Marquess Under the Mistletoe

by Jillian Eaton

All he knew was that Honora wanted to use him to avoid her family. He didn’t know whether to be insulted or flattered.

  A bit of both, he decided, springing out of bed uncharacteristically early the next morning. The fire had burned down to embers overnight and there was a layer of frost on the windows. Using the bell pull to summon a housemaid, he cracked a yawn and stretched his arms above his head as he waited for a basin of hot water and a pitcher of coffee to be brought up.

  After they’d been delivered he cleansed his face and arms. Drying himself, he draped the towel around his neck and took a long sip of his coffee while he contemplated his facial hair in the oval mirror hanging above the wash table.

  If he were still in London, his personal valet would have made quick work of this short beard and trimmed up his side-whiskers as well, but he’d sent Mr. Cochran home to be with his family for Christmas. Besides, Jasper was on holiday, wasn’t he? Not to mention he actually liked the bristle, even if it wasn’t technically in style. It made him look different, which was fitting because he felt different.

  No longer an earl, not quite a marquess (no matter what his title was). A man caught between the life he’d known and the life that awaited him. A life filled with change and responsibilities. A life he hadn’t wanted, at least not yet, because when you were a boy, and even a young man, you still thought your father would live forever. But his hadn’t, and thus here he stood with one foot in the past and the other in present, while he did his best not to glimpse too far into the future.

  Then, as if that all weren’t enough, there was Lady Honora to contend with.

  Honora, with the sharp tongue and misty gray eyes that turned to flint whenever she saw him. Honora, with the most kissable lips he’d ever seen and the skin that smelled of honeysuckle. Honora, who wanted him to pretend he was interested in her so that her family would leave her alone.

  Except he wouldn’t be pretending.

  What had started as a quick means to an end – charm the shrew into liking him just to prove he could – had turned into something else the moment he saw her standing in the foyer in her pretty pink dress. In those brief seconds of recognition, his feelings had gone from harmless flirtation to red-hot attraction. An attraction he’d been keen on pursuing, until his self-confidence had taken a considerable blow once Honora revealed her plan.

  ‘My sisters insist I find a husband,’ she’d said, her lovely eyes rolling, ‘and they’ll grow more insistent as the week goes on. But if they thought there was a chance of my landing a marquess, they will – presumably – leave me alone and I can enjoy the house party in peace.’

  ‘Except you don’t really want to land me.’

  ‘No,’ she’d said, her nose wrinkling. ‘You’re not a trout, Lord Slatington.’

  She was right – he wasn’t a trout. But he was (against all odds) infatuated.

  Infatuated with the only woman in all of England who wanted nothing to do with him. Well, that wasn’t completely true. She did want something to do with him. She wanted him to go along with her ridiculous scheme in order to trick her family into thinking she was on the brink of making an advantageous match. An advantageous match with a marquess who might (possibly, maybe, perhaps?) want to make a match with her.

  ‘What happens when the week is over?’ he’d asked her, squeezing the back of his neck where the muscles had gone rigid with tension.

  ‘You leave, and our paths never cross again.’ She’d frowned at him. ‘You don’t have to go along with it, of course. I just thought it would provide a small measure of the entertainment you seem to be seeking.’

  ‘All right,’ he’d said after a long, drawn out pause. ‘I’ll do it.’

  Honora’s entire countenance had lit up with a grin, and it had been like staring into the sun when it first rose into the sky on a brisk, cool morning’s day. ‘Splendid. Absolutely splendid.’

  As Jasper yanked on his trousers and tucked his shirt into the waistband, he still didn’t know why he’d agreed to such a preposterous plan. Because it was preposterous. Laughably so. But it was also going to give him exactly what he secretly desired…time with Honora. And if she wanted her little scheme to work, she wasn’t going to be able to ignore him, or glare at him, or slam doors in his face.

  Maybe this plan of hers wasn’t so preposterous after all.

  “You’re up early,” Honora remarked as she entered the solarium where breakfast would be served for the duration of the house party, and discovered Emily already seated, a half-eaten piece of toast on the plate in front of her.

