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

by Moore, Margaret

  “Do not test me,” he teased. He smoothed a tendril of Olivia’s hair back from her cheek with exquisite gentleness.

  The affection in his gaze nearly broke Charity’s heart. His love was so plain to see—and Olivia’s return of that love was just as obvious—that she suddenly doubted her mission. How could a man who loved so deeply keep secrets from the woman he worshiped? Could she have been wrong in believing the worst of Lord Edward Mackay?

  She found Sir Andrew beside her as she rushed to return to the ballroom. “Were you upset by Miss Fletcher’s reference to the wedding night?” he asked.

  Terribly upset, she thought, and envious! In all her years of waiting for Julius to propose, in all the scenes she had played in her mind about their wedding, she had never once contemplated their wedding night. His kisses had inspired none of the wild longing she felt in Sir Andrew’s arms. His cautious, patient wooing was a poor substitute for Sir Andrew’s breathtaking seduction. Oh, but she’d eat worms before she’d tell Sir Andrew that. He loved being right far too much.

  “Not at all, Sir Andrew. I am, after all, a woman of the world. And I’d prefer you didn’t escort me back to the ballroom. I would not want Julius to think I’ve been up to something shady.”

  He laughed. “Even if you have? Very well, then. ’Tis time for me to retire to my room in the village. I shall be a little late in coming tomorrow. I have some business matters to conclude and I may have to go to Banbury. Time is short, so please continue without me, Miss Wardlow. You can catch me up on the investigation at luncheon.”

  He gave her a polite bow and disappeared, leaving her alone and more confused than ever.

  “I say, Miss Wardlow, we are having a deuced difficult time finding a private moment together, are we not?” Julius Lingate commented halfway through their dance.

  Charity tried without success to muster a measure of her old excitement at the prospect of spending a private moment with Julius. “There are so many activities planned for us, and so many other guests, it is easy to become lost in the crowd,” she returned noncommittally.

  “Yes, I daresay I have seldom been in such congenial company. With the possible exception of Andrew MacGregor. I’ve noted the attention he pays you, Miss Wardlow.”

  “You do not like Sir Andrew?” she asked, her interest piqued.

  “I do not know the man well enough to dislike him,” Julius admitted. “His reputation is good enough—the fact that he is to stand up with Mackay is proof of that. But he is not a respecter of other men’s property.”

  “Indeed? Has he taken something of yours, Mr. Lingate.”

  “Would if he could,” Julius grumbled.

  She was on the verge of asking him what he could possibly have that Sir Andrew would want when the obvious occurred to her. She felt the heat rise in her cheeks and looked toward the sidelines where Grace was regarding her with interest. Good heavens! Had everyone seen the byplay?

  “Here now, Miss Wardlow, do not overset yourself. No one blames you.”

  “There is no blame to be had,” she snapped.

  “Well, never mind, my dear. There’s nothing gone on that cannot be remedied,” he said with a smile. “And since we seem to be alone for the moment, could you spare me half an hour in Mackay’s library?”

  This was it, then. The moment that Julius would declare for her. The moment she had planned and waited for. The Yes, darling Julius, she had rehearsed for years stuck in her throat and she felt like a hunted animal. “Ah, this would not be a good time, Mr. Lingate. I, um, Grace is waiting for me,” she gestured to her friend near the ballroom doors. “Perhaps we shall find a moment tomorrow?”

  “Yes. Tomorrow, then. I shall look for you near midday.”

  Relief flooded through her. By tomorrow she would have had time to think and sort through the confusing jumble of emotions. Surely by tomorrow she’d know what she wanted.

  Chapter Seven

  Charity seized the opportunity to question Leticia Evans the next morning. She’d known Letty, a pretty dark blonde with huge gray eyes, for years and couldn’t picture her having anyone’s love child. She was painfully shy, and she simply didn’t seem the type. Still, she had disappeared for several months a few years ago, saying she’d been recuperating from an illness in the country. She could have been lying-in for the birth of Mackay’s illegitimate issue.

