Miss Featherton's Christmas Prince (The Marriage Game Book 9) (16 page)

“I do not know what you see in me to want to wait.” That was the truth. Ever since he had been introduced to her, she had been sullen more often than not. Her only recent joy was when they had sung together and visited the fair. Perhaps that should tell her something. She just did not know what.

“You have a certain
joie de vivre
I have not seen in most well-bred ladies. You are also intelligent and not afraid to show it. Again unusual. And you are a good friend. The thought that you would sacrifice yourself to protect Miss Hiller humbles me.”

“Protect her from
you
, and you turned out to be no threat at all.” Every time she thought of it, she cringed. How could she have been so blind?

“But you did not know that. I could have been as evil as Swindon.”

“Or as broke as Tarlington.” He still could be, and she would have no way of discovering it. Except for her guardian angel. Whoever that was. Well, probably not in dun territory. Lady Bellamny would not have been happy about their plans if that were the case. She knew Meg’s family too well to deceive them.

“Exactly. However, I am friends with your brother Kit and his circle. If there was something smoky about me, they would have cut the connection.”

I
f only Kit was around to ask, Meg would feel immensely more secure.

For the present, she enjoyed the warmth of Damon’s large body next to her. Despite her doubts, something about him made her feel safe and protected. “I suppose they would have.” As they entered the town, the moon seemed to shine directly on the old Norman church spire. Candles were placed in the long windows, and sconces holding torches lit the front, illuminating the evergreen swag over the door. “It is lovely.”

“Yes.” His voice was soft and filled with wonder. “I wonder if the inside is as impressive as the outside.”

Eager to see the rest of the church, they picked up their pace, entering immediately after Lord and Lady Bellamny. The stone floors were covered with small pine branches that gave off a wonderful aroma as they trod upon them. Fir swags decorated each pew and were topped by a candle. Framing the sanctuary was a wooden rood screen full of greenery.

Even at home, she had never seen a church so beautifully or lovingly decorated. “The townspeople must have worked all day on this.”

Although the church was rapidly filling, the hush in the air had not broken, until one lone voice began to sing “Oh Come, All Ye Faithful.” Meg’s throat tightened and tears of joy started in her eyes.

Next to her, Damon asked, “Are you all right?”

She nodded, unable to speak for a moment. “It is my favorite.”

After the first verse, the rest of the choir joined the soloist. Damon led them to places next to the Bellamnys at the front of the church.

When the song was finished, men carrying candles walked down the aisle, greeting those present and belting out “We Wish You a Merry Christmas.”

Damon began to chuckle. “That is something I have never heard in church.”

“Nor I.” She grinned.

Suddenly the church was quiet again, and the vicar stood in the front, arms wide as if to enfold the entire congregation. “Welcome to all of you.” His voice echoed through the church. “We are here this night to celebrate the birth of our Savior, Christ Jesus.”

“He is magnificent.” Damon was overcome with an urge to cheer. Before entering the army, he had attended hundreds, if not thousands, of church services. Even at Christmas, church was a place where jollity was left outside. He whispered to his godmother, “Where did you find him?”

“Grand, is he not?” She beamed toward the sanctuary. “My husband discovered him. He spent many years in the Holy Land before returning to England. You would not believe how happy he has made the town.”

Damon thought he had a very good idea of what a difference the rector must have made. “You are fortunate that it will still be many years before I have a living to fill. I would steal him away from you in an instant.”

She grinned. “I doubt you could. Unless you could prove you had a greater need for him. Fortunately for you, he is training a young clergyman.”

Another carol had begun as he turned from his godmother, who had joined in the singing, to Meg, who was still staring around the nave. “How would you like a clergyman like this one?”

Her eyes were bright as she smiled. “I doubt there is another like him.”

As usual, the readings consisted of the gospel versions of Christ’s birth. The sermon was a short reminder of Jesus’s love for mankind, and mankind’s responsibility to love one another. After communion, the congregation rose while singing “While Shepherds Watched,” and everyone filed out the door, then headed toward the Bellamnys’ house.

Miss Hiller and Throughgood walked beside Meg and Damon.

“Why are they going to Lady Bellamny’s house and not to Grantville?” Miss Hiller asked.

“The earldom does not own the living,” Throughgood said. “Which as far as I can see was an excellent happen-so. I can’t see my uncle choosing a rector like that one. Best sermon I’ve heard in years.”

