by Carla Kelly
When at last he tied off the laces, he stepped back to admire her, not with a critical eye, but with the heady interest he’d shown beneath the mistletoe. She was thankful the little branch was still on the chandelier and not in here, for if it was, she’d surely throw herself against him and claim the last berry, and his lips, for her own.
She laced her hands in front of her, determined to put an end to such ridiculous notions. This morning she’d detested him, now she wanted to forget herself with him? Even during a magical season like this it was beyond comprehension and belief. He’d asked for friendship, not passion. ‘How do I look?’
‘It only needs one more thing.’ He plucked a wreath of dusty fake flowers from the top of the pile of clothes. ‘A crown for the queen.’
He lowered it over her hair, his hands lingering by her temples as though he meant to gently take hold of her before he lowered them to his sides. His eyes remained fixed on hers as she adjusted the crown, frowning when a few silk petals fell off to decorate the skirt of her dress.
When she was done, she slid a domino off the old clothespress where Laurus had draped it. ‘And you must have a mask and a cape.’
His fingers brushed hers as he took the cape from her. In a swirl of musty black velvet, he flung it around his broad shoulders, then tied the ribbons at his neck. Lily picked up the matching black mask and held it out to him. Instead of taking it, he bent down, inviting her to slide it on. He held it to his face as she tied the laces at the back of his head, the thickness of his hair like sable brushing against her palms as she worked.
When she was done and he straightened, there was something more rogue than misrule about him, an air of confidence not diminished by the red doublet, but enhanced by the mysterious darkness of the domino. Taking him in, Lily wondered what it would be like to stand beside him at a London masque in a dress better suited to her than the old blue damask. In masks, no one would know who they were and she’d be free to whirl and turn about with him, enjoying his smiles in a crowd as easily as she did in this closet. For the first time in years, she contemplated accepting Rose’s invitation to join her in London for the Season. With Gregor by her side, even in a mask, she felt sure she would not fear society as much as she did.
‘What do you think?’ he asked, turning as well as he could in the cramped confines of the priest hole.
‘No one will guess it’s you and not Laurus. You’re matched in height and the domino and mask hides your hair and most of your face.’
‘Then let’s be off to make our mischief.’ He held out his arm to her, throwing back the side of the short cape with the flourish of a musketeer.
She clung to the hardness of his arm beneath the shirt, the heat of him spreading through her and settling low inside her stomach. It’d been like this before when he’d escorted her onto the dance floor at Petunia’s wedding, the eyes of all the guests on them as they’d taken their place in the line. For the first time the thrill of dancing with him, not the moment it had all turned sour, dominated her memory of that night.
‘You two make quite a Christmas pair.’ Laurus whistled as they stepped into the hall. ‘Now come on. I can’t wait to surprise everyone.’
He led them back to the sitting room, waving them to a stop outside the door. He leaned forwards just enough to peer inside without being seen, watching as everyone drew out the last line of the long song. ‘And a partridge in a pear tree.’
The family clapped and Laurus waved Lily and Gregor forwards.
If Lily expected their entrance to be one of the measured Marbrook ilk, she was pleasantly disappointed. With a mischievous wink, Gregor clasped her hand and pulled her into the room. Just over the threshold he let go and flung out his hands to announce his appearance in a booming voice to startle the children and amaze the adults.
‘The Lord of Misrule has arrived!’
‘It’s Laurus,’ James and John cried at once and, along with Daisy, jumped to their feet to rush at the Lord of Misrule. Poor little Adelaide, too young to understand, buried her face in her mother’s chest and let out a wail.
‘It isn’t Laurus.’ Lily’s brother stepped in behind the Lord of Misrule and John and James’s eyes grew as wide as pewter plates, along with half the adults.
‘Then who can it be?’ Daisy cried.
