Mistletoe Kisses and Yuletide Joy (3 page)

Rochester
!

Kitty was glad of her skin, that didn't show heat. The cat was named after the most notorious libertine of the Restoration period, and she could imagine who'd named him that.

"The
gallantry,
" she said frigidly, "is most certainly
not
appreciated."

"
But look," said the wretch, turning the cat slightly to show a mangled ear. "He's fought for his lady's honor. Doesn't that deserve some reward?"

If the cat had fought, it hadn't been for Sherry's
honor
, and the man knew it. But Kitty was not about to speak of that. "Kindly keep that cat indoors or I will resort to desperate measures."

She heard her own words with amazement, heard herself reinforce them by pounding the ferrule of the umbrella on the flagstoned floor. She was sounding as if she'd try to kill the animal, whereas she was hard-pressed to swat a fly.

The man stroked his cat, watching her in disconcerting silence. Kitty could feel herself begin to sweat, for there was a distinctly dangerous glint in his eyes. Taking a firmer grip on the umbrella, she looked away from his face and found herself staring at one long finger smoothing the glossy, dark fur of the rascally cat.

Rascally cat.

Rascally owner.

"
Very well."

Startled, she looked up to see a new expression on his face. It was almost serious, but not quite. Intent, perhaps?

"What did you say?"

"
I said, very well, Miss Mayhew. We will do our best to keep Rochester indoors and your poor queen unpleasured."

Off-balance and hot with embarrassment, Kitty turned away from the wretched man and addressed the other. He, at least, had the grace to look ill-at-ease.

"Whose house is this? Who is your employer?"

"
Er... this is the Earl of Felstowe's house, ma'am."

"
Then if your cat bothers me again, the earl will hear from me!"

With that, Kitty escaped into the cool December air, which was welcome to her cheeks. They felt so hot they might even be showing a touch of red. Marching back to her house, she silently berated the outrageous man. Impudent was too mild a word for him, and his employer should know how he behaved when the family was away.

By the time she turned into Suffolk Street, however, she had cooled. The Earl of Felstowe's disorderly servants were no business of hers and she would not descend to tattle-taling.

Unless, of course, that rakish tom returned to plague her.

Chapter Two

The next night, Kitty was woken by the toms' chorus. She went again to the back window. A glance showed that black tom caterwauling his mastery of the area and his lewd invitation to Sherry.

Despite the fact that Sherry was encouraging him, Kitty's anger
focused on the tom -- Rochester and his wretched, feckless owner.

It could not be hard to keep one cat confined!

She knew that if the black cat disappeared, the others would stay, but they seemed much less aggressive and noisy. And anyway, she wanted to teach that servant a lesson.

Kitty returned to her room to pull on thick stockings and half-boots. Her long woolen robe was much like a long spencer and would be decent enough for a brief foray into the garden. Since the night was frosty, she added her black leather gloves.

In the hall, she seized the umbrella, then headed down to the kitchen to find Sherry yowling, and clawing at the door to get out.

"
Oh, you disgraceful creature," Kitty snapped. "Have some decorum."

In truth, she felt rather sorry for the cat. Needy, that man had said. Kitty couldn't imagine being in such a state of need, but she could imagine the desperation it might cause.

Sorry or not, she could not let Sherry dash out to become prey to all those males. Yet clearly, as soon as the door opened, she'd be gone. She crept up and seized the manic cat by the scruff of her neck and then dumped her in the corridor and slammed the door.

Immediately, the yowling and scratching started again.

Blowing out a breath, Kitty marched to the back door, unlocked it, opened it, and stepped out. As she did so, however, the other door opened and Pol said, "What's the matter, miss?"

"
Shut it!" Kitty cried, but it was too late.

Before she could slam the back door a streak of white shot past both of them and out into the dark of the garden.

Kitty raced after to see her wanton, intemperate cat writhing and crooning for the benefit of the toms, who now had her circled.

"
Sherry, for
shame!
" Kitty hissed, no wanting to alert the neighbors, but very much wanting to snatch her cat back to safely. Would the toms attack, though, to keep their prisoner?

Then the black tom -- Kitty could imagine him smirking -- paced forward from the circle to claim his prize.

"You, you rogue. Don't you
dare!
"

She ran forward, sure she would be too late, but Sherry seemed to have second thoughts. She suddenly turned and slashed out with her claws, spitting at vile
Rochester.

He retreated, but seemed charmed rather than dismayed.

Crouching, he wooed her with little chirping noises.

Kitty could almost hear sweet seductive words and Sherry softened back into her seductive dance.

"No!" Kitty ran forward, swinging at Rochester with her umbrella handle.

The tom was snatched out of danger, just as Pol ran by and grabbed Sherry.

"Foiled again," said an amused voice. The Earl of Felstowe's impudent servant had his cat and was addressing him sympathetically. At least he was holding him firmly.

Neither cat was an easy prisoner, however, and Kitty noticed that her maid was only in her nightgown and a shawl.
"Get back in the house, Pol. You'll catch your death."

"
Here, Ned," said the cat's owner. "You'd best return Rochester to durance vile, too."

Ned took the struggling cat and left. In moments Kitty was alone in a frosty garden with the man. Alone except for bushes full of frustrated tom cats. At least they'd broken their circle and gone quiet now their ringleader was foiled.

