Christmas At Pemberley: And the Bride Wore Prada

‘Just curious, I suppose. All that talk of Andrew and his travels to Australia and the Sierra Leone made me wonder if you’d ever ventured anywhere interesting.’

‘I’m afraid I’ve never been outside the UK, Miss Thomas. Travel requires money.’ He reached for the platter of eggs. ‘And that’s something I’ve never had.’

‘So you weren’t born with a silver spoon in your mouth, then?’ she asked lightly. She hadn’t failed to notice he’d returned to calling her ‘Miss Thomas’ once again.

He levelled his gaze on hers. ‘No. Far from it. Why so many questions? You just can’t stop prying for ten minutes, can ye?’

‘Look, Colm,’ Helen said, trying – and failing ‒ to hold on to her temper, ‘I know you don’t trust me. I get that. You know I’m a reporter, and so everything I do or say is suspect. But honestly, all I want is to get to know you a bit better. That’s all I’m guilty of...whether you believe it or not.’ She stood up and took her plate to the sink and dumped it in. ‘I’ll do the washing up.’

He was silent as she turned on the tap and reached for the dishwashing soap. With a vicious squeeze, Helen squirted the liquid into the sink and scrubbed at her plate with barely contained anger. Of all the stubborn, paranoid people she’d ever known, Colm MacKenzie took the bloody cake.

‘Here, let me.’

She looked up a moment later to see Colm, plate in hand, standing beside her at the sink. ‘No. I’ve got it.’ Her words were stiff as she thrust her plate with a savage motion into the dish rack. ‘I don’t need your help.’

‘I know ye don’t,’ he retorted, ‘but I’m fond of my dishes and I’ve no wish to see you break ’em into a million bits. Now, move over, woman, and let me rinse.’

‘Where on earth is Helen?’ Wren observed as she unfolded her napkin at dinner that evening. ‘I’ve not seen her all afternoon.’

Caitlin shrugged. ‘She said she was going out for a walk earlier. But that was hours ago.’

‘Perhaps we should send someone out to look for her?’ Wren suggested anxiously to Tarquin.

‘I’m sure she’s fine,’ he replied, ‘but if you think we should, Rhys and I can go out and search for her.’

Mrs Neeson thrust her grey-permed head around the dining room door. ‘Pardon the interruption, but I’ve just had a call from Colm. Miss Thomas is with himself down at the gatehouse. He said not to worry, and don’t wait dinner.’

‘Now that’s an interesting turn up,’ Rhys observed thoughtfully as Mrs Neeson departed.

‘What is, darling?’ Natalie inquired.

‘I’m surprised that Helen ‒ who’s made it quite plain she detests Colm ‒ has evidently just spent the afternoon and a good part of the evening in his company.’

‘Well, you know what they say,’ Lady Campbell observed.

‘What’s that?’ Natalie asked her.

‘Sometimes, my dear, there’s no accounting for taste.’ She lifted her brow. ‘Or for attraction.’

Chapter 27 (#ulink_cfdf6278-73f6-50e7-9588-104f25a8fac6)

When the dishes were washed and dried and put away in the cupboards, Colm excused himself to go and fetch Helen’s clothes. ‘They should be just about dry now, and you can get dressed and be on your way.’

‘Yes,’ she muttered, stung. ‘I’m sure you’ll be only too glad of that.’

He eyed her in surprise. ‘What?’

‘I said, I’ll be glad to have my clothes back,’ she replied tartly. ‘Then I can leave you to yourself.’

‘I don’t mind the company.’

‘You might’ve fooled me.’

His eyes darkened. ‘Sorry, Miss Thomas, but I’m used to being alone. I’ve been alone for a great many years now, ever since Alanna died.’ He scowled. ‘I’m not much good at...social situations. I never was. If I made you feel unwelcome, I’m sorry. I dinnae mean to.’

Helen was taken off guard by his apology. She really thought the man despised her. ‘It’s all right,’ she said, and shrugged. ‘I understand.’

‘No, it’s not all right.’ His scowl deepened. ‘I’m a miserable sod. Alanna told me so often enough.’

She was silent, absorbing this titbit of information, holding it greedily to herself like a rare jewel. ‘What was she like?’ she asked a moment later, curious. ‘Your wife.’

He didn’t answer right away, and Helen thought perhaps she’d gone too far, and he’d closed himself off again.

‘She was beautiful,’ he said finally. ‘She wore her hair in a plait down her back, and she had the devil of a temper. She didn’t have much patience with my moods. After she and the baby died, I just...shut down.’

‘I felt the same way after David died.’ Helen fiddled with the belt of her robe. ‘I couldn’t bear anyone’s company. I still can’t, really.’

‘And what about my company, Miss Thomas?’ Colm asked gruffly, and came closer. ‘Can ye bear to be around the likes of me?’

She looked up at him, her eyes meeting his. They were a lovely green-gold. ‘Sometimes,’ she murmured, right before his arms came around her waist and his mouth found hers.

His lips, tentative at first, grew bolder, and her hands slid up and over his shoulders. Helen made a sound low in her throat as he deepened their kiss and explored her mouth with his tongue.

Colm dragged his mouth from hers and met her eyes. ‘I’m sorry, lass, I shouldna be doing this—’

In answer, she took his face – his angular, dark-ginger-stubbled, perfect face – in her hands and pressed her lips hungrily to his. His arms tightened around her and they clung together, kissing and muttering low, incomprehensible words. She loved the feel of his stubbled jaw beneath her fingers and the firm, sure warmth of his lips against hers.

She wanted him with a desperation that shocked her.

They grappled together, clawing and yanking at one another’s clothing in their mutual impatience to remove any and all barriers between them. Colm pressed her hard against the wall, his mouth devouring her lips and neck as he pinned her wrists above her head.

They didn’t speak; there was no need. Somehow – Helen couldn’t have said how, exactly – they ended up in Colm’s bedroom, sprawled together atop his bed, their clothes strewn everywhere, naked and desperate to consummate their need for one another.

Everything became a blur of arms, legs, mouths, and skin as they rolled together, limbs entangled. Helen threw back her head and gasped with pleasure as Colm plunged inside her. It felt good. It felt right. It felt like coming home again, after a long absence.

All too soon it was over. Sweaty, breathless, and spent, Helen raised her head from Colm’s chest and regarded him with a quizzical expression.

‘Well, Mr MacKenzie, it seems you’ve been holding out on me. I’d no idea you had this side to you.’

‘What side is that, Miss Thomas?’ he asked, his words husky as he met her gaze.

‘This.’ She drew her finger in slow, lazy circles along his chest. ‘I never imagined you had it in you to be so...amazing. And you haven’t scowled once.’

‘I’ve had no reason to scowl.’

‘True,’ she agreed, and snuggled against his chest, listening to the steady thump of his heart. She hadn’t been with a man, not really, since her husband died. She’d had no desire to be touched, or to touch anyone else.

Until Colm.