by Kate Pearce
She had a point, he supposed. But then, she wasn’t the one her brother was going to murder. “I never should have agreed to accompany you to that masquerade ball!” The whole situation had been quite improper. A bachelor and an unattached young lady who he was not related to travelling alone together to a ball in the dark. Her in that dress. Him completely unable to ignore the way she filled it.
“I never asked you to. I’d have happily gone all alone. You took it upon yourself to escort me.”
“Only because young ladies shouldn’t be going out at all without an escort- as you well know.” It had absolutely nothing to do with the possessed devil inside him which had wanted to be her escort. Have her on his arm. Be all alone with her in a carriage. None whatsoever. “One of us had to consider propriety, after all.”
“But it was fun wasn’t it? All the outrageous masks, the chandeliers, the music… and of course our first waltz.” She slanted him a coquettish look from beneath her ridiculously long dark lashes and he almost groaned out loud. “Closely followed by our second... I had a thoroughly lovely time.”
So had he. Something he entirely blamed the waltzing for. Because the waltz had given him an excuse to hold her and now he couldn’t remember what it had felt like to not hold her. Damn it!
“Do you think we could get moving? Only as scintillating as it is talking about chandeliers and masks…” He rolled his eyes so she knew he thought it all nonsense, because it was better she thought him a fuddy-duddy than a man thoroughly and miserably besotted. “It’s cold and I’m freezing.”
With an imperious and unrepentant shrug, she gathered up the red silk of her skirts and he helped her out of the carriage, doing his best not to notice the several inches of silk clad calf he could see above her well-turned ankles, and instead choosing to shake his head in exasperation at the silly, frivolous shoes she was wearing. Jewelled silk slippers with heels.
Heels!
In snow. How typically Miranda. He’d have to hold her upright all the way to the door.
Miranda gripped his arm tight as her feet slipped on the slick, mushy snow on the path. A night in a brothel! How exciting? And with Drew too. This evening was turning out so much better than she had planned.
Poor Drew looked very miserable and very put upon, which gave her the tiniest pang of guilt- but really? What choice had he given her? He was so determined to be the perfect, upright and uptight gentleman. So obsessed with propriety and being honourable. So determined to see her as nothing but the baby sister of his best friend, she’d had to take matters into her own hands to force him to see that she was no longer a little girl who irritated him- but a woman. And a woman who was madly in love with him.
“I think it’s best if you pretend to be my sister.”
“But you don’t have a sister.”
“I couldn’t exactly give the brothel keeper my real name, now could I? Under the circumstances, I thought it best to be somebody else. For tonight I am Lord Andrew Smith and you are my sister, Lady Ann Smith.”
Over her dead body. “If you say so Drew darling.” She couldn’t resist that last endearment. His handsome features always got particularly pinched look about them when she called him darling and vexing Drew had always been one of her favourite pastimes. Even when she had been little. “Smith… how dull.” She flicked him a sideways glance. “But tonight, it oddly suits you.”
“What you consider dull, I consider sensible. One of us has to be. Just look at that nonsense in your hair. It’s asking for trouble.”
“It’s mistletoe as you well know. And very festive.”
“It is totally improper, and you know it. I had to stop at least six men trying to steal a kiss from you tonight at the ball.”
“It’s hardly stealing a kiss if there is mistletoe involved. With mistletoe, it’s positively encouraged. It’s an ancient Christmas tradition going back to the Druids. And you shouldn’t have stopped them. It’s bad luck not to kiss under the mistletoe.”
As usual, he ignored her blatant hint just as he had ignored her mistletoe all night and held out his hand. She took it, liking the way his engulfed hers and enjoying the little tingles she always experienced when only he touched her. If he felt it too, he hid it under a stern frown and she decided to take that as encouraging after her enlightening little chat with her brother this morning before he’d left.
