Christine Merrill – Unlaced At Christmas: The Christmas Duchess / Russian Winter Nights / A Shocking Proposition (страница 8)

‘That is because there is no point in hanging something of that kind in this house,’ she said firmly, as though the matter was settled. ‘There is no one here that wants or needs kissing.’

‘Really,’ he said, surprised.

‘My son is too young to care. If I allow my daughter to run riot at the holidays I will have even more trouble than I do already. The servants have no right to be distracted with it for half the month of December.’

‘And you?’ he prompted.

‘I?’ She did her best to pretend that the thought had not occurred to her. She turned away. ‘It is foolishness, and I have no time for that, either.’

‘Perhaps it is time to make the time,’ he said, stepping forward, holding the branch above her head and kissing her on the lips before she could object.

It was as if the world had been spinning at a mad rate and suddenly stopped, leaving her vision unnaturally clear. She was not a minor character waiting in the wings of her own life. She was standing in the centre of the stage, alone except for the duke.

And then it was over. A strange, adolescent awkwardness fell over them. He cleared his throat. She straightened her skirt. They both glanced at the door and then back to each other. ‘I trust I have demonstrated the need for further decoration?’ he said.

She touched her lips. And against her better judgement, she nodded.

‘Shall I get a bit of ribbon? I am nearly tall enough to reach that hook without a ladder. Or I could steady you while you place it on the hook,’ he offered.

She imagined how easy it would be for him to lift her, and her slow slide down his body once the job was done, leaving them standing close again, under the white berries. ‘I will get you a ladder.’

Chapter Seven

She had tasted of iced cakes and ginger and smelled of woodsmoke and brandy. Montford turned the branch in his hands, staring at it. How long had it been since he had kissed a pretty girl under the mistletoe, just for the fun of it?

He had done it last Christmas, of course. His own house had mistletoe boughs in several doorways. It was pleasant for both parties to catch a young lady under the berries, to swing her briefly off her feet and buss her on the cheek.

If the girl was not willing and wandered beneath the bough in mistake, he would make a playful start for her and send her scampering in fright before she realised that it was naught but a game. Then they would both laugh. And sometimes he would get his kiss after all, if she came back to award him for his good humour.

But had any of those previous kisses been as this one? It was sweet and sad at the same time, tasting of lost youth and aged like wine on his tongue. But there was hope in it as well, reminding him that while he might never be a boy again, there was much to enjoy in the present. The clock had not precisely stopped when he’d kissed Generva Marsh. But the passage of time had not felt quite so loud and insistent.

When he had pulled away from her he’d seen the same thing mirrored in her eyes. Her needs might have changed over the years. But the desire to be loved, and to love in return, had not diminished.

He had kissed her. For a moment, the title had fallen away and he’d felt like nothing more than a man. But he was a man without a wife. And for the first time in a long time, he felt incomplete. Both of his courtships, while not devoid of romance, had been foregone conclusions. He had shown interest and they had been flattered. He had proposed and they had accepted. It had all been very simple.

But that was the past. He had consoled himself that he was too old to start again. It had been a lie. But to open his heart when the answer was not guaranteed...

There was a shifting from behind him and a whispered, ‘Your Grace?’

He turned, surprised that he was not alone in the room.

It was Gwendolyn, holding a step stool in front of her. ‘Mama said you needed a ladder.’

So Mrs Marsh had lost her nerve and sent the girl to deal with him. Perhaps she still hoped that there would be a match between them and that a moment alone in the presence of mistletoe would be the answer. She was wrong.

But that was no fault of Generva’s. ‘Of course,’ he said, smiling. He took the stool from her and climbed it to hang the branch on a nail above the door. Then he stepped down again, standing well clear of the thing so that he might talk to the girl in peace. ‘And while I have you alone, I wish to speak with you for a moment.’ He gestured to the chairs by the window and they sat.

He resisted the urge to clear his throat, fearing that it would make him seem even more old and pompous than he already felt. ‘I wanted to apologise personally for the actions of my nephew.’

