The Christmas Wager (16 page)

least fond of one another.‖

Thomas cleared his throat uncomfortably, choosing to take

a sip of his whiskey rather than comment. He really preferred

something a bit smoother, but Edward had always preferred

simple, straightforward drinks to anything sweet. It was yet

another way in which he was like their father.

―I‘ve been thinking things over since last night,‖ Edward

continued. ―And today made me all the more certain….‖

He seemed about to say more but trailed off, to Thomas‘s

immense irritation. Was he ever going to get to the point?

―Edward, you‘re my brother,‖ he said, ―and I certainly have

no objection to sharing a drink with you. But you gave me the

impression that there was something upsetting you. If so, then

please… what is it?‖

Edward drank down his second shot of the fiery liquid.

―Thomas… it really is dreadful, I know. But… I‘m still in

love with Rebecca.‖

He obviously interpreted the shocked stare that Thomas

gave him as a look of horror, because he rushed ahead. ―I‘m

sorry. If I were truly a gentleman, I would have said nothing. I

would have taken the secret to my grave, rather than burden

you with it. But I‘ve been keeping it hidden for so long—‖

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Thomas blinked at him incredulously. ―Wait a moment.

What do you mean, you‘re
still
in love with Rebecca?‖

―I‘ve loved her ever since we met, over seven years ago.‖

―Does Rebecca know this?‖

―Yes. We had promised ourselves to each other, over a year

before… Father intervened.‖

For the first time in many years, Thomas had the urge to

throw his brother to the floor and pummel some sense into him.

But Edward looked so miserable, he took pity on him. ―Oh,

Edward. You were a fool then, and you‘re a fool now. Why are

you wasting your time apologizing to me, when you should be

on your knees, begging Rebecca‘s forgiveness?‖

Edward was obviously a bit intoxicated, because he looked

closer to tears than Thomas could ever conceive of him being

when he was sober. ―I thought perhaps you had changed your

mind about marrying her,‖ he said quietly.

―She is an intelligent woman and very lovely,‖ Thomas

replied, ―but I have no intention of marrying her. And she has

no desire to marry me, either.‖

Edward looked down at his shot glass, until Thomas took

the bottle from his other hand and filled the glass for him.

―She must hate me,‖ Edward said quietly.

―She certainly should,‖ Thomas agreed, pouring himself

another glass. ―But if you grovel enough, she may eventually

forgive you.‖

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Chapter 20

IN MIDAFTERNOON, a group of about forty villagers trudged the

long distance to Barrington Hall through the falling snow to

regale the duke and his family with Christmas carols. They

were welcomed into the warm entrance hall, where both fires

were blazing, and enormous punch bowls were brought out.

These contained a steaming wassail brew—Cook‘s secret

recipe—a potent mix of ale, cider, and spices guaranteed to

thaw out even the most recalcitrant of snowmen. For the

children and the more pious adults, an equally delicious hot

mulled cider was served. There were also platters of

gingerbread cookies and slices of plum pudding. The latter had

been purchased in the village, as Cook had certainly not had

time to prepare it herself, but it was nonetheless quite delicious.

Duchess Barrington insisted that the two large Christmas

trees in the entrance hall be lit before the caroling began, so

Simcox had Hew and Duncan summoned to accomplish the

task.

Then the carolers sang, and nearly everybody joined in

except the duke, whom Andrew suspected
never
sang, and

Susan, who had never heard the songs before. She did

eventually pick up on some of the choruses and shyly sang

along, encouraged by her father, who was bellowing loudly off

key, and appeared to be just a bit on the tipsy side. It was,

Andrew reflected, a welcome change from Edward‘s normally

uptight demeanor. The earl had been in a much more cheerful

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mood ever since he and Thomas had emerged from the study a

couple hours ago.

Thomas himself was a bit in his cups, as well, and joined

in the singing with fervor and a complete lack of talent. Andrew

had always been torn as to whether he found this annoying or

endearing, but now that his shock over Thomas‘s behavior in

the sleigh had worn off, he found himself watching his friend

out of the corner of his eye and marveling at how adorable he

looked with his hair just a bit tousled from being outside.

Perhaps it was due to the punch, but he found himself

overwhelmed with affection for the scoundrel, and had to look

away to avoid giving his feelings away to all of those present.

The carolers themselves had lovely singing voices.

Apparently, they were all in the choir at the local parish, and

Duchess Barrington gave the vicar a generous donation for the

church coffers, as well as handing out coins to each of the

carolers on their way out.

Everyone retired to their rooms to dress before dinner, and

Andrew found himself following Thomas rather closely to

prevent him from tumbling down the stairs in his inebriated

condition.

―Really, Thomas,‖ he chided, ―don‘t you think it‘s a bit

early in the day?‖

Thomas turned to face him, an impish smile on his face.

―Blame my idiot brother. He thought he had to get me drunk

before telling me he was in love with my fiancée.‖

―What?‖ Andrew had barely heard anything beyond the

words ―my fiancée.‖

Thomas laughed at him, walking backward down the hall.

