Eleanor didn’t agree.
Robert drew back, and she trailed her fingers down his left cheek, savoring the tingle as her fingertips stroked his day-old stubble.
Truly he was more handsome, more everything than his brother, God rest his soul, had ever been.
Robert drew back. “Forgive me, Miss Carlisle. I had no right to take advantage of you—it was an overwhelming impulse of the moment.”
Her words emerged husky with emotion. “I think we both know that you did nothing ungentlemanly, but rather by mutual agreement. I am not sorry, except for the fact that it can never happen again because you are engaged to Augusta, and I know that you are an honorable man.” Eleanor would never wish he wasn’t so.
Robert lowered his eyes from hers, then closed them and tilted his chin upward, cutting himself off from her scrutiny. Perhaps her words had touched some chord within him, and the result was what? Guilt? Unhappiness? Dismay? She sensed her words had returned him to reality.
Eleanor’s stomach plunged into a deep abyss. She couldn’t have him. He couldn’t, and wouldn’t, break his engagement to Augusta. If her cousin ruthlessly pursued her marriage to Robert, there was little he could do to extract himself from his promise to marry her.
Eleanor raised her hand to his cape-covered shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “Come. We should be getting back to the hut. We don’t want our dinner dry.”
Normalcy, or the pretense of it, was required.
She knew her pipe dream of a happily ever after with Robert wasn’t possible... but how she wished it was.
Robert bowed in acknowledgment of her words.
She glanced away and back in time to see him reach up to the branch above him and tuck some greenery into his pocket, before striding to the abandoned Yule log and sack of holly. His tall hat lay tilted and forlorn on the snow where it had fallen after her first volley. He bent to retrieve it and returned it to its home, then lifted the log under his arm and the holly sack over his shoulder.
Eleanor walked to his side.
Robert gave her a smile of tender regret, then paused to sweep his gaze around the clearing. “Shall we go home?”
“Yes, it’s time,” Eleanor replied, her voice flattened in resignation at their return to their temporary abode.
They set off in the direction of the gamekeeper’s hut, with lingering steps as though neither wished to face the reality of Augusta’s prior claim on Robert’s life, love, and future.
Robert lifted low-lying branches for her, sending snow hurrying to the ground, but sparing her the cold dousing.
Back at the hut, there was no sign of Augusta. Eleanor stripped off her sodden cloak and gloves, and hurried to the bedroom to find her wrapped in her fur-lined cloak, reading one of Mrs. Radcliffe’s novels.
“Where have you been for so long, Eleanor?” she asked in a peevish voice. “I needed you to make me tea.”
“You remember I said we were going to collect holly to decorate and cheer up the hut for Christmas dinner?”
“What old-fashioned nonsense. Really, Eleanor, you do reveal your countrified background.”
“If that means loving the fun, old traditions of a Yule log and holly and ivy, then I’ll accept that label,” she replied with a smile.
Augusta dismissed Eleanor’s comment with her light tinkling laugh that gentlemen seemed to love.
“Can I bring you a cup of tea to warm you?” Eleanor asked.
She exited the room to find Robert had placed the sack of holly on the table and was securing the Yule log in the fireplace. He watched until the existing flames took hold, sizzling its moisture, then popping and crackling the bark. Robert moved to the door, pausing only to say, “I’ll chop wood for the fire.”
Using the water she had left heating on the hob, Eleanor brewed a pot of tea to warm all of them and poured a cup.
Once she had served Augusta, Eleanor checked the progress of the Christmas dinner and made a kind of soda bread to eat with a jar of blackberry preserve from the cupboard.
Finally, she had time to unwrap the greenery they had collected. Just looking at the leathery green-leaved sprigs with their bright red berries reminded her of Christmases with her family.
Over the next half hour, Eleanor hummed old Christmas songs she remembered her mother singing, and decorated the mantelpiece and every facet of the room that she could poke a stem into.
