The Christmas Countess

by Adrienne Basso

  “Smart as a whip, that one.” Lady Marion clucked her tongue. “She plays better than many adults I‘ve seen. Wagers like a professional, too.”

  “She gambles?” Rebecca squeaked in astonishment. “Her father allows it?”

  Lady Charlotte blushed and lowered her gaze. “My brother is the one who taught her.”

  Rebecca‘s eyes widened in astonishment. As the daughter of a clergyman, she was raised to believe gambling was something to be avoided, especially for a lady.

  “Why would he do such a thing?” Rebecca asked.

  Lady Charlotte cleared her throat, then hastily glanced at Lady Marion. Neither woman said anything.

  “It‘s because of my mother,” Lady Marion finally said. “A wonderful woman, to be sure, but bless her dear soul she lost a fortune at the card tables. We did not realize the extent of her problem until her death, when my father discovered the majority of her jewelry was paste.”

  “I don‘t understand,” Rebecca admitted.

  “Mother had sold the real gems to pay her gambling debts. To keep this disgraceful secret from my father, she had copies of her jewelry made in paste.”

  “Goodness.”

  “Precisely, and yet another reason I felt it imperative to marry a wealthy man.” Lady Marion tilted her head upward, calling out to her husband. “Be sure to grab that lovely bunch on your left, dearest. It‘s so full and lush we can simply tie a ribbon around the stem and hang it over a doorway.”

  “If I can reach it without breaking my neck, it‘s going in our bedchamber, my love,” the viscount replied.

  Rebecca‘s glance swung back to Lady Marion. “Do you gamble, also?” she whispered.

  “Gracious, no. I have never wagered on anything, not even a horse at the market day races. I know all too well this sort of thing can run in the blood,” Lady Marion said ruefully. “I believe that is why Cameron taught Lily how to play. ‘Tis far better to know how to wager properly—and win. It will save her grief in the end.”

  “Wouldn‘t it be better to encourage Lily never to gamble in the first place?” Rebecca inquired, astonished at this reasoning, when the earl obviously knew very well this gambling sickness could not be in a drop of Lily‘s blood.

  “I expect he will do so when she is older,” Lady Charlotte said.

  “I, for one applaud his efforts to educate Lily,” Lady Marion said in a firm tone. “And taking the time to do so himself is nothing short of extraordinary. Parents are rarely so avid and considerate. Christina and Cameron were quite unusual in that regard; always making time for their daughter. I intend to do the same whenever Richard and I are blessed with wee ones.”

  Viscount Cranborne, who was descending from the tree, nearly lost his footing as he caught the tail end of his wife‘s conversation. “Wee ones, Marion? As in babies?”

  Lady Marion‘s face reddened. “Alas, I have no announcement to make at this time, but I hope soon to have…” She cleared her throat. “To have news.”

  Viscount‘s Cranborne‘s face turned pale and he leaned against the tree trunk for support. “Amazing.”

  “Don‘t look so triumphant,” Lady Marion said with an affectionate grin. “We Sinclairs are a brazen lot. High strung and terribly spoiled, always getting into one scrape or another. Our children will no doubt be a singularly ill-behaved brood.”

  “Nothing would please me more,” Viscount Cranborne replied in a dazed voice.

  Lady Marion patted his arm. “Hush now. Such matters are not to be spoken of in genteel and mixed company.”

  Seeming not to care that anyone noticed, the viscount put his arms around his wife and kissed her soundly on the lips. Rebecca watched their obvious affection with a pang of envy. How wonderful, wonderful beyond imagining, it must be to share the excitement and anticipation of the birth of your child with the man you loved by your side.

  “Enough of that, Cranborne,” Sir Reynolds shouted. “You‘ll wear out the kissing power of the mistletoe if you keep it up much longer.”

  The couple parted, but Rebecca noted the viscount kept his arm around his wife‘s waist.

  “Have we gotten everything on your list, Lady Marion?” Daniel asked.

  “All that remains is the Yule log,” she answered.

  “To save time, we shall split into groups and each search a different section of the woods,” the earl decreed. “The team that discovers the finest specimen will be granted a special prize on Christmas Eve.”

