Lady Louisa's Christmas Knight (11 page)

When Sir Joseph tried to brush her hand aside, she shifted closer. “I can get a better angle than you. I'm not marrying Lionel, and I'd as soon not gain a reputation for being a jilt as well as a jade.”

“But your sisters… Louisa, you should
not
—God, that feels good.”

“My sisters are not inclined to marry.” And Louisa was not inclined to suffer missishness from her caller, so she did not turn loose of his leg. She'd spent years watching her brother Victor die by inches, for God's sake… “You tell Their Graces that Jenny and Eve have shared that confidence with me, and I will put something noxious in your flask, Joseph Carrington. There's a knot, here, above your knee.” She used her thumb to fish along the corded length of his quadriceps. “Several knots.”

“Louisa, if your sisters are not inclined to marry, then you could be engaged to Lionel for as long as it takes for the talk to die down. An engagement would preserve you from scandal, relieve your parents' minds, and allow me to tend to a relative in need.”

She dug a little harder into the muscle beneath the fabric of his breeches. “My sisters think they do not want to marry, but they
shall
marry.”

“You can divine the future?”

His voice sounded off, a trifle strained. Louisa concluded she was hurting him and lightened the pressure. “They are both pining for children, missing our happily married brothers, and contemplating lives tending to aging parents and doting on nieces and nephews. They deserve better.”

“And you do not?” He sounded wonderfully indignant on her behalf.

“I have books, Sir Joseph. I have telescopes. I correspond with literary acquaintances. I dabble at writing myself. I study the calculus when I'm particularly bored. My nature is solitary and simple—what?”

He'd covered her hand with his own. “You are not being entirely honest, Louisa. What is your real objection to this scheme?”

Louisa neither withdrew her hand nor removed it from Sir Joseph's person. She also did not meet his gaze, lest he see her frustration. The fire was warming her back; Sir Joseph's hand around hers imparted a different warmth entirely—and the damned man was trying to foist her off on Lionel Honiton.

It wasn't to be borne. “Somebody told Lionel I like poetry. Would that someone be you?”

“It might have been.” He shifted so their hands were joined. Did he think Louisa was going to get up and start pacing? “Many people enjoy poetry.”

“Lionel isn't one of them. He accosted me last week—before all this nonsense—in Hirtschorn's mews and started spouting off that naughty piece by Marvel.”

“‘To His Coy Mistress.'” Sir Joseph sounded puzzled.

“I hope you did not suggest it to him.”

“Of course not, it's not a decent piece, for all it's charming, persuasive, and to the point. ‘Had we but world enough and time, lady, this coyness were no crime…'” He frowned and peered at her. “
Was
it persuasive?”

Louisa permitted herself a sigh, because had Joseph been the one reciting the poem, it would have been persuasive indeed.

“When declaimed like some royal fanfare, it rather loses its impact. It's a poem written for an ardent swain, not for a determined fortune hunter.”

“So you're turning dear Lionel down because his oratory skills are wanting? That hardly seems fair. Oratory is fine for the Lords, Louisa, but it won't avert scandal, and it most assuredly won't keep you in finery.”

He was gripping her hand firmly as he delivered his scold. Despite her pique, Louisa admitted to herself that she liked the way Sir Joseph held her hand. Nothing tentative or limp about it. If he ever learned of her unfortunate excursion as a published author, he might just possibly be willing to grip her hand like that regardless.

Her heart missed a beat, then sped up as a thought crystallized: maybe more than possibly. She
prayed
it was more than possibly.

“Sir Joseph, my own dowry will keep me in finery. I am sure the idea behind Lionel's recitation was to keep Lionel in finery.”

“You are drawing an important conclusion based on very little information, Louisa Windham. One poem should not a marriage prospect destroy.”

And one question should not a marriage prospect create, but given that her entire future hung in the balance, Louisa asked the question anyway.

“What about one kiss?”

