The Christmas Visit: Comfort and JoyLove at First StepA Christmas Secret

by Moore, Margaret

  “Indeed I do. We have things to discuss. Things you need to know. Er, that I have to ask.”

  Charity studied her lap, trying to hide the depth of her excitement. “Yes?”

  He sat down beside her, his knees brushing hers. Deliberately? He took her right hand between his palms. “You must be aware how I…er, that I…have a certain regard for you, my dear.”

  “We have been friends for a good many years,” she acknowledged. She did not mean to be coy, but neither did she want to put words in his mouth. It was important that Julius should do this in his own way—no matter how convoluted.

  “Friends! Exactly!” A wide grin split his face as he seized on her words. “And what better way to begin? It is an admirable foundation, would you not agree?”

  Charity nodded. She wished he would just blurt it out. All this dancing around the matter was giving her a serious case of nerves. Ah, but that was not Julius. Julius was ever the gentleman, careful to explain and never give offense, unlike that dreadful man in the hallway.

  “But matters cannot go on the same forever, would you not agree? Sooner or later, something must change. I…I would like to see our friendship grow deeper. More…uh, meaningful. Yes, more—” he paused to clear his throat “—more physical, one might say.”

  Physical? Oh, dear! He was not going to discuss the marriage bed, was he? She’d simply die if he asked her thoughts on consummation. Or perhaps he only wanted the liberty of kissing her as he had done on two previous occasions when they’d been private. “I am not certain I understand, sir,” she said, tilting her face up to his to grant him access to her lips.

  Julius looked bemused. He leaned forward, still holding her hand, and pressed his mouth to hers. His lips were pursed, cool and firm, the same as her father’s good-night kisses on her cheek had been. She’d always been slightly disappointed in Julius’s kisses, but that was, no doubt, a result of inexperience. Her inexperience.

  “Gads!” he cursed. “I’m botching this rather badly, but it’s deucedly difficult knowing how to ask—”

  The scrape of a boot heel alerted them to another presence. Julius released her hand and shifted his knees away from her, assuming an air of casual conversation.

  “Oh! Excuse me,” the stranger from the hallway said, coming up short. He gave them a devilish smile, as if he’d seen everything that had passed between her and dear Julius. “Am I interrupting?”

  Charity prayed that Julius would send the man away, but he stood instead and bowed slightly. It only now occurred to her that she didn’t even know the man’s name. She glanced at Julius for the introduction.

  “Miss Charity Wardlow,” he intoned, “may I present Sir Andrew MacGregor. He is one of Mackay’s friends come down from Scotland for the festivities.”

  Charity offered her hand begrudgingly. “Sir Andrew.”

  He bent over her hand with a courtly flourish, lifting it to lips as soft as Julius’s had been firm. Oh, my! The heat of his mouth lingered after he stood.

  “Sir Andrew, this is Miss Charity Wardlow, one of the bride’s dearest friends and a long-standing acquaintance of mine,” Julius continued the introduction.

  “Drew,” he corrected with a meaningful look at Charity. “My friends call me Drew.”

  “Sir Andrew was knighted for valor on the battlefield,” Julius explained, as if to make the point that Andrew MacGregor was not of noble birth. “Damned French,” Julius finished.

  “As a matter of fact, Sir Andrew,” Charity said, “we were discussing a matter of some import. If you wouldn’t mind—”

  “No, no,” Julius stopped her. “’Tis quite all right, Miss Wardlow. I will catch up to you later. Perhaps at the pond tonight? Take a turn or two about the ice with me?”

  She smiled and nodded, trying to hide her resentment of the interruption. Sir Andrew really was the most impossible man! She watched in dismay as Julius made his retreat.

  Drew MacGregor grinned down at her as if he knew precisely what he had interrupted—and had taken glee in it. He propped one booted foot on the bench beside her, effectively trapping her between his leg and the arbor vitae. “Oh, do save a turn or two for me, Miss Wardlow,” he mocked. “I should be bereft if I did not have the favor of your company.”

  “Villain!” she snapped. “How long were you watching?”

  “Long enough to see that anemic little kiss.”

