Christmas Delights (8 page)

She had done it all wrong. Pushing back the screen, she peered out, hoping that Lewis had indeed gone to sleep. She could see his eyes were closed, proving the truth of what her friends had said about men after lovemaking. She tiptoed out, but her hip caught the edge of the screen. It squeaked, and he opened his eyes.

“Drat,” she muttered. Even with reducing, her hips were generously built.

Lewis leapt to his feet, his muscled chest still gleaming with sweat. “What?”

“I am so sorry to wake you. I bumped the screen.”

“I wasn’t sleeping. I was waiting to escort you . . . if you really feel you must go, of course.”

Victoria sidled to the door, careful to keep the front of her body facing him for fear that the blood would soak to her dress. Her fault for not wearing a petticoat. “No need,” she assured him. “I am just down the hall.”

“I want to be a gentleman,” he said.

“I know you are a gentleman,” she said, walking sideways, as if she were a crab. “But I shall be fine. Err, thank you for an illuminating experience.”

His expression lost much of its buoyancy. “I didn’t please you, did I? I am so sorry. I’m not used to your sort.”

Victoria felt her expression freeze into place. “I can explain,” she began. Dear God in Heaven, should she have told him she was a virgin? She’d been afraid he would not take her if she had.

“Explain? No, dear lady, the fault is all mine. I do not associate with Society. Indeed, I’m just here as a mechanic for the earl, truly. I never should have reached so high. You are too special.”

“A mere mechanic? You aren’t anything of the kind,” Victoria protested, almost not hearing his compliment. “Of course you are a guest, not just a mechanic. The countess spoke of you from the start. You have been at all of the holiday celebrations. You are simply a gentleman who is good with his hands.”

She realized her cheeks were flushed as his chin tilted up to enable him to make a closer examination of her. “I didn’t mean . . . well, I did mean, of course. I shall simply say good night.”

Keeping her skirts tucked behind her, she reached for the door and undid the lock before slipping out, back first. The last thing she saw was his bemused expression. But she heard his words again, like a caress.
You are special.

When she reached the inside of her room, she sagged against the door. She wanted to ring for a maid and order a bath, but no one must know what she’d done. Smiling, she closed her eyes and tucked her arms around herself. She, Victoria, was no longer a virgin. She had finally become a woman, and as awkward as the aftermath had been, the sensations he’d evoked in her had been heaven. The question was, would Lewis Noble ever be willing to touch her again?

In almost a parody of her life, Victoria sat with her cousin the next day in the morning parlor. The ladies of the house party were all seated around the room, and Victoria wondered if any of them thought she appeared different. She felt altered, as if her walk was that of a sexually experienced woman. The slight soreness between her legs contributed to this, of course, but it didn’t stop her from thinking about what had happened every couple of minutes, and wondering when she would next experience lovemaking again.

Lewis had been so humble; endearing, really. She wished she had known how to please him, but that had been the point, after all: to gain experience. Her father would continue to insist she marry again soon, and her husband would expect at least a nominally experienced woman. Last night had taught her that some men, at least, wanted a woman to find pleasure in the act. She found she quite agreed with that notion. Her only quibble was that she needed to learn how to do it without subjecting a tired male to additional exuberance that he was ill prepared to offer.

“What are you thinking about, Lady Allen-Hill? You look so pensive,” the countess said.

Victoria smiled blankly. “I was recalling, err—”

“Our fairy tale?” Rose asked eagerly from her position on one end of the sofa. She had a half-finished sock in her lap but had not been working on it.

“
My
fairy tale,” Penelope corrected with a lift of her sharp chin. She had fought with Victoria that morning over what dress she would wear and had a pinched look to her features.

“Penelope,” Victoria admonished. “No one owns a story. And besides, Rose is right. I did have something to report. It seems our fairy tale is coming true yet again.”

“Is it really?” Penelope asked with wide eyes.

“Yes. First we had the masquerade, just like the twelfth challenge in the story, and then, last night, I had the eleventh one, in real life.”

Rose’s knitting needles clattered to the floor. She grabbed for the sock, trying to keep the stitches intact. “Do tell, Victoria.”

“It was Lord Judah. I went into the Hall of Mirrors and there he was. The mirrors reflected the fireplace and his tiger eyes. Stunning really, to see Queen Avice’s prediction come true right here in modern times. At least in the sense of tigers, if not precisely eleven of them roasting.” Victoria smiled in satisfaction.

