Season for Scandal (36 page)

“He can think that if he likes,” she sniffed. “What I mean is, he’ll remember the day he took us all on. And he’ll remember that he couldn’t predict our next move because the queen wasn’t working alone.”

“Interesting. I like it.” He turned his head sideways, looking at her from the corner of his eye. “So you’re a queen now?”

“Oh, well. It’s the only female piece. I mean, calling myself a bishop would be ridiculous.”

“Ridiculous indeed.” He looked her up and down. “You were magnificent this evening, Jane. Magnificent. Ah—did you find it a difficult part to play?”

“Some of it was. Some of it wasn’t.”

“I see.” He sighed. “I regret that he touched you. We should have gone in sooner. If we had, you’d never have been in danger and—”

“But I’m fine.” He looked as if he was going to protest, and she squeezed his fingers as hard as she could. “I’m fine, Edmund. It all worked out, and everyone is safe.”

“We shall have to burn that gown.”

“My gown?”

“Well, I hardly mean a gown of mine.” He frowned. “It’s all rumpled, and Turner pawed it, and—Jane, I’m so sorry.”

“I’m
fine
. And I like this gown. Hill will be able to remove the creases.”

“There’s no need. I’ll buy you a new one.”

“There’s no need,” she echoed, “because I like this one. It’s one I chose before our wedding.”

He tilted his head. “Oh.”

“Besides, when I wear it, and when you see it, we can both remember how brave I was.” She smiled. “And how wenchy.”

“You were not wenchy. You were a perfect lady.” With a final squeeze, he released her hands. “All right, you were a little wenchy. But you said that the part was—”

“Some of it was easy to play, and some difficult,” she said primly. “Enough about gowns, though. There’s more news yet.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, Lord Sheringbrook has left England as well. His mother received the news of it while you were gone with Turner.”

“What?” Edmund pulled back. “Are you sure?”

“As sure as anyone with a working set of ears could be. Her butler got the word from Sheringbrook’s valet, who was left behind in the flight. Turner was wrong about Sheringbrook leaving the card tables alone. He got himself into debt with some ugly characters and has fled. It seems he’s taken his mother’s pearls to finance his escape.”

Sighing, Edmund sat on the arm of Jane’s chair. One arm stretched across the back of the chair to brace his weight; its presence, like half an embrace, made the fine hairs at the back of her neck prickle.

“Poor woman. She did us a great service tonight. How is she?” he asked.

“As well as can be expected. She seemed resigned to the loss of her son and her pearls, since neither was a great surprise to her. Xavier and Louisa offered to let her stay the night, but she said she’d be all right on her own.”

“She has her own house, doesn’t she?”

“Yes, and an annuity.”

“If Sheringbrook has a good steward, his estate could one day recover. It might not even be a bad thing that he’s vanished. It will spare his mother a great deal of pain.”

“Maybe so. Yet she’ll miss him.” Jane leaned her head back, letting the strong length of his arm cradle her. “Are we only talking about Sheringbrook, or about you?”

“I don’t know.” His hand covered her head, teasing free small locks from her rumpled coiffure. “I don’t know.”

She shut her eyes, the better to savor the ruination of her hair. “Xavier had plenty to say, too, on the subject of gambling and the loss of my dowry.”

Edmund laughed. “I thought he might.”

“I’m glad he knows. I don’t want to keep any more secrets of my own, though I’ll hold yours tight.” Opening her eyes, she looked up into Edmund’s face. Tired and kind and patient and amused; he was so beautiful to her. “And the loss is not so bad as we thought. Lady Sheringbrook is going to sell off her son’s possessions to satisfy his creditors, and since he defrauded me”—Edmund made a choking sound, which she ignored—“she will give us some of the money. Even if it’s only a few hundred pounds, I’m sure I can turn it into ten thousand as long as I can find a card game with no cheats.”

It was impossible to ignore the choking sound this time. “No, Jane. Please don’t.”

With a forefinger, he traced her features: brows, then nose. His finger lingered on her lips. “I was happy to take you with nothing. Let Lady Sheringbrook give the money to shopkeepers and merchants. I’m well-satisfied with how your gamble paid off.”

His finger traced the shape of her lips; she was afraid to speak, lest he pull it away.

