A Kiss At Christmastide: Regency Novella (4 page)

L
ucas stalked
toward the aroma of eggs, ham, and warm bread, his anger from the night before continuing. The storm refused to break, his carriage was still thoroughly stuck on a muddied road, and his coachman hadn't any answers as to when they'd be able to depart Lady Pippa's home.

He was essentially at her mercy—something Lucas would normally enjoy. He appeared powerless at the hands of a innocently alluring woman, when truly, they both knew who held the power.

But the vixen he'd met the previous night would find little enjoyment knowing she could take the upper hand from him. Her meek demeanor was at odds with her saucy remarks.

There was no need to wander aimlessly as the breakfast room was not far from the kitchens, much like Lucas's family estate.

With no hesitation, Lucas entered the room, fully expecting to receive the full brunt of her ire for overpowering her wishes the night before. He would be livid if someone saw fit to disregard his commands and make themselves at home in
his
house. However, he'd had no other feasible options. Surely, Lady Pippa understood that.

Nevertheless, he entered the room, prepared for her pointed stare and demands that he and his servants leave posthaste.

The sight that greeted him was nothing he had expected.

Lady Pippa did not so much as look up from what occupied her or acknowledge his presence. It shouldn't vex him so—he was the unwelcome houseguest, after all, but Lucas had never been a man to be ignored—not by society, his servants, and, most assuredly, not by women.

“Good morn, Lady Pippa,” Lucas ventured, as a servant stepped forward to hand him an empty plate to fill from the sideboard. “I hope you slept well.” It was not an outright question, but certainly a comment she'd be forced to address unless she sought to further show the flaws in her upbringing and manners.

“My night was restful. Thank you for asking, my lord.” She looked up as he arrived at the sideboard. He was forced to turn away from her to fill his plate or stand awkwardly and stare straight at her. “And yours?”

Lucas took in the mass quantities of food before him, shocked and a bit thrilled that the variety and selection before him were so vast—this far from
polite
society. There was more food here than he and Lady Pippa could eat in two days, and he assumed she'd already finished her meal.

“My room was warm, the bath very pleasing, and my bed suitable. If only the howling wind had subsided enough to allow a completely blissful sleep, it would have been appreciated, but that was not any fault of yours.” He piled his plate high, feeling guilty if Lady Pippa's cook had prepared all this food only for him. “Thank you for asking, my lady.”

The same servant as earlier snapped into action and pulled his chair out for him so he could sit directly across the table from Lady Pippa. He was able to see what occupied her as he sat. She held two needle-shaped instruments cumbersomely in her hands. The tips clinked as she seemed to knot some sort of yarn length. He'd never seen anything like it—his mother had never taken to such basic domestic responsibilities, regarding the mending and repairs of clothing as servant's work.

“What are you doing?” He stabbed a piece of meat and brought it to his mouth as he watched her work, fascinated by her swift movements.

“I am knitting a cap.” Lady Pippa looked up at him as she continued to work as if her hands had done this job so many times they did not need her brain's directions. “Not all of us have the luxury of spending our time gallivanting about the countryside in search of merriment.”

Her pointed words struck a nerve. “And is that your life's mission, my lady—to
knit
hideous caps for yourself?”

“These are not for me,” she hissed, the insult in her voice clear.

“You mean to force those dreadful things on others?” Lucas looked at the small pile of green and red hats, complete with small balls attached to the tops—shocking him further, a few even had bells attached. “Tell me you are not requesting coin for them.”

“Helping the less fortunate is a virtue that not all people possess, my lord. It does not make me think less of you that you do not understand this, though neither does it raise you in my estimation.” Her stern expression had Lucas regretting his decision to leave his room.

“My apologies,” he conceded. “It was not my intent to insult you. Your caps are lovely—very festive, indeed.”

“They will keep the children in the village warm, which is all that matters to people who have so little.”

If he'd wanted such a lecture, he would have attended a local vicarage to hear the many ways his life had gone awry. “That is very commendable of you,” he said around another bite of food.

“Are you hungry, my lord?”

“I would not have gotten a plate if I weren't.”

“It is only that your plate is so full it is overflowing on my mother's cherished table runner.”