  “Letty!” she called after the girl as she hurried along the corridor. “Wait. We haven’t had a chance to visit.”

  The girl turned around and smiled at Charity. “Yes, let’s catch up,” she agreed. “Come walk with me. I swear I am feeling confined by these walls and the weather. Olivia said the barometer is dropping and yet another storm is coming. I’d like to stretch my legs before another round of confinement.”

  Charity followed Letty to the cloakroom near the kitchen to retrieve their woolen coats and bonnets.

  “I hope the storm will not set in before the wassailing tonight,” Charity said as they trudged along a forest path. She tried to ignore the freezing cold seeping through the soles of her satin slippers and wished she’d paused long enough to don her woolen socks and warm boots.

  “Oh, so do I! There is nothing more disheartening than to be stuck with yawning bores…oh, I do not mean you, of course,” Letty said, looking embarrassed.

  “I know just what you mean, Letty.” She hastened to put her companion at ease. “Indeed, I think we have more than you might imagine in common.”

  “Really? That would please me very much indeed. I have long admired you and your bluestocking group—such intelligent ladies. Perhaps someday you will invite me to join you?”

  “Perhaps,” Charity hedged. But the circumstances would have to be unusual. Otherwise Letty Evans would never know the bluestocking group was really a collection of ladies secretly avenging wrongs done to other women.

  “It was so kind of Olivia to include me on her guest list,” Letty sighed. “I do so love weddings.”

  “They are fun, are they not? I have heard that more than marriages are made at weddings,” Charity ventured.

  “What could that mean?”

  “Why…alliances of other kinds, Letty. Discreet alliances.”

  Letty colored deeply when she realized what Charity was alluding to. “Oh, I see. Well, such alliances are not for me.”

  Charity allowed the moment to draw out before replying. “I know your secret, Letty.”

  “My secret? What secret?”

  “The one about, well, you-know-who. I will not speak his name aloud lest someone overhear.”

  Letty peered through the trees. “Who would overhear?”

  “Never mind, Letty. I only wanted you to know that I know, in the event that you’d like to discuss it.”

  A long silence ensued. Charity knew there would be a piece of information forthcoming by the way Letty chewed her lower lip. She had the look of someone making a difficult decision.

  “Well, yes. I suppose it might be a relief to say it aloud. But how did you find out?”

  “Observation.” Charity sighed ruefully, recalling how completely unobservant she had been where her own affairs were concerned.

  “Has it been so obvious?”

  “Only to me, Letty, because I know you.”

  The girl nodded and pushed her hands into her coat pockets. “I pray he does not know. I do not think I could stand that. I have loved him for so long, and Olivia has been so kind to me.”

  Charity’s heartbeat quickened. Here it was at last! Letty loved Mackay and felt as if her love—and her baby—were betrayals of Olivia’s trust. That may be why she had threatened to tell.

  “Do you really think he does not know?” she asked. How could Mackay not know of his love child, especially if Letty was now blackmailing him?

  “I do not see how he could.” Letty sighed. “I’ve told no one. That is the nature of a secret crush, is it not—that it goes forever unknown and unrequited?”

  Secret crush? “How long ha
ve you loved him, Letty?”

  “Since I first lay eyes on him. I must have been ten and one. He came to my father’s country house to buy a mare for breeding. He had such a booming, merry laugh that I fell in love instantly. But he does not know I exist. He never has. I knew that someday he would find someone as beautiful and deserving as Olivia, and I am truly happy for them. ’Tis just so…”

  “Bittersweet?” Charity guessed.

  “Exactly. I wish them both well, but there will be a piece of my heart missing now, and I shall never be whole again.”

  “Yes, Letty, you will.” Charity smiled, understanding at last. “When you finally let go of something that could never have really made you content, you will find your true happiness. After you dance at Lord Edward’s wedding and wish him well, something real and infinitely better will come your way.”

  Letty stopped and threw her arms around Charity in a heartfelt hug. “Oh, Charity. Thank you. That was just what I needed to hear.”