“Jane, I told you to return anytime, but only if you were going to stay. Is that what this means, or did you come only to give me the news? Because if you did, it’s all right. I won’t hold you to that ultimatum. I should never have made it of you, but it was too wrenching to have you return—
oh.
My. Lord.”

She had pulled his forefinger between her lips, sucking at the sensitive tip. Catching his fingers in hers, she said, “You were talking too much.”

“Huh.” He was blinking quite a lot. “If that’s what you plan to do when I talk too much, you’re not encouraging me to keep silent.”

There was no point in pretending she wasn’t blushing. “Before I answer, I have some gifts for you.”

“Before you answer, I have some gifts for you, too.”

“You do?” Disappointment flickered within her.

“It’s not a bonnet, for heaven’s sake. Don’t look so glum.” He cut off her protest. “You haven’t eaten since tea a few hours ago, have you? We could have a cold supper sent in.”

“How is your stomach pain? Would you be able to eat the food?”

He thought about this. “Yes. Yes, I think I could give it a damned good try.” He smiled. “I would apologize for my language, except that I think you like it.”

“Kind, polite Lord Kirkpatrick forgetting his manners? I am all aflutter.”

He opened his mouth as though to reply, then shook his head. “I shall fetch the gifts. Do you mind ordering the supper?”

“I’ll do it. Go ahead.” Her heart began to thump a little more quickly, but she managed a calm voice as she rang for a servant, made the request, then dived behind the sofa to collect the parcels she had brought in.

Last of all came a roll of brown paper. She wrapped it around herself like a cape, then stood in the doorway of the drawing room.

Under the mistletoe.

Chapter 27

Concerning Proper and Improper Christmas Gifts

If there was one thing Edmund had come to expect from Jane, it was that he would never know what to expect from Jane.

Even so, he was surprised to turn the corner and see her standing in the corridor outside the drawing room, clutching a length of brown paper around her shoulders. “Are you cold? Maybe I really should buy you a new gown.”

She rolled her eyes. “It’s meant to be a sort of gift. Oh, this was stupid. I knew it.” Crumpling the paper in her hands, she let it fall.

“Wait.” Edmund dropped the tube he was holding, then strode over to catch her before she could turn away. “Wait. Don’t run off. You’re standing under mistletoe.”

“Yes. That was stupid, too.”

“Ordinarily, it’s impolite to contradict a lady. But the usual rules don’t apply when a kiss is at stake.” Edmund searched her face: wide eyes, stubborn chin, lovely mouth. “May I?”

Her lips parted. Since she didn’t say no right away, he took that as a yes, and he bent to kiss her. Just a feather-soft whisper, a promise.

With me, Jane, it’s always a promise.
So he had told her once, and he poured the truth of that into this kiss. Tasting her, sweet and slow as honey. Her mouth opened, lips soft, her tongue a gentle flicker of heat that shot warmth through his whole body.

His hands caught her shoulders, holding her closer. As long as he was kissing her, she couldn’t leave; as long as he was kissing her, that was enough.

He was falling, and he loved the fall.

Too soon, she pulled away. “The servants. They’ll be here any minute with the tray.” Her cheeks had gone a lovely shade of pink.

“They know what mistletoe is for.”

“It was only because of the mistletoe that you kissed me?” Her jaw got that stubborn look.

He grinned. “Who do you think had the mistletoe hung all over the house, Jane?”

She was still mulling that over as he picked up his dropped parcel and followed her into the drawing room. And she was right; it was only a minute or two before a servant brought in a tray of sandwiches, a teapot, and cups of mulled wine, sweet-spiced and strong. As the tray and plates were arranged, Edmund pretended to poke up the fire, wondering what the hell had just gotten into him.

Actually, he knew: he had just had his first real kiss.

For the first time in his life, lips had brushed lips without having to close upon secrets; for the first time, he had wrapped a woman in his arms without feeling the need to keep his distance.

When the servant left them alone again, Edmund and Jane settled side by side on the carpet before the wide fireplace.

He stacked up cold chicken and wedges of cheese for each of them, then returned to an intriguing subject. “Jane, tell me more about the gift that required you to be wrapped in paper.”

She dropped the bite she was holding. “Huh. Um. It was foolish, as I said.”

“If you give me a foolish gift, I’ll give you a foolish gift. And no, it won’t be a bonnet.”

She managed to smile. “Well. It was me. That is—you told me not to return unless I was here to stay.” She spread her hands. “Here I am if you want me.”

