Teach Me Under the Mistletoe (8 page)

As he turned to leave, Dougal paused in the doorway and gazed over his shoulder. “Be sure ye know what ye’re about, brother.”

“I…” Hugh averted his eyes and mentally traced the lines of the harness he’d just hung up.

“It’ll be awkward to work with Joseph once he finds out ye’re meeting the lass he’s been sweet on.”

Joseph? The lass he was… Hugh clenched his jaw lest he ask what Dougal was after saying. Unless he meant… Relief washed through him like a chilled autumn rain. Henrietta! Of course! That had to be it. Lady Caroline had sent her maid rather than risk another morning at the stables. But why was she sending him messages at all?

I must read that message!

“The la— That is, I’m helping her with something is all. The la— Henrietta is still sweet on Joseph.”

Dougal subjected him to a long period of intense scrutiny. He had the fierce glare of their father, and Hugh began to feel like his innards had twisted.

“Right then,” Dougal snapped, and then he turned on his heel and strode away, his brisk steps kicking up stable dust and bits of hay.

Hugh sagged against the workbench and drew several deep breaths. His hand shook with such violence he struggled to push it into his pocket so he could retrieve the message. When he unfolded the paper, he recognized the handwriting scrawled across the sheet as Lady Caroline’s, but the words were not crafted with the same dainty precision as those in her previous note. This missive had been scribbled in haste with little care to penmanship. Nevertheless, it was a summons.

Follies at two o’clock.

He stared at the paper. What could the lady possibly need of him now? He balled the sheet of paper but couldn’t bring himself to discard it on the stable floor. It was a summons he planned to ignore, but he dared not chance someone coming upon the note and questioning it. So back in his pocket it went, still crumpled, and he left the room intent on finding something with which to busy himself for the rest of the day.

* * * *

Kitty shivered and drew her cloak closer. From her vantage near the stone columns overlooking the pond, she could see the vast expanse of grounds, particularly now that most of the underbrush had thinned to clusters of leafless sticks. One path led from the main yard to the formal gardens and that split into three separate trails, one leading up the center to the base of the reflecting pool, while the other two meandered up either side of the green meadow, following the line of neatly rounded boxwoods. Not a soul traveled any of the paths.

She shivered again.

“He’s not coming,” she told the greylag that had startled her on their first visit to the follies. The goose opened its bill and a rather sorry nasal-pitched screeching burst forth. Then he waddled off to join the domesticated gaggle. For the first time she realized he held his wing at an awkward angle. No wonder he hadn’t flown off with the rest of the greylags months earlier. As the plump white geese surrounded him, she smiled. “At least you aren’t alone for the cold winter, even if you aren’t exactly with your own kind.”

“Poor fella stands out a bit more than he’s comfortable with among all that farmyard nobility, I’ll wager,” said Hugh quietly from behind her.

With her heart leaping into her throat, Kitty whirled about. “Where did… I-I didn’t see you.”

He was again unfashionably hatless. The stiff wind ruffled his hair, occasionally sending the dark locks slashing across his forehead, but he didn’t seem to notice. “I took a game trail.” He nodded toward the woods behind the follies. “I have no reason to be found strolling in the gardens, m’lady.”

“Oh… of course, I should have thought of that.” Kitty tried to slow her mercilessly pounding heart, but it seemed determined to beat its way from her chest. She lost herself in staring at him.

Had he always been so muscular? Buckskin breeches embraced powerful legs. His faded gray-blue coat stretched tight across his shoulders, the ivory linen shirt beneath was loosely tucked and unfastened at the top. But it was the triangle of tanned skin at the base of his throat that captured Kitty’s attention. Goodness, the gentlemen of the
ton
would sooner die than be caught in public in such a state of undress. She tried to picture Lord Strathern’s snow-white cravat, neatly tied up to his chin, his black wool coat snugly buttoned over his crisp linen shirt.

But the image stubbornly faded into the barely dressed man standing in front of her. Heat swamped Kitty, beginning in her chest and rising along her neck, then rushing into her face. The day’s chill no longer assailed her senses. She resisted — just — the urge to fan herself.

Hugh gently cleared his throat. “May I be so bold as to presume you had reason to send for me other than to stare at me?”