“I agree,” Damon said. Short but poignant. A model for all sermons. “What did you think, Meg?”

“I enjoyed it very much indeed. Did you notice that there was a feeling of peace as well as the celebration of the birth?”

“I did.” This was how Christmas should be. As she strolled beside him, he did not sense the tension that had been present in her before. Whether it was their kisses, the like of which he had never before experienced, or finding out about her friend’s betrothal, or, perhaps, his offer of marriage, she was more relaxed and happier than he had seen her in a while. He would not delude himself into thinking he had won her heart, but the path had just become clearer.

Men carried torches, lighting the way to Lady Bellamny’s house. Children ran back and forth, catching candy and coins that were thrown to them. He took out his purse and tossed coins to the children as well. It truly was like they were celebrating a birthday.

Even with the torches, the path was dark. Damon had already kept Meg from stumbling several times. On her other side, Amanda linked her arm with Meg’s so that the four of them were connected. If she married Damon, there would be frequent opportunities for her to spend time with her friend. If only he did not require her to love him.

“If he hasn’t done so already,” Amanda whispered, “make sure Lord Hawksworth gives you kissing lessons.” She giggled happily. “They are quite enjoyable.”

“Kissing lessons?” Meg was at a loss. She and Damon had already kissed.

“Mm-hmm. Ask him. He will know.” Amanda dropped Meg’s arm and turned to give Chuffy her complete attention.

She supposed there would be no harm in asking him. They were betrothed, after a fashion, and she agreed, kissing had been quite enjoyable. Yet would he take that as a sign she was falling in love with him?

They climbed the shallow steps and entered the house. The relative quiet of the night gave way to the din of at least a hundred people piling into the hall. Large wooden half-barrels had been set up with apples floating in them, and the wassail bowl was steaming. Long tables covered with snowy-white linen were groaning under platters of food. In the massive fireplace, the Yule log was burning, and the scent of fresh pine competed with the scents of apples, Christmas baking, and food.

Under one of the kissing balls, a young couple embraced. The woman’s blush was as red as the silk ribbon holding the ball.

Footmen stood at the ready to help the houseguests with their outer garments, but Damon insisted on removing Meg’s cloak. A tantalizing shiver raced down her spine as he pressed his lips lightly to her neck. “I filched one of the kissing balls,” he said.

She must be going mad to even think of wanting to know. “Where did you put it?”

He stuck his hand into his waistcoat pocket and pulled out several berries that were definitely the worse for wear. “Guess.”

“Devil.” She tried and failed to sound stern; however, she did manage arch. “Are there any left?”

“Come with me and we’ll find out.” No man had ever sounded so seductive.

She should not allow him to steer her out of the crowd of people playing bob apple, singing carols, and drinking wassail. She should not want him to do it. But the thought of his warm mouth on hers caused her lips to tingle, and there might be kissing lessons. “We cannot simply disappear.”

“Can we not?” He made a point of glancing around the hall and into the drawing room, whose doors had been thrown wide open. “Even Throughgood and Miss Hiller have made themselves scarce.”

Damon had a point. There were so many people milling around, their disappearance would hardly be noticed. And she
had
promised to give him a chance. “I believe I need kissing lessons.”

He cocked his head at her for a moment, then the corners of his lips curled up in a wicked smile. “And I would be happy to oblige you.”

Meg took his hand and led him down the corridor past the music room, where the piano was already in use, to a parlor next to it where no one would see them leave. When they had reached the terrace, she turned to face him, and his arms closed around her. She breathed in, entranced by the scent of fresh air, lavender, and his own musk. His scent.

She leaned her head back and caught his gaze. “Where do we start?”

“Lesson one.” He bent his head, pressing his lips to the corner of her mouth. “Savor.”

As if he had nothing else to do in this lifetime or the next, he moved his hot lips slowly along hers, stopping every so often to nibble her bottom lip. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed against him, returning his caresses.

He groaned, and she wanted to crow with satisfaction. “I take it that means I’m learning.”

“You are an amazingly adept pupil.” He cupped her face. “Lesson two. Unite.”