The green and red glowing bright in the low light of the room cheered her. Being stranded in a snowstorm with Viscount Landers was far more enjoyable than she could ever have imagined. He seemed to take adversity in his stride and turn the grimmest predicament into, if not fun, then a lighthearted interlude.
An interlude—a time out of her usual mind-numbing life—it must be, because Augusta would marry Robert in the New Year.
Nothing, not even this catastrophe of a Christmas holiday, would stop that.
Eleanor’s heart chilled at the thought, but she gave herself a firm mental shake. He wouldn’t even recognize her once they returned to normal life and society.
Robert entered the hut with a gust of wind-driven snow.
“You’re in good time. I think the dinner is ready for me to serve. Unfortunately, we have no Christmas cup to offer, but tea.”
“I have the just the right ingredient to add festive season sparkle to that tea,” he answered, tapping the brandy flask in the inner pocket of his coat. “Indeed, let’s add a dash to the meal while you’re browning the meat. Who says we can’t cook as well as the French?”
Eleanor chuckled and stood back while Robert flambéed his catch on the skillet.
“You picked up some interesting cooking skills while you were on campaign,” Eleanor teased.
“Does that please you?”
“I’m pleased you have gained them, but more pleased that you are here to practice them.” Oh my goodness. How gauche. So forward of me!
Robert took a step toward her.
Just then the bedroom door opened, and Augusta flounced into the kitchen, still huddled in her cloak. “Do I smell dinner? I’m starved.” She looked around hopefully.
The table was set with three candles circled by holly. She wrinkled her nose in disdain. “And what were you laughing about?”
Augusta sat at her appointed place at one end of the table, plied her spoon and lifted some of the stew into her perfect, lush-lipped mouth. A smile of approval lit her face. She quickly finished the bowlful.
With satisfaction, Eleanor watched Augusta eat. She had enjoyed it. Relieved and delighted that she had at last pleased her cousin, Eleanor finally answered her. “We were laughing about Lord Landers’s culinary talents when it comes to adding Christmas spirit to bland, homespun meals.”
Augusta frowned in confusion. “Whatever do you mean?”
Robert answered. “Brandy. The stew tastes excellent thanks to the addition of some of the finest brandy I own.”
Augusta put down her spoon. “My parents forbid me to drink fortified wines. They say they are the quickest way to ruin for a woman.”
Robert scoffed. “Surely not when the brandy is just adding flavor to the meal and the alcohol has been evaporated off?”
“I don’t think it matters,” Augusta replied huffily.
“I’m sure your father and mother would condone the brandy on this festive and isolated occasion. Don’t you think so, Augusta?”
“No, I don’t.” She lapsed into silence—an unusual state for the Honorable Augusta Crawshaw.
Eleanor feared Augusta had been truly offended, so she hurried to bring the dessert of preserves and soda bread.
“What is this? It looks awful,” Augusta exclaimed.
“It’s rather like scone dough.”
“Not for me, thank you.”
“Do try to be more grateful, Augusta. Miss Carlisle has put in a tremendous effort to make this dinner and to decorate the room so we have some semblance of a Christmas.” Robert’s clipped tone revealed all his exasperation.
He had finally lost his temper with his fiancée, and she knew it.
Eleanor could tell Augusta was outraged and wasn’t going to back down or apologize to her poor relation. She turned to Robert. “You promised me a wonderful Christmas at your family home, and instead, I’m stuck in a tumbledown hovel in your bleak woods.”
“Augusta, dearest, as you know, this was an unavoidable accident in very severe weather. Consider it an act of God.”
“I will do no such thing! You have failed me, Landers, and I fear for my future with you if you couldn’t even escort me safely to your family home. Am I to expect this sort of Christmas every year we leave London for your estate?” Icy scorn wrinkled her forehead and compressed her lips.
“Of course not, Augusta, but it really is beyond my control, and we need to make the best of the situation. Once the snow ceases and the sun breaks through, my father will send transportation for us. But I cannot guarantee that events such as this will never occur again.” Once again he had gained control of his emotions and his voice.