“But only you saw it,” Penelope whined.

“Perhaps Lord Judah will repeat the illusion for you, if you ask him nicely,” Rose said.

“He has already departed for home,” the countess said. “I am sorry to disappoint you.”

Penelope rubbed her nose. Victoria handed her a handkerchief.

“Countess, you said I could do puzzles?” the child asked. “May I take Cousin Victoria with me, or does she need to stay with you?”

“Go ahead, dear,” said their hostess.

Rose leapt to her feet. “I shall join you. I adore puzzles.”

Victoria nodded to the countess and stood, happy to have something to busy her hands and mind. As it was, the ladies would continue to ask questions about her thoughts, and they were far too indecent to share. The three of them walked to the sitting room, where several puzzles were set out. In fact, she noted ten different puzzles on the tables. Each puzzle was of a different English or Scottish castle.

“Here we are in our fairy tale again,” Victoria said.

“What do you mean?” asked Rose.

“Remember? Ten castles uncastled.” Victoria made a grand gesture across the tables.

Rose looked around, her lips parting in a grin. “My goodness, you’re right!”

Penelope danced around the tables, twirling her velvet skirt. “I wonder what will happen at our end of the fairy tale.”

“In your cousin’s story, one hopes the princess will save her prince and marry him.”

Penelope screwed up her nose. “That’s no fun. I do not want a husband.”

Rose tilted her head, her expression becoming wistful. “You are too young. You will change your mind in a decade or so.”

“I will not,” Penelope said, stomping her foot. “What is next, Victoria? If it is only boring old husbands we are seeking, then I would like to get through the story as quickly as possible.”

Victoria thought. “Ribbons ripping comes next, I believe. We shall have to wait and see how that comes about.”

They seated themselves at the table with what appeared to be a puzzle depicting Pevensey-Sur-Mer Fort and began to sort pieces.

“Is this the moat or the sky?” Rose asked, holding up a piece about half an hour later.

The door opened before Victoria could speak, and Lady Barbara stepped in, looking pensive. She held letter paper in one hand and a handkerchief in the other. Her ash brown topknot had been knocked askew, as if she’d been worrying at her pins as she read.

Victoria intuited that her friend wanted to converse. Since Penelope seemed to be calming under Rose’s influence, she stood and gestured to the fireplace. Lady Barbara shook her head slightly and turned back to the door. Victoria followed her into the hall, closing the door behind them.

“What is wrong?” she asked, observing that the letter paper wasn’t lined with black, a sign the letter might be a death announcement.

Lady Barbara took her hand and pulled her into the library on the other side of the corridor. A more masculine room, its wood paneling darkened the space. Without a fire, the room held little warmth either in temperature or atmosphere.

Victoria glanced at the letter again. “Bad news?”

“News I could not share with the little one present or, indeed, a near stranger.”

“I am not entirely clear why Rose is here still,” Victoria ventured.

“My mother invited her for purposes of her own,” Lady Barbara said.

“Such as?”

Her friend pressed her already rather thin lips together. “I believe she intends to thwart some plan of Aunt Florence’s by the offices of Miss Redcake.”

“How intriguing.” Victoria chuckled.

“You sound so naughty when you laugh,” Lady Barbara said. “It always seems as if you have the most delicious intrigue in mind. One of the reasons I like you so.”

Victoria’s thoughts rambled toward her stolen moments with Lewis Noble.

“Ah, now my friend has become pensive,” Lady Barbara observed. “If you will not share your secrets, I can at least share mine.” She thrust her letter at Victoria, who took it and moved to a chair directly under a gas sconce so that she could read it in the dim room.

Lady Barbara went to the window and pulled back the heavy green curtains. Outside, tiny snowflakes mixed with rain dampened the windowpane. She breathed against the glass and began to draw in the white mist with her finger.

Victoria forced her attention to the letter. “Where did this come from?”

“A cousin of mine who lives up north. One of those women who never leaves her home yet all the news comes to her as if by some strange alchemy.”

She perused the light, crabbed handwriting, wishing her family’s secrets had not reached the hand of a gossip. How was it that a complete stranger, a relative of her late husband, knew more about her family than she did?

“Is this correct, do you think?”

