The Wallflower's Mistletoe Wedding

by Amanda McCabe

  She cried out and felt someone grab her arm, like a ghost coming out of the night. She shrieked, her heart seeming to fly into her throat. She whirled around—and found it was no ghost that had caught her, but Harry. He was shadowed by the luminous lamplight behind him, but she knew it was him. Her heart beat even faster, but not from fright this time.

  ‘Blast it, Harry, you frightened me’ was all she could gasp.

  He gave her a rueful smile. ‘I’m sorry, Rose. I thought you heard me calling you. You shouldn’t be out here by yourself in the dark.’

  Rose laughed. ‘I—I know. I just needed a breath of fresh air.’

  ‘I agree. It is much too crowded in there, too much noise.’

  She remembered what he had told her of his time in battle, the loud noises, the chaos, the feeling of being trapped. She reached out and gently touched his arm, hoping he knew those nightmares were no longer real, that he was not alone in a cruel, cold world. ‘And I think Charles must have put something in the claret cup. I feel rather dizzy.’

  Harry laughed and she was glad to see it seemed to banish some of the darkness from his eyes. ‘You are right. It’s just like Charles to do such a mischief. I plan to blame him entirely.’ He took Rose’s hand in his and she felt the warm steadiness of him envelop her until the night held no more fears. He was honourable, she knew that very well after seeing him with his tenants, hearing of his time in battle. He was a man who could be trusted, always, and she knew how rare that was.

  His laughter faded and as he watched her his expression was most serious, intent. He drew her closer to him, his hands tight on her waist, and that feeling of warm safety sparked into something more. Something as shimmering and irresistible as those flickering lantern flames. It was as bright and wondrous as life itself. Not like her everyday life, grey and practical, but like a daydream come to vivid life.

  She didn’t want to let it go. She didn’t want to lose this beauty now that she had found it.

  She swayed closer to him, and wound her arms tightly around his neck so he couldn’t fly away and leave her alone in this dream. She only wanted to stay here in his embrace all night—for every night, really. To forget about duty and families and treasure, and everything but him.

  She gazed up at him in the moonlight, thinking how handsome he was, made even more so by his honourable scars. She had never known anyone like him at all. ‘How beautiful you are, Harry,’ she whispered.

  He laughed in surprise. ‘Of course I’m not. I was never handsome and now I’m quite a wreck.’

  Rose shook her head. How could she ever convince him of what she saw, of what was true? She seemed to have no words left, her head fuzzy with the drink, the moonlight and the magic. Instead of talking, she went up on tiptoe and pressed her lips to his in a swift, sweet kiss, then another and another, as if she could never have her fill.

  He groaned and pulled her closer, so close there was not even a breath of the cold night between them. He deepened the kiss, his tongue seeking the taste of hers, and she was lost completely in him. Lost in that wild need to be just that close to him, always. To draw all he was into her until they were inseparable.

  For once in her life, Rose didn’t question herself, didn’t draw back. She trusted Harry. She knew in that one moment he would always do right by her.

  He pressed tiny, fleeting kisses to her cheek, her temple, the tiny, sensitive spot behind her ear. She shivered to feel the warm rush of his breath on her skin.

  ‘Oh, Rose,’ he whispered hoarsely. ‘You know we can’t go on like this.’

  She nodded, pressing her face into his shoulder. She tried to breathe, but that only seemed to bring the essence of him even closer, all around her. She saw now that he was the one true thing she had always hoped for, so kind and strong.

  ‘I know we can’t,’ she answered. ‘But I can’t—I can’t go back to what was before. I can’t...’

  She shivered and he stood back to take her hand. ‘At the very least, we can’t stay out here in the cold,’ he said.

  Rose nodded and let him lead her across the darkened garden and up the steps of the summerhouse. It was all marble, still chilly without the summer sun its stone walls usually saw, but it was out of the wind, away from anyone who might stumble out of the dance. She could see the shadow of pillars from the flickering lights outside, the outline of some wrought-iron garden furniture. It was so quiet there that she could hear her heart pounding in her ears.

