Deck The Halls With Love: Lost Lords Of Pembrook Novella (5 page)

“Still, it’s perplexing.”

“People are always talking about one thing or another. Don’t concern yourself with it.”

“Yes, I suppose you’re right.” Although without the discovery in the garden, would she be marrying him? Choice had been taken away from her. It hadn’t really mattered at the time because she liked Litton, and Chetwyn was involved with Lady Anne. But what if he hadn’t been? What might have been was of no consequence. She would go mad if she focused on that rather than what was.

Shifting her gaze over to Chetwyn, she discovered him watching her. He would be about all day. Their paths might cross on occasion. Tonight a theater group would be performing
A Christmas Carol,
but until then she could find herself partnered with Chetwyn during a session of parlor games this afternoon. She could barely tolerate the thought.

“I was thinking of taking a walk,” she told Litton.

“Where?”

She laughed lightly. “Outside, of course.”

“My sweet, there’s half a foot of snow out there.”

“I have my boots. I thought you might care to join me.”

Shaking his head, he rubbed his temples. “I feel as though my skull is about to split open.”

“I’m so sorry. Why ever did you get out of bed, then?”

“I’ve not yet been to bed. I thought some coffee might help with the pounding in my head.”

“You’ve been up all night?” She kept her horror at the thought contained. What if he’d decided that he wanted a game of billiards, if he and other gentlemen had walked in to see Chetwyn kissing her—or worse, her returning the kiss with equal fervor? The scandal would have ruined her, perhaps even her family. Her father would have never forgiven her.

“Cards do not run on a schedule, so yes, all night,” he said.

“But you were losing. Why would you keep at it?”

He shrugged. “I didn’t wager that much.”

While he didn’t say it, she couldn’t help but think that her dowry, which would soon be his, would settle his debt.

“Besides,” he continued, “I can’t expect you to understand the thrill of acquiring the perfect hand.”

“You won’t continue to gamble like this when we’re married, will you?”

He stood. “I’m off to bed.” Leaning down, he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “I’ll see you this evening.”

When she glanced over and saw Chetwyn still studying her, she wished Litton had taken her in his arms and given her a resounding kiss that would cause the windows to fog over. She also wished that she wasn’t suddenly filled with misgivings.

C
hetwyn was standing outside taking in some fresh air when he spied Merry traipsing off in the direction of the castle that had once been the official family residence. He hadn’t meant to stare at her during breakfast, but he’d had a rough night of it, unable to forget the feel of her in his arms. Watching her with Litton—touching, talking, and smiling—had been torment. He wanted to begin his day with her at
his
breakfast table.

Bloody hell. He wanted to begin his day with her in his bed. Breakfast would come later.

As she disappeared, he glanced around. Surely she wasn’t going off by herself. She must have arranged a meeting with Litton, but then where was he? He knew she probably wouldn’t welcome his company, but if he just happened to be strolling in the same direction—where was the harm? How could she object?

With the thick blanket of snow muffling his footsteps, Chetwyn took off after her. He remembered how much she enjoyed the outdoors. Perhaps like him, she was simply starting to feel hemmed in. The last thing he wanted was to play a game of charades, and he seemed to recall that was first on the list of today’s entertainments. As he quickened his pace, he closed the distance between them and caught glimpses of her through the trees. She trudged on with such determination and purpose. In one gloved hand, she held a pair of skates, and he realized she was hoping to find a pond frozen over. He waited until she’d gone far enough that he didn’t think she’d contemplate returning to the residence in order to avoid his company. Then he lengthened his stride until he caught up to her.

“Bit brisk out for a walk, isn’t it?”

She swung around, the fire of anger in her eyes, when he much preferred the fire of passion. He was surprised that all of the snow around them didn’t melt. “Let me be, Chetwyn.”

“You can’t possibly think that I’m going to allow you to march off into the woods alone.”

“I’m certain I’ll be quite safe.”

It wasn’t a risk he was willing to take. “Why isn’t Litton accompanying you? Did you have a squabble during breakfast?”

“It’s none of your affair.” She pursed her lips before blurting, “His head hurt. He was up for a good bit of the night.”