  “How dare you criticize Mr. Lingate! His…his kiss is quite stirring.”

  He tilted his dark head back and guffawed. “Stirring, was it? Egad, madam! I’ve seen more passionate kisses between a lad and his mother. I pity you if you call that ‘stirring.’ Someday you will thank me for my interruption.”

  “How would you know what stirs me, Sir Andrew?”

  “I know what stirs a woman.” He looked her up and down and gave her a crooked smile. “You are a woman, are you not?”

  That arrogance! That swagger! She longed to bring him down a peg or two, but she suspected he was the sort of man who would have had considerable experience with women. She gave him a haughty lift of her chin and conceded the point. “Last I checked, sir, I did have that distinction.”

  “Ah, just as I thought,” he teased. “For the sake of your education, Miss Wardlow, allow me to demonstrate my meaning.”

  He held her chin in place with the lightest lift of his index finger as he lowered his mouth to hers. She should turn away! She knew she should, but the heat in his midnight-blue eyes held her hypnotized. His lips parted ever so slightly as they neared hers and he spoke in a sigh. “Open to me, sweet Charity. Let me taste you.”

  As if she had no mind to control her body, her lips parted and her lashes lowered, inducing a dark, swirling mist. When his mouth molded to hers, it was the sweetest sensation Charity had ever experienced. His lips were soft and cherishing rather than dry and hard. He seemed to drink from her, drawing up all the deepest secrets buried inside her. Dark and erotic things that were completely foreign yet oddly familiar.

  Her lips clung as he drew away on a shaky sigh. It was a moment before he spoke—a moment in which Charity prayed his lips would return to her. “That, sweet Charity, was a kiss worthy of a woman like you.”

  Cold air penetrated her fogged brain and she realized she had allowed her shawl to drop while she was consumed by the kiss. She shivered violently and swept it up, pushing Sir Andrew’s leg aside so that she could stand. “That is a murky talent, Sir Andrew. Is that all you can do?” she asked.

  The sound of his laughter followed her down the path and through the door. Trying desperately to remember what it was she was supposed to do, she dropped her shawl on the foyer table, thinking to fetch it later and take it to her room.

  The handkerchief! That was it. She had been on her way to the library when Julius had waylaid her. She headed in that direction now, purpose replacing the unsettling feelings Sir Andrew had stirred in her.

  She gave a guilty glance toward the drawing room as she hurried along the corridor to the library. Since Lawrence Mackay had said Edward would know the mother by it, the handkerchief must bear an identifying mark. Pray it was something obvious and easy. She wanted this done with quickly. The prospect of working cheek to jowl with Sir Andrew MacGregor did not much appeal to her now. Now that he had kissed her. Now that he seemed to know her better than she knew herself.

  Drew wondered if he would spend the next several days watching the hem of Miss Wardlow’s gowns disappearing around corners. What was it about her prim self-righteousness that made him want to provoke her? And entice her, enflame her prim little properness. He straightened his jacket and took a deep, bracing breath, the icy air nearly freezing his lungs. Now, if he could just freeze the other heated parts of his body, he might be fit to appear in polite company.

  Well, as much as he disliked chasing a skirt, he’d better go after Miss Wardlow. He knew where she was headed and he suspected she would make a blunder of it.

  By the time he opened the library door
and slipped through, she had scattered half the contents of the drawer on the desk surface. He shook his head and cleared his throat.

  Blond curls tumbled from the crown of her head as she whirled in response to the sound. One delicate hand flew up to cover her heart in a show of fright. The pink in her cheeks deepened when she recognized him. Good. He liked having the advantage. If she only knew how much she affected him, he’d never get the upper hand again.

  “Oh! ’Tis you,” she gasped. She dismissed him with an airy wave and turned back to her task.

  “What do you think you are doing, Miss Wardlow?” he asked.

  “I cannot find it. I know it has to be here somewhere. If not, I can scarcely search his…his bedroom.”

  “I should hope not,” Drew laughed. “Are you looking for this, then?” He withdrew a handkerchief from the inside pocket of his jacket and dangled it between a thumb and forefinger.