"I warned you, sir! I will not have my poor cat attacked like that."

"
I think there's some question as to who attacked whom."

He was in a long dark coat of some kind and boots, but his shirt was still open-necked, maintaining his very rakish appearance. Or was it even a night-shirt?

"She attacked to defend herself."

"
Really? After displaying herself like a dancer in a brothel?"

"
How dare you! I warn you, I intend to inform your master of everything. Not just the cat, but your making free with his wine stores and lazing around all day gambling."

"I must congratulate you, Miss Mayhew."

"
Congratulate? Why?" For some reason, Kitty felt she should retreat a few steps, but she would not allow such foolishness.

"
For having the ear of God. I acknowledge no other master."

"
Ah-ha!" she declared triumphantly. "I knew you had no right to be in that house."

"
What greater right do you expect? I am the destined owner, the Earl of Felstowe's heir. Lord Chatterton, at your service." He gave her a brief, ironic bow.

Kitty should have scoffed, but she knew with frosty clarity that it was true. It explained his arrogance. And now she thought about it, tonight he'd dropped the slightly servantish accent he'd assumed the other day.

Did he expect her to back down and grovel just because he would one day be a belted earl? He's soon discover his mistake.

"
Then your behavior is a disgrace to your rank, my lord, and I'm sure your father would agree."

His lips twitched.
"Do you intend to complain to him? I don't advise it. He too thinks only God has the right to dictate our conduct."

He moved closer and again Kitty resisted the urge to step back, though she was even less sure that was wise.

She'd met members of the nobility before. They did not awe her, but she knew he was probably speaking the truth. Many lords thought themselves above the law and they were too often correct. It was hard indeed to bring a court case against rank and privilege.

What could he do to her, though, here in her own garden?

"Right is right," she said, "regardless of rank. If you didn't let your cat out deliberately, he escaped through your carelessness."

"
It was certainly tempting to let him out, understanding all too well his desperation. A lovely queen so close is more than a male can be expected to resist. But I did not, and I will try be a better jailer in future. My word on it."

To her astonishment, he took her gloved hand and brushed a kiss over the leather. She tried to tug free, but his hold was firm.
"What a shame you're wearing black gloves."

`Wearing black gloves' was the common term for being in mourning, and she took it as such.
"For my mother."

"
My condolences, but I meant that they are the only dark thing about you, they and your trusty weapon. Otherwise, you are a perfect moon-maiden."

She pulled her hand sharply free.
"Are you claiming I'm moon-mad? A lunatic?"

"
Not at all. Just that you look as if you are made of moon-beams -- moon-beams with frosty ornamentation. Quite delightful."

Kitty hissed in a breath.
"If you tell me I am unearthly, my lord, I warn you, I am likely to correct the impression by hitting you over the head with this umbrella!"

He laughed, teeth white and healthy, eyes bright.
"Oh, not unearthly at all." Then he knocked the umbrella out of her hand and seized her wrist.

Kitty swung at him, trying to hit or scratch, but he dodged and snared her in his arms.

She writhed, but he was taller and stronger and she was alarmingly helpless. She opened her mouth to scream, but then thought better of it. Did she really want her neighbors to discover her out in the garden in her nightwear, in the arms of a rakish lord?

"
Please, my lord...." she whispered, hearing the tremor in her voice. She braced her hands against his chest and pushed.

To no effect.

"Please, what?" he whispered back, his features now in shadow. "I only want to show you that I don't think you unearthly." He blew a tendril of hair off her face. "Or unearthy, my moon-maiden."

Dear Lord, but her hair was in its night-time plait and must be slipping loose, as it always did. Why this should seem the epitome of wantonness, she didn't know.

"My lord...."

"
Yes, my queen? My crystal moon-queen."

He was staring at her as if fascinated, but his use of the word
"queen" had her struggling even more desperately. "If you are even suggesting...!"

He controlled her without effort.
"That you raced out here desperately seeking a randy tom? The thought never crossed my mind, Miss Mayhew." But he was laughing at her.

She kicked him, and her boots made slight contact. He didn't relax his grip, but just trapped her head and kissed her.

Kitty had never been kissed. She tried to squirm away, but he held her still, yet her only rested his warm lips against hers. Breath playing against her mouth, he murmured, "Earth to earth, dear lady. Doesn't it feel pleasant to share earthy warmth?"

She was abruptly aware of the warmth of his body all along hers, of the warmth of his arms around her and the heat of his lips and his breath. Having no idea what to do or say, she stayed silent, trying to deal with the fact that she could be said to be enjoying this.

She was safe. She knew she was. He could not rape her here. He was behaving outrageously, but it was exciting to be a little outrageous for once in her life.  A racy sizzle sparkled in her staid blood.

And he didn't think her unearthly. Nor had he ever addressed her as
"ma'am."

He trailed his hot lips across her cheek to blow into her ear. She resisted the urge to squirm. One hand stroked her, stroked down her side from ribs to hip. The other played softly in the hair at the nape of her neck, and she remembered the way his finger had stroked the fur of his black cat. She rather thought the same finger was playing in her hair, in the same kind of movement.

She could, if she allowed it, turn soft like the cat, like the horse in the stables....

"
You have very dense skin," he said. "I noticed that. You don't easily show color. But everyone can be brought to the blush eventually. Are you blushing now? In moonlight, I would never know."