The Kissing Bough (2 page)

James shrugged. “My mother has had thirty years to reconcile herself to my outrageous ways. I doubt if…” he broke off. His head lifted and those piercing blue eyes looked directly into Lucinda’s. “My apologies, ma’am. Clearly I have been away from England too long if I fail to notice such a vision of beauty when it is placed before me.” He took a step toward her. Lucinda’s hand fluttered to her breast.

Edward placed himself directly in front of his brother, blocking any further progress. “My mother has invited Miss Demerham
and her parents,
to grace us with a short visit. I will not have your outlandish manners discomfort them.”

James’ mouth twisted wryly. “Sits the wind in that quarter? You surprise me, Edward. There must be more to you than I knew. If I promise to conduct myself in the most exemplary fashion, may I be introduced?”

After a brief nod, Edward performed the honors. “Mr. and Mrs. Demerham, may I present my brother, James Lymon?”

James addressed Lucinda’s parents in meticulously correct form, but when he bent over Lucinda’s hand, he lingered a fraction longer than was polite. His eyes twinkled when Edward glared at him but he slowly released her fingers and straightened.

“Tell me, Miss Demerham, are you, too, opposed to the celebration of Christmas? I see my brother has made no attempt at Christmas cheer.”

Before she could speak, Edward intervened. “We do not indulge in such frivolity in this house, as you well know.”

“Oh, I know it, brother. What I have never known, is whether your objection stems from piety or parsimony.” He turned back to Lucinda. “You have not yet had an opportunity to give me your answer. Do you object to the trappings of Christmastide?”

“No. I quite… I like them,” Lucinda replied, at a loss to account for her sudden breathlessness. The air around James seemed to shimmer. He carried with him an aura of spices, the fresh scent of pine and the secret essence of a world far removed from this formal dining room.

“Lucinda,” her mother whispered behind her, reaching out and pulling her daughter to her side. “It is clear there is some tension between Edward and his brother. Please don’t do anything that might upset Edward further.”

One of James’ eyebrows rose, and Lucinda felt her cheeks heat. Her mother had spoken quietly, but he must have heard what amounted to a warning.

He bowed in her mother’s direction and turned to the dowager countess. “You won’t object to my contribution to the celebration, ma’am.” It wasn’t a question.

He gestured to the retinue of servants and helpers who stood waiting, and they burst into movement. Before Lucinda’s eyes, they placed the tree upright in the barrel, poured sand around it to hold it steady and, by means she could not determine, attached candles, paper flowers and apples to the branches.

James himself took a separate branch of evergreen strung with more apples and flowers. With the help of a ladder and a tall servant armed with a hammer, he attached it over the door leading to the drawing room.

When it was done, he stepped back and dusted off his hands. He turned to look at Lucinda. “This is going to prove far more useful than I imagined.”

“What do you mean?” she asked. “How can a decoration prove useful?”

His lids dropped down over his eyes. “You’ll see.”

He raised his voice. “Edward, I’m afraid my interference in the sobriety of your household doesn’t end with the purely decorative. I sent my people ahead with supplies for a festive meal.” He inclined his head in Lucinda’s direction. “Since we have such charming guests, we should indulge in a true
reveillon
.”

“A
reveillon?
I’m afraid I don’t know that word,” Lucinda said, ignoring the frown that her mother directed at her.

James took her arm and led her to the table, seating her, then sitting next to her with no regard for proper placements. The countess remained in the seat she had collapsed into earlier. Edward and her parents were left to dispose themselves according to what protocol they could muster.

“In Quebec, on the night before Christmas, the French have an extended dinner which lasts until midnight and sometimes beyond.” James leaned toward her, holding her gaze with his.

“James, you know we keep country hours here,” the countess said. ”We will all be in our beds long before midnight. Whatever foodstuffs you have bought will have to keep.”

“And I hardly think the subject of your recent whereabouts is a fit topic for the dinner table,” Edward sneered. “No decent person wants to hear about savages or your consorting with the enemy.”

