Windemere’ (The McKenzie Brothers)

by Kimberly Nee

  By nightfall, the storm had gathered strength, the wind howling through the chimneys to blast icy air inside, regardless of the crackling fires. Despite the elements, or perhaps because of them, Emma crept down into the darkness long after everyone retired for the night. She loved the peace of a snowstorm. There was something tranquil about being outside when the wind died but the snow still swirled about.

  But that didn’t mean it wasn’t cold, or that within a few minutes, she wasn’t shivering. Her fingers tightened about her cloak, pulling it closer, and she huddled up against one of the glass doors at the far end of the ballroom.

  “I must be mad.” Her breath emerged as a frosted cloud as snowflakes blew this way and that all around her. The fall was so thick, she could only just make out where the woods began. In the distance, when the wind rested and the world fell silent, the faint rush of the Raritan River was all she could hear. Even the animals had gone in search of shelter.

  It was only slightly more comfortable inside, so she hurried toward the parlor, where the fire might still be showing signs of life. To her disappointment, it’d already either gone out or been extinguished, so she made her way above, to her chambers.

  As she passed by Mary’s chambers, her sister called, “Emma?”

  She paused to poke her head in. “Mary? What’re you still doing awake?”

  “I’m still…fighting…with this blasted…lace!” Mary’s words were strained and soft, and she sounded on the verge of tears.

  Emma found Mary sitting cross-legged in the middle of her bed, scowling at the emerald green silk down on the milliner’s mannequin at the foot of her bed. Her hands, however, were busy twisting in the quilt beneath her, her knuckles white from the effort.

  “I hate this dress,” Mary grumbled, releasing the quilt to rise and stand before the mannequin. “If I had something else to wear, I promise this would be a smoldering heap on that hearth.”

  Emma jumped as Mary slammed her hands, palm first, into the mannequin to send it crashing to the floor. “I’m so tired—” she kicked the mannequin “—of this giving me—” her foot crashed into the mannequin again “—trouble!”

  “Mary, what the—” Emma caught her by the wrist to jerk her away from the mannequin. “Stop it before you ruin it.”

  Tears shone in Mary’s eyes and she sniffed. “I don’t care, Em. I simply don’t care anymore. Don’t you see? It’s impossible and I’m only ruining it!”

  Another swift kick accompanied those last words. The mannequin rolled up onto its side and then banged back to the floor. Fortunately, the gown remained intact. A little wrinkled, perhaps, and with a bit of a smudge from the sole of Mary’s slipper, but it was nothing that couldn’t be fixed. Or so Emma hoped.

  “Feel better?” she asked as Mary threw herself back onto her bed.

  Although her scowl suggested otherwise, Mary nodded. “I do, actually. Much better.”

  “Good. Now, before you really do ruin this, let me see what’s the matter.” Emma righted the mannequin and smoothed out as many wrinkles as she could. She stepped back for a better look.

  “Is that snow on you?”

  Emma looked up and smiled. “You sound surprised. You know I like nights like this.”

  “You’re mad, outside on a night such as this. What were you doing?”

  “Looking up at Cheltenham.”

  “Looking up at—” Mary’s eyes narrowed. “Whatever for?”

  “I couldn’t help myself. It looks so lovely, with the snow swirling all around and the woods so barren-looking. Wouldn’t you just love to see what it looks like on the inside? It’s so grand on the outside.”

  Mary shook her head. “No. It scares me. It looks…evil.”

  “It’s no more evil than this house. Just a bit more imposing. Rose told me once it’s designed like a manor house you’d find in England, and Mr. McCallister’s great-grandfather chose that hill because it was the highest around and he could look down on everyone.”

  “For all the good that did.” Mary glanced toward the window and shivered. “Amy told me she’s seen ghosts up there. And everyone who’s ever lived there has gone insane.”

  “That’s nonsense. There’s no such thing as ghosts.” Emma stepped up and smoothed her hands over the mannequin again. “It is a shame that only a few servants are left there. I doubt Julian will ever go back.”

