Mistletoe and Mayhem: A Regency Holiday Romance Anthology, page 58
He met Bess’s gaze. “We should have a sing along once all the work is done. Nothing gets everyone into the spirit of Christmas like carols.”
“Yes!” Gemma’s teacup clattered against the saucer. “What a lovely suggestion. The Christmas spirit is just what we need.”
Bess smiled at Julius, communicating her gratitude. After Gemma’s uncharacteristic irritability with the servants last night, Bess had begun to question if her cousin was truly ready to observe her first holiday at the cottage without Uncle Roger.
“How much longer will it take to get everything in order?” Gemma asked.
Bess mentally ticked off items from her list. “With our combined efforts, perhaps by tomorrow evening.”
“Don’t forget to add a day to gather Christmas greenery and decorate,” Julius said. “Once all the housework is done, I will venture out to see what I can find.”
He could handle the task alone, but Bess would benefit from a breath of fresh air after being cooped inside. “If you’ll welcome the company, I would like to join you.”
Chapter Six
“Hold tight.” Bess squeezed Julius’s hand as he coaxed her into taking her first step onto the frozen ground. “Take it slow.”
She’d skated as a child, but walking on ice was nothing like gliding around the pond on blades. She felt as uncoordinated now as she was during her first dance lesson with the most ill-tempered instructor her parents could have found.
Her stepmother had attended every lesson, sitting on the sidelines with a soured pucker of her lips while Mr. Livingston barked at Bess and flicked his hand to strike the top of hers whenever she displeased him. It reminded her of a game her brothers played. The sting often brought tears to her eyes.
Once, he’d stopped mid-lesson to bellow at the ceiling, fists clenched at his sides. The girl has chicken claws for fingers. Red-faced and sweaty, he’d raged to her stepmother. Utterly devoid of grace. You will never be rid of her.
Priscilla turned him out on the spot and earned Bess’s undying devotion. Father, who took no interest in Bess’s affairs, hadn’t lowered the news sheet when Priscilla announced the decision. He left Bess’s rearing to his second wife and didn’t wish to be bothered. Her next instructor was much kinder and restored her confidence.
Bess released Julius’s hand and cautiously scooted her feet along the ice. She wobbled, flinging her arms to the side for balance and laughing. “Had I known we would be risking our necks, I wouldn’t have agreed to this foolishness,” she lied. The cold on her cheeks and element of danger was invigorating.
“It’s not too late to turn back,” Julius said. “I can do this alone.”
“Never.” Truthfully, she enjoyed his companionship too much return to Davensworth Cottage.
Julius shifted the ax to his other shoulder and held out his arm.
“We might both end up on our backs if I lose my footing,” she said.
“I arrived on your doorstep in the middle of a storm, my dear. I am not averse to risk.”
“Indeed.” Any woman of quality should find his cocky grin and devil-may-care attitude alarming. For Bess, it conjured exciting possibilities.
When they passed the stables, her coachmen wandered outside. The men were in work clothes and held grooming tools. Ted, who’d been with her the longest, scratched his cheek. “Is there something we can do for you, my lady?”
His words were polite, but his expression suggested he thought she and Julius were mad as hatters.
“We are gathering greenery for the mantle,” she said.
“How is my horse?” Julius called.
The night of the storm, his beloved horse also found his way to Davensworth Cottage. Bess’s driver had spotted the gelding hunched under the branches of an evergreen to escape the storm and used a bucket of oats to entice him into the stables.
Ted grinned. “Torch is treated like a king, if you ask me. Will you be by later to tell him a bedtime story, my lord, or should I put him to bed?”
“If Torch is king, you must be the jester,” Julius shot back without animosity. He’d ingratiated himself to her servants in no time with the loving care he showed his horse and developed a friendly banter with them.
“I think it is sweet you talk to Torch,” she murmured and squeezed his arm.
The coachmen were still lingering outside when she and Julius entered the woods. They hadn’t walked far before Bess found a tree to suit their purpose. It was small enough for Julius to tote back to the house with full branches they could strip for garland.