  “Yes!” she cried. “Oh, thank heavens! I wouldn’t have known where to start without it.”

  “Shall we put the desk back to rights, Miss Wardlow, and then discuss the relative importance of this small square of linen?”

  She nodded and returned to the task of replacing the contents of the drawer. “How did you…when did you find the handkerchief?”

  “Before tea. A simple matter, really. I came in here, ostensibly for a cheroot, opened the desk drawer and liberated the object of your desire.”

  “You could have told me before I risked coming in here and being caught,” she accused.

  “I could have if you hadn’t run off. Is that your solution to every tense situation, Miss Wardlow? Running away?”

  “Tense? I do not know what you mean, sir.”

  “Shall I show you?” he asked, taking a step closer to her.

  “No!” Those incredible blue eyes widened and he recognized a small measure of panic there. She was a true innocent, despite her odd air of worldliness, still uncomfortable with her own sensuality. He would have to keep that in mind.

  She surveyed the returned contents of the drawer, nodded her satisfaction and closed the drawer. Free to give him her full attention, she advanced on him, her hand extended to take the hankie.

  Drew closed his fist around it and held up his other hand, palm outward, to stop her. “This is your last chance, Miss Wardlow. Leave this alone.”

  “I cannot. I keep thinking of poor Olivia, about to enter into a deceitful relationship. She loves him so, and he has not been honest with her. She should know.”

  “She loves him?”

  “Deeply, and that may have blinded her to his true nature.”

  “Come now, Miss Wardlow. I have known Edward all my life. He is a good man. An honest man. And, even were your suspicions true, many wives live in blissful, if not deliberate, ignorance of their husbands’ past indiscretions. It is entirely possible that your friend might not care at all.”

  “Possible,” she conceded, “but that does not alter the fact that she has the right to know and make that decision of her own accord. The indiscretion is not the deed. It is the secret. The withholding of the information.”

  How could he argue that? “Very well, Miss Wardlow.” He opened his hand and surrendered the handkerchief. “I hope you will not have reason to regret your choice.”

  “I shan’t, Sir Andrew. Any man who truly loves a woman would not lie or keep secrets from her. I know Ju—Mr. Lingate would never keep secrets from me.”

  She was so certain. So naive. Drew could almost pity her. Had he not seen Lingate with another woman, he would have left the little crusader alone, considering her committed to another. Ah, but now he could put his uncertainty aside. Yes, knowing that Lingate was playing her false freed him to explore the lovely mass of contradictions that was Miss Charity Wardlow. What a delightful way to spend Christmas. But he wouldn’t tell her what he knew about Lingate. No. That would be meddling.

  She glanced up from the handkerchief, her eyes dancing with excitement. “It bears the initial L. I shall ask Olivia for the guest list immediately. We will talk to every female with a given or surname beginning with that letter! Oh, I can barely wait to get to the bottom of this!”

  Chapter Three

  The warm air in the kitchen was humid and heavy with the smell of mincemeat, plum pudding, roasting hens and hams, breads and jams and the spirit of the season. Charity found Olivia and the cook discussing the picnic supper to be delivered to the pond for the skating party. She seized the opportunity to put her plan into action.

  Glancing about the busy room, she said, “I have been thinking, Olivia, how remiss I’ve been in assisting you. It occurred to me that, with all your duties as hostess and all you have to do to prepare for the holiday and your wedding, I could be of more assistance to you.”

  “Do not be silly, Charity. Edward has seen to it that Wyecliffe Manor is generously staffed and provisioned. Aside from planning the menus and coordinating the wedding party, there is little for me to do.”

  “Yes, but when I could come up with no suggestion in regard to a suitable Lord of Misrule, I realized I do not know fully half your guests. They must think me incredibly rude or self-involved. I suppose I could simply introduce myself to every strange face and hope for the best.”

  “Oh, dear,” Olivia said. “That could be very awkward for you. I should have taken you around with me.”

  This was not going in the direction Charity had planned. She shook her head. “I would not want to inconvenience you to that degree. I know! If you provide me with a copy of your guest list, I could study the names, then put them with faces. I should be completely familiar with everyone by the wedding.”