James’ relaxed posture instantly stiffened. All merriment faded from his face and he looked hard and dangerous. “I object to both those terms,
brother
. The native population of New France has a strong and admirable culture.” His eyes, previously so warm, now glittered like blue ice. “They are kinder and more hospitable to strangers than many here in England are to their friends and family.” His fists curled loosely on the table. “I can only assume when you use the term
consorting
, the enemy you refer to are the French. I was not in France, though I understand many of our countrymen have flocked there since Napoleon’s defeat. I was in
New
France. It’s a different country, and even if it were not, the war is over.” He took a deep breath, making a visible effort to overcome the discord. “The only people I
consorted
with were the
coureurs des bois.”
He directed his attention back to Lucinda. “The
coureurs
are fur traders. Hard working men doing a dangerous and lonely job. I traveled with them. It was a marvelous adventure.”

“Adventure is for story books,” Edward said. “Some of us understand the necessity of staying home and attending to our responsibilities.”

Unfair! Lucinda wanted to cry. The title of earl certainly carried obligations, but James had done
his
duty. He’d fought at Waterloo!

“No one would ever accuse you of shirking your duties, Edward. But don’t be so quick to dismiss the benefits of adventure.” He leaned back in his seat. “We both know the younger son’s portion of
this
estate is very small indeed.”

“I have offered time and time again to make you an allowance.”

“And I have always refused. If I accepted your money, then I would also have had to accept the strictures you put on it.”

She could not imagine this man as his brother’s pensioner. He wouldn’t resign himself to a humdrum life in exchange for financial security. Here was a man who surely went through life his own way. He did what he believed was right. He didn’t shy away from a challenge. He knew how to bring enjoyment to himself and others. He directed his own fate. There would be no hollow feeling in the center of his chest when he contemplated the future.

“How do you expect to live without sufficient income?” Edward demanded. “You’ve sold your commission, and I doubt a captain’s pay left you with any savings.”

The smile had returned to James’ face. “I told you there were benefits to adventure. When I accompanied the
coureurs
I trapped a good number of furs myself. The profits are quite astounding.”

“You cannot hope to convince me that one year’s fur trading is enough to set you up for life?”

“No. But investing those profits in trading companies in Canada and New France has made me astonishing returns…and trade continues to be excellent.”

“Trade?” Edward spoke in much the same tone as if James had announced he’d brought in a plate of filth from the stables. “You have involved yourself in trade? Have you no respect for the family’s reputation?”

“The family’s reputation, aided no doubt by your own respectability, is such that I doubt anything short of my committing murder and boasting of it would be sufficient to challenge it.” James leaned back in his seat. “The world is a bigger place than you realize, Edward, and I intend to profit from that knowledge. You may disown me if it suits you.”

“I trust it won’t come to that.”

“I’m sure it won’t,” James replied. “I have no intention of remaining indefinitely in England. If having such a brother as I offends you, you are free to forget my existence.”

“The existence of
no
member of this family will be forgotten.” The countess sitting straight-backed and imperious, looked from one to the other of her sons. “Let us enjoy our dinner without bickering and leave such matters for a more private time.”

“Quite so, Mama,” Edward said, inclining his head stiffly. “We have guests who should not be made to feel uncomfortable.”

Lucinda felt more intrigued than uncomfortable, but one look at the stern faces of her parents showed her they heartily agreed with the countess.

For the rest of the meal, Edward dominated the conversation, expounding on the duties and obligations of rank. If he meant to shame or embarrass James, he failed. James did not contribute more than a few half-hearted ‘
Indeed
’s or ‘
If you think
so’s
. He made a point of catching Lucinda’s eye whenever Edward said something particularly pompous. There was something so charming in his raised eyebrows and quick grin that Lucinda was hard put to pay attention to anyone else.

It took her father two attempts to draw her notice. “Lucinda, Lord Beaufield asked you a question. Please answer him.”

Since she had no idea what Edward had said, she was at a loss.

“Edward loves to be right,” James whispered wickedly beside her. “Just say
yes
.”

She stifled a giggle by biting the inside of her cheek, took a deep breath and said, “Oh, yes. I agree.”

