The Christmas Countess

by Adrienne Basso

  She looked achingly beautiful and he was momentarily dazzled by her. But this sudden awareness was not a welcome occurrence.

  “Are you all right?” he inquired, his tone clipped to hide his reaction.

  “Yes. Please, pardon my clumsiness.”

  She sounded breathless. He released her and she straightened, brushing her hands nervously down the front of her skirt. Then she bobbed a quick curtsy, turned and walked swiftly away. Cameron fought to keep his feet planted in place, squashing the most ridiculous compulsion to follow her.

  Lord, what rubbish! He had no wish to think such idiotic, dare he admit, romantic thoughts about Rebecca Tremaine. He had more than enough problems trying to negotiate this bizarre situation as it stood. Adding a romantic element would make things quite impossible.

  ‘Twas nothing more than a physical reaction, he told himself. A healthy male too long without a sexual release responding to the nearness and scent of a beautiful female.

  Yet he knew the body and the spirit were not so easily separated. There was something undefinable beneath the physical allure that drew him to Rebecca Tremaine and that worried him.

  He slapped his riding crop sharply against the top of his boot trying to snap himself out of this fanciful mood. It didn‘t work. Striding toward the house, Cameron mentally counted off the days until Christmas. Like a child of Lily‘s age, he fervently hoped it would come quickly.

  For when the holiday was over, Rebecca Tremaine would be gone.

  Chapter 7

  Charlotte sank back against her chair, sighing as the majority of the crowd partnered for the next dance. This evening the music room was serving as a makeshift ballroom, since several of the guests declared an interest in dancing after supper. Charlotte was very disappointed with the choice, for it would exclude her from the festivities. But worst of all, it would also deny her a chance to be with Mr. Tremaine.

  It was a stroke of bad luck that their paths had not crossed once in the past three days. Tonight she had not actually seen him until supper was being served—had not had any opportunity to speak with him since they had sung their duet three nights ago. Charlotte had been terribly nervous when Marion suggested she sing, and near panic when Mr. Tremaine had agreed to accompany her. But the result had far exceeded anything she could have imagined.

  For the first time in her life she had lost her shyness and inhibition. Since she was already seated near the piano, she did not have to take any steps with all eyes upon her, watching her uneven, ungainly gait. With the distress of revealing her limp removed, she had been able to relax, to indulge in the beauty of the music.

  The moment Miss Tremaine‘s fingers began to play, Charlotte could feel herself being transported by her emotions. And when she and Mr. Tremaine had started to sing…Charlotte sighed at the memory. Their voices had sounded so beautiful together, so perfectly matched.

  It was by far the most intimate experience she had ever shared with a man, which was ironic since it occurred in front of a crowd and she had never once looked at Mr. Tremaine as they sang. And still it had been magical.

  The experience had deepened her connection to him, had stirred a primal need inside her for companionship and understanding, for stimulation of the senses she had been conditioned to repress. Miraculously, in those few amazing moments, Daniel Tremaine had become a beacon to Charlotte, a comforting refuge, a place of safety and promise in a world of darkness.

  Yet the victory and delight of the other evening were now ended and tonight reality once again reigned. As she watched her cousin Marion gracefully pirouette in front of her dance partner, Charlotte felt herself slipping back into her usual quiet, self-contained self. Back into the world where she dwelled, where all was dull and gray and lonely.

  She brushed a hand over the burgundy silk skirt of her evening gown, feeling foolish for giving into the temptation to wear it. Her maid had enthusiastically encouraged her to don the brightly hued gown—one of the very few in her wardrobe. She had smiled when Charlotte asked about her lace spinster‘s cap, claiming she was unable to fetch it because it now resided in the dustbin. And she had once again created an elaborate, fashionable hairstyle that made Charlotte feel attractive and vibrant.

  But it had all been for naught. Mr. Tremaine did not even notice her. He and his sister had been the last guests to arrive for supper, barely glancing at anyone as they had hurried to take their places. They had been seated at the opposite end of the table from Charlotte, precluding any chance of conversation.