Augusta looked at him with narrow-eyed, tight-lipped, haughty contempt. “Then I will break off our engagement now.”
The words hung in the air, like smoke over the new cotton factories in the North. Robert and Eleanor looked at each other in shock. Had Augusta really said that?
Eleanor leaned toward her cousin. “I’m sure you don’t mean that, Augusta.” She forced her words to sound soft and placating.
“But I do!” Augusta stamped her foot.
Robert reached for her hand, perhaps hoping to soothe her by patting, but Augusta wrenched herself away from the table. “I do mean it. Landers, we are no longer engaged. I will not marry someone who cannot take care of me properly.”
“Augusta, do not make such a hasty decision,” Eleanor said.
“Be quiet, Eleanor. I’m sick of your wheedling too!” Augusta stomped into the bedroom and shut the door behind her with a sharp bang.
Eleanor watched Robert close his eyes then open them. His smile transformed into a wide grin, which he didn’t attempt to suppress. “Don’t tell me that she doesn’t mean what she says. I think she does.”
Eleanor shook her head. That outcome was too improbable to be true. She may have meant it this minute, but Augusta would reconsider her engagement as soon as they left here. As soon as the sun shone and the snow melted and she was restored to her familiar world, Augusta would again grab Robert’s title with both hands and never let it, or him, go.
Robert caught Eleanor’s hand in his. “I’m released from my bond to marry her. She has made me my own man again, able to choose whomever I wish to love… to marry.”
Eleanor pulled her hand from his. This is madness. “Then you must think carefully about your future and whom you choose for your bride.”
“I certainly shall.”
It won’t be me. I cannot let you continue with these advances. There’s a gleam in your eyes that hints at a different meaning to your words. I must defuse the situation. “Shall we resume our seats near the fire? Perhaps I can give you a cup of tea? There is still some left.”
His shoulders slumped. “Yes, you may.” Then his lips curved upward in satisfaction as though a new pleasing thought had come to him. “And I still have some brandy to make it festive.” He held the silver flask and a sprig of mistletoe aloft. “Help me celebrate my salvation.”
So that was the greenery he had plucked before they left the copse. She should say no. She should step away from him. She should follow Augusta.
She did none of those things.
Instead, she took one step forward, held out her hand for the flask, and forgot her place in the world. Forgot she was not the daughter of an aristocrat. Forgot she was not even the daughter of a gentleman, and forgot to hide her feelings for this man.
She took a long, steadying draught from the hip flask and returned it to him. He took her hand and led her to the high-backed chairs before the fire, where he drew her down upon his lap.
The warmth of his muscled form, hardened under the Iberian sun, comforted her body and soothed the doubts in her mind. Again she was held in his strong but gentle embrace. Again, she wanted more than just to be held in his arms.
She wanted his words, his kisses, his love.
And he was keen to give them to her. He cradled her face with his blunt-fingered hands. His mouth sought hers in a questing kiss, searching for her response. She returned each pressure, each movement, each cherish of his lips.
Her foolish heart pounded in response, and her breathing grew ragged. The Yule log crackled and popped as flames devoured it, bathing them in light and heat.
Her hands roamed from his stubbled chin into his soft, wavy hair, over his wide shoulders, across his muscled chest, coming to rest at the stock around his neck. She fumbled with its knot until the black material lay against his white shirt.
Eleanor undid the tapes that held the shirt together. His collar, now released from its upright stance, revealed the tanned skin beneath.
She drew back and stroked her index finger over his Adam’s apple, along the length of his throat, coming to rest in the indentation above his sternum. She placed a kiss there.
He gathered her tightly in his arms and kissed her again. He coaxed her mouth open with his and explored with his tongue. She followed his lead. Her body was aflame with need for him. Their silent conversation went on for joyous moments.
She started to tug his shirt from his breeches, but he grasped her hands and held them still. “No, Eleanor, just kisses. I will not dishonor you.”