Drinking and gambling,
he thought, based upon what he’d heard. Tristan had told Chetwyn over their warm eggs and toast that Litton had ended his night with markers owed to several of the lords. He didn’t know why he wanted her to feel better about the blighter. “Many were, from what I understand.”

“We’re just fortunate that they didn’t walk into the billiards room during an inopportune moment.”

“I wouldn’t have allowed your reputation to be sullied.”

“Sometimes it can’t be helped. Please return to the manor, Chetwyn. I’m out here alone because I need solitude.”

“Are you rethinking your plans to marry Litton?”

“I’m rethinking my decision not to knock my skates against your thick skull.”

He couldn’t help but smile. “At least you are thinking of me.”

“Good God, but you are vexing,” she stated before tromping off.

He should let her go. She didn’t want his company. But he might never have another opportunity to be in her presence alone. He looked up at the sky. Gray, with heavy clouds, it had an ominous feel to it.

Falling into step beside her, he said, “I think we’re in for some more nasty weather.”

“I’m quite capable of dealing with a bit of snow.”

Holding his thoughts, he simply watched her breaths turning white and fading away. Her cheeks were ruddy, her strides determined. He remembered his father telling him about a well-stocked pond on the estate where he’d fished with the previous Duke of Keswick. Chetwyn wondered if that was where she was heading. She certainly seemed to know where she was going. She also seemed to have given up on attempting to convince him to leave her alone.

The bare trees were laden with snow. Every now and then a stray breeze blew a dusting of white from its perch. A hushed silence surrounded them. It seemed the place to let anger go, or at the very least a place to share a special moment, to create a memory that would last a lifetime. If he could not have her forever, he could at least have her for now. He didn’t know if it would soften or sharpen the regret with which he would live.

He took her elbow. She pivoted around, her arm swinging the skates toward his head. He ducked, and when they’d passed he grabbed her other arm and propelled her back against the nearest tree; then, releasing the hold on one arm, he touched his finger to her lips, striving not to give any reaction to how warm they were. Despite the cold, the heat seeped through his leather gloves. “Shh.”

“How dare—”

“Shh. We’re not alone.”

Her green eyes widened. The leaves would match their shade come spring. He would never behold another tree without thinking of her.

Without panic, barely moving her head, she scanned the area. “Who?”

“To your right, below that scraggly bush there.”

She looked down. He saw her expression soften, before she shored up her resolve not to enjoy a moment in his company and gave him a pointed glare. “A rabbit?”

He’d spotted the white fur just before he touched Merry. “A tad beyond is a deer.”

She shifted her gaze and he took satisfaction in her curiosity. “I remember the interest you took in birds when we walked through the parks. You seem to know them all.”

“I appreciate creatures, great and small. What I do not appreciate is your taking liberties. Please unhand me.”

“Do you love him? You never truly answered my question last night. Tell me that much at least. Do you love him?”

She angled her chin. “With all my heart.”

Hope soaring through him, he gave her a slow, triumphant grin. “You always were a poor liar, Merry.”

Then he covered her mouth with his.

M
eredith knew that she should knock her skates against the side of his skull, render him unconscious, and run for her life. Instead she released her hold on them and wound her arms around his neck. As he moved in, she welcomed the weight and warmth of his body pressing against her.

It was wrong, so very wrong for her to enjoy his kiss, to want his kiss. Without liquor flavoring his tongue, he still tasted marvelous. Rich and sinful. Decadent. His gloved hands came up, held her head, provided a cushion against the hard bark. He took the kiss deeper, his tongue swirling through her mouth, stirring carnal cravings to life.

There had been a time when she’d thought she’d die from wanting a kiss from him. She never felt that way with Litton. When he had kissed her, his lips upon hers had been pleasant. But she’d never thought that together they could melt snow.

With Chetwyn, she was fairly certain that when he was done with her, she would find herself in a puddle of icy water. She stroked her hands over his shoulders. He was firm, strong. She knew he enjoyed the outdoors as much as she. His body reflected his passions. At one time, she’d hoped to become one of them.

