by Linda Banche
Miss Shaw’s smile widened. Then she spied the kissing ball. Rose touched her cheeks. “Very pleasant.”
He definitely had to eliminate Borland.
He gestured to the card table by the fire, which the servants, at his direction, had set up during dinner. “Since there are four of us, shall we play a little whist?” Please agree.
“I am afraid I need some exercise after that lovely meal.” Lady Ellison patted her stomach. “Mr. Borland, I would very much like to see the aviary.” She fluttered her lashes.
Borland’s visage was rock-hard. “No, we cannot observe the birds at night. Most are asleep, and I do not want to disturb them.”
She pressed herself against his side. “Then you can show me the portraits in the gallery.”
His face hardened further. “No.”
Her eyes flashed. “Then I will go and see the aviary myself.”
If a man could explode, Borland was a few seconds away from detonating. “No.”
“Fustian. I go where I choose, when I choose.” She disengaged herself from Borland’s arm and then marched out.
Borland, his eyes afire, strode after her. “Lady Ellison, I said ‘no’.”
Miss Shaw’s jaw sagged. “Gracious, what was that about?”
Robert grinned. “My aunt does not like to be thwarted.”
“Indeed. I hope the birds will be all right.”
As much as he loved his birds, right now he didn’t care. “I am sure Borland will take good care of them, come what may.” Should he wish his aunt success or not? Success, if she kept his rival out of the way.
She crooked an eyebrow. “Who will take care of Mr. Borland? We have all heard the stories about Lady Ellison.”
Robert grinned. “Borland is a grown man. He can take care of himself.”
Her lips twitched. “Like he did at dinner?”
He laughed. “A most singular performance. I almost wish I had seen Borland shifting his chair down the table and Aunt Amelia shifting hers in pursuit.” But not enough to have missed talking to you. He took her hand. “But I was otherwise engaged.”
“Indeed.” She smiled.
“But enough about them. With Aunt Amelia elsewhere, I fear we are without a chaperone. I can call the housekeeper, if you wish.”
“I am sure your aunt will return shortly. Meanwhile, the door is open. We have nothing to hide.”
“As you wish.” He liked nothing better.
“Oh, you have a pianoforte!” She drew him to the instrument and then ran her fingers over the keys. A few disjointed notes sputtered out. “I have not played the pianoforte for a long time.”
“Then play away.” He pulled out the bench. “I would love to hear you.”
“I daresay I am rusty.” She sank onto the seat and paged through the music on the stand. “Would you like to hear anything in particular?”
“A Christmas song.”
“Here is I Saw Three Ships. I like this one, such a jolly tune.” She played a few scales before she started in on the melody. Dulcet tones wafted through the air. Her eyes unfocused and her countenance softened as she gave herself up to the song.
Robert sat beside her, turning the pages of the score. Her rose perfume drifted to his nose. No turpentine tonight. But then, he wouldn’t care if she bathed in turpentine. This woman was the only one who made his breath catch in his throat. Perhaps the turpentine is the attraction. Unique, as she is.
His fingers paused over the page of music. Mayhap she was exactly the woman for him.
The melody stopped. Miss Shaw reached to turn the page herself.
He hurried to flip over the sheet. Their fingers brushed.
A jolt streaked from his fingers to his shoulder, the sensation so strong, the air left his lungs. Again. He had no doubt now. She was the woman for him.
Now he had to convince her.
Thus far, the entire evening had played out to his advantage, thanks to his aunt’s pursuit of Borland. If his luck held, she would corner his rival and keep him occupied for a good, long time. But he couldn’t be sure of that.
Meanwhile, as if Father Christmas had blessed him, he and Miss Shaw were alone in the drawing room, completely unchaperoned. An opportunity he couldn’t pass up.
The last chord reverberated into silence. Miss Shaw sighed. “I do like that song.”