“It does explain why Penelope isn’t allowed to reside with her mother.”

“I don’t believe it. Aunt Clarissa tends to hysteria, but she’s not a lunatic. She was always such fun when I was a child. And Penelope adores her. She’s said nothing about any trouble.”

“Was she terribly religious?”

“No more so than anyone else, at least not until recently. It is not as if she read sermons. I believe she was involved in Methodist Temperance, but that is not a bad cause.”

“No,” Lady Barbara agreed. “But it does seem as if your uncle has cast her off.”

“And that she is somewhere near the Fort,” Victoria said. “I wonder if Father has been to see her. I cannot understand why he feels he must keep me so in the dark. It is one thing to keep his business matters away from me, but this is family, and female family at that.”

“Your color is quite high today,” Lady Barbara observed. “Is this all that is troubling you? The issue of Penelope?”

“No. Please, tell me everything you know about Lewis Noble,” Victoria said, feeling her cheeks warm.

L
ady Barbara told Victoria everything she knew about Lewis Noble, but nothing new came to light. The man himself had disappeared into the earl’s workrooms in the stable block, and neither of them appeared at dinner. Victoria considered going to his room late that evening, but Penelope had been very clingy, and her compassion for the girl’s difficult situation, coupled with a vague fear that she might be coming down with a cold, made her stay in. No one knocked either.

The next day, she was back in the parlor with the women, sorting embroidery silks. This reminded her of ribbons ripping, the ninth task of Princess Everilda, and she was happy to continue spinning her tale when Penelope, her hands full of red, orange, and yellow silks, begged her for more.

“As you may recall,” Victoria began, “Everilda was in her solarium, having experienced her first Christmas miracle at the hands of Queen Avice. Well, time is short for both the princess and us, so it should be no surprise to you that Everilda fell into a kind of daze.”

She paused dramatically. “And then a parade of tigers entered.”

Lady Barbara’s hands went still on their bed of blue and purple silks. “Real tigers?”

“No, she was dreaming,” Victoria assured them. “They streamed toward her. First, nothing but bright light, then breaking into shades of tawny reds and blacks, then finally the vague shape of feline faces, and then the eyes. Those eyes blazed into Everilda’s own gaze, all eleven pairs. Yes, eleven tigers, all came to stand around her in a circle, faintly glowing.

“The princess woke with a start and looked at the cushion where she had been perched. It had been a simple blue wool before, but now the fabric was dotted with eyes. She traced them with her fingers, counting twenty-two. ‘Be gone,’ she commanded, and the cushion burst into flames. She jumped back with a shriek and reached for a ewer of water, which she threw into the flames.

“An old retainer woke from her slumber and tottered forward, peering through the smoke. A shape seemed to coalesce behind the wall of gray froth. Everilda reached in and drew out a shiny, supple black shift. But as it came through the smoke, the fabric disintegrated, the strands unraveling until her hands held nothing but black threads that became soot, then nothing at all. The old woman fell to her knees and began to implore the Mother of God for intercession on the princess’s behalf. But other than irritation at the loss of her favorite cushion, Everilda was unmoved.”

“It’s like a warning,” Lady Rowena said with a nod of satisfaction at Victoria’s including of a religious element. “If the princess does not have that shift by the end of the quests, she will never see her prince again in this life.”

Victoria held her hands tightly in her lap, refusing to give in to scratching the itch in her left eyebrow. She had no idea how to resolve this fairy tale, any more than she had of how to deal with the absent Lewis. Surely an ardent lover would make an appearance, send a note, something. What magic must she work to win him into her bed for the remainder of this house party?

“The sleet appears to have stopped,” she said. “I believe I shall take some air while I can.”

“Do you want company?” Lady Barbara asked absently, separating a lavender strand from a royal purple one.

“No,” she said quickly, for she planned to visit the submarine crew.

She went up to her room and found a sturdy fur-trimmed coat and warm bonnet, then changed into boots. A few minutes later, she was ready to visit the stables.

Lewis turned away from the blacksmith, who was at his forge in the stable yard, making a replacement for a panel that had been damaged, and went back into the warmth of the stables. Though horses had not been in this space for close to a year, it still smelled strongly of livestock, overlaid by the acrid scent of electrical batteries. The earl had asked him to gather the order of dry cell batteries and get them installed so that trials could begin soon.

