Mistletoe Wishes: A Regency Christmas Collection

“Stop it.” Alicia turned away, blinking back hot tears. This excruciating weight of emotion in her chest was only weariness. She refused to recognize it as the knowledge that all those years ago she’d sacrificed something precious. “Tomorrow it will be as though this meeting never happened.”

Even in her own ears, the words sounded choked with regret. She’d thought when she finally accepted Harold’s advances that she was over her inconvenient yen for her husband. How tragically wrong she’d been. Tonight proved her as impressionable as ever.

In silent defiance, she straightened her back against the chair. Kinvarra might be kind now, he might be considerate. But after all the pain between them, she could never let herself trust him again.

Kinvarra studied her with a speculative light in his black eyes. A premonitory shiver chilled her. If she wasn’t careful, he’d have all her secrets. And she’d have no pride left.

She attempted a brighter tone. “Are you keeping that wine just for yourself?”

With a soft laugh, he raised his glass in another silent toast, as if awarding her a point in a contest. “Here.”

He passed her the glass and bent to tug at her boot. She took a sip, hoping the claret would bolster her fortitude. It didn’t.

Alicia hadn’t missed the way Kinvarra leaned toward her as he spoke and the burgeoning tenderness in his manner. Nerves and unwilling arousal coiled in her stomach. Did he mean to attempt a seduction? Although God knew why he’d be interested. If he’d wanted her any time, he could have sent for her. His long silence spoke volumes about his indifference.

His hands were brisk and efficient, almost impersonal, as he pulled her boots off. Automatically she stretched her legs out and wriggled her toes. A relieved sigh escaped her.

He looked up with a smile as he sat back. “Better?”

“Better,” she admitted, taking some more wine. The rich flavor filled her mouth and slipped down her throat, washing away a little more of her bitterness.

Whatever happened tonight, she was unexpectedly grateful she’d had this chance to share a few hours with her husband. Hatred and rancor had dogged her since she’d left Kinvarra. Only now as those reactions ebbed did she realize how they’d soured her life. She inhaled, feeling as though she breathed fully for the first time in ten years.

He laid one elegant hand on her ankle. Even through the stocking, his touch burned. “You always had cold feet.”

She closed her eyes. Imagine him remembering such a minor detail. Common sense dictated that she pull back, that she’d veered into dangerous territory. “I still do.”

“I’ll warm them up.

“Mmm.”

She was so tired, and the cozy room and surprisingly cordial atmosphere sapped her will. When Kinvarra began to rub her feet, gentle warmth stole up her legs. If his touch even hinted at encroaching further, she’d stop him. But all he did was buff her feet until she was ready to purr with pleasure.

“Don’t stop,” she whispered, even when her feet glowed with heat, and he had to reach forward to rescue the empty wine glass from her loosening hand.

He laughed softly, and she struggled not to hear fondness in the sound. Kinvarra wasn’t fond of her. He’d never been fond of her. Family arrangement had foisted her on him, an English heiress to fill the coffers of his Scottish earldom. Her abominable behavior during their year together had only confirmed his suspicions that he’d married a brat.

“Let’s have our supper before it gets cold. You’re exhausted.”

She let him take her hand and raise her to her feet. Who would have thought so much touching was involved when they agreed to share this room? But she was in too much of a daze to protest, as he led her to the small table and slid a filled plate before her.

She was so tired that it hardly registered that Kinvarra acted the perfect companion. When she couldn’t eat much of the hearty but simple fare, he summoned the maids to clear the room. Without her having to ask, he granted her privacy to prepare for bed. Although she was too weary to do much more than a quick cat wash. When Kinvarra returned from the corridor, she was already in bed, still wearing her clothes.

What happened now? Surely after all this time, he wouldn’t demand his marital rights, whatever frail accord they’d established. Still, apprehension tightened her stomach, and she clutched the sheets to her chest like a nervous virgin.

He glanced across at her, black eyes enigmatic in the candlelight. Inevitably the moment reminded her of their wedding night. He’d been the perfect companion then, too. Her gentle knight, the beautiful earl her parents had chosen, the kind, smiling man who had made her laugh and blush and thrill with feelings she didn’t recognize. And who had taken her body with a painful urgency that had left her hurt and bewildered and crying.

After that, no matter what he did, she turned rigid with fear when he came to her bed. After a couple of weeks, he’d stopped approaching her. After a couple of months, he’d stopped speaking to her, except to quarrel. After a year, she’d suggested they live apart, and he’d agreed without demur. Probably relieved to have his pestilential wife off his hands.

He’d left England almost immediately on a four-year grand tour. When next she saw him, he’d become a worldly, supercilious stranger who barely spared her a word, and the pattern for their rare future encounters was set. She stayed in London while he mostly managed his Scottish estates, hundreds of miles to the north. When she’d left him, even that distance didn’t seem far enough. She’d never wanted to see him again.

Alicia had spent their separation convinced that she bore all the injury in their marriage. Now, tonight, she wasn’t so sure that she was blameless for the disaster of their union.

She lowered her eyes and pleated the sheets with unsteady fingers. “Are you coming to bed?”

One eyebrow arched in mocking amusement. “Why, Lady Kinvarra, is that an invitation?”

Her color rose. How lowering to be a woman of twenty-eight and still blush like an adolescent. “It’s a cold night. You’ve had a hard ride. I trust you.” Strangely, so quickly on top of her earlier uncertainty, it was true.