“Will Lord Howard be upset with you?” she asked, and Lady Howard laughed.
“No, he recognizes we have different views on things, so unless I do something very wicked or dangerous, I cannot imagine he will be angry.”
“As long as we are not banished immediately, I feel confident it will be a lovely addition to the evening,” said Lady Leighton.
They debated details of their surprise until the men joined them in the drawing room; then Lady Howard suggested they play charades. She had small cards she passed around with characters from Shakespeare’s well-known plays, and a famous line from each one. There was much laughter and merriment as teams were chosen, and Chary found that Lord Nicholas joined her, her aunt, and Sir John as teams of four gathered.
It was difficult enough for her to try to act out a character, but with Lord Nicholas next to her, she was certain she would freeze up like one of the snow creatures the cousins had made in the garden. She dreaded the moment it would be her turn.
The first card their team received was easy; Hamlet’s first line in the soliloquy scene in the graveyard when he finds Yorick’s skull. After announcing the name of the play, Sir John indicated seven words then struck a pose, holding up one hand as if something perched in his palm, while looking mournful. When that elicited several wrong—and ridiculous—guesses, Lord Nicholas made motions as if digging, while Sir John acted as if picking up something off the ground. This time Mr. Thornton shouted out the line: “Alas, poor Yorick. I knew him, Horatio,” and he was rewarded with two ivory fish as tokens. The hourglass was reset, and the next team announced Romeo and Juliet as the play and indicated eight words in the line. Lady Jersey quite dramatically clasped her bosom while her teammate went to one knee and acted as if speaking to someone above him. It was quickly guessed by Aunt Catherine: “But soft, what light through yonder window breaks,” and they received their two ivory fish to mark their win.
As there were four teams of four, it grew quite noisy in the large room, and there was a lot of laughter at some of the guesses, as well as some of the lines. Several times, the hourglass ran through the sand without the line being guessed, and the presenting team earned two fish. It was a bit different from the versions Chary had played before, but just as entertaining.
When at last it came to be her turn, Chary took the card from the stack with a fair amount of apprehension. Midsummer Night’s Dream: ‘The course of true love never did run smooth.’ Doom. How on earth was she to act that out? She looked up in near panic and found Lord Nicholas watching her.
Resolutely, she put aside her panic and announced the play name and nine words. Then she tugged on her earlobe to indicate “Sounds like” before standing in place and trotting with her hands holding invisible reins.
“Riding,” guessed Lady Mountebank. “Oh, I know—‘When I bestride him, I soar.’ My late husband used to quote that all the time. He loved his horse more than most things.”
Chary shook her head, reached out a hand as if to pat a horse’s neck, and gave another jog and tug of invisible reins.
“Horse!” shouted a member of Lady Jersey’s team, and she nodded, gesturing for more guesses.
“A horse, a horse, my kingdom for a horse!” called Lord Culhane, and she shook her head while Lady Jersey complained, “That’s not even Shakespeare, is it?”
“Yes, it is Richard Third,” said another teammate, and Lady Jersey nodded.
“Oh yes, so it is. I don’t know why I always thought Marlowe wrote that line.”
While a few of the guests argued the merits of Marlowe against Shakespeare, Chary glanced at Lord Nicholas again. He nodded encouragement. She trotted another few bounces, shaking her head at “force” and “source” before Lady Howard called out, “Course!”
Chary nodded vigorously at Lady Howard, then patted her heart and batted her lashes as if in love, making several people laugh. As the sands slipped slowly through the hourglass, suggestions flew, none of them right. Finally, she glanced over at Lord Nicholas, clasped her hands beneath her chin and smiled dreamily.
Then Lord Howard said, “The course of true love never did run smooth” right before the sand ran out. Cheers rose when she nodded, then swept him a deep curtsy.
Grinning, Lord Nicholas took her hand and leaned close, murmuring in her ear, “You were magnificent, my little mouse.”
