Miss Amelia's Mistletoe Marquess

‘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.’