She stared at him in confusion. She wanted to get closer to him. To show him her love.
He eased her from his lap, guiding her to the seat opposite him. He looked at her with a steady gaze, his pupils still dilated, his face set in determination.
He picked up the mistletoe from beside him on the seat and plucked all but one of the berries from its length. “I think that no matter how much I love you, we need to stop before we go too far down that rocky road of no return and many consequences.”
Eleanor hung her head and stared at the hearthstone. Her breath returned to normal, her pulse assumed its regular beat, but her body still burned for him. “How can you love me?”
“You must believe me when I say that I do.”
“You must know that Augusta will never give you up. This is our only chance to share our love.” Unless of course you do not love me.
“Don’t tell me that she doesn’t mean what she says. I think she does. I cling to that hope. Tomorrow, all being well, I will deliver her to my father’s estate, and we will announce that the engagement is ended. That we didn’t suit.”
Eleanor forced herself to smile as though she trusted that would happen. After a few more minutes, while he held her hand across the space of the hearth and told her of his newfound love for her, she nodded and pretended to believe him.
But would Augusta ever give him up? Did he really want her to? Surely Robert and Augusta would resume their engagement after they departed this enchanted place in the woods, and she would never be noticed again. And if the engagement was broken permanently, would Augusta think that Eleanor had betrayed her by falling in love with her cast-off fiancé?
Eleanor bid Robert good night and turned from him to enter the bedroom.
Augusta stood in the doorway, her hand resting on the door latch. How long had she been there?
Augusta’s gaze flickered over Eleanor to Robert. “Please go to bed, Eleanor. I wish to talk with my fiancé, alone.”
It was over. Augusta was reclaiming her betrothed, her viscount, her future as a more exulted member of the aristocracy.
Boxing Day
Robert opened the shutters of the kitchen window to reveal a glittering landscape of white bunting, ice-laced cobwebs, and a crisp, porcelain-blue sky.
Surely we can reach the main house today, despite so much snow falling yesterday.
Somehow that realization didn’t bring him any joy
. Why did returning there—to his real life with his fiancée—feel like being locked in a dark dungeon for the rest of his life?
He rubbed his aching temples and remembered the events of last night.
Augusta had broken their engagement.
What should have been a blow to Robert’s heart and his male psyche, plunging him into melancholia, strangely had felt like relief. Robert had closed his eyes in supplication to whichever god of carriage accidents was responsible and gulped in a lungful of oxygen.
It had been all he could do not to punch the air in victory like a successful prizefighter.
If she was serious, he was free.
His heart rate had ratcheted up to steam-powered. His whole body had suffused with an emotion he hadn’t felt in a long time—optimism. A grin he couldn’t subdue had stretched his cheeks, replacing his initial tentative smile of hope.
Robert had opened his eyes to see Eleanor watching him, and said those fate-filled words. “Don’t tell me that she doesn’t mean what she says. I think she does.” I hope she does!
He set a spark from the flint onto the paper and twigs he had arranged last night and a flame took hold.
That was what Eleanor did for him—added the spark to the kindling of his life. How would he go on without her?
But he must. He was still engaged to Augusta. She had changed her mind again. He could not withdraw from his pledge without dishonor and probably, knowing her father, without inciting a lawsuit for breach of promise.
He must talk with Augusta again. Perhaps she also had second thoughts this morning.
Eleanor entered the kitchen and gave him a brief, embarrassed smile before hurrying to place a kettle on the hob.
Within minutes, water was boiled and Eleanor had set a large pot of tea on the table to brew.
He didn’t know what to say to her. There was nothing he could say until he was free of Augusta. He lifted the door latch and escaped into the crisp white outdoors.
Robert walked as swiftly as the crinkling, groaning snow would allow in the direction of Linville House. Nothing had changed. The snowdrifts were still piled high in the deep valley between him and the house.
Snowed in for Christmas Page 3