“We didn’t win, you know.”
“That depends on what you consider a prize. Ivory fish have never appealed to me that greatly.”
“They would, if you could exchange them for gold guineas,” she retorted, and he laughed.
“Point made. Yes, that would appeal to me. Thank God this is over. Except for your inspired performance—remind me to take you riding—I thought I’d fall into a stupor.”
“Do you not enjoy games, my lord?”
“There are games that greatly appeal to me, yes.” He reached down to push a stray curl from her face, his fingers brushing lightly against her skin, trailing fire and reaction in their wake. His voice lowered to a soft purr. “None I wish to discuss here and now, however.”
There was something very suggestive about his statement, but she couldn’t summon the words to voice protest. As if he knew what she felt, he smiled, his sensuous mouth curving into a knowing appreciation of her plight. If she visibly reacted, gossips would whisper that she’d let him speak indecently to her. She wished she’d brought her silk and ivory fan; she could give him a sharp tap on the arm in rebuke.
Since she had not brought her fan, she contented herself with a step back, so that his hand fell away. “I’m afraid we are as different as chalk and cheese in our choice of entertainment, my lord.”
“I think we are not so very different in the interests that matter. Some interests you have not experienced yet, but when you do, I think you will find them most enjoyable.”
Aghast, yet curious, she said, “And what interests do you think we share, sir?”
“Travel. Seeing different lands and experiencing different customs, exploring the world and learning what penguins eat, for example.”
“I already know that. Fish.”
“Ah, but different penguins eat different kinds of fish, hunt differently, colonize in areas that are vastly different. It would be interesting to learn their differences, I think.”
He was serious. She studied him, aware of the voices around her, laughter and jests and plans for Christmas Day, but her attention was riveted by Lord Nicholas. Candlelight gleamed in his sable hair, his skin darker than most Englishmen, his eyes dark but backlit with what had to be amused lights as she gazed up at him. His strong jawline, high cheekbones, straight, well-defined nose made him a very handsome man—but an enticing package did not always hold a wonderful gift. She had been fooled before. She didn’t want to experience that kind of painful disillusion again. It had been difficult enough to endure rejection and disappointment the last time.
Yet there was something in Lord Nicholas that drew her, more than any girlish fancies of whirlwind romance, a substance that she had not expected. He may live up to his reputation, but she felt there was much more to him than the rumors claimed. Surely, she had learned more since her first Season and could rely on her intuition about a person.
“Well,” she finally said primly, “I do like to broaden my education.”
“And I shall enjoy educating you, I am certain.”
There was innuendo in his words, and his carefully innocent expression did not fool her for a moment. “We shall have to agree on which subjects I wish to be educated,” she said tartly, and he smiled, his tone low and promising.
“Oh, we shall agree. I am convinced of it.”
Really, the drawing room had become excessively warm. Too many people, the fire too high, the sherry she had sipped—her red velvet spencer with ornately carved buttons up to th
e neck felt suddenly stifling. It was difficult to draw a decent breath in this oppressive climate. Where was Aunt Catherine? Oh, she was going to have a headache.
“Your cheeks are too flushed,” said Lord Nicholas. “I think you need fresh air.”
Without pausing to ask her opinion or summon her aunt, he guided her to the doors that led to the main hall. He left the doors open, and with his hand warm on her arm and his free hand on the small of her back, he steered her toward a far window at the end of the hall. It was closed, of course, but air seeped in around the edges, rendering it much cooler than the suffocating drawing room. Thin gray light began to fade outside.
“My head,” she murmured, putting a hand to what she was certain was a crease between her brows.
“Here,” he said, and took her left hand in his, turning it palm up. “I learned this from a most informative man in India. Or was it Tibet? No matter. Don’t try to pull away; this will help your headache if you give me a moment. Be still, close your eyes, and try to relax. That’s it. It’s just a small amount of pressure on your hand, nothing painful.”