***

“Sir Joseph is going to present Honiton's suit to Louisa?” Her Grace, Esther, the Duchess of Moreland, did not frown, though a close observer might have said she knit her brow
slightly
.

“That is what he'd have me believe. More tea, my love?” His Grace made the offer automatically—Her Grace adored a strong, hot cup of tea.

“Half a cup. I wasn't aware Louisa was more than flirting with Lord Lionel. His family is certainly adequate, but the boy lacks a certain…” She trailed off, accepting a full cup of tea from her husband. “Thank you, Percival.”

His Grace settled in beside his wife, tucking an arm around her shoulders. “What is your real objection to Honiton, Esther? Sir Joseph has a contingency plan, if Honiton won't do.”

She set her teacup down and rested her head against her husband's shoulder. “My objections hardly matter, do they? If Louisa wants Lord Lionel, then I will not stand in her way and neither will you. This is not how I wanted to celebrate Christmas, though, Percy.”

“You don't think she wants him.” More likely, Her Grace knew Louisa's mind on this, though how she gained such insights was a subject a prudent husband did not pry into very often.

“I am not certain, but I saw something last week that leads me to doubt Sir Joseph's generous proffer on Lionel's behalf will be accepted.”

His Grace had eaten all but two cakes, and those he decided to leave on the plate lest Her Grace be distracted by his lack of restraint. “What did you see, my love?”

“You will think I should have disclosed this sooner, Percy, but I attached little significance to it at the time.”

“Are you sure you wouldn't like the last of the cakes, Esther?”

“How can you think of—please eat them, Percival. The servants will just argue over them otherwise.”

The duke popped both cakes into his mouth. They tasted particularly fine, given that his lady had
ordered
him to consume them.

“Percival, I saw Louisa kiss Sir Joseph.”

“You saw—? Good God!” Before His Grace was done sputtering and coughing, Her Grace had delivered several stout whacks to the ducal back. “You saw Louisa kiss Sir Joseph? I may be getting old, my dear, but as best I recall from my youth, the thing is usually managed the other way around. The swain kisses the damsel.”

She gave him an arch look “Not always.”

Well.
Various memories of their long-ago courtship crowded out the immediate consternation of a papa who could see his daughter—who
had
seen his daughter—initiating such an impropriety.

“Esther, you are a naughty duchess. I love this about you, but what does one kiss days ago have to do with the present difficulties?”

“I saw her face, Percy. She meant to buss his cheek, I think, and yet the kiss turned into something else entirely. Sir Joseph did not take advantage, mind you. He captured
and
held
her attention, though. I think he surprised her, and she's been considering that surprise ever since.”

“For all he raises swine, Sir Joseph is a damned decent fellow. Louisa could do much worse. I've mentioned him to the Regent now that another honors list is in the offing.”

Her Grace was quiet for a moment. There being no tea cakes left, His Grace contented himself with the pleasure of sharing an embrace and yet another parental challenge with his beloved duchess—either of which trumped tea cakes handily.

“So that's Sir Joseph's contingency plan? He'll offer for Louisa himself?”

“He won't expect her to accept. He's thinking it will be a temporary engagement, but I have my doubts.”

Another silence, while His Grace enjoyed for once making the dear lady exercise some patience of her own.

“Percival, what aren't you saying?”

“That kiss you saw, between Louisa and Joseph?”

“They had just danced a lovely waltz on a quiet terrace. I caught the end of the dance from a second-floor balcony where I'd gone for a moment of solitude.”

“And I was across the terrace, having a private moment at the French doors of the gallery. I saw just a few bars of the dance, but, Esther? Do you recall the ballroom at Heathgate's town house?”

“It has an entire wall of mirrors. Ostentatious, but I take your point. Louisa and Joseph look much like ourselves when they're dancing with each other. I don't think Louisa realizes the potential of the situation.”

“From where I stood, I could see Carrington's expression, Esther. Smitten, besotted, head over ears, call it what you will. Louisa might not entirely understand what's afoot, but Sir Joseph does. He looked like a man who'd awoken on Christmas morning to find his every wish come true.”