He could see, in the bright afternoon light, that her eyes were still red from crying. But for the moment, at least, they remained dry.

‘That is not necessary. They were not your fault after all.’

‘He is my heir and it reflects poorly upon my family that he used you, in such a way. I wish to make it right, if that is possible.’

‘I fail to see how you can,’ she said with a sad smile. ‘The man is already married. Even if he were not, I doubt I would take him back after how he has treated me.’

‘I understand that,’ he said as gently as possible. ‘Nor would I wish you to. It disappoints me to say so, but had I known of his courtship from the beginning, I would have warned you away from him.’

‘Because you did not think me worthy?’ She seemed ready to take offence.

He hurried to put her at her ease. ‘On the contrary. It is he who is not worthy. I had hoped on hearing that he meant to marry that it would be otherwise. But he has proved my worst fears and toyed with your affections. I must do what I can to make reparation.’

She gave him another sad smile that made her seem older than her years. ‘That is very kind of you, Your Grace. Mama said something on the subject to me already. If you mean to propose, I beg that you do not. It will save us both the embarrassment when I refuse.’

He hoped the relief he felt was not as obvious as it seemed. ‘You would not accept such an offer? You would be a duchess, you know. It is what Tom would have made you on my death.’

She shuddered. ‘Let us not talk of that, either. You are in good health at the moment, are you not?’

‘And I hope to be so, for some time,’ he said. ‘All the same, you would have been the duchess eventually.’

‘I hope you do not think that was an enticement when I accepted your nephew. I saw nothing further than the man in front of me.’ She smiled again. ‘I proved myself a very poor judge of character.’

‘If gentlemen behaved as they ought, it would not be necessary for ladies to be on guard,’ he reminded her. ‘And it is unfair that your reputation should suffer from his cavalier treatment of you.’

She gave a slight nod to say that he was too kind.

‘There will be a settlement,’ he said, stopping her before she could speak. ‘I will not accept a refusal of that, after the mortal blow you have dealt me by refusing my hand. You wound me to the quick, miss, for though I am old enough to be your father, I do not like to be reminded of the fact.’

She hurried to deny the fact, then noticed his smile and relaxed at the shared joke. ‘Very well, Your Grace. I thank you for your concern.’

‘I have another plan that might suit you better,’ he said, trying not to sound as cryptic as he felt. ‘I do not wish to speak of it as yet. But if I could repair your reputation in some other way, one that would give your broken heart time to heal and not trap you in a marriage not of your choosing, would you accept my help?’

Her shoulders sagged as well-disguised tension was released from them. ‘If such a thing was possible, I would accept it gladly, Your Grace.’

He rose and offered her his hand. She rose as well, and he escorted her to the door. ‘Then I shall endeavour to do my best for you.’ He glanced up to see the mistletoe that he had hung only a few minutes ago. ‘And now, you must indulge an old man, if only for luck.’ He laid a finger to direct her and she went up on tiptoe to kiss him, a brief, daughterly peck on the cheek.

He responded with a fatherly kiss on the top of her head. ‘Merry Christmas, my dear. Do not worry, I will make all right.’

She all but scampered as she left him, and he reached thoughtfully up to pluck one of the berries and toss it into the fire.

* * *

Seven, eight, nine...

Generva stared suspiciously up at the mistletoe, counting the berries there. She was sure there had been ten when she had left the room earlier in the day. She held her breath as she peered around at her feet to make sure the berry had not dropped off and rolled away. There was no sign of it on the floor.

She resisted the urge to move the furniture just to make sure. It was a roundabout solution to a perfectly simple problem. If she wished to know if a kiss had occurred after the meeting between the duke and her daughter, she had but to go and ask Gwen.

Strangely, she did not want to. She had left them alone together so that the matter of the proposal could be properly settled. But she had trusted that he would behave as a gentleman, especially if the answer was no. If he had pressed his advantage, as he had when Generva had been alone with him, she could not ignore it. She would explain to her daughter that what might have been a simple Christmas game last season might now be seen as permission to take even greater liberties. If she had agreed to a marriage, then it must occur tomorrow as scheduled.