The Kissing Bough (2 page)

Will had turned numerous heads as they’d hunted through England’s many shires. He was dashing and charming with a merry wit and an infectious sense of devilry. He also had a title and twenty thousand a year to offer, but Will didn’t want a wife in name only. He wanted someone who would not only accept his eccentricities, but embrace them. He wanted a woman who would allow him to bring his male lover into their marriage bed and share her with him. Truly such a lady didn’t exist.

At least, Percy hadn’t believed so, until they heard of Miss Marsh’s dramatic fall from grace. They’d both known immediately that she was the one they’d been searching for. A few inquiries had confirmed she was everything they could have hoped, from a good family with proper connections and no undue scandal attached to their name. Well, at least until Miss Marsh’s ignominy.

Introductions to the family had been simple enough, but access to Miss Marsh was rather more difficult to accomplish. Will had managed to foster a friendship with one of her brothers, however, which in turn had led them to an invitation to the Marsh’s annual Christmas ball where they hoped to finally address her and if all went well, Will would speak with her father the following morn.

“She’s not one to be ogling,” Royce, one of the gaggle of beaux Percy was with thumped him on the back, causing him to slosh the contents of the wassailing bowl he’d been supping from over his boots. The scent of hot spiced ale wafted over him. “That’s Tom Marsh’s sister, the one who disgraced herself. Look at her up there, brazenly begging for a kiss. No man’ll kiss her tonight or any other.”

Percy shook the droplets of ale from his gloves and gave a sagely “hmm” although he quite disagreed with Royce. He would happily kiss Miss Marsh, tonight, and every other night if she’d permit him. The fact that she might not be as virginal as new wives were supposed to be didn’t bother him a jot. Better she had a little experience considering what he and Will would be asking of her. He shook his head, not wanting to let his thoughts wander too much. His desires had a way of displaying themselves all too clearly on his face. Unlike Will. Will was a superb card player. Currently, he was pretending not to notice Miss Marsh, but Percy knew him well enough to tell the difference between feigned and genuine indifference. He was as acutely aware of the young lady as Percy, if not more so.

“Tom. Tom, ain’t that you’re sister poised up there beneath the oak?” Royce hollered.

“I suppose it is,” Tom remarked, showing not the slightest concern that his unwed sister stood beneath the kissing bough; a hoop of mistletoe decorated with apples and other assorted evergreens with her eyes tight shut. “Don’t pay her any heed. She does it every year, for all the good it does her.”

“Ruined herself at her coming out,” Royce hissed conspiratorially, as if it were some great secret and not common knowledge. “They found her in a closet with two married men, or that’s what was claimed. Sandwiched between them, brazen as you please and them both with their pantaloons undone and her hands on their…Well, you know.” He winked. “What do you think about that, Gilling? Does it make your ears burn?”

What Percy thought—that he’d like to have Miss Marsh’s hand on his “you know”—and what he was prepared to say to Royce were two entirely different things. The former would send a ripple of shock across the snowy green and likely scandalize him more than Miss Marsh’s misdemeanour. The latter, he reduced to as few syllables as possible.

“Jealous it wasn’t your prick she was fondling?”

“Lord no,” Royce spluttered. His cheeks turned as red as his hair. “I shouldn’t want to have to take her to wife. Whoever would want a woman who’s prepared to cuckold you with your best friend, no matter how engaging her caresses?”

I would, Percy thought, but didn’t say it. And in any case, she’d officially be Will’s wife, as he was the one expected to produce an heir. In reality, of course, they’d all be bound to one another.

A pulse of arousal flowed up from his loins at the thought of them both taking her to bed, and of them hemming her between them, and coaxing and kissing her, and of her letting them between her thighs. He and Will had once bedded a courtesan together, and had both been deep inside her at once. It had been the most incredible experience of Percy’s life, and one he wanted to repeat over and over. His shaft thickened at the mere thought. He’d been able to feel Will’s every move, while simultaneously having the woman’s soft curves to embrace. He’d come so hard, his head had damn near flown off.

“Time’s passing, gentlemen, shall we move on? I’ve a particular call I’ve yet to make,” Tom said.