  “Come, Papa. You must help me and Miss Tremaine find the best Yule log!”

  Then to Rebecca‘s utter astonishment Lily grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the earl. Rebecca could not tell if Lord Hampton was pleased or annoyed with the arrangement of having her as the third member of their group, but if he was, she knew he would not make a scene in front of Lily.

  Everyone scattered, most in groups of two and three. Lily scampered eagerly ahead, bounding over fallen branches, skipping over roots, frolicking along like an eager young puppy.

  “There‘s one,” Lily shouted, pointing to a fallen branch. She ran over and the adults dutifully followed.

  “Too small, Puss. It needs to fill the hall hearth and be thick enough to burn for many hours.”

  Undaunted, Lily tromped over the mossy earth, stopping at nearly every piece of wood she found.

  “Too thin,” the earl proclaimed.

  “Too rotted,” Rebecca judged.

  “Too funny-looking,” Lily decided, getting into the spirit.

  “I have found it!” Rebecca declared with a happy yell. She stepped forward and patted the felled trunk of a majestic oak, heavy, thick and solid. It lay a few feet off the woodland path, resting atop a tangle of crushed underbrush.

  “That‘s perfect,” Lily squealed. “Isn‘t it perfect? Wait, I want to sit on it. Help me, Papa.”

  Lord Hampton lifted the little girl and settled her in the middle of the log.

  “Up you go, Miss Tremaine,” the earl said. With no warning, he reached around her waist and lifted her to sit beside Lily.

  Rebecca‘s pulse skittered at the contact of his hands on her waist. Even through the layers of clothing she could feel the heat of his body. Though trembling, she forced herself to hold his gaze and sternly admonished herself to remain detached.

  His face was smoothed into a blank, firm mask, but his hazel eyes had darkened to a shade that was nearly green. Scrambling to retain her balance and keep her dignity, Rebecca held her back ramrod straight. Then Lily snuggled closer and Rebecca felt herself relax, felt the tension and reserve melt away.

  It was a moment of pure and simply joy. She looked down at their dangling feet and a lump of emotion swamped her throat, knowing this would be a memory to cherish. A bit of liquid dripped from the end of her nose. She fumbled in the pocket of her cloak, startled when the earl pressed a clean, white square of cloth into her hand.

  She daintily blew her nose into the linen handkerchief, telling herself it was the cold, brisk air making her eyes water and her nose run.

  “You too, Papa.” Lily swung her feet rapidly and the log shifted slightly. Rebecca yelped in surprise, her hands clutching the wood. How utterly ridiculous would she feel if she fell off?

  “Easy,” Lord Hampton admonished Lily.

  “I want you to sit up here too,” Lily said.

  Lord Hampton shook his head. “I shall break the log in two and then we will need to start our search all over again.”

  “But I liked the looking,” Lily said.

  “‘Tis getting late. And cold. We need to signal the others and share our find,” the earl countered.

  “And then we will win the prize!” Lily shouted, her excitement restored. “I hope it shall be a very spectacular prize, Papa.”

  “I will endeavor to make it as special as possible, Puss.” He reached out, placing his hand on Lily‘s knee to still her swinging legs. “You really should thank Miss Tremaine for our victory. After all, she was the one who found this magnifice
nt log.”

  “Oh, yes, thank you ever so much,” Lily cried with excitement.

  Then she unexpectedly turned and threw her arms around Rebecca, pressing herself close. Startled, Rebecca gathered the child within her embrace, for a few precious seconds holding her tightly to her breast, inhaling her sweet, little girl scent.

  Fresh tears gathered in Rebecca‘s eyes as a rush of pure love washed over her. It was, without question, the most emotional, joyful experience of her life and she greedily wished she could freeze this moment in time and hold it in her heart forever.

  Chapter 9

  Daniel smiled kindly at Lady Charlotte and offered her his arm, which she took after a moment of hesitation. With the Yule log found and their tasks completed, the cheerful group began the long walk back to the waiting pony carts. The earl promised a variety of refreshments, including hot cider and mulled wine, and to a person they all eagerly agreed they were famished. Viscount Cranborne admitted to be hungry enough to eat a horse, which struck Lady Lily as particularly funny and she giggled uncontrollably for several minutes.

