The Wallflower's Mistletoe Wedding Page 14

  ‘We are going to a party,’ she said, pushing the breakfast tray aside. ‘We’re going to Barton Park. There’s something I must do.’

  Chapter Thirteen

  ‘Snapdragon! Snapdragon!’

  Everyone chanted and clapped their hands as all the light except for the fireplace was extinguished in the Barton drawing room. The footmen carried in a wide, shallow bowl of brandy with raisins and other dried fruit. After it was carefully placed on the table, Hayden stepped forward to set a match to the confection.

  Rose gasped as eerie blue flames flickered across the lake of brandy. She remembered watching the grown-ups play at the game when she was a child and it always seemed so daring, everyone diving through the incandescent light to snatch at the treat. She found it looked no less wondrous now, with the circle of avid, laughing faces cast in the blue glow.

  The children had been sent to bed with their nurse after their pre-dinner song, led by Rose, and dinner had been an adult event with plentiful fine French wines. Even Rose, who had tried to sip very little since wine went right to her head and made her giddy, found herself giggling at the silly stories and jokes.

  It had been Charles St George, in his King of the Bean guise, who declared cards and charades too dull for the after-dinner entertainment and instead sent for the brandy. He led the cheers as the flames danced higher.

  Rose glimpsed Harry across the flames, his face half-hidden in the shadows. He smiled wryly as he watched his brother. She remembered all too well their kiss, the wondrous way it had made her feel, and now her cheeks grew warm at the memory. She told herself it was merely the fire, and not her old nemesis, her blush.

  ‘Since you are the ruler of the evening, Charlie,’ said Helen Fallon, the diamond stars in her hair glittering in the firelight, ‘you must be the first to try.’

  ‘And so I shall,’ Charles answered. ‘If the prize is a kiss from the fairest lady in the room.’

  Helen and Charles exchanged a long, tense glance and Rose saw that Harry watched them with a small frown. Lady Fallon was an heiress and had once been almost engaged to Harry. Surely now...

  No, Rose told herself as she made herself concentrate on the game. It was not her business. Yet she was much too aware of what Harry and his brother and Lady Fallon did.

  ‘I doubt Jane would oblige you,’ Helen said, turning away as if she cared not a jot what happened.

  Jane laughed. ‘It is not that kind of party, my darlings, whether the children are in their nursery or not. But, yes, Charlie, you must be the first. I see a lovely little apricot just there in the middle...’

  Amid cries of encouragement, Charles dived forward to try and snatch the apricot. He was unsuccessful and fell back shaking his hand. Helen laughed. Hayden went next and managed to grab a raisin and pop it between his wife’s lips.

  Harry was next and he took the prize of the apricot with such ease it looked as if he barely moved. As he flung the fruit into his mouth, the tips of his fingers seemed to drip with the blue flame. In the strange, glowing light, he looked like something magical and fascinating.

  Emma stepped forward to try it. She gave a little shriek, but managed to grab a raisin. ‘It’s hot, but it doesn’t burn,’ she declared. ‘How is that possible?’

  After the flames died down and the brandy cooled, the lanterns were lit again and the world shifted back to its everyday appearance. Rose laughed with the others, trying not to look at Harry.

  ‘What shall we do now?’ Jane said. ‘Charles, you are the guide to our merriment and obviously a very good one. What game do you declare?’

  Charles tapped his chin in thought. ‘I say—hide and go seek.’

  Helen clapped her hands. ‘Wonderful! Who shall hide and who shall seek?’

  ‘The ladies shall hide and the gentlemen seek, of course,’ Charles said. ‘Is that not the way of life? Jane, perhaps you will be timekeeper?’

  Jane glanced at her husband. She looked a bit dubious about the new game, but she nodded and smiled. ‘Just no hiding in the nursery wing. My children are too excited over Christmas to sleep as it is.’

  ‘Very well, ladies,’ Charles said. ‘Get ready, get set—hide!’

