The Last Chance Christmas Ball

by Mary Jo Putney

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Piers knew he looked unforgivably bedraggled to be arriving directly into his hosts’ dining room, but he could brook no further delay. He had had the most appalling journey. He had fallen in a snowdrift twice, his horse had gone lame, he had been obliged to hire a carriage and then one of its wheels had come off in a frozen rut. He had tortured himself with the thought that if he had had such a dreadful journey, then Caro must have suffered equally. Perhaps she was marooned in an inn or benighted in some cowshed, sheltering from the weather. If he got to Holbourne and found her missing, he vowed to venture out immediately to rescue her....

  “Mr. Camden!”

  Munton was not to be cheated of his announcement. As he stood back and Piers entered the dining room, he saw Caroline at once. She was not marooned, benighted, or bedraggled. On the contrary, she looked dazzling. Gone were the rather aging gowns he had been accustomed to seeing her wear at dinners and balls throughout the past six months. Instead, she was radiant in a stunning silver gown that seemed to caress each curve, shimmering and sparkling as she moved. She paled a little on seeing him and dropped her fork, but she covered up the lapse quickly enough, raising her chin, meeting his eyes, a spark of something intriguing, something challenging, in her own.

  The air between them hummed with awareness. Piers blinked, standing riveted to the spot, staring at Caro until the dowager countess cleared her throat very pointedly.

  “Well, Camden?” she said. “Are you going to keep us all from the rest of our dinner by standing there dripping on the floor? Sit down, man, sit down!” She applied herself to her beef with renewed vigor.

  “My dear!” Caroline said sweetly. “How glad I am to see you. I hope you did not have too difficult a journey?”

  There was a glimmer of amusement in her eyes as she took in his state of disarray. Piers almost growled as he bent formally to kiss her smooth cheek.

  “Not in the least, thank you,” he said. He was startled by a powerful and entirely inappropriate urge to drag Caro into his arms and carry her out of the room to settle their differences in the most fundamental and satisfying way possible. He blinked, wondering what on earth was the matter with him.

  He realized that the dowager countess still had her beady eye on him—in fact, everyone was watching him—so instead of following his baser instincts, he was obliged to apologize to the company for his late arrival and to Munton for upsetting the seating plan. The elderly chaplain, who was seated next to Caro, swept his apologies aside as he stood to make way for him.

  “There is no difficulty at all, sir, I assure you. I have eaten very well already.”

  As he settled himself next to Caro, Piers found that he was seething—with relief and frustration and less definable emotions. Pulling himself together, he found himself faced with a plate of beef and a lady on his left who introduced herself as Mrs. Lily Tremaine. She was showing a lively interest in the byplay between him and Caroline. Across the table his old friend Edward glowered at him in a somewhat unnerving fashion, as though in speaking to Lily he was committing some cardinal sin.

  The long and elaborate dinner continued. Piers doubted that he did justice to any of the courses for they all tasted like ashes in his mouth. He was exerting himself to be courteous to the delightful Mrs. Tremaine whilst simultaneously being utterly distracted by Caro on his other side. He imagined that he could feel the warmth of her body. He definitely did feel the brush of her arm against his and the slippery slide of her silken-clad thigh against his leg beneath the table. The gown seemed to be working some sort of perverse enchantment on him. He was so accustomed to seeing Caro bundled up in high-necked creations with voluminous skirts that the clinging sinuousness of the silver gauze fascinated him, as did the swell of her breasts above the modest edging of lace at the neckline.

  The ladies withdrew. Caro left with one long, unreadable backward glance at him that made Piers feel quite hot. He had no idea what was wrong with him. All he knew was that somehow the balance between himself and Caroline had changed and he felt uneasy and not in control. Either that or his fall into the snowdrift had given him a fever.

  The port circulated. There was some conversation of a political nature. His opinion as an MP was widely sought. He hoped to heaven that he had made sense. Finally, the gentlemen rose to join the ladies. Piers felt an inordinate sense of relief. At last he would be able to get his wife to himself and they could talk.

