A Kiss At Christmastide: Regency Novella Read online

  “Lead away, my lady,” he said, taking the sack from her hands.

  “I am sorry the storm keeps you from Lady Natalie’s holiday party. I am sure you will be sad to miss spending the time with your family for the first year in ages.” His confession from earlier made all the more sense now that she knew he’d been kept from his family all these holiday seasons. He was likely angry the previous night due to that and not completely at the storm or having to leave London. “I do hope the storm lets up by morning, and all won’t be completely lost.”

  He’d spotted her lopsided pie crusts on the side table and set the sack close. “If it does not, all will still not be lost.”

  Pippa wanted to ask what that comment meant, but his smile stopped her words. He was not overly concerned with missing Natalie’s party, so she would not dwell on it, either. Surely, the Sheridans would not notice one guest missing. So what if that meant one less eligible man fawning over Natalie.

  “What are you thinking about?”

  “Nothing of import, why?”

  “A smile, so smug, crossed your face, and I must admit that I find I must know what mischief was behind it.” He untied the sack and peeked inside, avoiding staring at her. “Oh, this does, indeed, smell good. Do you think I can offer your cook a larger monthly allowance to come cook for me in London?”

  “You would poach my staff?” The change of subject was preferable to admitting she’d found pleasure in knowing she’d kept a man, a lord ever so handsome, from attending her neighbors’ holiday party. “I fear my entire family would follow her if she did accept your offer.”

  “And London would be a far better place for your arrival.”

  His comments, snide the previous night, shifted to almost endearing sentiments. That shocked Pippa. He was a different man than he’d appeared at first. No longer was he angry with biting remarks—and if she were pushed to admit it, she liked this side of him far more. Still, she could not forget that a certain darkness lived within him. She only hoped it didn’t make another appearance during his stay.

  “Now, tell me,” he said as he stuck a fork in a jar of peach jam and brought it to his mouth. He paused, and his eyes drifted shut as he placed the sweet morsel on his tongue. He allowed a dramatic sigh to escape at the pleasure of the bite. “Heavens, my apologies. It is only that I’ve never tasted a jam so…” He tapped the utensil against his lips as he searched for the right word. Pippa didn’t care what the correct word was—she couldn’t look away from his mouth, a spot of peach still clinging to his bottom lip. His tongue swooped out and captured it. “Succulent.”

  “What?” Pippa drug her look from his smiling lips.

  “Succulent, that is the term I would use to capture exactly how marvelous this jam is.”

  “I will let Cook know your pleasure at her canning.”

  “Oh, please do.” He set the fork aside and stared. Pippa immediately busied herself filling the pie crusts with mincemeat from the sack. “As I was saying before heaven descended upon us and showed me what eternal salvation could be like—not that I am worthy of it—but, why are you not attending the holiday celebration? I must wager that the Sheridan chit is about your age, and you must have associated growing up being you live so close.”

  Pippa wanted nothing less than to answer his question. However, she thought that if she shared a bit with him, maybe he’d do the same. “Lady Natalie and I are friends—were friends. At least growing up. My estate and hers share a village. But…people grow and change. Sometimes, change cannot be explained.”

  “Was it you or she who changed?”

  Pippa’s brow knitted. The man was too perceptive for his own good. “Could it not be both of us?”

  He pondered the thought by taking another heaping forkful of jam. “I suppose, yet it is my belief that people cannot change—they can only alter the way others view them.”

  “That is a very pessimistic way of looking at things.”

  “It is far better to think the worst and be surprised when it isn’t as dire than to be taken aback when something negative happens.” He leaned his hip against the countertop where she worked and crossed one leg over the other at his ankle. It was a relaxed pose—as if he felt completely at home in her home.

  “That is very magnanimous of you, my lord.” She finished the first pie and moved to the next. “But, have you stopped to think that maybe we have the same reasoning for not attending Lady Natalie’s holiday party?”

