A Countess by Christmas

by Annie Burrows

  But what struck her most of all was the mistletoe. There were bunches of it everywhere. There were two over the doorframe, and another hanging from the central rustic candleholder. There were bunches hanging in the arrow slit windows, and dangling from the mantel-piece, and even a small sprig of it, she noted, her cheeks flaming, tucked into Lord Bridgemere’s buttonhole.

  He saw her looking at it.

  ‘There will be no need for either of us to hope there might be mistletoe around today, Miss Forrest,’ he said, shutting the door. ‘I have made sure that wherever in this room you stand I will have the right to ask you for a kiss.’

  ‘B…but I am leaving…’ she said faintly.

  He shook his head. ‘I do not think I can permit that.’ He turned his back on her to lock the door, then dropped the enormous iron key into the capacious pocket of a coat that was hanging on a peg nearby. He turned back to her, and with his hands on his hips shook his head. ‘No, I cannot permit it. If I have to keep you locked up in here for days until you see sense, then so be it!’

  He stalked up to her, grim purpose writ all over his face.

  Helen did not know what to make of what sounded like a declaration of intent to imprison her. She supposed, fleetingly, that she ought to be afraid. But, perversely, her heart was beating wildly with excitement. All that mistletoe, coupled with the look on his face, made her think he fully intended to kiss her senseless, as he had done last night. And she wanted him to! Wanted him to kiss her until he was wild and out of control, too.

  But she could not let him do any such thing. It would be madness. She had a job to go to. Her own way to make in the world. Yielding to him just because he felt like kissing her was absolutely out of the question!

  As he had been advancing on her she had been steadily retreating, until the backs of her knees hit the sofa, and she dropped far from gracefully onto the soft, velvety surface, her eyes never leaving his intent face.

  But, to her surprise, the moment he caught up with her, instead of joining her on the sofa and perhaps flinging her down and behaving like a proper kidnapper, he dropped to his knees before her. Seized her hands and looked up into her face, his eyes pleading.

  ‘Miss Forrest, you were right to refuse me when I asked you to marry me.’

  Now Helen was really confused. If he thought she was right not to have accepted his proposal, then why had he bothered abducting her?

  Her heart sank. Was he going to ask her to become his mistress? Because she had responded to him with such passion last night, did he think she was more fitted to that kind of position in his life?

  She stiffened with anger.

  ‘I know, I know,’ he was saying, sensitive to her reaction. ‘That proposal was…an insult to a woman like you! It was just that hearing you were going to leave took me by surprise. I could not bear to think of you leaving. But I did not think about why I was so upset by the notion of never seeing you again. All I could think of was that I had to prevent you going. Had to do whatever it would take to make you stay and give me the right to care for you. I proposed to you out of panic. And then reeled with shock at having said the words I swore I would never say to any woman again after what happened with Lucinda.’

  He paused, an expression of anguish flickering across his face. And Helen’s anger cooled in the face of his misery. It appeared Lady Thrapston had been in the right. He had loved his first wife. So much that it was causing him agony to so much as mention her name!

  ‘And then last night I behaved like a brute beast. I knew you were leaving, that I had no right to kiss you like that, never mind the other liberties I took with you!’

  At the mere mention of those liberties Helen could feel his tongue sweeping over the breast that his hands had freed from its confinement. She remembered the delicious shivers that had racked her whole body when he had bunched up her skirts and slid his hands between her thighs.

  ‘I do not want your apology—’ she began.

  But he let go of her hands, got to his feet, and said fiercely, ‘I have no intention of apologising! I am merely trying to explain things!’

  He paced away from her, as though grappling with some internal demons before being able to speak again.

