Miss Isabella Thaws a Frosty Lord

by Larissa Lyons

  “You may indeed.” Blindly he reached for her hand and brought it to his face, realizing as he did so how very significant the impulse of a few seconds prior. “Think I’ll wear this the remainder of the evening, and again once I get you home to Frostwood Hall.”

  Her searching fingers quickly discovered the sash. “Whatever for? Have you knocked your noggin askew, you crazy man?”

  “I think it’s only fitting I occasionally take the time to view the world as you see it.”

  As his meaning sank in, so too did her body atop his. “Oh, you wondrous, wondrous man.”

  “Aye, I’m beginning to believe I just might be, thanks to— Mmm.” Her mouth devoured the rest of his sentence, which was fine with Nicholas.

  Only after more words, more cuddling—and many more kisses—did the challenging events of the evening take their toll and sleep overtake her…his Issybelle.

  Holding her in his arms and against his heart soothed any number of cold, lonely nights he’d endured as a boy. Erased any number of solitary, soused evenings he’d spent wondering why a French cannonball hadn’t put an end to his guilt, along with the rest of him.

  Cradling this precious woman, feeling the innocent wafts of air as she peacefully exhaled, breathed forgiveness and new life into an old existence and left him smiling deep inside as he too drifted off to snowy dreamland.

  “Are you ready, my child? To say goodbye ere we begin the next stage of our journey?”

  “Am I! I’ve been waiting ever so long…”

  “I’ve been waiting ever so long for the right woman to find him!”

  Radiant, a young girl tugged forward the man behind her and presented him as she would a peer to the royal court, curtsying deeply. She rose regally and held out his hand. “I give him to you now and forevermore, Miss Isabella Jane Spier.” The child clapped her hands with such abandon, a burst of air wafted forth. “Soon you’ll be Isabella Winten, Countess of Frostwood! How splendid is that?”

  And in the perplexing, mystifying manner of dreams, Isabella observed herself as she stood and offered a curtsy of her own to the immaculately groomed, breath-stealingly handsome man before her. “Lord Frostwood, I presume?”

  How did she know?

  “Call him Nicky!” cried the child just before she flew off—on wings!

  Wings Isabella hadn’t noticed before, her interest totally arrested by the man who graced her with a smile brimming with such love and caring—and bracketed by such adorable, discernible dimples—had his visage not already stolen her breath, the look in his eyes would’ve rendered her mute.

  Time ceased to advance, giving her all manner of opportunity to absorb every detail of his appearance, which she did, all the way down to the slight droop on one side of his tailored jacket—something in his pocket, perhaps?—then returning upward to marvel at the breadth of his chest…the deep brown fathomless eyes that gazed so intently into her own…the tiny nick marring one eyebrow…the shadow of whiskers framing his jaw…

  Highlighting lips she could not wait to feel upon her own. To—

  “Isabella?”

  “Isabella? Issybelle?” Gingerly, Nicholas shifted the bundle in his arms. “’Tis time to awaken, my love. I hear the house stirring.” Through the window, he also saw the fiery orange ball glimmering beyond the barren trees and couldn’t believe he’d actually slept through a sunrise. Talk about Christmas miracles!

  She moaned and nuzzled his neck, making no attempt to move from her sprawled position over his body. Pity he hadn’t thought to lock the blasted library door.

  Pressing his lips to her temple, he tried to speak sharply but failed miserably, his words sounding every bit the caress they were. “We may be officially betrothed as of last night, but that doesn’t give either of us leave to ruin your reputation this morning.”

  “Does it give us leave to leave?” she asked in a sleep-husked voice. “Perhaps you could begin ruining me on the carriage ride down the drive?”

  “If you continue tempting me with your warm body and warmer bum,” he lifted his pelvis into her posterior to emphasize his point, “we’ll both be ejected from Redford Manor and invited never to return ere we have time for breakfast.” That finally reached her, if her sultry giggles were anything to go by.

  “How do you do that?” he asked as she slowly straightened and began the task of tidying his neckcloth, which she’d completely unwound some time during the night. “Laugh with the joy of a schoolgirl yet the seductiveness of a siren?”