“Be kind to Drew,” Nathaniel had said, “The poor fellow is at his wits end. I’ve never seen him as flustered and befuddled by a woman as he is you.” And Nathaniel would know. He and Drew had been best friends since they toddled around together in leading strings. They had grown up together. Got in numerous scrapes together. Even fought Napoleon together. Nobody knew Drew better than Nathaniel.
Flustered and befuddled sounded very promising, but after being home now for over six months when even Drew’s own mother suspected he had a tendre for her, and despite all her best efforts, the dratted man had failed to make one single romantic overture towards her. In fact, in recent weeks he was actively avoiding her like the plague. Which was galling seeing as she had waited years for him.
Not that he knew that.
Despite a gaggle of eager suitors in the years he had been away, a proposal from both a viscount and one positively dreamy Scottish laird who every other young lady had fancied, Miranda’s heart had only ever wanted Drew. Dancing with him tonight had been…
“Oooooh!” Her feet skidded sideways then shot in opposite directions on the slush. She gripped his arm tighter. He tried to steady her, but gravity seemed quite determined to win. Miranda tumbled backwards dragging him with her into the pile of thick swept snow heaped alongside the path.
She broke his fall- partially- because at the last second he managed to brace his elbows either side of her head to stop the impact of his big body knocking all the air from her lungs. The rest of him, however, was scandalously sprawled on top of her.
He blinked down at her, his face inches from hers. “Are you alright?”
A dull ache began to throb near her foot. “I think so.”
He swiftly rolled off her and scrambled to his feet, holding out his hand to help her up. Miranda sat and attempted to stand but winced when the dull ache in her ankle caused white hot pain to shoot up her leg and bring tears to her eyes. She clutched it, rubbed it until it lessened and he knelt beside her.
“You’ve probably twisted it.” Without asking her permission, he lifted the ruined wet hem of her gown and removed her slipper, then gingerly probed the swelling with his fingers. “I blame those silly shoes. They are hardly practical.”
“Practical isn’t pretty.” And she had so wanted to be pretty for him tonight. So pretty he wouldn’t be able to resist her. Now she was wet and cold and injured. He stared back at her irritated, just as he had all those times when they had been little and she had tried to tag along with him and Nathaniel.
“I suppose I’ll have to carry you.”
“I suppose you will…” Wrapped in his arms, perhaps he couldn’t ignore her. But then again- he was Drew, drat him. If he could ignore this dress and all the mistletoe in her hair, he could ignore anything.
Frau Klaus met them at the door, took one look at the state of her and her face filled with sympathy. “Oh you poor dear! You are injured and your gown is soaked through! Follow me my lord, so we can find her something else to wear and tend to her injuries.”
She led them up the stairs and to a bedchamber, where Drew deposited her carefully on the bed like she was an invalid before leaving. Alone with the brothel keeper as she rifled through a chest of drawers searching for something for her to wear, Miranda felt suddenly deflated. She had intended on tonight ending with their first kiss. But with Drew being Drew, a man who took responsibility far too seriously, all thoughts of seducing him were now shot in the paddock.
“How lucky you are to have such a good brother. He cares for you a great deal, Liebling.”
“He’s not really my brother. He is my bro
ther’s best friend.”
“And why does this make you miserable?”
“Because… I mean…”
The older woman smiled. “I see. You want him to be more than that.”
“To him, I am just Nathaniel’s annoying baby sister.”
Frau Klaus chuckled. “By the strained look on the poor man’s face, he is well aware of the fact you are a woman. That gown you are wearing is not a little girl’s. You wore it on purpose?”
Miranda nodded, feeling foolish. “Now it’s ruined. And I so wanted tonight to be special.” She idly touched the mistletoe in her hair. “I had plans…”
“Then we must find you something to wear which continues to remind him you are a woman, ja?”
He was summoned back upstairs by Frau Klaus to carry his troublesome charge downstairs. She didn’t accompany him, leaving him no choice but to enter the bedchamber all alone. For some reason, he hovered outside. Miranda and a bed in the same room was not a good idea. They gave him too many improper ideas.
“Good news. It’s just a sprain.”