Lewis went to the shelf and reached for a handful of the zinc cans. As he turned, two workmen went by carrying a wooden bench upholstered in leather, meant as a seat for the submarine interior. The inside would be as luxurious as the outside was practical. Looking at the bench inevitably reminded him of his interlude on the sofa in his room, and he wished he’d found the time to see Lady Allen-Hill again. In a less-isolated locale, he might have walked to the village and purchased her some small token of his appreciation. But since she had not searched him out either, he had to consider that he’d not pleased her well, as he initially hoped. Or she had not intended that they share more than one night.

When the bench had passed, he could see a woman walking toward him. The lady of his thoughts, her dark hair tucked under a jaunty hat, moving with purpose in his direction. Her hips swayed visibly, even under her coat, waking his cock. As if in a dream, he put down the cans and walked forward, sawdust tickling his nose.

“Mr. Noble,” she said in her husky voice as she stopped in front of him.

Not sure where to begin, he stood, tongue-tied. She winced, which called him to action. Reaching out, he clasped her arm. She looked down, then jerked back. With dismay, he saw he’d left dark fingerprints on the gray fabric of her coat.

“Terribly sorry,” he exclaimed. He reached for a handkerchief but didn’t find one in his pocket. She pointed to his neck, and he realized he’d tied a large red pocket square around it at some point.

“What a dirty boy you are,” she said.

In that dulcet tone, he wasn’t sure if she were referring to his physical disarray or their activities of Thursday evening. “My apologies. I did not mean to muss you.”

She lifted her eyebrows. “I haven’t seen you at meals or, indeed, anywhere else. I was afraid you and the earl had drowned in that contraption of yours.”

“Not yet,” he said cheerfully. “You shall have your chance to worry soon enough. But, on a more serious note, we have been at the infernal beast all night. I haven’t left the stable in at least thirty-six hours.”

“You should get some rest before you become silly,” she said, lifting her chin to his neck again.

Shaking his head, he untied it and handed it to her so that she could dab at her coat.

“Water might help, but I think the trough is iced over,” he said ruefully.

“I’m sure one of the maids can fix it.” She wiped harder.

“I wouldn’t wait long. I might have had acid on my hands.”

She tsked. “Wouldn’t that damage your skin?”

He shook his head. “Immune, after the years of foul substances that have coated me.”

“I did notice the black lines on your palms. Permanently baked in, I suppose.”

“And under my nails,” he agreed. “Mechanical work is a foul business.”

She nodded. The brim of her hat shaded just enough of her right eye that he couldn’t quite gauge her emotions. He waited for her to speak, to give him some clue of how she wanted him to proceed.

“I did miss you last night,” she said softly. “This is my first experience, of, err, house-party antics. I was afraid I didn’t please you.”

“Not at all, my dear.” He leaned his head toward hers to give them some privacy, but it only served to garner attention from the workmen, who were returning to pick up the next bench.

“The earl wants us to be ready to start testing tomorrow. It is so busy here that I am afraid you will be hurt.” He didn’t mean for his concern to sound like a dismissal, but she took his sleeve in her hands, pulling his palm toward her, and placed the red handkerchief in it. Then she turned away.

“Lady Allen-Hill,” he said, “please don’t go. Wouldn’t you like to see what we are doing?”

He knew she wouldn’t, of course. Machinery did not fascinate women.

“You are busy.” She shook her head. “I should not have interrupted your work.”

As if to prove her point, he heard the earl’s voice coming from the other side of the stables, calling for him.

“I would like to talk to you some more,” he said. “Just not now. I would like to come to your room later.”

She stepped up to him and touched her lips to his. The warmth of her surprised him, and he parted his lips, meaning to speak. Her response was tender and innocent. A different woman might have tangled tongues with him, but she kept her lips closed in a sweet bow. He wondered how much this naughty widow really knew about lovemaking. Had she chosen him to teach her?

But he could do nothing now. The earl called again, and if they were spotted in this compromising position, especially with her father in residence, he might find himself engaged to the Liverpool heiress with alarming speed.

He put his hands on her cheeks and gently moved her. Her hands went to the places where his fingers had touched. Of course he’d left marks again, and this time on her skin. She stared at him, wide-eyed, a picture of maidenly confusion.

Lewis felt hot breath at his ear and turned to find the earl uncomfortably close.

