Mistletoe Wishes

by Anna Campbell

  Her cheeks heated, and she avoided his eyes with delightful shyness. “A few kisses prove nothing.”

  His grip firmed. “This is where I can claim some expertise. We’ll have no difficulties in the bedroom.”

  He heard her shocked gasp. “You’re very blunt, my lord.”

  “You strike me as a woman who appreciates a direct approach.” His voice deepened into sincerity. “I’m sorry, though, that you’ll miss out on a courtship. If we had more time, I could convince you that we’re very compatible indeed.”

  Her smile was faintly wistful. “I never expected anyone to court me.”

  Anger pricked him at how her dreadful family had disparaged her—and convinced her that they were right to do so. At that moment, he swore on his unlamented father’s grave that she’d never feel insignificant again. “We’ll postpone the courtship until after the wedding.”

  She still looked suspicious. “I’m surprised that you’re taking this in such good spirit.”

  “I can imagine worse fates than being married to you.”

  “You speak rashly, my l…Blair.” The tension eased around her eyes, and for the first time, he caught a glimpse of the intriguing humor he’d so enjoyed during their sojourn in his cupboard. “I might be bad tempered in the morning. I might slurp my soup.”

  It was a relief to hear her sounding more like his redoubtable companion in adversity than the unsure girl who had met him outside the summerhouse. “I might tramp mud into the carpets or feed the dogs under the table.”

  “Do you like dogs?”

  “Of course.” He smiled. “Do you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Excellent. Something we have in common.”

  Her brief lightness faded. “You pretend that we can win through on just a smile. Yet you must know we can’t.”

  “A girl brave enough to break into a rake’s room is brave enough to approach our marriage as a grand adventure.”

  She studied him, her brown eyes troubled. “I think…I think it would help if you kissed me.”

  He regarded her with surprised admiration, even as heat stirred in his loins. She was indeed brave, his little sparrow. “Did you like it when I kissed you?”

  “Yes,” she confessed on a thread of sound.

  “I’m glad.” The urge to sweep her into his arms was nigh irresistible, but some strain of strategy in his compromised soul made him pause.

  He couldn’t blame her for hesitating to trust him. As she said, they were strangers. But if they were to make a success of life together, he needed to engage her interest on more than a physical level. “At least I was an improvement on Prescott Wayne.”

  Her eyes widened. “You remember?”

  He should laugh, tease, treat her lightly, keep her guessing. But instead his words rang with unstrategic truth. “I remember everything you’ve ever said to me.”

  As reward for his unprecedented sincerity, cynicism shadowed her eyes. “I’m sure.” She tilted her face in unmistakable invitation. “Will you kiss me?”

  He placed a finger beneath her chin, keeping her turned toward him. She looked adorably earnest and remarkably tempting. They sat at a decorous distance. Anything more would test fate—and his barely maintained principles. “Will you marry me?”

  Her marked dark brows drew together. There was so much character in her face, she made conventionally pretty girls look dull in comparison. “It’s a mistake.”

  “It’s an opportunity.” He released her, knowing he had her attention.

  “You’re a gambler.”

  He smiled down at her, feeling as if he played to gain a magnificent treasure. “Only when I know I’ll win.”

  Her lips flattened. “You can’t think I’m much of a prize.”

  “And there you’d be wrong.”

  She still looked troubled. “You’re just saying nice things to get your way.”

  “I definitely intend to get my way. Especially when it’s wicked.”

  Another wash of sweet color to her cheeks. “But I don’t know anything about you.”

  “What do you want to know?”

  He braced for questions about his affairs. He could imagine the gossip she’d heard. And for the first time in his chaotic, self-indulgent life, he was ashamed of those careless amours. Something about this pure, forthright girl made him examine the man he was and regret the dreams he’d forsaken as he became the notorious Earl of Erskine.

  “Do you have a family?”

  He drew a relieved breath. She wasn’t calling him to account for his decadent life. Yet. “An older married sister with two daughters. A younger brother, still a bachelor, in the church. My mother lives in London.”