Kitty took an involuntary step backward and brought her hand to her neck and pulled the ties on her cloak tighter — as if to do so would somehow tighten the ties at Hugh McCollum’s neck.

“I… you…” What had she been about to say?

“Aye, ye’ve said that already,” he muttered with a growl in his voice. “I’ve got work to tend to. If I keep leaving I’m certain to be missed.”

“My parents entertained dinner guests last evening,” she forced through stiff lips.

Instantly, Hugh’s face took on a guarded expression as he stepped back and folded his arms over his chest. “Did they, now? And was your desired suitor on the guest list?”

“He… he was,” she admitted in a voice that trembled. A strong gust of wind pushed Kitty sideways and she lost her footing.

Hugh leapt forward and caught her beneath the elbows, righting her. Kitty’s breath hitched. Involuntarily, her gaze flew up and met his, and she was lost, imprisoned by the force of his regard. The merriment usually contained in his laughing eyes had turned to something else as his eyes darkened into pools of vivid blue, and he searched her face.

Kitty’s breaths came in shallow, rapid gasps that left her lightheaded. Or perhaps it was the manly scent of soap and woods and something uniquely Hugh’s that threatened to make her swoon into his arms. The fluttering in her belly spread outward until her legs took on the consistency of pudding, and she sagged.

Hugh adjusted his stance. He moved his hands, setting one on her left shoulder, the other at her waist, and tenderly eased her against his taut body. Flames licked at her skin and lit fires in her veins, setting off unfamiliar sensations in unmentionable places. Kitty lifted her face, hungry now for another taste of him. A violent tremor shook him, and his breathing became labored as he lowered his mouth toward hers. Instead of the crushing kiss she expected, though, he halted, lingering so close, the heat of his lips warmed hers without even touching.

Beneath her hand trapped against his chest, his racing heart thumped heavily. Mesmerized still by that patch of masculine skin at his throat, she inched her fingers upward and traced along the open collar of his shirt.

Inhaling sharply, Hugh struck like a viper, locking powerful fingers around her forearm. Another shudder vibrated through him, and he drew a deep, ragged breath. Then he stepped back, releasing her so abruptly, she stumbled. This time, however, he made no move to assist her, merely stood by while she found her own footing.

“Was the evening everything you had dreamed?” he asked softly, his expression once more carefully shuttered.

Disappointment surged, dampening the fire in her veins. Unable to meet his eyes, she looked out over the reflecting pond and sighed. Finally, she shook her head and offered in a small, miserable voice, “It was not.”

“And so you sent your maid with a demand that I meet you here.” Though he kept his tone even, an underlying burr hinted at some unfathomable emotion.

“I did,” she confirmed, embarrassed by the audacity she’d shown in sending such a missive. “I’m sorry.”

He said nothing.

Another gust of wind whistled through the columns, but she no longer felt the chill. Out in the water, two of the white geese took turns upending to forage beneath the water for whatever it was geese ate. Where had the greylag moved off to? Perhaps into the tall grass to lie in wait for her to pass by so he could jump out at her. The thought tugged at her lips, but she was too unsettled and filled with misery to smile.

Hugh remained quiet. Finally, Kitty turned, half expecting to find he had left. But he stood stock still, just watching her.

“Why?” he asked, spreading his hands in a gesture of query.

“Lord Strathern, the gentleman escorted a… guest. A lady of more… experienced ways.” Bile clawed at the back of her throat, and she coughed against the hot sensation. Why did she suddenly feel less conviction about what she needed to do? “A… a rather young widow.”

“And…?” Annoyance edged into his voice.

“How can I hope to gain the gentleman’s attention? If he is still escorting Lady — his companion come the holiday ball…” She opened her cloak and gestured to her slender body. “How do I make him notice me? How can I compete with — with a woman when the man looks at me and sees a child?”

There, she’d said it. At any moment, her kissing tutor would break into gales of laughter.

But he didn’t laugh. His gaze traveled down to her feet, paused while he slowly shook his head, and then journeyed back up until met and held her eyes. “Has it never occurred to ye that ye do not place enough value upon yerself?”

* * * *

The raw emotions churning through him added an unbearable tension. It was all he could do not to rush over to Lady Caroline and gather her against him then hold her there until she understood her worth.

