Lord Lansbury's Christmas Wedding

by Helen Dickson

  ‘And you, Miss Mortimer? You certainly made your feelings clear. As I recall you lost more than your temper that day. You were quite eloquent about passing your opinion of me. Am I to expect an apology, also?’

  ‘If you are referring to the slap I gave you, then no. I make no apology for my actions,’ she said emphatically. ‘I never apologise when I am provoked about giving an honest opinion. You deserved it. Had I been a man I would have hit you harder. Have you any idea how shamed and insulted I felt when you accused me of being a scheming, calculating opportunist? The accusation was unreasonable and unjust and most unworthy of you.’

  Her words brought Christopher up sharp and he stared at her. She looked so young, so vulnerable, facing him with those mutinous, appealing violet eyes locked on to his, that his anger was defused. His senses were jolted into life by the elusive, perfumed smell of her and he recalled how pleasurable it had felt when she had been in his arms, her lips clinging to his. Half-smiling, half-frowning, he looked into her eyes.

  ‘I stand rebuked. Whatever might have been going through that head of yours, I am sorry you were hurt.’

  Jane smiled inwardly to herself with satisfaction. The knowledge that he was sorry warmed her and made up for a good deal of his abominable treatment of her. But threads of anger still coursed through her and she had no intention of letting him off lightly.

  Christopher gazed down at her, at the seductive swell of her breasts beneath the confining fabric of her bodice, and he ached to caress the womanly softness of her, to embrace her as he had done once before and ease the ache at the pit of his belly. Strange lights danced in her hair and the womanly essence of her filled his head, stirring and warming his blood.

  Jane, almost overawed by his nearness, tried to break the contact he was beginning to stir inside her. She didn’t move as he ran a finger slowly down her upper arm. It was a gentle caress that awoke tingling answers in places she tried to ignore. The betrayal of her body aroused vexation in her, even though it seared into her heart, reminding her how deeply her feelings still ran for this insufferable man. It was a hard fact for her pride to accept, especially when she would never see him again when she left Chalfont.

  Christopher lifted a brow as he regarded her and she read in the depths of his eyes and the heat of his stare the same thing she had seen when she had fallen into his lap on the train. Calmly she met his gaze.

  ‘Cool your ardour, Lord Lansbury,’ she warned, giving no hint of the heart beating a fierce tattoo in her breast brought about by his close proximity and his touch.

  ‘Come now. You were not so ill-disposed to me on the train to London,’ he said, his tone silky, easy, his eyes regarding her with fascinated amusement. ‘In fact, you were rather amiable, as I remember.’

  ‘You remember too much,’ Jane snapped, two sparks of anger showing briefly beneath her lowered lids.

  ‘You were tempted, then.’

  ‘I was stupid.’

  ‘And now?’

  ‘I am no longer foolish enough to get carried away by you.’

  ‘And you are sure of that, are you?’ he asked, smiling, his eyes gleaming with expectation as he moved closer to her.

  Jane stood perfectly still, unable to look away, knowing that she was very much in danger of becoming overwhelmed by him once more, by his lean, muscular body emanating raw power and his sternly handsome face hovering so very close.

  Slowly Christopher’s eyes moved down from her face and over the bodice of her gown and the gentle swell of her breasts. A lazy appreciative smile twisted his lips and he found himself dwelling with a good deal of pleasure on the tantalising delights underneath.

  ‘I would be a fool if I thought you had nothing more to offer than your money,’ he murmured, meeting her gaze. Seeing shock mingle with fear in her wonderful eyes, he moved away a little, becoming less threatening to her sensibilities. He grinned infuriatingly. ‘Don’t look so worried. I was just testing the waters, so to speak,’ he said softly, but his instinct told him she was no more immune to him and her own vulnerability now than she had been on the train.

  ‘Then don’t venture too deep, Lord Lansbury, otherwise you might find yourself out of your depth,’ Jane retorted coldly.