  Daniel and Lady Marion had tactfully slowed their steps, staying with Lady Charlotte, who by this point in the outing was no longer able to keep pace with the rest of the party. He noticed her limp had become more pronounced as the morning wore on and realized she must be very tired from walking nonstop for so long. Yet she never complained or asked that consideration be given to her infirmity and he admired her determination and inner strength.

  It was difficult, though, to see her struggle, to imagine that she might be in pain. The temptation was strong to lift her into his arms and carry her the rest of the way, but he feared she would be dreadfully embarrassed by the attention. Besides, he did not have the right. And a part of him worried that she might object to being held in his arms.

  “Please, do not feel you need to stay back here with me, Mr. Tremaine,” Lady Charlotte said, her voice slightly winded. “I would not want you to miss any of the fun on my account.”

  She tried to quicken her pace, which caused a slight stumble. Daniel reached out to catch her, but she righted herself on her own. However, the sprig of holly she had jauntily placed in her bonnet ribbon dislodged and tumbled to the ground.

  “Please, allow me.” Daniel swooped down and retrieved the bit of greenery that had escaped the ribbon. Yet instead of replacing it, he pocketed the holly and placed a sprig of mistletoe in the original spot.

  “I really am far too old to be doing something so frivolous as putting holly in my bonnet. Does it look silly?” she whispered.

  “It looks lovely,” he replied. “Just as you do.”

  He suspected her question was a direct reflection on the opinion she held of herself. Clearly, she thought she was staid and prim and matronly, and perhaps that is what others saw when they looked at her. If they even gave her a passing notice.

  But that was not how he viewed her. Though her features were plain, he would not classify them as ordinary. She had a lopsided grin he found intriguing and a mouth blessed with plump, sensual lips. He had spent far too many hours these past days gazing at those lips, imagining what it would feel like to kiss them.

  Today there was color in her cheeks from the chilly air and a light in her eyes from her enjoyment of the activities. She had a low, sweet voice he found especially appealing and he liked hearing her speak. There was an intelligence in her conversation that he appreciated and a dash of humor that often escaped when she allowed herself to relax.

  He enjoyed being in her company. The opportunity to have a sustained discussion with a woman that went beyond the superficial, social niceties was unique to Daniel and in its own way oddly seductive. While others might easily dismiss her from consideration, Daniel thought her interesting and charming and utterly delightful.

  “Oh, Charlotte, you are a bold one,” Lady Marion said. She tapped her finger to her own bonnet and giggled. “I am so proud of you.”

  “Whatever do you mean, Marion?”

  “I am caught, Lady Marion,” Daniel interjected, belatedly realizing his little joke might embarrass Lady Charlotte. “The mistletoe is my doing.”

  “Mistletoe?” Lady Charlotte repeated in a faint voice.

  He had done it on impulse, the fun and delight of the morning putting him in an uncustomarily frivolous mood. He had done it too because he had wanted to kiss her, had wanted to give in to the temptation of tasting those enchanting, sensual lips.

  “You are a sly one, Mr. Tremaine,” Lady Marion declared. “I approve.”

  With a parting smile, she hurried ahead to catch up with the others, leaving them alone.

  “Whatever did Marion mean, Mr. Tremaine?”

  “Daniel,” he said softly. “My name is Daniel. Won‘t you please address me as such when we are alone?”

  It was a bold, improper suggestion. As he expected, she blushed, yet he thought it a good sign that a hint of a mischievous smile curved at her lips. “If you will call me Charlotte.”

  “May we sit for just a moment?” He guided her to a fallen tree trunk belatedly realizing it would have served as an excellent Yule log.

  “Now will you tell me what Marion meant about the mistletoe?” she asked as he sat beside her.

  “I assume she was referring to the Christmas custom, invented no doubt by a gentleman, giving him the right to kiss any lady he catches beneath the mistletoe without the worry of having his face slapped.”

  “I know about the custom, Mr. Trem…Daniel.”