The sky had grown heavy with snow, so that the flurries were becoming heavier and the streets and fields around them white-washed. He and Will had come out to stretch their legs and explore the village, but Tom was supposed to be delivering Christmas blessings to his father’s tenants. As far as Percy could tell, the young buck hadn’t made a single call as yet.

“I’m not much for singing,” Percy remarked. He’d much rather stay here and continue to admire Miss Marsh than be ushered into some hovel or other, and besides, at the moment, he’d find it uncomfortable to walk. Similar sentiments regarding the singing were uttered by several others of their group, until Tom made a remark about buttonholes and then everyone was only too eager to demonstrate their warbling. A moment or two later, they all ambled off, Will included, leaving Percy behind. He wandered over to the chestnut seller and made a purchase that he handed over to the half-frozen urchins he saw playing in the snow. His estimation of Tom Marsh, whose company he’d enjoyed so far, had rather dropped. The young fox had wandered off without a thought for his sister and her safety. He had to ask himself, what sort of man left a woman alone in the dark?

It almost prompted him to go straight to her and grant her plea of a kiss, so he could claim her and keep her safe. Only his own doubts held him back. What look, he wondered, would shine in her eyes when she opened them? Would she see him and smile, or be disappointed? He wasn’t refined and fashionable like Will. His lover was wiry and light on his feet, whereas Percy was broad across the shoulders and danced badly.

Will had eyes that melted hearts, wide and blue like the sky on a summer’s day. Percy’s were a mottled mélange of holly green and tawny, and he had to weigh a constant war on his bushy eyebrows. Miss Marsh would probably mistake him for a rabid beast and run screaming from him.

The beast had been his nickname ever since his nursery days.

Will always claimed he fucked like one.

Will chose that moment to return to the green, having set out with the other men. He’d presumably doubled back once their attention was diverted. “All sorts of tongues will be wagging if you don’t stop staring at her.”

“Not unless Jack Frost whispers into their ears or the snowmen hereabouts have voices,” he replied. The thickening snowfall had chased almost everyone indoors now. Only the chestnut seller and a few of the most foolhardy urchins remained.

“How long do you suppose she intends to stand there?” Will asked. He blew into his cupped hands to warm them. “She must be frozen through, I know I am.”

“Then mayhap we should offer to warm her.”

Will smiled shrewdly at him. “I was just about to suggest as much. A kiss would seem to be a perfect way to state our intentions.”

Many marriages were informally declared beneath the kissing bough each year, Percy’s parents among them. It’d also been where he and Will had first explored their attraction to one another.

“Both of us together, or do you wish to address her alone first?” he asked.

Will slapped him on the back, pushing him firmly forward toward the oak. “Together, of course. Let’s sally forth as we mean to continue.”

Chapter Three

Viola knew she was being observed. Every year she attracted a little group of onlookers who thought her hilarious for even imagining someone might kiss her. Maybe she was a fool for believing it, but since the only way she could hope to leave her father’s house was as a wedded woman and as she was only permitted one night of freedom each year, then what other option did she have than to believe in miracles?

Please, she silently prayed. Please bring me someone. I don’t care if he’s short, round and ruddy or built like a whippet. Just make him kind, willing to listen, and prepared to see her as she was, instead of how the rest of society perceived her. Somewhere out in the world, there had to be a man like that.

A deep sigh left her throat when whoever was watching her grew closer. She listened to the crunch of footsteps against the snow-crusted grass and waited for Tom to bark at her. For whom else would it be besides her brother? Perhaps one of the ragged village children might venture close enough to lob a snowball. She winced pre-emptively, but when after several moments neither snowball nor instruction had come, her senses screamed out for more information.

The simplest thing would be to open her eyes, but part of her little ritual hinged on her keeping them shut tight.

Was it? Could it be a man?

No, two men, she corrected herself, given the crunch of footsteps upon the frozen grass. Her future beau supported by a friend, perhaps?

They drew closer, perhaps close enough to touch if she reached out her hand. The scent of damp wool and spices blew to her on the breeze, along with an impression of heat and something else. Something mysterious and masculine, that she didn’t quite recognise, but turned up the corners of her mouth all the same.