He pressed his thumb into the curve of her thumb and index finger with gentle force. It did not hurt but felt odd to allow him to cradle her hand in his much larger one. Laughter and the buzz of conversation from the open drawing room doors faded, so that all she heard was the steady thud of her heartbeat in her ears. After a moment, he released her hand but did not move away.
“I am going to touch your face, so don’t be alarmed,” he said softly. “The human body has fourteen meridian points that transfer energy. One can direct the flow of that energy by the act of applying gentle pressure.”
His hands were warm against her skin as he cupped her face in his palms, using his thumbs to apply pressure on each side of her nose below her eyes. She stood with eyes closed, focused on the heat of his hands, the chill of the marble floors, and cool air seeping around the window frame, the tactile pressure of his hands a soothing sensation. His fingers moved to the sensitive spots behind her ears, massaging circles. Amazingly, her headache eased, but it was replaced with a different malady.
Blood thundered in her ears, raced through her veins, flooded places in her body she hadn’t realized could throb, and each breath she took felt scalded. It wasn’t unexpected when he bent his head and touched her lips, his mouth coaxing a response from her, stealing any will she might have to resist. But she had no thought of resistance. There was nothing but a rising sense of expectation, of something glorious that lay just beyond this moment. Excitement coursed through her body from head to toes, tingling. It felt, she thought distractedly, as if she’d swallowed a cup of live bees. Every nerve ending radiated a singing, thrilling tension.
How did he do this? How did he reduce her to such an elemental state by just the touch of his hands, his mouth? It shouldn’t be so easy for him, yet it seemed to be. Common sense should take over, lend her the proper tone and words to reduce him to a quivering heap of shame, but of course, any sense she had was scattered as soon as he touched her. There was only the reaction to his caress that occupied her every tactile sense, and that was dangerous.
When he lifted his head, she kept her eyes closed, unwilling to see her surrender in his eyes. Surely, he must know how he affected her. How could he not, when she melted into his embrace like this? It was most embarrassing.
“Are you finished?” she finally asked blindly, and heard his low laugh.
“For the moment. How’s your headache?”
“Banished to the netherworld. In great shame, no doubt.”
“I’m glad to hear it. You can open your eyes now. The treatment worked, so you are safe.”
“That remains dubious, but we shall see.” She opened her eyes and stared at his cravat instead of looking up at his face. It was a nice cravat: white, starched, and creased in neat folds that were neither too high so he appeared perpetually looking up, nor so limp as to be insipid.
“The kiss is not part of the cure,” he remarked, and now she glanced up at his face.
“As you learned the method from a man in Tibet, I am rather relieved to hear that, my lord,” she said primly.
He laughed softly. “You never fail to keep me humble.”
“I seriously doubt you have ever known a moment’s humility, sir. It is a most instructive exercise, however, and I recommend it.”
“I shall take it under earnest consideration, Miss St. John.”
Feeling somewhat recovered from her strong emotions, Chary glanced toward the open drawing room door. No one had come in search of them; perhaps their absence had gone unnoticed, but she did not trust that good fortune to last.
“Shall we return?” she murmured.
“God, no. I heard one of the ladies suggest playing Snapdragon and I’ve no desire to burn my fingers pulling raisins from flaming brandy.”
“Neither do I, but I would rather risk that than the flaming tongues of the gossips.”
“I much prefer standing here under the mistletoe with you, but I suppose you are right.”
“Mistletoe?” She followed his upward glance and saw the ball of mistletoe and greenery that had been hung with bright-red ribbons. A small candle enclosed in glass flickered in the wire cage around which the laurel, holly, ivy, and mistletoe had been woven. Perversely, she wondered if he had kissed her only because they stood beneath the kissing ball, and not because he was overtaken by passion. It shouldn’t matter. And truly, she did not want, nor expect passion. It was an arranged marriage, not one of love and mutual desire.
Because he looked down at her quizzically and obviously expected some kind of comment, she said, “Mistletoe is a parasite, you know.”
