Under The Kissing Bough: 15 Romantic Holiday Novellas

by Kathryn Le Veque

  Rupert shifted uncomfortably against the squabs and cleared his throat. “Adelaide, I believe it is a little more information than the marquis desires.”

  Her eyes widened in dismay. “My sincere apologies, my lord. I’m sure they’ve described me as completely lacking in social polish or sense. Assuming they spoke of me at all, which I doubt. Although we correspond, I haven’t seen my cousins in years.” She glanced at Rupert, and although she managed another smile, Desmond couldn’t help but notice the glint of pain that sprang into her eyes.

  Rupert gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “You’ll be surrounded by dozens of family members in a few days... and your father has promised to join us this year, too.”

  She tucked a burnished gold curl behind her ear and began to fidget with it, for the mention of her father was obviously a source of dismay. She spared him a glance. “My father and his wife are to meet us in London after they visit his wife’s family.”

  Desmond wasn’t going to touch that conversation. Obviously, a second wife who did not want Adelaide in the household. She turned away, pretending to stare out the window, but he’d seen that same glint of hurt in his own sister’s eyes after their parents had died and they’d been forced to live under their grandfather’s domineering care.

  Adelaide’s fragile glance had revealed all, of her desire to please and her constant failing. What she did not yet seem to understand is that she would never succeed in pleasing her father’s wife because the woman wanted to be rid of her. He didn’t need to meet the harridan to know that she viewed Adelaide as competition.

  To her credit, Adelaide did not appear to be sullen or resentful.

  “You’re shivering, Miss Farthingale. Here, tuck this blanket around you.” He handed her the Scottish tartan he’d received as a gift from his cousin, Ewan. It had been folded on the seat beside him, unused.

  She looked to her uncle, as though afraid to accept it without his approval. Rupert arched an eyebrow and frowned. “Take it, Adelaide. You’re obviously cold.” He then turned to Desmond. “Thank you, Blackfell. Seems the sisters at the abbey have taught Adelaide the virtues of deference and obedience a little too well.”

  Desmond grinned. “She’s a Farthingale. Never fear, Rupert. She’ll lose those virtues within a week of arriving in London.” He turned to Adelaide, his tone gentling when her eyes widened in horror. “I meant it as a compliment,” he assured.

  “Oh.” She blushed, but there was a sparkle to her eyes that hadn’t been there a moment ago, and he felt foolishly proud to be the one to elicit that gentle glow.

  Hell’s bells, yet again.

  tHe refused to be drawn in by the girl. He crossed his arms over his chest and closed his eyes, pretending to nap for the short distance. It wasn’t working. He felt her soft presence and suddenly caught the fresh scent of lavender on her skin when his carriage passed too fast over a particularly rough patch of road and the girl came flying onto his lap. “Forgive me, Lord Blackfell!”

  He might have tossed a jest in response had the girl not appeared genuinely aghast. Any other young woman would have been gloating or scheming to make something more of tumbling onto him. Not Adelaide. He folded his arms around her before she could scramble off his lap. “Not your fault, Miss Farthingale. My driver’s a little too determined to get us to the inn before nightfall. Are you all right?”

  She nodded as she wriggled out of his loose grasp and hastily settled once more in her seat.

  Too bad. She’d felt achingly good in his arms. That was bad too. He refused to feel anything for the girl other than polite interest, but his body was not cooperating. No, indeed. His response was anything but polite.

  She was responding to him as well. There was no mistaking the confusion in her expression, for she was as easy to read as an open book and had yet to learn to hide her feelings. He liked that innocence about her.

  Liked it, but had no intention of doing anything about it.

  No, he wasn’t going to pursue the girl and intended to ignore her as much as possible without being overtly rude. He understood the danger in befriending Adelaide. There already existed a compelling bond between the Camerons and the Farthingales. His sister, Evangline, had fallen in love and married George Farthingale. His cousin, Ewan, a stubborn Scot who detested all things English, had fallen in love and married English bluestocking Lily Farthingale.

