A Kiss At Christmastide: Regency Novella (6 page)

Pippa laughed, unable to hold it in any longer. “I am certain your valet is adept at fixing all the heinous things you do to your wardrobe, my lord.”

“Lucas.”

Pippa's eyes shot to his, not sure what she'd expected, but finding an openness altogether new. But hadn't she already thought of him as just plain Lucas?

“My name is Lucas. Please, call me such.” He grabbed the filled pie and pulled it toward him, taking the flattened top crust pieces and laying them delicately over the meat in expert crisscross fashion, crimping the edges. “And I shall call you Pippa.”

She wasn't sure if she was more shocked by her given name on his lips—lips that had been alluringly coated with jam only moments before—or the expert way he completed the pie top, far more uniform than Pippa had ever mastered. “Where did you learn to apply a pie lattice?”

“A lattice?” he asked, pinching the final spot on the crust.

“Yes, what you just did.”

“Oh,” he looked to her and back at the pie, taken aback by his own skill. “I do not ever remember learning, but I did spend much time in the kitchens when I was very young. Maybe, at some point, I helped our cook? Or, it is far more likely that I simply love eating pie.”

“But you can't remember?”

A clouded expression settled on his face, and Pippa wished she hadn't pressed the matter.

“I fear much from my childhood is beyond my memory.” He chuckled, but nothing in his confession was the least bit comical. “Now, where were we—“

A loud crash sounded, accompanied by breaking glass.

“What's that—”

Pippa wiped her floured hands on her gown without thinking and rushed from the kitchen. She could hear Lucas's heavy footsteps behind her as they both thundered down the hall toward the sound.

“Oh, no.” Pippa sighed in distress when she saw the mess in the foyer. The garland she'd hung earlier had crashed to the floor, taking with it a small table that had been lined with miniature angel figurines. Pippa's own collection, given to her as gifts by her parents each Christmastide. She spotted one still intact and bent to retrieve it, only to have its delicate wing fall to the floor once more and shatter into a thousand tiny splinters.

There was nothing she could do, and it seemed that her holiday was going from bad to worse—her parents had yet to arrive, she'd been saddled with an unwanted houseguest, and, now, her collection was ruined. So many things taken from her in such a short time.

“My lady?” Lucas asked, his hand coming to rest on her shoulder. “Do not fret. I can help you right all of this.”

Pippa swatted at the tears she hadn't realized she'd shed. “Pippa, call me Pippa. If you have seen me cry, then we are surely past formalities.”

“Very well,” he agreed. “Is there a broom nearby?”

“The butler's closet is just over there.” Pippa pointed in the direction they'd come but kept her eyes on the destruction before her, not ready to face Lucas yet. “I will help you.”

He was back with the broom quickly and began gathering all the tiny shards of glass into a pile. It was hard to imagine that all her years of gifts amounted to such a small pile.

Pippa allowed him to continue his sweeping as she grabbed the fallen greenery, assessing its damage. With a smidge of twisting, she righted the bent branches and looked around for her ladder or a stool. She should have made sure the branch was secured correctly earlier, though her fall and subsequent landing in Lucas's arms had entirely distracted her.

Certainly, all of this was his fault, though she kept that thought to herself.

“May I give you a boost?” His tendency to slip up behind her without making a sound unnerved her.

“My stool cannot be too far.”

“Come now, I can hoist you up, and then we can return to the kitchen.” His offer sent a shiver through her—to feel his touch once more… “I see the peg is still in place above the archway.”

Pippa looked toward him, then back to the archway, clutching the branch close. Could she resist his newfound charm once again? It had been simple when he'd caught her earlier, his attitude had still rankled her—his forwardness and sarcastic comments kept her at bay. But those were gone now, replaced with sweet sentiments and visuals of him helping her in the kitchen.

He knelt before her and patted the step of sorts he'd made with his leg.

“I cannot balance on your leg—I may hurt you, or, worse yet, fall and injure myself!”

“I see your hesitation,” he said, standing once more. “I will lift you then.”

She moved before him, and he clasped her shoulders, turning her to face the archway, her back to him. Before she knew what his intent was, his strong, solid arms wrapped around her waist and he lifted her.

“My lord!” Pippa wiggled.

“My face is squarely in your skirts, Pippa. Call me Lucas.” Indeed, her skirts did muffle his words, but the lighthearted nature of them showed through. “Now, will you hang that bloody thing already? I know I appear as strong as an ox, but I cannot hold you here all day.”