Finally it seemed her wish would be granted. Her lips parted expectantly. Tom was watching over her, and he’d have chased any miscreants away, so this man had to be a worthy match. Oh, God, please let him be kind.

Warm breath buffeted her face, heating her skin and causing her heart to thud inside her chest. However, her suitor did not kiss her on the lips as she’d always supposed he would. Instead, he grazed one cheek with a caress, and then the other. Viola held her breath awaiting the final denouement, once done she would open her eyes and face her fate. Only for the impossible to occur—he kissed her on both cheeks at once.

Her eyes shot open immediately to find not one man before her, but two, both with brown hair, and alike enough to be related, though of very different builds. The man on the left was slender, and had side-whiskers, while the other man was broad and square-jawed. His smile made dimples in his cheeks.

Viola’s mouth dropped open. No one had ever stared at her in such open admiration before, not during her coming out or at any time since. A strange fluttery sensation filled her chest and spread out across her body, chasing away the pinch of the frost.

“Good evening, Miss Marsh. I hope we haven’t startled you,” said Mr Smiley-Dimples. “I wonder if you might grant me a wish.” He briefly removed his hat, revealing curly brown hair while he bowed to her.

“Likewise,” said Mr Side-Whiskers. He didn’t bow. Instead he caught hold of her hand and lifted her fingers so that he could kiss their tips, before sweeping his gaze upwards to the mistletoe strung between the branches above them.

“You both…You both wish to kiss me?” She gave a little squeak of surprise. This was quite beyond even her wildest imaginings. How incredible that two men should desire her, when she’d hardly dared hope that even one would find her worthy. Of course, this left her in the unfortunate position of having to choose between them, since she couldn’t very well kiss them both no matter how exciting that prospect might seem. No, to do so would only spell trouble as surely as it had the last time. The very reason people had been so thoroughly scandalized over her seduction was that she’d been compromised by two men rather than one.

“Um…well…I’m not really certain how to decide between you.” She gave a nervous laugh, prompting Mr Smiley-Dimples to take hold of her other hand and gently rub circles into her palm. “Maybe if you introduced yourselves I might be better able to make a choice. I don’t think we know one another, do we?”

She felt quite sure she’d remember them if they did.

Mr Smiley-Dimples shook his head. “Not as yet, but we’ve long admired you from afar. Allow me to do the honours. I am Percy Gilling, and this is my cousin William, Lord Ricborough.”

Lord Ricborough proceeded to press his soft lips to her inner wrist, in the gap between the edges of her glove and her sleeve, causing her mouth to form an O and a tiny mewl to escape her throat. She fancied she might have to watch herself around Lord Ricborough. Already she felt drawn to him and certain parts of her felt interestingly heavy and that was after only a few seconds acquaintance, lord only knows what a longer friendship might result in.

She gazed at him, certain she would very much like to kiss him, but then there was Mr. Gilling to consider too, with his soft eyes and warming smile. Maybe what she ought to do was to shut her eyes again, count to ten and see which of them delivered, except of course, they would probably both do so.

“I’m sorry, I’m afraid I’m rather at a loss as to how to proceed.” She looked around, wondering if Tom was on hand and could offer any guidance, but she couldn’t quite spot him. In fact, there wasn’t anyone around at all anymore. There was only her and the two gentlemen upon the green. Nervousness and something else—was it excitement—tingled in her nose and through her breast.

This was bad. Very bad. If somebody happened upon them, the she’d be accused of the same deeds that had ruined her life four years ago. So why wasn’t she rushing to leave? Why was she staring at them in wonder with hope in her heart?

“Perhaps you could kiss us both,” Lord Ricborough suggested, confirming that ravishment was their intent and not anything more honourable, such as proposing to her. “I certainly don’t have any objections to that. Do you, Gilling?”

Viola suspected that he already knew that the other man didn’t.

“Did Tom set you up to this?” she asked. It would be just like him to play such a horrid trick, although usually he restricted himself to placing toads inside her footwear or short-sheeting her bed. “Where is he? Is he hiding, watching this?” What did he hope to prove? Did he merely intend to embarrass her because he thought her actions stupid, or did he intend to prove that she was just wanton as ever?