Seduction on a Snowy Night Page 16

  “It’s in a better shape inside, though not by much.”

  He helped her out of the sleigh and tied off the horse. As they climbed the steps, he pulled her here or there to keep her from treading on the crumbling bits.

  Once they entered the house, she was struck dumb by the quality of the marble floors and the wood paneling on the walls.

  Not to mention... “Look at that stunning staircase!” She stared up at the carved oak balusters and banister of the once-beautiful piece. The steps needed to be redone, to be sure, but the staircase still had an elegance all its own. She ran a hand over the intricately carved newel post. “Such craftsmanship should never be neglected.”

  “I agree,” he said, his voice hoarsening. “It’s my favorite part of the house. How did you guess?”

  “Perhaps I can read your mind.”

  He stared at her hand, which was still stroking the newel post. “I doubt that. If you could, you would not approve.”

  His eyes glittered in the dim light, sending a sweet frisson of anticipation down her spine. “Oh?” she choked out. “And why is that?”

  “Because my mind is wondering what it would feel like to have you touch me as tenderly as you’re touching that post.” After drawing off one of his gloves with his teeth, he took her hand in his and drew her glove off.

  Oh, dear. She should make some protest to that, shouldn’t she?

  Instead, she stood there like a ninny, waiting to see what he would do next. And when he pressed her palm to his warm, whisker-rough jaw, a tremor of pleasure shook her.

  “Are you cold?” he asked.

  “Yes.” It wasn’t entirely a lie, was it?

  Unbuttoning his greatcoat, he pulled her close so he could wrap it partly about her. When she raised an eyebrow at him, he said, “It works better than if I take the coat off and put it on you. This way we can share our bodies’ heat.”

  “It will make it awfully hard to continue touring the house,” she teased.

  He tipped up her chin with one finger. “Is that what you want to do?”

  The intensity in his gaze made it impossible for her to look away or even speak. She shook her head no, perfectly aware of what he was really asking.

  He proved that by kissing her, gently at first, then with more fervor. Her response was to slide her hands inside his open morning coat and about his waist, a gesture that apparently encouraged him to deepen the kiss.

  They stood there several moments while he plundered her mouth, softening her resistance with every plunge of his tongue. Then he kissed a path to her ear, where he rasped, “You are too damned tempting by half.”

  “I don’t . . . mean to be.”

  “I know that.” He tugged on her earlobe with his teeth, firing her blood. “I also know I have no business kissing you like this.”

  “That’s true.”

  “Shall I stop?”

  “No,” she breathed. Oh, she did like to live dangerously.

  With a growl, he unwrapped her scarf, then kissed down her cheek to the small amount of her neck showing between her cloak and the ribbons of her borrowed quilted bonnet. Then he kissed and tongued the hollow at her throat, turning her to mush.

  “Is this why you brought me here?” She clung to his waist. “To have your wicked way with me?”

  “Oh, trust me, if I’d intended that, I wouldn’t have brought you to an ice-cold manor house with no furniture.”

  “Saved by the weather,” she said lightly, then pulled his head back up so she could meet his gaze. “But just for the sake of argument, how would you . . . go about having your wicked way with me? Assuming we were somewhere warmer. And more comfortable. And if you were even to do such a roguish thing.”

  Fire sparked in his eyes, so hot that she wondered if she should have spoken those impulsive words aloud. Then he shifted her so her back was against the staircase balusters.

  Oh, dear. Any other woman would panic. But she knew in her bones that he was a gentleman. That she could trust him.

  “First,” he said hoarsely, “I would strip all these layers of winter clothing from you . . . leaving you in your shift and naught else.”

  The image he conjured up set her heart pounding in her chest. “That sounds quite wicked.”

  “Oh, I’m just getting started.” He pressing a lingering kiss against her temple, where her pulse beat madly. “Next, I would take down your mass of unruly curls and run them through my fingers.”

  “H-How did you know my curls were ‘unruly’?”