  “Everyone? That is ambitious, Charity. Especially in view of the fact that a good many of our guests are staying in town.”

  “I will sort it out, Olivia. Do not concern yourself.”

  “Very well. Cook has a list of everyone with notations on their food preferences. I will have her make you a copy, and you shall have it within the hour.”

  Charity sighed with relief. “Excellent. Perhaps I shall be able to use it at the skating party tonight.” She turned to leave the kitchen, but Olivia called her back.

  “Charity, have you had the opportunity of an introduction to one of Edward’s friends by the name of Sir Andrew MacGregor?”

  Charity’s stomach fluttered. Sir Andrew hadn’t warned Edward Mackay, had he? “Mr. Lingate introduced us this afternoon. Why?”

  “Edward said he has been asking about you. He further said that Sir Andrew seldom asks about a pretty woman. He may have an interest in you, Charity.”

  Oh, he was interested all right—interested in discrediting her! She shrugged. “He seemed a little rough around the edges, Olivia. Rather forward and plainspoken in that rough Scottish sort of way.”

  Olivia gave her a sympathetic smile. “Be careful not to pass up a chance to better your prospects, Charity.”

  Better? Did Olivia think Sir Andrew was better than Julius Lingate? It was all Charity could do to bite her tongue. But fast on that thought came the memory of his kiss. Oh, if only Julius could kiss like that!

  After scanning the names on Olivia’s guest list, Charity made note of those beginning or ending with the letter L. In all, there were five good possibilities. She knew all but two, and she wondered if it would be too much to hope that Sir Andrew would know them. Of course, it might not be possible for him to ask discreet questions. Anything of a personal nature would be rude coming from a man, especially one as blunt as Sir Andrew.

  She tucked the list into the folds of her muff and slung her skates over her shoulder as she fell in step behind a group making their way across the snowy field to the frozen pond. The welcome glow of a bonfire lit the way and the smell of roasting chestnuts and hot cider with cinnamon and cloves greeted them upon their arrival. Cook had sent a wagon laden with sweets and a warm picnic supper.

  As she sat on a log to strap her skates to her boots, she caught sight of Julius Lingate
skating with Laura Tuxbury. They were laughing and Charity did not care for the way in which Laura was looking up at Julius—almost adoringly. Laura, in fact, was one of the names on her list of possible mothers to Lord Edward’s love child.

  She spotted Sir Andrew across the pond, standing with a group of men who appeared to be drinking from a small oak cask. They all laughed at something and then slapped Edward on the back with good-natured enthusiasm. Some premarital ribaldry, no doubt. He glanced her way and smiled.

  There was something infectious in his boyish charm and she could not help but smile back. He turned to his friends, said a few words and then skated across the pond toward her.

  “Ah, Miss Wardlow! I am pleased to see that you have decided to brave the cold. You are so late in arriving that I began to doubt you would come.” He bowed and knelt before her. Without asking permission, he cupped her ankle and propped her heel on his knee, taking charge of her skates. “Allow me to assist you with these. They can be tricky.”

  Gratitude warred with annoyance at his presumption. Gratitude won. Her fingers were stiff with the cold and she longed to put her hands back in her muff. “Thank you, Sir Andrew. I was not aware that I was tardy.”

  “Perhaps it was my own impatience to see you again.” He shifted his attention from her skates and looked up at her. She might have suspected a note of sarcasm in his voice had he not looked so sincere—or been so diabolically handsome.

  “I…I was impatient to see you, too,” she confessed, then cursed the heat that rose in her cheeks. “I have the list of names.”

  “Ah. The potential mothers.” He nodded and returned his attention to her skates. “Is there nothing I can say to dissuade you from this…investigation?”

  “It was your idea, sir,” she huffed. “A wager, you said. Your judgment against mine. I was prepared to tell Olivia what I heard at once.”

  “Hmm. You have me there.” He tightened the straps on her skates and stood, looking stern and disappointed. “Then how do you wish to proceed? Shall I take half the names?”