  Rose was caught in the midst of the crowd rushing out of the drawing room, carried with them into the hall as Jane counted off behind them. ‘One—two—three...’ she called, her voice floating above the giggles. Everyone scattered up the stairs and vanished into the shadows, leaving only the trace of that laughter and faint, flowery perfumes behind.

  Rose wasn’t sure where to go. She hadn’t played the game since she was a child and even then she had usually just found a quiet corner to read in.

  ‘Nineteen, twenty,’ Jane called and Rose knew she didn’t have much time. She ran up the stairs and turned down the first corridor she saw. It was only lit by flickering lights at each end, in between was shadows. She heard giggles nearby, the snap of closing doors. Suddenly rather nervous, she ducked behind some heavy satin curtains into a small window nook and pressed herself tight against the wall.

  But she was not alone there for long. After a few breathless moments, someone slid between the curtains and joined her.

  It was shadowy in her small sanctuary, but in the moonlight she could see it was Harry who stood there, his tall figure glowing in the phosphorescent light, his scars hidden. He stepped closer to her, letting the velvet curtain fall behind him, and they were alone in their own world.

  Rose found she suddenly wasn’t frightened at all. She was no longer all by herself. She could take a breath, a real breath, at last.

  ‘Rose?’ he asked, his voice quiet and deep, as rich and comforting as a velvet blanket. ‘Are you unwell? You ran away so quickly...’

  ‘I—no. Not at all,’ she answered. ‘It’s just the game—suddenly I couldn’t breathe.’

  ‘I don’t like such things myself,’ he said. ‘The darkness, the sudden noise.’

  Rose swallowed hard, remembering the little he had told her about the horrors of battle. How dreadful that silly Christmas games could bring that back to him. She longed to touch him, to comfort him. ‘Of course not.’

  ‘It seems safe enough here.’

  ‘Yes.’ Rose swayed towards him, drawn by that warm, quiet strength she always found so wondrous, by the delicious winter fire scent of him.

  His arms came out to catch her, drawing her close, and suddenly she did not feel safe at all. She felt her heart racing within her, making her feel reckless and full of something she hadn’t known in so long—joy.

  She rested her forehead against his chest, the soft wool of his evening coat warm on her skin. She closed her eyes and concentrated on the sound of his heartbeat, steady and strong, echoing her own.

  In her life, she always seemed to be rushing ahead to the next moment, to worrying about the next day. Would her mother and Lily be well? Would she be able to live comfortably, safely? With Harry, in that one instant, she could just be, and it was a delicious feeling indeed.

  She knew she should not be there alone with him, that it was dangerous indeed, but she couldn’t give it up just yet. She slid her arms around his waist, feeling the strength of him as he held her up.

  She felt his kiss on the top of her head and she tilted her face up to his. His gaze glowed in the darkness. His lips touched her brow, the pulse that beat at her temple, her cheek, leaving tiny touches of warmth that made her tingle all the way to her toes. She shivered with the force of emotion that flowed through her, like a flame that pushed away all the icy loneliness she had lived with for so long.

  She went up on tiptoe, holding him even closer, and at last his lips touched hers. A small, questing, sweet kiss, but it made that flame burn even brighter. She moaned softly and it seemed the small sound ignited something in him, too. He groaned and dragged her so close there was no
thing between them at all. They seemed to fit together perfectly, as if they had always been just like that.

  Her lips instinctively parted under his kiss and his tongue lightly touched the tip of hers, as if seeking, questioning, before he deepened their touch.

  She wound her arms around his neck, her fingers curling into his hair, as if she could hold him to her for ever. But he wasn’t leaving her. Their kiss slid deeper, into a desperate need she hadn’t even known was in her. She felt so hot, as if she would catch fire from it, and all there was in the world was the touch of his kiss. She swayed, sure she would fall.

  He pressed her back against the wall and his lips trailed from hers, over the arch of her throat to touch the tiny hollow where her life-pulse pounded with need.

  ‘Rose, I...’ he gasped hoarsely. She opened her eyes to find that he rested his forehead against the wall beside her. His breath was ragged in her ear, his tall body shuddering as if he struggled with the force of longing just as she did.