“Of course you do,” said Edward, clearly well satisfied. “What person of any understanding would not?”

They all resumed eating. A moment later a deep voice from her left murmured, “I told you so.”

This time she couldn’t prevent the little choke of laughter.

“Are you all right, my dear?” her mother asked.

“Oh yes, Mama. I just swallowed the wrong way.”

The meal was not extended, and the ladies soon withdrew, leaving the three men to their brandy.

It was not long, however before James strolled in from the dining room and took the vacant seat beside Lucinda. “My brother and your father seemed to desire to speak seriously, and since I found the topic of conversation unpleasant, I left.”

Lucinda swallowed. “Unpleasant, sir?”

“Oh yes. Such things as what might be expected in the way of marriage settlements. Only as a general topic, you understand. Not any
particular
case, but I found the prospect of any…” He broke off and his heavy-lidded eyes met hers. “Very beautiful young lady being yoked to my prosy brother quite unpalatable.”

A strange flutter in her veins made her feel light-headed but she managed to reply. “I’m sure there exists a woman who will not feel it an imposition to be ‘yoked’ to your brother, and I wish him the good fortune to find her soon.”

James leaned back, a small smile curving his lips. “But you do not feel he has met her yet?”

“No, sir, I do not.”

“No,
James
, I do not.”

Lucinda wrinkled her brow. “I don’t understand.”

“My name is James, not sir.”

“Oh.”

“If you pucker those lips in such an adorable way, I might have to call you…”

“Lucinda!” The peremptory tone of her mother’s voice revealed her displeasure. “I need you to come over here at once, to tell the countess about your…about your…” Her gaze raked the ceiling in an obvious search for anything that would remove Lucinda from the vicinity of such a dangerous man. “Come here and talk to us about your tatting.”

Beside her, James gave a snort of laughter then pushed himself to his feet.

“As riveting as such a topic of conversation promises to be, I think I shall leave you ladies and go in search of more masculine pursuits.” He paused, and said in tones so innocent that they instantly aroused Lucinda’s suspicions, “I intend to convince my brother to while away what remains of the evening in a game or two of billiards.”

“Oh, but I’d hoped Lucinda and Lord Beaufield would…” That it would be indelicate to complete that sentence seemed to suddenly occur to Mrs. Demerham, and she closed her mouth with a snap.

“Just so,” James said, and as he turned away, Lucinda saw his right eyelid drop in a distinct wink.

He sauntered out of the door. Lucinda spent the rest of the evening in a silence completely devoid of reference to tatting, to wonder whether she was more relieved to be spared the burden of Edward’s ponderous conversation or regretful that she was bereft of James’ alluring presence.

Only when her maid had prepared her for bed did she realize, that with all the fuss accompanying James’ outlandish arrival, she had mislaid her reticule.

Lucinda loved novels, no matter how scandalous her parents thought them. If her mother knew she possessed books like Lady Carolyn Lamb’s
Glenarvon
, she’d have destroyed them, so Lucinda had formed the habit of reading in bed after her maid had retired for the night. This required spectacles and she carried them in her reticule wherever she went.

Without her glasses she couldn’t read.

She tried to go to sleep, but the futility of tossing and turning soon exhausted her patience. With a sigh, she reached for her wrapper, picked up the candle and eased herself out of bed. She tiptoed past the closed doors along the corridor, taking special care not to make any sound that would interrupt the steady drone of snores emanating from the rooms allocated to her parents.

She was gratified to learn that the Lymon’s care for their home resulted in hinges that slid silently and stairs that did not creak. Undetected, she slipped into the drawing room, located her reticule and turned to leave. She had just reached the door when it swung open. Standing there, still dressed in breeches and shirtsleeves, but with his neck cloth and coat removed, stood James Lymon.

“I hoped it was you,” he said. Then he did something quite extraordinary. He put his hands on her shoulders, dipped his head
and kissed her
!

His mouth was warm, an inexplicable combination of soft and hard. Her cheek tingled where his beard-roughened face scraped against it and then…it was over. He stepped back until a respectable distance separated them. Or what would be respectable if it were not the middle of the night and they were not entirely alone.