The Present (4 page)

"Bloody hell," Anthony growled. "You can stop blaming me. You heard what I said. Wasn't as if I deliberately  took the girls to Knighton's. Same thing could have happened to you, you know."

"Beg to differ," James replied laconically. "I ain't that bloody stupid."

Anthony flushed angrily, but it was a bit of guilt that had him retorting, "I like that. You want a piece of me, then? Won't be satisfied without it? Have at me, then."

"Don't mind if I do."

The problems that arose with the staff with so many guests in the house were typically wearing on Molly, who prided herself on keeping everything running smoothly. So though she wanted to confront Jason about her suspicions, she'd been unable to stay awake long enough last night to wait for him to come to her room.

But he had joined her as usual, and he was still there in her bed when she awoke the next morning. In fact, it was his hand gently caressing her breast and his lips on the side of her neck that woke her. And although she did recall near immediately that she was annoyed with him, she selfishly kept that to herself for the moment and instead turned slightly so that he could better reach the areas of her body that he was showing an interest in.

She sighed and put her arms around him. She did so love this man. Even after more than thirty years, his touch still thrilled her beyond measure, his kisses able to fire her passions just as easily as he'd done in their youth. And she knew she had the same effect on him.

It wasn't long before they were kissing quite heatedly, and Molly knew where that would lead, which it did. But she was ready for him. She was always ready for him. She supposed that was one of the nicer benefits of loving someone and desiring him as well. And Jason never stinted in his endeavors. His lovemaking was done in no small measure and immensely satisfying—as always.

"Good morning," he said, leaning back to grin at her once they both regained their composure.

A morning could easily go sour, but he sure knew how to start one off "good." She returned his grin  and then held him extra tight before she released him, perhaps be cause she knew she was going to scold before they  parted, and she wanted to soften the blow.

The rest of his family, aside from their son, saw him as the sternest of the lot, even quite formidable. He was, after all, the head of his family and had had the responsibility of raising his younger siblings when he'd been young himself. But she knew his other side, his charm, his teasing, his tenderness. These were things that, from habit, he restrained in front of others due to his position, but not with her, never with her—except, of course, when they weren't alone.

That was the rub that was frustrating him, and yet she could see no way around it. He wanted to treat her at all times as he did when they were alone, yet he had to marry her to do so, and she wouldn't let him. And his insisting that they marry and her continued refusal was putting a strain on their relationship. One of them was going to have to give in, and as far as Molly was concerned, it wasn't going to be her.

She was nearly dressed before she put a damper on his morning with what she had to say, but it had to be said. "Do I need to hide from you in the day, Jason, while your family is here?"

He sat up more fully in the bed, where he had been lazily watching her as she went about her morning toilet. "Where did that question come from?"

"From the way you were looking at me yesterday in the dining room, which anyone there could have noticed. This isn't the first time. What has gotten into you, that you so forget that I'm merely your housekeeper?"

"The fact that you aren't merely my housekeeper?" he countered, but then sighed, admitting, "I think it's this time of year, Molly. I can't help but recall that it was at Christmas that Derek overcame Kelsey's objections to marrying him, and her reasons had been the same as yours."

She was surprised to hear that, that the very season was making him brood about it, and was quick to point out, "But there's a huge difference and you know it. Good God, Jason, she descends from a duke. Anyone can be forgiven with such an illustrious family as hers. Besides, the scandal she feared was avoided completely. Yours wouldn't be."

"How many times do I have to assure you that I don't care anymore? I want you for my wife, Molly. I obtained a special licence to marry you years ago. All you have to do is say yes and we could be married today."

"Oh, Jason, you're going to make me cry," she said sadly. "You know I'd like nothing better. But one of us has to consider the consequences, and since you won't, I must. And letting your family know, which you seem to be trying to do inadvertently, won't change anything, it will merely embarrass me horribly. I have a measure of respect in this household. I will have none if it becomes common knowledge that I'm your mistress."

He came to her then, completely naked as he still was and without a thought for it, to draw her into his arms. She heard his sigh before he said, "You don't think with your heart enough."

"And you don't think with your mind enough lately." she rejoined.

He leaned back to give her a wry smile. "Well, we can agree on that at least."

Her hand rose to caress his cheek. "Jason, let it go, it can never happen. I'm sorry that my birth was common. I'm sorry that your peers would never accept me as one of their members, whether you marry me or not. I can't change any of that. I can only continue to love you and try to make you happy as best I can. You have to let it go."

"You know I'll never accept that," was his stubborn and not unexpected reply.

She sighed now. "I know."

"But I'll make the effort you want and try to ignore you during the day—at least when my family is around."

She almost laughed. It was damned hard, getting him to concede anything these days, at least on this subject. She supposed she was going to have to take what she could get—for now.

When James entered the breakfast room that morning, it was to varied reactions. Those who hadn't known that he'd arrived started cheerful greetings that sputtered to an end as they got a good look at his face. Those who did know of his arrival and what subsequently followed it were either tactfully silent, grinning from ear to ear, or foolish enough to remark on it.