Pippa giggled—something she hadn't done in many years.

She reached high, though the peg was still a few inches away. “A bit higher, Lucas, if you please.”

She was unsure how he accomplished it, but he raised her the remaining distance, and she popped the branch back into place, giving it a small tug to make sure it would not fall again. “It is hung. You can return me to the ground.”

“If I must,” he teased. “I was beginning to enjoy the scent of your garments. Is that lavender?”

“Oh, you,” Pippa squeaked and swatted at him. “Set me down before we topple over and we are both hurt.”

“As you wish.”

Pippa felt a moment of weightlessness, and she flipped about in his arms, now facing him as she slid to the floor—their bodies rubbing against one another in the most intimate and scandalous of ways.

Her breath hitched at the sensation that flooded her, pooling at her most guarded spot.

When the air finally left her lungs, it came in several quick pants.

Pippa blinked to bring her vision back into focus. Yet, all that did was have her breath catching once more because Lucas's face was a mere inch from hers.

And he was staring at her in the oddest of fashions.

Suddenly, Pippa noticed he held his breath, as well. It was as if they both feared breathing for it would end this moment, this highly unexpected moment.

“I think this should hold nicely,” she said, breaking their stare.

Lucas looked up to assess her work, still holding her tightly to him.

She followed his gaze to avoid staring at his neck, which she knew led to his chest. His muscular, solid, capable chest.

“My lord,” she whispered, and he turned his eyes to hers once more.

“Lucas.”

“Lucas,” she started again. “You may release me now.”

“And if I refuse?”

“Then we shall be found in short order by my servants, in a position most scandalous.”

“And we do not want that to happen?” This time, it was a question, not a statement. He was asking her if she wanted him to let her go—demanding she say the words aloud. But his words begged her to say no.

Pippa wanted nothing less than to be released. “Surely, the wisest decision would be that.”

“Are you a wise woman, Pippa?” he asked, his breath fanning her face. “Because, I assure you, at this very moment, I do not feel like a wise man.”

L
ucas was flirting with danger
. Every square inch of his body was on high alert—waiting. She need only say the word, or smile at him, and he'd pull her closer still. Bloody hell, if she so much as breathed, she'd likely set him ablaze where they stood—the heat being the undoing of them both.

But he was helpless to resist as she continued to stare. There were far worse places to be than lost in her deep, pooling eyes. For the second time, he sensed he was trapped in a story, a fairytale that he was hesitant to escape from.

“Ah, well.” She glanced above them once more, to the mistletoe-laced garland. “It would be disastrous for me to deny you a kiss a second time, would it not?”

Her words were all the encouragement Lucas needed.

Slowly, giving her ample time to resist, he lowered this mouth to hers.

But she did not pull away as he set his lips to hers. Her luscious mouth tensed slightly at his touch but quickly relaxed and began to move with his. Their breaths melded together as if it were the most natural of occurrences, as if they did exactly this each day—every hour. Surprising him further, she increased her insistence, taking the lead from him as she parted her lips and ran her tongue across his lower one. Everything in his body hardened, and Lucas had a moment of hesitation, knowing their bodies were still pressed closely together—his erection unmistakable.

He was acting the randy schoolboy with his first bout of infatuation.

He slowed their kiss, allowing his hands to fall to his sides. Pippa was likely frightened by his actions.

Lucas should apologize, gather his belongings, and depart immediately.

The liberties he'd taken with Lady Pippa were unforgivable—and if he stayed, he knew he'd only insist on more.

“My lady,” Lucas said as he pulled back. “I—”

“It is Pippa,” she corrected, setting her lips to his once more.

Lucas gave in, allowing his hands their freedom, and they instantly wrapped around her once more to cup the round swells of her backside.

He released her lips and trailed light kisses along her jawline and up to her earlobe, taking it into his mouth and sucking gently.

A moan escaped her, and Lucas damn near lost all thought and threw caution to the wind at the sound of her pleasure. Pleasure,
he
was giving her.

Pleasure, he had no right to be giving her at this moment—or any other.

Lady Pippa had given him shelter…and he was all but betrothed to Lady Natalie, who awaited his arrival at the neighboring estate. Yet, Lucas, scoundrel that he was, held and kissed another. Imagined undressing this dark-haired beauty, instead of—Lucas had no idea what Lady Natalie looked like—and he found he could care less.

It was the woman in his arms that he wanted—in this moment, and all that followed.