  “Glad you were able to join us, Camden.” Edward caught up with him in the doorway, offering his hand. He lowered his voice, his tone clipped. “Everyone is aware that matters are somewhat awry between yourself and Caroline. I suggest that you smooth them out as swiftly and discreetly as possible.”

  And he walked off, leaving Piers staring after him.

  When Piers entered the drawing room, it was to find that Caro was playing the piano and singing softly, a sweet counterpoint to the buzz of conversation about them. Piers recognized the melody as an old Northumbrian folk song, “The Oak and the Ash.” It sounded sad, and his heart gave an errant lurch to hear the poignancy in her tone. Had he made her so very unhappy? He had thought that they would deal well together. It was a shock to realize that his judgment had been so flawed.

  Caroline played the last chord and the room broke into a smattering of applause. “We must have a duet before the ball begins!” the Countess of Holbourne exclaimed. “Caro, darling, will you and Piers sing for us? A carol would be lovely.”

  “I am afraid that Piers does not care for music,” Caroline said, before Piers could agree. “We have not been to a single concert nor recital since we wed.”

  Piers was silent. Caro was right, of course; he knew that she was extremely talented at both playing and singing, and yet over the past six months he had never encouraged her to indulge her love of music. He remembered visiting Holbourne in years past and hearing Caro as he passed the schoolroom door, her voice soaring, effortlessly beautiful. The memory felt bittersweet. When had he lost that open pleasure in Caro’s accomplishments? Was it when he had realized that she cared for him, and had run from that emotion like a coward?

  He stepped forward, intending to offer to join her, but already Caro was bending a dazzling smile on Andrew Wright. “I know you have a fine voice, Mr. Wright, for I have heard you sing in church. Would you care to sing with me?” She held out the sheet music for “Christmas Day in the Morning.” “We are a little late,” she said, “but we may still celebrate.”

  Piers subsided, glowering, into a chair at the countess’s side. “Caro is so kind,” Lady Holbourne whispered. “She knows how shy Mr. Wright can be and wishes to draw him out.”

  “How generous of her.” Piers gritted his teeth as he watched the bashful young man bend a worshipful glance on his wife. Wright did indeed have a fine tenor voice, but Piers did not enjoy listening to it much, nor did he like the way in which Wright was smiling at Caro with such obvious pleasure as their voices entwined.

  “Delightful,” Lady Holbourne enthused, tapping her foot in time to the music.

  The song came to an end and the audience applauded enthusiastically this time. Wright was bowing gallantly to Caro, kissing her hand. Piers repressed a growl. Caro looked flushed and pretty and very, very desirable, her eyes sparkling and one tendril of hair escaping from her elegant chignon and curling in the hollow of her throat.

  Unable to keep still a moment longer, he leapt to his feet. “Caro—”

  As Caroline turned towards him, Lady Holbourne laid a hand on his arm, restraining him. “It would be splendid if you and Caro were to open the ball, Piers, but I think perhaps”—her gaze assessed him critically and clearly found him wanting—“you really do need to change into something clean first.” She glanced at the clock. “You have a few minutes to spare. . . .”

  “Of course,” Piers said, smothering the impatience he felt. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Caro moving towards the door on Andrew Wright’s arm. “If your housekeeper w
ould be so good as to show me which room I will be in,” he said, “and if Edward could perhaps lend me his valet—”

  “Of course,” Lady Holbourne said. “I am afraid that Mrs. Taft is run off her feet but Caro will be able to show you. The two of you will be sharing a room for we are monstrous short of space. I do hope”—she looked dubious—“that arrangement will be satisfactory?”

  Piers had the pleasure of seeing Caroline stop dead in her tracks. The look she cast at him was suddenly a great deal less assured.

  He smiled at Lady Holbourne. “Indeed, ma’am,” he said smoothly. “That will be delightful.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “I can sing,” Piers said, falling into step beside Caro as she led the way towards their room. There was a note of chagrin in his voice. Caro hid a smile.

