Miss Featherton's Christmas Prince (The Marriage Game Book 9) (12 page)

That was unusual. He wondered how many complaints he would hear to-morrow. Even though he never took breakfast in his room, he felt he must respond. “Yes, my lady.”

Meg nodded. “I understand.”

Ah, he remembered. She had breakfasted in her chamber this morning. “How long do we have to gather?”

“Until noon. After that, the servants will assist in decorating, but it is the tradition here that the guests do most of the work.”

He wanted to ask about mistletoe, but didn’t dare. Not while Meg was present. His step-mother had it brought in from an estate in the south of England. He wondered if Lady Bellamny had any, or if it would have had to be imported as well.

“Gathering the greenery is one of my favorite tasks,” Meg offered. “As is deciding where the greens should go.”

Damon had a vision of his house being decorated by her—if he had one. “It is one of my favorite activities as well.”

Or it had been when he was younger. Cook always made sure there was plenty of hot chocolate and food waiting when they came in. He had resented it when he’d been made to find the Yule log instead. The company was never as pleasant.

Lady Bellamny clapped her hands. “Excellent. The two of you will be in charge of the group.”

That
was not what he had wanted. “Perhaps someone with more experience?”

“Nonsense. You are used to command, and Miss Featherton has a great deal of experience. Together, you will be perfect.”

Meg had colored a little, but replied, “I’m sure we will not disappoint you, my lady.”

His admiration for her grew far beyond what he thought it could be. As upset as she was, she had managed to give the impression all was in order.

M
eg kept a smile pasted on her face as she introduced Daphne and Fotheringale to Hawksworth. Fotheringale had begun to court her friend Daphne when Meg had rejected him for Swindon. Yet as her friend chattered on, she began to realize how much in love Daphne was, and for good reason it seemed. He had been her champion against his overly domineering mother. Then he had forced his father to increase his allowance, thus allowing the couple to set up their own household.

Meg would never have believed he would stand up to his mother the way he had. Daphne, however, had trusted his assertions that he would take care of her.

Yet another example of Meg’s inability to choose a husband. Still, she had not loved him, and, at the time, love had been an important consideration. Now all she wanted was companionship. While Lord Throughgood was proving a difficult man to find, Hawksworth—she really should not think of him in such a familiar fashion—was all too present. But not for her. Where were Amanda and her mother? Surely they must be in the house somewhere. Maybe in her chamber. Still, it was unusual that neither of them were present. Meg started toward the door.

“Miss Featherton,” Lady Bellamny called. “Lady Culpepper has agreed to accompany you on the piano if you and Lord Hawksworth will sing a ballad for us before we retire.”

Hawksworth, blast him, was already at the piano looking over the music. “I’d be happy to.”

However, when he showed her the music, it was an old Christmas carol. “I believe,” he said in a subtle tone that sent pleasant shivers down her back, “this might be more appropriate this evening, and it will help provide the mood for to-morrow.” He glanced down at Meg. “Shall we sing it together?”

“We must change the key. My voice is too low for the higher part.”

“As you wish.” They agreed on a key that would complement both their voices, and after Lady Culpepper played the introduction, began to sing.

By the time they reached the last verse, the other guests were yawning.

“Not that I like putting my audience to sleep.” His breath caressed her cheek.

“But in this case . . .”

He grinned. “It is necessary.”

Meg smiled back at him. He had not had the chance to shave before dinner, and now the short hairs of his beard made him appear even more handsome. She wanted to reach up and run her palm over his cheek. She had never touched a man’s cheek before. What would the stubble feel like? She stepped back before she could act on her desire.

Meg must tell her friend as soon as possible that Hawksworth would be safe. No, never that, he had too much energy, too much charm, to be called safe, but he would not hurt her.

The clock chimed eleven. She would do it first thing in the morning.

Lady Bellamny was rousing the others and ringing for servants.

Hawksworth claimed Meg’s arm. “May I escort you up the stairs?”

If he had said to her chamber, she would have been immediately suspicious, but up the stairs to the landing that connected the two wings was unexceptional. “Thank you.”

“We should discuss how to punish those who would attempt to neglect their duties to-morrow.”

“Neglect . . . ?” She was tempted to laugh, but his countenance was severe. Unable to decide whether or not he was joking, she retorted, “Flogging, to be sure.”