He released her lobe, and she let out a disgruntled sigh, pushing her body ever closer to his as if she didn't realize the danger she was in—the threat he posed to her future.

A loud clap of thunder shook the front door on its hinges, and Pippa gasped, jumping back.

Her gaze darted around the room as if her brain hadn't registered the origin of the noise that had startled her.

“It was thunder,” he called, balling his hands into fists to stop himself from reaching for her once more. “Only the storm.”

She breathed heavily, not saying a word, and her hands clutched her chest—her bosom straining against the fabric of her gown, demanding to be set free.

Or maybe that was only Lucas's imagination begging him to step forward and take her in his arms again.

A deep crimson stain crept up her neck, and her face flamed red.

“My lord,” she gushed. “I am…I am so sorry. I have acted most improper. Whatever must you think of me?”

On the tip of his tongue were the many words he wanted to say about her: sensual, erotic, alluring, beautiful, caring, compassionate, and captivating. Given a minute longer, allowing his mind to clear, he would likely string together another ten words that adequately described her.

“You must think me a wanton woman, my lord.”

As long as she was only wanton for him, Lucas would call her exactly that if it pleased her.

Too late, he realized his mistake at remaining silent so long as her body trembled and she stumbled farther from him.

She truly believed he thought negatively of her—and what had just occurred between them.

Pippa grabbed her skirts in her hand and fled the room. Her embarrassment evident to Lucas now—how had he not recognized the emotion before?

But he knew the answer.

The Earl of Maddox, heir to the Marquis of Bowmont, had never sought out any woman of respectable standing—nor had he the occasion to ruin a proper lady.

Bloody hell, Merry Christmastide to him.

If he was not already certain of his tendency to tarnish every situation, it was evident now.

P
ippa noticed
the sliver of light escaping the edges of her draperies the moment her eyes fluttered opened. She'd hurriedly donned a morning gown with an apron and pockets before pulling the heavy fabric aside—scared she'd be disappointed to find the storm still lingering. She was pleasantly surprised to see her first instinct was true. A patchy blue sky greeted her with the grey storm clouds clinging at the horizon, not completely ready to move on from Somerset. The tops of the trees stood tall with no wind pushing them to and fro—and below, a thin layer of snow dotted the landscape.

At least for today, the storm had been pushed aside.

The roads should be passable very soon. That meant three things: her parents would be arriving shortly, she'd be free to deliver her gifts and baked goods to the village, and Lucas would be journeying on to Lady Natalie's Christmas party. Her excitement for the first two diminished with the thought of Lucas's departure—from her home and her life.

It was irrational to think a man, this complete stranger, would happen upon her house during a storm and become a permanent fixture in her life. Their paths had only crossed for these short two days—they would both move on from here, each forgetting the other. There was the possibility of them meeting again when Pippa returned to London. Would they nod to one another—possibly dance a set, or share refreshments at the opera—or would they both look the other way, agreeing to keep the memory of their time together intact without ruining the specialness by seeking to continue their acquaintance?

An acquaintance that would lead nowhere.

Regardless of what their futures held, today, they would go their separate ways. She to the village, and Lucas to his party—although, two days late, yet still in time for the holiday.

Pippa smiled, realizing that, although times would return to normal, she'd fulfilled what her parents had found…love during the Christmastide. That she'd kissed a man most unsuitable did not matter, did it? When in his arms, he did not feel the least bit as Pippa imagined a rogue would feel.

Their kiss had been everything she'd anticipated, and yet, far exceeded her expectations. His lips had been warm and intense. His hands had caressed her bum, kneading in gentlest of fashions. His scent had invaded her senses—he smelled of all things manly, pine and leather with a hint of sandalwood.

He'd been in control of their kiss; however, he hadn't sought to prove his dominance—nor take their intimate moment further than Pippa was prepared for. If Lucas would have asked, or led, she more than likely would have allowed him any liberties he sought.

It was a startling thought, and confirmed that he needed to go immediately; move on to Lady Natalie's party. If he stayed, it would not be him leading her to ruin, but Pippa walking into her own undoing—with no reservations.

Did every man's kiss affect women in such a way? Pippa did not expect so. There had been Mr. Gordon Everdom, who'd asked her to dance twice at one ball—but his hands were clammy and damp. His scent was that of a savory duck soup, as if his meal were exiting through his pores as the night progressed and his body became overheated. Pippa enjoyed duck soup as much as the next miss, but not as a perfume. It had never crossed Pippa's mind to allow his lips anywhere near hers. Not for fear of a scandal, but that she knew there would be no pleasure to be found in Everdom's arms.

