Teach Me Under the Mistletoe (13 page)

A festive atmosphere had overtaken Rose Hill. The ball was mere hours away. She should be preparing for the grand event with resting and bathing and pampering. But if everything went as she hoped later, this would be her last rendezvous with Hugh. She refused to consider what lie behind the pang assaulting her heart at the thought. It was only that she’d become used to spending time in his company over the past fortnight. He’d not touched her since she’d hugged him in gratitude for agreeing to keep her company. In fact, he’d kept a careful, measured distance. But his wit and intelligence had made a refreshing change from the stilted, too-polite conversation offered at her family’s dinner table. And change was good. Hopefully, after the night’s festivities, her own life would be changed
for
good.

“Caroline!” called her mother again, her tone taking on an edge of impatience. “Come in here please.”

Now what, Mother?
Another lecture of how she shouldn’t be walking about the grounds in the chill air? Or an admonition to behave like a proper lady? How she needed to rest in her room so she could be fresh for the ball? Or worse, what if Lady Smythe, one of their week-long guests happened to be in there? The contentious old harpy was always rapping her cane on the floor to get attention, always demanding a glass of port, a cup of tea, someone to listen to her endless droning voice telling stories of her youth. Always finding reasons to criticize those around her…

No!

Kitty lunged for the exit. The startled footman fumbled with the latch, barely managing to get the door open before Kitty fell through the opening. Without so much as a backward glance, she strode along the drive, not even bothering to affect a leisurely stroll. Not this time. She was already late.

She set her foot on the side path, and as soon as she was out of sight of the manor, she broke into a run. Uncaring of the bushes that grabbed at her cloak, or that her feet slipped on the damp ground, she dashed, hoping Hugh hadn’t grown tired of waiting, praying he somehow knew she would come. Out of breath, she burst onto the stone terrace.

And there he was. Standing next to one of the marble columns in front of the Roman folly, Hugh waited. His broad shoulders filled out the tweed coat, worn open as he did more often than not. Watery sun glinted off his black hair, which she knew was softer than the silk of the fine gown she would don for the ball later. Kitty swallowed hard and fought for her next breath.

“Hallo,” she murmured, suddenly shy in the company of her friend. “So glad you waited.”

The smile began in his eyes, then radiated outward to the gentle lift of his lips, the inclination of his head to the right. “How could I not when the reward is to spend even a few moments in the company of a beautiful lady?”

A thrill shivered through her at his words. Not for the first time, she wondered at his ability to murmur the perfect words. He was but a groom, a stablehand, as he reminded her repeatedly, but his glib tongue hinted at a history rich with culture. No matter how she tried, though, she’d never persuaded him to share any more of his past than his admission of having grown up in a small Scottish community. He’d never spoken further of his two married sisters who still resided there. She’d tried to find his home on the maps in her father’s study but had discovered she couldn’t recall the name. All the cities and towns bore such strange names, with such odd spellings, she had no idea how they kept them all straight.

He made a sweeping gesture downward, and for the first time, Kitty noted a large wicker basket at his feet.

“A decanter of fine red wine and crystal glasses, a loaf of bread, and some cheese…” He stooped and picked up the basket. “A fine picnic, I’d say. All that’s missing is something to sit on so we don’t chill our bones on that stone bench.”

Inspiration struck in the flash of a memory. “The blanket!”

Hugh’s forehead creased as confusion clouded his gaze.

A giggle slipped past Kitty’s lips. Oh, her mother would be appalled at how often she laughed out loud lately. “The blanket you brought from the stable that first afternoon. I pitched it into the folly so it wouldn’t get ruined!”

Understanding dawned, and he answered her giggles with a hearty chuckle. “Well then…” He captured her gaze and held it for a heartbeat. “I suppose nothing is missing now!”

Together they laid the blanket over the stone bench. Hugh made a show of holding a nonexistent chair as Kitty arranged herself on the seat. Then he set the basket at their feet and peeled back the white linen. Silence hung between them, not quite easy but not entirely awkward. Odd that after two weeks of meeting every day she could feel so unexpectedly tongue-tied.

Hugh showed a sense of ease as he poured a glass of wine, swirled it in the glass and inhaled, and then handed it to Kitty with a smile. She waited for him to pour his, and when he raised his glass, she raised her own.