“As do I. You play extremely well.” Robert held out his hand. Her soft palm slid into his, and they rose. With an eye to the kissing ball, he gently steered her below the decoration. “I am most happy you came tonight.”
Her eyes were still dreamy from the music. “As am I. I have had a splendid time.”
He pulled her closer. She came willingly. His pulse raced. “Tonight is Christmas Eve. ‘Peace on earth, good will to men’.”
Her face tipped up to him, her lips slightly parted. “And women, too?
“Yes, especially women.” He kissed her.
She stilled, and then slid her hands up his chest, to clasp him around the neck.
They clung together. Her mouth was soft against his, and also unsure. Then, with a little sigh, she relaxed and kissed him back.
Time raced, slowed down, raced again and then lost its way as they reveled in each other’s embrace.
Finally, Robert, his head spinning, broke the kiss and pulled back, his arms still locked around her. What this woman did to him!
She gazed at him through half-opened eyes.
He wanted nothing more than to continue. But if they didn’t stop now, they wouldn’t stop at all. He wanted more than just one night with Miss Shaw—Julia.
And his aunt could return at any moment.
He cleared his throat. “Miss Shaw—”
“Call me Julia.” The haze cleared from her eyes, replaced with a mischievous gleam.
He pressed a soft kiss to her temple. “Yes, and you should call me Robert.” He backed up a step. “Julia, I wish to call on you.” A formal declaration.
She cupped his cheek with her palm. “That would make me exceedingly happy.”
He kissed her palm. “Tomorrow is Christmas. Will you come for the day?”
“Of course.”
He dropped a small teasing kiss on her nose, and then released her. How he wanted to hold onto her forever.
She swayed slightly. Then she drew in a deep breath and looked around. “Where are Lady Ellison and Mr. Borland?”
Robert grinned. “Are we not lucky they took themselves off?”
Chapter 16
What in the name of everything holy am I doing?
Will caught up with Lady Ellison at the front door.
The butler, his face a frown, shivered as he held open the door for the cloaked Lady Ellison.
Will planted himself before her. “Your ladyship, I said you may not see the birds tonight.”
She tossed her head. “I do as I please.”
Will beckoned to the butler. “Phillips, please leave us. I will handle this situation.”
The butler quickly relinquished the door to Will, and then hurried away as if grateful not to have to deal with such unpleasantness on Christmas Eve.
Will shut the door and braced himself before the panel. “I said you may not see the birds.” He loomed over her.
Lady Ellison clasped her hands at her breast. “Oh, how masterful. I do like a masterful man.”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “Shall we return?”
“Oh, yes, but not to the drawing room. I want to go to the gallery.”
“The drawing room.”
“No.” She stamped her foot. “We will go to the gallery or I will see the birds.” She spun on her heel and dashed down the passage, faster than Will thought she could move.
He sprinted to catch up. When he was abreast of her, he caught her arm.
She flung him off.
He stopped. “Very well, we will go to the gallery.”
All smiles, she halted and removed her cloak, which she draped over a chair, and then fast
ened herself to his arm with the same vise-like grip as before. “I knew you would see things my way.” They strolled down the corridor, or rather, Lady Ellison dragged him, and then they climbed the stairs to the next floor and the gallery. “Now, is this not fun?”
“Fun” wasn’t the word he would use. “Doomed” was a better one. But he had no choice, short of dumping her bound and gagged into an unused room. Although she might enjoy that.
If he didn’t know better, he would think Tyndall and Lady Ellison had planned this entire debacle of a night, Tyndall’s pursuit of Julia neatly dovetailing with Lady Ellison’s continuing quest after himself.
Perspiration broke out on his forehead. He had to talk to Julia. He would take a short stroll in the gallery, but then, with or without Lady Ellison, he would return. Surely, he could get Julia alone in the drawing room, or sometime on the walk to or from church.
