your powers of deduction are…astounding.”

  The man beamed, his smile spread practically from ear to ear. “Yes, well, I have a good nose for things, to be sure.”

  “To be sure,” Michael agreed. Clearly, the sarcasm had been lost on the man.

  “And I hope you don’t mind, but after I received your note I went to White’s and put some money on you winning the Mistletoe Mistress bet!” The man laughed. “Nothing like a bit of inside information, don’t you agree? I put down one hundred pounds that you would be the one to successfully woo Mrs. Carlton and make her your mistress.”

  Michael wasn’t surprised that the wager had become common knowledge at Whites. Generally, most wagers did, resulting in a great many side bets being made by the other members of the club too. Though he didn’t like how cavalier Pembrook was being about the matter. “Your money is lost, I’m afraid.”

  Pembrook faltered in his step. “I beg your pardon?”

  “You heard me well enough.” Michael continued to stride ahead, with Pembrook scrambling to catch up. “And if you continue to disrespect my fiancée by suggesting she is my Mistletoe Mistress, then you shall find yourself having to name your seconds.”

  There was a look of perplexed shock on the man’s face. “The two of you are engaged?”

  It was Michael’s turn to stop. Pembrook followed suit.

  “Do you need your ears checked, man?” Michael asked. “Mrs. Carlton has done me the honor of agreeing to be my fiancée, not my mistress. So, if you continue to call her my mistress, I shall take offense and will have to satisfy such a thing by challenging you to a duel. Can I be any plainer?”

  It took a few seconds for the man to react, but he hastily gulped and nodded. “No, no need. I understand you perfectly.” The man’s eyes lit up in wild speculation “Apologies if you thought I was being disrespectful! I meant no offense and indeed I would say congratulations are in order!”

  He took Michael’s hand and shook it again, heartily.

  “You’ll also be very glad to know,” Pembrook continued. “That the Devil Duke and St Giles are here. They were most pleased to learn that Mrs. Carlton would be a guest of mine too. I might have hinted that you’d be sharing some news with them soon.” He rubbed his hands together in glee. “Must admit, I’m rather looking forward to the looks of shock and surprise that shall grace their faces when they realize they’ve lost the bet to you. Jolly good fun!”

  The fact that Michael had slept with Holly and made her his, still didn’t lessen his annoyance over his two friends being there. He hadn’t liked how either of them had looked at Holly and though he knew they wouldn’t attempt to seduce her once they found out Michael was engaged to her, they had still been contemplating seducing her for their stupid bet.

  After all, who wouldn’t want Holly to be theirs. She was smart, charming, and absolutely stunning. She cared about others, more than she did herself. She was funny and her very touch excited him more than any other woman’s ever had. With all of those qualities, of course those two bounders would be interested in her. And if she did break off their engagement as she said she intended, then those two wouldn’t be able to help themselves from pursuing her, rakes that they were.

  Well. Not on his watch they wouldn’t!

  Michael would simply have to make sure that she didn’t end their engagement. Whatever it took.

  Chapter 11

  Some forty minutes later, after both Holly and Michael had been shown to their respective rooms, Holly made her way downstairs to the back veranda where afternoon tea was being served.

  There were about twenty people already milling around the space, nibbling on pastries and cake, with laughter and chatter abounding. She didn’t need to scan her eyes across the space to know that Michael hadn’t yet made his way downstairs. Of late, every time he was within her vicinity a prickle of awareness would dance along the nape of her neck, warning her that he was near.

  And sadly, that prickle of awareness was absent at the moment.

  Holly sighed, before winding her way around the various huddles of guests, toward where Lady Pembrook was standing in the far corner talking with a gentleman.

  As Holly got closer however, she saw it wasn’t just any gentleman the woman was talking to, it was Devlin Markham, the Duke of Huntington. Her eyes narrowed as they landed on the man’s own. He grinned at her and had the audacity to wink. The very gesture causing many sighs from the other ladies in the vicinity. Holly had to refrain from rolling her eyes. The man was certainly handsome, and aside from Michael, he probably was the handsomest man she had in fact seen, though he didn�
��t affect her like Michael did, which thankfully meant she was immune to the Devil Duke’s charms.

  The man broke away from his conversation with Lady Pembrook and strode over toward Holly.