  She swallowed hard past her fear, past doubts. Never before had she been given the chance for a moment of such perfect happiness. She feared it would never come again. She intended to grab it now, to give herself something beautiful to remember. To be free.

  Still shaking, she reached up and pulled the pins from her hair, shaking the heavy mass free over her shoulders.

  As he watched her, his gaze narrowed, and she saw the quick beat of his pulse in his temple, the way his jaw tensed. ‘Rose...’

  ‘No, Harry, please.’ She pressed her finger to his lips before he could say anything else. She wanted no words to shatter this spell. She was done with words, with worry and thought and being practical, even if it was only for that moment.

  She sat down on the nearby iron chaise, drawing him with her. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her close, and she felt a burst of hope. Perhaps she was not alone. Perhaps, even though duty said they could not always be together, they could truly be together, just the two of them.

  ‘I—I want you, Harry,’ she managed to whisper. ‘Do you want me, too?’

  ‘Beautiful Rose. How could you ever doubt it? My feelings for you are—well, they are beyond an old soldier’s words. I’m no poet. But you are the loveliest woman I have ever met.’ He kissed her again, their lips meeting in a hot blur of need, and she let herself tumble into him and be lost.

  She clumsily, eagerly, untied his cravat and let it fall to the floor at their feet. Something hidden deep inside of her, something urgent and instinctive, guided her as she pushed back his coat and the soft muslin of his shirt, as she eagerly touched his bare, warm skin and marvelled at the sheer life of him.

  Clinging to each other, they fell back on the chaise, the domed marble of the ceiling whirling over her head. She rolled on top of him, not able to breathe as she studied him in the moonlight. His bare skin seemed gilded. How glorious he was, vibrant with desire and strength. It was beyond her dreams.

  Her trembling fingertips traced the light, coarse sprinkling of dark hair on his chest, the thin line that led tantalisingly to the band of his velvet evening breeches. His stomach muscles tightened, his breath turning ragged as her touch brushed against it.

  ‘Rose, my darling,’ he gasped. ‘Be careful. If you’re not sure about me...’

  ‘I would not be here if I wasn’t sure,’ she answered and she suddenly realised how very sure she was. This, him—it was the most right thing she had ever done.

  She fell back into his arms, their lips meeting, heartbeats melding. There was nothing careful about that kiss, it was as hot as the sun and full of urgent, desperate need, like fireworks bursting into the night sky. She felt the slide of his hands on her back as he unlaced her gown. The winter air was cold on her skin, but she barely noticed it. Clothes were only a barrier now between her and the touch of his bare hand on her skin. She shrugged her gown away, pushing with it any last remnants of shyness.

  ‘Rose,’ he groaned, his hands tightening on her hips, warm through the thin muslin of her petticoat. ‘You are so beautiful.’

  How she hoped she was, for him. She kissed him again and he rolled her body beneath his, on to his discarded evening coat. She laughed as her hair spilled all around them. She did feel beautiful as he looked at her, felt free at last, as she knew she would when with him! There was only now, this one moment, where she was with the man she loved. Yes, loved, for
she knew her heart was Harry’s and no one else’s. He kissed her and all other thoughts vanished.

  She closed her eyes, and let herself revel in the feelings his touch created, the press of his kiss on her bare skin. Her palms slid over his back, so strong and warm, sheltering her under his strength. Her legs parted as she felt his weight lower between them and a new sensation she had never even imagined.

  She knew what happened; she had been out in the world too long to be an ignorant miss. But the knowledge of how had never told her how it would feel, the heady, dizzy sensation of falling, falling, caught by another person and held above the world.

  ‘I don’t—don’t want to hurt you,’ he gasped. ‘But I can’t wait any longer.’

  Rose smiled as she felt the press of him against her, the way her whole body ached and tingled for that final union that meant she was his, even if he could never truly be hers. ‘You never could.’

  She spread her legs a bit wider and he slid into her, making them as one. It did hurt a bit, a quick, burning pain, but it was nothing to the way it felt when he was joined with her. She arched her back, wrapping her arms and legs around him so tightly he could never escape her.

