Holly and Hopeful Hearts

by Caroline Warfield

  He wrenched his gaze away, appearing to consider something. Having second thoughts, like as not. She couldn’t blame him.

  Her hands shook as she tried to explain herself. He had been lovely to her and the last thing she wanted was to hurt him. “If I may be candid, I’ve come to care for you a great deal, and that is the reason I cannot let you marry someone like me. You ought to find yourself a real lady with whom to acquire a child or two.”

  “And you?” His face looked stricken as he turned to her, his high cheeks streaked with red. “You will miss your lovers?” he asked without a hint of judgment or scorn.

  Her chest shook with unshed tears in time with the shaking of her hands. “I do not want you to think for a moment my reluctance stems from any defect on your part. It is rather the contrary. We will never be equals, and I cannot allow myself to believe you could ever truly return the feelings I have for you.”

  He opened his mouth to speak, clearly miffed.

  “Forgive me, I did not mean to cause you embarrassment,” she said. “What I am failing to articulate is this: you need a lady deserving of your kindness, someone from your world. I do not belong here.”

  “I daresay I know a thing or two about not belonging.” He let out a long breath. “Charlotte, I adore you. I don’t want someone from this world, I want you. You have brought a light into my life I thought was extinguished forever. Don’t leave me.”

  As if she could. The moonlight in his eyes inspired a kind of madness in her, and her gaze dropped again to his lips as he implored her, “Don’t go.”

  If his eyes were the ocean, his voice was the undertow, drawing her into the unknown. She drifted into him like a ship lost at sea, helpless against his pull, until she felt his face against hers. Her cheek connected with his lean jaw and she could smell the elderflower on his throat. His pulse echoed in her ear, or perhaps it was her own.

  Because she might never get another chance, she touched her lips to his.

  He let her.

  It was strange and marvelous, kissing someone for the first time. The surprise at the new sensation gave way to a restless eagerness to taste and know through touch. The greater significance of the moment was lost to details like the way his nose touched her cheek and the feel of his breath on her lips.

  He cradled her face in his hand as he returned her kiss, his mouth remarkably soft for something that looked so sculpted. Like the man himself, his kiss was achingly sensual; there was nothing Charlotte could do but submit. Emboldened by her involuntary moan, he deepened the kiss, tasting her so thoroughly she felt dizzy.

  Coming up for air, he rested his forehead against hers. She took his face in her hands, caressing the blade of his cheeks and the plane of his jaw. His eyelashes tickled her face as he closed his eyes, relaxing into her hands.

  In all her years, she had never been kissed like that. A heady mix of desire, devotion, and natural skill, it was more than a kiss, it was love itself. She had never been more aroused in her life. Certainly no man—

  Charlotte froze, an impossible notion barreling through her mind.

  He opened his eyes to meet her gaze, and she saw him clearly for the first time. The loneliness, the guilt, the fear… all these things she had felt, if to a lesser extent. Perhaps they were kindred spirits, after all.

  He didn’t have to feel that way anymore.

  Heart hammering with nervous joy, she kissed him again, but there was no hesitation this time. She kissed him out of relief, understanding, and love. She kissed him because she wanted to. She wanted him.

  Charlotte slid her hand inside his coat and over his firm chest.

  As her hand drifted lower, he lurched back, rattled. “I cannot—” He blinked as if waking from a dream, his lips bitten and more than tempting.

  “Truly?” she asked. “Can you not be tempted to try…?”

  “Charlotte, please.” He stood, clearly flustered. “This cannot happen. Forgive me.” He turned on his heel and marched back to the house.

  “Apollo,” she called, but he did not turn.

  Perhaps he needed time to collect himself. Lord knew she could use a moment herself.

  The silence was interrupted by a rustling in the bushes. Charlotte stood, searching the shadows for sinister figures. Seeing nothing, she began to relax. A squirrel, like as not.

  A very human-sounding sneeze followed.

  “Who’s there?” she called.