  Suddenly, the world seemed to crash in around their little sanctuary. She heard footsteps and muffled laughter from beyond the curtains.

  She feared that if she stayed so close to him, she wouldn’t be able to think at all. She slid to one side, dizzy, but his arms tightened around her.

  ‘Not yet,’ he growled. ‘Please.’

  Rose nodded and leaned against his shoulder, letting him hold her up. His entire body had gone rigid, perfectly still, as if he fought to regain his military control.

  ‘’Tis an enchantment,’ she whispered. ‘Like the spirits in the holly wreath, or A Midsummer Night’s Dream.’

  He gave a ragged laugh. ‘We need Puck’s remedy to set it right.’

  It did feel like something had been set loose in Rose, something wild she had never known before. She also knew it had to be put back in the bottle before their lives were cast adrift. She could not afford gossip, not if she was to keep her position, and he needed an heiress.

  ‘Tomorrow is Christmas Day,’ she said. ‘They say that is a good time for reflection and correction.’

  He turned his head to look at her and she saw a small smile crook the corner of his lips. ‘Oh, my sweet Rose. I think I would need more than one Christmas Day at this point.’

  Rose shook her head. ‘I know you. Your mistakes can surely not be many.’

  He laughed roughly. ‘They are many indeed. If you knew what my youth was like before the army...’

  Rose heard more voices outside, laughter becoming louder, closer. She shivered with the sudden rush of cold reality and edged away from Harry, even as her whole being urged her to stay, stay, stay. She self-consciously smoothed her skirt, her hair.

  It was as if mad holiday spirits had indeed taken over her world, a place she had always fought to keep so ordered and calm. She didn’t want to go back, but she knew she had to. For both their sakes.

  She slipped out of their little alcove and blinked at the sudden glow of the light. She saw that many of the hiders had been found and a crowd was drifting down the stairs. She followed them into the drawing room where Jane played at the pianoforte while several couples danced.

  ‘Miss Parker!’ little Eleanor cried, rushing out of the crowd in her dressing gown. Rose was glad of the feeling of the girl’s hand on hers, an anchor to the real world. ‘There you are.’

  ‘And there you are,’ Rose answered with a shaky laugh. She saw William and the other children were gathered around their father, being swung into the air in time to the music, making them shout with laughter. ‘Shouldn’t you all be in bed?’

  ‘We wanted to see what you were doing, if you would sing for us since it’s so hard to sleep on Christmas Eve,’ Eleanor said with a winsome smile.

  Rose remembered that feeling so well, when she and Lily would stay up long into the darkness, whispering about what treats might wait for them in the morning. ‘Very well. Just one song, though. Tomorrow will be a long day.’

  She clasped Eleanor’s hand and led her upstairs, trying to forget what had happened under the enchantment of the game. She feared it would be a sleepless night indeed.

  * * *

  Helen tiptoed across the upstairs landing, listening carefully to the muffled whispering and laughter of the game. She could see no one in the shadows, nor did she really want to. She tripped over one of the rugs and caught herself before she could fall, laughing at the rush of uncertainty that ran through her. She hadn’t felt that way in so very long, so unsure, so filled with anticipation of the next few moments, whatever they would bring.

  But she was not quite alone. Behind her, she heard the brush of a footstep, the sound of an indrawn breath, almost nothing in the silence.

  ‘Who is there?’ she called out, her heart pounding.

  A tall figure stepped out of the shadows and as her eyes adjusted to the moonlight she saw it was Charles. He held a goblet of brandy loose in his hand and she remembered how he had urged them all on in their silly holiday games. He did not look so merry now. In fact, he looked quite—solemn.

  ‘Oh, it’s you,’ she said and she turned to run away again. But somehow she could not leave him. She didn’t want to leave him. She glanced back at him uncertainly.

  A wry smile touched his lips and he raised his glass again. ‘Yes, only me. Are you so very disappointed, Helen?’

  ‘Not at all. I merely heard laughter from this direction and wondered if Jane’s children had escaped their nursery.’