  “Do I now?” Her cheeks flushed bright. “It’s all those hidden talents you’ve yet to discover about me, you know. Much like my dancing.”

  “Yet to discover? A lady of continual mystery, eh?” She still lounged on his lap but more primly than before, if one could call such an intimate position prim. He made every attempt to right his own clothing before a servant—or their fine hosts—thought to knock on the door. “Aha—you just called your dancing a talent. So you’re ready to claim that gift, you have? I’m gratified to hear that as Frostwood Hall’s ballroom rivals that of any you can imagine.”

  “Truly?” Her eyes widened.

  “Truly. And I promise to show you where it’s located in the rambling mansion I grew up in if you promise me a dance every evening before we retire to bed.”

  She pursed her lips as if in deep thought. “Well…if you agree to put bells on this,” she pulled tight the horrific knot she’d just tied and tucked the ends of his neckcloth inside his shirt, “so I can find you anywhere I please, I could always promise you a dance in bed.”

  “Minx,” he laughed.

  “Glorious scoundrel.”

  “You know, you have the look of your mother when you smile.” The words burst from him without thought.

  “Oh my. That is the highest compliment I could receive. Mama was the most beautiful— Wait…how would—? When did you see her?”

  “I don’t…” know.

  But he did—even as he grappled for an explanation a sudden flash of recollection, of recognition solidified in his mind. While he slept, he’d been visited by an angelic spirit of uncommon beauty whose serenity and warmth was unmistakable. He’d known instantly she was his Isabella’s beloved mama. But more than that, the woman had been holding the hand of his sister! Dear Althea as he’d always wanted to remember her—golden curls dancing and impish smile beaming.

  Spirits be damned, he thought, they’ll stuff me in Bedlam if I confess to such a thing. “’Tis a bloody Christmas miracle, I do believe, but I’d rather not begin our wedded life with you thinking I’m a bedlamite. May we agree to attribute my knowledge to the magic of Christmas?”

  “We may indeed.” At that moment she grazed her hand up the side of his face until encountering his right eyebrow. “It is split,” she whispered. “How very wondrous!”

  “Wondrous? My eyebrow? Now that I think on it, we’re two of a kind, are we not, in the blemished-eyebrow arena. But how did you know? Harriet again?”

  Isabella recounted the dream she’d woken to, ending with how she saw the most handsome man being given into her care. “Another Christmas miracle. And if it’s any consolation, I shall forever remove lack of modesty from your list of foibles. When one looks as you do, only false modesty would be considered a failing.”

  “Ah…not that I’m one to discount the spirit of Christmas and what magic may ensue, but mayhap you’ve only imagined I possess a fair countenance. For which I’m eminently pleased, I assure you.”

  Her brow furrowed but only for a moment. “Your pocket! Your right pocket—what are you carrying in there, pray? More sticky berries?”

  With a hitch in his breathing, Nicholas recalled exactly what nestled inside his pocket. His bandaged left palm recalled as well. “I intended to give it to you last night. Had every plan to—but…”

  “But my blasted father intervened.”

  “And never will again,” he vowed.

  “Well then…” Her excitement was palatable. “If not
berries, then what?”

  “I was touched by how you admired the Nativity pieces, how you saw them with your fingers. I wanted to give you…” He floundered, the precise words distant from his lips.

  “A Nativity scene?” she asked in confusion.

  “Nothing so elaborate.” Attempting to maneuver his handmade gift out of the opening—and past the sash he’d stuffed in there earlier—while snuggling his lover-to-be only muddled his tongue further. “’Tis a token of my regard. A trifling token? Regard? No…that’s not the right of it. ’Tis a representation of… Representation? Nay, not that either!” He swore. Swore again when the seam of his pocket ripped, but he finally placed the rudimentary carving into her safekeeping. “Blast! I’m sounding like a puffed-up prig. It’s a symbol, one that conveys my lo—”

  She stopped his ramblings with a hand to his mouth—this time her accuracy was impeccable. Her eyes glittered brightly, her smile so wide he couldn’t believe his fortune…that this beautiful, fey creature who’d taught him so much just with her presence would be his helpmeet, his partner throughout life. The mother of his children.