‘You must follow me to find out.’ Gregor led the children in a merry dance around the room, snatching one of the tin horns off of the floor and blowing a very off-key but lively tune. The children followed, jumping and skipping around the furniture in imitation of the Lord of Misrule while the adults clapped and laughed at the sight. Lily followed in amazement, stunned to see Gregor so carefree. Though he was nothing like the rest of his family, even he possessed a distinguished reserve which he happily cast aside tonight.
As he rounded the sofa, he caught her hand and pulled her to the door. ‘Come, my fair queen, we must lead the way to the servants’ ball.’
His hand was tight in hers as they marched together in time to the boys’ loud singing and tooting of horns. Lily’s sides hurt as she laughed and spun with Gregor, turning with him to enjoy the beaming faces of the children and the adults who followed behind them as they led the way to the servants’ celebration.
The ballroom, at one time the great hall, was a long room with a high timber ceiling and a wide stone fireplace at one end. The parade of merrymakers broke into the centre of a country dance, taking up places in the line to join the servants who clapped and twirled to the lively tune of the fiddle. Rose partnered with the butler and joined him in the dance, while Petunia, holding a now-mesmerised Adelaide, stood along the sides as Charles swept the old housekeeper nearly off her feet. Daisy promenaded with a footman while the two young scullery maids danced with John and James. Lily’s parents joined in the line, taking their place just beneath Lily and Gregor, who led the reel as the top couple.
Lily held on tight to Gregor’s hand as he led her through the steps, his laughter rising with the music. Past the darkness of the mask, his green eyes were alight with his excitement and, when the dance made her and Gregor face one another to sashay down the line, something more.
When all the couples had passed, James and John began to chant, ‘Unmask! Unmask!’
The servants and adults soon joined in until Gregor led Lily back into the centre of the line. Holding up her hand, he had the two of them bow to one side and then the other before he let go of her to pull back the hood and sweep the mask from his face.
A gasp of surprise rushed through the room, nearly snuffing out the candles before the servants’ murmurs of astonishment silenced even the fiddler. If Gregor was aware of the stir he created, he didn’t show it as he smiled at Lily, his hair ruffled over his forehead and damp with perspiration.
‘Well done, well done.’ Laurus appeared now and clapped, snapping all out of their astonishment to join him in their thanks.
Soon the fiddler struck up the next dance and the servants, bidding goodbye to Sir Timothy and Lady Rutherford, resumed their celebration while the family wandered back towards the other wing.
Gregor and Lily were the last to leave, lingering far behind the family which said their goodnights at the bottom of the stairs. Rose and Edgar led their tired boys up to their rooms, the twins protesting going to sleep even while they yawned and rubbed their eyes. Even Daisy moved with heavy feet as mother and father ushered her up to bed, followed by Petunia and Charles and little Adelaide, who snored on her father’s shoulder.
Lily was sad to see them go and for the evening to come to an end. The troubles in the dining room seemed so long ago and she didn’t want to lose the lightness and excitement surrounding her now. It stretched out to encompass Gregor, the smile on his face not dimming as they stood together at the bottom of the stairs. The flush of excitement illuminating his face made him seem younger, as though the troubles with
his family and his time in France no longer haunted him.
‘Well done, Marbrook, well done.’ Laurus clapped his friend on the back.
‘A very exhilarating reign.’ Gregor took off the cape, then shrugged out of the doublet.
‘I expect the same level of enthusiasm tomorrow night at the ball.’
‘We’ll make it one you won’t forget.’ Gregor laughed as he exchanged with Laurus the doublet for his waistcoat and coat.
‘I hope so.’ Laurus winked at Lily as he took from her the crown of flowers before she slipped the bodice and dress down over her hips and stepped out of the old garment. Then Laurus pointed over their heads. ‘With only one berry left, it seems a shame to leave the poor thing hanging.’
‘Goodnight, Laurus,’ Lily cried, half-serious, half in jest as she tossed the old gown over her brother’s shoulder.
‘Goodnight.’ He skipped up the stairs, disappearing into the darkness at the top with a whistle.