Lucas stared at his plate before him, noticing a small pile of eggs had, indeed, slid from his plate to land on the table when he'd knifed a large piece of ham. Hoping to avoid notice, he flicked his empty fork to push the escaped morsel back onto his plate.

“Has your coachman been able to fix your carriage?” she asked, focusing once again on her task. “While not as fierce, the storm has not subsided as much as I'd hoped.”

“I am afraid not, though he will brave the weather and journey to town to see if the wheel is easy to repair or if a new one is available for purchase.”

“Do you plan to ride ahead to the holiday party?” He noticed her fingers stilled for the first time when she asked the question, revealing her interest in his answer.

“It is highly risky to take a horse out in this weather,” he said. “The chances of the beast twisting a hoof in a hole or throwing a shoe are greatly increased.”

It was obvious by her nod that she already knew this, but she was giving him some sort of test—maybe to see if he'd risk his horse's safety, or assess how desperately he wished to arrive at the Sheridans' holiday party. Thankfully, for him—though likely not to Pippa's favor—Lucas was in no hurry to reach the duke's country estate. Namely, seeing his parents for the first time in almost two years was not something he was looking forward to. It would be the first holiday they had spent together since he was in knee britches and sent away to boarding school. Even now, Lucas only knew they'd summoned him for the specific purpose of introducing him to his intended bride—and shortly after, announcing their betrothal to all of society.

There was no other reason—and even now, he saw little need to meet his intended. They would meet eventually anyways…on their wedding day, certainly.

He and his parents had resided in London, moved within the same circles, for the past eight years, and never had their paths crossed…not in any ballroom or garden party or opera.

They avoided him, just as he avoided them. They had only seen one another a handful of times to discuss things of little import to Lucas.

It was a cycle they'd all become accustomed to. One he preferred as it left him to his own devices; however, Lucas was unsure what benefit it offered his parents, the Marquis and Marchioness of Bowmont.

“What are your plans for the day?” If he were stuck in her home, he at least hoped to find something to occupy his time—idleness was something he'd never favored. He was already tapping his foot rapidly against the floor, though he was thankful for the thick rug that muffled the sound. “I do not expect the storm to pass before supper, and my coachman may be in town most of the day hiring a blacksmith to repair my carriage.”

Her brow pulled together at his question. “Today is the day my mother and I usually decorate for Yuletide. But, unfortunately, while the storm delivered you to my door, it has kept my parents away.”

Lucas couldn't imagine why that pained her so, as he'd relish keeping his mother and father far from him.

“The holiday is, what…” Lucas searched his brain and counted the days. “…two days away?”

“Yes,” she sighed. “Only two days, and we have much to do.”

He glanced around the room, everything in its place. Much as the rest of the house he'd seen. Not a thing to be dusted or a table to be polished. Most of all, the house was startlingly empty, devoid of many servants—or possibly, they kept out of sight. He could not fathom what Lady Pippa had to prepare, especially if it were only she and her parents.

“Are you expecting more guests?” He would feel bad about intruding on a planned celebration with a completed guest list that didn't include him or room for an extra body. “I guess if the storm lets up a bit, I can depart.”

“No, we are not expecting anyone else, but do not let me stop you from departing.” Her smug smile returned, knowing she'd used his words against him once more. “But as much as I'd relish having my home back, my
manners
don't allow me to insist you leave. Did I pronounce that word correctly? M-a-n-n-e-r-s.” Her smile faded as she looked at him with mock bafflement.

Lucas laughed, a deep reverberating sound. And it felt good, great if he were honest with himself. “Okay, you little minx, okay. I am sorry for my offensive mood last night. I was wet, cold, and inconvenienced.”

“And I was not inconvenienced?” she asked innocently.

Lucas shook his head. “I will also admit that you were inconvenienced, and that it was my fault. Please, allow me to help with your decorating, at least during your mother's absence.”

Setting her needles aside, Lady Pippa said, “That is not necessary, but thank you for your kind offer.”

It was as if she sought any excuse to keep him at arm's length. She treated him no better than a stranger—which, by all accounts, he was. Then why did she seem so familiar to him? It was difficult to admit that they'd only met the previous night. Their back and forth was that of people who knew one another well and knew exactly the correct thing to say to gain the reaction desired.