“There.” She pointed. “It’s perfect.”
She moved to a safe distance while Julius swung the ax. After several whacks, the fir toppled. Bess thanked him again while he chopped off the lower branches to make it easier to transport. “You’ve gone the extra step for my cousin.”
“No one around here would think twice about doing for Miss Price.” Julius buried the ax in the trunk and walked toward Bess. He was breathing harder from exertion, but no worse for the wear. “Your uncle was the largest employer in the county. His brewery kept roofs over the heads of many families. It still does. And your aunt? No finer lady walked the earth.”
She leaned against a large oak with one arm hugging it keep her sliding sideways. “I never met my aunt, but I imagine Gemma is a lot like her.”
“Her mother was more like you, actually.”
“Was Aunt Esther a she-devil?”
He chuckled. “You are never going to forgive me for that moniker.”
“I was never offended, but it is fun to needle you.”
“You hide it so well,” he teased. “I was referring to your aunt’s kind heart. The way you took in your cousin and her young servants. That is something Mrs. Price would have done.”
“Family always comes first.” She was repeating what she’d heard from others. Her own family never ascribed to the belief.
“Your aunt didn’t limit her charity to family,” Julius said. “I remember stories of her visiting the homes of sick or injured workers with food for their families. On St. Stephen’s Day, for many years, your aunt saw to it every servant and worker received a goose and pudding for their tables.”
A lump formed in Bess’s throat. Throughout her childhood, she’d longed to hear stories about her family, but her father rarely spoke about the past after her mother died. He’d married Bess’s governess, filled his nursery with sons, and never looked back. Bess, on the other hand, had struggled to figure out how she fit into his new life. Julius was presenting her with a precious gift.
“Thank you,” she murmured.
“I have no idea what I’ve done to deserve your appreciation, but you are welcome.”
“The easiest explanation is I am complicated,” she said.
“I’ve always enjoyed a good puzzle.” She hadn’t noticed how close he stood until his fingertips touched her chin. “Look up.”
She tipped her head to find a bundle of green growing on a branch high above her. “Is it mistletoe?”
“Don’t play coy, Bess. You know it is.” His playful tone coaxed a smile from her. “I’d wager you saw it before I did.”
“I did not. It is an accident I find myself standing in this spot.”
“Mm-hmm.” He rested his forearm against the tree by her head. His body heat chased away the chill. “Just a happy accident.”
Anticipation fluttered beneath her breastbone. “Are you going to kiss me?”
“Do I have a choice? If word spread that I ignored tradition…? Well, that would be rude.”
“Mercy,” Bess said with a hint of breathlessness. “We wouldn’t want the neighbors to think you have no manners.”
“Thank you for understanding.” Dimples winked from his cheeks; the flutters spread to her belly. “Is that a yes, my lady?”
She bit the corner of her mouth. One tiny peck in observation of tradition was harmless. Releasing her hold on the tree, she rested her fingertips on his shoulders. “Yes, you may kiss me.” She offered her cheek.
He cocked an eyebrow. “A cheek? After our night together?”
“Oh, be quiet and kiss me.” Gripping his shoulders, she tugged him against her. His lips were cool when they first touched hers, but heated quickly. His weight held her snug against the tree trunk. The bark was rough at her back and solid even as the world around them faded to nothingness. It was just Julius and her, the clean scent of soap, a cold breeze on her cheeks, and the seductive caress of his hot tongue. She parted her lips, welcoming him further across the line she’d already overstepped.
The kiss was no longer about mistletoe or quaint Christmas traditions. She was taking what she’d wanted from the moment she laid eyes on him, chiseled and glorious in the fading kitchen firelight.
Julius’s hand slid up her waist, resting high on her rib cage. He tore his mouth from hers to kiss a path along her neck. She arched her back, moaning as his thumb traced the underside of her breast. Through all her layers, the sensation was dulled, but it still set her aflame.