  ‘You see?’ she whispered against his hair as he leaned into her shoulder. ‘I am completely perfect.’

  ‘My beautiful Rose,’ he gasped. Slowly, so slowly, he moved again within her, drawing back, edging forward, a little more intimate each time. Rose closed her eyes tightly, feeling all the ache ebb away until there was only pleasure. A tingling delight grew and expanded inside of her heart, warming like the sun. She had never known or even imagined anything like it.

  She cried out at the wonder of it all, at the bursts of light she saw behind her closed eyes, all blue and white and gold. The heat of it was too much. How could she survive without being consumed completely?

  Above her, all around her, she felt his body grow tense, his back arch. ‘Rose!’ he shouted out.

  She flew apart, she clung to him and let herself fall down into the fire and be consumed.

  After long moments, she slowly opened her eyes, wondering if she really had fallen deep into some volcano. But it was only the summerhouse, still that pale marble in the winter moonlight.

  But she was not the same. That wondrous sparkle still followed her and she held on to it with all her strength.

  Beside her, collapsed on to the chaise with his arms tight around her, was Harry. He seemed to be asleep, his breath harsh, his limbs sprawled out in exhaustion.

  Rose smiled at the sight and felt herself slowly, so slowly, floating back down to earth. She felt the iron of the chaise beneath his coat, the soreness of her body. But none of that mattered. Nothing mattered but this moment out of time. She had become someone different in his arms, someone beautiful and bold. Or maybe, just maybe—she had become her truest self.

  * * *

  Rose hardly dared to breathe as she watched Harry in the moonlight. Asleep, he looked so very young, so free of any bad memories or worries. He had a faint smile on his lips, as if his dreams were good ones. A lock of his dark hair curled on his brow.

  She gently smoothed it back, marvelling at his beauty, like a warrior king in slumber. She couldn’t believe what they had just done together, been to each other. It already seemed like a beautiful dream, lost in the mists, beyond her grasp. She lightly traced her fingertip across his cheek, feeling the warmth of his skin under her touch.

  She didn’t want to leave him. There was a physical ache inside of her, as if snapping that new, tender bond was a wound. But she knew she had to do it. She would be missed at the party if she was gone much longer, and the longer she stayed with him the harder it would be to leave.

  She leaned over and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. He sighed and rolled over, but did not awaken.

  ‘Sleep now, my love,’ she whispered. Hopefully when he woke again, he would also remember their time together as a sweet dream. She tucked his coat closer around him and stood to straighten her gown and make sure her hair was once more pinned into place. She did not feel like the old Rose at all, but she had to look like her once more. She had to hide that new glow deep in her heart, keep it only her own secret.

  She tiptoed to the door and could not resist a look back over once more. He still slept there, so peacefully, his face so beautifully sculpted in the shadows. She blew him a kiss and slipped out into the night.

  The cold wind swept around her, as if it tried to extinguish that summer-warm glow once and for all, but Rose was determined not to let it. She hurried across the garden and up the shallow steps to the terrace of the Barton drawing room. Through the tall glass windows she glimpsed the dancers, a jewel-like mosaic of bright satins and velvets under the golden light of hundreds of candles. She could hear the faint strains of music and the patter of dancing feet, and now they seemed like the dream. The noise and light seemed unreal, harsh.

  Rose hesitated for a moment outside, watching the crowd sweep by. Aunt Sylvia sat near the fireplace, where Lily and her husband chattered with her. Aunt Sylvia frowned as she, too, studied the crowd, tapping her walking stick impatiently, but she didn’t seem to need Rose yet. Rose glanced back over her shoulder, hoping to glimpse the summerhouse, but it was hidden among the trees. She only had one way to go—forward, alone.

  One of the glass doors opened and Lady Fallon slipped outside, all golden and crimson, glowing with rubies. She didn’t seem to see Rose at first at first and as Rose watched her bright smile fade away she looked so much older, harder, than the usual stylish lady of society she usually appeared. She glided over to the marble balustrade and opened her beaded reticule.