One corner of his lips tipped up. “I should have realized you would be harsh. I was thinking more along the lines of making them wait for their hot chocolate or mulled cider.”

“That
would
be cruel. Perhaps you should flirt with the ladies whenever they take too long a rest.”

His black brows drew together, but in a funning way. “You have an exaggerated opinion of my skills when it comes to ladies.”

“I think you are too modest, my lord.” How could any gentleman who was so handsome think women would not fall at his feet? Well, most women.

They had paused for a moment in the hall, but began to climb the stairs. “I can assure you that I am not in the . . .” He rubbed his chin. “How can I put this? I do not trifle with women.”

She could hardly believe she had insulted him, but she must have. “Forgive me. I—”

“No.” He captured her gaze with his dark eyes. “It was a reasonable assumption. Many gentlemen do.”

Meg wanted to search his face, try to divine if there was more behind what he had said; instead she dropped her gaze. “I think perhaps we have become too serious for this party.”

Not nearly as serious as he would like to be. Yet she was like a skittish horse. Pushing her would only make her baulk. If only he had more time. The last thing he wanted was to see her hurt. “I believe you are correct.” They had reached the top of the stairs, where he turned to face her. “I shall leave you here. Have pleasant dreams.”

Perhaps of him.

“To you as well, my lord.”

Damon remained where he was until she disappeared down the corridor. To-morrow he would renew his siege of her walls.

That night he dreamed of Badajoz, yet once they had broken through the city’s battlements, instead of bloody mayhem, he saw Meg. Standing in the midst of the crumbled stone, smiling at him and holding out her hands.

 

The next morning, Damon swung his legs over the side of the bed and rubbed his face. Love and war were frequently joined together in literature and verse. Still, there must be another reason he so often thought of Meg in relation to the battles he had fought.

During the war he had needed to save his life as well as his men’s, yet perhaps having Meg in his life was just as necessary. There was something between them he had never felt before, and once she gave herself to him, she would be by his side forever. His heart swelled with hope. Surely his dreams must be a sign that he was close to finding the key to winning her affections.

The fire had been built up, warming the chamber. Damon rose and crossed to the window. The sky was crystal blue. The moon, not yet set, shone on the grounds, making them sparkle as if some careless god had scattered diamonds around.

A heavy frost, but no snow. Although pretty, maneuvering in the stuff was slow, hard work, and not something he wanted to deal with while out with a gaggle of women. The snow could come later, and he would welcome it.

He was about to tug on the long braided-silk cord next to his bed when noises from the dressing room informed him that Hartwell was already preparing Damon’s garb for the day.

“The water is warm, my lord. You have less than an hour to dress.”

More than enough time to don country kit, but he wanted to be in the breakfast room before Meg. He made short work of cleaning his teeth and shaving. He entered the breakfast room well before the appointed time, startling two young footmen. “I’ll eat when everything is ready, but I’d appreciate a pot of tea now, and two cups.”

One of the footmen left, and Damon claimed chairs for Meg and himself at the long cherry table.

He had just poured his tea, when she gracefully strolled into the room and stopped. “Oh, I did not expect to see you here so early.”

“Morning is my favorite time of day.” Mainly because no matter how late he went to sleep, he was up earlier than the sun. The army was probably to blame for that. “How do you like your tea?”

After glancing around the room, she apparently decided to take him up on his offer. “With milk and two sugars.”

Damon prepared her cup, then stood, pulled out the chair, and waited. Somehow this all seemed like a finely choreographed dance. One in which he was not sure of the steps. “Did you hear anyone else stirring?”

She gracefully lowered herself into the seat, and he pushed it in before taking the chair next to hers. “There was a great deal of rushing around. Has Miss Hiller been down yet?”

“Not that I have seen.” He slid the tea-cup closer to Meg.

Her finely arched black brows drew together, creating a line between her eyes. He wanted nothing more than to smooth her brow, and remove her concerns. “I knocked on her door, but there was no answer.”

“I’m sure she will be here soon.” He wished he had heard from Throughgood as to the status of his pending announcement. “She dare not miss Lady Bellamny’s house decorating.”

As if he had called forth the devil, the lady herself appeared.

“Well, I am glad to see the two of you up. I’ll have to send strong words of encouragement to the slugabeds.” She tugged the bell-pull and her butler appeared almost immediately. “Send word around that breakfast is being served, and that it will not be available after I have left to ensure all is in readiness for the outings.” She glanced at Damon. “Why are you not eating?”