Desire…

Most certainly he desired Lady Pippa. Who wouldn't? He watched her as she inspected the cloth under her empty plate, flicking a piece of lint from its surface. Her hair, while of the average shade of deep brown, shone like the sun. Her eyes—piercing and intense one moment, and soft, deep pools of warmth the next—confused him. Lucas was used to women who knew what they wanted and were not shy about demanding their due. It didn't matter if the woman was an actress who he'd sought out as a mistress, or a widow of the
ton
. Women did not play coy with him. Lucas hadn't the time or the energy. It was far easier to state your demands and expectations up front than to haggle over them once you'd become entangled with one another. Not that he had any intention of becoming the least bit entangled with Lady Pippa.

No, that hadn't crossed his mind once.

Not even at the sight of her hardening nipples through her sheer nightshift the previous night.

Lucas would perish before admitting he'd tossed and turned for hours after watching Lady Pippa flee up the stairs. And the rampant squall outside had nothing to do with his restlessness. No, a different storm altogether raged within.

Even more alluring than the sight of her rock-hard nipples were her shapely calves as she'd held her gown high and run up the stairs.

For the briefest of moments, Lucas had envisioned himself chasing her—all the way to her bedchambers.

T
here wasn't
a thing about her behavior Pippa found acceptable. She was being purposely disagreeable, combative, and not forthcoming. Yes, she was angry at Natalie for all she'd done during their first Season. Yes, she was envious that Natalie was having a grand holiday celebration to honor her—and would announce her betrothal come the New Year. And yes, Pippa was highly aware of her jealousy over the earl's intended destination. It maddened Pippa to no end that Natalie had ruined their lifelong friendship in such a disastrous way—and the reasoning behind it still eluded Pippa.

She'd written letters, had them hand-delivered by Midcrest livery. Only to have them returned unopened or no response given.

It was all so confusing—and utterly maddening.

Pippa was angry and hurt, and it had nothing to do with the Earl of Maddox. Yet, she'd seized every opportunity to take it out on him since his unexpected arrival.

Her actions should embarrass her, send her to her chambers in shame, but Pippa felt no such thing. It was likely due to Lucas's willingness to play along with her snide comments, giving back as much as he got. And partly because he had started the banter.

It was rare for her to find another so open and forward with their speech. Her time in London hadn't lasted long, and she'd met only a handful of people her age before escaping back to her country home. Neither of her parents had bothered to argue with her decision to forgo the rest of the Season. She wished they had—wished they'd demanded she stay at least until the end of the Season instead of allowing her to hide from sight after the callous way Natalie had announced Pippa's childish infatuation with Mr. Giles.

Pippa had enjoyed the same type of banter with Mr. Giles, though it had never turned to the suggestive. Though she and Mr. Giles had shared a competitive relationship. Her tutor had wagered Pippa could not master Latin in one year; Pippa had conquered it in less than six months. Pippa had gambled that her tutor could not play three instruments—a wind, a string, and a drum—at one time; Mr. Giles had managed four. Besides her parents and Natalie, Mr. Giles had been the only person she'd seen as a true friend.

And Natalie had taken that from her, along with their friendship. Most assuredly, Pippa knew her relationship with Mr. Giles was not to become a physical one, nor would it last into adulthood. But he was a kind man, a smart tutor, and witty…he was bloody witty.

A wit matched only by the Earl of Maddox. Lucas.

She'd told herself over and over the previous night that it was only his similarities to Mr. Giles that had sparked her interest. Their easy back and forth had captivated her most and kept her retorts coming, no matter the sting they likely left.

Belatedly, Pippa looked up to see Edmund, a stable hand she'd ask to assist her with hanging holly, watching her with his hand outstretched. He was waiting for her to hand him the next branch to be hung. How long had she been wrapped in her own musings?

“My apologies, Edmund,” Pippa said, taking the wreath. “Thank you for agreeing to help me. I know decorating is likely not your favorite chore.”

“Anything to bring me in from the wind and rain, m'lady.”

“I cannot fault you for that.” Pippa smiled at the young man. He'd grown up in the village between her family estate and Natalie's, attending a small schoolhouse Pippa's parents had funded. She also knew that he took all of his wages home to his family. He was a good servant, a loyal helper—as all who were staffed within this home were. “How is the foyer looking so far?”