  He saw that his prosaic answer surprised her. “And where do you live?”

  “Until now, mostly Erskine House in Berkley Square. When I become a respectable married man, I suspect I’ll spend more time on my estates in the Borders.” He paused. “Although I’ll have my wife’s wishes to consider. Do you like the country?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then I look forward to showing you my lands.”

  “You won’t mind leaving London?”

  Would he? Only a few days ago, he’d have sworn he’d never willingly abandon the capital’s amusements. Call him a romantic fool, but at this moment, a cozy country idyll with his capable and kissable wife beckoned like paradise. “We can visit.”

  Impatience tightened her lips. “You’re taking my consent for granted again.”

  “I think you and I have as much chance of making a go of things as anyone else,” he said, knowing that if he revealed the depth of his desire, he’d frighten her.

  He’d called her a sparrow. If he made the slightest untoward movement, his wild bird would fly away into the forest and he’d never find her again. And the strangest result of the last days was the certainty that if Miss Philippa Sanders left his life, it would be immeasurably poorer.

  She leveled that intelligent, thoughtful gaze upon him. He wondered what she saw. He wanted to tell her that she could trust him, but at this stage of their acquaintance, that statement was mere words. He had to prove himself true. The devil knew how.

  Unexpected warmth softened her expression. “I hope you’re right.”

  “Do I have your promise that you’ll marry me tomorrow?”

  They both recognized the question as deadly serious. Her coffee-colored eyes betrayed her responses. Denial. Fear. Then hard-won courage.

  It took her so long to speak, he still wasn’t sure that she’d agree. Although if she didn’t, what future could she have?

  After an agonizing interval, her thick eyelashes fluttered down. Her delicate throat moved as she swallowed. Just as he was about to beg like a complete blockhead for her answer, she spoke.

  “Yes.”

  He struggled to hide his powerful satisfaction. This was insane. As she’d said, unforeseen circumstances compelled this marriage. But somewhere between discovering her in his room and this instant, he’d become reconciled to marrying her. Even if she didn’t feel nearly so optimistic about their chances.

  “I have your word?”

  This time the response came with a hint of irritation. “Yes.”

  “Thank you.” He ran his hand down her soft cheek, wanting to do more, knowing he couldn’t, not yet.

  When he stood, she stared up at him, mouth open with surprise. “Aren’t you going to kiss me?”

  Her disappointment was gratifying. Perhaps he had grounds for hope after all. He smiled at her. “Tomorrow.”

  Outraged, she jerked to her feet. “What?”

  His smile broadened. “If you marry me tomorrow, I’ll kiss you all you want.”

  Kiss her. And more. He could hardly wait. Instinct told him that right now he had the advantage. Kissing her would remove that advantage.

  “That was a dirty trick.” She sounded peeved, but the flicker of a dimple in her cheek indicated unwilling amusement.

  “I’ll show you more
dirty tricks once we’re married, my love.”

  His joke fell flat. Her expression turned worryingly somber. “I’m sure.”

  Chapter 6

  THE SENSATION OF being caught up in the whirlwind remained with Philippa after she left Lord Erskine—Blair—at the summerhouse. She accounted herself a determined person, someone who made up her mind and stuck to it. So how had he persuaded her to agree to the marriage when she’d arranged their meeting specifically to set him free?

  More puzzling, why was he so set on doing the honorable thing?

  How it grated that by far the most disappointing part of the encounter was that Blair hadn’t kissed her. When on earth had his kisses become so important?

  She returned to the house feeling irritable and frustrated and jumpy. A mood not improved when her mother caught her the instant she stepped in from the terrace and whisked her away for a dress fitting.

  Philippa’s disgrace didn’t merit a new gown, but nor could she marry an earl in a frock she’d worn for over a year. Her mother had enlisted the local seamstress to alter a dress Amelia disliked. Her sister’s taste ran to frills and furbelows. So far, Philippa hadn’t resisted her mother’s choices as she’d been sure the wedding would never take place. Now it seemed she must make some effort not to look like a cheap fairing at the ceremony.