  “So was Henry,” Emily said with a weary smile. Leaning back in her chair, she rubbed a tired hand down her face. “He’s resting now, of course. The very picture of contentment curled up in the middle of my bed. But I couldn’t manage to fall back asleep.”

  Helping herself to a poached egg, two pieces of bacon, and a spoonful of roasted potatoes from the side table, Honora took the chair beside her sister. “Do I dare ask where Richard is?” she asked before biting in a slice of bacon.

  Emily picked at her toast. “Still asleep, I imagine. He requested his own bedchamber across the hall.”

  Of course he had.

  “It’s hard for him to get any rest with Henry in the bed,” Emily continued, a hint of defensiveness creeping into her tone. “And Henry always sneaks in when we’re traveling.”

  “I didn’t say anything,” Honora said, holding up her hands.

  “You thought it,” Emily muttered under her breath.

  Honora pursed her lips. She didn’t want to begin the morning by arguing with her sister. She truly didn’t. But neither could she stand seeing Emily this miserable. Especially when she’d done nothing to deserve her misery, except love a man who couldn’t love her in return.

  “You don’t have to stay with him, you know,” Honora said, slanting her sister a glance out of the corner of her eye. “And you don’t have to constantly defend him, either. Not with me.”

  “He’s my husband. We’re married. We have a child.” Emily shoved her plate harder than necessary and sent it sliding towards the center of the table. “I cannot just leave him. It’s not as simple as that.”

  “No, I suppose it isn’t.”

  “Richard isn’t a bad man, you know.” Sweeping a honey blonde curl behind her ear, Emily stared out the one of the long windows that stretched the length of the solarium.

  Ordinarily used to house Lady Appleton’s beloved fern collection during the cold winter months, the spacious room had been cleared of plants and filled with tables in preparation for the house party. Persian rugs had been brought in to cover the tile floor and vases filled with stems of colorful holly adorned every table. Boughs of evergreen framed the doors and red bows decorated the windowsills. From top to bottom, the solarium was filled with holiday cheer, but there was no cheer to be found on Emily’s face.

  “He’s always been very generous with my allowance,” she continued. “He has never threatened to harm me or Henry. And his affairs have always been discreet.”

  In the middle of reaching for her last piece of bacon, Honora’s hand froze in mid-air. “Richard has had affairs?”

  Anger erupted in a spill of red on her sister’s behalf, but she didn’t allow it to show in her expression. The last thing she wanted to do was cause Emily more pain. Richard might not have raised his fist to her, but there were other ways a man could harm a woman. And it was clear, clearer than it had ever been, that Lord Carlisle had hurt his wife.

  “Only two,” Emily said. Her brows pinched. “It’s what men do, Honora. As long as they don’t draw undue attention to themselves or their paramour, it is nothing to cause a fuss about.”

  And her sisters wondered why she was reluctant to get married.

  Maybe it was hard to be alone all the time. She’d admit that. But surely, being alone was better than being with someone who preferred someone else.

  For no reason at all, Honora suddenly thought of Jasper. More specifically, of th
e sparks that had shot up her arm when he’d kissed the back of her hand. She’d never experienced anything like it before. The flare of warmth. The flutter of butterfly wings in her belly. The slow, liquid pull between her thighs. He’d woken something inside of her with that kiss. Something she hadn’t even known was sleeping. Something she hadn’t even known existed. And she’d thought, just for a few seconds, how nice it was.

  To be wanted. To be desired. To be claimed.

  Which was why she’d come up with the idea of a feigned courtship. Well, that and because she desperately wanted her family and friends to stop trying to match her up with every single eligible bachelor within a ten-mile radius. It was the main reason for her plan, of course. The only reason, really. Anything else was just…silly fantasy.

  Silly fantasy that had the potential to see her as miserable as Emily was if she weren’t careful.

  “You know you can always come back here,” she said gently, reaching underneath the table to squeeze Emily’s hand. “I know Mother and Father wouldn’t mind. They’d love to spend more time with Henry. And it might be a good thing, to separate from Richard for a time. Maybe he needs to see what he has to lose in order to truly appreciate what he has.”

