Miss Amelia's Mistletoe Marquess

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‘Well, yes, I suppose. Or at least I was trying to prove that kissing can, should, be pleasurable, but kissing one person isn’t the same as kissing another.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because everyone is different.’

‘Then why didn’t you tell me that before?’ Her tone was accusing. ‘You said that kissing you would help me to imagine kissing Gilbert!’

‘Did I?’

‘Yes!’ She blinked. ‘Didn’t you?’

‘I’m not entirely sure I remember.’ He clamped his brows together. ‘Perhaps you should try imagining it now?’

‘I can’t right now! It wouldn’t be right.’

‘No, perhaps not. Here.’ He picked up her cup of tea and handed it to her. What was it his aunt had always said? Nothing like a cup of tea in a crisis. And if this wasn’t a crisis he didn’t know what was. ‘Drink up before it gets cold.’

‘Thank you.’ She took a few sips, watching him warily out of the corner of her eye before putting the cup down again and standing up. ‘I ought to get back to bed. It’s very late.’

‘Of course.’ He stood up, too, making a small, awkward bow. ‘I hope that you sleep well, Miss Fairclough. I apologise for the misunderstanding.’

‘Not at all.’ She seemed to have trouble meeting his gaze. ‘It was my fault, too. Perhaps we should just forget it ever happened?’

‘Consider it done.’

‘Thank you.’ She started towards the door and then stopped, half-twisting her face back towards him. ‘When you say it would be different with Gilbert, how different exactly do you mean?’

‘Well…’ He felt an unmistakable pang of jealousy. ‘I suppose that depends on how much you feel like polishing some brass right now.’

‘Oh… I see. Well, goodnight then, Mr Whitlock. I hope that you don’t have any more bad dreams.’

Cassius waited until the parlour door had closed shut behind her before dropping into his armchair. No matter how bad they’d been before, he had a feeling his dreams for the rest of the night were going to tell a whole different story.

Chapter Five (#u0f17f734-61f2-5372-babb-436a2dd8416b)

Millie crept through the hall on tiptoe, tensing as she lifted the latch of the front door and then lowered it with a soft click behind her. The sun was just coming up over the treetops and in the early hush of dawn even that tiny sound seemed too loud. Pulling her cloak tighter around her, she hurried through the gates that stood next to the house and out on to the road, relieved to be away from the scene of her disgrace. Thankfully the snow had stopped some time during the night and the village was only a mile down the road, or so Cassius had told her when she’d first appeared on his doorstep. Now she just had to hurry before he woke up and came after her.

Would he come after her? She glanced nervously back over her shoulder, a wave of heat washing through her body at the thought. He’d been fast asleep in his armchair when she’d crept into the parlour to retrieve her cloak, but she was afraid it was something he might do if he woke up and found her gone. He’d said that his conscience wouldn’t be easy until he’d escorted her to her door, but the thought of seeing him again made her feel mortified. After the scandalous way she’d behaved, she doubted she’d be able to look him or any other man in the face ever again. She hadn’t even dared look at herself in the bedroom mirror that morning.

She was a scarlet woman! Or if not completely scarlet, then definitely pink. Salmon-coloured maybe. She’d kissed a man, a man she’d only just met! A man with hypnotic blue eyes that had seemed to peer into her very soul and whose lips had unleashed a torrent of new and extraordinary responses in her body, each more shocking than the last. For a few wicked seconds she’d surrendered completely to a feeling of light-headed, breath-stealing, almost painfully intense pleasure. And why? Because for one brief moment curiosity had got the better of her. Because she’d liked him and the way he’d talked to her as if she really were intriguing. But mostly because she’d wanted to know how it would feel to be kissed.

Well, she’d certainly achieved that. She hadn’t been able to get a wink of sleep afterwards, her whole body wide awake and tingling all over. Now the problem was going to be trying to forget it.

She shook her head, determinedly attempting to displace the memory. She wouldn’t think of him or his lips or eyes, hypnotic or otherwise, ever again. She wouldn’t think of him at all. She only hoped that he wasn’t invited to any of the festive events her cousin had planned…

Her steps faltered at the sight of a young woman, bundled up in a woollen shawl, trudging towards her from the direction of the village.

‘Good morning.’ Millie nodded her head as she passed, doing her best impression of a woman out for an entirely plausible jaunt in the snow.

‘Morning, miss.’ The woman’s gaze darted quickly to her face and then away again.

Seized with an even greater sense of trepidation, Millie pulled her bonnet forward and increased her pace, making her way as quickly as her impractical evening gown would allow through the snowdrifts. Fortunately, she didn’t meet anyone else before she reached her cousin’s red-brick manor on the outskirts of the village.

