Snowed in with a Rogue, page 38
Josanna shook away the memories, and brought her mind back to the present. Now a widow of twenty-eight, she had a rare beauty - raven-hued curly hair, deep dark blue-eyes, a fair complexion and a mole on her lower right cheek. Not to mention a bosom below which her slim waist accentuated her Grecian-like form enough to regularly garner appreciative glances from men.
In any conversation with Josanna, Hannah, her younger sister, who was now eighteen, used every opportunity to ask for advice from her older, once-married, sister. Those conversations usually led to questions of pre-marital or marital sexual congress. Today was no different. Hannah had come to speak with her, almost immediately after she had sent off her acceptance of her aunt’s invitation.
Josanna breathed in deeply, anxious to change the subject, to speak of something else, for once.
“Need I remind you that there is more to a relationship than sexuality? We women love emotionally, and then the physicality comes as a natural consequence. It is not wise to fall for a man because he is fine-looking on the outside. It is the inner personality and goodness that counts. Not all men are handsome and rich. Not all women are beautiful, with a dowry. Some of the best marriages happen between ordinary people.” She fussed with the crease in her dark teal taffeta skirt, which was complemented by a white-sleeved blouse with a matching bow. Her spencer jacket was of the same blue. “You can judge men by their eyes, which I believe are the windows to the soul. According to my observations, I’ve developed a compendium of good and bad traits which can be assessed by locking glances.”
“But Josanna, we’ve been taught to demurely lower our gaze and never engage a man’s eyes.”
“Poppycock. You’re blushing, Hannah. You can’t expect to attract a gentleman if you never flirt.”
“Flirt? Horrors, I don’t know how.”
Wide eyes flashed to Josanna’s face.
“It’s time you learned. I can show you some, hmm, techniques, but you have to display the right temperament to use them. You must project dignity and aloofness.” She pranced about, head to one side in an ‘I don’t give a fig’ attitude. She strode across the room with a swaying of hips and shoulders, then turned to face her sister, “However, you should not overdo these strong straits which I just demonstrated. Counter them by a sweet demeanor, compassion, and articulate speech. Not to mention learning how to blink your eyes.” Hannah proceeded to blink her eyes like a flashing lighthouse beacon. Josanna spoke in a seductive low voice, with her hand to her throat, “Not like that,” she laughed, “It’s a subtle lowering of the eyelids, hold for seven seconds, and then open them effortlessly.”
“Seven seconds? He’ll think I’ve fallen asleep standing up. What’s wrong with your voice?”
“Hannah, you’re impossible. You’ll remain a spinster if you’re not careful. At the last ball, how many requests did you get for a dance? Did your card fill up quickly?”
Shaking her head haughtily, Hannah tossed her shiny curls.
“I received many requests to dance; however, I missed a few because I danced the night away with other men and never looked at the booklet on my wrist. There. What do you think of that?”
“Hannah, why do you ask me things, if you’ve already made up your mind about them? You are head-strong, which is not a bad quality, but at times, it may lead to more complications.”
Josanna shook her head. She’d been that young once, and too spirited in her ways as well.
“It already sounds like such a bother,” blonde-haired, green-eyed Hannah said, in feigned dismissal, but with extreme interest hidden beneath her casual manner. Slim of form, petite, and with a voice that would make angels cry, she smiled at her older sister.
It brought back so many memories of Josanna’s past, which she’d thought she’d relegated to the Cemetery of Broken Hearts.
Chapter 2
Raff Wolfric, once Marquess of Parham and now the Duke of Norcroft, had been in Josanna’s life forever. He’d visited her brother Harold as a young man of twenty, when she was just fourteen. Harold had many good chums and so it was not uncommon for her to be surrounded by young, jovial men, some more good looking than others. Some were well-behaved, but some were rascals who made salacious suggestions, until Harold would give them a stern glare so that they moved away from the sweet and innocent girls to more eager companions.