  “Can you?” she said lightly. “I do apologize. I did not realize.” She had known full well that Piers had a very good voice. She could remember each and every childhood theatrical they had performed together at Holbourne, the songs they had sung, the fun they had had at summer festivals and winter caroling. It gave her a pang of sadness to remember those long ago days and all the ease in each other’s company that they had lost.

  “I must have forgotten,” she said, “since you have shown no interest in music these six months past. Besides”—she flashed him a sweet smile—“Mr. Wright was more than happy to oblige me.”

  “So I observed,” Piers said, an edge to his voice.

  Caroline kept the smile painted on her lips. This was not the time or place for a private conversation: housemaids scurried across their path, footmen passed by with trays and harried expressions. But a touch of jealousy was no bad thing, she supposed, even if poor inoffensive Andrew Wright was the target of Piers’s wrath. Certainly, she had succeeded in jolting her husband out of his complacency. He was here—he had followed her, just as she had hoped. Even better, he was no longer sure of her, no longer in control. It was extremely gratifying, but it also felt rather dangerous, as though she had a tiger by the tail now.

  She repressed a shiver.

  “We are in the Green Bedroom.” She gestured to a corridor that turned off to the right. After the bright lanterns and Christmas sparkle of the hall and stairs, it seemed dark and a little gloomy. “Though I cannot imagine why you need my guidance, Piers,” she added. “You have been visiting Holbourne this past age and know the house as well as I do.”

  “Perhaps I simply wish for your company.” Piers’s voice had hardened. “After all, I have come a long way for it.”

  Caro’s heart jumped at his tone. He sounded as though he expected an apology from her and she was damned if she was going to offer one. Could he not see that she was the one with a grievance? He had shut her out, rejecting all her attempts to draw close to him. If she had chosen to eschew the dubious pleasures of a Christmas alone in London whilst he attended to government business, and had preferred a family Christmas in the country, then surely that was understandable.

  “There was no need for you to join me if you did not wish to do so,” she said stiffly. She could feel her fragile hope of developing a better understanding with him melting away like the snow in the spring. How foolish she had been to think there could be something stronger between them, if not love, then at least a mutual regard. They seemed always at daggers drawn.

  “No need?” Piers stopped dead and turned to her. In the shadows of the corridor she could not read his expression. “Our marriage is already the on dit from here to London,” he said grimly. “How would it have appeared had I not come?”

  “It would have appeared exactly as it is!” Caro lost her temper. “It would have appeared that you dislike me!”

  Piers had gone very still.

  “I beg your pardon?” he said. He was looking at her as though she were quite mad.

  “Our chamber,” Caro said, ploughing on determinedly, “is here on the right—”

  Piers brushed her direction aside. “What did you mean by that?” he said. He looked impatient, demanding, and formidably annoyed. Caro felt like stamping her foot.

  “You dislike me!” she repeated. “Can you pretend otherwise?” She put her hands on her hips and stood up very straight. “You make it quite clear that you prefer politics to everything else, Piers. You spend endless nights at your club or in the House. You only speak to me when you wish me to attend a political dinner with you. You behave as though spending any time in my company is akin to torture—”

  Piers took a step towards her and Caro stepped back instinctively, feeling her back come up against the door. The handle dug painfully into her waist. Somehow Piers had trapped her between his body and the panels. He was so close that Caro could feel the brush of his leg against her skirts and suddenly she was overwhelmed by his physical proximity. Her throat turned dry. Her heart hammered.

  “You can’t deny it!” she finished, trembling a little. “You dislike me!”

  “Your deduction is false.” Piers’s lips were suddenly very close to hers. “Just because I avoid you, it does not mean that I dislike you.”

  “Oh.” Caro was very definitely trembling now.

  Piers laughed, short, unamused. “Let me demonstrate to you just how much I dislike you, Caro,” he murmured.

  His kiss was like no other he had given her before. It was hard and demanding, full of passion and heat and desire. Caro’s head spun. It was like her wildest dreams, better, the pent-up longing of the past mingling with the excitement of the present. Piers was holding her now, his arms close about her, and she was glad because she was not at all sure her legs would hold her up.

