“So she gave it to you?” Cecily asked, and he nodded.
“The army was coming. They were going to take over her house and all of her possessions. She wanted me to keep it so that it wasn’t lost when they did. She said she would rather someone had it who would take the best of care for it. So here it is. Since you are all so dear and close to me, I know that it would be fine in the hands of any of you.
“Now,” he said, breaking the melancholic tension, “I believe it is Cecily’s turn.”
Cecily looked at the watch, then the flower, then back at the watch again.
Elijah’s heart beat rapidly, as it all depended on this moment, on this decision. He caught Joanna’s eyes across the table, and saw the nervous anticipation within them.
“I…” Cecily said, biting her lip, “I think I should like… the flower.”
It took everything Elijah had within him not to grin triumphantly.
They continued the game until they were each sitting with a gift, and all relatively happy, he thought — although he couldn’t help but notice that Joanna was eyeing the flower with a great deal of interest, and he realized then that she was a romantic at heart.
Dinner was sumptuous, of course, as it always was. His parents were proud of the Christmas feast they put on every year, and this occasion seemed to be no different. He wondered at how there could be a war raging just across the ocean, with so many of England’s own taking part, and yet people here continued on as they always had.
He heard Joanna’s laughter, and he leaned back in this chair in order to see just what — or who — she was laughing at. Alex. Damnit. His brother wasn’t actually interested in her, was he? He leaned back farther, to try to hear what exactly Alex was saying that was so entertaining her.
But then he leaned back a little too far and his chair went crashing to the ground.
Conversation came to a halt all around him, as he looked up to see the holly, ivy, and evergreen pines hanging from high above seemingly staring down at him, laughing at his misfortune.
“Eli?” Caroline and Alex were peering over him. “Are you all right?” his sister asked.
He quirked a smile. “Just fine.”
They helped him up, and he tried to grin at the table surrounding him, although his mother, father, and Baxter were all regarding him disapprovingly.
“My apologies,” he said with a nod, before waving to the feast spread in front of them, “continue, please.”
They were all staring at him with expressions that were a mixture of horror, amusement, and — in Joanna’s case — laughter. She was laughing at him. When he met her gaze and crooked an eyebrow at her, she winked at him — a copy of his usual gesture, and he couldn’t help but return her mirth.
This had all started as a game, yes, which he was sure she was well aware of. But he enjoyed Joanna Merryton far more than he ever had another.
He only hoped that he had been able to prove it to her sufficiently.
For he was falling for the woman.
Chapter 12
It took all evening, but Joanna was finally able to capture Elijah for a moment alone.
Which was crazy in and of itself, as she had been trying to escape him but a few nights ago.
She had to thank him, however, and to ask him if there was any truth to his story. The words had resonated with her, striking her deep in her soul as she wondered if this young woman still loved and what had happened to her.
When he slipped out of the room late that evening as everyone was beginning to retire, she tried to wait a few minutes so as not to be noticed before she quietly excused herself. She caught a glimpse of him retreating into the library, and she followed, quickly surveying the room to ensure that no one else was within.
“Eli?” she called, and he whirled around from the sideboard to face her.
“Joanna,” he said with some surprise, “what are you doing here?”
“I wanted to speak to you.”
He held his arms out to the side. “Speak away.”
She was suddenly shy, hesitant, now that it was just the two of them. While it wasn’t the first time they had been alone, it was the first time since she had started to think that perhaps he was not quite so bad as she had initially made him out to be.
Then there was also the fact that she was taken back to the first night she had arrived, when the two of them had found one another in this room. That night, she had wanted nothing to do with him — and had run from his embrace as fast as she could.
Tonight, she wanted nothing more than for him to try to kiss her underneath the mistletoe again. This time, she knew she wouldn’t push him away. And she most certainly wouldn’t try to escape.
She craved his touch, his attention, his temptation.
“I just… I wanted to… thank you for the pocket watch,” she said softly, bringing it out of her pocket once more, holding it in the palm of her hand. It fit perfectly. She brought out the other pocket watch, the one he had given her, and allowed it to warm her other hand. “It brings back so many memories. Of my grandmother, of her giving it to me, of Christmases long ago.”
She blinked at the suddenly appearing tear forming in her eye.
“Anyway. It means a lot to me.”
“Well,” he said gruffly, pushing away from the sideboard, “it was my fault that you were without it for so long, so I hardly think that I am the one to thank.”
He was right. But even so, she was appreciative of the gesture, as well as the fact that he had gone to such lengths to retrieve it.
“You were quite clever about it all,” she said, approaching him, looking up at him shyly.
“Well, that’s what I’m good for,” he said with a laugh, but she heard the vulnerability behind it and realized that he didn’t think there was much else for which he was.
“You have a skill,” she said. “You are quite the storyteller. You can captivate an audience.”
“I do my best.”
“Tell me,” she said, stepping closer still, so that she could look into his eyes, “was any of it true?”
He sighed. “Yes and no.”
