Mistletoe Wishes: A Regency Christmas Collection
She decided then and there that the next chance she got, she’d ask him to kiss her. Surely that light in his eyes indicated that he’d cooperate.
And what if he doesn’t want to stop at kisses?
Wicked excitement weighted her belly as she contemplated more than kisses. Although she knew she steered into dangerous waters. “There was a gentleman my aunt favored.”
“But you didn’t?”
“No. He was forty-five and had six children.”
“There must have been someone else.”
“How do you know?”
His glance was mocking. “You said you’d been kissed before.”
How very interesting. It seemed his mind dwelled on kisses, too. “There was a very nice man without prospects.” She hadn’t thought of Tom Wilson in years. “He liked me, but he needed to marry money. My portion is respectable, but not enough to restore a tumbledown estate and support an extended family of indigent relatives.”
“Did he marry money?”
“I heard he wed a rich widow from York.”
“And I’ll wager he’s spent every day since cursing his fate.”
She laughed. &lldquo;I doubt it. Our little romance was very boy and girl, not something you eat your heart out over for a lifetime. I can’t even remember what he looked like, although at the time, I thought he was breathtakingly handsome.”
“I’d never forget you. I’m sure he hasn’t either.”
She tried not to seize on Channing’s remarks as a sign that he cared about her. It would be so easy to mistake his kindness for something more. “I hope he has. It was all so silly. Although I convinced myself it was a grand passion and cried into my pillow for weeks when I came home. But then I just got on with things here.”
“Waiting for your Prince Charming.”
Although the joke bit too close to the bone, she forced a laugh. She had a strong inkling that Lord Channing’s kiss had woken her from enchanted sleep. “He must have lost my address.”
“These princes are deuced careless coves, by God. You’d better stick with earls.”
“I’ll remember that,” she said lightly, telling herself again that she’d be an idiot to lend too much weight to his teasing.
Lord Channing looked strangely pleased with himself as he stood back to let Bess precede him inside. Confused and unsettled, Bess stepped into the crowded kitchen, full of rich, spicy scents as Mrs. Hallam and her assistants baked puddings and pies for Christmas dinner.
Today Bess and the earl had spoken as friends, as equals, and he’d been quick with some pretty compliments. Then the flirtatious, almost bristling banter between them had briefly vanished and they’d touched on something deeper.
Did that mean more kisses, or a different sort of closeness where kisses had no place? And if she chose kisses, would they blight this fragile, precious friendship before it had a chance to bloom?
Chapter 6
Rory’s boots squeaked as he tramped through the snow, Bess by his side. He tugged a sledge half full of holly, ivy, and pinecones. They were both dressed as they’d been on their first afternoon together, in coats, boots, scarves and thick gloves. Again, Bess had borrowed a spare greatcoat to wear over her own more feminine pelisse.
Around them, the woods were dim and silent. It was midafternoon, but heavy cloud turned the light to gloaming. Senses honed through a thousand storms at sea told him bad weather was on the way. They probably shouldn’t stay out much longer, but he was loath to end these private moments with Bess.
They’d joined a group collecting greenery for the house. Then as had so often happened these last few days, the others had drifted away to leave him alone with Bess. If his courtship failed, he couldn’t blame local opposition. The villagers had done everything they could to promote his wooing.
A wooing that left him puzzled and frustrated and enchanted. The more he saw of Bess, the more he liked her. And the more convinced he was that she was the woman for him.
But this burgeoning respect grated against his burning need to have her in his bed. His strongest impulse was to tumble her, then sort out a quick wedding. And she deserved better than that. Not to mention that after all the villagers’ conspiring on his behalf, he’d pay them back in false coin if he dishonored their darling.
But the prospect of months suffering at this pitch of desire left him fit to explode.
He wasn’t even sure she’d accept him. Aye, she liked him well enough, and she accepted his touch with gratifying ease. But did that mean she wanted him? Even if she did, would she marry him? The discovery that she’d refused a string of eligible gentlemen, including his brother, had dented his confidence.