  Of course, it signified nothing. Desmond was his own man and competent to make his own decisions. He was a marquis and heir to a dukedom now thanks to an act of Parliament and Ewan’s generous cooperation, so he understood that he would have to marry eventually in order to carry on the Cameron bloodline. He wasn’t ready yet. In any event, he wasn’t going to choose a Farthingale.

  His wealth and title allowed him to aim far higher.

  Why am I thinking of marriage anyway?

  He shook his head to rid himself of those wayward thoughts and silently rejoiced when Adelaide broke the silence, further distracting him from the dangerous path his mind appeared to be taking.

  “What a lovely view,” she said, still gazing out the window and studying the hills surrounding them as they rolled along the moors. “There’s so much life hidden beneath the browns and ochers and pale purple shrubs along the countryside. I was told the moors were desolate but it doesn’t seem so at all. You can sense vitality across this rugged terrain.”

  “It’s beautiful,” he admitted. “A man can hear himself think out here.”

  She nodded. “The abbey where I was raised overlooks the sea and is also beautiful and isolated. But I spent too much time listening to myself think and am now eager to be swept into the din and bustle of London.”

  “Where is the abbey?” Desmond asked, feeling a little tug at his heart as he filled in the facts. The girl must have been sent away shortly after her father’s remarriage.

  “At St. Brigid’s near Berwick. I’ve been there almost ten years. At first, the sisters hoped I’d join their order.” She shook her head and grimaced. “But I talk too much and ask too many questions. I don’t take instruction well either, so they’ve long since given up and left me on my own to wander about the abbey lands with their sheep and chickens for company.”

  Desmond chuckled. “I’m sure your animal friends are better companions than most of the elegant ladies and gentlemen you’ll meet in London.”

  She graced him with that vulnerable smile again. “I don’t think I’m fit yet to go about in society. I haven’t learned the art of witty conversation and don’t know the latest dances.”

  Rupert patted her hand again. “Your cousins will take care of you. They’ll treat you as their little doll, dressing you up and teaching you all that a gently bred young lady ought to know. In short, they’ll hound you with attention morning, noon, and night.”

  “I think I’ll love that,” she said in a breathy whisper.

  Desmond stifled another groan. The girl seemed to know just how to pierce his heart. “My sister will join in. She’s become just as meddlesome as any Farthingale since marrying Rupert’s brother.”

  Adelaide’s eyes brightened. “I can’t wait to meet Evangeline. I’ve heard all about how Uncle George fell in love with her. She must be quite special.”

  “She is.” Over the years, Desmond had learned to shield his heart and those thick barriers remained securely in place to this day. But Evie had never learned to guard herself from disappointment. Quite the opposite, she wore her heart on her sleeve, just as Adelaide obviously did. Desmond had done his best to protect his sister, but it was George who had truly made Evie happier than she’d ever been.

  And now that she was so well settled, Evie intended the same fate for him.

  Lord help him!

  “Adelaide will be staying with us for Christmas and hopefully through the winter unless... well, she’ll always be welcome whatever happens.”

  Desmond frowned. “Are you to be sent back to St. Brigid’s?”

  She blushed. “No... well, I
don’t think so... not yet. You see, Mr. Postings is– ack!” Adelaide tumbled onto his lap again, her soft body hopelessly pressed atop his as the carriage drew to a sharp halt.

  Once again, he wrapped her in his arms to steady her, the instinctive response feeling too exquisitely natural for comfort. “We’ve arrived at the inn. I’ll help you down.”

  She splayed her hands across his chest as though to push herself away, but made no move to ease off him. Instead, she seemed frozen in place, her fingers curling on his cloak as she edged closer. Mercy! He could feel the rampant beat of her heart despite the thick layers of wool between them... lots of layers... his vest, jacket, and cloak... her gown, pelisse, and cloak.

  How is it still not enough?

  Their mouths were almost upon each other, separated only by the wisps of vapor that escaped their lips as they breathed. So close, he even felt the shiver of delight that coursed through her body. He had to put distance between them before he did something extremely foolish, something that involved his mouth locking upon her tempting lips. “Still cold?”