Josanna would hide, low down near a boxed hedge, and listen to all of their discussions - which usually involved the plans of their fathers for the young men to follow in their footsteps. They also spoke of their need for wagering money, and of course, the latest gossip about which young ladies they’d met, who were amenable to kisses... long, deep kisses followed by fondling of the breasts, which led to a loss of virginity and the road to perdition.
It had been another word for her to look up in the dictionary:
amenable • uh-MEE-nuh-bul basically, submission (as to judgment or test): readily brought to yield, submit, or cooperate, inclined or willing.
Hmm. Yield, submit, cooperate, inclined, or willing – such debasing words to be used for a female. Human nature was a curious thing. Then and there she made up her mind - no man would fondle or maltreat her body. The silly females who endlessly talked about their dreams of meeting the right man were foolish, in her opinion. Josanna would stand up and tell them to get their heads out of their penny romance novels and wake up to the reality around them. Hadn’t Aunt Jane, when she was six-months pregnant, married the man who’d caused her condition? And what about Cousin Dora who’d run away to Gretna, Scotland to marry for the very same reason?
At least those stories gave her something to write in her daily journal at night. It was a gift from Auntie Min, and it had a genuine lock on it. There was only one key. Dear Aunt Min had crossed her heart and hoped to die if it wasn’t true that there was only that one key.
Raff Wolfric, Marquess of Parham, the heir to the Duchy of Norcroft, had glorious wavy golden hair, high cheekbones, and a square jaw, not to mention exquisite full lips. Each time she saw him, he was handsomer than she’d remembered.
Josanna had lost touch with him when he went on the Grand Tour of Europe, as all young men of the aristocracy did to further their continental education. Which was another way of saying that they toured, played and got their education in many subjects including women – wild and otherwise. They met again when she and her brother attended a ball, long after their mother and father had died in an accident in Italy. By then, at 18, Josanna still resided with her sister-in-law and brother. After that chance meeting, Raff was a constant visitor to their home.
They liked to jab and tease at each other, a carryover from their childhood days yet, somehow, Josanna always came under Raff’s protective eye at any social event. He’d question would-be suitors as if he were her father. She’d fuss, and he’d listen patiently. She could still remember those conversations, as if they were yesterday:
“Josanna, there are men, and there are suitable men. I feel it my duty to keep scoundrels away from you.”
She’d stamped her toe, almost on his, where they stood in a small drawing room near the veranda.
“Perhaps I’d like to be the judge. I may want to dance with a scoundrel. What could happen on the dance floor? Why are you so obtuse?”
“Because you are naïve and not worldly or wise to the ways of nefarious men who might want you for your dowry, and then, having used it, choose to leave and prey on another unsuspecting woman. Such men change countries and wives at a whim. That’s why.”
“Are you insinuating that gentlemen would not find me attractive at all, that they would only want me for my dowry, Raff?”
Her breathing had been rapid and more dragon-like than the manner expected of a sweet female. He’d taken hold of her arm as she’d moved to strike him.
“Do not ever attempt to strike me again, or I will forget that I am a gentleman.” His eyebrow had arched so high that she’d thought it would climb into his hair. “You are not a child anymore, to expect me to ignore your antics.”
She’d exhaled, stood perfectly still, and in an arctic tone had asked, “Will you kindly unhand me, Sir Knows-A-Lot?”
His full lips hadn’t looked so attractive then. They’d been redder than usual, pressed hard together, and Josanna had been forced to assume that Raff had had quite enough of her impertinence. He’d released her so quickly that she’d fallen back, but he’d caught her again.
“Can’t make it on your own, Lady Pain-in-the- Arse?” At that moment, they’d locked eyes and broke into laughter. “Give up?” he’d asked.
“Yes, but it will cost you.”
“Pray tell what is the redeeming factor?”
She’d pranced around him, “A drink of your finest Madeira port?”
He’d chuckled, “With my pleasure. Perhaps one or two?”
“Sir Presumes-A-Lot, methinks thou art intent on making me bosky? Perish the thought. I’m in an accommodating mood tonight. Or do you wish that I would swoon?”