  It was dark before she finally broke away from the fussing to retreat to her room. This was her last night in this shabby chamber. Tomorrow she’d share a bed with a man who remained an enigma, for all his unexpected kindness. To her astonishment, her nervous shiver at the thought contained a large dollop of excitement.

  The door opened without a knock to reveal her cousin Caroline. The girl stared down her lengthy nose, increasing her unfortunate resemblance to a horse. “So this is where you’re hiding.”

  Philippa settled more firmly into her chair, and her hands curled around the book that she hadn’t been reading. Her haughty cousin didn’t usually seek her company.

  “What do you want?” she asked without enthusiasm.

  Not waiting for an invitation, Caroline barged in. “Amelia wants to see you.”

  That was a good argument for staying just where she was. “I need to change for dinner.”

  Caroline scowled at her. “You’ve got ages yet.” She paused. “Or are you too high and mighty to spare a few minutes for your family, now that you’ve trapped Erskine into marrying you?”

  “Stop being so childish.” If either her sister or cousin harbored a shred of sincere affection for Blair, Philippa might feel guilty about claiming his hand. “What’s going on?”

  “Amelia wants to make it up with you. She feels awful about the estrangement.”

  Philippa frowned. That didn’t sound like the sister she knew. “Really?”

  “Do you want to get married tomorrow without giving your only sister a chance to apologize?”

  “So she’s forgiven me?” Philippa asked, not bothering to hide her skepticism.

  “She will if you come and talk to her now.” Caroline paused. “If you don’t, I fear that the breach may become permanent. Is that what you want?”

  Despite Amelia’s many sins against her, a feud wasn’t what Philippa wanted. The thought of standing in the church tomorrow while her only sister stared daggers at her was too depressing for words. “No.”

  “Well, then.” Caroline rushed forward to grab her arm, hauling her to her feet and sending the book thudding to the floor.

  “Caroline!” Philippa protested, stretching to pick up Persuasion, but to no avail. Her cousin was considerably bigger and more powerful than she was.

  “Stop whining,” Caroline snapped. “You don’t want to miss this chance to become friends again.”

  She couldn’t remember a time when she and Amelia had been friends, but from long habit, Philippa gave in to her cousin. It suddenly struck her that her marriage to Lord Erskine might offer benefits beyond his obvious attractions. While she abandoned a home she loved, she’d also escape her relatives and their petty tyrannies.

  Possibly Blair was another bully, but his behavior so far hinted at a reasonable man lurking beneath his rakish wiles. On the other hand, he’d very likely leave her alone once he became bored with her. If that happened, she’d find purpose elsewhere, just as she’d found purpose in running the Sanders estate.

  The resolution was less bracing than she’d intended.

  With Philippa firmly in her grasp, Caroline bustled along the corridor, then down two flights of stairs to the ground floor. Breathlessly, Philippa asked several times about the hurry, but her cousin ignored her.

  When they reached the library, Caroline paused outside the closed door and spoke in a piercing tone. “Oh, I do hope Amelia is here.”

  Philippa’s confusion mounted. “You said she’s waiting for me.”

  As she flung open the door, Caroline’s grip on Philippa’s arm tightened painfully. “There.”

  Soft lamplight lit the library that Philippa’s uncle used for gambling and drinking, but never for reading. His father, the previous baronet, had collected the books lining the walls. In the hour before dinner, it was usually empty. But even as Caroline shoved Philippa hard in the back, forcing her to stumble inside, she caught a flicker of movement at the far end of the long, narrow room.

  Philippa stopped on a horrified gasp as her cousin crowded hard against her shoulder. Her eyes took in the scene before her mind made sense of it.

  In front of the hearth, lit to theatre by flickering flames, Blair stood with his hands around Amelia’s slender waist. Her arms circling his neck, her sister leaned into the hard chest that Philippa knew, oh, too intimately.

  “Blair?” Philippa asked uncertainly, struggling to keep her knees from folding. She took another unsteady step forward, this time without Caroline’s encouragement.