“To a… successful evening,” he said softly.

“To friendship,” she returned as their glasses clinked.

After sipping his wine, Hugh set his glass on the bench between them and rummaged in the basket, retrieving first a loaf of bread and then a large hunk of yellow cheese. Had he known somehow that she’d a particular fondness for yellow cheese?

She took what she hoped was a demur nibble on the manly sized portion he’d handed her. Mellow sour flavor erupted over her tongue, followed by a rush of heat that enveloped her face and spread through her body. She cleansed her palate with a bite of bread and then sipped her wine.

“This is nice.” The pang in her heart was becoming difficult to ignore. Surely, she would be able to see her friend again, if not every day, then on occasion. She should be pleased, anticipating her evening at the ball, not feeling sorrow that their daily interludes were coming to an end.

“Have ye laid out your ball gown, all ready for yer adventures under the mistletoe this evening?” His words seemed easy, but Kitty wondered at an underlying sense of carefulness in his demeanor.

“I have. It’s beautiful — gold satin with a crimson skirt and ivory lace. Jenny helped me choose it.” Kitty tried to muster some excitement but sadly her efforts fell flat.

A cacophony of honks and squeaks rose from the pond, drawing Kitty’s attention. Two white geese circled one another, their agitated motions rippling the water in a circular pattern. The greylag floated off to the side; his distressed honking as the pair of white geese squared off was drawing more of the little gaggle to the arena.

“What on earth is going on?” asked Kitty.

Hugh stood and shielded his eyes as he looked out over the water. “I’d say our greylag friend has turned out to be a lady, and we’re witnessing the goose equivalent of a duel. It seems two ganders have developed a certain affection for the same goose…”

Kitty’s lips twitched into a smile. “What it must feel like to be fought over so…”

Angling a gaze in her direction, Hugh’s expression was unreadable. “Is that what ye’d like? To have men want ye so badly they’d duel over ye?”

Kitty’s breath stalled in her chest as she considered his words.
Would
she like to be fought over? “I suppose not,” she answered in a small voice. “One would think the thrill of it might be appealing, but in truth, I just want to be loved by one man who loves me enough that he would fight
for
me.”

Hugh’s expression became shuttered as he sat back down, but he said nothing. Instead, he reached into the basket again and pulled out a ball of finger-length green leaves with tiny white berries scattered throughout. The stems had been tied together with a long white and red ribbon that fluttered in the gentle breeze.

“Mistletoe!” exclaimed Kitty, delighted by the gesture.

“Well, I suppose that’s one lesson we havena’ yet completed, aye?” His accent had thickened again. “The actual kiss under the mistletoe.”

He stood again and walked to the pillars overlooking the reflecting pond. Grasping a trailer of ivy, he affixed the ball of mistletoe high up on the column, then stepped back and surveyed his handiwork. When he glanced over his shoulder, his eyes were alight with challenge. “Well? Shall we complete the final lesson, then?”

Kitty’s heart began a merry little pitter-patter rhythm as she rose and glided across the terrace on seemingly winged feet. He moved aside as she approached, making it clear that she should step into the space beneath the mistletoe.

She paused and glanced upward. The wind had picked up and the red and white ribbon spun in rapid circles. “Oh, my… I seem to find myself under the mistletoe…” She looked over at Hugh, a little surprised that the burning intensity he’d not shown over the past days had returned to his eyes.

“I believe a lady who has paused under the mistletoe simply must be kissed,” he murmured.

With unbelievable gentleness, Hugh grazed her cheeks with the backs of his knuckles. Ever so slowly, he opened his hands and cupped her face between them, brushing his thumb back and forth over her left cheek. Then he bent and placed a tender kiss on her lips, resting there with a soft sigh.

Kitty waited for him to deepen the kiss, to take her mouth the way he had early on. Excitement sent little darts from her quivering middle outward until anticipation bade her to lean into him. But as she did, he gave her a soft peck and then stepped back.

Blinking in surprise, no words came to her tongue, and Kitty could do nothing but stare, silently willing him to explain. Something wet plopped onto her cheek, and it took a moment for her to recognize her own tear.

Using his thumb, Hugh swept her cheek again, and the wetness was gone.

