Christmas Delights

by Heather Hiestand

  The handsome inventor crept into her thoughts, ruinously, as she walked through crunchy grass. Remnants of brown and gold leaves that had fallen a couple of months before still dotted the landscape. An impenetrable collection of brush and holly bushes were off to the left, alongside her, as if pointing the way up the hill to the wishing well.

  She squinted into the sun, wondering if she could see Penelope from here, but the well was still too far away. Of course, she could be wrong. The girl could have gone anywhere, but it wasn’t like her to make plans to meet her cousin and then not follow through. She liked Victoria’s company, even when Victoria didn’t quite know how to manage her moods.

  Her exhalations puffed white tendrils into the air by the time she crested the hill. She stared out at the landscape, the town laid out in one direction, the long trail of bushes in another, water on a third side, the hill on the last. But she didn’t see Penelope. Had she any pocket money? Would she have gone to town to buy candy or such? Maybe she was following Eddy Jackson around the stables. Or even visiting Lewis.

  The thought of that man inevitably moved him to the forefront of her thoughts again. Why was he stuck there? Instead, the baron’s blue eyes should come to mind, the skin around his eyes crinkling charmingly when he smiled. And he smiled often, a happier soul than his rival. For that reason alone, he should be first.

  Could he make her feel the passion Lewis did? Would he even try? She’d discovered Sir Humphrey had a mistress, an actress who went weeping to his grave monument nearly every day for two months until she’d found a new protector. London friends had told her about the infamous wailing of the woman, catty with their enjoyment of the tale. No wonder she’d wanted to experience lovemaking, to understand why it could drive a sane woman to such outbursts when it was lost.

  She knew now that nothing could take the place of it. Touching Lewis, feeling him inside her, his kisses on her cheek, her neck, her mouth, her breasts; no, nothing could compare. If John was an undemanding lover, careful and modest, she might go as mad as her Aunt Clarissa.

  She shied away from the thought of what might have driven Aunt Clarissa mad in truth. Her uncle was no figure of fantasy but bald as an egg and round as a Christmas pudding. Had he ever inspired lust?

  She reached the well and stared down into its depths. The copper bucket had been removed. Were you only allowed to wish one day a year? Penelope had brought her the tale and she hadn’t inquired further into its mysteries.

  As she stared into the well, images that reflected in the choppy water began to resolve. She saw more tall, wild holly bushes groaning with berries, the church spire, some kind of old building. Turning around, she looked in the direction of the building, wondering if she was near an interesting ruin. The hill sloped up a few yards, and on top she saw a crumbling stone bench. On top of that bench was a figure, and that figure was her missing cousin.

  What was Penelope doing? Feeling a hot rush of fear, Victoria scrambled up the hill, grabbing at a scraggly tree at the halfway point to maintain her balance. “You’ll catch your death up here,” she called as the wind whipped around her.

  Penelope didn’t turn around. Victoria couldn’t see her arms, and she wondered if the girl was hugging herself. Despite her reducing, she was breathing as hard as she could, wishing she didn’t have to wear her stays so fashionably tight. She coughed once or twice before she regained her breath and made it up the last few feet.

  “Penelope!” The girl still hadn’t turned around, but Victoria saw her head tilt. Bending into the wind, she went to sit on the crumbled end of the bench next to her.

  “I was watching for the storks,” Penelope said after a moment. Her lips were wind chapped, her cheeks bright red.

  “You have been here for a while.” Victoria pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and opened it to reveal two large squares of shortbread, studded with currants and orange zest. She hadn’t planned to eat them except in a case of extreme emergency, but she and Penelope had both missed the midday meal.

  The girl snatched one of the treats and took an enormous bite. She bent over it as if it were her last meal, her eyes closed to savor the taste.

  Victoria broke an edge off hers and let it melt in her mouth, resigned that the fate of most of her treat would also be eaten by her hungry cousin. When Penelope finished the first cookie, she handed the second one over, then waited for her to finish it before speaking again.

  “I don’t like that you left the Fort without telling anyone,” she said.