  His eyebrows arched and his silver-grey eyes danced wickedly. ‘There’s little danger of that, Miss Mortimer. ‘I am an extremely good swimmer. I never take advantage of defenceless young ladies—but you did not give me the impression of being defenceless when you allowed me to kiss you.’

  Jane stared at him, her mind trying to adjust to his words. No man had ever spoken to her like this before. She had never had the opportunity to fall in love before. ‘It would be interesting to know how much of a gentleman you are, Lord Lansbury—had the train not arrived at Paddington when it did.’

  ‘Were I not a gentleman, Miss Mortimer, it would not have mattered a damn where we were.’

  Jane was infuriated. ‘How dare you speak to me like this? This is neither the time nor the place and most certainly not part of the agreement I made with Lady Lansbury. You really are the most appallingly rude man I have ever met.’ Backing away, she half turned from him. ‘I am glad to say she is feeling much better now. I intend telling her tomorrow that I am leaving.’

  Trying to regain her composure she struck a stubborn pose, the look in her eyes as she silently met his sardonic gaze one of pure mutiny. ‘I think we have said all we have to say. Please excuse me,’ she said, as a breeze blew into the room through the open windows. ‘It’s becoming decidedly chilly all of a sudden.’ Stepping away from him, she walked quickly out of the room, unaware of his infuriating smile of admiration as he watched her go.

  * * *

  ‘Jane? What did you say?’ Lady Lansbury looked up at her from her chair. She was still in her night attire, but she was feeling well enough to sit out of bed. ‘And do sit down.’

  Jane took the offered chair. ‘I said I have to leave, Lady Lansbury. I am so sorry but I did say at the beginning that my position could not be permanent.’

  ‘I remember, but I thought you loved it at Chalfont—and Octavia has become extremely fond you.’

  ‘I know, and I am fond of her, but I have to leave.’

  Lady Lansbury suddenly stiffened in her chair and gave Jane a sharp look. ‘Has something untoward happened, Jane?’

  ‘No, not at all,’ she hastened to assure the other woman, hoping she sounded convincing. She could not bear it if Lady Lansbury learned what had transpired between her and Lord Lansbury. ‘I have enjoyed my time at Chalfont, but since I came into my inheritance it has changed things. Besides, I intend to help with the opening of the exhibition I told you about.’

  ‘I see. Then—what can I say but to wish you well.’

  There was a hint of dismay in Lady Lansbury’s voice and Jane’s heart sank. ‘Lady Lansbury, I am grateful that you gave me the chance to come to Chalfont—to get to know Lady Octavia—but I think that the time has come for me to move on. I don’t know what path my future will take. Perhaps I’ll buy a house of my own where I can enjoy good society and make friends—although I can’t bear the thought of having nothing to do.’

  ‘You could help your aunt with her charities. I’m sure you would be a valuable asset.’

  Jane laughed. ‘That isn’t what I want to do, but I shall make sure Aunt Caroline and her charities are taken care of. Perhaps I’ll go abroad and continue with what my father was doing. I really have no idea. But what I do know is that I need to consider my future very carefully and that I cannot do while I am at Chalfont.’

  Lady Lansbury smiled and, reaching out, she squeezed Jane’s hand affectionately. ‘I understand, Jane. It’s been lovely to have you here. I am only sorry you can’t remain with us. Octavia is not the only one who is going to miss you, you know. I, too, have become extremely fond of you. I shall miss you g
reatly.’

  Jane heard the emotion in Lady Lansbury’s voice she was trying hard to conceal and she was deeply moved. ‘Maybe you could both visit me in London. When the exhibition is up and running I would love to show Lady Octavia some of the artefacts.’

  ‘Of course. She’d love that. And you must visit us—now we don’t have to sell the London house, and you can always come to Chalfont. We would like that.’

  Jane didn’t point out how difficult it would be for her to come and go from a place she had grown to love, when she was no longer a part of it. It would be too painful.