  Despondent, Charlotte had actually stared at Mr. Tremaine for a good portion of the meal yet he never once glanced in her direction.

  She spied him now on the far side of the room, surrounded by several gentlemen. He cut an undeniably attractive figure in his black formal evening clothes. She could not help but admire his handsome face with his dark hair and twinkling eyes, his charming smile.

  There was a smattering of applause as the dance ended. Lady Bailey, who had graciously consented to play for the dancers, asked for a cup of tea and with a bit of prompting Mrs. Halloway took her place at the piano.

  Charlotte craned her neck to see where Mr. Tremaine had gotten himself off to, momentarily panicking when she could not find him. She shifted restlessly in her chair, then caught a glimpse of him moving across the room.

  Tall and well built, he moved with power and purpose. She monitored his progress as he kept coming closer, finally realizing he was walking directly toward her. Their eyes met. Gooseflesh prickled Charlotte‘s arm.

  “Will you do me the honor of partnering me for this dance, Lady Charlotte?”

  He bowed and extended his hand. Her mouth went dry. She stared into his gentle brown eyes, unable to breathe, to stammer out a single syllable.

  “Oh…I…” Charlotte stuttered, totally at a loss.

  “Please?”

  Charlotte struggled to swallow. Gracious, where was her fan? It suddenly felt unbearably warm as a blast of heat flushed up from her chest and settled on her cheeks.

  “I believe you to be too kindhearted a woman to so cruelly reject me,” he continued, his eyes entreating her with a whimsical twinkle. “Please, dance with me.”

  A sense of light-headedness swept over her. Charlotte put a hand to her head to still the throbbing pulse at her temple. Now what was she to do? For the past few days she had taken such great pains to hide her infirmity from him and clearly her ruse had been successful. He had no inkling she was a cripple.

  She gazed up at him in alarm. What could she say? More than anything she wanted to say yes, but it was impossible. She rarely danced and never in public.

  And then he smiled.

  Mesmerized, Charlotte felt her arm lift toward him. It was madness, certain to end in disaster, but in that instant she did not care. All she could think about was how he would haunt her heart for the rest of her life. Seizing this one chance to be in his arms seemed to be worth any humiliation.

  She placed her trembling gloved finger in the palm of his hand and stood; then took two steps revealing her uneven, unsteady gait. Flushed with mortification, Charlotte waited for him to stammer with puzzlement or embarrassment or worst of all with pity, and withdraw the offer. Instead he took a step closer, offering his entire arm, rather than merely his hand, to support her.

  “‘Tis a waltz,” he said with an easy grin. “My favorite.”

  Before Charlotte had an opportunity to reply, Mr. Tremaine‘s arm slid around her waist and they went whirling onto the dance floor.

  Tension radiated through her. She feared that she would stumble or fall and make a complete fool of herself. But Mr. Tremaine seemed oblivious to her distress, acting as if nothing was amiss. With another captivating smile he tightened his arm around her waist. Pulling her close, he expertly led her in a patterned circle.

  He was very strong. He was also an excellent dancer. Assured, confident in his abilities, smooth and graceful. Gradually, Charlotte began to relax and let him take control, enj
oying the movement and energy of the dance. Her injured leg lagged behind slightly to the beat of the music, but Mr. Tremaine twirled her so expertly it did not seem to matter.

  It reminded Charlotte of the time she had seen Cameron dancing with Lily. The little girl had placed her feet atop her father‘s and the earl had danced about the room, taking the child with him.

  Lost in thought, she did not catch Mr. Tremaine‘s remarks. “Pardon?”

  “You look so solemn, Lady Charlotte. Are you not enjoying yourself?”

  “Oh, no, ‘tis marvelous,” Charlotte replied, for indeed it was heavenly. It was like floating, like flying as they whirled around the ballroom at a dizzying speed. But most delightful of all was the joy she felt at being held in his arms.