  At the sound of his name, Blair’s head jerked up as if he’d been struck. Without shifting away from Amelia, he stared at Philippa, eyes dark with what looked like anguish.

  “Hell—” he muttered, although in the fraught silence, she heard him perfectly.

  Still clinging to him like a barnacle to a rock, Amelia turned toward Philippa, her expression alight with spite and triumph.

  “I don’t understand,” Philippa said dully.

  Truly her principal reaction was confusion. But other emotions hovered close, ready to rip her apart. Anger. Self-disgust for trusting this man. Unbearable hurt.

  The hurt was the most puzzling of all. She’d only known Erskine a matter of days. How could his deceit crush her like this?

  “What’s to understand?” Amelia regarded her with contempt. “You can’t imagine a mouse like you could hold the Earl of Erskine.”

  “Stop it!” With a total lack of chivalry, Erskine tried to tug Amelia’s arms from around his neck. But she fought his attempts to free himself.

  If he’d been prepared to hurt her, he could have broken away. But of course he wasn’t willing to hurt Amelia, whatever wounds he inflicted on Philippa’s aching heart.

  “Blair, there’s no point hiding the truth,” Amelia said in a sickeningly sweet tone, pressing closer.

  “You have to trust me, Philippa. This isn’t what it looks like.” His voice was rough.

  With chagrin because she’d discovered his treachery? Or because this scene had some innocent explanation?

  He stared over Amelia’s ruffled gold head to where Philippa stood, struggling to accept what she saw. It shouldn’t be so difficult. After all, she’d always known this man for a rake.

  Amelia turned fully toward her, grasping Blair’s arm. Hectic color marked her cheeks. Proof of emotion? Certainly not proof of embarrassment. Her demeanor conveyed no shred of shame.

  As if Caroline were no more significant than a fly, Philippa shook her off. Another shaky step forward, although what could she do when she reached the couple? Scratch out Amelia’s eyes? Scratch out Blair’s?

  Her hands fisted at her sides, even as her ur
ge for violence sank under desolation. What was the point of tantrums? If Blair wanted Amelia, Philippa couldn’t do anything about it.

  Oh, Blair. How could you make me like you, then betray me this way? It’s too cruel.

  “Devil take you, leave me be,” he snapped at Amelia.

  Amelia cried out in rage as he shook free and strode right up to Philippa, stopping mere inches from her. Instead of letting him go, Amelia staggered after him, clawing at his arm.

  “Blair, it’s too late,” she gasped. “She knows now.”

  “Don’t listen to her, Philippa lass.” He sounded more Scottish than she’d ever heard him as he extended his hand in her direction. Distantly she noticed that it was unsteady, but the knowledge offered no comfort. Even if he tried to escape Amelia’s clutches, Philippa could have told him that what her sister stole, she kept. That had been true from the moment Amelia had snatched Philippa’s first doll.

  “Don’t—” Philippa retreated a pace before he could touch her. She focused on Amelia and spoke in a raw voice. “What about Mr. Fox?”

  Amelia attached herself to Blair’s side. “He’ll have to let me go. As you’ll have to let Blair go.”

  How Philippa loathed hearing his Christian name on her sister’s lips. This afternoon, she’d felt privileged to call him Blair. Now she felt cheap and stupid and shabby.

  “But there will be a scandal.” A stupid thing to worry about. Scandal had tarred this Christmas gathering from the moment Amelia had written to Erskine.

  “Better a scandal than two broken hearts,” Amelia said, visibly savoring the drama.

  The urge to cry was nigh overwhelming. She’d had no reason to believe Erskine would be faithful. No reason to believe—except that fragile bond between them, woven in the darkness of a cold Christmas Eve. Better by far to discover his treachery before becoming his wife.

  If only Philippa’s despairing heart believed that she meant that.

  But even as she stood trembling in the center of the library, shock receded. Her usually reliable mind started to work.

  And her mind, as it was inclined to, questioned the evidence.