  “No matter how you pull them up and tuck them in with hairpins, they’re still going to rebel.” Lowering his voice to a bare whisper, he said, “And I like rebellious, unruly curls. They’re particularly appropriate for rebellious, unruly ladies.”

  “I’m not rebellious and unruly,” she said stoutly. But sometimes she was, and they both knew it.

  “Once I had us both aroused and eager, I would slide your shift off over your head and stand back to get a good look at you in all your naked glory.”

  Her breath dried up in her throat. “Do I get to have a good look at you naked?”

  He blinked. “Do you want one?”

  “Of course.”

  “Yet you’re not rebellious and unruly at all,” he teased.

  She thrust out her chin. “It’s merely that I’ve never . . . seen a man undressed. It follows that I would be a little curious.”

  “Just a little, eh?” He bent close to her ear. “For you, sweetheart, I’d take off every stitch of my clothing until we were naked . . . together.” His breath came fast and hot against her cheek, already warm from the blushes he was provoking. “Then I’d begin the touching.”

  “The touching?” she squeaked.

  He took one finger and oh so lightly ran it down her neck and then over the curve of one breast. “I’d caress your breasts with my hands and mouth until I had you swooning in my arms.”

  His finger circled her nipple, making her breath come in quick gasps. She fancied she could actually feel his bare finger circling her bare nipple, though that was highly unlikely since she was fully clothed.

  “And then . . .” he said, his thumb now rubbing her nipple, making her yearn for more.

  When he paused, she prompted him with, “And then?” Good Lord, she was swooning in his arms already. How much more could there be?

  He shoved away from her abruptly, his breath coming in hard gasps. “We should stop talking about this. Before I do something I regret.”

  The swift change caught her off guard. “But you wouldn’t.”

  “I might. You have no idea how easy it would be for me to . . .” He huffed out a breath of frustration. “Unfortunately, that wouldn’t be right. Not with you.”

  “I see.” She did. He was being the sensible one. And somewhere deep inside she appreciated it.

  Very deep inside. Because she still couldn’t get past the idea of his caressing her breast with his mouth. She wanted to try that with him. Desperately.

  Then the rest of his words hit her with brutal force. “What do you mean, ‘Not with you’? Because I’m a maiden? Because you don’t actually know me very well?” She swallowed hard. “Or because you want someone else?”

  He raked his hair away from his forehead. “None of those. Though it should be all of those.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I know.” He released a heavy breath. “Earlier you asked why I act as if I had somehow been betrayed. So I’m going to tell you why.”

  He began pacing the foyer. “When I agreed to help save Kitty I had an ulterior motive. Until then I’d had an idea in my head of who she was, what she was like. Her letters—your letters—had sustained me through many a battle. Douglas knew that about me, and we’d discussed whether I would have his permission to marry Kitty if I liked her and she liked me.”

  Her stomach began to churn. “But Kitty wasn’t who you thought she was, thanks to me.”

  He nodded. “Unfortunately, my
reason for needing to marry her hasn’t changed.”

  A chill swept through her. She could see where this was going. Especially since Heywood wouldn’t look at her. “You need Kitty’s fortune.”

  With a wave of his hand to indicate their surroundings, he said, “I want to do right by my inheritance. But the manor and the tenant farms are so run-down that repairs will cost more than I have, since the army doesn’t allow the sale of a colonel’s commission. And it will take a large sum indeed to set the estate to rights.”

  She resisted the temptation to tell him about her own fortune. It was too important to her to know whether he truly wanted her for herself and not for her money. If she told him now, she would never, ever be sure. She just couldn’t take that risk.

  “So you mean to court Kitty then?” she asked, fighting desperately to keep the jealousy out of her voice.

  He rounded on her. “Don’t be a fool. Of course I don’t mean to court Kitty. Not now, not ever.”

  Oh, thank goodness. She wasn’t sure she could bear that. “Why not? Because she isn’t clever and witty?”

  Stalking up to grab her by the arms as if he meant to shake her, he said, “Because I cannot wed one woman while I’m lusting after her cousin. If I were to marry Kitty, you would always be near. She’s your closest relative. Anytime she and I went to visit her mother, we’d see you. I’d see you.”