And even then, he’d not want to turn loose of her.

When did she begin to matter so much?

He gave his gaze free rein to roam her body again, drinking in the near virginal sight. Gusts of wind toyed with her white muslin walking gown, alternately pressing it against her soft body and then freeing it to swirl about her, alluding to the delights he’d already felt beneath. Crimson velvet rimmed her neckline, the color adding a pink glow to her cheeks, better than the finest French rouge. The blush of innocence oddly enhanced her appeal.

And she wanted to throw herself at the feet of an obvious rake. For anyone who would take up with Lady Frances, recently a widow yet a woman who had been far from faithful long before her husband’s death, had to have low morals. Lord Strathern might have been born a gentleman, but he apparently had the manners of a rutting wild boar, a man who would likely bed anyone who provided a night’s pleasure. Why, Lady Caroline would be nothing more than a dalliance to him, a virginal sacrifice who would learn a harsh lesson about men of his ilk.

In a desperate attempt to stop their shaking, Hugh balled his hands into fists and locked his arms at his sides. If Strathern were standing in front of him, he’d—

Hugh ground his back teeth together and put a stop to his most violent thoughts. For Strathern was
not
standing in front of him. Lady Caroline was, and she seemed to be shrinking into herself while he stood watching.

Slowly, she released her cloak so it once again draped around her, blocking the wind from having its capricious way with her gown. “I’m well aware of my worth,” she said, the words so soft he had to strain to hear them.

“Then prove it,” he challenged, squaring his shoulders. “Give up yer mad notion o’ chasing after a man the likes of—” He huffed out a breath before he spewed a string of vile curses. “A man who canna’see ye for the treasure ye are doesna deserve ye!”

Lady Caroline’s eyes widened, and her mouth fell open. A gasping laugh emerged, and she clapped a hand to her lips. But mirth lit up her eyes, and after a moment, the air between them was filled with her laughter. Tears welled and spilled down her cheeks.

Had she gone daft? Lost what was left of her mind?

Hugh leaned in for a closer look. “What’s the matter with ye?”

“N-nothing,” she said through a spasm of low chuckles. “It’s you. I’ve n-never h-heard you sound s-so Scot-Scottish before!” And the storm of laughter returned. She stumbled backward but thankfully remained on her feet.

He tried. With the saints as his witnesses, he tried not to join her in her jovial moment at his expense. But soon laughter was bubbling up from deep inside and rolling across his lips. “Aye… yes,” he said ruefully, after the guffaws subsided and he caught his breath. “I’ve learned ‘tis better for employment prospects to sound like a far northerner rather than a ‘heathen Scott’. Most times I manage it just fine. Or I did until…”
Until I began thinking of you, wanting you…

It had happened even before that first kiss, he realized. But that barest brush of the lips had sealed his fate. If he did not mind his way, he was in danger of falling in love with the wrong woman.

“Until I asked you to help me with a fool’s mission?” she asked gently.

Did her eyes have to regard him with such luminosity? Did her every vulnerability have to be right there for the world — for him — to see? Was she aware of how difficult it was to refuse her anything with her eyes pleading so?

“‘Tis the gentleman who’s the fool for overlooking ye.” A chill spun its way through Hugh’s blood, and his gut tightened. He softened his tone. “It’s this particular man ye’ve set yer cap for?”

“I… yes.” She nodded but without her earlier enthusiasm. Was he imagining a slight hesitation? Did it matter? Whoever ended up as her husband, it could never be him. Daughters of earls didn’t marry stablehands who had no prospects of aspiring to anything more than a life spent in service to the titled nobility.

But he didn’t have to be a part of it. He’d not do it.

“Fine.” He stopped breathing. Had he just agreed to her scheme? “Let’s get to it then.” It seemed he had.

Chapter Eight

Kitty blinked. He’d agreed. Finally agreed without further argument. Only… why did her middle insist on churning and tightening? She set the thought aside. She was getting what she wanted after all. “What shall we do first?”

“It’s rather like training a horse for a task, I imagine.” Hugh rubbed his chin as he studied her, this time with a more dispassionate air than he’d used previously. “If ye want him to pull a carriage, ye train him to the harness and then set him to a cart. If ye want him for the hunt, ye first put him to his stride and then run him over the hurdles.”