Desire…
Most certainly he desired Lady Pippa. Who wouldn’t? He watched her as she inspected the cloth under her empty plate, flicking a piece of lint from its surface. Her hair, while of the average shade of deep brown, shone like the sun. Her eyes—piercing and intense one moment, and soft, deep pools of warmth the next—confused him. Lucas was used to women who knew what they wanted and were not shy about demanding their due. It didn’t matter if the woman was an actress who he’d sought out as a mistress, or a widow of the ton. Women did not play coy with him. Lucas hadn’t the time or the energy. It was far easier to state your demands and expectations up front than to haggle over them once you’d become entangled with one another. Not that he had any intention of becoming the least bit entangled with Lady Pippa.
No, that hadn’t crossed his mind once.
Not even at the sight of her hardening nipples through her sheer nightshift the previous night.
Lucas would perish before admitting he’d tossed and turned for hours after watching Lady Pippa flee up the stairs. And the rampant squall outside had nothing to do with his restlessness. No, a different storm altogether raged within.
Even more alluring than the sight of her rock-hard nipples were her shapely calves as she’d held her gown high and run up the stairs.
For the briefest of moments, Lucas had envisioned himself chasing her—all the way to her bedchambers.
Chapter 5
There wasn’t a thing about her behavior Pippa found acceptable. She was being purposely disagreeable, combative, and not forthcoming. Yes, she was angry at Natalie for all she’d done during their first Season. Yes, she was envious that Natalie was having a grand holiday celebration to honor her—and would announce her betrothal come the New Year. And yes, Pippa was highly aware of her jealousy over the earl’s intended destination. It maddened Pippa to no end that Natalie had ruined their lifelong friendship in such a disastrous way—and the reasoning behind it still eluded Pippa.
She’d written letters, had them hand-delivered by Midcrest livery. Only to have them returned unopened or no response given.
It was all so confusing—and utterly maddening.
Pippa was angry and hurt, and it had nothing to do with the Earl of Maddox. Yet, she’d seized every opportunity to take it out on him since his unexpected arrival.
Her actions should embarrass her, send her to her chambers in shame, but Pippa felt no such thing. It was likely due to Lucas’s willingness to play along with her snide comments, giving back as much as he got. And partly because he had started the banter.
It was rare for her to find another so open and forward with their speech. Her time in London hadn’t lasted long, and she’d met only a handful of people her age before escaping back to her country home. Neither of her parents had bothered to argue with her decision to forgo the rest of the Season. She wished they had—wished they’d demanded she stay at least until the end of the Season instead of allowing her to hide from sight after the callous way Natalie had announced Pippa’s childish infatuation with Mr. Giles.
Pippa had enjoyed the same type of banter with Mr. Giles, though it had never turned to the suggestive. Though she and Mr. Giles had shared a competitive relationship. Her tutor had wagered Pippa could not master Latin in one year; Pippa had conquered it in less than six months. Pippa had gambled that her tutor could not play three instruments—a wind, a string, and a drum—at one time; Mr. Giles had managed four. Besides her parents and Natalie, Mr. Giles had been the only person she’d seen as a true friend.
And Natalie had taken that from her, along with their friendship. Most assuredly, Pippa knew her relationship with Mr. Giles was not to become a physical one, nor would it last into adulthood. But he was a kind man, a smart tutor, and witty…he was bloody witty.
A wit matched only by the Earl of Maddox. Lucas.
She’d told herself over and over the previous night that it was only his similarities to Mr. Giles that had sparked her interest. Their easy back and forth had captivated her most and kept her retorts coming, no matter the sting they likely left.
Belatedly, Pippa looked up to see Edmund, a stable hand she’d ask to assist her with hanging holly, watching her with his hand outstretched. He was waiting for her to hand him the next branch to be hung. How long had she been wrapped in her own musings?
“My apologies, Edmund,” Pippa said, taking the wreath. “Thank you for agreeing to help me. I know decorating is likely not your favorite chore.”