Chapter 3
AUNT MINERVA’S ETATE, MOUSEHOLD, CORNWALL~
Josanna and Raff had their port while two servants, the maid and the butler, kindled a blaze in the fireplaces. The house had been closed up for months, while Aunt Min travelled, and only the two servants had stayed in residence. Now, with guests expected any day, other servants had been sent for. All waited for the retinue of servants and footmen to arrive, and then the guests. Josanna and Raff had startled the butler by arriving two days before they’d been expected.
She watched the fire grow to a blaze on the grate. The cold invigorated, but it held a bit of a sting – the fire would be welcome. Warmed by the Madeira port, she suggested, “It’s not very festive here. Aunt Min said that she and her Russian General would join us this late evening. How about we gather and cut some boughs?” Her eyes lit up like lantern lights. “Perhaps we’ll find some mistletoe to gather, and then stand under.”
“Not unless you care to climb a tree and walk on a slender branch to where it resides.”
Josanna frowned.
“Why would I have to climb a tree? Doesn’t it grow in a bush?”
“All mistletoe grows as parasites on the branches of trees and shrubs. Ancient Anglo-Saxons noticed that mistletoe often grows where birds leave droppings, which is how mistletoe got its name. In Anglo-Saxon, ‘mistel’ means ‘dung’ and ‘tan’ means ‘twig’, hence, ‘dung-on-a-twig’.
Arms akimbo, she responded.
“La de dah, how utterly unromantic. I prefer the English version of a small beautiful shiny green piece tied with a red bow.”
“Indeed, mistletoe is romantic. It leads to long, ardent, wondrous kisses which make a woman swoon.”
There was that word again. It had haunted her for ten years, it seemed. Did women swoon at everything? She’d never swooned in her life, and certainly not when kissed, well or not. It wasn’t important enough to argue about, “So you say, Raff. Do you have any references from females?”
“How many dozen do you need? If you require more, I might arrange it.”
“Or hundreds? That would disappoint me,” she added.
“Disappoint you, why?” his brow creased, and he placed his hand to his chin, perplexed.
She pondered, “Because if something is commonly available, then anyone can secure the item. I much prefer that which is almost unobtainable, available only to a few. And perhaps only to me.”
Josanna looked flirtatiously over one almost bare shoulder as she spoke. Her gown was of Christmas Green silk taffeta, a clinging bodice, pushed up sleeves, and a free-flowing silk skirt. She could discern the appreciation in Raff’s eyes, which were obviously attracted to the plunging bodice and all it offered.
She strode to the mantlepiece, resting one hand there, and pushed back her skirt, away from the fire – knowing full well that doing so would mold her dress to her figure more. But she needed to make sure that there was no chance of the delicate fabric catching alight, for the fire screen was missing. She had asked the butler earlier, and he had apologized, telling her that it was being cleaned and would be returned to the room soon.
Of a sudden, as the fabric clung to her, and Raff’s eyes followed the line of her body, she felt the epitome of womanhood. Perhaps even desirability. What had happened to her? Quickly she locked her legs together. Spirals of sensation climbed through her body. Raff seemed to peer at her quizzically. She inhaled and spoke rapidly to prevent him from reading her mind. Dammit, she’d better not swoon now. Such a silly happenstance. Fresh air. She needed to breathe the cold.
“Christmas spirit fills me. We should proceed to get the greenery while we can.” She looked out through the window, to where the wind blew snowflakes around. “Aunt Min tells me that the snow rarely lasts long here, and disappears in moments unless there is a real temperature drop, or a major storm, but the weather does look threatening. Do you think it will storm? I do so love romping in the snow.” She grinned, “We could have a snowball fight. I’ve gotten better, over the years, and I’ll show no mercy. Be warned.” As she spoke, she realized that she had slung an arrow into her own heart, by remembering the past, and him making snow angels. No. No. No. He averted his eyes, and she continued, probing for a reaction, “Then we can discuss your qualifications. Although I wonder if Dukes ever need such trivialities, considering their exalted, and sometimes unwarrantedly grandiose, positions in society.”