Lily should have been angry at Laurus for his implication, but it was difficult to think of anything with Gregor standing so close. Here before her wasn’t the arrogant lord who’d refused to acknowledge her after her fall, but the young man who’d told her of his troubles in the alcove. What might have happened between them if the secret heartaches they’d shared hadn’t been interrupted by his family’s arrogance? There was no one to interrupt them now.
While he did up the buttons on his coat, Gregor examined the sprig of mistletoe and the lone berry still clinging to it. ‘It does seem a shame to leave it.’
‘You must excuse my brother, he has quite the teasing sense of humour,’ Lily remarked, trying to change the subject and draw Gregor’s attention away from the sprig hanging over them like some sword of Damocles. The intimacy was already too much without the encouragement of the small plant. ‘Even when he isn’t the Lord of Misrule he can’t completely relinquish his duties.’
‘I know. He was like that at school, always moving Parson Verrell’s books. It’s why I liked him. He was everything my brother and father weren’t.’
Some of the merriment faded from his eyes and he ran his fingers through his hair.
She didn’t want him to be sad, but as happy as he’d been in the ballroom. ‘Laurus may regret appointing you Lord of Misrule. Everyone is sure to insist you come back next year and he’ll find himself dethroned.’
He straightened the collar of his coat. ‘I’d gladly come back, if your family will have me.’
‘I’m sure they will.’
He raised his eyes to meet hers, a fire burning in their depths which nearly stole her breath away. ‘Would you?’
‘I’d welcome you much sooner, if you’d like.’ Her boldness surprised her, but she didn’t regret it.
Gregor reached up and plucked the last berry off the sprig, then stepped closer to tower over her. He raised one hand to her face, cupping her cheek with his palm, the pulse in his fingertips fluttering against her temple.
Her toes curled in her slippers as he leaned in, his breath sweeping her face. She closed her eyes, expecting the brush of his lips over her cheek, so she wasn’t prepared for the meeting of their mouths. As his firm lips enveloped hers, she fell against his chest with a sigh, raising her arms to encircle his neck. He met her embrace, deepening the strength of his kiss as he wrapped his arms about her waist, his hands wide on her back as he drew her closer to him. He bent over her ever so slightly as though wanting to draw her inside of him. She would gladly disappear into him if she could, remove the thin obstacles of her dress and his shirt to meld completely with him. In the openness of the entryway, she could only part her lips and allow his pressing tongue to caress hers.
She’d studied so many classical paintings of nymphs possessed like this by gods, but until this moment, she hadn’t understood the sheer power of a man holding a woman, his breath drawing out hers.
Lily clutched Gregor even tighter as her knees went weak from the pressure of his tongue against the line of her lips, curling and drawing her tongue out to meet his. Low down against her stomach, she felt the hardness of more than his hips, the heat of it increasing the fire already licking up inside her. If he were to ask her for more, she’d gladly give it, surrendering to him and the desire threatening to consume them both.
‘I’ll see if Adelaide left her doll downstairs, Miss Smith, while you look in the nursery.’ Petunia’s voice from the hall upstairs broke through the haze of Lily’s passion, snuffing it out like a drop of water from an icicle on a candle. ‘She must have it or she won’t sleep.’
Lily broke from Gregor’s embrace and took a few steps back. With shaking fingers, she straightened her dress, smoothing out the wrinkles. Petunia’s light step filled the entrance hall before she reached the bottom, pausing on the last stair to look back and forth in curiosity at them.
‘Lily, what are you still doing up?’
‘I was showing Lord Marbrook my portraits.’
‘In almost complete darkness?’
‘It isn’t that dark,’ Lily challenged, though even she could see the candles had burned down far enough in the chandelier to make the hall far darker than propriety allowed.
Before Petunia could challenge Lily, Miss Smith appeared at the banister above them.
‘I’ve found Adelaide’s doll, ma’am. I’ll see to it she gets it at once.’