  Miles staggered out of the trees, waving a handkerchief like a white flag. He pulled an enamel box from his coat and offered it to her. “Pinch of snuff?”

  Charlotte rolled her eyes. “You again? Spying is more effective if you do not give yourself away, Mr. Rothschild.”

  He ignored her remark. “Lovers’ tiff?”

  “Lord Somerton was needed elsewhere,” she lied.

  “You’re a terrible actress.” He laughed. “Pol’s never needed anywhere. Lord knows he’s been a thorn in my side all these years.”

  Remembering Apollo’s warning, she took a step backward. Surely his cousin would not dare to assault her here. “You’re not close, are you?”

  She could smell the drink wafting off of him as he sat down on the bench. “Nonsense. We share everything. Come here, and I’ll take over where he left off.” His laugh was like a bag of rusted nails.

  “I should get back.” She moved to leave.

  “You’ll never be one of them.” His voice stopped her in her tracks. “Pol will never marry you. He’s stubborn, but he’s not stupid. He’ll come to his senses.”

  Charlotte’s heart sank. She had come to the same conclusion, but Apollo’s kiss had given her hope. Concerns like breeding and blood seemed trifling compared to such passion. If only he would kiss her again, she’d face any number of horrors for him, from cotillions to cut directs.

  “Sit with me,” he bade her.

  “I think not,” she refused. She drew enough attention without being seen alone in the dark with a man other than her intended.

  See? I can think like they do.

  “You’re a clever girl,” he praised her. “Cleverer than I would have thought. I don’t know how you ensnared my prudish cousin, but you ought to show me some kindness if you hope to keep anything once I inherit.”

  She froze. “Is that terribly likely?”

  “Only a matter of time,” he said pleasantly, but she could hear the threat in his voice. “Pol’s always been a sickly boy. I doubt he’ll be able to get a son on you. If he does, well…”

  Charlotte’s hand drifted instinctively to her belly but she commanded it away, not wanting to betray her state. “If he does?”

  “He won’t. Hasn’t got it in him,” he dismissed, losing his train of thought as drunks often did. “He won’t have time.”

  Something about the way he said this made her hair stand on end. Without another word, she ran into the house.

  Chapter 9

  Everyone was still dancing when she returned to the house, oblivious to the drama unfolding in the garden. She glanced into the ballroom but didn’t see Apollo there.

  In all likelihood, he’d returned to his room for some peace and quiet. There was nothing wrong with that, was there? She paused at the foot of the stair, wondering if she was mad. Miles was a drunk; that much was clear. Perhaps he was merely given to fits of peevishness and posed no real threat to his cousin.

  Still, Apollo had mentioned a carriage accident. Could that have been intentional?

  Charlotte climbed the stairs and hurried down the hall to their rooms. Apollo’s door was closed, but a faint light glowed beneath it. Before she could think twice, she rapped on the door.

  He opened the door, anguish on his face. He had removed his collar and cravat, exposing a long, elegant neck and a tantalizing hint of a collarbone. “Charlotte?”

  “A-Are you well? I just saw Miles in the garden, and… and…”

  His eyebrows drew together. “I’m fine. Did he hurt you?”

  She took a step b
ackward, feeling foolish. “Not at all, only I thought… that is, I was worried…” She took a breath to steady her nerves. “It was nothing. Forgive me for disturbing you. Good night.”

  “Good night,” he said softly, and closed the door.

  Charlotte charged into her room and closed the door. She let out a long sigh and let her head drop against the closed door. “Don’t be stupid,” she reprimanded herself. “No one would attempt murder at a house party.”

  Some kind servant had already built a fire for her, and the room was warm. She stepped out of her shoes and draped her shawl over the back of the chair. As she unbuttoned her pelisse, she looked for the kitten. “Baby?”

  A faint creak came from the wardrobe beside her, and she noticed the door was open a crack. Charlotte frowned. She had not left it open, had she?

