A Christmas Kiss (17 page)

She nodded wordlessly, and he dropped his hands from her shoulders. They walked on through the deepening shadows. “I suppose it is too much to hope that you can see anything but ‘his lordship' when you look at me,” he remarked somewhat ruefully.

“You must know,” she answered in her forthrightly way, “that I see a great deal more than that.”

He grinned down at her. “I see a great deal more than that,
Philip
.”

She smiled back. “I see a great deal more than that, Philip,” she repeated obediently.

“Where did you get this overly strong sense of class differences, I wonder? Was it your family?”

She told him, hesitantly at first, but more comfortably after a while, about her father and their life together. “It was not he who ingrained my sense of my ‘place' into me,” she said at last. “It was, I suppose, a result of holding the post of governess in three rather noble households.”

Philip frowned. “Treated you shabbily, did they? I could wring their necks.”

“Not at all. They were very kind, really. It's just … how can I explain? You like to deny its existence, but there is an invisible sort of barrier set up between the classes. When one inadvertently moves to pass through it, the disapproval is unmistakable. One learns to recognize the lines of demarcation rather quickly.”

“Well, my dear, you shall never feel that disapproval again,” he said fervently, “and that I promise you.”

“In your own home, perhaps,” she corrected gently.

“Anywhere! Ev—” he began, but a gust of wind shook the trees above them, and a small avalanche of snow fell on top of them. Philip's tall hat was knocked to the ground. Laughing, he shook the snow out of his hair and brushed it from his shoulders. Then he turned to Evalyn and brushed it from her hood and cape. “There, that's better. Are you all right?”

“Yes, of course.”

“I know I promised not to be old-henish, but I can't help noticing how very thin your cloak is. You must be frozen.” He pulled the muffler from his neck and wound it twice around her throat. The daylight was fading rapidly, but in the dim glow he could see her face quite clearly. His hands, still holding the ends of the muffler, were stayed, his breath arrested. Her eyes were smiling up at him gratefully. A few snowflakes, which had clung to her cheeks and caught in her lashes, gave her face an enticing sparkle. For a moment neither of them moved. Then, as if impelled by some irresistible instinct long dormant in him, he pulled her to him. She lay against him unmoving, her face tilted up. His heart was pounding so loudly that he knew she must hear.

Evalyn heard. She couldn't think—she couldn't analyze the meaning of any of this. He was holding her in his arms, his heart pounding against her. That was enough for her now. She would think later. Now she could only feel an enveloping sense of joy unfolding like a flower inside her. She recognized on his face, so close above her own, the look she had seen before, lurking deep behind his eyes. Now it seemed to be shining from his whole being. She waited, breathless, for the kiss she knew was coming. But suddenly, shockingly, before her startled gaze, the warmth in his face faded, instantaneously replaced by an expression she could only describe as horror. His body stiffened, and he abruptly thrust her from him. “Oh, my God!” he groaned. “What am I doing?”

She did not ask for an explanation—she couldn't have uttered a word. And he gave none. Instead, he dropped his eyes from her face and said in a constricted voice, “It grows dark. We'd better go back.”

Evalyn bent down and picked up his hat. She held it out to him, her eyes searching his face. He looked at her briefly, a look of chagrin and shame, took the hat from her and turned away. They walked back to the house in silence.

A waiting footman sprang to attention when they entered the dimly lit hallway. Philip waved him away and turned to Evalyn. “I must apologize for my unaccountable behavior,” he said in a distant voice. “I've never before heard of a case of midsummer madness striking anyone in the dead of winter, but it is the only explanation I can offer—”

“Please, Philip, don't joke. I don't underst—” Evalyn began.

He went on as if she hadn't spoken. “I can only thank you for permitting me to accompany you,” he said, “and to assure you, Miss Pennington, that I shall not so offend you again.”

She gasped.
“Miss Penning
—
?”

But he had turned away and was striding across the hallway. He took the stairs two at a time and was gone, leaving Evalyn staring after him, the snowflakes melting on her cloak and dripping down to form little puddles on the floor around her.