  The quilt rustled as Mary slid across it, and she came to stand beside Emma. “Amy also told me that that’s why Julian’s never married. That there’s something wrong with his blood.”

  “Also nonsense.” But even as Emma said it, a misty sadness settled into her. She knew what people whispered, but she refused to accept it could be possible. She refused to dwell on it, pursing her lips as she stared harder at the mannequin. The lace in question was immediately visible, stitched in an uphill pattern along the front of the hem. The silk above it was wrinkled and creased, as if Mary had mangled it in a fury. Which, knowing her sister, she had. Seams gave her the worst trouble. She couldn’t sew in a straight line if her life depended on it. Emma could definitely sympathize. Her stitches always ran either uphill or downhill, no matter how straight she pinned her pieces. However, unlike her sister, Emma didn’t normally fret over it. Who paid that much attention to seams, anyhow? As long as the dress itself didn’t look off when she was finished, Emma didn’t care how straight the seams were.

  “Perhaps you could leave the lace off?” She sank onto the edge of Mary’s bed, a forefinger pressed to her lips. Her dressmaking skills were not as refined as Mary’s, and that was the best advice she could offer. When it came to fashion, Emma knew men with greater sense and better eyes. Not to mention straighter seams.

  Judging by Mary’s scowl, her advice was neither welcomed for appreciated. “Emma.”

  “I don’t know what else to tell you, Mary. You know what that gown would look like if I’d made it. This—” she swept a hand over the wrinkled ball of green silk “—would be an improvement.”

  “True,” Mary replied without looking at her. “I’ve seen you sew. You’d make an even greater mess than I did.”

  She looked up at Mary and shrugged. “Well, that’s why I know my limits.”

  Mary’s expression went from irritated to contrite. “I didn’t mean it quite like that. I’m just so frustrated with this. Christmas is only two days from now and I’ll never get this finished in time. How am I to greet guests in this…this mess?”

  “Firstly, there are only going to be a small number of people here Christmas. Secondly, they are all Momma and Papa’s friends, and so they won’t care how crooked the lace around the hem is. Thirdly, why is it giving you such a trouble? It’s not as if it’s alive. It’s lace.”

  “I’ve ripped it off and sewn it back six times. Six times. Look at it. I’m ruining the hem. And then Amanda tried twice more and even she couldn’t get it. If I don’t get it right on the next attempt, the silk is going to tear, or worse.” Tears spilled over her lower lashes to streak down her cheeks, and she swiped at them with irritated hands. It did little good. “And I don’t know why it’s giving me such a trouble. I’ve never had this sort of trouble with any other gown.”

  “Perhaps because you’re rushing. Maybe because you’re trying too hard. Take your time, take a deep breath, and be patient. I’ll wager that each one of those times you ripped it back out, you did so with a little more force.”

  Mary’s blush made the freckles sprinkled over the bridge of her nose stand out. “I did,” she replied sheepishly.

  “So, like I said, take a deep breath and go slowly.” Emma slid her arm about Mary’s shoulders and hugged her close. “And don’t worry. It will be beautiful come Christmas. It’s the perfect shade of green.”

  “Do you think so?”

  Emma nodded then pulled away to grab the ball of wrinkled silk. She shook it out. “Come here and stand in front of me.” She pointed to the floor before her and waited for Mary to move. When Mary did as she
was told, Emma held the dress to Mary’s shoulders. It was simple, with short puffed sleeves and a band of moss-green velvet where the bodice met the waistline. Thinner bands of the same velvet wrapped the hems of the sleeves as well. Simple, yet elegant. At least, it would be, if it was ever finished.

  “See? It’ll look beautiful on you. You’ll see. If you like, I’ll weave a length of matching velvet ribbon through your hair as well. If you have any left, that is.”

  Mary swiped at her eyes with the backs of her hands and managed a watery smile. “I’d like that.”

  Downstairs a clock chimed midnight. Emma draped the gown over the foot of the bed. “I’d also suggest not trying to fix it any more tonight, but get a good’s night’s sleep and tackle it in the morning.”