He slid his lips from hers, nuzzling her neck, his mouth somehow finding its way beneath her collar, the heat of his breath coating dew along her skin. “Until Christmas, Merry, give me until Christmas to prove my affections are true.”

Everything within her wanted to scream,
“Yes!”
But her heart, still bruised, whispered,
“No.”

“I’m afraid,” she said, her voice as rough and raw as her soul.

Drawing back, he held her gaze, his rapid breaths visible in the cold air mingling with hers. “I won’t hurt you again, I swear it.”

He took her wrist. She wanted to wrench it free, but instead she was mesmerized watching as he brought it to his lips, crooked a finger beneath her cuff, and revealed a tiny bit of flesh. Gently, reverently, he placed his mouth there and closed his eyes as though he’d acquired heaven. Her breath caught, even as her heart sped into a wild gallop.

“Until Christmas, Merry,” he whispered in a hoarse voice. “It’s not so very long, and I’m a much better choice than Litton.”

He opened his eyes, and the intensity she saw there almost dropped her to her knees. “It’s too late, Chetwyn.”

“Even if you were standing at the altar this moment, it wouldn’t be too late. It’s not too late until you exchange vows, until you sign the marriage register.”

Shaking her head, she pushed him back and skirted away from him. She tugged down her cuff, yanked up her glove, but still she could feel the press of his lips against her wrist. She wanted to rub the sensation away, while at the same time she wanted to place it in a gilded box so she could keep it. “I trusted you with my heart once. I won’t do it again.”

“I know I bruised your feelings.”

“You did nothing of the sort.” Reaching down, she snatched up her skates.

“I won’t give up,” he said. “Not until Christmas.”

“Why that particular day?”

“Because your love is the only gift I wish to receive.”

Oh, how she truly wanted to believe the words, to bask in them, glory in them. But he had toyed with her affections once. She would not be so quick to fall for him again. “And with my love comes my dowry. How do I know it’s not what you’re truly after?”

“I don’t give a damn about your dowry. I’ll find a way to prove that to you as well.”

“Even if you earn my love, you won’t win my hand. Father promised it to Litton.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Was it not your choice to marry him? Are the rumors true? Did he take advantage?”

“It was only a kiss, but we were caught. I wanted the kiss, and I want to marry him.” Or at least she had convinced herself that she wanted to marry him, because in truth she had no choice. Her father would have it no other way. She wondered if a time would ever come when women didn’t have to obey their fathers, when they would have the full freedom of adulthood. Although even her brothers, older than she, still obeyed their father. “The pond is just over the rise,” she said, to steer them away from the conversation and a promise she didn’t want to make.

She and Chetwyn carried on in companionable silence as the sky darkened and snow began to blow around them.

“Perhaps we should turn back,” he said.

“Giving up so easily, Chetwyn?”

“Where you’re concerned, never again.”

She didn’t want to admit that, with his words, something within her sang as clearly as the birds of spring.

T
he snow was falling more thickly by the time they reached the pond.

“I wouldn’t recommend we stay overly long,” Chetwyn said. “Our tracks will soon disappear, and we’ll have a difficult time finding our way back.”

Something told her that they shouldn’t stay at all. They’d walked quite a distance. The wind had picked up and was whining through the trees. Soon it would be howling. But the water was frozen and the ice inviting. “One trip around the outer edge, and we’ll head back,” she said.

She glanced around, striving to determine where she could sit without gaining a damp bottom.

“Lean against that tree there,” he said. “I’ll slip your blades onto your shoes.”

After handing him her blades, she did as he suggested. With her back against the bark, she watched as he knelt in the snow. He lifted his gaze to hers, and a sharp pang ripped through her. She had dreamed of him in that position, only he was going to ask her to become his wife. She swallowed hard at the memory of how badly she had wanted it.

Chetwyn patted his knee. “Give me your foot.”

With her hands to the side, gripping the trunk of the tree, she lifted her foot. Bending his head, he went to work securing the wooden blade to her shoe. Give him until Christmas to prove he was worthy of her affections? She didn’t think he’d need more than a day. What of poor Litton? She knew what it was to be cast aside. He certainly didn’t deserve such unkind treatment, but was it kinder to let him go when she longed for another?