  ‘Or maybe it’s the ghosts of Barton, come to haunt our feast?’

  ‘Are there ghosts here? It seems too new a house to be haunted.’ But then again, her fine London house was quite new and she felt as if ghosts followed her around there all the time. The ghost of her husband, the ghost of the wild girl she had once been.

  ‘There are ghosts everywhere, as I’m sure you know. Especially at Christmas. That’s when we remember those lost ones the most.’

  Helen sat down on the nearest chair, suddenly weary. ‘I thought the men were meant to be seeking, not hiding in here.’

  ‘I prefer the quiet for the moment, don’t you? You don’t seem to be hiding very effectively.’

  ‘Maybe I don’t want to be found.’

  ‘Not by anyone?’

  Helen thought about that, about the gentlemen guests, some of whom she knew would welcome an invitation from her. About the hopes she had dared have for Harry before she arrived at Barton, how she wanted to bring the past to life, even when it was obviously cold and distant. ‘Tell me about the Christmas ghosts.’

  Charles sat down next to her and politely offered her the brandy. She had always liked that about Charles. He was so much fun at a party, but he knew how to be quiet, too, how not to press a person to talk about confusing or hurtful things. He could just—be. She had almost forgotten what that was like. With her husband, and now in her widowhood, it was always play-acting. The tales Charlie told her now, though—they felt different. She could listen to him all evening, but his words ended far too soon.

  Helen took a sip of the brandy as his words faded around them, leaving only the chilly silence of the night outside the windows of their sanctuary.

  ‘I like that,’ she said. ‘Ghosts of Christmas.’

  ‘It’s not the usual sort of Christmas tale,’ he answered.

  ‘That’s why I like it. Sometimes it’s much too easy to feel sad at this time of year, isn’t it? And all the tinsel and bows make it worse, somehow.’

  Charles looked at her sharply and she could tell she had surprised him. ‘The lovely Lady Fallon, sad?’ he said softly. ‘What is it that makes you so?’

  She shrugged. ‘I don’t even know. What could make me sad? I’m a rich widow now and still young. Yet I feel so alone sometimes. That’s why I like the thought of your ghosts, I suppose. If they are watching—well, they’re
company.’

  He reached up to toy with the lace trim on her sleeve. Usually when a man did that, she would laugh and turn away flirtatiously. It would mean nothing, less than nothing. But this was Charles, Charles who had known her for so long, who felt as if she herself was seeing for the first time. She could see her own feelings, her loneliness and uncertainty, in his eyes.

  His touch on her arm was so light, but to Helen it burned with the glow of life itself. She found herself craving that touch so much.

  ‘Tell me no, Helen,’ he said in a low, taut voice. ‘Send me away, for both of us.’

  ‘I...’ she whispered. ‘I can’t do that, Charlie.’

  ‘Heaven help me, but neither can I.’ His hand trailed over her arm to her waist, his touch warm and gentle through the velvet of her gown. It made her want so much more, to feel bare skin against hers again, to have that connection, to know she was not alone.

  Her throat felt so tight she couldn’t answer him in words. She just covered his hand with hers and pressed him closer. His other hand reached up to caress her cheek and she kissed his palm. He smelled of smoke and brandy, and it was enough to make her head whirl. There was only her and Charlie, in their own world now.

  ‘Helen,’ he said roughly. ‘Every time I think I know you, you change. You’re so merry, then so sad. How you baffle me.’

  ‘But surely you know me better than anyone else ever has. I think—I think you see me.’ She leaned closer to him and felt the heat of their lips hovering mere inches apart. ‘And I see you.’

  ‘I do hope not.’

  She nodded and, before she could let her thoughts overwhelm her again, she closed the space between them and touched his lips with hers. The merest brush, but she felt the heat of their breath meeting and mingling, binding them closer than those ghosts could ever do.

  Charles groaned and deepened their kiss, giving her what she craved. His arms came around her, pulling her close. His tongue touched the curve of her lower lip, light and almost teasing, until she parted her lips in eager welcome. And then, like the ghosts, she flew free.