The long, narrow gallery stretched ahead in semi-darkness. Paintings lined one long wall, and opposite them extended a bank of north-facing, floor-to-ceiling windows. The arrangement permitted ample light into the room, while preventing direct sun from fading the paint. Overstuffed chairs placed between the windows allowed visitors reclining comfort as they viewed the pictures.
But that was during the day. At night, widely spaced wall sconces supplied light for walking, but their illumination was far too dim for anyone to appreciate artwork.
Will, arm-in-arm with Lady Ellison, paused before the first portrait. He squinted at the plaque at the bottom of the painting. “Sir Henry Tyndall, 1510-1577. I think.”
Lady Ellison squeezed his arm. “From when the Tyndalls were still knights. George I elevated them to the barony.”
They gazed at the picture for a moment, or rather, Will looked, while Lady Ellison fluttered her lashes. Then they walked to the next painting.
Farther and farther they penetrated into the gloom of the gallery. Shadows bulked large, the joke of lighting from the few sconces barely revealing their way.
But that was probably their purpose. No doubt, more than one assignation had taken place here. But he didn’t want one, and not with Lady Ellison.
Many would laugh at his predicament and urge him to take what she offered. So what if she was older than he? She was a beautiful woman, and by all accounts, an eager and skillful bed partner. She also possessed a fortune and was generous to her lovers. Cynics would urge him to finance his marriage to Julia in Lady Ellison’s bed.
Will cringed. He would never accept money for occupying a lady’s bed.
The lady in question yawned delicately into her palm. “Are you really interested in the pictures?”
“No.” He turned them back to the doorway. “Let us return to the drawing room.” Finally!
“No.” She stepped close in front of him. Too close.
He stepped back.
She walked her fingers up his chest. “I would like to know you better.” She stepped forward once more.
He took another step back. “We know each other well enough already.” Perspiration trickled down his spine.
“No, we do not.” She stepped closer. “To start with, call me Amelia.”
“Lady Ellison…” He backed up time and again, while she marched forward. Finally the backs of his legs bumped against one of the chairs.
Lady Ellison put both hands on his chest and pushed.
His breath huffed out, and he sprawled into smothering softness reminiscent of a featherbed. Blasted chairs. They were too low for a man of his height to sit on without his knees brushing his chin. He struggled to lever himself upright.
With a triumphant squeak, Lady Ellison threw herself over his lap and looped her arms around his neck. “I do so like blond hair.” She ran her fingers through his long locks, pulling the hair free of its ribbon. “My glorious Nordic god!” She blew into his ear. “You can pillage me any time.”
Will went rigid. “I do not think—”
She kissed him.
Gads, like kissing his mother! He pulled her arms off and leaped up, Lady Ellison sliding away to land in the overabundant cushion.
“Thank you for your company, your ladyship.” He gave a quick bow and bolted for the door. “I have to go and—and—check the aviary. I hear the birds calling.”
Her laughter drifted after him.
***
The long case clock struck quarter past eleven. Robert pulled Julia closer and kissed her again. “How time flies. As much as I hate the idea, we need to start for church soon, and afterwards you must return home.”
“Think on it this way.” She stood on tiptoe and kissed him on the nose. “The sooner I leave, the sooner I will return. And we will still be together in church.”
He laughed, and then escorted her to the front door, calling to Phillips to have the carriage readied. He wrapped her in her cloak, stealing one more kiss while the butler performed his task. “I must find my aunt.”
“And Mr. Borland. Where can they have gone?”
He chuckled. “Do we care? I much enjoyed our time alone.”
She smiled. “As did I.”
He laughed once more before he left to search out his aunt. He had retraced his steps to the drawing room door when Lady Ellison rounded the corner from the intersecting corridor. A big smile curved her lips, and she twirled a man’s hair ribbon around her index finger.
He quirked an eyebrow. Perhaps her pursuit of Borland had succeeded. “Did you have a good time, Aunt?”
She sighed. “Not as good as I hoped.” She twirled the ribbon again. “But there is always tomorrow.”
“We must leave for church now if we wish to be in time for the service.”