Thirteen

Wellstock said later to his cronies below stairs that he'd been sure that his master had been digging deep in the bottle when he looked into the bedroom that evening. There Lord Gyllford sat, one boot on, the other in his hand, staring ahead of him at nothing. Wellstock had stood in the doorway for at least five minutes, waiting to be recognized, and his lordship did not move the whole time. Finally, Wellstock had coughed discreetly, walked in, and pulled off the other boot. Still his lordship did not seem to notice him at all!

“Are you all right, my lord?” Wellstock had asked in deep concern. He had never known his master to make indentures. Not at all a drinking man.

Lord Gyllford had slowly focused his eyes on Wellstock's face. “Oh, it's you, Wellstock,” he'd said in a dead—but not a drunken—voice. “Go away, man. I'll not be needing you.”

“But you're not dressed, my lord, and dinner is scarcely a half-hour off,” Wellstock had remonstrated.

“Look in on Jamie, will you? I can dress myself tonight,” Lord Gyllford had said shortly.

Wellstock had taken himself off, but he'd looked back before he left, and there was his lordship in his stockinged feet, sitting exactly as he had been when the valet arrived.

Philip knew very well that he had to dress for dinner. He just couldn't seem to rouse himself. A deep depression had taken hold of him and seemed to weigh him down like lead. The prospect of facing everyone at dinner time and making cheerful conversation only added to his misery. He felt an urge to hide away somewhere, in a corner of the cellar or the attic, as he had done when he was a little boy and had been severely reprimanded by his usually adoring and adored mother. What humiliating feelings these were for a man with a son of his own, a son whom—heaven help him!—he'd been on the verge of betraying. How could he so have forgotten himself?

His only excuse—though he knew his behavior had been inexcusable—was a strong sense (a feeling he'd not before put into words) that Jamie and Evalyn did not suit. She seemed older than Jamie, more mature, more—how could he describe it?—more at peace with herself. Jamie seemed still to be a boy, still playing games with life and flirting with adulthood. But Philip realized that he might well be rationalizing. His analysis of the situation could no longer be trusted. His objectivity had been hopelessly impaired ever since he'd laid eyes on the girl his son had chosen to marry. There was only one realization he could accept as truth: that he loved her. He could no longer fool himself about that. For almost twenty years he'd guarded himself against this emotion, only to tumble into it with the one person he should most have avoided. What evil fate had decreed that his son should attach himself to the one girl whose nature, face and voice seemed especially designed to penetrate the strong defenses behind which he had walled himself for so long?

But was he mistaken about Evalyn's nature? This question was more painful to face than the awareness of his own weakness. Her true character could be other than what it appeared. He accepted fully the entire blame for what had happened this afternoon in the snow, but Evalyn's behavior, too, had not been above reproach. He had lived too many years and was too experienced to have misinterpreted what he'd read in her face as he held her in his arms. She had accepted his embrace with eagerness, even joy. Could she have forgotten Jamie as completely as he had? Yet he alone had shown signs of guilt. And afterwards, how could she have stared at him with those eyes so full of painful and complete innocence?

If he didn't know Evalyn—if this had happened to a pair of strangers and the story had come to him—he would have been able to explain the situation well enough. He would have said the girl was an adventuress, trying to see if she could permanently attach the richer father before letting go of the bird-in-hand son. But he couldn't, knowing Evalyn, believe it of her for a moment. Perhaps he was completely besotted, but he would swear that there was not a trace of deceit or avarice in her.

Yet he could think of no other explanation for her behavior. The expression in her eyes when she looked at him had been no more daughterly than his had been fatherly.
Could
she be an adventuress, making a game of him and Jamie both? An adventuress could be successful only if she didn't behave or look like one. Was her straightforward manner, her completely convincing air of innocence, the polished performance of an artful dissembler? The mere suspicion made him feel sick. He could not—would not—believe it of her.