The tip of his tongue trailed lazily along the seam of her lips, urging them open. Meg sighed with pleasure and did as he requested. Damon’s tongue slid sinuously into her mouth, tangling with hers. Although the thinnest thread would not fit between them, she tried to get closer. Then remembered that she could enter his mouth as well, and it was wonderfully pleasurable. Languorously, she stroked his tongue with hers, savoring his taste.

Unity.

It would almost be worth it to marry him for his kisses alone. But he wanted love. Perhaps passion could lead to love. Or did passion spring from love?

He broke their kiss, leaving her bereft. “You are a fast learner.”

Not ready to stop, she asked, “What is next?”

“That is for your subsequent lesson. Someone is coming.” He reached up, plucked berries from the kissing ball, and handed two to her. “This is a joint endeavor. You should be rewarded, as well.”

“Hawksworth, Miss Featherton.” Smithson leered drunkenly at Meg. Damon drew her next to his side. If the lecher wasn’t careful, he would find himself on the ground.

“Let’s have a Christmas kiss.” Smithson reached out for Meg. The second before he touched her, Damon rammed his fist into the cur’s jaw, and the man crumpled on the stone pavers.

He waited for Meg to scream or try to break away from him; instead, in a matter-of-fact tone she said, “He is thoroughly in his cups. Excellent flush hit.”

Bringing her with him, he leaned against the wall and started to laugh. “That was the one reaction I did not expect.”

“I have brothers,” she said, chagrined. “Kit would, of course, never have engaged in pugilism around me, but my younger brothers are not so circumspect. A few times I was called to witness their prowess. What they really wanted to do was impress me with their knowledge of the sport.”

He could not imagine her elder brother allowing that for long. Until he married, he was known as Mr. Perfect. “What did Kit have to say about that?”

She shrugged. “The boys were given a strict lecture and some punishment I was not privy to.”

Smithson groaned, but didn’t move.

“I suggest we take our leave before he comes around.” Damon pressed his lips to hers, urging her to practice what she had just learned. After a few moments, Smithson moaned, and Damon lifted his head. “You should know I am not fond of the idea of another man kissing you.”

She stared up at him, widening her eyes, and teased, “Not even Lord Bellamny or Sir Randolph?”

He lowered his brows at her. “Even them, but I will make allowances.”

“Hmm, I’m not sure I care for your possessiveness.” This time her tone was serious.

“What I meant was”—he did not want to argue with her now—“unlike Smithson and many men in the
ton
, I will not share my wife.”

She tucked her arm in his, turning them toward the door. “If I
do
marry, I would not share my husband. I suppose that makes me no better than you.”

Before entering the house, he wrapped his arms around her again, wanting to simply say
I love you
. However, that indulgence would leave her without a response, which would make for an unnecessary awkwardness between them. And leave him scrambling to come about.

Instead, he kissed her deeply, wishing they could remain here, or better yet, repair to his chamber. “Merry Christmas, Meg.”

She pulled his head down so that their lips touched once more. “Merry Christmas, Damon.”

He wanted her. If he were not at his godmother’s home, if she were not an innocent, and if the damned house were not filled to the brim with people, he would drag her upstairs to his room and ravish her. But for now he would have to settle for plundering her warm mouth. Through their clothing he could feel the tattoo her heart was beating, keeping time with his. Damon wanted to taste every bit of her. He traced her ear with his tongue as he stroked the long line of her back, taking care to stop just above her tempting bottom. She leaned her head to one side, giving him access to her neck. It would be the work of a moment to free her breasts. Instead he dipped his tongue between her ivory slopes, taking care not to disturb the neckline of her gown. Her fingers tangled in his hair, as she moaned and made all the little sounds that drove a man mad. She was beautiful and passionate, and not yet in love with him.

Her breathing was ragged as he slowly lifted his head. “We had better stop.”

Meg blinked slowly as she stared at him, her eyes glazed with passion. “I need a moment.”

“We should stroll to the end of the terrace and back.” By then the cold air would have made both of them more presentable. Fortunately the terrace was long.

Meg wanted Damon. She had never been as attuned to her body and its desires as she was now. Her breasts ached for him to touch them. Even without touching her lips, she knew they would be puffy. If only passion were love, she would marry him. For the first time, she understood how a lady could allow herself to be led to ruin, and even encourage it. Yet somehow she knew Damon would not harm her in any way. His honor was every bit as strong as her father’s or Kit’s. Unfortunately, that was not enough.