  ‘I suppose I could blame the moonlit walk home with you in my arms. Or claim I drank rather more than I should have at the tenants’ ball. But the truth was,’ he said, his eyes bleak, ‘that you were utterly irresistible. At one point I was almost completely overwhelmed by my desire for you. I think I was on the point of ravishing you up against that wall,’ he said bitterly. ‘Which is not at all like me. You see, I have not looked at any woman in that way since Lucinda died. I had thought I would never feel desire again. And then you came into my life, and I began to feel again. It has been like coming back to life. Or…or like spring bringing everything into flower after a long, cold winter.’

  ‘Did…did you love her that much?’ she blurted. It hurt so much to think he seemed angry with her for making him feel again. As if she had done it to him on purpose!

  ‘Love her? I did not love her! What the devil made you think I loved her?’

  ‘Y…you said it was like winter. That you had not been happy for years or thought of another woman… What am I supposed to think?’

  He came back to the sofa, sat down heavily, and reached for her hand. ‘I did think I loved Lucinda at first,’ he grated. ‘When my guardians told me they had chosen her to be my wife I was thrilled. She was so beautiful. So captivating. She dazzled me. But whatever it was I felt for her it was turned completely on its head within a month of marrying her. When I discovered what she was really like. And when it ended I swore I would never let another woman take me for a fool again. Because my first marriage, you see, was an unmitigated disaster.

  ‘Lucinda was a consummate actress,’ he continued. ‘She pretended to be all sweetness and light, fooling my guardians, fooling me, into thinking she would make the ideal Countess of Bridgemere.’

  Helen’s mind flew back to what Aunt Bella had said about Lucinda acting like a spoiled child instead of a wife with a position in society to live up to. And how she would not have been surprised if His Lordship had lost his temper with her. And wondered whatever she could have done to make him speak of her with such bitterness even after all these years. ‘She was a virgin when we wed. I’ll grant her that,’ he said, giving Helen a pretty good idea of what the answer to her unspoken question was going to be. ‘I can only suppose she must have thought she ought to bow to the conventions until her position became unassailable. But once I had relieved her of that impediment she saw no more need for discretion. She took her first lover within a month of marrying me…’

  Helen gasped. Even in a marriage arranged by families, where no love existed between the parties, convention demanded that a wife stay faithful at least until she had presented her husband with an heir.

  ‘At first I refused to believe the evidence of my own eyes. Until she grew so indiscreet that even I, besotted as I was, could no longer pretend. I went through two years of utter hell, trying to make her change her ways. In the end I realised I was just too dull for her… You see, I had become Earl at only nine years of age. My mother bore my father several daughters, only two of whom survived infancy, but I was the only son. My guardians cosseted and sheltered me. They did not want to risk sending me to school, where I might come into contact with some disease or other, and so they brought in tutors. I had very little contact with any life beyond the environs of Alvanley Hall. They selected Lucinda, for her pedigree and wealth, and brought her here. She burst into my life like… I don’t know how to describe her. A whirlwind, perhaps. With hindsight, I can see that she needed more than just to live quietly in the countryside. But back then I had no idea how to handle her. She did not respond to threats or begging.’

  He ran his hand over the crown of his head. ‘I blamed myself, my own lack of experience, for her inability to remain faithful. And so did she,’ he said, his mouth twist
ing with bitterness. ‘She told me to my face that I was dull, provincial, not as exciting as her other lovers…’

  ‘Oh, no…’ Helen reached out and grasped his hand. How cruel of that Lucinda, to destroy his youthful optimism, his hopes of a happy marriage, his very self-confidence! ‘You are not…’

  But he placed one finger to her lips, to silence her. ‘Please hear me out. I need to tell you all.’

  She nodded and he removed his hand, though her lips tingled where his finger had rested, albeit briefly.

  ‘Had I been older, more worldly-wise, I might have handled the situation better. I dare say there are any number of men who have unfaithful wives and manage not to go to pieces.’

  ‘You were just a boy!’ she protested.