  She had seen others waltz before and was surprised at how private it felt, how personal. Being held this close afforded her the opportunity to gaze at his handsome face without seeming intrusive. She admired his white, straight teeth, the small dimple that appeared in the depths of his cheek when he smiled, even the tiny lines that formed at the corners of his eyes when he laughed.

  He pulled her closer to avoid a collision with another couple and Charlotte was suddenly aware of her breasts crushed against his chest. She faltered a step. He caught her, steadied her, saved her from making an embarrassing fall.

  A rush of feelings and emotions swamped her. Her face was burning. She hoped Mr. Tremaine would not be able to see the color creeping into her cheeks. He twirled again and she could feel his muscular thighs pressing against her own through the gown.

  Charlotte began to tremble. She told herself it was due to the tight stays in her corset that restricted her breathing, but she knew it was a lie. It was being near Mr. Tremaine. Daniel. She glanced up at him, fearing he had guessed she was attracted to him.

  He smiled back at her, his features relaxed with amusement. If he did know, it apparently did not trouble him. Charlotte nearly asked, but bit her tongue before she spoke and made a complete ninny of herself. Deciding it must be the intensity of being so near him that stole her wits, she wisely did not attempt any conversation.

  Instead, she allowed herself the luxury of concentrating on the moment, telling herself it was essential that she remember each and every small detail, so this dance could be savored again and again in the coming days and weeks.

  Mrs. Halloway ended the waltz with an impressive crescendo on the piano, her arms shimmying. Everyone began to applaud, except Charlotte, who sighed with genuine regret. Reluctantly she allowed herself to be led from the floor, back to her solitary seat on the outer edge of the room.

  After a slight pause, she forced herself to relinquish her hold on Mr. Tremaine‘s arm and sank into her chair. She was attempting to summon the courage to invite him to sit with her, but felt shy at the presumption and guilty at ruining his chance to enjoy himself. Just because she was a cripple did not give her the right to inflict her limitations on him. He should partner another lady and enjoy more dances.

  “I noticed you were limping when we came off the dance floor. Did you injure yourself today?” he inquired.

  Her heart sank and a vise of cold tightened her chest. She blinked quickly to avoid the sudden rush of tears. “The injury is of long-standing, one I have had since birth.”

  “You dance beautifully. Better than I, certainly.” He gave her a questioning look, then glanced down as if trying to ascertain precisely what was wrong.

  Somehow she conjured a smile, to let him know she was not offended, though in truth she was mortified at having to explain. “I was born with the defect. My hip socket is not correctly formed and thus affects my left leg. It is crooked and slightly shorter than the right.”

  “Oh, is that all? I thought it something far more serious.” He cocked his head to one side. “Are you feeling tired?”

  “No,” she squeaked.

  “Splendid. Shall we try the quadrille next?”

  Charlotte found herself nodding, for speech was a total impossibility. Is that all? Is that all? Had he truly said it just that way? Casually, simply. As if it were nothing. As if her cripple leg was but a mere inconvenience, something insignificant, of little, nay, of almost no consequence. Something that did not matter.

  Her chest constricted and her heart began a too-rapid beat. The euphoria she felt was all inclusive. Though she tried to contain it, ‘twas impossible not to let her heart soar.

  Long ago, when she had turned eighteen, her mother had gently warned her that she needed to be careful of men, careful of love. The dowager countess explained how she feared her only daughter would be vulnerable, suspecting if Charlotte ever fell in love, she would fall hard and fast and with all the impulsive passion of a lonely, neglected woman.

  Charlotte had heeded her mother‘s advice. From that day forward, she had closed her mind to the idea of finding a gentleman to love, one who would care for her in return. Worried she would turn bitter, Charlotte had strived hard not to be the sort of woman who railed and lamented her fate, who brooded endlessly about what she could not change. Countless times she had endeavored to find the strength within herself to accept the future that fate had forced upon her.

  But tonight—well, tonight she was ready to risk her heart and allow her dreams to fly free. Tonight she was going to savor ever minute of this magical feeling, she was going to embrace it utterly.