“Forgive me, love,” he whispered into her ear. The wisp of breath caressed her sensitive skin. A driving pulse through her veins heightened every sensation. “I promise to remember the sweetness of your lips forevermore.”
His words were like a dousing with frigid water. She stiffened. He sensed the change in her and drew back. “Did I say something wrong?”
She swallowed hard. For two days, she had been waiting for the perfect time to confess her transgression. This wasn’t it. Nevertheless, he deserved to know the truth before they travelled any further down this path. Common sense told her to wait until they were back at Davensworth Cottage where others were near in case he flew into a rage. But in her heart, she knew he was kind and gentle.
“Bess, I didn’t—” A shadow of disquiet dimmed his eyes. He cupped her cheeks with such tenderness it caused the backs of her own eyes to sting. “Was I courteous with you?”
“Oh, no-no-no! Please, strike the thought from your mind. You would never hurt a woman.” She brushed his hands from her face. She was undeserving of his tenderness. “It is I who should apologize. We aren’t… We never—”
She pushed from the tree, free of his embrace. Her feet flew out from under her, and she landed on her bum. The impact jarred her bones; her teeth to gnashed. She was too stunned to make a sound when pain exploded in her mouth and filled with a metallic taste.
“Bess!” Julius kneeled beside her. Small drops of red splatted onto her pelisse, soaking into the lavender fabric. “You are bleeding. Let me see.”
Never had a punishment come so swiftly or been more apropos. She’d bitten her own tongue for lying.
Chapter Seven
Julius grumbled under his breath when Bess, groaning and holding her back, crawled from the buckskin leather chair. “Sit down, woman. How many times must we tell you?”
“There is too much greenery on this end.” She pointed to Julius’s side of the mantle, the movement causing her to wince.
“For heaven’s sake, Bess.” Miss Price abandoned the task of dressing the mantle to scold her cousin. “You can barely move, and Lord Julius is doing a fine job. Back to your chair.”
Bess’s chin jutted in mutiny. “It hurts to sit.”
Or walk, or sleep, or move in any way. Julius had suffered enough injuries to recognize the look of misery on her face. By some miracle, she’d avoided cracking her head on the ice, but she would be sore for a few days.
He snatched a feather pillow from the settee and approached her. “Direct me from your seat.” When he extended his hand, he was prepared for more arguing, but she leaned on him and hobbled back to the chair.
“There are too many branches,” she muttered. “It’s uneven.”
“I will follow your every command.” He wedged the pillow behind her back. “How does that feel?”
“It’s too high.” Her sulky tone made him smile.
He bent over her to adjust the pillow behind her lower back and brushed a kiss to the silky crown of her head. Too late, he recalled they weren’t alone. He swung his head toward Miss Price to see if she’d noticed, but she was busy tucking sprigs of holly into the evergreen branches.
“I’m sorry you are in pain.” Julius caressed Bess’s cheek with the backs of his fingers before straightening. “How is your tongue?”
She puckered her lips as if she might stick it out at him. She was a surly invalid, but he suspected she was used to tending other’s needs rather than having her own met.
“It only hurts a little,” she finally admitted.
“Rest assured, it will be in top order soon and as sharp as ever.” He winked before sauntering to the sideboard to pour a finger of brandy into a snifter. Miss Price had brought out her father’s best bottle earlier, although Julius was loath to touch anything stronger than a cup of tea since overindulging at the Sleepy Owl. He returned to Bess’s side to hand her the glass. “A few sips should dull the pain.”
She accepted the drink, cradling the bowl of the snifter in both hands. He stood at attention while she took her first sip. Her nostrils flared and eyes misted, but she managed to swallow the fiery spirits without choking. She slanted a disgruntled look in his direction. “Do you plan to stand over me all night?”
“That depends. Are you going to listen this time?”
“She most certainly will,” her cousin lobbed over her shoulder while redoing Julius’s side of the mantle.
Bess sighed and took another sip. This one went down even easier. Her shoulders lost some of their tension, and she sank into the chair. Julius grabbed a cushioned footstool and encouraged her to elevate her feet. She didn’t argue for once.