  “I will.” Mary smiled at her. “Good night, Em. And thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. Good night.”

  She left Mary’s room for her own. There, a small fire still crackled on the hearth. It didn’t give off much warmth. Still, considering how the chill still seemed to nibble at her bones, she welcomed it just the same. She padded over to kneel on the hearthrug, just beyond the reach of any embers that might pop free.

  She held her hands out to the flames. Little by little, the chill faded to the point where she could undress for the night and slip into her night rail. Being under a pile of blankets and quilts on a night like tonight, with frigid wind swirling down through the chimney, was the perfect way to pass the night. There was nothing quite like a cozy bed on a cold night.

  Chapter Seven

  THE COLD WINDOWPANE bit into Julian’s bare shoulder as he sat perched on the windowsill, clad in only his buff colored breeches and stockings. His hair, wet from when he dunked his head in the basin, dripped onto both his shoulders and the length of towel he draped about his neck. He rubbed at his temples with the towel’s ends then tossed the towel into the wicker basket alongside the chest of drawers.

  The soft rap on his door brought a smile to his lips. Most likely it was Dunstan, the lone male on staff at Stonebridge. He didn’t need a valet’s assistance, and although he’d only send Dunstan on his way, that didn’t stop the man from offering to help him dress. It was the same thing every visit. He drew on his shirt, but left it open at the neck as he padded to the door.

  But when he opened it, the valet was not the person standing on the far side of the threshold.

  Emma stood there, her eyes widening as she found herself face-to-chest with him. A hint of color swept up along her cheekbones and she visibly swallowed. However, even as she blushed, her left brow arched higher than her right, a trait that came as natural to McKenzies as breathing.

  “Do you usually open your door when you aren’t completely dressed?”

  “No, but I thought you were Dunstan, and he wouldn’t blush finding me like this.” He folded his arms over his chest. Inviting her in was out of the question. If anyone saw them like this, it would mean trouble, and yet he didn’t want to shut the door in her face, either. “What brings you up here?”

  “You offered to speak to George for me. I need you to do it. Tomorrow. When he and Rose are here for the Christmas party.”

  He frowned. “You’re here for that? Em, you know better.”

  Her blush deepened, and she pressed her lips together until they disappeared into a fine white line.

  He held her gaze, tapping his left forefinger against his right arm as he waited for her to answer.

  Then her lips reappeared. “I didn’t know how busy you’d be today, and I wanted to catch you before you left for the day.” She mimicked him, right down to tapping her forefinger against her upper arm. “You said you’d help me.”

  “I said no such thing and you know it.” He shook his head. “I told you, I’m not getting involved. I think you should step back as well.”

  Her head dipped, but then she brought it up again, set her jaw and squared her shoulders. “I’m aware of that. And I’m not entirely certain you’re wrong. But I can’t live with myself if I don’t at least try once more.” She peered first up the hall, then down, and with a sinking feeling, he knew what her next words would be when she pointed over his shoulder, into his room. “May I?”

  “That’s not a good idea. Someone could see you.”

  “Who? I’m the only one up here. And if someone unexpected shows up, I can go out the window.”

  In spite of himself, he craned his neck to peer at the window in question. “Out there? If you haven’t noticed, there’s about six inches of snow on that roof.”

  “I’ve done it before. But I was much younger. And probably not wearing a gown at the time.” Her forehead wrinkled as she glanced down, dressed in pale blue cotton that set off the blue in her eyes and hugged the curved slope of her hips.

  He tightened the fist tucked beneath his right arm and bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling. He remembered those days, and no, she didn’t wear gowns when she shimmied up the oak tree outside Garrett’s windows to eavesdrop on them. From what he remembered the one time Garrett caught her, she was adorable in castoff breeches and a smudged, stained shirt that one of her brothers had outgrown.

  “Em, I—”

  She didn’t wait for him to finish, but pushed by him to sail into the room. “Thank you.” She closed the door behind her far enough that at a casual glance, she would most likely not be seen, yet the door wasn’t firmly shut. Even if they were doing nothing wrong, she obviously didn’t feel like courting trouble, either.

