Improper Christmas

by Reed, Kristabel

  He wasn’t so confident as she. He’d seen fevers sweep away the hardiest of men. Fevers were unpredictable. Her words, said far too feebly for him to take seriously, made him worry all the more.

  “I’ve seen fevers take terrible turns,” he admitted. Then added the crux of his fear. “I do not want that to happen with you, Lillian.”

  “You’ve seen these things take turns?” she asked. “Tell me.”

  “I was in France,” he began then stopped.

  Why had he started with that story? There were other, simpler stories of camp life, the minutia and mundane.

  “Near the coast,” he continued. “I came upon soldiers who just escaped the French. The major was crazed. He was terribly feverish. His men thought he would not survive. He’d saved them from where they were held prisoner by the French, but then he fell very ill.”

  William stopped and remembered the look of the man, the feverish wild look about it.

  “The day before, his men said, he fought like the devil himself to free them.”

  Lillian pulled back just slightly. “Did he survive?”

  “I don’t know,” William admitted. “I fear he did not.”

  He looked down and studied her. Her eyes half closed and she leaned against him with no shame. William didn’t know how much she realized what happened, their positions, but decided he could stay this way for the rest of the night.

  Forever.

  He never considered himself a romantic, full of poems to young women and fanciful words. But fear beat hollowly through him, a vacant sensation that gripped him tight and refused to release its hold.

  He may not have ever written poems to Lillian, and likely would never. But he loved her far more than words could ever express.

  “Fear is not reality,” she assured him softly, her words tired and slightly slurred. “He might be perfectly well, enjoying his life, married with many children.”

  “Perhaps you’re right,” he admitted.

  Pressing his lips to her forehead, he lingered far longer than he intended. Slowly pulling back, he caught her gaze.

  “Sleep now. I’ll be downstairs,” William said and gently disentangled himself from her arms and her bed.

  She protested as he crossed the room to the honey and poured her another spoonful. Lillian huffed but swallowed the warm honey without verbal complaint. Returning to the fire, he added several more logs to keep it burning through the night.

  At the door, he debated leaving it open or closed. He needed to hear her, but wanted the heat of the fire to stay in her bedroom. Easing the door partially closed, he retreated downstairs.

  He hadn’t noticed before the bareness of the cottage. He thought he knew Lillian well enough to know that while she wasn’t predisposed to clutter, she enjoyed color. Miller’s Cottage by the Brook looked as if Alice Miller decorated it herself and Lillian added not one personal touch.

  Restless, William walked the small cottage. He’d been in such a rush to return to Lillian, he’d neglected to bring any work with him, correspondence, or even a book. He rubbed his hands over his face and circled the rooms again. He didn’t want to move too far from the stairs in case Lillian called for him.

  In the front parlor, which looked as if it also doubled as a sitting room, William searched for a book. Instead he came upon a carefully smoothed-out letter.

  Curiosity got the better of him, and he lifted the obviously once-crumpled paper and read it over. From her father’s steward, the letter sounded apologetic but reiterated the one hundred and twenty-five pounds a year stipend from the cousin who inherited her father’s estate.

  Fury burned through his veins. His fingers clenched over the letter, crumpling it once more. William looked up the stairs, though he couldn’t see much beyond the second or third step.

  One hundred and twenty-five pounds a year.

  He knew the cousin who inherited her father’s estate and knew it could well support more than the measly one hundred and twenty-five pounds currently paid to Lillian.

  Had no one looked out for her? No one thought of her future? No one saw to her needs? How was she to survive on so measly an amount?

  Angry on her behalf, furious at the cousin who treated her with such callous contempt, he reread the letter. What of Lord Granville? Did he not know of his cousin’s situation? And what about the father Lillian nursed for years?

  He’d not bothered to provide for his only child. Only a selfish man kept a young woman with him for nearly a decade then didn’t bother to see to her welfare after his passing.

  With a wordless growl of contempt, William dropped the letter and paced around the parlor. The fire burned low, but the rooms retained enough heat to be comfortable. William’s mind raced.

  What had Lillian said about his courtship? She wasn’t an appropriate match?

  With his hands clasped tightly behind his back, William wondered how Lillian survived these last years. With no one who truly cared for her and no future, how had she done all she had? He stopped at the base of the stairs and looked up.

  She was a survivor.

  Abandoning the letter, the solitude of the empty rooms, William set foot on the first step. He told himself it was to check on her. He told himself she was sick with fever. He knew they were lies. He wanted to see the woman who managed to capture his heart in a matter of weeks. The one with the lightning-quick mind and the fast smile.

  Sleeping on the small settee in the parlor, if he could even fit on it, only kept him from her. What if she worsened in the night? Or succumbed? A cold chill banished the hot rage that kept him moving.

  He took the stairs two at a time.

  He couldn’t lose his one chance to have someone he knew he already loved.

  She slept soundly. It looked as if she hadn’t moved since he left. The flickering firelight cast shadows on her cheeks, dancing over her brow. Despite the heat in the room and the blankets wrapped around her, Lillian shook with chills.

  William brushed his fingers over her cheek, far too hot for his liking, and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. The cough racked her entire body with deep, heavy sounds that should have woken her. The fact they did not panicked him.