  Anxiety building, she opened the door wider and peered inside. Everything appeared to be in order, and nothing obvious was missing. “Baby?” she called. “Did you climb into the cupboard?”

  She heard a tiny meow above her head. Confused, she looked up.

  Baby was on top of the wardrobe, his fur standing on end. He looked at something behind Charlotte’s shoulder and hissed.

  Seized with dread, Charlotte turned.

  Slithering between her bed clothes was a bloody great big snake.

  Charlotte clamped her hand over her mouth to stifle her scream. Were snakes attracted to noise? She had never come in close contact with one and didn’t mean to start now. Terrified, she grabbed Baby off the top of the wardrobe and ran from the room as though the hounds of hell were at her heels.

  Without thinking twice, she burst into Apollo’s room and slammed the door. Baby leapt from her arms and sought higher ground.

  Charlotte didn’t notice him go. All thought of the snake had been driven from her mind, and she stood shock still in the doorway.

  Apollo was undressing on the opposite side of the room. His back was turned to her, but he still had his breeches on, his hands stopped midway through unfastening his falls. The sight of him knocked the breath out of her body. Each muscle and sinew of his back and arms was clearly defined as surely as if it had been committed to canvas by a master, the very picture of elegance and strength. She followed the dip of his spine from the base of his neck to the top of his breeches and back again, pausing only briefly at the binding encircling his ribs.

  Shoulders rigid, he slowly met her gaze over his shoulder.

  “Artemis.”

  She sighed the name as one might say halleluiah or perhaps amen. She felt like saying both immediately, over and over again.

  He turned to face her reluctantly, his face caught between terror and devastation. She took in every last glorious inch of him from his shoulders to the magnificently taut belly exposed from the half undone falls. The binding flattened his chest completely, creating an admirably masculine silhouette, but in his current state of dishabille, there was no disguising one important detail.

  Lord Somerton had not always been a man.

  He raised his hand, cautioning her against hysteria. “Charlotte, I beg you—”

  Tears of joy sprung to her eyes and she covered her mouth, struggling to reign in her emotion. What she had suspected in the garden had been confirmed, and the truth of the matter made her happier than she could possibly express.

  He swallowed hard, looking as though he was fighting tears himself. Ever composed, he put his earl face on and took a deep breath. “Please do not say anything, but allow me to explain. I understand if you want to cry off—”

  “Cry off?” she repeated dumbly. “Why in God’s name would I do such a thing?”

  He held her gaze, his eyes wide. He spread his arms as if to indicate the body she had most certainly seen.

  She crossed the room toward him, desire building in her belly. “Darling,” she purred, “you are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen in my life.” She tentatively put her hands on his waist, and he let her. Walking her fingers over the ridged muscles of his ribs, she slid her fingertips under the binding, licking her lips.

  He responded immediately, his hair falling into his eyes as he leaned into her. “You don’t mind?” he asked, incredulous.

  “Mind?” She almost laughed. “Is this all it is? The reason you won’t take me to bed?”

  He raised his eyebrows. “It’s not an insignificant detail, Charlotte.”

  “Yes, it is.” She kissed him.

  He caught her with some surprise, his hands on her hips. At his hesitance, she reluctantly pulled away. “You do fancy women?” she asked.

  “Yes.” His gaze dropped to her lips, fire in his eyes. “One in particular.”

  “Good.” She kissed him as thoroughly as he had kissed her in the garden, adding kisses here and there to his chin, his cheeks, his jaw, and the end of his nose. His unguarded smile was a beautiful thing, bright as anything and just crooked enough to be adorable. He buried his hands in her hair as she kissed him again, her hands caressing the long, firm muscles of his back and dipping into the high waist of his trousers. “Take me to bed,” she begged against his lips.

  He ran his hand up her waist, his fingertips brushing her spine. “I can’t in the usual sense … What would we do?”

  The question was so innocent at first she thought he was joking, but there was only curiosity in his eyes. “Why, Lord Somerton…” She unfastened a button on his hip with one hand. “I thought you’d never ask.”