  “Maybe,” Emily said, but she didn’t sound convinced. “I should go see how Henry is faring. Anne has been filling him with sweet treats these past few days, and he’s running our poor nanny absolutely ragged.”

  Anne hadn’t been the only one sneaking Henry sugar, but Honora was more than happy to let her sister shoulder the blame. After Emily left, she finished her breakfast and thanked a servant for clearing the plate, then requested a hot cup of tea with a side of lemon and spoonful of honey. When it was delivered, she rose from her seat and wandered to nearest window, her warm breath fogging the glass as she pressed her face to the pane.

  “You did not strike me as a morning person, Lady Honora,” came Jasper’s familiar drawl from the far end of the room.

  To her credit, Honora didn’t jump or startle. Instead she took a measured sip of her tea before slowly turning towards him.

  The marques’s tall, rangy body filled the entire doorway. She admired the width of his shoulders, even as her gaze flitted down to his powerful thighs outlined in sleek gray breeches. He wore black Hessians polished to a sharp gleam and a heavy jacket partially buttoned. There was a felt hat tucked beneath his arm, and in his left hand he clutched a telltale pair of leather gloves.

  “Are you going riding?” she asked, ignoring his comment.

  “In fact, I am.” Sunlight glinted off his ebony hair as he strode into the solarium and helped himself to a dish. Piling it high with food, he took the seat Honora had vacated, stretching his long legs beneath the table until they nearly reached the middle of it. “I enjoy starting my day with an early ride,” he said between shoveling potatoes, salmon, and eggs into his mouth.

  Equally amazed and disgusted by his ravenous appetite, Honora remained by the window, even though a slight chill had caused goose pimples to break out on her arms. Drawing her cranberry shawl more closely around her, she regarded Jasper with a thinly veiled skepticism. “You do not strike me as a morning person, Lord Slatington.”

  Having inhaled his food in record time, he sat back from the table and crossed his arms. “What sort of person do I strike you as, Lady Honora?”

  “One whom sleeps until noon and lounges about in their robe until supper?” she ventured. It wasn’t meant as an insult. It was well known that men of a certain status and wealth were accustomed to keeping whatever hours pleased them, and it seemed to please men of Jasper’s age to sleep the day away and spend their nights engaging in all sorts of debaucheries. She’d never been impressed by such childish, reckless behavior. Grown men behaving like boys, wasting a fortune they hadn’t earned on drink and women and cards.

  She had no reason to think Jasper would be any different. Except here he was, at the very crack of dawn, already dressed and ready to going riding on a blustery December morning.

  It was…confusing.

  It also altered the preconceived notion of him she’d formed in the village. A notion she was beginning to think she’d constructed a bit too hastily.

  She wasn’t admitting she was wrong, of course.

  Just…maybe not all the way right.

  “That description fit me not too long ago,” Jasper said, his honesty taking her by surprise. A roguish grin claimed his mouth. “I was your characteristic ne’er-do-well, sleeping all day and staying out all night. I didn’t have a care in the world.”

  “What happened?” she asked.

  His grin faded. “My father died and I inherited a title I didn’t want or need.”

  “I am very sorry.” Honora’s heart lurched when she saw the raw pain on Jasper’s face. Without being fully cognizant of moving, she found herself standing beside him with her hand resting on his shoulder. “I never had the opportunity to meet your father, but my parents did, and I know they were both very sad to hear of his passing. My father specifically spoke of what a good, kind person he was.”

  Jasper drew a ragged breath. “He was both of those things and more. If I turn out to be half the man he was, I should consider myself lucky.” His mouth twisted in a bitter smile. “I know how ungrateful I must sound. The poor earl who didn’t want to be a marquess.”

  “The poor earl who is still mourning the unexpected death of his father,” Honora corrected gently, “and doesn’t want a title that should not have been his for many years to come.”