  “Aye?” he mumbled beneath her fingertips.

  Her other hand, he saw, now lay completely still upon his gift, after an eager exploration to determine its shape. “A heart…you gave me your heart!”

  He kissed her fingers and brought her hand down so he could place it atop that very organ. “Aye, and it only took me four attempts to make the thing. Four attempts and it’s still skewed to London and back. If only I’d had more time—”

  “None needed! I love this one.” She flipped over the lopsided heart and traced its outline with her thumb then flung herself against his chest. Her arms a vise about his neck, her lips at his ear, she vowed, “It’s absolutely perfect! Perfect. As are you.”

  He hauled her body even closer. “Oh aye—foible-ridden Nicky’s perfect.”

  “For me you are.”

  And he was.

  Chapter Nine

  The Festivities Take an Intimate Turn

  A few weeks later…

  “I like what you’ve done here,” Nicholas told his new wife when he found her sitting at her dressing table on their first full night at Frostwood Hall.

  Her sable hair was brushed to a silky sheen, her hands strangling the handle of a boar’s-hair brush so tightly it was a wonder it didn’t squeal.

  He knew the flush on her cheeks didn’t have a damn thing to do with the nip in the air but had everything to do with them spending the night together as husband and wife.

  Indeed, the room little resembled the dragon’s lair he recalled from childhood, Isabella’s belongings giving it a homey atmosphere he would have found inviting any other time.

  But not tonight.

  He came up behind her and placed his hands lightly on her shoulders, rubbed his thumbs delicately on the skin of her nape. “Like what you’ve done with the pictures especially.”

  Framed miniatures graced a far side of the circular table, one of Althea and one of Isabella’s mother, both faces gazing contentedly from the painted portraits.

  She tensed beneath his touch and released the hairbrush with a clatter. But the mirror reflected the peaceful smile curving her lips when she stretched one arm to locate then trace the base of each frame. “Lizzie’s idea. She told me they’d be watching over me whether I could see them or not.”

  Lizzie. The maid who had taken such care of his beloved at Redford Manor. After speaking to Ed, Nicholas had enticed her away, even sent her ahead to prepare the rooms and corridors, granting Lizzie authority to direct the other servants in the placement of furniture and anything else she thought might prove helpful in giving Isabella as much freedom as possible. Smart decision, that.

  He’d been making a lot of those since meeting his beautiful, nervous-as-hell bride little more than a month ago. “I think she has the right of it. But come now…”

  With a touch so gentle it wouldn’t break a bubble, he encouraged Isabella to stand and turned her to face him. A fine trembling had taken hold of her limbs. “Well, my lady, are you quite ready to spend your first night in your new home?”

  They’d arrived in the wee, dark hours of that morning. Since, he’d given her a tour of the grounds he and Althea had stomped over, so damn relieved when joyful memories bombarded him from around every corner, every tree they’d climbed, every stall in the stable one of them had traipsed across or hidden in. The house had been fully prepared for their arrival, elderly but still faithful servants greeting him like the long, lost son he was, rejoicing in his homecoming in ways that told him he could have returned sooner.

  Ah, but Nicholas knew his timing was perfect. As was his lady wife, now staring uncertainly toward the ceiling. “I…ahm…”

  She was adorable in her anxiety. But he’d rather she be at ease.

  “You…ahm…what?” he asked in a coaxing, calm manner completely at odds with the riotous burden of carnal desires storming his every cell. Now that they were this close to that final consummation, it took every ounce of restraint he possessed not to pounce on her like a rabid dog in heat.

  When she persisted in finding the ceiling worthy of all her attention, he cupped her elbows and sought to soothe her with the—nearly—platonic touch through the layers of her robe and night rail beneath. “Isa…bel…la?” he sang softly.

  Finally she left off gazing overhead and gripped the lapels of the dressing gown he’d donned after his bath moments earlier.