Petunia nodded, then fixed her attention back on Lily. ‘You should get bed. Tomorrow will be a late night.’
‘Of course. Goodnight, Lord Marbrook.’ Lily dropped a delicate curtsy, glad for the low light for it hid the blush she was sure covered her chest and neck.
‘Goodnight, Miss Rutherford.’ He pierced her with a singeing glance from beneath his brow as he bowed.
Petunia turned and with a flick of her head instructed Lily to follow her. Far from being irritated at her sister’s command, she followed, nearly floating up the stairs and ignoring her sister’s searching looks. Let her wonder, she didn’t care. Gregor had kissed her, not the playful peck of the Lord of Misrule, but the passionate embrace of a powerful man. It made Lily shiver in the darkness and anticipate the rising of the Christmas sun more than any child in the house. It would mean seeing Gregor again.
Chapter Four
Little voices warbling ‘Hark the Herald Angels Sing’ drew Gregor from his dressing table to tug open the bedroom door. On the threshold stood the twins, their youngest cousin standing behind them gripping Miss Daisy’s hand. Their voices faded away as Gregor smiled down at them. The excitement of last night had taken hours to leave him and he’d spent the better part of his time in the dark trying to forget the memory of Lily in his arms and the heaviness it created low in his body. Sleep had at last come to him early in the morning, but it hadn’t lasted much past dawn. Too restless to remain in bed, he’d risen and dressed, eager to see the woman who’d filled his thoughts through most of the night.
‘Aw, this one’s already up and dressed. There’s no fun in that,’ one of the twins complained.
‘Then let’s try someone else,’ his brother suggested and the two of them shot off down the hall, leaving Miss Daisy and her tiny cousin behind.
‘Merry Christmas, Lord Marbrook,’ Miss Daisy offered, her cheeks as red as if she’d been out in the snow.
‘Merry Christmas, Miss Daisy, and Miss Adelaide.’ He bowed to the toddler who watched him with wide eyes, one fat hand in her mouth.
‘Come on, Daisy, stop dawdling,’ one of the twins called as they stood at the door of their next victim.
Daisy looked back and forth between Gregor and her cousins as if debating whether to stay or go. Her youthful exuberance won out over her girlish infatuation and she rushed off, dragging little Adelaide behind her.
Once they were all together at the next door, the children sang their carol at the tops of t
heir lungs. The door to the room opened and out stepped Sir Timothy, still clad in his nightshirt, his cap askew over his grey hair.
‘A merry Christmas to you all,’ he boomed, scooping Adelaide into his arms and whirling her around to the delight of the other imps.
Gregor watched, enjoying their laughter and high voices. There’d never been such Christmas morning joy at Marbrook Manor. He’d tried it once a very long time ago, knocking on his parents’ door in excitement, only to receive a stern whipping which had made sitting through the dull sermon in church difficult.
The butler appeared at the top of the stairs, chuckling as he passed the scene before approaching Gregor. He held out a silver salver with a letter on top. ‘My lord, this arrived for you.’
Gregor recognised his mother’s handwriting at once. He was tempted to refuse the missive, sure it was not full of cheerful Christmas wishes, but he picked it up, eager to be done with the unpleasant task. As Gregor broke the seal, the butler made for downstairs, trailed by the singing children.
Gregor leaned against the doorjamb as he unfolded the letter, the merriment of the morning draining from him as he read the elegantly written lines.
I can’t tell you how disappointed I am that you’ve chosen to spend Christmas in the north and with the Rutherfords of all people. They’re so below us in rank and station. I don’t know why you favoured them with a visit.
Your brother never would have shown such poor judgement, nor left me to oversee your duties at Marbrook Manor, but since he is gone I suppose I must deal with you. I’ve distributed the beer as you instructed, but saw no need to waste an entire cow on such coarse people as the tenants.
What with your raising of their wages and forgiving their debts last year, something your father never would have approved of or done, surely they now have more than enough to purchase their own beef with which to celebrate.