These nagging questions could not now be answered. But his overriding sense of guilt could be dealt with. He could not again allow himself to be alone in her company, not until she had married Jamie and he had learned to contain his feelings for her within strict bounds. In time he would rebuild the protective walls behind which he had successfully barricaded himself in the past. In the meantime, he must find some outward means by which to separate himself from her. Sally! How fortunate that she was present for the holidays. Sally had made it quite clear that she would enjoy his attentions. Well, she would have them. He knew it ill became him to use her in this way, but he trusted himself to keep his attentions well within the bounds of gay companionship. Sally was quite up to the mark and would recognize easily the difference between a sincere courtship and a harmless flirtation.

Philip hurried down and entered the drawing room, meeting Clarissa's frown with an apologetic smile for his extraordinary lateness. He scanned the room quickly, helpless to keep himself from searching out Evalyn's face among the others looking up at him. He did not immediately see her, and he wondered if she had been too upset by his behavior to make an appearance this evening. But she was there, sitting a little apart from the others, and looking pale and strained. He ached to go and comfort her, but he forced himself to look away. It was Jamie's place—not his—to soothe the worried lines from her forehead, to coax the color back into her cheeks. Philip could only hope fervently that Jamie was aware of what his duty was.

He turned and greeted his guests, apologizing profusely for keeping them waiting. The butler, who had had to tell the cook twice to return the succulent chops to the fire, announced dinner in a tone of voice that scarcely revealed his relief. Philip went directly to Sally and bowed. “You are a vision tonight, my dear,” he said, “all draped in velvet. What do you call that splendid color you're wearing?”

Sally looked up at him with a cautious glint. “I believe my
modiste
calls it Venetian red.”

“Yes, it does put one in mind of an Italian painting. But perhaps you should have waited until tomorrow evening to wear it. What a perfect color for Christmas Eve.”

“If it pleases you, your lordship,” Sally said with coy smoothness, “it is appropriate at any time.”

“It does indeed please me. So much so that I have an unquenchable desire to escort such Venetian loveliness in to dinner. May I have your arm?”

The cautious look was still in her eye as she glanced up at him, but he favored her with the most disarming smile he could muster. “Thank you, my lord,” she said, pleased with herself, and gave him her arm. As she swept past Evalyn, she did not neglect to cast the governess a look of triumph.

Sally had had a busy afternoon. From the window of the billiard room, she had seen Philip and Evalyn walk down the avenue together. Even from that distance, Sally could discern their complete absorption in one another. She saw Philip stop and turn to Evalyn, speaking to her with an intensity that Sally could almost feel. She had to recognize at last that the attraction between Philip and the governess, however inexplicable, was quite real. The time had come for her to put her plan into action.

As soon as she could, she had escaped from the billiard room and hurried to her bedroom. She closed the door behind her and locked it against any chance intruder. A commotion behind her, coming from her dressing room, made her jump. “Who's there?” she called sharply.

“Only me, Ma'm'selle,” came Annette's voice, and the maid came hurriedly from the dressing room, smoothing back her hair and adjusting her cap with nervous fingers. It occurred to Sally that Annette had been up to some mischief.

“What are you doing here?” Sally demanded.

“I make ready the things for you to wear tonight,” Annette said with a shrug. “Are you not early, Ma'm'selle?”

“I'm a bit tired. You may go for an hour or so, Annette. I want to rest.”

Annette cast a hurried glance over her shoulder into the dressing room. “But, Ma'm'selle,” she objected, “I must brush the velvet most careful, to make the nap to shine. I will close the door to the dressing room. Annette will be quiet like a mouse. You will not be disturb', I promise.”

Sally clenched her teeth. “Must you argue about everything I say to you? I want to be alone. Get out. I don't want to see your face for an hour.”

Annette bit her lip, bobbed a quick curtsey and went to the door. She cast another glance back at the dressing room, unlocked the door and went out. Sally locked it again and went to the dressing room. She took her jewel-case key from beneath the powder puff, unlocked the case and removed her diamond drop earrings. With a satisfied smile, she held them up so that the light from the window shone through them. They were large, many-faceted stones, the most expensive of all the valuables in her possession. She dropped the jewel-case key on the dressing table and crossed to the dressing room door. There she paused. It wouldn't do, she decided, to leave the key lying on the dressing table. Annette would notice the theft too soon. She went back, locked the case and replaced the key in its hiding place. Then she went swiftly from the dressing room.