‘Millie!’ Lilian Fairclough came flying out of the drawing room, flinging her arms around her the moment she entered the front door. ‘What on earth happened? Where have you been? We’ve been so worried.’

‘You have?’ Millie looked at her mother in surprise. She’d taken the absence of search parties on her way as a good sign.

‘Well…yes.’ Her mother looked shame-faced. ‘Or at least we have been since five minutes ago when I came down to breakfast and Alexandra asked me how you’d been on the journey home. I had no idea you’d stayed to wait for me.’

‘It didn’t occur to me to mention it last night.’ Alexandra came to stand behind her mother. ‘I just assumed that you’d gone straight to bed.’

‘I thought that might happen…’ Millie kissed her mother’s cheek reassuringly ‘…but it’s all right. I’m here now.’

‘Did Lady Fentree send you home in her carriage?’ Alexandra peered out of the window. ‘Has it left again already?’

‘No. I walked back.’

‘She let you walk? In this weather?’

‘Actually she doesn’t know anything about it. I was out in the garden when I heard the last carriage leave and I thought it would be pleasant to make my own way home, although in retrospect I suppose that was somewhat foolish of me.’

‘But surely you haven’t been out in these temperatures all night?’ Her mother looked horrified.

‘No, I came to a house and the owner gave me shelter.’ She made a show of removing her outer garments, horribly aware of her cheeks reddening. ‘Is breakfast still out? I’m famished.’

‘You can have all the bacon and eggs you want.’ Alexandra took hold of one arm while her mother took hold of the other, leading her through to the dining room. ‘We’re just so relieved that you’re all right.’

‘Ah, there she is!’ George Malverly waved a fork from one end of an oval-shaped mahogany table. ‘Didn’t I tell you she’d show up in her own good time? She’s resourceful, this one.’

‘I appreciate your confidence.’ Millie took a seat beside him with a smile. Alexandra’s husband was a good twenty years older than his wife, but their marriage had been, and remained, a love match. At seventy years old, his figure was becoming increasingly portly and his nose a somewhat startling shade of red, but the roguish glint in his eye never failed to make her laugh.

‘Been out for a morning’s perambulation, eh?’ He nudged her arm across the corner of the table. ‘Good for the complexion, I should imagine.’

‘Fresh air is good for the complexion, George.’ Alexandra sat down opposite. ‘A snowstorm is dangerous.’

‘What? Oh, yes, quite right, but she’s here now and looking as fit as a fresh-faced fiddle. No damage done, I’d say.’

‘Where was it you found shelter, dear?’ Her mother sat down beside Alexandra.

‘Just a house on the road. Could you pass me the toast, please?’

‘Well, that certainly narrows it down.’ Her mother exchanged a glance with her cousin. ‘It’s mostly woodland between here and the Fentrees, isn’t it?’

‘Nearly the whole way.’

‘Where’s the butter?’

‘There’s only one house I can think of and that’s empty.’

‘I think I’d like marmalade this morning…’

‘Who was it that sheltered you, dear?’

‘Oh, I meant jam. Strawberry preserve if you have any?’

‘Millie?’ Her mother lifted an eyebrow. ‘Forgive me for saying so, but you’re being rather evasive.’

‘Am I?’ She smeared butter on to a piece of toast and then put the knife down, acutely aware of two pairs of eyes watching her like constables across the table. ‘Oh, very well. It was a gatehouse. There was a drive leading somewhere, but I couldn’t see any other buildings close by.’

‘It must have been the one belonging to Falconmore Hall.’ Alexandra looked surprised. ‘The drive’s a good two miles long, but I didn’t think anyone lived in the gatehouse any more.’

‘They don’t.’ George speared his fork into a piece of kipper. ‘Not for the past two years.’

‘Well, there was someone there last night.’

‘Yes, but who?’

‘Who?’ Millie took a deep breath, scooped up some strawberry jam and dolloped it on to her bread. ‘I believe he said he was the estate manager.’

‘A man?’ Alexandra pressed a hand to her mouth with a look of horror.

‘An estate manager?’ George looked thoughtful. ‘Falconmore must have hired somebody new. Seems odd when Linton’s been doing the job perfectly well for fifteen years, but there you go. New man, new ideas, I suppose.’

‘What do you mean?’ Millie paused with the toast halfway to her lips.

‘Oh, the former Marquess died just about a year ago. Tried jumping a fence he shouldn’t have, poor fellow. I suppose the new Lord Falconmore thinks it’s time for some changes.’

‘George!’ Alexandra interrupted her husband sternly. ‘Falconmore’s staffing situation is irrelevant. Millie spent the night alone in a house with a man!’

‘Did she, by Jove?’