  Fighting to hide how those words had wounded her, she pulled away from him. “Not if I marry, too. I could, you know. I’m not some pathetic woman who can’t attract a man. When I have my season—”

  “I’ve no doubt of your ability to find a husband, trust me,” he said in a hollow voice. “But you’d still be in the same family. At least if I marry some other woman—one not related to you—I could arrange matters so I’d never see you again.” He stiffened. “But not if you’re still in Kitty’s life, which, of course, you would be.”

  The truth suddenly dawned on her. “That’s why you’re so angry that the Kitty of the letters isn’t Douglas’s sister, the heiress.”

  “Not angry, exactly,” he said. “Just . . . discouraged by my dearth of choices. I can either marry an heiress so I can retire and concentrate on setting my estate to rights. Or I can sell the estate at a substantial loss, continue to serve in the army, and try to support a family on an officer’s pay, which isn’t that much.”

  “But in the latter case, you would at least be happily married,” she ventured.

  “Ah, but I wouldn’t have much opportunity to enjoy that, would I? I couldn’t—wouldn’t—take my wife with me to war. It’s no place for a woman. Or children, for that matter. So I’d have to put up with seeing my family every few years, whenever I could get leave. What kind of life is that? Not one I relish, I confess.”

  “Perhaps you could get a better posting,” she said. “One where you could take a wife with ease.”

  “I don’t want a better posting. I want to begin my real life at Hawkcrest. It was my father’s dream that I serve in the army, not mine. With Mother getting older and Sheridan needing help with the ducal estate, I want to be here. For them. For myself.”

  She forced a smile. “That’s why you need to marry an heiress.”

  “Yes.”

  “Then you should marry one,” she said, and headed for the door, now desperate to get back to Armitage Hall before she did something or told him something she would always regret.

  Chapter 6

  The snow didn’t melt for a whole week, or rather it melted just enough to freeze into a sheet of ice at night, which still made the roads impassable. The day of Christmas Eve was the first time they saw any real thawing.

  Heywood had never liked being cooped up inside for most of the day, but he hated it when it meant spending time with the one woman he couldn’t have. Especially when Cass—and Kitty—had charmed his family so thoroughly, though in different ways. Kitty’s sweet nature had won their hearts, while Cass’s sensible ways and witty retorts had won their minds. Meanwhile, he’d spent the last week avoiding mistletoe, avoiding sleigh rides, and avoiding her.

  But with the snow thawing, he’d come to the drawing room late in the day in search of her. He’d put it off as long as he could, but now they had to consult about how to handle Malet so as to do the least damage to the ladies’ reputations. Still, he took a moment to stand in the doorway and watch as Gwyn, his mother, Cass, and Kitty debated the merits of various schemes for constructing a gingerbread house.

  Cass looked like a bachelor’s dream this morning. She wore another of Gwyn’s gowns—some frothy chocolate-brown confection-looking thing—that was a bit tight on her, which meant it showed off her figure to great advantage. He imagined he could even see her cleavage beneath her lacy fichu. Her hair was messily put up into a loose knot he just wanted to undo, and her cheeks and lips were rosy as cherries from the fire.

  He liked cherries. He liked to lick the juice as it ran down his fingers. He’d be happy to lick anything off of Cass, off her bosom or her plump lips or her—

  Devil take it! How much longer must he endure this torture? That interlude at Hawkcrest had damned near killed him—her coyly encouraging him to describe what he wanted to do to her while he struggled to keep from letting her see how aroused he was. Many more encounters like that and he’d be begging her to marry him and to hell with the consequences.

  Thank God that at that moment Gwyn spotted him, jumped up, and hurried over to pull him to the table. “You have to break the tie. Kitty and Mama want to make our gingerbread creation look like Armitage Hall. Cass and I think it should be a fairy-tale castle.”

  “I can easily resolve your problem.” He picked up a slab of gingerbread and bit off the end.