  “The countess saw me going out when she was greeting her cousin,” Penelope said in a sulky tone.

  “That was hours and hours ago! Have you been here all morning?”

  “Yes.” Penelope pulled off one glove and picked crumbs out of the nubby wool with pale, bloodless fingers.

  Victoria took the girl’s hand and put it to her cheek. “Penelope! How can you stand to be this cold?”

  “I can hardly feel my fingers anymore,” she said.

  Victoria squeezed her eyes shut. Penelope was not behaving like a normal child. Could she get through to the girl, or was she destined to repeat her mother’s madness? “Let us go back. Perhaps we should return to London a few days early. Would you like to see the sights instead of staying here?”

  Penelope pressed her lips together. They were the same color as the rest of her skin. “No.”

  “I know the air is better here, but why are you outside? At the very least, you could be cozy in the stable, pestering Eddy.”

  “He told me to leave him alone,” Penelope said in a low voice.

  “He did?” She found that hard to believe. Eddy was a thoroughly nice young fellow, and so patient.

  “He said he was busy.”

  “That might have been true, you know.”

  Penelope sniffed, then coughed. First Lewis had risked his health and now her cousin. What was wrong with everyone? How had a simple house party become so complicated? Both of them were all but suicidal. Penelope needed to know she was loved, and Lewis needed some project other than that blasted submarine. She knew she had to talk him into making Penelope a stork. A symbol of hope would be so helpful.

  She took Penelope’s hand and drew her from the bench. “We must get you warm, dear. Come now.”

  Penelope stumbled a little as they began to walk down the hill in a zigzag fashion, attempting to keep away from the little pebbles that skittered under their shoes, throwing them off balance. Victoria heaved a sigh of relief when they reached the base and found the path back to the Fort.

  An hour later, she had Penelope tucked into bed with a nursemaid hovering over her. The girl’s cheeks, pale with cold, did not look much better, but color had returned to her lips. She sipped chocolate and nibbled on a biscuit while Victoria changed her gown. Her hems had been damp and muddy by the time they had returned.

  She buttoned up the front of her simple wool dress and pinched her cheeks. They still felt wind-chapped and chilly, but Lewis’s room would likely be kept very warm still, so she would not feel cold for long. She couldn’t resist checking on him. A nurse’s pride, she told herself.

  After blowing a kiss to Penelope, she went to Lewis’s room. While he might be in the stables, she hoped, only two days after his ordeal and especially because it was pouring rain, that he’d had the sense to remain indoors. Indeed, Eddy opened the door when she knocked and ushered her inside.

  Lewis had his hands on his hips, pushing his red velvet smoking jacket away from his body. He stood staring at his bed, which was covered with drawings, a frown creasing the skin between his eyebrows. As she watched, he poked at one of the drawings with a fingernail and muttered something under his breath.

  “He’s trying to decide if a design flaw caused the leak, or if it’s an execution issue,” Eddy reported.

  “Are you speaking Greek?” Victoria asked.

  Eddy grinned. “No, milady. I hates book learnin’.”

  “I was never very fond of it myself. Many a time
I was supposed to be learning mathematics and read novels instead. My father couldn’t make an accountant of me.”

  “Hence his insistence on marrying you off to some fop or nobleman?” Lewis interjected in an acid tone.

  “He wants to marry me off to someone with intelligence or position. If the man has position, then he will know the best managers to hire to run things.”

  Lewis turned to her and snorted. “Do you have any idea how many noblemen are idiots? Inbred, you know. The ones who inherit titles hire their less-fortunate siblings to manage their estates and such, or gamble them away, or make other poor decisions.”

  “They aren’t all like that.”

  He sniffed. “No, I’m sure your late husband was a paragon.”

  Frustration overtook common sense. “Lewis, can’t you let this submarine project go? It’s already nearly killed you once.”

  “I’ll figure it out.” He narrowed his eyes at her.