  “Yes, but what you did not know is that I replaced your sprig of holly. Instead, I have put a fat bunch of mistletoe in your bonnet, making it ridiculously easy for me to catch you standing beneath it and thus claim the right to kiss you.”

  He raised his hand and touched the rim of her bonnet, showing her where the mistletoe rested. Her mouth dropped open in an exclamation of surprise as her hand lifted to touch the spot on her hat. He saw her fingers curl over the greenery, which was soft and delicate and very different from the prickly holly she had put there earlier in the morning.

  She turned away and dipped her head so far down that he could see the tender flesh at the arch of her neck and the wisps of hair that had escaped from the tight coil of her chignon. Damn it! She appeared mortified and he cursed himself silently for having embarrassed her.

  There was a tense, short silence. He was just about to apologize when she lifted her head to look at him.

  “And now that I am caught beneath the mistletoe, Daniel, what will you do?”

  It was far more than he could have hoped. “I will follow the custom, dear Charlotte. It would be rude not to, don‘t you agree?”

  Heart pounding with anticipation, Daniel lifted his hand and cradled the back of Charlotte‘s head in his palm. Then he leaned forward and pressed his lips against hers. He did not give her a token, swift kiss, as was the custom between newly acquainted couples. He kissed her fully, deeply, with all the pent-up emotions swirling in his heart.

  Her lips trembled noticeably and he felt her breath release just as his lips touched hers. Her mouth was exquisitely soft and he kissed her gently, tasting the fullness of her lips, those incredibly, sensual lips, that had driven him crazy for days.

  He slanted his mouth this way and then the other, teasing at her mouth, first running his tongue lightly across her bottom lip, then drawing it between his teeth and gently sucking on it.

  Her body relaxed and she melted toward him. Her unique, particular scent of lavender and lemon permeated his senses. Daniel tightened his hold on her neck, then eased his other hand down from her shoulder to the small of her back and urged her closer. Her lips parted on a small sigh and he took advantage of the opportunity to deepen the kiss.

  Warm and sweet, she tasted so good. So incredibly delicious. Pleasure shuddered from her into him and he lost all sense of time and place.

  Yet reality slowly intruded. They were in the woods, with others, including her brother, nearby. It had to stop. Relu
ctantly Daniel pulled away, though it felt as if every cell in his body was screaming for him to continue.

  Charlotte‘s lashes fluttered and she slowly opened them. Her eyes were huge and deep and he fleetingly thought that if he gazed into them long enough he would catch a glimpse of her soul.

  “I think, perhaps, that you were wrong about the mistletoe, Daniel,” she said, her voice a breathless whisper. “In my humble opinion, the custom of kissing beneath it was surely started by a woman.”

  She smiled. He answered the grin with one of his own. More than anything Daniel wanted to sweep her into his arms and kiss her again. And again. If only circumstances were different! How much easier things would be if she were but a poor relation, or even a governess to the family? Then his interest would be accepted by her relations. It would not matter that he was not a member of society‘s elite or that he had made his money in trade.

  A shout was heard up ahead.

  Charlotte‘s head lifted and she gazed down the path. “We had better join the others or else we shall be left behind,” she said.

  Daniel felt a muscle in his jaw twitch. He wanted to protest, to suggest that they deliberately stay behind. However, he felt uncharacteristically hesitant with her, unsure of his position. A sharp contrast to how he usually handled all other aspects of his life.

  He stood, extended his hand and helped her rise to her feet. She lifted her head and smiled her thanks and he noticed her face was flushed with a rosy glow of pleasure. He grinned, knowing his face would also reflect the same pleasure, for she had made him feel better than he had in a very long time.

  Still, his mind was in turmoil as they started walking. He was a man who trusted his instincts, who had been successful because he made smart, calculated choices. And now that sensible, practical part of his brain was telling him rather forcefully how foolish indeed it would be to allow himself to fall in love with her.

  ———

  Cameron stood at the window of his private study and stared out at the gathering clouds. It might actually snow soon and the very thought soured his mood. A blanketing of white would surely increase the excitement of the guests, not that it was needed. It seemed that nearly everyone was aglow with the anticipation of Christmas.