His throat dried and his heart quickened. Miranda was reclining on the bed wearing what appeared to be a nightgown, except it wasn’t the sensible sort of nightgown his mother wore on cold winter’s nights. This was a wholly different sort of garment. Fine silk which draped her curves like a second skin. A scooped neckline trimmed in filmy lace which barely covered the upper swells of the bosoms he kept trying- and failing- not to think about.
The minx was going to kill him.
“I can’t take you downstairs looking like that! Surely Frau Klaus has something more appropriate for you to wear?” Like a thick, hessian sack, covered in an eiderdown and perhaps a second eiderdown just for the sake of his sanity.
She smiled. “This is a brothel Drew darling. This was the most appropriate thing she had. But fear not, I have a shawl to protect my modesty.” She waved another gauzy concoction at him which would likely blow away in breeze. “Hurry up and take me downstairs. Apparently, there is about to be taffy pulling and wassail in the parlour.”
“Out of the question. You are staying here! I expressly forbid it.”
“Really?” Too late, he realised he shouldn’t have said the last bit. It was tantamount to waving a red rag at a bull. Miranda reliably did the exact opposite of anything she was told to do. That was why Nathaniel had left her in his charge. She’ll run rings around a lesser man than you Drew. “Well if you won’t carry me, I shall simply have to hobble down the stairs. It’s only a sprained ankle after all and it’s Christmas Eve, Drew darling. Frau Klaus has a Tannenbaum. I’m dying to see it. Quite determined in fact. And there will be carols and parlour games. You know I love both.” She stuck her pretty nose in the air and folded her arms. A sure sign she was about to do it regardless of what anyone had to say on the matter. “Besides, we cannot stay all alone together here in this bedroom now, can we? That would be highly improper!”
She’d be ruined. He’d have to marry her…
Frustrated, more because of the seductive sight of her than her stubbornness which he was used to, he stripped off his coat and tossed it at her. “Put that on and do up every button!”
Something she did, but far too slowly for his liking. Then she held out her arms for him to carry her.
He hoisted her up, trying not to accidently sniff her intoxicating perfume or notice that she didn’t appear to be wearing her corset any longer. She was giving him that look again. The alluring expression he only caught sometimes but which haunted his dreams regardless. He ignored it stoically to focus on the task in hand. Or rather, the task in his arms. Why did the minx have to feel so perfect in them? The trim waist… those ridiculously long leg… her arms looped around his neck like the lover…
Good grief! Don’t think about that! He decided to blame the inappropriate nightdress for the wholly inappropriate why his body was feeling.
With more haste than perhaps was wise, Drew hurried down the stairs with his precocious cargo and carried her into the crowded parlour. Some of the other guests smiled and nodded in greeting. He deposited her into a chair and then, when he caught another gentleman eyeing her with much too much admiration and no doubt noticing the silly halo of mistletoe still woven into her hair in invitation, dragged another to sit close beside her glaring at his rival to ensure he got the message.
Rival! Not the correct choice of word at all. They weren’t rivals because Miranda was strictly off limits. His best friend’s baby sister. The most beautiful, most vexing, most wonderful, most troublesome woman in the whole world.
“Isn’t the Tannenbaum lovely?” He tore his eyes away from her and noticed it for the first time. The fir tree was covered in lit candles and ribbons. “Frau Klaus said it is a German Christmas tradition. Have you ever seen anything so beautiful?” His eyes drifted back to her. Feasted.
“No. Never.” God help him.
Two cups of wassail were pressed in their hands as two women entered the parlour. Both young. They were stirring something in a big pot. “This is another old Christmas tradition apparently.” Her voice whispered in his ear, her warm breath causing goosebumps to erupt all over his skin. “When you drop the hot taffy into water, it will form a letter- the initial of your one true love. I am going to give it a go.”
“Whatever for? It sounds like silly superstition to me.”
“Because I have a gentleman in mind, Drew darling, but need to know if he is my one true love before I tell him.”