  To Rose’s shock, Lady Fallon brought out a thin, dark cheroot and lit it, a tiny beacon of light in the night. Rose had never seen a lady do such a thing. But her shock faded quickly. Of course Lady Fallon went her own way. She had the beauty and the money to be independent, to make many of her own choices. Rose quite envied her for that.

  Yet she didn’t envy the sad look that shadowed Lady Fallon’s eyes as she studied the garden. Or the fact that, with all that money and independence, she could so easily give Harry what he needed, what Rose herself could not.

  Rose tried to slip behind her and unobtrusively go back into the ballroom, but Lady Fallon noticed her. Her eyes widened for an instant, as if in surprise, then went back into her brilliant, blinding social smile.

  ‘Miss Parker,’ she said. ‘I thought I was alone out here.’

  ‘I just needed a breath of fresh air,’ Rose answered, hoping she did not sound too breathless, did not look dishevelled.

  ‘Indeed. Jane holds such lovely parties, but sometimes they do get so—noisy.’ Lady Fallon offered her the silver case.

  Rose shook her head, though she was quite tempted to give it a try. ‘This all must seem quite small next to grand London balls.’

  ‘Not at all. I think Jane knows everyone within a hundred miles, and they all want to be at her soirées. Sometimes I do think—’ She broke off.

  ‘Think what, Lady Fallon?’ Rose asked, curious.

  ‘That I would like to know what a small, cosy family Christmas would be like. I don’t think I’ve ever known such a thing.’

  Rose was surprised. Lady Fallon did not seem like the ‘small, cosy family’ sort of anything. ‘I did always love Christmas when my sister and I were small.’

  ‘Did you?’ Lady Fallon gave her a curious glance. ‘What did you and your family do?’

  ‘Oh, nothing too exciting. Games, walks to church, gifts like dolls and sweets. My father would give us piggyback rides and sometimes Lily and I would see our parents try to sneak a kiss under the mistletoe,’ Rose said wistfully, remembering those long-ago days when all seemed so safe and sweet.

  Lady Fallon sighed. ‘Lovely.’

  Rose nodded. Maybe Lady Fallon would b
e good for Harry after all and not just her money. Maybe she could help him build a family for Hilltop. ‘I should go find my aunt before she misses me.’

  ‘Of course.’ Lady Fallon studied the dark garden again and Rose slipped back into the drawing room. She made her way through the crowd, which was growing ever more lively as the claret cup punch flowed and the music wound louder.

  She found her way to Aunt Sylvia and Lily gave her a relieved smile. ‘There you are at last, Rose,’ Sylvia grumbled. ‘You have quite been neglecting me. I am in need of a glass of wine.’

  ‘Of course, Aunt,’ Rose said with a rueful laugh. Her dream was quite over. ‘I shall not be so neglectful again.’

  Chapter Sixteen

  ‘You are looking disgustingly cheerful this morning,’ Charles grumbled as Harry joined him at the Barton breakfast table.

  ‘Do I?’ Harry said with a laugh. He did feel rather good-humoured, better than he had in a very long time. Perhaps better than ever before. And it was all thanks to Rose. Sweet, wondrous Rose.

  When he had awakened in the chilly night to find her gone, he had felt most bereft. He wanted to tear out of the summerhouse and find her, to take her in his arms and declare that he would never let her leave his side again. That he could not be without her, now that he had finally found her, and the world shone brighter than he ever knew it could. War, the past—it was gone, melted away in the warmth of her kiss.

  But he still knew she was right to go, so as not to cause a scandal. He never wanted her to think he had been forced to propose to her when he desperately wanted her by his side for all the years to come. Not because of what had happened between them in the summerhouse, but only for herself. He could no longer envision a life without her.

  So he had dressed and made his way back out into the night, but he didn’t return to the party. He couldn’t face the crowd and the noise, and he was sure he wouldn’t be able to see Rose there and not kiss her, not reveal to everyone there that she was his. Instead he took a long walk in the cold, deserted gardens, trying to make a plan to move forward in his life. To fulfil his duty with Rose beside him.