  “Why Mrs. Carlton, fancy seeing you here?” the duke said, bowing over her hand and kissing the back of her knuckles. “Blackthorn didn’t accompany you downstairs?”

  Holly’s mouth fell open. “How did you know I was here with him?”

  The duke shrugged. “I have my sources. Not to mention Lord Pembrook couldn’t wait to tell me when I arrived.”

  He grinned at her and Holly couldn’t help but grin back.

  “I imagine the man took great joy in telling you such a thing,” she replied.

  The duke nodded. “He did, to be sure. So, it is true, you’re here with Blackthorn.” It was a statement, not a question.

  “I’m afraid you will not win you wager, Your Grace.” Holly was very satisfied when the first hint of surprise widened the corners of his eyes. She imagined he wasn’t a man that was surprised very often, if at all.

  “You know of the wager?” he asked.

  “I do. In fact, I think most people in society do by now,” she replied. “Oh, and I can comfortably confirm that I am Lord Blackthorn’s mistletoe mistress.”

  His lips drew up at the corners of his mouth, in a smile instead of the frown she had been expecting to see. “Well, I’m very glad to hear it.”

  Another response she certainly hadn’t been expecting. “You are?”

  “Yes,” he confirmed. “The amount of times that Michael has mentioned you over the years, without even realizing it, well I knew he needed somewhat of a push in the right direction.”

  “Excuse me?” Now it was Holly’s turn to be surprised. “You were playing matchmaker?”

  “I’m not as much of a blackguard as most seem to believe.” The duke shrugged. “When we were upstairs at Pembrook’s and I saw you outside through the window and that you were about to be the next lady through the entrance, I came up with the idea for the wager.”

  Astonishment almost stole her breath. “Who comes up with such a wager on the spot?”

  “Clearly someone who is very bored, though wants to see his friend happy.” Huntington shrugged. “Blackthorn’s been different after the war. Lonely even. I just wished to see him happy and thought the wager might do it.”

  Holly was certain that her jaw was now hanging on the ground. “You didn’t…”

  “Sometimes it’s a friend’s job to push another friend in the right direction, my dear Mrs. Carlton.” He reached out and took her hand in his once again. “But perhaps let us keep that as our secret. Shall we?”

  Holly felt the funny prickle along her neck, a moment before Michael’s roar echoed behind her.

  “Secret?” Michael yelled. “What bloody secret?”

  Everyone around them stopped talking as they all turned to look at the three of them. Holly felt the heat of embarrassment rush up her cheeks. She was not at all used to being the center of attention as obviously the two knuckle heads next to her were. She didn’t like it at all.

  “Ah, you’ve finally decided to join us, have you?” The duke clearly wasn’t at all intimidated by Michael’s outburst. He was a far braver man than most.

  “You’re not bloody doing anything with her, let alone keeping secrets!” Michael stalked over to the duke until he was standing only a few inches away. “She is my fiancée. Do you understand, me? Mine.”

  A muscle in Holly’s jaw began to twitch. “I am not yours. I’m not any man’s, for that matter. And how dare you announce such a thing for all the world to hear!” She swept her arm wide to encompass the crowd still gathered about, pretending not to listen to their conversation, but failing miserably. There wasn’t a single ear not angled toward them, and what was worse, the story would spread like wildfire once they all returned to London on Monday.

  Michael scoffed. “I would hardly call Pembrook’s back veranda and the people within it, the world.”

  Her anger began to boil to the surface. “I was not being literal, you blockhead!”

  “That is the third time you’ve called me that today,” Michael’s voice was a low growl as he turned to face her. “Don’t do it again.”

  “Don’t you dare tell me what to do, Michael Drake!” Holly’s voice was vibrating with fury. “I shall call you a blockhead when your behavior clearly warrants such a term. Though perhaps there are better terms for you. What about a bell swagger then? Or a bottle head even?” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Either of those two would be perfect descriptions of you.”

  Behind him the duke started laughing.

  Michael narrowed his eyes. “I don’t even know what those names mean!”

  “Oh, allow me to assist,” the duke happily answered. “A bottle head means someone devoid of wit, and a bell swagger, if I’m not mistaken, means a noisy bullying fellow. Is that quite right, Mrs. Carlton?”

  “Quite correct, Your Grace,” Holly answered him. “Apt descriptions for Lord Blackthorn, do you not agree?”