His heart sank, then physically hurt. “You have a suitor? A serious one?” Drew had heard about the viscount and the Scottish laird and decided he hated them both with a vengeance without ever meeting them. Thank goodness she had turned both down. Not that he could have her. She was too young. Still a child really, despite looking nothing like one.
“Indeed I do… Can I tell you a secret Drew? I have never been kissed.” Good grief! “Can you believe that? I am two and twenty and I’ve never let a single man steal a kiss. I have been saving myself just for him.”
“Lucky fellow.” He wanted to tear the scoundrel limb from limb. If he so much as touched a hair on her… wait a minute? Two and twenty? Hell’s bells she wasn’t a child at all! She was a full-grown woman. And she was only three years younger than him. His mother had been eight years younger than his father. Nathaniel’s soon-to-be-fiancée was exactly her age!
He shouldn’t be thinking any of this!
“Butter your hands well. It’s nearly ready.” The dark-haired woman ushered the crowd to gather, and Miranda was up like a shot, dragging him with her so he could support her. One by one, they watched people pinch off a section of the taffy, roll it into small strips between their hands and drop it into the icy water. More worryingly, as each piece twisted magically to form a letter, the person who owned it exclaimed how accurate it was despite this being nought but a silly superstition.
Miranda stepped forward, beaming at him as she rolled two separate little strips in her hands, closed her eyes as if wishing, then dropped them in the water.
“How intriguing! An ‘A’ and a ‘P’… I wonder what that means?”
She gazed at him, a enigmatic smile on her lovely face and he panicked, wondering if she had made the same unthinkable connection as he just had- Lady Miranda Arcott and Lord Andrew Phillips. A and P! Them!
Surely not?
They sat back down. Miranda enjoying all the Christmas frivolity going on around them; him decidedly off kilter. This odd night kept throwing temptation in his way. First the dress, the ball, the waltz, the blizzard. That nightgown and now this…
And she’d never been kissed, which suddenly seemed like a frightful travesty when his lips were positively screaming to do it.
“Drew…” Her voice dragged him back to reality. “Would you mind… only I need to visit the retiring…”
“Yes.. Yes of course.”
He stood, then slid his hands beneath her legs, gritting his teeth at the whisper of silk ag
ainst his skin and the delicious feel of her soft body against his palms. He carried her into the deserted hallway. “Where is it?”
She gestured to the darkest recess with a nod of her head, drawing his eyes up to the mistletoe in her hair. “Over there I think.” He plodded forward, enveloped in her perfume. Jasmine. Heady and alluring. Exactly like her. Then stopped as they hit a dead end. “Oh dear…” She drew her plump bottom lip through her teeth, sighed. Those captivating emerald eyes locking with his, before his drifted of their own accord back up to the sprigs of mistletoe woven into her hair.
It’s bad luck not to kiss under the mistletoe…
His head dipped. Closing the distance between them.
But what about Nathaniel… His lips brushed against hers.
Who the hell was Nathaniel…
And he lost himself completely in the kiss to end all kisses.
Miranda sighed against his mouth. Kissing Drew was as if she had died and gone to heaven and she never wanted it to end. But it did, because Drew was so wonderfully Drew and cared so very much about his responsibilities.
“Your brother is going to kill me.”
“No he isn’t. He loves you.”
“He entrusted me with you while he was away.” His expression was pained but his eyes kept dropping to her lips hungrily. “His final words to me this morning where you are the only man I would ever trust my sister with. And look how I’ve repaid him?”
She didn’t want him to feel bad. “Can I let you into another secret… I didn’t need the retiring room at all.”
He looked back at her confused at the abrupt change of subject. “You didn’t?”
“No. Nor do I actually need you to carry me. My ankle aches a bit, but I can walk well enough on it now thanks to Frau Klaus’s soothing ointment… If I am being entirely honest, it was all a bit of a ruse to be alone with you… Because I wanted you to kiss me Drew… Because it’s always been you… I’ve been in love with your forever.”