“Lost my spectacles,” Nicholas said. “Can’t quite see who this lady is.”

“It’s Lady Allen-Hill, my lord,” she said, flashing Lewis an impishly relieved smile. “I was taking a walk.”

Without his spectacles, the earl would probably not be able to discern the marks on her face. He was notoriously farsighted.

“I would confine your movements elsewhere,” the earl said. “Dangerous around here. Now Noble, can you get those batteries connected, if you please?”

“Of course,” Lewis said. “Straightaway.” He nodded at the woman with the black dots on her face and followed the earl back into the barn, wondering what she wanted with an absentminded inventor like him.

Victoria continued to walk, bemused by the carnality of Lewis’s kiss. Underneath her combinations, her thighs were damp with desire. She wanted more. Behind the stables, she glimpsed the lake and walked to it, catching the gleam of the submarine’s metal outer shell where it rested on blocks. She continued east, following the edge of the lake so she would be able to find her way back to the Fort even if it went out of view.

While she walked, she pondered the mystery of Lewis Noble. She’d still had no glimpse into the workings of his brain. She could not even theorize if he liked her. That kiss had been the first time she’d ever been truly certain he found her desirable. He’d forgotten himself enough to touch her face.

She walked down to the edge of the lake. Sparkling ice dotted the lower levels of vegetation, but beyond that the water was clear. Leaning over, she attempted to capture her reflection. When she touched her cheek with her gray wool glove, it came away with a bit of dark grease. She had suspected as much. Lewis had left his mark on her skin, too. She pulled off a glove and dipped a hand into the water.

“Ah!” she gasped as the cold touched her skin. Quickly, she scrubbed at her face, then wiped the grease off with a handkerchief. Eventually, she felt presentable again. She tucked away the handkerchief and pulled on her glove.

When she turned away from the lake, she saw a man watching her. At first, she assumed it was one of the earl’s workmen, but then her eyes focused and she recognized Ernest Dickondell.

He grinned at her as she recognized him and jumped off a small rise. She stepped forward to meet him.

“Good afternoon, my lady,” he said with a slight bow, diminished in formality by a knowing grin.

“You are underdressed for taking the air, sir. Where is your coat?”

Indeed, his clothing was of suitable tightness to promise the viewer that there was no long wool underwear lurking underneath it. He wore town clothes, with no condescension toward winter. She suspected he knew he looked his best in spring fashions and dressed accordingly for all seasons. With her newfound knowledge of the male physique, she could see he had much to display.

“I believed the sun and followed her,” Ernest said.

“You will catch an ague.” Victoria smiled vaguely as she decided where to go next. Should she continue along the lake? She wasn’t sure how far it went, and she’d need to be back with time to bathe before her next change of clothing.

“I have never felt cold in my life.”

When she regarded him curiously, he shrugged. “Strange, I know, but unless there is precipitation, I never concern myself with outerwear.”

Or underwear
. She wondered how she could have such a naughty thought when she had hitched her star to Lewis’s cart. Surely she wasn’t capable of changing beds in only the course of a few days. Ernest was handsome, to be sure, and far more rakish than Lewis, but she liked the inventor’s quiet self-assurance. She also knew he was a man of strong interests. Ernest was an enigma, but the kind that wasn’t terribly interesting to her. You could assume you knew what he did with his days. Some form of exercise. Drinking, gambling, adventures with unmarriageable women.

Unlike Lewis, he might be willing to move to Liverpool, however. Did he have the intelligence to succeed her father in the family business? She knew, Lewis or not, she needed to give Ernest the opportunity to impress her, because her father would certainly be checking him out as a prospect. If she decided to dislike him, she needed to know now.

So, with Lewis’s kiss still fresh on her lips, she smiled at the second Dickondell son. “I do hope your good luck continues, sir, as I should not like you to become susceptible.”

He nodded. “May I offer you my arm, Lady Allen-Hill? There are plenty of depressions in the ground. Trouble with moles, I believe. Common around here.”

She took the proffered arm, feeling strangely adulterous. “I have always been a city dweller. No experience with rural complaints.”

“Do you plan to return to your city ways after the holidays?” He drew her in the direction of the house.

She bit her lip, not wanting to head in Lewis’s direction, but not knowing how to demur without Ernest thinking she wanted to be alone with him. “Oh, yes. I make my home in Liverpool, with my father.”