  Her fingers moved reflexively, nervously. “I… It’s rather chilly in here, isn’t it?”

  Time to banish her anxious fidgets once and for all. He bent down and swept her into his arms.

  “Nicholas!” Her hands fluttered before she fisted one in her lap and curved the other around his nape. “I wasn’t expecting that,” she said breathlessly. “Do warn me next time.”

  “Yes, my lady.”

  She instantly huddled into his warmth. “Oh, but you feel nice. Where…where are we heading? The…ah…bed?”

  Smiling broadly, because she was finally against his body where he planned on keeping her for the foreseeable future, Nicholas walked right on past the bed where his mother had slept. He’d have the servants burn it tomorrow. Her picture might hang in the portrait gallery, but he wasn’t about to let the rest of her things hang around. Everything else had already been boxed up and shared with his tenants. But that bed had to go.

  “My chambers,” Nicholas told his wife, carefully reaching beneath her posterior to turn the knob of the connecting door. “My bed, where I hope you’ll consent to stay and sleep always.”

  “Oh, I don’t know…” She sounded suspiciously cool. “I think I’ll have to decide whether it suits me first.”

  “Minx.” He secured the door, locking them into their own romantic haven for two. As romantic as he could make it.

  Fruit and cheese and bread resided under domed trays (for later he hoped, much later), mulled wine waited in goblets, and the fire had heated the room to perfection. He even had several washcloths at the ready and a basin of warm water waiting near the hearth—for afterward.

  He wanted this time to be special for Isabella. As special as she was to him.

  When he stood her on her feet, she turned toward the glow, holding her hands out—but still trembling, he saw. “Now this is lovely. All right, I think I’ll stay.”

  “Will you now? But you’ve yet to test the bed. How can you be certain?”

  “What?” she asked overly brightly, swinging toward his voice. “Shall I jump on it? Test how springy it is? See whether I can touch the ceiling and decide if it will suffice?”

  He loved her spirit. Her courage. The way she made him laugh.

  “I love you.” The words rumbled from him and he stepped closer. “And I want to love your body. I’ve been holding back, waiting—” Not anticipating their vows, no matter how tempting, because he’d never do anything to dishonor this precious woman.

 
“Finally!” She gained her position by patting his lapels then she slid her fingers down until she encountered the tie at his waist. Which she immediately proceeded to knot further in her attempts to undo it. “I’ve been wondering when you were going to do your husbandly duty!”

  “We only married yesterday”—at Redford Manor, so Anne and Ed, Harriet and her honking goose could be present (he’d yet to figure out the chit’s attachment to it)—“and traveled promptly here—”

  “Where I’ve been anticipating this all dratted day.”

  Nicholas grinned at the complaint in her voice and helped her with the tie. But she was shuddering now, despite her brave words.

  She needed more time to relax. Fortunately, he’d planned for that possibility. “And now you’re going to have me. Not yet—” He stopped her when she started to press up against him, smoothed her beautiful hair away from her face while he imprinted the adorably pinkened features in his mind. “This time is all for you.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  He reached for the blindfold he’d left on the bed. “Call it my wedding gift to you—to us,” he reiterated when her brows drew together. “I’m binding a sash over my eyes…” Which he did, floundering a bit when she started to protest. “Nay, let me. My chambers, my choice.”

  “Our chambers,” she chided with a light laugh. “Lest you forget.”

  “Never! And now…” Lowering his arms, he told her, “I’m taking off my dressing gown and dropping it—”

  “Not near the fire!”

  “No, no, at the foot of the bed—ow! Damn! Laced my toe. Damn, da— Pardon. These trunks masquerading as posts are hard as Hades!”

  She was giggling full-out by the time he’d situated his naked self in the center of the massive canopied bed occupying the lord’s chambers. Blast it, how was he to know the piece of insanely huge furniture would feel so very empty without her?

  “I’m in the middle of the bed, eager for your company,” he told her, having a devil of a time with the sash—it kept slipping down over his ears. He bunched it up and tightened the knot, telling her as he did so, “Now then, if you haven’t moved, the bottommost left corner is approximately three paces in front of you.”