Jeremy fell into the middle and latter categories when he said with a chuckle, "Well, I know the poor Christmas tree didn't do that to you, though you did try valiantly to chop it down to size."

"And succeeded, as I recall," James grouched, though he did think to ask, "Was it salvageable, puppy?"

"Minus a few of its feathers is all, but those pretty little candles will dress it up so as not to notice—at least if someone other than me finishes the task. I'm much better at hanging the mistletoe."

''And making good use of it,'' Amy noted with a fond smile for her handsome cousin.

Jeremy winked at her. "That goes without saying."

Jeremy had turned twenty-five not too long ago and had turned out to be a charming scamp. Ironically, he so resembled his Uncle Anthony that he was nearly a mirror image of Anthony in his younger years. But then rather than taking after his own father, Jeremy had gained the cobalt blue eyes and black hair that only a few of the Malorys had possessed, those who took after the ancestor rumored to have been a Gypsy.

The mention of mistletoe and the use it was most noted for put James back into his sour mood, because he knew he wouldn't be doing any kissing under the festive greenery this year himself, not with his wife refusing to come to Haverston with him because of her sour mood. Bloody hell. He would get this settled between them, one way or another. Taking his frustration with the situation out on Anthony hadn't helped—well, perhaps it had a little.

Warren, still staring at the splendid black eye and several cuts on his face, remarked, "Hate to see what the other fellow looks like," which James supposed was a compliment of sorts, since Warren had personal experience of his fists from numerous occasions himself.

"Like to congratulate the other fellow myself," Nicholas said with a smirk, which got him a kick under the table from his wife.

James nodded to Reggie. "Appreciate it, m'dear. My feet wouldn't reach."

To which she blushed that her kick had been noticed. And Nicholas, still wincing, managed a scowl, which turned out rather comical looking, considering the two expressions didn't mix all that well.

"Is Uncle Tony still among the living?" Amy asked, probably because neither James or his brother had returned back downstairs last night.

"Give me a few more days to figure that out, puss, 'cause I bloody well ain't sure just now," Anthony said as he came slowly into the room, an arm tucked to his side as if he were protecting some broken ribs.

A melodramatic groan escaped as he took the seat across from his brother. James rolled his eyes hearing it.

"Give over, you ass," he sneered. "Your wife ain't here to witness your theatrics."

"She's not?" Anthony glanced down the table, then made a moue and sat back in his chair—minus any groaning this time. However, he did complain James, "You did break my ribs, you know."

"Devil I did, though I'll admit I considered it. And by the by, the option is still open."

Anthony glared at him. "We're too bloody old to be beating on each other."

"Speak for yourself, old man. One is never too old for a spot of exercise."

"Ah, so that's what we were doing?" Anthony shot back dryly, as he gently fingered his own black eye. "Exercising, was it?"

James raised a brow. "And that's not what you do weekly at Knighton's Hall? But I understand your confusion in the matter, since you're used to doling out the damage, rather than receiving any. Tends to give one a skewed perspective. Glad to have cleared that up for you."

It was at that point that Jason walked in, took one look at his two younger brothers' battered faces, and remarked, "Good God, and at this time of the year, no less? I'll see you both in my study."

That Jason said it in that not-to-be-disobeyed tone that he was renowned for, and promptly exited the room again, left little doubt, in James and Anthony's mind at least, that they were to follow immediately. James rose without expression and came around the table.

Anthony, however, huffed in annoyance, "Called on the carpet at our age? I bloody well don't believe it. And I won't forget who instigated—"

"Oh, put a lid on it, puppy," James said as he dragged Anthony out of the room with him. "It's been so long since we've had the pleasure of seeing Jason rant and rave, I'm looking forward to this myself."

"You would," Anthony replied in disgust. "You always did enjoy provoking his rages."

James grinned unrepentantly. "I did, didn't I? Well, what can I say? The elder is just so amusing when he flies through the roof."

"Well, then, let's make sure all his flying is directed at you first, shall we?" Anthony retorted, and opening the door to Jason's study, began to immediately place blame where it was due. "Jason, old man, I tried to calm this great hulking bull down last night, indeed I did, but he was having none of it. Blames me—''

"Great hulking bull?" James interrupted, one golden brow raised sharply.

"—because George ain't talking to him," Anthony continued without pause. "And now he's got me in the same bloody boat, because Roslynn ain't said a word to me since."

"Great hulking bull?" James repeated.

Anthony glanced at him and smirked, "The shoe fits, believe me."

Jason, standing stiffly behind his desk, snapped at them both, "Enough! I'll hear the whys and wherefores now, if you please."

James smiled. "Yes, you did leave out the best part, Tony."

Anthony sighed and told his elder brother, "It was the worse bloody luck, Jason, indeed it was, and could have happened to any one of us, if truth be told. Jack and Judy managed to sneak into Knighton's Hall while I wasn't looking, and just because I had the care of them that day, I am being blamed because the little darlings came away with a phrase or two that don't belong in their young vocabularies."

"That's dressing it up a bit too nicely," James interjected. "Let's not forget to mention that George didn't blame you a'tall, that she instead blames me, as if I could possibly have known you could be so witless as to take the girls anywhere near—"