  A fire was crackling on the hearth in the small sitting room, and Charity sank into the plush overstuffed chair pulled before the fire. She rested her feet on the little footstool and sighed with relief. Her slippers were soaked and her toes were so cold she could scarcely wiggle them.

  Though the slippers were ruined, she hadn’t had time to change them after returning from her walk with Letty Evans. The luncheon bell had rung as they came in from the cold. Giggling conspiratorially, they’d hurried to find their places before being unforgivably late. She’d glanced around the dining room and felt a prick of disappointment when she’d found no sign of Sir Andrew. His business in Banbury must have delayed him.

  Intending to rest just a moment and then go to her room to change her shoes and stockings, she had left the sitting-room door ajar. A timid knock took her by surprise.

  “Miss Wardlow? Charity?” Julius whispered, peeking around the panel.

  “Come in, Mr. Lingate,” she invited, wishing she could delay this interview a little longer. She’d tossed and turned all night, or at least until Grace shook her to interrupt her nightmares.

  “Ah, we are alone,” Julius observed. “Excellent. At last we can have our little chat.”

  She smiled wanly. Where was the excitement she felt whenever she thought of this moment? Yesterday she would have said Yes, yes and yes. Today she did not know what she would say when he uttered his proposal. She needed more time to think, but she feared she had just run out.

  Julius came to prop his elbow on the mantel and affect a posture of bored elegance. “Cozy little room, eh?”

  “Yes, indeed,” she said, tucking her feet beneath the hem of her gown. She would have to warm her feet later.

  “Well, ah, you are aware that I’ve had something I wish to discuss with you? Yes? Well, I’ve come to a point in my life where ’tis time to settle my future. The decisions have been extremely difficult and my father has deigned to guide me.” He paused to take a deep breath, as if he were in a rush to get the words out. “Though they are not everything I had hoped, they allow for a certain…comfort, if you will. I hope you will consider the offer I am about to make you most seriously, Miss Wardlow, because my affection for you is—”

  “Kiss me, Julius,” she said impulsively.

  “Eh?”

  She studied him, aware that she was frowning. Had Julius always been so silly? So superficial? Had Sir Andrew been right, and had she stopped really seeing Julius the day she had made up her mind to marry him? “I would like you to kiss me,” she repeated. She stood to make the maneuver easier for him.

  “Egad,” he muttered under his breath. “This is going better than I expected.” He advanced on her and drew her into his arms.

  She lifted her hands to rest upon his shoulders, aware for the first time of how awkward he seemed with passion. She tilted her head to him and parted her lips slightly, hoping for something more than the quick, almost embarrassed, kisses he was accustomed to giving her.

  “Egad,” he sighed again before clasping his arms around her. No tight-lipped kiss this time! He opened his mouth and fastened it to hers with such sudden ardor that her inner lip split against her teeth and she tasted a drop of blood. Good heavens! Julius was a clumsy lover!

  She applied pressure to his shoulders, trying to ease him away without hurting his feelings. He held her fast, and all the more so as she tried to push him away. She finally turned her head, ending the ill-fated kiss.

  “What a tempting little tease you are, Miss Wardlow,” he chortled. “When I have you all for myself—”

  The sound of someone clearing his throat drew their attention to the door. Sir Andrew stood there, a sardonic expression on his handsome face.

  Drew hadn’t realized he could be so deeply injured by a kiss. He’d been passing the door when he’d heard Charity inviting Lingate to kiss her. It was all he could do to allow that kiss to happen when every instinct he had demanded that he put his fist through Lingate’s face.

  And the worst of it was, he knew Charity hadn’t responded to Lingate as she responded to him—yet she’d given herself to Lingate without hesitation.

  The look on her face when she’d turned to see him in the doorway was one of embarrassment mingled with relief. She appeared so forlorn that he decided to extend an excuse and see if she would use it. “I beg your pardon,” he said with every appearance of regret, “I believe we were paired for whist this afternoon, Miss Wardlow. If you’ve changed your mind about joining the game—”

  “No!” she said, stepping away from Lingate. “I have been looking forward to it all day.”