  ‘Perhaps when Christopher—I had hoped—’ Breaking off, Lady Lansbury frowned, not voicing whatever she had been about to say. Instead she looked down, fingering the ribbon of her dressing gown, lost in thought. Jane waited, silent. Raising her head after a moment, she gave Jane a considered look. ‘I must tell Christopher you are going—unless you have mentioned it to him already.’

  ‘I—I felt I must speak with you first.’

  She nodded. ‘I am sure he won’t want you to leave. He might even try to persuade you to stay longer.’

  Jane averted her eyes, biting back the bitter reply that Christopher Chalfont would not waste one moment grieving her departure. ‘What possible objections could Lord Lansbury possibly have to my leaving?’

  ‘You are to be commended for the care you have taken with Octavia. Like myself, he will not want to lose you.’

  ‘I am sure someone else can be found for the post.’

  ‘But not someone as excellent as you.’

  ‘Would—would you like me to remain until you have found someone else?’

  ‘Jane, I am reluctant to see you go. I don’t want to lose you, so of course I would like you to remain until someone else is found—someone suitable. But you cannot wait about indefinitely. No, you go when it suits you.’

  ‘Well, I don’t have to return to London immediately. Finn won’t be arriving in London for two or three weeks, which means I could remain at Chalfont for the next two weeks. It will give Lady Octavia time to get used to the idea of me leaving.’

  * * *

  Christopher watched Jane enter the conservatory. She had on a new gown with trailing skirts that was simple and elegant, the colour a deep ink that showed off the creaminess of her skin and the fullness of her mouth. Swept upward and away from her face, the height of her hair somehow emphasised her long elegant neck. It also meant that her ears were more exposed along with the drop-pearl earrings brushing her cheeks. The arched wings of her eyebrows and the thick rows of dark lashes emphasised the brilliant violet of her eyes.

  Hidden behind the fronds of a splendid potted palm tree, she was unaware of his presence as he watched her. She appeared to be searching for something and, looking down at the book he had picked up from the white-wicker table in a corner of the conservatory, he realised he probably had what she was looking for.

  He had been avoiding her. During the two weeks that followed the day she had left his study, he had found any excuse to stay as far away from her as possible. But he had been conscious of her presence in his house. There was an atmosphere of well-being, of calm and order where anything to do with Octavia was concerned, which came from the centre of Jane Mortimer’s own nature and which he knew she had brought to his home.

  That was the moment when he realised he did not want her to leave Chalfont.

  But why? What could possibly be achieved by her remaining?

  The truth of it was that the smooth running of the estate and the recent improvement in his business affairs inspired him with a most gratifying sense of solid order, security and accomplishment he had not felt before. And yet he was plagued by a deepening awareness of a large hole in his life, an emptiness, which had sharpened since he had decided not to make Lydia his wife.

  He had been unable to shake off the image of a tempestuous young woman with blazing violet eyes and a face alive with fury and disdain when she had left his London home. She was so unlike Lydia Spelling in every way—and not in the least like Lily. There was no comparison between Jane and either of them.

  Lydia was sophisticated and sure of herself and her own place in life, clever enough and ambitious enough to find another man with a title to marry. Lily, who had learned to use her attraction cruelly and for pleasure, had been a woman with an eager body and an empty heart, whereas Jane Mortimer was in possession of a bright intelligence, stunningly direct, polite but candid, and she also had a provoking sensuality and was brimming with deeply felt emotions. She was a decent young woman with a decent woman’s need for marriage, which he was not able to give her.

  He was an earl, a peer of the realm with a position to uphold, each of his ancestors marrying a woman from a good family, usually with money. It would be madness even to consider taking as his wife a woman who until her inheritance had worked for a living.

  But he could not cast aside the picture she had made as she had run after Octavia on the day of his mother’s birthday party, the swing and sway of her body, strong and vibrant, and the slenderness of her calves exposed by her raised skirts. Nor could he forget how it had felt to place his mouth on hers, the sweetness of her breath, the eagerness of her response, and the softness of her body in his arms.