  With quick movements, William grabbed the warmed honey and the spoon, and set both on the bedside table. He slipped back into bed with her and propped her against him. She shifted slightly, barely opening her eyes.

  “Lillian,” he whispered. “I have more warm honey. Open your eyes.”

  She hummed, but nothing more. Carefully, and far too slowly for his liking, William dipped the spoon in the honey pot, one handed, and brought the sticky substance to her. Lillian obediently opened her mouth and swallowed it.

  He let the spoon clatter to the tabletop and settled her more comfortably in his arms. He wanted to retrieve a bowl of water and a flannel for a cold compress, but didn’t dare leave her side.

  With one arm wrapped around her, he used his other hand to brush her hair back.

  “Hold onto me tonight,” he whispered. William pressed his lips to her forehead. “And allow me to hold you.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Lillian slowly woke. Her limbs refused to move at first, and though she felt as if she slept soundly, she also wanted more sleep. She swallowed, and the lingering taste of honey coated her throat.

  With sluggish movements, eyes still closed, she lifted her head. It didn’t feel as heavy as before, and her chest didn’t burn with the ache of coughing. Gingerly, Lillian flexed her fingers against her pillow. Oh. Her pillow.

  Her pillow was William’s chest!

  Gasping, her eyes flew open. She blinked, confused. And though Lillian didn’t quite have command of all her limbs, or her faculties it seemed, with all the gracefulness she could muster, she backed away from William. Who was currently asleep. With her. In her bed.

  She blinked again and took in a deep breath, struggling to control her wildly pounding heart.

  Never, not once, had she slept in a bed with
another. To do so with William…

  Lillian swallowed hard. Her first thought was not for her reputation. Her first thought was how soundly she slept apparently curled around William’s body.

  One of William’s arms, apparently wrapped about her shoulders through the night, now lay on the pillows. Stretched out toward her, Lillian thought, her head still fuzzy from illness and sleep. The other had fallen to his lap, palm open.

  She blinked yet again. He looked exhausted. Before Lillian realized what happened, she raised one hand and brushed his cheek. He didn’t so much as move.

  Had he stayed with her all of last eve? She didn’t remember much. He helped her up the stairs, offered her wassail for Christmas Eve, and told her a story from France. What happened afterward?

  Lillian frowned but could not remember.

  All that mattered was that he stayed with her. William worried enough about her to throw all propriety out the window and stay with her.

  Her heart did a slow flip in her chest.

  Her first instinct was to back even further away. She didn’t believe him to be a dishonorable man, quite the opposite, but this was unusual. To say the least. Did his staying mean more? Or was he simply being kind?

  Lillian licked her lips and remembered their kiss. Was that the action of a man who did not care?

  She shook her head and immediately regretted it. Everything ached. Her limbs felt heavy, and it took all her concentration to move; her chest burned, but she didn’t feel as if that horrendous cough lurked. Lillian pushed several of the blankets aside but didn’t leave the bed.

  William moved, and she waited while he woke. He moved slowly yet still with an inherent grace. His fingers flexed, his breath deepened, and his eyelashes fluttered.

  Fluttered? Mayhap not the most masculine way to describe him opening his eyes. Other than her father, whom Lillian had never scrutinized, she’d never watched another man wake. She was enchanted. Or was it because she watched William wake?

  “How are you feeling?” he immediately asked.

  He sat up, his eyes alert and focused on her, never leaving her face. That intensity warmed her heart. He shifted so his back lay flushed against the headboard, hands now at his sides. No longer reaching for her. Or was that her fanciful imaginings?

  Lillian didn’t know any longer. William confused her — just when she believed one thing, another cropped up to completely perplex her.

  “Much improved,” she said.

  Lillian watched his blue eyes narrow as if he didn’t quite believe her. But he searched her face and eventually nodded. He reached out, and Lillian forced herself to stay still. She wanted his touch, she realized with a jolt.

  His fingers pressed to her cheek and brushed along her forehead. Her eyes closed at his touch.

  “You’re not as warm as last night,” he said, his voice gruff from sleep.

  And, she thought, worry. Worry for her. Over her health. Once more, her heart did a slow flip, but she had no fear to counter it. Nor did she want to.

  “You fret like an old woman,” she teased.

  His lips curled up in an answering grin, and her heart did that little flip once more.

  “I’ve already put in an order for my bonnet and cane.”

  Lillian offered a weak chuckle. She enjoyed their teasing, the ease with which this lightness came to them.

  With a lingering look, William climbed from the bed. She watched him move, unable to tear her gaze from his body. Cheeks flushed, she dipped her head and stared blindly at the blankets. What had come over her? She was never so forward.

  William didn’t seem to notice and leaned over the bed. His lips were gentle, the faintest brush against her cheek.

  Startled, Lillian met his gaze. His smile toward her had her own lips tugging upward. His gaze held hers for another moment before he turned and left, closing the door very firmly behind him.

  What lay behind that gaze? What was that emotion that darkened his blue eyes? She thought she knew his emotions, the range of feeling. Lillian carefully climbed from the bed and began her morning ablutions.