With her settled, he returned to assisting her cousin with decorations.
It wasn’t like him to play the role of nursemaid to anyone, but he couldn’t help but have sympathy for Bess. Admitting she lied about the proposal had taken courage. The fall added another level of embarrassment and injury he wished he could’ve spared her. Therefore, he’d chosen not to dwell on the matter. She said it. He heard it. They were at peace.
If circumstances forced a union between them in a few weeks, he would adjust with little difficulty. Part of him thrilled at the prospect honestly. Bess was unlike any woman he had ever known. She was unpredictable, brazen, and passionate. That last kiss had nearly knocked him on his arse. He’d never been with a lover that initiated amorous interludes, and her boldness was a potent aphrodisiac.
Miss Price finished with the holly and was placing pinecones among the greenery. “Why not have a seat yourself, my lord?”
Chuckling, he raised his hands in surrender. “I understand. Leave the artistry to the ladies.”
The apples of Miss Price’s cheeks pinked, a telltale sign he’d been right about her motivation.
A glance in Bess’s direction reassured him that plying her with brandy was the right decision. She slouched in the chair, her eyes at half-mast and a half smile curving her plummy lips. The empty snifter sat on the side table.
“All better now, she-devil?” he asked.
“You promised Christmas carols.” She pronounced Christmas as Chrisht-mas. Whether it was from her swollen tongue or the effects of the liquor, he couldn’t say. It was endearing either way.
“Only if you sing along.” He sat at the polished pianoforte and ran through the scales to warm up his fingers. “Do you have a request?”
When she didn’t answer, he played one of three pieces he’d memorized. It was the only Christmas song in his repertoire. The other two were popular with a certain crowd he’d known at University, and inappropriate for present company. He attacked the stanza, belting out the first verse. “Joy to the world.”
Miss Price sang along, both of them serenading Bess, who struggled to keep her eyes open despite the lively performance. She did, however, applaud them at the end.
“You play beautifully,” Miss Price said. “Will you treat us to another?”
Julius admitted he hadn’t memorized any other Christmas pieces. Bess’s cousin solved the problem by retrieving a stack of sheet music from the bottom drawer of the sideboard. He scooted to one side of the bench, and she plopped beside him.
“We’ll have to look through these to find Christmas music,” she said. “Every year I intend to organize these, but I never do.”
“Don’t say that too loudly, or we will be locked in another battle to keep her in her seat.”
Bess had fallen asleep, her face soft like an angel in repose. One would never guess what a spitfire she was when she was conscious.
“I should take her to her chamber before she falls into a deep sleep and cannot be roused,” her cousin said.
Julius stopped her with a brief touch to her shoulder. “She is comfortable now. Allow her to rest. I will carry her to bed if need be.”
“Considering the contentious beginning of your association with my cousin”—Miss Price shuffled through the music sheets—“I find your offer magnanimous.”
“She would do the same for me. She did do the same.” He vaguely recalled Bess’s arm around him as they’d climbed the stairs his first night at Davensworth Cottage.
Her cousin presented the music for Silent Night; her golden brown eyebrows drifted toward her hairline, posing an unspoken question.
“A perfect choice,” he said.
She placed the sheet on the music rack, and he played softly. Lost in their own thoughts, they missed the cue after the intro. Miss Price didn’t seem to notice, so Julius kept playing. “I blame myself for her fall,” he said.
Her head snapped toward him. “Bess said it was an accident.”
“One that could have been avoided if I’d insisted on going alone.”
“Once Bess sets her mind to something, one would have more luck stopping a tempest.” Miss Price’s shoulders drooped as if defeated. “We should have stayed in London.”
His fingers froze over the keys. He didn’t know whether to look at her or pretend he hadn’t heard the sad undertones beneath her words. Her head was bowed, and she absently picked the edge of a fingernail. “I thought I would miss Papa less, but Davensworth Cottage isn’t the same without him.”