―Oh, Andrew. You should see your face.‖

―Bother my face!‖ Andrew said crossly. ―Tell me what

you‘re talking about.‖

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―Edward is in love with Rebecca.‖

Andrew glanced quickly around to make certain nobody

was within hearing, then spoke with his voice lowered. ―I

thought as much. But I hardly see that it matters. If you have

some idea that he‘ll take Rebecca off your hands now, I should

like to remind you that he broke her heart to marry another

woman. He‘ll be lucky if she doesn‘t put arsenic in his eggnog.‖

Thomas merely laughed and trotted off down the hallway,

then allowed his shoes to slide along the polished wooden floor

until he came to a stop in front of Andrew‘s door. He reminded

Andrew of a young boy horsing around, and the blond couldn‘t

help but smile.

―That‘s
my
room,‖ he said, ―your clothes are in
your
room.‖

―Aren‘t I allowed to go into your room?‖

―Not until you dress. Dinner is in under a half hour.‖

Thomas made a rude noise at him, but went down the hall

and disappeared into his own room.

It was only a short time later, though, that there was a

knock on the door between their two rooms. Andrew groaned.

He was only half dressed, and he seriously doubted that

Thomas had had time to dress, either.

He threw the door open and snapped, ―Since when do you

knock?‖

Thomas was leaning against the door frame, looking

pleased with himself, with his left arm resting casually up over

his head. As Andrew had feared, the man was in complete

disarray. His shirt collar was unbuttoned and the shirttails still

dangled out of his waistband.

―I got lonely,‖ Thomas said.

―Don‘t be absurd. Now go finish dressing, before you make

us late for dinner.‖

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When Thomas continued to look at him with a silly smile

on his face, Andrew said, ―What? Why are you grinning like an

idiot?‖

―Look up.‖

Andrew did so, and saw that Thomas‘s left hand held a

piece of mistletoe, dangling it over his own head. Andrew

gritted his teeth in frustration. This was really too much.

―No, Thomas. I will not kiss you.‖

―You have to. It‘s incredibly bad luck if you don‘t. Just ask

Hew.‖

―It‘s a silly superstition. And you know perfectly well that

Hew was referring to a man kissing a woman—or, in his case, a

girl. Certainly not two men kissing.‖

Thomas examined the mistletoe for a moment. ―I think this

particular bit of mistletoe looks quite favorably inclined to the

idea of you kissing me.‖

Andrew rolled his eyes. ―I‘m sure it is. But I don‘t feel like

it, at the moment.‖

Indeed, at the moment, he was beginning to feel very

annoyed. Thomas‘s games often amused him, but this one was

less amusing than disturbing. What if he should behave this

way in front of the servants, or other members of the

household? Men could be incarcerated—or even hanged—for

―games‖ such as these.

―Really, Andrew,‖ his friend persisted, ―I think you‘re being

very unfair. I didn‘t tell you ‗No thanks, I‘m not in the mood‘

when you kissed me, now did I?‖

Andrew was starting to get flustered. ―I‘m sorry, Thomas. I

feel dreadful about that—‖

―Nonsense. I don‘t want you to feel dreadful. I simply want

you to do it again when I‘m awake enough to see if I enjoy it.‖

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So that was it. Damn Thomas and his single-minded

nature! There would be no steering him away from this foolish

idea now that it was lodged in his head. Andrew could refuse

from now until doomsday, and Thomas would persist in

wanting to try it.

―All right, then,‖ Andrew practically snarled, ―one kiss!

Then you stop this nonsense and finish dressing.‖

―As you like.‖

Feeling incredibly awkward, Andrew leaned in for the kiss,

but Thomas stopped him with a raised hand. ―No quick peck,

mind you. I‘m no child. Kiss me the way you kissed me two

nights ago.‖

―Fine. Just get your hand out of the way.‖

He didn‘t see how he could possibly put any passion into it,

as irritated as he was. But the moment their lips touched, he

felt as if his entire body were being engulfed in flame. This time,

Thomas wasn‘t simply lying there, passive with shock. He

grabbed Andrew and pulled him close, pressing their bodies

together as if he wanted to merge them into one. The rapid

hardening between his legs was proof that this was more than

mere curiosity for him. He pressed his arousal into Andrew‘s

own, grinding their hips together in frustration. Andrew had

thought the kiss would be timid, or perhaps made silly by

drunken fumbling. But Thomas pressed their lips together with

a passionate intensity that made Andrew shudder, invading his

mouth with his tongue.

Andrew‘s head was swimming, and if Thomas hadn‘t been

holding him so tightly, he might have collapsed. His mind

rebelled at the thought of Thomas actually desiring him, but

his body felt the heat coming off of the man, searing into him,

melting all resistance.

He wants me. My God, he
wants
me!

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THOMAS wasn‘t nearly as drunk as he was pretending to be.

He‘d been thinking about kissing Andrew ever since the sleigh

ride, and had swiped the snip of mistletoe just before they

headed upstairs to change.

Yes, it had been manipulative and rather ignoble of him,

but Andrew was being so difficult about it, and Thomas had to

know how it would feel. Andrew had awakened desires in him

that he had never experienced before. And now he seemed to

think Thomas should simply ignore what he was feeling. But

that was impossible. Thomas had to find out whether these

desires were mere curiosity, or something deeper. And if

Andrew wouldn‘t play fair, then Thomas wouldn‘t play fair,

either.

The kiss proved to him what he‘d already begun to suspect.

The soft sweetness of Andrew‘s lips and the feel of that taut

muscular body in his arms far surpassed anything Thomas

had ever experienced with a woman. From the moment they

touched, a hunger welled up in Thomas that he knew, with

absolute certainty, would never be satisfied by anyone other