  She knew very little of William, she realized now. She knew of his organization and gallantry. Knew his sly sense of humor and how it made her laugh. Knew her heart beat faster whenever they worked together.

  Whenever they stood in each other’s presence.

  Lillian cared for him very much, but now wondered if what lay between them was more than caring. Affection. She licked her lips and finished wrapping her braided hair in a tight bun.

  Never had anyone worried so much for her. Cared for her enough to stay with her through the night, no matter how improper it might be.

  Below, she heard the clatter of pots and nearly raced downstairs.

  She didn’t know what to do, how to react, what to say. Maybe she didn’t know William as well as she thought, but Lillian wanted to know him. She wanted more. Wanted to know how he woke in the mornings — slow, small twitches and fluttering of eyelashes.

  Well, she knew those details now, didn’t she?

  Lillian supposed she ought to be ashamed — ashamed they slept in the same bed, unmarried. That he saw her in so intimate a setting. She was not. She felt no shame or embarrassment or worry over any of that.

  She bit her lower lip and grinned. He’d hate she used “fluttering” to describe him. Lillian didn’t care.

  She wondered where this boldness came from — had it always been there? But she’d been hidden away in her father’s house for so long, alone and isolated. The boldness she felt in teasing William, in simply being in his presence, never had the opportunity to emerge.

  Lillian wished she’d watched him fall asleep. Wanted to remember what it was like as he held her. Taste his skin beneath her lips. Hear his heart race beneath her ear. Feel the texture of his skin under her fingertips.

  Her heart hitched, and she forgot how to breathe. She wanted more than merely affection, if he did choose to continue his rash idea and court her. She wanted love. Was more than halfway in love with him already.

  The door opened slowly, but the movement jerked her attention back to the present.

  Dressed in trousers and his shirt, no vest or coat, with his sleeves rolled to his elbows, William entered. Amazed that seeing a man, and a half-dressed one at that, enter her room seemed so natural, Lillian offered a slight smile.

  The sight of him, tray laden with all he’d brought yesterday, sent a strange flush through her that had nothing to do with being ill. But then the scent of stew and tea reached her, and her stomach rumbled.

  “I’m not sure if I’m your footman or lady’s maid,” he admitted with a wry twist of his lips.

  William set the tray at the foot of the bed and tilted his head to the side. Lillian didn’t know how to respond and found herself tongue-tied for the first time in years. When he sat on the bed beside her, she wanted to jerk back.

  And then she wanted to lean into his body and find out the answers to all the questions she had about his skin, his taste, his body against hers.

  Face flaming, Lillian looked to the food.

  William’s fingers caught her chin, and he turned her head to meet his gaze. Once more those blue eyes blazed with emotions she was unfamiliar with. But desperately wished to explore.

  He slowly closed the distance between them, his movements incremental. He gave her enough time to pull back. Lillian blinked but didn’t move. His lips covered hers, cool and natural, a light press. Then more, deeper. His tongue swept over her lips; his fingers cupped her cheek.

  Uncertain, Lillian opened her mouth to him, kissing him back. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to kiss William. More that she didn’t know if he meant it. Though she supposed that was silly, given this wasn’t their first kiss.

  “I expect this to be the first of many mornings together,” he whispered against her mouth.

  Shocked, she pulled back. And said the first thing that came to mind. “We have not officially courted. No one knows you�
��re here,” she added. Lillian tried for pointed but to her, her words sounded less than certain. “Do not feel your kindness must be an obligation.”

  “Oh, it is an obligation,” he promised.

  But his words were warm, a caress along her skin. He took her hand and twined their fingers together.

  “An obligation I fully embrace. Lillian, to the village, we’ll demonstrate the proper rituals of courtship.”

  He brought her hand to his lips, and the look he gave her tied her stomach in anticipatory knots. It was positively wicked, that gleam in his gaze, the curve to his lips.

  “As far as I’m concerned, the decision is made.”

  She licked her lips and swallowed hard. “I likely should argue with you,” she managed.

  She cleared her throat and sat straighter. “I should tell you that an evening I needed assistance does not love make.” She paused and tilted her head, studying him.

  But he watched her with those same unreadable eyes. A promise in them, she thought and let herself hope. Let herself believe.

  “Or tell you there are younger, wealthier women to choose from.” She stopped again but only for a beat. “That I do still I have my pride. But — ”

  “But you cannot resist this old leathery rogue?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.

  The laugh surprised her. His grin, the wide smile that lightened his face, once more made her heart pound. This time, when he kissed her, she didn’t hesitate. She tasted him, the faint hint of tea and the darker taste of William.

  Lillian moved slightly closer. She wanted to feel his body pressed to hers.

  “I don’t know what you’ve done to me, Lillian,” William murmured, a breath from her. “I’ve never been a frivolous man to fall in love easily.”

  Lillian watched him, her heart pounding, breath short. Her limbs still ached, and her throat felt the remnants of yesterday’s cough. All she heard was a single word.

  “Love?”

  “I do believe,” William said slowly with a short nod, “that is what I feel. And you?” he asked softly, a mere whisper between them. “Could you… ?”