“Anything to bring me in from the wind and rain, m’lady.”
“I cannot fault you for that.” Pippa smiled at the young man. He’d grown up in the village between her family estate and Natalie’s, attending a small schoolhouse Pippa’s parents had funded. She also knew that he took all of his wages home to his family. He was a good servant, a loyal helper—as all who were staffed within this home were. “How is the foyer looking so far?”
“M’lady, I am not one to know, but I would say you will need one more branch over by the main door.”
Pippa scrutinized the main area and saw that, indeed, the archway leading to the left did need a bit more cheer. “Yes, if you will move my ladder there…” She pointed to the passageway. “I will hang another while you collect more branches to start on the dining room.”
“Yes, m’lady.” He hurriedly moved the stool she was using as a ladder and departed to gather more branches.
She assessed the archway, deciding on the perfect placement for the holly. She knew the little metal pegs from previous years still lay hidden in the frame of the door, allowing for easy hanging each Christmastide season.
It would be a quiet celebration this year, so different from the last when Pippa had been overly excited about her presentation to society. She’d been a bottle of nerves with anticipation. At the moment, Lady Natalie was most likely organizing group games for her guests who’d arrived the day before for her three-day house party. The storm was keeping them inside, just as it was everyone at her home. However, Natalie enjoyed parlor games far more than the outdoors anyway, as she excelled at any competition. Pippa hadn’t suspected there was any rivalry between her and her friend, but, apparently, she’d been wrong.
Pippa sighed and stepped onto the stool, deciding to hang the holly as it had been hung for many years prior. There was nothing to do but finish as much of the decorating as possible before her parents arrived—she sent a silent prayer upward that they reached her in time to spend the holiday together. Otherwise, they would be stuck at some unfamiliar inn, the earl would be safely at Natalie’s, and Pippa would be alone.
As if on cue, the front door opened, the wind slamming it against its frame.
Pippa jumped with fright as her free hand grabbed for the wall closest to her to steady herself. It would be her luck to fall and turn her ankle.
She turned to see who’d entered, her hopes high once more that her family had arrived and she’d no longer be alone—however, it wasn’t her parents, and Pippa was certainly not alone.
Lucas grasped the door and pushed it shut, fighting the storm for control as rain assaulted her entry floor for the second time.
His hair was, once again, sticking out in all directions, and his Hessians were covered in muck—reaching to his knees. He looked much like the night before, and she pitied his valet for the scrubbing of his boots and clothing that would be needed to remove the filth. Mud clung all the way to his shoulders—with a clot even clinging to his cheek.
Her urge was to laugh. However, he did not look pleased, and the fury in his expression matched his fierce stance. She did not discount his ability to battle the storm into submission, if only to suit his needs. He’d already won over her servants—just that morning at breakfast, her staff had been at his call, there to hand him an empty plate to fill and then removing it as soon as he’d taken his last bite. His coffee was refreshed without him signaling.
The earl’s unknowing command over a room confused her—even more wa
s the fact that he seemed oblivious to his power. Or he chose not to address it.
“My lord,” Pippa snapped. “You are creating a mess! Kindly remove your soiled coat and boots before carrying the muck farther into my house. I do not relish my servants having to tidy up after my guests or me all day.” She took a calming breath, remembering that she’d set about changing her attitude, for she was not to be labeled a scrooge during the holiday season. “My apologies. Do forgive my irksome comment. Where have you been?”
The earl shook his head, sending droplets of water to the floor around him, but he remained still so as not to track the mud farther into the house or damage any rugs. “I wanted to see the carriage for myself, which, as you can tell”—he held his arms wide to present himself—“did not go over well for me.”
“Were you able to mend the conveyance?”
He shook his head once more, but this time, it wasn’t to be rid of the water that dripped down his face. “No, in fact, I may have made matters worse. The storm is not letting up, and my carriage, along with the broken wheel, is two feet deep in muck. I will be lucky to have it extricated by spring.”