“Then we must trust not only that he sees what's in the balance, but that he has the courage and skill to seize it.”

“Just so, my love.”

His Grace placed a kiss on his duchess's temple and sent a silent request to the Almighty that if courage and skill didn't sort the young people out, then the more reliable commodities of blind lust, some well-placed mistletoe, and a goodly quantity of holiday libation might see them put to rights.

***

Joseph tried to resort to the instincts that had saved his life more than once in Spain—the detached, analytical mental functions that took no notice of the simmering arousal caused by the simple touch of Louisa's hand on his breeches.

This was the same part of his mind that wanted to believe he held her hand merely to prevent her from stroking his thigh.

The
objective
is
to
preserve
Lady
Louisa
from
a
scandal
she's done nothing to deserve. The preferred plan is to see her safely engaged to Honiton, which will, as you have just explained to her, solve a number of problems all around.

That it would break Joseph's heart to surrender the lady to a loveless match was of no moment.

“You mentioned a kiss, Louisa. If a poor ability in this regard is your objection to Honiton as a matrimonial prize, then may I remind you that decades of wedded bliss will ensure you have ample opportunity to refine his abilities.”

She gave him a peevish look. “I'm to spend decades teaching a
not-stupid
man how to kiss?”

“You are speaking in the indecipherable code reserved for females seeking to befuddle males, Louisa. Are you telling me you want to inspect Honiton's kisses before you accept him as a spouse?”

Joseph did not raise his voice, but he was coming perilously close to arguing with a lady.
Again.
Even among mere knights of the swine farms, such a thing was not done. The urge to put distance between him and the clove-and-citrus scent of the daft woman beside him was thwarted only by contemplating the spectacle he'd make trying to get to his feet.

A
knot
above
his
knee, indeed.

“I would certainly want to inspect the kisses of any man to whom I'd consider plighting my troth, and don't tell me it's a foolish notion. Your kiss was not at all wanting, in case you've wondered.”

She fired this observation at him broadside, putting memories of sweet curves, soft, curious lips, and a private waltz where his determination to see to her best interests ought to lie.

“My thanks for that gracious accounting.” He scooted forward and braced both hands on the hearthstones. “I should be going, so I will leave you to contemplate the tutelage you will bestow on Honiton that he might merit the same encomium.”

A strong grasp seized him about the elbow and boosted him to his feet. “You are as articulate as Westhaven and as proud as His Grace, also as stubborn as the two of them combined, and possibly as thickheaded as all the extant and deceased Windham males put together. Why don't you use a cane?”

Joseph tested his balance while he withstood a glare from the woman beside him. “A cane? You think a cane would preserve my dignity? I'm not that much past thirty years old, my lady, and if it weren't for the damned—excuse me, the dashed—weather, I'd be as nimble as a blessed flea.”

He
was
arguing with a lady, and because it was
this
lady, an apology was needed before he took his leave. “I beg your pardon. A cane is an excellent idea.”

“Marrying Honiton is not.”

Her ill humor had fallen away, and she was peering up at Joseph with earnest green eyes. Her arm was still twined around his, and Joseph could not have moved away to save his soul.

“My dear, living the rest of your life through books and nephews is a terrible idea, as is condemning your sisters to the same fate. Society loves for the mighty to fall, and with your lapse, your sisters' matrimonial prospects have been lamed, if not taken from the race. I am a widower, Louisa. I can tell you that having even a spouse to resent, a spouse to gossip with, is better than this notion you've taken. You have such passion…”

She was watching his mouth, watching the idiot mouth that had nearly whispered those last, achingly sincere words.

“People are talking, then?”

They were gleefully tearing Louisa's character to shreds, the women much more than the men. Joseph nodded and said nothing.

“Papa suggested you had some options to put before me. What have you to offer besides this lunatic proposal that I should join myself to a man who is not much given to vice and not at all given to stealing kisses?”