  “Couldn’t you take a break? Penelope is so broken right now. I really do think it would give her so much pleasure to receive one of your famous birds. I would love a white stork for obvious reasons, but really, anything would work. Especially now because she’s gotten herself so cold. I’m afraid she’s going to have to stay in bed for the rest of the house party.” She put her hands together, imploring him.

  “What did she do?” Eddy demanded.

  “She went back to the wishing well, alone, early this morning, then climbed that hill nearby and sat on the bench in the wind for hours.”

  “Why’d she do that?” the boy asked.

  “She was hoping the birds would return.”

  “In the dead of winter?”

  Victoria nodded. “I’m afraid so.”

  “She must be as mad as a hatter,” Eddy gasped.

  “Do not.” Victoria squeezed her eyes shut. “She’s just a little girl.”

  “I mean no offense, milady. I’m sorry. Should I go see her?”

  “Not until you can be much more sensitive with your language.”

  Eddy’s smile faded. “Of course, milady. I am sorry.” He whirled around and pulled open the door, then vanished into the hallway.

  Victoria sighed. “It has been a trying morning.”

  When she turned, she caught Lewis staring at her. His intense gaze burnished her skin, licking heat up her legs and down her breasts. She swallowed hard and put her hand to her chest. Had she laced her stays too tightly when she’d changed? How hot was it in here?

  “There won’t be any birds,” Lewis said, his voice gravelly.

  The rough tone seemed to work on her like stone, abrading her senses. Her nipples peaked and she felt moisture between her thighs. What was he doing to her? She couldn’t think of anything but him, and the longing she felt to be back in his arms.

  “Please,” she implored, forgetting what she wanted from him.

  He moved away from the bed and passed her. She smelled rich leather and sharp bay on his skin, plus a faint touch of wood smoke. He went to the door and locked it. The snick of the key had an air of finality.

  “Come here.” He reached out his hand behind him, not glancing back.

  Fingers trembling, in his thrall, she obeyed, ignoring the shock of pain on her abraded palm when it met his. His rough fingers slid along the soft flesh of her arm and he pulled her to him until she was up against the door. He sank to his knees and gathered her skirt, then her petticoats, and disappeared beneath them.

  “I have to taste you,” he said on a low moan.

  She felt his arms pushing her legs apart. Her body shook hard. Struggling to remain upright, she tipped her head back against the door. Pins dug into her scalp as the skin of her throat tightened.

  He had her legs spread now, his fingers ripping up the slit in her drawers, opening them, exposing her to his dark desires. She shuddered when she felt his breath against her newly exposed thigh, then on the wiry curls over her womanhood.

  His blunt, clever fingers spread her completely open to him. Despite all her clothing, she could smell the sweet musk of her own arousal. When he licked—long, raspy, and wet—all along her most private place, her knees all but buckled. She keened, gasped, implored, then grasped her skirts in her arms and held them against her chest so he could use those clever hands for something else.

  And oh, but he did, his fingers whispering along her thighs as he licked her from one round of pleasure to the next, thrusting his tongue into her channel, swirling it around her pearl, sucking, blowing, biting. She remembered he had planned to experiment on her. That conversation seemed an age ago.

  She breathed so hard, she could hear a gale in her ears. Wanting to see him, she opened her eyes, was caught by the image of a ghostly woman in a mirror across the room. A man was between her legs, his head bobbing. The woman had her mouth open. Her eyes were dark pools of lust. She panted, her chest moving rapidly with every motion of the man. She could see his darker hands against her pale thighs, the red jacket against her white drawers.

  He sucked her pearl hard, thrusting fingers inside her, and she fell apart. Her eyelids drooped, her fulfillment giving a light show as she cried out, her entire body quivering through a maelstrom of pleasure. When her legs could hold her no more, she sagged to the floor, her skirts falling around her waist.

  Lewis brought his mouth, that clever mouth, to her ear and suckled her soft lobe. She could smell herself on his skin, his breath, his fingers when he pulled them from her channel and put them to her lips.

  “That’s the taste I can never forget, Victoria. Your sweet honey. I will remember it every day of my life.”