  Lingate frowned. “But we have not finished our conversation, Miss Wardlow.”

  Drew smiled. Either she had developed an affection for him or she was deucedly anxious to be rid of Lingate. He suspected the latter.

  “Later, Mr. Lingate. I promise,” she said. “Certainly by tomorrow we shall find some time to discuss it.”

  “Very well, then.” He bowed and exited the room, brushing by Drew with a hint of challenge.

  How amusing. Did the little twit think he could best him? But never mind. He’d attend to Lingate later. Other things were more important at the moment. He leaned back against the door until he heard the soft click of the latch catching, then went forward, studying Charity’s face. Her lower lip was swollen and she looked a little bewildered. If Lingate had damaged her…

  “There is no game of whist, is there?” she asked.

  He grinned. “Shall we drum one up?”

  “I’d rather sit by the fire. I haven’t been warm since my walk with Miss Evans this morning.” She returned to the chair by the fire and put her feet on the footstool. “Did you conclude your business in town, Sir Andrew?”

  He nodded, thinking of the little trinket he’d had to go to Banbury to purchase, there being no jeweler in Great Tew. “So you talked with Leticia Evans this morning? Did she have a secret?”

  “Yes.” Charity bowed her head and studied her fingernails. “But it did not involve a love child.”

  There was something interesting here. “And?”

  “Do you think there is any harm in a crush, Sir Andrew?”

  He came around her chair and added more wood to the fire. “None, unless someone would be hurt by it.”

  “What if no one knew?”

  “Then who could it harm?”

  She nodded pensively. “I agree, but I have begun to doubt my own judgment.”

  Now this was interesting. He sat on an edge of the footstool and frowned. “When did that happen, Miss Wardlow?”

  “When…” She looked at him and a pretty pink stained her cheeks. “When I left the house this morning without my boots.”

  He smiled at her discomfort. If he knew her at all, she’d begun to doubt herself when he’d challenged her last night beneath the kissing bough. Still, he looked down at her feet and was surprised to see that her slippers were sodden. Without asking permission, he unbuttoned the tiny pearls that secured the st
raps, pulled the shoes off and placed them by the fire. “Being dry should help, sweet Charity.”

  She blinked but her focus did not waver. He lifted one foot to rest on his knee and ran his hand up her leg beneath her gown. She caught her breath but said nothing. When he found the ribbon of her garter, he tugged until it gave way, then ran his hand slowly around her inner thigh to find the rear garter and do the same. He clenched his jaw to resist the temptation to allow his hand to linger at the heat between her thighs and perhaps wander just a little higher. Her breasts rose and fell rapidly as her breathing sped with her pulse. Lord, but she was responsive.

  Slowly, savoring the experience, he rolled the freed stocking down her thigh, over her slender calf, and off her chilled foot. He dropped it on the hearth beside her slipper and began chafing her foot to warm it. Her feet were small and perfectly formed, with high arches and well-shaped toes. “Pretty feet,” he commented evenly.

  She blinked again and cleared her throat. “I…I should go to my room, Sir Andrew.”

  “Half-shod?” He shook his head. “And can you not learn to call me Drew?”

  Her lips parted as if she would say his name, but she caught her breath again as he removed her other shoe and began the exquisite journey up her leg. Her eyes did not leave him, and there was something wildly erotic about watching each other while his hand made that agonizingly long, slow journey.

  He grew uncomfortably hard. Lord, how he wanted to watch her every expression, her every reaction, as he took her and taught her to surrender to the pleasure. But not yet. Not here. He unfastened the front garter and slid his hand between her thighs again. Her muscles quivered beneath his fingers and her eyelashes fluttered.

  Bracing his knee on the footstool, he rose to cover her mouth with his, hoping to forestall her protest. He ran his tongue along the seam of her lips, and slid his hand the rest of the way up her leg. When he stroked his thumb up the cleft that shielded her sex, she gasped and her eyelids flew open wide.