“Of course. And I will see Mr. Borland. Another opportunity.” She gave a little skip. “I am sure he would not miss church for the world.”
Trust Aunt Amelia never to claim defeat. They returned to the entry where Julia waited. He helped his aunt on with her cloak.
Harness jingled and hooves beat on the ground. “Here is your transportation, ladies. Now, where is Borland? We cannot keep the horses waiting for long.”
Aunt Amelia pulled on her gloves. “He can follow us later.” She tucked the ribbon into her pocket. “I must return his property.”
“Miss Shaw, I suggest you take the carriage with my aunt. I will find Borland and we will catch you up, or meet you at the church.”
Her face fell. “Oh, dear, I want to walk with you.”
“As do I, but leaving Borland behind would be the height of rudeness.”
She nodded.
The butler opened the door and Robert escorted the ladies into the waiting carriage. Then the coachman flicked the reins and they departed.
Rubbing his cold hands together, Robert returned inside to put on boots, greatcoat and hat. He would check the gallery, and then look in at the aviary.
Borland rounded the corner at a run. “Sorry I am late.” He stopped, his breath heaving. “Where are the ladies?” His hair hung loose.
Robert suppressed a grin. Aunt Amelia had indeed pounced on him. “They just left in the carriage. I said I would find you and we would follow afoot.”
“Damnation, I wanted—Give me a moment while I fetch my things.”
Robert slapped his gloves against his thigh until Borland returned dressed for the outdoors. “Sorry to keep you waiting, your lordship.”
“Think nothing on it.” Robert pulled on his gloves and then wound his scarf around his neck. “Good night, Phillips. Do not wait up for us. I have my key and will let us back in.”
The butler nodded and they exited the house.
Borland bounded down the steps. “I do not see the carriage. But if we walk quickly, mayhap we can catch them up.”
“I think not.” Robert beckoned Borland forward as he strode down the deserted drive. “They have too great a head start.” He grinned. “Want to see my aunt that badly?”
Borland’s visage blackened into a thundercloud ready to spew lightning.
; Chapter 17
Julia rubbed the ice off the carriage window and craned her neck to look back. No sign of Robert or Will.
At her side, Lady Ellison jabbered on and on, not paying attention whether Julia murmured in reply or said nothing at all. Which suited Julia just fine.
Something moved behind the carriage. Breath catching, she leaned forward. Robert?
The winged form of a hunting owl soared through the night on silent wings.
She sagged. Not Robert. Since they had met, he had filled her every waking thought.
And most of her dreaming ones, too. Her skin heated. Never before had she experienced such feelings for any man. Warmth and delicious little ripples skittered over her skin whenever he came to mind.
And his kiss! She hugged herself tight under cover of a shiver. None of the other kisses she experienced had ever sent her whirling and dipping as if she flew among the clouds.
What about Will?
Her happy little air castle fizzled and died. Oh, dear, she had forgotten all about him. That she did confirmed he wasn’t the man for her.
She bit her lip. How she ached not to disappoint him, but leaving him in suspense when she didn’t return his regard would be worse. Because of Lady Ellison, they hadn’t been able to talk tonight. Surely there would be time after church.
Starlight silvered the countryside. The horses snuffled, the bells on their harness jingled and their hooves beat a steady drumbeat on the ground. She pulled her pelisse closer around herself and stuffed her cold fingers deeper into her muff, the carriage chilly despite the heated brick at her feet. An owl hooted—the same one she had just seen?—a mournful sound not in keeping with the festivity of the season, but echoing the ice in her heart over the unhappy task that awaited her.
As they pulled up at the church, voices lifted in cheerful chatter and more snorting of horses greeted them. With the footman’s help, she and Lady Ellison descended.
“Now where can those two be?” Lady Ellison’s forehead puckered. “We cannot wait in the cold.” She gathered up her skirts. “John Coachman, please return for us in an hour. The service should be over by then.”