“Mistletoe,” he replied softly, “is a very useful parasite.”
“Only at Christmas.”
“Then aren’t we fortunate it happens to be Christmas?”
“I suppose that depends on whether you feel obligated to kiss whoever stands beneath a kissing ball, sir.”
“As it happens, I do not feel obligated. But I am not a man to pass up an opportunity to test superstition.”
“How adventurous.” Chary did her best to keep her errant heart at a steady pace. It would never do to betray how she felt to Lord Nicholas. He would most likely be horrified. Or amused. Neither reaction was desirable.
“Speaking of adventure, it beckons from the drawing room door. Shall we return?”
She took the arm he offered and accompanied him to where Aunt Catherine stood just outside the door. She greeted them calmly. “Oh, there you are, my dear. Thank you for going to fetch her, Lord Nicholas. It is most kind.”
That was when Chary noticed Lady Mountebank right behind Catherine, watching with her brows lifted and mouth pursed in a moue of disbelief. It would never do to allow Lady Mountebank an ounce of gossip fodder, and thankfully, Lord Nicholas recognized that as well.
“You are quite welcome, Lady Shepworth. I understand we are all invited to go to the village church Christmas morning.”
“Yes, Lady Howard is providing sleighs for those who dare to brave the weather. It’s not too far to the church from here.”
“Will you be going to church, Lord Nicholas?” asked Lady Mountebank with a faintly mocking smile that plainly said she worried the walls might fall in if he did, and he answered more courteously than she deserved, in Chary’s opinion.
“I have already promised Lord Howard to assist with a task he must complete, or I would relish a ride in the sleigh with my betrothed.”
Lady Mountebank smirked. “Indeed? How delightful to see a love match. It’s so rare these days. But then, I suppose we have become rather jaded since the wars.”
“Even more reason to celebrate a love match,” Aunt Catherine spoke up with a smile that did not quite hide the angry spark in her eyes.
Char
y kept a smile on her face, although she knew Lady Mountebank was well aware it was an arranged marriage. Lady Jersey kept few secrets, and Chary had not intended it to be one in any case. But to be mocked was unkind.
Beside her, Lord Nicholas stiffened at Lady Mountebank’s remark, and she felt the muscles in his arm tense beneath her light hand on his sleeve. She pressed gently when it seemed as if he were about to speak.
“How nice that you will attend church with us, Lady Mountebank,” she said in her sweetest tone. “Christmas Day is always my favorite service.”
“Oh. Yes, yes of course it is, Miss St. John.”
“Then we shall see you quite early. Oh, and thank you for fetching me, Lord Nicholas.”
Taking her aunt’s arm, they returned to the drawing room and found Lady Howard busily gathering a group to go into the music room for a concert featuring a few ladies who were to sing for them. Chary pleaded weariness. It was true. While her head no longer ached, her entire body buzzed with unfamiliar reactions. Lady Howard was, as always, quite gracious.
“Oh, do go rest, Miss St. John. You will miss a lovely performance, but I am hopeful we can coax Lady Leighton to sing for us over the holiday. We shall see you at dinner.”
“Yes, thank you,” Chary murmured with a forced smile, and didn’t look in the direction of Lord Nicholas as she and Aunt Catherine took their leave. It wasn’t until they reached the bedroom they shared that Chary let out a sigh of relief.
“Are you all right, Chary?” her aunt asked anxiously. “That old cow didn’t distress you, did she? Silly woman, hinting that you’re both being forced to marry instead of being in love.”
Pulling off her gloves, Chary sank to a chair and shook her head. “No, not at all. Well, not very much. She knows very well it’s an arranged marriage, and just wanted to needle me. I have no idea why, save for her own amusement.”
“Well, I have it from an excellent source that her granddaughter had her heart set on Lord Nicholas during her first Season out. She met him at a ball given by Lady Jersey, and decided that she must marry a duke’s son.”
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