  He didn’t even want to entertain the notion of trying to explain exactly why she was in his room. Especially when his thoughts veered down a less than innocent path.

  She brushed by him, her stride deliberate and when she faced him, her eyes were steely again. “I know you don’t want any part of this and that you think I’m mad for even trying. You’re right, but this is my fault and I want to fix it. And I can’t fix it if you don’t help me.” She blinked up at him, her voice softening as she delivered the coup de grâce. “Please?”

  He clenched his teeth. The please was almost enough to make him waver. Almost. “Emma, let them work it out themselves.”

  “I can’t. They aren’t even speaking to each other.” She threw her hands up as she marched toward the same window she promised to go out, should someone knock at his door.

  He waited, and sure enough, she made her way back. If nothing else, he could count on her pacing.

  She looked up at him. “How are they going to work things out, if they won’t even talk to one another?”

  “Well, I don’t—”

  “Julian—” she passed by him again “—you simply must help me.”

  “But I—” He turned toward her a little too fast, making himself dizzy in the process.

  She paused to grab him by both hands. “Please?”

  “Em—”

  “Must I get on my knees? I will, you know.”

  He didn’t doubt that. He also didn’t want to see it, as those less than innocent thoughts came screaming to the forefront of his mind. “That won’t be necessary.” He pulled his hands free to rub his face. Damn weather. If it had only cooperated, he could have made his escape, and then he wouldn’t be standing here, with her threatening to sink to her knees before him, which brought all sorts of wicked images to his mind. Wicked and wanton and—oh, God, he wished he could shut his mind down.

  God had a cruel sense of humor. He only hoped he wouldn’t regret his next words as he lowered his hands from his face. “Fine. You win. I’ll talk to him. I doubt it will help, but still…”

  “Thank you!” The smile she flashed was powerful enough to almost knock him back a step. It lit up her entire face, and without warning, she threw her arms around him. As they came into contact, heat shot through him. Thank God they were here, and not in his office, where the chance of being interrupted was significantly less, for the thoughts ripping through his mind were enough to make the devil himself blush.

  She must hav
e felt him tense, for she broke the contact almost immediately. “Oh, Julian, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean—”

  “It’s all right,” he broke in quickly, wiping his palms against his thighs. The tension in the room fairly crackled around them, like the charged air before a thunderstorm. If he wasn’t careful, lightning would strike him down.

  The colors in her face were beyond striking. A deep flush colored her cheeks, her eyes had darkened to the most beautiful shade of midnight blue. Her lips, soft and inviting, were also lush with color. So much so that he almost groaned. He wanted to kiss her. No. He was going to kiss her.

  He unfolded his arms and brought both hands up to cup her face in his palms.

  She stiffened at the first touch, but then rose up onto her toes to lift her lips to his. Her hands curled about his wrists, tightening as he kissed her with a slow thoroughness. Her lips were every bit as lush and soft as they looked.

  The scent of cinnamon rose from her hair, spicy and sweet as it tickled his senses. Her lips parted and he thrust his tongue between them before she changed her mind. Her breath caught, her fingers tightened about him, and it was his turn to stiffen as she slid her tongue silkily against his. God, he didn’t want to ever stop kissing her, wanted to savor the taste of her, the softness of her mouth. And he did. His body tensed with desire, every sinew humming with the urge to open her gown and tug it over her shoulders, to expose what he was certain was flawless, smooth, pale skin.

  Her fingers loosened, her hands sliding up, over the bend of his elbows, to his shoulders. They paused, and then he shivered as her fingertips swept over a sensitive patch of skin along his nape, swept up into his hair. Cold droplets showered his shoulders, but he barely felt them as she pressed up against him. Every scenario like this that had ever gone through his mind didn’t feel anywhere near as amazing as the reality.

  Her breasts pressed into his chest, and he forgot all about the smooth skin of her cheeks.

  He let his hands fall away from her face so he could wrap her in his arms, so he could press those small, firm mounds even deeper into him.