  “Not at all.” She tipped her head upward to meet his gaze, her expression dewy-eyed. In the next moment, she gasped and drew herself up. “I mean, yes. Quite chilled to the bone. Goodness what a bumpy ride!”

  She mentioned Mr. Postings again and scrambled out of the carriage before the coachman had fully opened the door, practically knocking the portly man to the ground as she barreled over him to run inside the inn.

  Desmond stared at Rupert.

  Rupert merely shrugged his shoulders and grinned. “After you, Blackfell.”

  He nodded. “Who the hell is Mr. Postings?”

  IF YOU LOVED ME

  CHAPTER TWO

  Adelaide struggled to catch her breath as she ran into the Dragon Sail Inn. Her cheeks were on fire and she knew beyond a doubt that she’d made a fool of herself in front of Lord Blackfell. Oh, how could she ever face him again?

  Her heart was still lodged in her throat and her thoughts were a whirl of confusion as she heard him and Uncle Rupert march in behind her. They seemed irrepressibly jovial and both of them were chuckling.

  Were they laughing at her?

  She turned her back to them and pretended to inspect the inn while the two of them arranged for their rooms. She’d burst into tears if she had to face Lord Blackfell again. He must think her an utter goose. Or a peahen. Well, she’d spent the last ten years tending chickens, so it came as no surprise that she was now behaving like one of those dull-witted game birds.

  She knew nothing about men.

  Why had she felt such a hot urge to kiss him?

  Would she respond so giddily to Mr. Postings? She’d met him twice and had felt nothing but gratitude when he’d visited her. Of course, she hadn’t toppled onto him while trying to keep her seat on a bumpy coach.

  She and Mr. Postings had never touched, so she wouldn’t know if his muscles were hard and rippled - they hadn’t appeared to be - or if she’d catch the scent of lather and musk on his neck. Lord Blackfell’s scent had mingled with that of the windblown heather and bramble one found along the moors, the effect intoxicating and divinely masculine.

  She’d breathed him in, long and deep.

  Twice.

  Goodness! She wasn’t a dog and couldn’t go sniffing the man.

  “Adelaide, it will be a few minutes before our rooms are ready.” Her uncle came up beside her, regarding her with obvious concern. He would have been horrified to know what she was really thinking. “Poor child, you must be tired after the long journey.”

  She nodded and pretended to yawn. “I am a little.”

  It wasn’t a lie, for the cozy warmth of the inn was already soothing her bones and she knew that exhaustion would hit her the moment feeling returned to her frozen fingers and toes. She’d make her apologies and disappear upstairs as soon as her room became available. Indeed, sleep was far safer than spending more time in the company of Lord Blackfell.

  “It’s been a long day for all of us. You’d best dine first and then you can retire to your quarters.”

  She nodded.

  “Lord Blackfell will remain with you while I attend to our carriage. That chore will take several hours, so don’t wait up for me.”

  “What?” She tried to stifle her panic, but it was no use. Her heart was once more in her throat and her eyes were as wide as the moon orbs of a haddock. “He needn’t bother with me. I’ll be fine on my own. I’m used to taking my meals in my room. Shouldn’t he help you?”

  Rupert rolled his eyes. “No, the local men will help with the carriage. And I can’t leave you here on your own, unattended.”

  “But you said yourself this is an excellent inn. What can happen to me?”

  “Plenty,” Lord Blackfell said, now joining them and regarding her curiously. “You’ve already been noticed by every man in the common room.”

  “I have? Is it significant?” She was discomposed by his nearness and barely listening as he explained the dangers of leaving a young woman alone among strangers.

  “But–”

  “The innkeeper and his staff are too busy to play nursemaid to you, Miss Farthingale.”

  She tipped her chin up in defiance, willing to face any risk in order to avoid being alone with him. “Then I’ll go with my uncle.”

  Rupert took her by the shoulders. “No, my dear. You’ve endured enough hardship.”