He assisted her into her cape, “They only seem grandiose when you don’t have the title, my dear. At times it can be rather a bore.” His laugh curled. “Don’t forget these. You don’t want to hurt those marvelous fingers and hands,” He gave her the soft kid leather gloves. So jocular, she waited to retort, bit her tongue, and still ventured forward.
“Rest assured, Sir, you’ll never feel them upon you... again. I seem to recall that you jilted me on Christmas Day, a decade ago, and offered for someone else, leaving me bereft.” Haltingly, the next words came, her voice a whisper, “Strange, to this day, you’ve never told me why. You broke my heart.” She averted her glance, then went on, her next words saucy. “I continued that emotion for all of one day. Then I moved on and considered myself the most fortunate of women, since you could never have made me content. You are too narcissistic, Sir High-and-Mighty. Should you keep up your antics, I will then call you Sir Kick in the Arse and do so.”
She forced all memory of pain aside, and allowed herself a hearty laugh, directed at him. He stilled, with an odd look on his face – it seemed that her words had chafed, as she’d intended. He deserved every moment of ridicule. The time was here, now and, come hell or high water, she’d not be subjected to rejection again. She’d be the rejector. He’d be the rejectee.
One thing she ascertained for sure - she felt peculiar, as if another person dwelled in her being.
Out on the nearby fields, contrary to her aunt’s description of things, snow was beginning to pile up. She would point out a particular branch, and he would cut it down. It should be of note that as they proceeded the branches were higher, and she would feast on the sight of his tight breeches, which outlined every part of his body, massive thighs, and strong limbs, not to mention other necessary appendages, as he climbed. He was sigh-worthy in any definition.
Josanna harbored a secret fascination for men with large calves and thighs, almost as strong as her fascination with lips. Heavens, she confused herself. Her late husband hadn’t been an exemplary specimen of Olympic manhood, but he had been a friend, at first.
As if reading her thoughts and ardent gaze, Raff chuckled.
“If you choose any others that are higher, you will have to cut them yourself, Madame Snowfrost, because I will not exhaust myself at such efforts.”
“Why did you call me Snowfrost?” She covered her eyes from the brightness of the snowy ground and the iced limbs of trees.
“Because you are a woman of many disguises. Frosty in one moment and fiery the next, as if you can’t make up your mind who you want to be. Why can’t you be yourself? You’d make an excellent actress, the way you turn your fire into ice and vice versa on a whim.”
“I have not asked you to exert yourself in gathering the Christmas trimmings – I suggested that it be a joint endeavor, and we could have brought the butler with us, or your Mr Devlin.”
“I volunteered, because then I’d have you alone, all to myself, with only the two servants in the house, who have more on their hands than they can handle. It makes sense not to draw them away for this. Many guests are supposed to arrive soon, and the other servants should arrive with the supplies, hopefully before the guests.”
She plowed along behind him as the snow started to stick to her boots, then stopped, watching as he climbed for one last piece of greenery.
“Raff, the sky is darkening. Will the servants and guests make it here before the roads are iced over?”
He dropped to the ground, paused, and grasped her waist, pulling her hard against him.
“I cannot know – but this is enough greenery. I shall reserve my energy for other exhaustive efforts which will gratify far more. It seems, my Lady, that you have what some call ‘bedroom eyes’.”
“Bedroom eyes sound erotic to me. Do you like them?”
She pressed bountiful breasts into him, reveling in the feel of his hard body against hers, staring into his brown orbs as if he were the only man in the universe.
“Your eyes betray your thoughts.”
“Does it bother you, Raff? Some men prefer dark-eyed women, like me, since there is depth and uncertainty in what the character of the color portends. Is there a reason to hide them?”
“No, it’s that I no longer think of you as a bothersome child, which is the memory I have focused on. You are a woman, changed for the better, but that is not a surprise to me. Indeed, it is a fact that has haunted me for ten years.”