He swung his head toward the side table, now groaning with dishes. Apparently his keen sense of what went on around him was eroded by the light scent of lavender and lemon. An enemy platoon could have marched in and he would not have noticed. “Distracted.”

Just then Sir Randolph, Lady Culpepper, Miss Riverton, and Lord Darby entered the room, chattering good-naturedly about the best way to find the best greenery.

Lord Darby assisted his betrothed to sit, then turned to Lady Bellamny. “My mother begs to be excused from to-day’s activities. She has a headache and would prefer to break her fast alone.”

From the tone of his voice and the disapproval on his face it was clear the lady was merely attempting to circumvent Lady Bellamny’s edict.

The Culpeppers and Miss Riverton ceased speaking, and the room fell silent.

Lady Bellamny poured a cup of tea. “I am vastly sorry to hear that she is not well. Naturally she would prefer to eat later in the day. I shall send up some herbal compresses.”

The man’s lips twitched. “Very kind of you, my lady. I am quite sure that will be all she requires.”

The drama ended, Damon rose. He turned to assist Meg, who had made a choking sound which he strongly suspected was laughter. “Miss Featherton?”

She stood so that her back was to the rest of the table and gazed up at him. Her eyes were so full of laughter he could have gone into whoops himself. He had not seen that look since the beginning of the Little Season.

“Ma . . .” Her voice trembled. “Malingerers,” she whispered, quickly putting her hand over her mouth.

“Yes, indeed.” It was amusing that in seeking to remain in bed, Lady Darby would be denied her breakfast. Yet he didn’t dare say more. Meg’s mirth was infectious, and he did not wish to betray himself to his godmother, who obviously took the infraction seriously.

It was enough that his love was happy. All he need do now was ensure she would be his.

By the time Meg and Hawksworth were on the other side of the table, and she was responding to his queries about her choices, she had got herself under control. Under normal circumstances, the humor in the exchange might not have seemed so funny. Yet with Lord Darby practically choking on the excuse he had to give Lady Bellamny, her response, and he not being at all upset but pleased his mother had been caught, Meg could not help wanting to laugh until she wept. It had been so long since she had been truly happy. So long since she had felt anything. It was as if she had been shrouded in a gray fog that was now lifting.

“Kippers?” Hawksworth held a fork over the small fish.

“Yes, please.” She refused to think of her last two suitors as they had selected morsels of food for her at suppers. That would only cast her back into the gloom.

He speared three of the small fish, placing them on her plate, then took several for himself. By the time they had worked their way through the dishes, she had added a baked egg and some ham. His plate was full of everything on offer. She did not think her brothers ate that much, but Hawksworth was even larger than Kit. Perhaps his need for sustenance was greater.

Suddenly, Meg looked at him again and saw a very different man than she usually did. Dressed as he was in buckskin breeches and a loose jacket, he was no longer the Dandy. Instead he was more primal, more real, and vastly more male. She had had a chance to feel the hard muscle under his jacket. The breeches encased his shapely thighs in a way even the pantaloons he wore had not.

She hoped Amanda would appreciate all of Hawksworth.

As he placed Meg’s plate on the table, she glanced around. The Smithsons and Fotheringales had arrived. Mr. Fotheringale was steering his wife away from Lord Smithson. She wondered if he had said something he should not have. Meg always tried to give the man a wide berth. But where were Amanda and her mother?

She was just about to ask when Lord Smithson’s lips twisted into a snarl. “I don’t see Mrs. and Miss Hiller here.”

Lady Bellamny raised one brow. “They left early this morning, but will return in time for dinner. Mr. Hiller arrived last night, and they have matters to attend to. I instructed them that they must come back with either greenery or a decoration made from it.”

“Right you are, my lady,” Sir Randolph said in a genial tone. “As always, everyone must contribute.”

Meg had hardly seen her friend or her mother since they arrived. Not that she was worried about a chaperone. She was of age, and Lady Bellamny was perfectly capable of watching over her if she required it, which she didn’t. She had managed to rid herself of two unwanted men without repercussions. She simply wished to know what was going on.

Several minutes later, Lady Bellamny rose, and they all followed suit. “We shall meet in the hall in ten minutes.”

Once again, Hawksworth escorted her up the stairs. “From what Sir Randolph said, I take it this occurs every year. It amazes me that anyone comes. They must not know what they are in for.”