  She had the impression he was speaking of her life in general, not merely today’s adventure with the broken carriage. She meant to protest but saw that he was fatigued as well and she was only delaying him. “Very well. I’ll try not to impose upon Lord Blackfell’s kindness.”

  Her uncle coughed. “He won’t complain. Will you Blackfell?”

  The marquis arched an eyebrow and smirked. “No complaints, Rupert. I’ll manage.”

  Her uncle kissed her sweetly on the forehead and handed her into the care of the marquis. She must have been more exhausted than she realized, for her eyes began to water. Rupert had no idea how much that fatherly kiss meant to her. No one had kissed her or hugged her in years. Ten long years to be precise.

  She held back her tears until he strode off with his coachman to attend to the broken carriage wheel. But several slipped down her cheek the moment the inn’s door closed behind him. “Adelaide,” the marquis said with an aching groan.

  She didn’t want his pity. “It’s a lovely inn, don’t you think?” She quickly brushed the moisture off her cheeks. “The floors are a bright, polished oak and the walls are a cozy, pink-hued stone. There’s a fire lit in every hearth. The place is clean and its common room is bustling. There’s a lovely, woodsy scent in the air. They must have pine boughs set aside in preparation for the Yuletide festivities. This inn will look quite splendid once they’re put up.”

  The marquis sighed. “I’m not purchasing the place, just stopping for the night.”

  “I know. I... I...” She wiped away another tear and inhaled deeply, the scent of ale, rabbit stew, and freshly baked bread going a long way toward calming her down.

  She was hungry and looking forward to the meal, but not to sharing it with the daunting marquis. “May I speak plainly, Lord Blackfell?”

  He crossed his arms over his chest and frowned lightly. “Always. What’s the matter?”

  “It may seem like nothing to you, but all this is new to me.” She made a circling motion with her hand to encompass all within their sight. “In truth, you make me uncomfortable. I’m sorry. It isn’t you. It’s me. I’m not used to being around people.”

  He emitted a soft grunt, but remained frowning. “You’re fine around people. I’m sure the problem lies with me. I’m a cynical oaf who has little patience for anyone.”

  “But you’ve been most indulgent with me. I’ll try not to irritate you. I completely understand.”

  “No, I don’t expect that you do.” He smirked again, well not quite a smirk for his expression had softened into something more
resembling a smile. A gentle smile. She wished she knew what he was thinking. “You needn’t be concerned, Adelaide. You’re quite safe with me. I like your honesty, it’s something I rarely encounter.”

  “I see.” She didn’t really, but it seemed the right thing to say.

  “I’d secure a private dining room for us, but it won’t do for you to be alone with me behind closed doors. It would damage your reputation. We’ll grab a table in the far corner of the common room and then we can talk.”

  She stiffened. “About what?” Was he going to reprimand her for the way she’d responded to his body in the carriage? In truth, he didn’t seem angry or irritated by the incident.

  He unfurled his arms so that they were no longer crossed over his chest. “About anything you like,” he said with apparent sincerity. “You choose the topic. Whatever you’re comfortable discussing.”

  She laughed. “Goodness, talking is something I do best. I do too much of it.”

  His expression remained gentle as he arched an eyebrow, the effect making him look dashingly handsome. “I have time. I’m willing to listen.”

  There was something exquisitely appealing in his manner, a husky warmth to his voice that made her feel comfortable. More than that, she felt protected. When was the last time she’d felt this way? She couldn’t recall. It had been so long ago. Her happiest memories were from a time before her mother had died.

  None since.

  The sisters had taken her in but never accepted her, not once in all the years she’d spent living at the abbey had they ever complimented her or made her feel as though she belonged. However, life there was not all bad. Summers at the abbey were most enjoyable. The days were long and often warm allowing her to spend hours walking barefoot along the shore, digging her toes into the soft, wet sand as water lapped at her heels. Sometimes she’d meet a passing villager or a few of the local boys who were always eager to chat and collect sea shells.