  She blinked, almost overcome by the tenderness in his voice. But he didn’t want her, not really. He, at least, realized this was only lust. She was a fool to love him. Sniffing hard couldn’t prevent tears from welling up in her eyes, dripping down her cheeks.

  “I’ve made a mistake.” She struggled to her feet, dropping her skirts. Somehow her knee hit Lewis and he overbalanced, landing on his backside, staring up at her with surprise.

  She pointed her finger at him, as if to scold, but her entire body still shook from the force of her climax.

  “Victoria.”

  “We have to stop this.”

  “You came to me,” he said quietly.

  She wanted him inside her. “For a bird, Lewis. A bird. I wanted Penelope to have a bird. That was all.” She waved her hands over her midsection, then wiped her face. “Not this.”

  “You were a willing participant while it lasted.”

  “Oh, and do you expect reciprocity now?” she shouted. “Do you want me on my knees?”

  “I’m surprised a gently reared lady would think of such a thing,” he said in a stiff voice, before pushing himself into a standing position.

  “My passion for you has tormented me with every naughty thought that can be imagined. Every way to touch your body, every way you might touch mine.” She waved her hands again. “Oh, I might not know quite what to do, what might be most pleasing, but I assure you, sir, I’ve had at least rudimentary thoughts on every brand of pleasure possible.”

  He didn’t speak.

  “All I want is a bird for my cousin. You know what she’s suffered. If you won’t marry me and enjoy my body for the rest of our lives, the least you can do is spend a day crafting her a bloody bird, instead of killing yourself in that damnable submarine!” She turned the key in the lock and opened the door. After stamping out, she slammed it closed, then stalked back down the corridor to her room.

  With her hand on the knob, she stopped. She couldn’t go inside, not so disheveled and smelling of sexual pleasure. Not with Penelope in bed. Cursing herself for every kind of fool, she went to Lady Rowena’s quarters. At least the girl wasn’t naïve, not after catching herself Ernest Dickondell.

  Lewis went to the stables on Saturday, resolved to return to the submarine project. He shared his insights concerning the leak, leaning over his blueprints with the earl, and they went to work,
fixing the design of metal plating on the hull, only eating cold sandwiches for lunch. By two P.M., thanks to the inadequate food and damp conditions, Lewis’s cough had returned and the earl insisted he return to the Fort.

  He felt a tremor under his feet as he went up the hill to the mudroom. Earthquakes did occur sometimes in this area, and he wondered if that was what he had experienced, slight though the sensation had been. It was no stronger than the reverberations from a heavy cart as it rolled by. Of course, no cart was nearby.

  “Did you feel an earthquake?” he asked the boot boy in the mudroom, but the boy just shook his head.

  He asked the first maid he saw the same question, but she hadn’t felt it either. Maybe the old fort was too stable for a small quake to be felt. “Is tea being served anywhere presently?”

  “Lady Rowena and Miss Courtnay had a tray sent into the puzzle room less than ten minutes ago, sir,” the maid said.

  He nodded and decided to go there. Gloves weren’t practical in the stable and his hands felt like blocks of ice. He walked down the corridors, stamping his feet to get feeling back into his toes.

  Just as he had his hand on the doorknob of the puzzle room, he heard boots pounding through the hall. Eddy appeared, hair flopping over his eyes as he raced, waving something at him. Lewis opened the door and Eddy flew through, not stopping until he banged into a table with a half-finished puzzle on it. The pieces flew into the air with all the force of a hurricane behind them.

  Thankfully, Lady Rowena and Penelope were at a different table, the tea tray behind them. Fires blazed under both chimneys. The air smelled temptingly of the evergreen boughs that decorated the mantels. While the modern lighting was quite good, beeswax tapers also scented the air delightfully, their flames dancing above three-pronged candelabras set on tables along one wall.

  “Good heavens,” the young lady cried. “I thought we were being invaded.”

  “My apologies,” Lewis said. “This young jackanapes could not figure out how to put the brakes on in time to avoid discomfiting you.”