  “Oh, but I have every intention of attending. It is this storm that keeps me locked here in this primitive house with nothing but sugared jam as sustenance. I may very well perish from hunger before the rain and winds subside.”

  “That is rich, my lord!” Pippa flipped her spoon at him without thought, and a clump of meat hit his white linen shirt.

  “And bereft of clean clothing, it would appear.” He collected the meat before it dropped to the floor and popped it into his mouth. “If it isn’t the storm, it is the tendency for flying morsels of food.”

  Pippa laughed, unable to hold it in any longer. “I am certain your valet is adept at fixing all the heinous things you do to your wardrobe, my lord.”

  “Lucas.”

  Pippa’s eyes shot to his, not sure what she’d expected, but finding an openness altogether new. But hadn’t she already thought of him as just plain Lucas?

  “My name is Lucas. Please, call me such.” He grabbed the filled pie and pulled it toward him, taking the flattened top crust pieces and laying them delicately over the meat in expert crisscross fashion, crimping the edges. “And I shall call you Pippa.”

  She wasn’t sure if she was more shocked by her given name on his lips—lips that had been alluringly coated with jam only moments before—or the expert way he completed the pie top, far more uniform than Pippa had ever mastered. “Where did you learn to apply a pie lattice?”

  “A lattice?” he asked, pinching the final spot on the crust.

  “Yes, what you just did.”

  “Oh,” he looked to her and back at the pie, taken aback by his own skill. “I do not ever remember learning, but I did spend much time in the kitchens when I was very young. Maybe, at some point, I helped our cook? Or, it is far more likely that I simply love eating pie.”

  “But you can’t remember?”

  A clouded expression settled on his face, and Pippa wished she hadn’t pressed the matter.

  “I fear much from my childhood is beyond my memory.” He chuckled, but nothing in his confession was the least bit comical. “Now, where were we—“

  A loud crash sounded, accompanied by breaking glass.

  “What’s that—”

  Pippa wiped her floured hands on her gown without thinking and rushed from the kitchen. She could hear Lucas’s heavy footsteps behind her as they both thundered down the hall toward the sound.

  “Oh, no.” Pippa sighed in distress when she saw the mess in the foyer. The garland she’d hung earlier had crashed to the floor, taking with it a small table that had been lined with miniature angel figurines. Pippa’s own collection, given to her as gifts by her parents each Christmastide. She spotted one still intact and bent to retrieve it, only to have its delicate wing fall to the floor once more and shatter into a thousand tiny splinters.

  There was nothing she could do, and it seemed that her holiday was going from bad to worse—her parents had yet to arrive, she’d been saddled with an unwanted houseguest, and, now, her collection was ruined. So many things taken from her in such a short time.

  “My lady?” Lucas asked, his hand coming to rest on her shoulder. “Do not fret. I can help you right all of this.”

  Pippa swatted at the tears she hadn’t realized she’d shed. “Pippa, call me Pippa. If you have seen me cry, then we are surely past formalities.”

  “Very well,” he agreed. “Is there a broom nearby?”

  “The butler’s closet is just over there.” Pippa pointed in the direction they’d come but kept her eyes on the de
struction before her, not ready to face Lucas yet. “I will help you.”

  He was back with the broom quickly and began gathering all the tiny shards of glass into a pile. It was hard to imagine that all her years of gifts amounted to such a small pile.

  Pippa allowed him to continue his sweeping as she grabbed the fallen greenery, assessing its damage. With a smidge of twisting, she righted the bent branches and looked around for her ladder or a stool. She should have made sure the branch was secured correctly earlier, though her fall and subsequent landing in Lucas’s arms had entirely distracted her.

  Certainly, all of this was his fault, though she kept that thought to herself.

  “May I give you a boost?” His tendency to slip up behind her without making a sound unnerved her.

  “My stool cannot be too far.”

  “Come now, I can hoist you up, and then we can return to the kitchen.” His offer sent a shiver through her—to feel his touch once more… “I see the peg is still in place above the archway.”