“There now,” he murmured. “If the gentleman sees ye crying after his kiss, he’s likely to think he did something wrong.”

“You did nothing wrong,” she whispered, though her body begged to differ as a heated longing for more swamped her. She simply must get control of herself. Drawing a deep breath, she affected a weak laugh. “I expect you’re right about not crying under the mistletoe. Good thing you thought to bring it along.”

“
I
brought it along…?” Hugh went rigid. “I thought—” He scanned the terrace, his gaze flitting madly to and fro.

Alarm rocketed along Kitty’s spine. “What is it? What’s amiss?”

He turned round in a complete circle, stopping when he faced her again. “Lady Caroline, I did not bring the basket.”

“But you must have!” She chuckled. He was jesting with her, surely. “You were waiting next to it when I got…” The world seemed to spin around her. “Not you?”

“I thought
you
had the basket brought up here… that you’d sent someone, your maid perhaps.”

Mystified, Kitty shook her head. “No, not me. But who…?” Someone knew! Someone knew about her trysts with Hugh. Henrietta knew about some of them, of course, but she wouldn’t have… “I’m sorry!” Fear and shock swirled about her, sucking her into a maelstrom of panic. “I-I have to go!”

When she would have taken off at a headstrong run, Hugh’s hand snaked out and he took hold of her by the arm. “Wait!”

Unable to move, Kitty stood stock still, but she couldn’t stop jabbering. “Don’t you see? Someone knows about us!”

“Aye, that would appear to be the right if it,” he admitted, loosening his grip but without letting her go. “But if I’ve learned one thing in life, it’s that things are seldom what they seem. And I’ll tell ye this…” Still holding onto her arm, he walked them toward the shelter of the Roman ruin. “…if ye go runnin’ back home wi’ that look on yer face, whoever did this will know ye’ve been spooked. Ye look guilty, Lady Caroline, and ye’ve nothing to be guilty for.” He turned her to face him and took both her hands in his, squeezing lightly until she met his gaze. “Ye’ve done nothin’ wrong.”

Kitty stopped struggling and took in several deep breaths. “You’re right, of course. But what should I do?”

Hugh shook his head. “Ye walk back to yer house and ye prepare for the ball just like ye always planned. If all goes—” His jaw clenched, and a tremor shook him. But he recovered rather quickly. “If things go as ye hope tonight, we willna’ be meeting again in any case.”

Chapter Twelve

Kitty brushed her hands over the rich silk gown, enjoying the softness beneath her fingers. The gown had been purchased the previous summer when she’d traveled with her parents to Vienna. At the time, she’d thought it too conservative to attract any attention, but according to Hugh, a certain mystique, a wondering of what might be discovered beneath, held appeal.

Peering in the mirror, she hoped he was correct, for in her estimation, she looked a bit far toward the reserved side, with the gown’s long sleeves and square neckline, which revealed much less than Lady Braithwaite’s attire was likely to reveal.

“How do I look, Henrietta?”

The maid paused at the dressing table with her hand on Kitty’s hairbrush. “You look fair lovely, miss.” After a moment’s hesitation, she added, “Right elegant, like a queen.”

“You don’t think it’s too prim and… I don’t know… spinsterish?”

Henrietta’s giggles filled the room, inspiring Kitty to join in, though she hadn’t a notion what they were tittering over.

“Oh, Miss… you? A spinster? Why, as lovely as you are, you can have any gentleman you want.” She giggled again.

If only that were true. Kitty sat in front of the mirror and waited for Henrietta to dress her hair. The maid pulled her thick tresses back and up, arranging them in the rather severe style Kitty usually wore.

Hugh had seemed tremendously fascinated by her hair, Kitty recalled. Whenever the wind had wreaked havoc on her, he’d gone out of his way to touch the loose strands, often twining them about his fingers.

“Wait, Henrietta, please.” She held up a hand. “Can you arrange a style that’s a bit looser? Maybe with some strands left down?”

Henrietta’s smile grew. For a moment, Kitty wondered if the girl would break into more gales of laughter, but she managed to constrain herself to a wide grin. “Oh, yes, miss. My friend, Brigitte, used to work in the service of Madame Marie Na’Jelle in France. She’s taught me all the latest styles.” She loosened Kitty’s hair and brushed it out again.