Spring? He could not possibly think to stay at her home until spring!
“Do not look so frightened, my lady,” he said. “As soon as the storm breaks, I will depart, even if my carriage is still unmovable. I will not overstay my welcome any longer than required.”
“I was not worried about your stay,” Pippa rushed. “It is only that I know you are missing all the festivities at the Sheridans’ holiday party. I am sure you are anxious to arrive.”
“It is only my parents there I know—and I am only attending at their request,” he added as he removed his coat, careful to not shake it too much. “I have little interest in holiday festivities, I assure you.”
“You do not enjoy the Christmastide season?” Pippa attempted to keep the shock from her voice.
“As difficult as it is to believe, no, I am not one for all the merriment and gift-giving.”
“Someone who does not enjoy giving gifts?” It further stunned her.
“Oh, I enjoy giving gifts—as well as receiving them—however, that has not been the case for me in many years.”
She sensed there was much behind his comment that he wasn’t sharing, but before she could inquire, Edmund lumbered into the foyer, cutting off their conversation.
Pippa then changed the subject at hand. “My lord, I will have a bath sent to your room. A small meal will be served in an hour’s time—we are not as formal, nor do we keep with London’s hours here in the country.”
When he nodded, Pippa turned back to her task, expecting Lucas to depart for his room and a clean change of clothes to make himself presentable for the evening meal.
“The foyer is looking very festive,” he commented.
“Thank you.” Pippa secured the greenery in her hands and made to turn toward him, but her shoulder bumped into Edmund, who’d moved to her side without her notice, and knocked her off balance. “Oh!”
Her arms waved wildly, attempting to regain her balance, but there was no helping it—she was falling, and fast. It would be more than merely her ankle that would be damaged when she eventually hit the ground.
When she landed, it was with a jolt, the wind knocked from her lungs, but no pain coursed through her body. Maybe she had gone into shock, pushed any pain from her mind? But, no, she looked up to see the wreath she’d hung far closer than she expected. Pippa turned her head slightly—Lucas’s face was only a few inches from hers, his expression lit with concern.
Pippa’s eyes were drawn to the symbol of Christmastide once more, and the many stories of her parents love founded during the holiday season flowed through her mind. Could that be her fate, as well? Possibly next Christmastide season?
The earl followed her gaze, a smile taking over his face. “Is this where we kiss, my lady?”
Her breath hitched as she longed to scream “yes,” to take hold of his face between her palms and set her mouth against his.
Her first kiss—a kiss that would dictate her future.
Lucas was as handsome as they came, surely. Even now, her hand clutched his upper arm, muscular from years of…of what, she wasn’t certain. He did not appear the type to embroil himself in manual labor, but she could not deny his strength, evident by his ability to cradle her in his arms as if she were as light as a feather.
“That would be highly improper. Besides, it’s not mistletoe,” Pippa said. As quickly as her thoughts of a kiss had sprung to mind—and the possibility of being wed before Lady Natalie—Lucas set her down, and the moment was gone. Made all the more final when Pippa realized the water and muck that had clung to him now also covered her—the soft peach of her gown marred by the mud from his clothes and the water still dripping from his hair.
Pippa cleared her throat, pushing her disappointment aside as they broke eye contact. “I will have a bath sent to your room immediately. Edmund,” Pippa said, turning to her servant. His head was lowered in shame at his causation of her fall. “Will you handle the water?”
“That will not be necessary,” Lucas cut off her request. “I only returned to beg a few tools from your stables. I may have a plan to release my carriage from the muck—but if all else fails, I need to have my trunk brought here.”
“Very well. Instruct my staff to help in any manner necessary.” The statement was unnecessary as all of her servants had taken to the lord immediately.
He stared at her, expecting her to say more, but Pippa only wanted him to go, especially after her fall and his offer of a kiss—if it could be considered an offer. It was more as if he were daring her to agree.