All night, she'd longed for Lucas's lips to return to hers, continue the dance they'd started the night before, moving against one another to a beat only they heard.

Pippa's first kiss—and it had been far grander than she and Lady Natalie had dreamt of in their youths. They'd been so naïve to think their first kisses would come on their wedding days to the men who'd sweep them off their feet and make their girlish fairytale dreams come true.

Had Lady Natalie met her Prince Charming? Had he swept her off her feet?

Lucas was no Prince Charming. Even as little as she knew of him, she suspected he lived in the darkness far more than the light. Pippa could not see herself following any man into that existence, which suited her well because Lucas would be gone within the next few hours, and their kiss would remain an exquisite memory to be cherished and re-lived during the years to come—and best during the deep nighttime hours.

It did not matter if Natalie's beau was charming, wealthy, and from a good family, for Pippa would certainly secure a favorable match with time. Possibly before the next Christmastide season.

But could she leave fate to chance? The need to return to London and give herself the opportunity for another Season was a necessity.

For now, she had gifts to prepare, and a village full of tenants to see.

She rushed down the stairs, renewed at the thought of venturing out as she was no longer trapped by the storm. Though, oddly, she hadn't felt trapped and alone since Lucas's arrival. In fact, she seemed unable to escape him no matter where she hid in the house—not that Pippa would admit that she'd sought out the kitchen the night before to escape his notice, thinking a place where servants gathered was safe and beyond detection of a man such as Lucas.

There was much to do, so many things she'd neglected since his arrival. Neglect wasn't the correct word at all. There were things she'd outright forgotten since he'd stepped into her home and taken over her every thought—such as the children. The village children depended on gifts from her and her mother to stay warm during the winter months. New caps, capes, muffs, mittens, and socks. Many Londoners would be shocked to know that Pippa spent a great deal of time on her charitable pursuits, though she did not view the less fortunate as such. Nor did she speak to anyone of her caring heart. From her mother, Pippa had learned the misfortune of being born to a lower class—a life many saw as inescapable. Nonetheless, her mother, Cordelia, had escaped her impoverished life but was one of the few that always looked back as opposed to forward. She had taught her daughter a life lesson that many young debutantes never learned.

Kindness.

The art of being genuinely caring to all.

One could never know a person's past or the wounds they'd suffered. Therefore, it was nobody's right to judge another.

However, it
was
her duty to help in any way she could.

It made Pippa's attitude toward Lady Natalie's betrayal and her spiteful meeting with Lucas all the more concerning. She'd wished ill will on another voluntarily—it was unwarrantable. Pippa would double her good deeds to redeem herself in her own eyes.

But first, she needed to prepare all the packages for delivery. Thankfully, Cook had arrived early to finish baking the pies Pippa had forgotten in the kitchen—sidetracked by Lucas's kiss.

Hurrying to her mother's parlor, Pippa began wrapping a book, cap, mittens or a muff, and cape in brown paper she'd had her father bring back from London a few months past. It would keep the gifts dry if it were snowing while she was out delivering them. Each was tied with a bow, green for the boys and red for the girls. It was Christmas, after all. No pink and blue.

Last year, she'd given school essentials: individual chalkboards, pencils, and school primers. And the year before that, she'd begged her father for a new pair of shoes for each child. It had been a grand year. Pippa had taught a few lessons to the children before preparing for her own entrance into society—where lowering oneself to a position of pay was deemed unfit and disreputable. She longed to return to that simpler time when she'd actively pursued what made her happy, not what looked best for a young woman of high breeding. She held no illusions that when she wed, her husband would not look proudly on a woman who sought happiness among the less fortunate.

Men such as the Duke of Midcrest, her father, rarely existed in society.

Before long, Pippa moved from her hunched position near the low table in favor of sitting prone on the rug near the crackling hearth. The warmth was welcome without being overpowering. She'd spent several hours the day before bringing merriment to this room, her mother's chosen space, and it increased her spirit greatly knowing her dear mother would soon join her. Though the holiday hadn't started with promise, she was certain all would be put to rights by the end of the day.

Lucas would be gone—as regrettable as that was to her—and her parents would arrive. Her mother would take to the kitchen, with Pippa's help, and they would prepare their family feast, while her father wrapped gifts for his two beloved women. It was the normal way of things.