“M'lady, I am not one to know, but I would say you will need one more branch over by the main door.”

Pippa scrutinized the main area and saw that, indeed, the archway leading to the left did need a bit more cheer. “Yes, if you will move my ladder there…” She pointed to the passageway. “I will hang another while you collect more branches to start on the dining room.”

“Yes, m'lady.” He hurriedly moved the stool she was using as a ladder and departed to gather more branches.

She assessed the archway, deciding on the perfect placement for the holly. She knew the little metal pegs from previous years still lay hidden in the frame of the door, allowing for easy hanging each Christmastide season.

It would be a quiet celebration this year, so different from the last when Pippa had been overly excited about her presentation to society. She'd been a bottle of nerves with anticipation. At the moment, Lady Natalie was most likely organizing group games for her guests who'd arrived the day before for her three-day house party. The storm was keeping them inside, just as it was everyone at her home. However, Natalie enjoyed parlor games far more than the outdoors anyway, as she excelled at any competition. Pippa hadn't suspected there was any rivalry between her and her friend, but, apparently, she'd been wrong.

Pippa sighed and stepped onto the stool, deciding to hang the holly as it had been hung for many years prior. There was nothing to do but finish as much of the decorating as possible before her parents arrived—she sent a silent prayer upward that they reached her in time to spend the holiday together. Otherwise, they would be stuck at some unfamiliar inn, the earl would be safely at Natalie's, and Pippa would be alone.

As if on cue, the front door opened, the wind slamming it against its frame.

Pippa jumped with fright as her free hand grabbed for the wall closest to her to steady herself. It would be her luck to fall and turn her ankle.

She turned to see who'd entered, her hopes high once more that her family had arrived and she'd no longer be alone—however, it wasn't her parents, and Pippa was certainly not alone.

Lucas grasped the door and pushed it shut, fighting the storm for control as rain assaulted her entry floor for the second time.

His hair was, once again, sticking out in all directions, and his Hessians were covered in muck—reaching to his knees. He looked much like the night before, and she pitied his valet for the scrubbing of his boots and clothing that would be needed to remove the filth. Mud clung all the way to his shoulders—with a clot even clinging to his cheek.

Her urge was to laugh. However, he did not look pleased, and the fury in his expression matched his fierce stance. She did not discount his ability to battle the storm into submission, if only to suit his needs. He'd already won over her servants—just that morning at breakfast, her staff had been at his call, there to hand him an empty plate to fill and then removing it as soon as he'd taken his last bite. His coffee was refreshed without him signaling.

The earl's unknowing command over a room confused her—even more was the fact that he seemed oblivious to his power. Or he chose not to address it.

“My lord,” Pippa snapped. “You are creating a mess! Kindly remove your soiled coat and boots before carrying the muck farther into my house. I do not relish my servants having to tidy up after my guests or me all day.” She took a calming breath, remembering that she'd set about changing her attitude, for she was not to be labeled a scrooge during the holiday season. “My apologies. Do forgive my irksome comment. Where have you been?”

The earl shook his head, sending droplets of water to the floor around him, but he remained still so as not to track the mud farther into the house or damage any rugs. “I wanted to see the carriage for myself, which, as you can tell”—he held his arms wide to present himself—“did not go over well for me.”

“Were you able to mend the conveyance?”

He shook his head once more, but this time, it wasn't to be rid of the water that dripped down his face. “No, in fact, I may have made matters worse. The storm is not letting up, and my carriage, along with the broken wheel, is two feet deep in muck. I will be lucky to have it extricated by spring.”

Spring? He could not possibly think to stay at her home until spring!

“Do not look so frightened, my lady,” he said. “As soon as the storm breaks, I will depart, even if my carriage is still unmovable. I will not overstay my welcome any longer than required.”

“I was not worried about your stay,” Pippa rushed. “It is only that I know you are missing all the festivities at the Sheridans' holiday party. I am sure you are anxious to arrive.”

“It is only my parents there I know—and I am only attending at their request,” he added as he removed his coat, careful to not shake it too much. “I have little interest in holiday festivities, I assure you.”