  “Perfect, actually,” the duke replied. “Particularly the bell swagger one. 'Tis much closer to the truth.”

  Michael scowled at them. “Stop it, both of you.”

  “Or what?” Holly rounded on him. “You shall end our betrothal? Well, you have no need to worry, because I’ve decided to end things with you, right now! I have no time or patience to deal with a man throwing a tantrum and I certainly shall not stay engaged to one!” Even if it was a temporary engagement. She swiveled on her heel and marched past the crowd of gawkers, her boots clicking over the tiles in a furious march.

  How dare the man try to dictate to her, even if she had been calling him names. Why the very nerve of him, daring to try to tell her what she could or could not do or say, was simply infuriating! Honestly, he deserved to be called every name under the sun.

  Chapter 12

  Holly paid little heed to her surroundings as she stalked through the corridor toward the main staircase which would take her to her room; too annoyed over her encounter with Michael to think about anything else. The man simply infuriated her with his bossy ways. He always had. Probably why they’d regularly clashed over the years.

  But everything was different now. Their entire relationship was different. And if the man thought for a minute that just because they had become intimate she would put up with being dictated to, he was sorely mistaken. Goodness, she could only imagine how much more autocratic he would be if they were married.

  Not that she wanted to marry him. Liar. A voice whispered in her head. Damned annoying voice!

  Well of course she’d imagined what it would be like to be married to him. What woman wouldn’t? She’d be the Viscountess of Blackthorn, and with Michael as her husband, her uncle wouldn’t ever be able to threaten them again.

  Holly stopped short when she passed Pembrook’s study. Taking a few steps backward she glanced around the hallway. Not a soul around. Most of the guests and Pembrook’s servants were all occupied with the afternoon tea being served on the terrace.

  Casually, she took a few steps over toward his study and peered into the room. It was empty.

  This could be the perfect time to search his safe, and if she was successful then she could go home and leave the blockhead here.

  Stepping into the study Holly’s gaze skimmed across the inside of the room. It was predominantly decorated with rich walnut and deep navy-blue colors, and there was a large desk on the right side of the room with several book shelves surrounding the exterior of the room, and a green velvet settee and armchairs were on the left side. There was also a large picture frame containing a portrait of Pembrook and his wife above the mantle behind his desk. A perfect place to hide a safe.

  Gathering her courage Holly stepped into the room, gently closing the door behind her. Hopefully, she would hear the door opening, which would give her time to mask what she was really doing. Before she could think bette
r of it, she strode over to the desk and walked behind it to where the picture was hanging on the wall. Lord and Lady Pembrook were staring down at her from the portrait, both with rather severe expressions painted on their faces, though Holly suspected the artist had been rather generous with his brush. They looked far more striking in the portrait than in person.

  She reached her fingers up to the gold gilt frame and gently began feeling around its edges. Her fingers brushed along a little knob. She pressed it. A distinct click sounded, and the left side of the portrait popped open toward her. Success! Holly swung open the portrait fully, noting the hinges hidden on the right-hand side along the inside of the frame.

  And there before her, sitting gloriously in the wall, was a classic Chubb safe. A rather old model that Pembrook should have had updated years ago if he was serious about protecting anything inside. It was one of the first safes Holly had learned how to pick, in an effort to assist her father in developing a more robust locking mechanism, that was nigh in impossible to crack. And he’d come close to developing one, before he’d died.

  The familiar squeeze of pain whenever she thought about her father, tightened around her heart. She still missed him dreadfully and the times spent tinkering together picking locks and safes in his workshop, were some of her most treasured memories. Except for the last memory, when together in his workshop they had finally cracked a supposedly uncrackable safe and they’d both being dancing around in joy, when suddenly he’d clutched his chest and collapsed onto the ground, not breathing. And Holly hadn’t been able to save him.

  The doctor had said it was an episode of his heart and that there was nothing anyone could have done, but a part of her had always felt responsible and guilty for not being able to do more.

  Then shortly after, her brother had gone off to fight in the Crimea with Michael. But even before he could get to the battlefront, he’d died a pointless death in a drunken fight. The very thought of the futility of his death brought with it the usual sense of anger and frustration. For him to be taken from them, after they’d only recently lost their father, was cruel beyond measure. A need to ask Michael exactly what had happened rose within her, but as with the many times before, fear of not wanting to delve too deeply into the matter suppressed the desire.