  ‘And a coward,’ he condemned himself bitterly. ‘I left her here at Alvanley Hall and began an existence entirely separate from hers. Nursed what I thought was my broken heart…’ His face twisted with contempt. ‘But you are right. I was just a boy. A green boy. I did not know what love was! I did not know anything!’ He gripped her hand so hard it was almost painful.

  ‘When she died, and I came back here to deal with things, even I who thought I knew what she was like was shocked by the things my tenants told me had gone on in my absence. Perhaps the worst thing, though, was to learn that she was pregnant when she died. With a child that could not possibly have been mine. Had she lived, I would have been forced to acknowledge it. That was the worst betrayal of all. And when I learned about that I was glad she was dead. I felt as though I had been released from prison. I watched them shovelling earth onto her coffin and felt nothing but relief. And I swore on her grave that I would never let my family arrange a marriage for me again. I did not care about my so-called duty to produce an heir. I already had a nephew who could step into my shoes should anything happen to me. And so I told them when we got back to the house that I would not be browbeaten into another arranged match. And when they kept on badgering me about doing my duty to the family name I told them that so far as I was concerned the whole family could go to hell!

  ‘Even now I can barely tolerate having any of that generation near me. Only once a year do I permit them into my house, and that is largely because I do, in truth, have a duty to my family as much as to my tenants. And for one season of the year—just one—I do the right thing. Not the thing I want. In honour of the season.’

  Helen could have wept. After shunning people for so long, hiding away and recovering from what his first wife had done to him, he had at long last reached out to someone. To her. He had asked her to marry him only a week after they had met. He might not have declared his love for her in the conventional way, but now he had explained why he was the way he was that proposal told her how very much he needed her. And she had refused him. Turned her back on him in his hour of need! Oh, he had not deserved that! If only she had understood!

  ‘I am so sorry I refused you—’ she began, but once again he silenced her.

  ‘You did the right thing. I am glad you refused me.’

  ‘What?’ Now Helen hurt on her own behalf. For he was telling her that she had destroyed any chance for them to be together!

  ‘Your refusal made me really think. You brought me down to a level I have never visited before. You see, all my life I have been taught that I am my rank. I am Lord Bridgemere. But the rank means nothing to you, does it? I began to see that if I really wanted you to marry me I would have to offer you something more than rank or wealth. Something that would be of value to you. And then last night, after having you in my arms, I knew I would never forgive myself if I let you walk away without offering it to you. Miss Forrest, last time I proposed to you I told you that if you agreed to marry me it would be the best Christmas present anyone could give me. But last night showed me that is simply not true.’

  ‘No?’ A pang of dismay shot through her.

  He shook his head. ‘The greatest gift you could give me would be your heart. As I…’ He swallowed, took a deep breath, and then said, ‘As I give you mine. I am sorry I was so often cold and distant with you. I kept telling myself I was being a fool to expose myself to the risk of so much hurt again. But when you said you were leaving, and I pictured my entire future without you, that was far worse!’

  He dropped to his knees, seized her hand and kissed it. ‘Besides, what I feel for you is nothing like what I felt for Lucinda. She dazzled me. But from the moment you walked in I felt as though you knew me.’

  ‘I thought you were a footman,’ she protested weakly.

  ‘You brought me down to earth. You would not let me behave in that pompous, arrogant manner which keeps everyone else so very far from me. And you spoke as I would have spoken, you thought as I think. You made me laugh. Miss Forrest, you once told me you would only marry for love. And love is the reason I have had you brought here and am proposing to you again. I do not fear loving you, Miss Forrest, for I know you will not despise the love I bear you as…as she did. Quite simply, I need you. To work alongside me. To make me laugh. Make me weep. To rebuke me when I grow too pompous. To…to complete me. I have been so empty and lonely for so long…’

  ‘Please do not say any more,’ she begged him, tears streaming down her cheeks.