  He nudged her lips apart and then his tongue was tangling with hers and suddenly she was swept away by hunger and desire and kissed him back in full measure. Little tingles like licks of flame sent shivers along her skin. His lips brushed the sensitive hollow beneath her ear, making her gasp. His tongue traced a path lower, flicking into the base of her throat and lower still, touching the lace that edged her bodice. It was delicious, wicked pleasure.

  His mouth returned to hers, plundering, seeking, and she felt the spiral of desire ache and tighten inside her.

  When he finally let her go, they were both breathing hard.

  “Sweet Caro,” he murmured. “Surely you cannot believe I dislike you?” He cupped her face in his hands. His touch was gentle, his eyes tender. “I thought that I had given you a disgust of me by coming to your bed. I thought you found my embraces distasteful.”

  “Oh, Piers!” Caro touched her fingers to his lips. “You cannot surely still think so?”

  His eyes were dark with desire. He was looking at her mouth. “No,” he said hoarsely.

  “I was only so still and cold because I was stricken with guilt for compromising you into marriage,” Caro said. “I was certain you must blame me for trapping you.”

  Piers seemed to find no better response to this than to kiss her again, a course of action with which Caro wholeheartedly agreed. She slid her arms about his neck and gave herself up to the kiss, lost in a sweet, sensual haze.

  “I love you,” she whispered, against his mouth.

  She felt the change in him at once. It was only the slightest hesitation, a sense of withdrawal, but it was enough. She drew back. His expression was blank now, utterly unreadable.

  Caro felt a chill envelop her, like the rush of icy air when a door opened. She could see she had made a mistake. She had not thought for one moment to dissemble her feelings for Piers. She was too open to pretend and she had been too swept away by her feelings to be anything other than honest anyway. Yet now she saw that just because Piers desired her, it did not mean that he loved her. Men, she had heard, were adept at separating physical love from emotion, whereas she could not unravel her feelings for Piers even if she wanted to.

  For one long agonized moment she stared at him and saw the regret in his eyes. He knew he had hurt her. He was sorry for it. But that was all. And it was not enough.

 
Someone cleared his throat nearby, a loud, deliberate sound that had them both jumping apart.

  “Excuse me, sir.” Edward’s valet, a bowl of hot water in his hands, was standing a mere four feet away. “If you are ready . . .”

  “Thank you.” Piers touched Caro’s cheek. “You are well?” he asked softly, the words for her alone.

  Caro nodded. “Very well. Thank you.” But she was not. Of course, she was not. She felt as though her heart had broken all over again.

  Piers bowed. It felt very formal all of a sudden. “I will join you directly, Caroline.”

  The door closed behind them. Caroline was left alone. Her heart was still racing from the kisses they had exchanged and she pressed a hand to her bodice as she tried to calm her breath. It was odd to feel so excited and yet at the same time so utterly bereft. Her thoughts seemed cold and strangely objective. She wondered whether in future she would feel better or worse when Piers came to her bed. They could have a physical relationship that was exciting and full of intimacy and yet it would always lack love. There was a hollow feeling of loneliness beneath her breastbone at the thought.

  She turned towards the stair and the light and chatter of the ball below. Down in the hall were her parents standing beneath the mistletoe bough. They had not seen her and for once on this busy night, they were alone. As Caro watched, she saw Lady Holbourne put both her hands into those of her husband and stand on tiptoe to press a kiss against his cheek. The candlelight reflected the happiness in her eyes. Lord Holbourne smiled down at his wife and then he put his arms about her and they sped away back to the ball, as light of step and happy as young lovers.

  Caro felt a lump in her throat. That was love, she thought, the enduring joy they took in each other’s company, come sickness or health, riches or poverty, building a life together. That was what she wanted, and she wanted to give that gift to Piers, too; she wanted to build a family with him and experience the shared joy, the love. But would he take that from her? Could he learn to love her, or was it too late?