  Pippa looked toward him, then back to the archway, clutching the branch close. Could she resist his newfound charm once again? It had been simple when he’d caught her earlier, his attitude had still rankled her—his forwardness and sarcastic comments kept her at bay. But those were gone now, replaced with sweet sentiments and visuals of him helping her in the kitchen.

  He knelt before her and patted the step of sorts he’d made with his leg.

  “I cannot balance on your leg—I may hurt you, or, worse yet, fall and injure myself!”

  “I see your hesitation,” he said, standing once more. “I will lift you then.”

  She moved before him, and he clasped her shoulders, turning her to face the archway, her back to him. Before she knew what his intent was, his strong, solid arms wrapped around her waist and he lifted her.

  “My lord!” Pippa wiggled.

  “My face is squarely in your skirts, Pippa. Call me Lucas.” Indeed, her skirts did muffle his words, but the lighthearted nature of them showed through. “Now, will you hang that bloody thing already? I know I appear as strong as an ox, but I cannot hold you here all day.”

  Pippa giggled—something she hadn’t done in many years.

  She reached high, though the peg was still a few inches away. “A bit higher, Lucas, if you please.”

  She was unsure how he accomplished it, but he raised her the remaining distance, and she popped the branch back into place, giving it a small tug to make sure it would not fall again. “It is hung. You can return me to the ground.”

  “If I must,” he teased. “I was beginning to enjoy the scent of your garments. Is that lavender?”

  “Oh, you,” Pippa squeaked and swatted at him. “Set me down before we topple over and we are both hurt.”

  “As you wish.”

  Pippa felt a moment of weightlessness, and she flipped about in his arms, now facing him as she slid to the floor—their bodies rubbing against one another in the most intimate and scandalous of ways.

  Her breath hitched at the sensation that flooded her, pooling at her most guarded spot.

  When the air finally left her lungs, it came in several quick pants.

  Pippa blinked to bring her vision back into focus. Yet, all that did was have her breath catching once more because Lucas’s face was a mere inch from hers.

  And he was staring at her in the oddest of fashions.

  Suddenly, Pippa noticed he held his breath, as well. It was as if they both feared breathing for it would end this moment, this highly unexpected moment.

  “I think this should hold nicely,” she said, breaking their stare.

  Lucas looked up to assess her work, still holding her tightly to him.

  She followed his gaze to avoid staring at his neck, which she knew led to his chest. His muscular, solid, capable chest.

  “My lord,” she whispered, and he turned his eyes to hers once more.

  “Lucas.”

  “Lucas,” she started again. “You may release me now.”

  “And if I refuse?”

  “Then we shall be found in short order by my servants, in a position most scandalous.”

  “And we do not want that to happen?” This time, it was a question, not a statement. He was asking her if she wanted him to let her go—demanding she say the words aloud. But his words begged her to say no.

  Pippa wanted nothing less than to be released. “Surely, the wisest decision would be that.”

  “Are you a wise woman, Pippa?” he asked, his breath fanning her face. “Because, I assure you, at this very moment, I do not feel like a wise man.”

  Chapter 8

  Lucas was flirting with danger. Every square inch of his body was on high alert—waiting. She need only say the word, or smile at him, and he’d pull her closer still. Bloody hell, if she so much as breathed, she’d likely set him ablaze where they stood—the heat being the undoing of them both.

  But he was helpless to resist as she continued to stare. There were far worse places to be than lost in her deep, pooling eyes. For the second time, he sensed he was trapped in a story, a fairytale that he was hesitant to escape from.

  “Ah, well.” She glanced above them once more, to the mistletoe-laced garland. “It would be disastrous for me to deny you a kiss a second time, would it not?”

  Her words were all the encouragement Lucas needed.

  Slowly, giving her ample time to resist, he lowered this mouth to hers.