“You do not enjoy the Christmastide season?” Pippa attempted to keep the shock from her voice.

“As difficult as it is to believe, no, I am not one for all the merriment and gift-giving.”

“Someone who does not enjoy giving gifts?” It further stunned her.

“Oh, I enjoy giving gifts—as well as receiving them—however, that has not been the case for me in many years.”

She sensed there was much behind his comment that he wasn't sharing, but before she could inquire, Edmund lumbered into the foyer, cutting off their conversation.

Pippa then changed the subject at hand. “My lord, I will have a bath sent to your room. A small meal will be served in an hour's time—we are not as formal, nor do we keep with London's hours here in the country.”

When he nodded, Pippa turned back to her task, expecting Lucas to depart for his room and a clean change of clothes to make himself presentable for the evening meal.

“The foyer is looking very festive,” he commented.

“Thank you.” Pippa secured the greenery in her hands and made to turn toward him, but her shoulder bumped into Edmund, who'd moved to her side without her notice, and knocked her off balance. “Oh!”

Her arms waved wildly, attempting to regain her balance, but there was no helping it—she was falling, and fast. It would be more than merely her ankle that would be damaged when she eventually hit the ground.

When she landed, it was with a jolt, the wind knocked from her lungs, but no pain coursed through her body. Maybe she had gone into shock, pushed any pain from her mind? But, no, she looked up to see the wreath she'd hung far closer than she expected. Pippa turned her head slightly—Lucas's face was only a few inches from hers, his expression lit with concern.

Pippa's eyes were drawn to the symbol of Christmastide once more, and the many stories of her parents love founded during the holiday season flowed through her mind. Could that be her fate, as well? Possibly next Christmastide season?

The earl followed her gaze, a smile taking over his face. “Is this where we kiss, my lady?”

Her breath hitched as she longed to scream “yes,” to take hold of his face between her palms and set her mouth against his.

Her first kiss—a kiss that would dictate her future.

Lucas was as handsome as they came, surely. Even now, her hand clutched his upper arm, muscular from years of…of what, she wasn't certain. He did not appear the type to embroil himself in manual labor, but she could not deny his strength, evident by his ability to cradle her in his arms as if she were as light as a feather.

“That would be highly improper. Besides, it's not mistletoe,” Pippa said. As quickly as her thoughts of a kiss had sprung to mind—and the possibility of being wed before Lady Natalie—Lucas set her down, and the moment was gone. Made all the more final when Pippa realized the water and muck that had clung to him now also covered her—the soft peach of her gown marred by the mud from his clothes and the water still dripping from his hair.

Pippa cleared her throat, pushing her disappointment aside as they broke eye contact. “I will have a bath sent to your room immediately. Edmund,” Pippa said, turning to her servant. His head was lowered in shame at his causation of her fall. “Will you handle the water?”

“That will not be necessary,” Lucas cut off her request. “I only returned to beg a few tools from your stables. I may have a plan to release my carriage from the muck—but if all else fails, I need to have my trunk brought here.”

“Very well. Instruct my staff to help in any manner necessary.” The statement was unnecessary as all of her servants had taken to the lord immediately.

He stared at her, expecting her to say more, but Pippa only wanted him to go, especially after her fall and his offer of a kiss—if it could be considered an offer. It was more as if he were daring her to agree.

But she'd rebuffed his offer, and the only thing she'd received in return was a ruined dress.

Oh, for all that's holy above… Pippa realized she'd turned down his kiss—the kind of kiss that had led to her parent's great love.

She'd doomed herself; handed Natalie a victory of sorts, not that she'd admit to anyone that they were involved in any sort of competition.

“Are you unwell?” Lucas asked.

Pippa replaced her frown with a slight smile. “Of a sort. I must find my chambers and change. While I am very thankful for you catching me before I hit the ground, I now find myself coated in sludge and water from your time out in the storm. I will bid you good day, for now.”

There was no time to await a reply. Pippa needed as much distance between them as she could obtain within the same house. Time to rid her mind of her scandalous thoughts regarding her houseguest, and Lucas being within reach was not helping. It seemed she was spending a great deal of time running away from things in her life. But the more she ran from the earl, the more she found herself in his presence.