‘Yes…’ Millie swallowed a mouthful of toast ‘…but under the circumstances, I was very grateful to see him. I don’t know what I would have done if he hadn’t let me stay.’

‘Well, yes…’ Alexandra leaned forward over the table ‘…but a man? Wasn’t there anyone else in the house?’

‘I’m afraid not.’ She straightened her shoulders defensively. ‘I know it looks bad, but I couldn’t have walked another step and there was a blizzard. I almost collapsed on his doorstep as it was. The situation was regrettable, but unavoidable. Fortunately, only he and I and now the three of you know. Surely that’s safe enough?’

‘Do you think you can trust his discretion?’

‘Yes.’ For some reason, it hadn’t occurred to her to doubt it.

‘And nobody saw you leave?’

‘No, and I saw only one other person this morning, a maid on the road, but I was halfway back to the village by then.’

‘Yes, but the snow stopped during the night.’

‘What difference does that make?’

‘Your footprints.’ Her mother looked anxious. ‘They’ll lead straight back to the gatehouse.’

‘Oh…dear.’ She stared at her toast for a few seconds and then put it down, losing her appetite suddenly. Oh, double dear…

‘Well, that doesn’t mean the maid will have noticed—’ George’s tone was reassuring ‘—and even if she did, how would she know who Millie is?’

‘That’s true.’ She grasped at the idea eagerly. ‘Thank you, George.’

‘Always glad to be of service.’

‘Mmm.’ Alexandra sounded doubtful. ‘We were going to call on a few acquaintances this morning, but under the circumstances it might be best for you to stay here, just in case you were recognised. Your hair colour is quite distinctive, after all. We’d better give it a couple of days to make sure.’

‘In that case, we’ll have coffee and biscuits in the library.’ George winked at her. ‘How do you fancy a few games of backgammon?’

‘That sounds lovely.’ Millie smiled, trying to quell a nagging sense of disquiet. ‘Just lovely.’

Cassius knocked twice on the bedroom door with his knuckles and then twisted the handle. The cup of tea he’d left outside earlier was untouched despite his having knocked then, too, and he couldn’t wait any longer. He’d given it a full hour, but without any sound from upstairs, not so much as the faintest creak of a floorboard, he was becoming somewhat anxious.

‘Miss Fairclough?’

He nudged the door open slowly, though even a brief glance showed that the room was completely empty, albeit tidier than it had been before. The furniture had all been straightened, the bed completely made up and his dressing gown folded neatly across it. He walked in and picked it up, lifting the velvet collar to his face with a curious sense of loss. It smelt like her, of soap and some other floral perfume, like bergamot and orange blossoms. She was gone, though as to when and why she’d left without as much as a goodbye… He grimaced. The answers to both of those questions were obvious. When had been after he’d finally drifted into a deep and surprisingly restful slumber and why was in all likelihood due to his ungentlemanly behaviour. She’d probably been afraid he might pounce on her again.

He hung the dressing gown where it belonged on the back of the door and then crouched down, spotting something shiny on the rug beside the bed, a garnet-and-emerald-studded gold brooch shaped like a butterfly. He held it in his palm, studying it for a few seconds, then tucked it inside his jacket pocket and made his way determinedly down the stairs, stopping only to pull on his greatcoat, boots and top hat at the door. There was nothing else for it. Even if she’d run away in the early hours, then the least he could do was make sure she’d made it back to the village safely.

Fortunately for him, her footprints were still perfectly clear in the snow, leading him all the way back to Rayleigh and her front door. Which answered the question of who her relative was. George, Viscount Malverly, and his wife, Alexandra, were passing acquaintances. If he knocked now, then he could be certain that they’d receive him, at least. The question, however, was not would, but should, he, whether it wouldn’t simply be better for him to turn around and go. Miss Fairclough’s early departure made it abundantly clear that she didn’t want to see him again and, much as he ought to apologise, respecting her wishes was more important.

He turned on his heel, marching back the way that he’d come. And that, he supposed, was that. Footprints in the snow would be the last he would see of her. Which was probably for the best, all things considered. Any attraction he’d felt, that she’d seemed to feel, too, for that matter, had likely just been the result of the tense situation in which they’d found themselves.

Besides, no matter how beguiling or intriguing he found her, he had enough on his hands dealing with Sylvia. He certainly didn’t need another woman in his life, especially one who knew all about his past, not to mention his nightmares. And it wasn’t as if his finer emotions were involved. His heart was a battered and broken organ, incapable of feeling anything positive to any great degree, love especially. Love, in his experience, led to loss and pain. He’d lost too many people he cared about and seen too many terrible things for it to recover again, even for someone as intriguing as Just Millie