  But she did not pull away as he set his lips to hers. Her luscious mouth tensed slightly at his touch but quickly relaxed and began to move with his. Their breaths melded together as if it were the most natural of occurrences, as if they did exactly this each day—every hour. Surprising him further, she increased her insistence, taking the lead from him as she parted her lips and ran her tongue across his lower one. Everything in his body hardened, and Lucas had a moment of hesitation, knowing their bodies were still pressed closely together—his erection unmistakable.

  He was acting the randy schoolboy with his first bout of infatuation.

  He slowed their kiss, allowing his hands to fall to his sides. Pippa was likely frightened by his actions.

  Lucas should apologize, gather his belongings, and depart immediately.

  The liberties he’d taken with Lady Pippa were unforgivable—and if he stayed, he knew he’d only insist on more.

  “My lady,” Lucas said as he pulled back. “I—”

  “It is Pippa,” she corrected, setting her lips to his once more.

  Lucas gave in, allowing his hands their freedom, and they instantly wrapped around her once more to cup the round swells of her backside.

  He released her lips and trailed light kisses along her jawline and up to her earlobe, taking it into his mouth and sucking gently.

  A moan escaped her, and Lucas damn near lost all thought and threw caution to the wind at the sound of her pleasure. Pleasure, he was giving her.

  Pleasure, he had no right to be giving her at this moment—or any other.

  Lady Pippa had given him shelter…and he was all but betrothed to Lady Natalie, who awaited his arrival at the neighboring estate. Yet, Lucas, scoundrel that he was, held and kissed another. Imagined undressing this dark-haired beauty, instead of—Lucas had no idea what Lady Natalie looked like—and he found he could care less.

  It was the woman in his arms that he wanted—in this moment, and all that followed.

  He released her lobe, and she let out a disgruntled sigh, pushing her body ever closer to his as if she didn’t realize the danger she was in—the threat he posed to her future.

  A loud clap of thunder shook the front door on its hinges, and Pippa gasped, jumping back.

  Her gaze darted around the room as if her brain hadn’t registered the origin of the noise that had startled her.

  “It was thunder,” he called, balling his hands into fists to stop himself from reaching for her once more. “Only the storm.”

  She breathed heav
ily, not saying a word, and her hands clutched her chest—her bosom straining against the fabric of her gown, demanding to be set free.

  Or maybe that was only Lucas’s imagination begging him to step forward and take her in his arms again.

  A deep crimson stain crept up her neck, and her face flamed red.

  “My lord,” she gushed. “I am…I am so sorry. I have acted most improper. Whatever must you think of me?”

  On the tip of his tongue were the many words he wanted to say about her: sensual, erotic, alluring, beautiful, caring, compassionate, and captivating. Given a minute longer, allowing his mind to clear, he would likely string together another ten words that adequately described her.

  “You must think me a wanton woman, my lord.”

  As long as she was only wanton for him, Lucas would call her exactly that if it pleased her.

  Too late, he realized his mistake at remaining silent so long as her body trembled and she stumbled farther from him.

  She truly believed he thought negatively of her—and what had just occurred between them.

  Pippa grabbed her skirts in her hand and fled the room. Her embarrassment evident to Lucas now—how had he not recognized the emotion before?

  But he knew the answer.

  The Earl of Maddox, heir to the Marquis of Bowmont, had never sought out any woman of respectable standing—nor had he the occasion to ruin a proper lady.

  Bloody hell, Merry Christmastide to him.

  If he was not already certain of his tendency to tarnish every situation, it was evident now.

  Chapter 9

  Pippa noticed the sliver of light escaping the edges of her draperies the moment her eyes fluttered opened. She’d hurriedly donned a morning gown with an apron and pockets before pulling the heavy fabric aside—scared she’d be disappointed to find the storm still lingering. She was pleasantly surprised to see her first instinct was true. A patchy blue sky greeted her with the grey storm clouds clinging at the horizon, not completely ready to move on from Somerset. The tops of the trees stood tall with no wind pushing them to and fro—and below, a thin layer of snow dotted the landscape.