“What does that mean?”
“There was a young woman who lost her betrothed to war, but he never returned for her. Not at Christmastime or any other time. She did give me the rose, told me I reminded her of her lost love, but it was just a rose from her garden. She was still waiting for him, watching for him, when I left.”
“That’s so sad,” Joanna said, her voice just above a whisper. “I do hope he returns to her.”
Elijah was shaking his head. “The letters had stopped, so she assumed the worst. She was probably right.”
They were both silent for a moment.
“There is still a lesson in that story.”
“Is there?” Elijah looked up, his dark eyes boring into her with such intensity that she nearly shivered. “That war is evil?”
“Yes,” she said with a slight nod of her head “That it is. But there is more to it. There is also how important it is to follow one’s heart, to take advantage of what you have when you have it, and to not take anything for granted.”
“That is… profound,” he murmured.
“What was it like?” she asked, knowing the subject lacked romance but unable to keep herself from asking. “Going to war?”
He paused, his hand coming to his drink, still sitting on the sideboard, circling it around the tabletop. “It was… not what I expected,” was all he said, and she sighed inwardly. He still had no wish to share with her. She understood, and yet couldn’t help but feel some disappointment as well.
“You should get back to the others,” he said, turning away from her and walking toward the fire, as though it drew him with its flames, its heat.
“Why?” she asked, unable to help herself from following him.
“You shouldn’t be here, alone with me,” he said. “You could get caught, compromised. Do you not recall what happened the last time the two o
f us were alone together? We wouldn’t want a repeat of such a thing.”
“No?” she said, looking up at him from beneath her lashes. “You wouldn’t have any inclination to try again?”
“I know better now,” he said, his back still to her, his words a growl, “but I still might not be able to help myself. Not with you. Go, Joanna. Happy Christmas.”
She retreated a step or two, looking up as she stopped just underneath the doorway — underneath the mistletoe.
“Elijah,” she called softly to him from across the room, “what if I want you to help yourself?”
He whirled around to face her. “Did you just say what I think you said?”
“I did.”
“You want to be caught under the mistletoe?”
“I do.”
“By me?”
“By no one else.” The words caught in her throat, breathless, wanting, pleading.
He hesitated for a quick moment more before he came striding across the room, stopping just before he reached her. He was an arm’s length away and her pulse pounded, her breath coming fast and wild.
She was shocked by his next words.
“I won’t kiss you.”
“Pardon me?”
“I will not kiss you,” he repeated, despite the storm that raged in his eyes as he stared at her. “You have to kiss me this time.”
Kiss him? She understood why he asked. He had tried to kiss her before, and she had spurned his advances. But she had struggled to find the courage just to step into the library and speak to him, let alone to approach him and kiss him. She took a breath. And then another. And then, she looked up into his eyes, so warm and inviting, and his mouth quirked up into a smile, as though he knew exactly what she was thinking.
“What if… what if I asked you to do so for the favor you owe me?”
She wasn’t this person — this flirtatious, witty person. Yet somehow, with Elijah, she was.
“You want to waste your favor on my kiss?” he asked, his eyebrows raised.
“Yes, please,” she whispered.
He didn’t argue any longer.
Before she could close her eyes, he was there, claiming her lips under his.
And she wanted nothing more than to keep him there as long as she could.
For the second their lips touched, all of the fear that had surrounded this kiss rushed away, to be replaced with a wanting so acute it threatened to overwhelm all of her senses.
She was frozen by the thoughts whirring through her mind, of what she was supposed to do now and what he would think of her elementary attempt at returning his expert passion.
But he didn’t seem to be thinking anything — for after a moment of him briefly tasting, testing, he seemed to understand that she was welcoming whatever he had to offer, and that tension that had been held simmering beneath the surface finally burst into flames.
With a growl, Elijah closed the distance that remained between their bodies, his arms reaching out and pulling her toward him. Joanna would have liked to have noted that they were no longer beneath the mistletoe, but she was too busy — too busy opening to Elijah as he plundered her mouth like a man who had been desperately searching for her.
His tongue swept inside, and she jumped, unused to the sensation and not knowing entirely what to do, but her body seemed to take over as she simply copied him, parrying each thrust with one of her own. Her hands came around his back, inching up until she twined them into his hair, discovering that his curls did wrap around her fingers as though they belonged there.
He tasted like spicy gingerbread and smooth brandy, and she couldn’t get enough.
“Joanna,” he murmured, coming up for air, his strong hands with their long fingers coming to each of her cheeks to hold her face before him, “you shouldn’t do this to me.”
“Why not?”
She could hardly think, so muddled her mind was by the incredible power of his kiss. At least he seemed similarly affected.
“Because it’s too hard to let you go.”
“I don’t want you to.”
Disbelief covered his face for a moment, until it broke out into a self-satisfied grin. “Good.”
Oh dear. What had she gotten herself into?