  “I would very much like to dance the quadrille with you, Mr. Tremaine,” Charlotte said. “Though I might be a bit clumsy at some parts.”

  “I‘m sure you will be graceful as a gazelle, Lady Charlotte.” He lowered his head toward her and she could feel his warm breath against her cheek, their mouths only inches apart. “But even if you are not, I shall not mind in the least.”

  Charlotte grinned broadly, a smile bright enough to put the sun to shame. Then with her head held high, she allowed herself to be led back on the dance floor.

  ———

  Cameron tossed back the last of his drink and placed it on a nearby table, wondering how many times he could circle the music room and still not approach Miss Tremaine. Upon reflection, he had come to regret his outburst with her earlier today. It was creating an awkward, underlying tension between them that did no one any good. Least of all him.

  The sadness and vulnerability on her face as he railed at her had made him feel like the worst sort of bully. It brought home hard the wounding power of his words, never more potent than when spewed in anger.

  And yet there was a part, albeit a small part, of him that felt justified in his intense reaction to her criticism. It was not Miss Tremaine‘s place to dictate how Lily was being reared. That was his responsibility and he was pleased with the results.

  He was a man used to being in control, of having things he directed go in a correct, proper manner. Few, if any, ever questioned his authority or the rightness of his behavior and actions. He was not, as unfortunately were many others of his class, a pompous ass who would book no criticism. He had on more than one occasion freely admitted a mistake and done whatever was necessary to correct it.

  Perhaps that was the crux of his dilemma. He honestly did not believe he said anything wrong and yet somehow she made him feel that he was in the wrong. How the devil had that happened? Was she a witch or a sorceress or just a bloody clever woman?

  Cameron wanted to curse himself for having a weak moment and bringing her here in the first place, but in the end he knew he could not regret inviting Miss Tremaine to Windmere manor. Given the circumstances it was the right thing to do. She had been dealt a harsh, unfair blow and genuinely suffered from the loss of her child. It was within his power to ease some of that pain and his conscience would not let him turn his back on his duty.

  Still, he could not help wishing that she was merely another guest at his home, someone who would briefly touch his life and then be gone. He knew now that would be very unlikely. It was staggering, really, when he considered the ramifications of this relationship.

&nb
sp; Complicating it further, as the afternoon had clearly demonstrated, if he were not constantly on his guard he could far too quickly lose control of his temper and emotions. Determined to purge the incident, and her, from his mind, Cameron had spent the remainder of the afternoon locked in his study reviewing year-end financial statements. Those dull tomes, combined with several glasses of fine wine, had caused his mind to fog, his eyelids to grow heavy.

  He had briefly fallen asleep. And while asleep had dreamt about Rebecca Tremaine.

  In the dream it had been Christmas morning. As was their family custom, he, Lily, Mother and Charlotte had been gathered together in the private parlor exchanging gifts. Lily was especially excited, dashing from one person to the next, her eyes bright and happy, her face flushed with childish, innocent delight as she waited for the signal that they could begin tearing into the pretty, wrapped packages.

  There was another woman in the room. Christina. Seated in her customary place on the settee, wearing her favorite royal blue dressing gown, her long blond hair loose and flowing down her back. A warm, comforting feeling had invaded his soul at the sight of her. Grinning, he had laid one hand on her shoulder while extending a Christmas present toward her with the other.

  Slowly, she turned. And smiled.

  Startled, he felt the package fall from his hand. It was not his beloved Christina staring back at him with a joyful smile, a glow of happiness on her lovely face. It was Rebecca Tremaine.

  Lily had begun to cry, and Cameron had awoken with a jolt, the sound of his daughter‘s misery echoing in his heart.

  “Pretty woman, that Rebecca Tremaine. I‘m surprised she isn‘t married,” Viscount Cranborne remarked as he came to stand beside Cameron.

  The earl blinked. “Her father was a vicar,” he replied, glad of the distraction from his disturbing thoughts. “I imagine her dowry is exceedingly small.”