  Chapter 10

  Charlotte woke with a start. “The snake!”

  Apollo’s arm tightened around her waist and he kissed her bare shoulder, still half-dreaming. His lips drifted toward the base of her neck while his hand traveled lower.

  Charlotte arched against his chest, distracted by his breath on her neck and his fingertips inching toward her sex. Anxiety interrupted, insisting the snake could find a way out of the room or worse, bite the maid when she brought chocolate in the morning. If someone died or a kitten got eaten, she’d never be able to forgive herself.

  “Darling.” She turned in his arms and kissed the end of his nose. He caught her face before she pulled away, taking her mouth in a languid kiss that left her lips throbbing and her wits addled.

  An unwelcome thought invaded her mind, banishing all thoughts of a lascivious nature. If someone had put a snake in her room, there might one in Apollo’s room as well. She sat up, her heart pounding, and looked about the room. The fire had gone out, but the hearth still glowed faintly. The kitten slept within its warmth, curled into a ball beside the brush.

  “What is it?” Apollo asked, coming to.

  “There’s a snake in my room. That’s what I came in here to tell you.” Her gaze drifted over his flat belly to the slight swell of his hips. “But something distracted me.”

  He sat up, reaching for his shirt. “A snake? Are you certain?”

  She nodded. “It was in my bed. Huge thing. The kitten was hissing at it.”

  Fully awake, Apollo climbed out of bed and dressed as quickly as he could, replacing the binding across his chest in a matter of moments. She supposed he must have some experience in putting it on. She slipped into her chemise, foregoing the short corset. Apollo tugged on his boots and grabbed a walking stick. If not for his mussed hair and missing jacket, he looked every inch the proper gentleman. It was the middle of the night, but he could not take the risk of anyone seeing him in a state of undress.

  He went into her room, brandishing the walking stick. She followed close behind, half expecting other beasts to leap out at her. The candle still burned in the sconce on the wall and this went some way to illuminating their path.

  Apollo stiffened as he stopped by the snake. Much like the kitten, it was coiled up in the warmth of the fire. It did not appear to be in any hurry to eat them, at least. “It’s a grass snake.” He relaxed. “It’s not even poisonous. He couldn’t find an adder?”

  Irritated, Apollo approached it slowly. “Have you got a hat box or somethin
g?”

  Charlotte slipped behind him and shuffled through the open cupboard. She threw a hat out of her only hat box and held it out to him. He placed it on the floor and coaxed the snake into the box with the walking stick. The snake was enormous but slow-moving, and seemed more put out to be woken up than anything else.

  Apollo put the lid on the hat box with a relieved sigh. Holding it secure, he carried it out of the room. Charlotte followed his quick clip down the stairs and out into the garden where he released the snake into the stream.

  Poisonous or not, Charlotte was certain most men would have killed the poor thing. More than impressed with his compassion and quick thinking, she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him there in the moonlight, not caring if anyone woke and saw her mauling her betrothed in her under garments.

  Apollo caught her willingly enough. He didn’t seem to mind, either.

  The moment was interrupted by the sound of the stable doors opening. From his silhouette and uncertain seat on the horse, Charlotte could see it was Miles even from a distance. He seemed to notice them standing by the stream, and he was off like a shot.

  “There goes the world’s worst assassin.” Apollo shook his head. “I suppose I should be grateful he’s not more effective.”

  “You’re certain it was him?”

  Apollo nodded. “Let’s go inside.”

  * * *

  The sun was coming up by the time they got back to Apollo’s room. The snake was gone, but there would be no return to sleeping separately.

  Once the door was closed, Apollo sunk onto the side of the bed and pulled off his boots. He ran a hand through his hair, and his shoulders slumped forward. He was tired. Charlotte sat beside him and stroked his shoulders, offering what little comfort she could. How could one comfort someone whose relatives periodically tried to kill them?

  “Do you think he knew about the baby?” Charlotte asked, chilled to the bone that someone might make an attempt on her life.