  The ladies gasped, and Gwyn swatted his hand when he reached for another piece.

  “What?” he asked. “Once you don’t have enough gingerbread, your dispute is settled.”

  “You are such a man, Heywood,” Gwyn grumbled.

  “If you’re trying to insult me, Sis, you’ll have to try harder.” He grinned at her unrepentantly. “And to be fair, you ladies are such women, to be fussing over what kind of pretend gingerbread house to make.”

  “His Lordship is right,” Kitty said. “We’re making mountains out of molars.”

  “Molehills,” Cass gently corrected her as she stirred a bowlful of a white substance.

  “Now, see? That’s what I mean.” Kitty sniffed. “What does it matter if it’s a molar or a molehill? It’s all the same.”

  Stifling a laugh, Heywood picked up another piece of gingerbread, broke a piece off the edge, and popped it into his mouth while the ladies were distracted.

  “Heywood Wolfe, stop that this minute!” his mother said. “So help me, if we have to get Cook to bake more gingerbread when she’s already busy preparing tomorrow’s feast I shall ban you from Christmas dinner!”

  “No, you won’t,” he said. “You would never ban your favorite son from anything.”

  “You’re not her favorite son,” Gwyn said. “Thorn is.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” their mother snapped. “I don’t play favorites.”

  Heywood grinned. “Pretend all you like, Mother. I’ll keep your secret in front of the others.” He lowered his voice to a stage whisper. “But you and I both know the truth.”

  “I dare you to repeat that in front of Thorn and Grey,” Gwyn said. “They’ll be here any minute, and I rather fancy the prospect of watching them beat you in a battle of wits.”

  “Beat me!” Heywood said. “Not a chance.”

  “There will be no beating and no battles this Christmas,” his mother said firmly. “For the first time in years I’ll have all my children together for Christmas, and I mean to enjoy it.”

  Though Kitty was giggling at the interplay, Cass was ignoring it.

  Cass was ignoring him, which he found annoying. He walked over to stand beside her chair. “What’s in the bowl?”

  “Icing.”

 
“Aren’t you going to gild the gingerbread?” He remembered the gingerbread houses of his childhood, golden and shining and so enticing for a boy.

  “No gilding,” Gwyn said firmly. “It’s dangerous for the children.”

  “How so?”

  “Because we can’t afford real gold leaf, only Dutch foil. And there are many reports that the copper in Dutch foil is bad for children.”

  “Ah.” Money. It was always about the lack of filthy lucre. Even for him. He peered into Cass’s bowl. “What flavor is the icing?” he asked, though he already knew from having helped Mother with countless gingerbread houses as a child.

  “Vanilla, of course. But I’m not sure it’s stiff enough to hold the pieces together. I may need more sugar.”

  Before she could stop him, he scooped up a dollop with his finger, then licked it off. “Hmm. I agree. Definitely needs sugar.”

  Cass’s smile caught him off guard. Her smiles were like watching the sun peek from behind a cloud, giving him hope that the day might be fine after all. Why must she have such a lovely smile?

  His mother snatched the bowl and put it out of his reach. “Will you stop that? If you keep eating all our hard work, we’ll have nothing left. Go make yourself useful, and fetch your brother. The footmen are already setting up the tree in the ballroom. I was thinking of waiting to decorate it until Grey and Bea—and later, Thorn—arrive, but with the snow only partly melted, that might be quite late. So I suppose it’s best that we at least get a start on it. Tomorrow, we won’t have time, and I hate to disappoint the children on Boxing Day.”

  “Boxing Day. Right.” He vaguely remembered his parents handing out boxes to the servants on the day after Christmas, adhering to the English custom, though the family was living in Prussia. But once he’d left home, he’d thought no more about it, and the practice had faded into the recesses of his memory. “Will these children be eating the Armitage Hall made of gingerbread?”

  “They’ll be eating a gingerbread castle,” Cass chided him, though her eyes were dancing. “Assuming you don’t eat all the parts of it first.”

  “Just one more . . .” he said, and reached for another piece of gingerbread.