  A look of utter hopelessness came over his face. ‘I know you do not love me yet, but in time do you not think you could learn to? I swear, I will be the most devoted husband any woman has ever had. If you cannot agree to marry me now, then at least stay on at Alvanley longer and grant me the chance to court you, to woo you as you deserve. You have not known me long enough to decide whether or not you can love me…’

  ‘I do not need time to know whether I love you or not. I already do!’

  He shook his head. ‘You cannot mean that.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because I have always been a dull fellow. And marrying Lucinda left me twisted inside. I have become suspicious and insular and moody. Not at all the kind of man to attract a vibrant, passionately warm woman like you…’

  She shook her head, her eyes shining with love. ‘You are upright and noble and good.’

  He was still frowning, as though the notion any woman could love him was preposterous.

  ‘And handsome,’ she declared, as though that was the clincher. ‘I can see now,’ she said, ‘that for years you have thought yourself unable to inspire a woman’s love. You have been so used to thinking people only come near you when they are desperate for your aid. You don’t mix in society enough to see that there are many, many people who would value you for yourself. As I do.’

  He shook his head. ‘There is nothing in me to inspire a woman’s love. I did everything I could for Lucinda, and she still could not love me.’

  ‘Let’s leave Lucinda out of this, shall we?’ said Helen tartly. ‘She is not typical of womankind, let me tell you! You had a particularly unfortunate experience with her, but it was not your fault. Not your fault at all! You were not the one who failed in that marriage.’

  ‘Miss Forrest,’ he said, ‘if you love me…if you truly love me…’

  ‘I do!’ she said, stroking his cheek very gently.

  ‘Then do you think you might change your mind about marrying me?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said simply. ‘So long as I know you love me, too.’

  He wrapped his arms round her waist, burying his face in her lap. She felt his great shoulders heave as though with relief. Then he looked up into her face, searching her features intently.

  ‘You say you love me? You really believe you love me?’

  ‘Yes. Yes, I do!’

  ‘And I, in spite of swearing I would never let another woman touch my heart, have fallen in love with you, too. I did not want to, mind,’ he said ruefully. ‘I did my utmost to evade the silken coils you were winding round my heart.’

  ‘You make it sound as if I did it on purpose…’ she objected.

  He shook his head vehemently.

  ‘No. I have had experience of a
woman who truly tried to entrap me. What happened between us was something very different. We neither of us sought it. It was…a gift. Love came unbidden, unsought. And we are both richer for it.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, her face lighting up. ‘That is exactly how it happened! That is exactly what I feel!’

  For a moment or two they just gazed at each other, as though neither of them could quite believe in their sudden reversal of fortune. And then Helen reached out and plucked the bunch of mistletoe from his buttonhole.

  ‘I know this is not quite the done thing,’ she said, plucking a berry and holding the sprig above their heads with a hopeful expression.

  ‘You never do what anyone would expect, do you?’ he said, his eyes lit with adoration.

  Sometimes her impulsiveness had put him very much in mind of the way Lucinda had been. And it had made him wary of her. But it had not taken him long to see that the similarities were only on the surface. Lucinda had never thought of anyone but herself—never considered anything but her own pleasure.

  Helen was all heart.

  ‘Which is why I love you.’

  And then he pushed himself up off the floor so that he could reach her lips and kissed her. With tears now streaming unchecked down her face, Helen flung her arms round his neck and kissed him back. And, just like the night before, the moment their lips met she felt as though she was entering a different world. A world of sensation, of need. She clung to him. He traced her shape, running his hands all over her body as though he could not quite believe she was real and he had to make sure.

  And before long Helen felt restricted by the barrier of clothing that separated them. She was glad when he tore open the buttons of her coat, undid the hooks at the front of her gown, and freed her breasts from their confinement. For a while she was content to lie back and let him feast on her. But soon that was not enough. She had to get rid of some of his clothing, too. Pushing him half off her, so that she could reach his own buttons, she pushed aside his jacket, undid his waistcoat, yanked his shirt from his breeches, and sighed in satisfaction when her fingers finally met with skin.