  These things were beginning to come between him and his everyday life, the remembrance of them stirring him in a way he had never known before.

  * * *

  Lady Lansbury had gone to visit friends and had taken Octavia with her. With the great house around her still and silent, Jane had come to the conservatory to search for a book. She often brought Octavia into the conservatory to read to her, until Octavia’s mind began to wander and she lost interest. With its glass walls and high dome it was filled with rare, exotic plants—an explosion of flowers, colour and fragrance. It was a lovely place to sit.

  After their visit yesterday afternoon, a book had been left behind, one that Octavia was particularly fond of. If only Jane could remember where she had put it, she thought with frustration as she pulled out chairs, looked under cushions and nearby plant pots.

  She didn’t turn when she heard sharp footsteps on the tiled floor, but her back stiffened.

  ‘Is this what you are looking for?’

  Turning slowly, Jane watched him approach. He held out the book she had been searching for and she took it from him.

  Not since the day he had summoned her to his study had Jane come face to face with him. She had caught glimpses of him outside the house, heard his voice within the house, the clatter of his horse’s hooves on the gravel drive. Every day he spent hours in his study working, often with his bailiff or estate manager present.

  Looking at him now with his shoulder propped against the door frame, she noticed that he always wore his impeccably cut clothes with a careless sort of elegance. Looking so dapper in his tan jacket, fawn breeches and waistcoat and shiny brown riding boots, his arms crossed imperturbably over his chest and his eyes glowing, there was something undeniably engaging about him, a powerful charisma that had nothing to do with his powerful physique or mocking smile.

  There was something else, too, something behind that lazy smile and unbreachable wall of aloof strength, behind his piercing silver-grey eyes, that told her that Lord Lansbury had done, seen and experienced all there was to do and see, that to know him properly would be exciting and dangerous, and therein lay his appeal. He made her feel alert and alive, and curiously stimulated.

  ‘Yes, thank you,’ she said, in reply to his question. ‘I was reading to Lady Octavia yesterday and I forgot to take it with us when we left. She has accompanied Lady Lansbury to visit friends.’

  ‘And you? I suppose you are feeling at a loose end.’

  ‘Not at all. I’m leaving for London the day after tomorrow. I have to get my things together. What I can’t take with me Lady Lansbury
has kindly offered to have sent on.’

  ‘She is sorry that you are leaving.’

  ‘I—cannot stay.’

  ‘No?’ The idea that he would miss her company when she was gone was a sudden and startling realisation. ‘Then since Octavia is not here, do I get to spend time with you?’

  ‘Why? Are you telling me that you find my company pleasant?’ she asked with an underlying hint of sarcasm.

  ‘When you’re not being stubborn and temperamental.’

  ‘I am never temperamental.’

  ‘I disagree.’

  ‘Well—only if you drive me to it.’

  Laughing softly, he shrugged himself away from the door and sauntered towards her. What a glorious creature she was. Her lips were moist and parted slightly. Her chest was rising and falling softly and the thought of her soft, warm flesh beneath the fabric of her dress was causing his imagination to run wild. Jane Mortimer was an unusual female, intelligent, opinionated and full of surprises. She was also the epitome of stubborn, prideful woman. Yet for all her fire and spirit, there was no underlying viciousness. She was so very different from the sophisticated, worldly women he took to bed—experienced, sensual women, knowledgeable in the ways of love, women who knew how to please him.

  ‘Tell me, Miss Mortimer. Has there been no young man in your life?’

  ‘No, I’m afraid not.’

  His eyes gleamed with devilish humour. ‘Do you mean to tell me that surrounded by archaeologists and antiquarians all your life, not one of them caught your interest?’

  ‘No—I mean I had my work, which was important to me.’

  ‘And you would allow nothing to interfere with that. Not even love?’ he murmured softly, his gaze capturing hers.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why? Are you afraid of love, Miss Mortimer?’

  A pink flush infused her face. ‘No—it—just never happened.’

  ‘I don’t believe you.’