With the confusion Lucas's arrival and their kiss had brought, Pippa desperately needed things to be normal. A few short hours to think through all the emotions coursing through her. They were foreign, yet not completely unwanted, and something she needed to explore, especially if she were serious about taking a husband.

When she did settle on the perfect man, he would be tall, his arms strong, and his gaze intense—his hair falling just over his eyes in that rakish sort of way she hadn't given much thought to in previous days. A humorous spirit would be much preferred, and she certainly enjoyed good-natured bantering.

The image that sprang to mind had Pippa's eyes opening wide in shock—why did her future husband so accurately resemble Lucas. Certainly, her mind was playing tricks on her, for a man like Lucas was the exact type of man she should run far away from.

Pippa tied the last ribbon on the final gift and pushed to her feet to take in all she'd accomplished. Twenty-seven tiny bundled packages with perfectly tied bows.

Her back ached, and her fingers were numb from trying so much ribbon.

She couldn't help but smile, though, thinking about the joy on the children's faces when she arrived at their doors bearing gifts.

A gong sounded from her father's study, and Pippa paused to count—eleven. If she planned to have sufficient time to load her carriage, deliver all the gifts, and return before her parents' arrival, Pippa needed to hurry.

“Lady Pippa?” Briars called, stepping into the room.

“Yes?” Pippa turned to face her family's aging servant, who seemed unable to hide his smile at the many presents wrapped and waiting for tiny hands to open them. One such gift had been specially wrapped for Briars' own granddaughter; a precocious six-year-old with raven hair and the greenest of eyes—ever so intense for one so young.

“The carriage is readied and being brought round for you.” Briars was a dear soul and looked after Pippa during the rare times her parents were away. His children and grandchildren were very lucky to have such a man of standing as their patriarch. “Please, let me know if you require anything further.”

“The roads have dried enough for travel?” There was little reason to load the carriage and set out only to get stuck or be forced to turn back due to impassible conditions. She'd be lying if a part of her longed to have the butler tell her things were still negatively impacted by the passing storm. The children would not get their gifts, but she'd have more time with Lucas—maybe even another kiss.

“Yes, my lady.”

“That is wonderful news.” Pippa smiled brightly, her joy going no further than her lips. “I will bring everything to the foyer to be loaded.”

“I will have a footman sent to assist you.”

“That is not necessary,” Pippa assured him. “They are light, but do have him bring the pies from the kitchen.”

“Certainly.” With a quick nod, he was on his way, leaving the door open for her to move the presents.

Pippa could hear two maids giggling through the open door over a gift one of the girls had received from a particularly unsuitable suitor. In that instant, she missed her dear friend, Natalie. They would have gossiped for hours if one of them had received a Christmas gift—from a man. After her kiss the night before, Pippa would have braved the storm to journey all the way to the neighboring estate just to gush over how handsome Lucas was. But that was not how things were to be. What hurt most was not knowing the reason she'd lost her friend. Had it been something Pippa had done or said? Was it that Natalie had found their friendship had outlasted its usefulness? She did not believe that to be true in any way.

But there was nothing she could do about Lady Natalie and her decision to end their friendship in such a cruel manner.

It was hard to push from her mind the thought of her dear friend entering into a betrothal, and all before Pippa knew anything of the man. Was he worthy of Natalie's love? Did he love her in return? Where was his estate? Would Natalie be allowed time to visit with her friends?

Pippa sighed, collecting as many presents as she could and hurried to the foyer, depositing the pile as she turned to gather more.

“Good day, Lady Pippa.”

She froze at the deep tone, the words drawled slow enough to linger far longer than was necessary for the “Ps” in her name. His voice was sweeter than a summer batch of honey collected not far from her manor house. However, nothing in his tone confirmed that he was ever willingly labeled as “sweet.” He was more of a blackberry, dark and forbidding on the outside, but sugary and delicious on the inside. One only need journey past his menacing exterior.

Delicious? It was an odd term to use to define a man. Or any person for that matter.

Though it fit Lucas—and her feelings toward him—perfectly.

“Good morn, my lord.” Pippa's voice wobbled slightly. “I do hope your rest was revitalizing.”

“I have discovered many revitalizing things since my arrival in Somerset.”

Pippa blinked rapidly and swallowed past the sawdust that dried her throat at his inciting words. She would not read too much into his comment, she would not read too much into his comment—she would
not
read too much into his comment.

“You look dashing today and ready to venture forth to your holiday party,” she said, refusing to address his earlier words. “I have noticed the storm has moved to the horizon, and Briars informed me the roads are now passable.”