But she’d rebuffed his offer, and the only thing she’d received in return was a ruined dress.
Oh, for all that’s holy above… Pippa realized she’d turned down his kiss—the kind of kiss that had led to her parent’s great love.
She’d doomed herself; handed Natalie a victory of sorts, not that she’d admit to anyone that they were involved in any sort of competition.
“Are you unwell?” Lucas asked.
Pippa replaced her frown with a slight smile. “Of a sort. I must find my chambers and change. While I am very thankful for you catching me before I hit the ground, I now find myself coated in sludge and water from your time out in the storm. I will bid you good day, for now.”
There was no time to await a reply. Pippa needed as much distance between them as she could obtain within the same house. Time to rid her mind of her scandalous thoughts regarding her houseguest, and Lucas being within reach was not helping. It seemed she was spending a great deal of time running away from things in her life. But the more she ran from the earl, the more she found herself in his presence.
Chapter 6
Lucas used a cotton towel to remove the excess water from his hair. He’d been a fool to go back out into the storm, but he’d seen little other option except to take Pippa in his arms once more and carry her straight to his guest chambers—and they would not have emerged until long after the holiday passed if he’d had his way. To keep his actions within his own control—a man could only be tempted so much before his gentlemanly resolve crashed and burned—he’d escaped the house for the stables with the guise of borrowing a tool. But he’d known there was no tool or device that could extricate his carriage until the storm passed and Mother Nature deemed it time.
Not long after, he’d tired of wandering about the stables. The servants—his included—began noting his attendance and asking if he needed anything. It was their kind way of asking why he was there—and when he planned to leave them to their chores without Lucas being underfoot.
He refused to return to the main house, and was more or less forced from the warmth of the stables, pushed into the storm once again. The temperatures had dropped, turning the rain to slush, making his trek about the property all the more harrowing. He’d lost his sense of adventure when he’d seen the pond in the distance, de
ciding the chance of seeing Pippa again was far more favorable than being outdoors.
Before too much time had passed, and too many long-buried memories assaulted him, Lucas returned to the main house and entered through the front door. He was thankful Lady Pippa was nowhere in sight. From the appearance of the room, she’d finished decorating and spreading holiday cheer here and had most likely moved on to another room. The scent of holly and evergreen branches permeated the room and, if Lucas were forced to admit it, it wasn’t at all unwelcome. He quickly found his room and pulled the bell cord to have a bath prepared—maybe he would even find a bit of slumber before seeking his evening repast.
Lucas wanted to laugh at the insane thought—a nap?
Yes, he’d sought out his bed or that of others during the daylight hours, but never to sleep.
At this time of day, his evening was only just beginning; a night with his current ladylove, maybe the opera or a play, then he’d deposit her at her residence before seeking his gentlemen’s club or a ball hosted by some lord whose name he would not remember past the front entrance.
He’d languished in his bath long past when the water turned cold, knowing he was avoiding something—or someone. But the rumbling in his stomach forced him out, and he quickly donned the clothes his valet had rescued for him from the carriage. His Hessians had been cleaned while he’d bathed, though Lucas hadn’t heard his servant enter the room, nor return with the laundered boots.
The chambers he’d been given were adequate, if a little bare and feminine by his standards. The walls were constructed of a light-colored wood, and the covers—drapes, coverlet, and adornments—were all a sage green. The color was not the problem, however. Someone had taken it upon themselves to add frills to everything. Even the cloth covering the washstand was adorned with edgings. It was obviously the work of Lady Pippa. Upon closer inspection, he noted the intricate knitting stitch from the caps she’d been working on at breakfast—if there were such a thing as a preferred stitch for each knitter. Men commonly had preferred fencing patterns or boxing patterns, whether they favored aggressive jabs and punches as opposed to countering their opponent’s moves. Women could not be so different in their hobby methodology.
A Kiss At Christmastide: Regency Novella Page 4