  “Precisely.” He tilted his head back, blue eyes piercing as they searched her countenance. She remained perfectly still, allowing him to look for whatever it was he wanted to find. “Thank you for saying that,” he said at last. “You’re the first one who has. Everyone else, even my sister, seems to think I should accept the title as my due. They believe I should be happy.”

  “I suppose that’s how some people are going to see the situation.” There was a loose curl in the middle of his temple, and her fingers itched to brush it into place. Not to tidy his appearance, but to see if his hair felt as silky as it looked. “You cannot give the title back. But neither do you have to feel thankful to have received it. There’s middle ground to be found.”

  Which Honora only knew because she’d looked for it so many times herself.

  “Pretty and perceptive,” Jasper said huskily, reaching across his chest to lace his fingers together with hers. He hadn’t yet put on his gloves and his touch was warm, his palm slightly calloused. “I do wonder how it is you find yourself without a husband, Lady Honora.”

  “There’s no need to wonder, Lord Slatington,” she said, her tone cooling. “I do not have a husband because I do not want a husband.”

  “Ever?” he asked, his brow furrowing.

  “I haven’t ruled it out.” She slipped her hand free and placed it on her hip. “But I also haven’t found a man who would be worth the trouble. Tell me, my lord, why do you believe it is women are always asked about their marital status and subsequently judged poorly for not being married, while men are never asked and automatically deemed superior if they’ve managed to avoid wedlock?”

  Jasper blinked. “Do you know, I’ve never really thought about it.”

  No, she imagined he hadn’t.

  Men never did.

  “It is naturally assumed a woman’s single goal should be to find a husband and produce an heir. Her entire life is defined by those two acts.” Honora shook her head, annoyed because she knew she was speaking the absolute truth. “But I have goals outside of holy matrimony. I have dreams beyond being a mother. ”

  Standing, Jasper stepped around his chair. She backed up. He walked forward. They repeated their dance of evasion until the small of her back pressed against the window. A triumphant grin teasing the corners of his mouth, he placed his hands on either side of the wooden sill, effectively trapping her in place.

  “And what dreams are those, Honora?” he asked quietly, his g
aze intent on hers.

  Hearing her name spill from his lips without a “Lady” to shield it caused her breath to hitch and heat to bloom. She looked frantically to the door, but no one was there to save her from Jasper.

  Or from her own traitorous emotions.

  “I want to travel.” Her fingers curled and uncurled at her sides as she struggled to resist the tug of lust that was pulling her steadily towards a dashing rogue she didn’t want to like, let alone desire. But it seemed the harder she fought, the tighter the invisible rope between them became, until the only thing separating Honora from Jasper was her dwindling inhibitions.

  “Travel where?” he asked, the very picture of control and relaxation, while Honora feared she were coming apart at the seams.

  Goodness gracious.

  Was it her, or was it boiling hot in here? She felt like a lobster tossed in a pot.

  A lobster that was about to be devoured by a very hungry marquess.

  “A-anywhere,” she managed in a raspy voice that didn’t sound at all like her own. “I’d liked to travel anywhere and everywhere. Scotland. Italy. Even America, if I could stand being on a boat for two months.”

  “You could travel with a husband,” he pointed out, and she trembled when he brushed the back of his hand across her cheek. Gliding his thumb along the sensitive shell of her ear, he gently massaged her lobe until her knees threatened to buckle.

  “Gentlemen want a biddable wife who will stay at home.” She swallowed. Hard. “Not one who wants to venture across countries.”

  “It’s a good thing I’m not a gentleman, then.” Jasper’s eyes darkened. “Have you ever been kissed, Honora?”

  “K-kissed?” she repeated faintly.

  “Aye.” He pressed one arm against the glass above her head, while the other wrapped around her waist. “Kissed.”

  “I…don’t remember.” In that moment she couldn’t remember her own name.

  Jasper’s chuckle stirred her hair as he lowered his head and slowly ran his tongue along the outside edge of her ear. Honora’s entire body quivered like a bow string being drawn taut, and if not for his arm on her waist, she would have melted onto the floor in a puddle of panting desire.