He returned his lips to hers, moving his hands to her waist, spanning it with his fingers as he pulled her closer to him in the same motion. Joanna closed her eyes and finally allowed herself to forget all of her misgivings, all of her annoyance, all of her denials against Elijah. Instead, she gave herself over to the sensations he was creating within her, sensations that she never knew could exist.
Joanna could have spent all of Christmas night in the library kissing him, but eventually he left her lips, pressing them against her forehead instead.
“I’ve never had a Christmas gift so sweet,” he whispered against her. “Thank you.”
“I believe I enjoyed it just as much,” she said, her words coming in a bit of a pant as she struggled to catch her breath.
“Best go to bed now, Joanna Merryton,” he said softly, his breath brushing against her ear. “Have yourself a very happy Christmas.”
And before she knew what was happening, he had shepherded her out the door and into the corridor, and she had no idea whether she had been chosen or dismissed.
* * *
Elijah should have been pleased.
But as he leaned against the closest bookshelf and rested his head upon his hands, he groaned aloud.
For kissing Joanna had only increased his desire for her. He had pushed her out the door before his own passion for her had overwhelmed all else, most importantly his own sense of reason.
He wanted her, yes, but he was well aware that he could not simply make love to her in the library on Christmas night without any sense of commitment — commitment which he wasn’t sure he could or should give to her.
For he was well aware there was something still wrong with him, deep inside. His injuries from the war hadn’t left any scars. All of his limbs were intact. On the outside, he looked the same man who had left England, though aged by three years.
Inside, however, everything had changed, and the worst of it all was that he wasn’t entirely sure just how completely. All of his memories were intact for the most part, but fuzzy. He remembered people, sure. He could recognize friends and family, and had some idea of what he felt about each of them. But particular circumstances, instances, events — they were blurred out, like steam had fogged the glass he was looking through. Little details were difficult to pick up, and he found himself forever trying to make excuses, for he had no idea whether or not anyone could ever understand.
How could one live with a man who might forget his own child’s birthday? Who couldn’t remember much of his own childhood? Who lived one day to the next, scared that he would forget everything that had come before?
He didn’t know what kind of husband that would make him. He hadn’t thought he would ever pursue that role for himself.
Until Joanna.
He knocked back the drink he had poured before her arrival, replacing the glass as he left the library to make his way to his bedroom, where he knew he would spend a long, sleepless night, thinking of her, wondering what she was doing, where she was sleeping, if she was thinking of him in turn.
He didn’t deserve a woman like her.
But he wasn’t sure if he could ever let her go.
Chapter 13
With Christmas passed, the Twelfth Night celebration — which rivalled Christmas, and, for the younger set, was likely even more anticipated — was on the lips of all the guests. As everyone gathered in the drawing room several days later, wearing all of the pelisses and cloaks and wool hats and mittens that would be required for sledding that afternoon, they began discussing just what would make for the best celebration.
“Party games are always fun,” said Lady Oxford with a smile and a look of knowing at her husband.
“We’ll have dinner, of course,” Lady Darli
ngton added as she sat and watched the rest of them, for she was staying behind.
“The children can come for a time, can they not?” Elijah asked, and Christopher began bouncing up and down on his toes, while Ophelia rolled her eyes at him.
“Oh, we must have a costume party!” Cecily said, joining the conversation. “I love dressing up! We can each take on a befitting character. Would that not be fun?”
“I hadn’t planned for much by way of costumes,” Elijah’s mother said, cocking her head at the thought. “We have nothing prepared. No cards and no costumes.”
“The cards are easy enough to make,” Cecily pressed. “As for the costumes…” her smile widened, and Elijah suddenly had the feeling that she had an idea which was not going to be in the best interests of someone in the room who wasn’t Cecily. “We have a seamstress in our midst!” The expression she sent Joanna’s way was one of self-satisfaction for, he was sure, more than just an agreeable thought.
“Oh…” Joanna said with a wince, “I’m not entirely sure—”
“But wouldn’t it be fun!” Cecily continued. “It wouldn’t be an inordinate amount of work, I’m sure, as we can simply alter the wardrobes we brought with us. Oh, please say you will do it, Miss Merryton, please!”
Elijah frowned. He couldn’t say he knew much of the job of a seamstress, but somehow the thought of creating costumes for all of the guests — even if it was just altering — seemed to be far too great a task for one person alone, especially one person who was supposed to be here enjoying her Christmas holiday, likely one of the few holidays she ever received.
“I will do my best,” Joanna said with a small, forced smile, although she dipped her head quickly, and Elijah just knew that she was hiding an expression of unease at the request. Oh, how he would love to walk over and tell Cecily exactly what he thought, but he wasn’t entirely sure where his place was in Joanna’s affairs. He was a man who was attracted to her, who had kissed her, who would like to convince her that he was worthy of her affections — but who was also scared. Scared of rejection, that when she learned he no longer possessed all of his faculties, she would run the other way. He wasn’t sure which was worse — the man he was before, or the man he had become.
Merry Misrule Page 9