His ears seemed to ring, high and faint. “You’re here. To stay. Do you mean it?”

“Yes.” She shoved a huge bite of chicken into her mouth.

“That’s not a foolish gift. That’s the best gift.”

She choked. He pounded her on the back. It was really more of a pat or a caress, and it was a good thing she began breathing again because he could only concentrate on one thing: “You’re going to stay.”

“Yes.”

“Why did you think that was foolish?”

She looked away. “If you didn’t want me here, I would have felt very stupid indeed. I’ve always felt a little as if I’m chasing after you, begging you to love me. You gave me an escape tonight by telling me I needn’t stay. But I want to have it decided. I want to know what you want of me.”

“I want you to stay. I’ve always wanted you to stay.” He touched her chin, that lovely, stubborn chin, and turned her face toward him. “Every time you called here, then went back to Xavier House, I felt I’d lost you all over again. As long as you weren’t sure of me, I thought it would be better not to see you and not to be hurt.” His hand dropped, fingers clenching. “That’s where I was a fool, because not seeing you was its own kind of pain.”

She studied him, her eyes flecked with gold from the firelight. “You missed me?”

“I missed you,” he repeated. “I love you.”

The only sound was the tick of the clock on the mantel; the pop of coals in the fire.

“Nothing to say, Jane? I can hardly credit it.” He tried to speak lightly, so she would not know how her silence pressed upon him.

“I trusted you not to lie to me.” She folded her legs so she sat in a tight ball. “You’re telling the truth? Not just trying to make me feel better?”

“I’ve never known how to trick you into feeling better, my dear. This is the truth. I love you. Do you want me to say it some more?”

She considered. “Yes.”

“I love you, Jane. I think I have for a long time, and I didn’t realize it. Like someone who’s gotten so cold he’s gone numb, and when feeling starts to return, it’s such a shock that he mistakes it for pain.” His throat went tight. “And then it gets better, and then it’s the best thing imaginable.”

“Your love is like frostbite?”

“Oh, damn. That’s not what I meant. Look, I could read you a poem. I know just the right one.” He narrowed his eyes. “Wait. You’re laughing at me.”

“A little.” She smiled; an eyes-crinkling, cheek-dimpling grin. “Say it some more.”

“You can’t expect me always to come up with the perfect metaphorical ailment.” He laid a hand on her back, rubbing it up and down until her small, folded-up figure began to unfurl. “When I proposed to you, I was relieved to make a marriage of convenience because I didn’t want a love match. I came from a ruined family; I had a large hand in ruining it. I blamed myself for my father’s death. I knew Turner had come back, but I
didn’t
know what he’d do. Above all, I didn’t want to destroy anything else.”

“Like love.”

“Like love,” he agreed. “I wanted a sensible marriage, with comfortable distance, so I wouldn’t ever hurt my wife.”

“You wanted a sensible marriage, yet you married me?” Her voice held a laugh.

“What’s not sensible about marrying you? You’re bright and well-born, pretty and ingenious.”

“Now I know you’re just being kind.”

“I will never understand,” he said unsteadily, “why you persist in thinking of me as the kind one. You are devastatingly kind, my love. You put yourself in danger tonight for me.”

“That wasn’t the difficult part.” She picked up the cup of mulled wine, breathed deeply of its scent, and handed it to Edmund. “The difficult part was pretending as though I didn’t want to return to you.”

He handed her a cup in return, then clinked glasses with her. “You see? Kind.”

“Don’t say that sort of thing unless we’re alone. My reputation will be absolutely ruined.”

Edmund took a sip of the hot drink, letting the wine and spice melt over his tongue. “When you told me you loved me, I felt I’d done you a great wrong. I’d hurt you, just by being myself. By forcing your hand.”

“But you didn’t know I wanted to say yes. Any time. On any terms.”

“You see? I thought of our marriage in too small a way. On its first day, I ruined it.”

“I wouldn’t say ruined. But giving me the bonnet was a mistake.” He would have felt far more chastised had she not scooted closer and leaned against him, resting her head on his shoulder.

“Ah, well. It did look pretty on you. And in my misguided way, I was trying to make amends to you. I knew you didn’t want a small life, but I couldn’t offer you anything else. Not until I let myself trust you.” Her hair softly tickled his jawline as he spoke. “Not until I trusted myself. To be strong enough to face the truth. And then strong enough to share it.”