Married By Twelfth Night (Regency Christmas Brides)

17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

All the servants at Belside were in a fray of activity decorating the house for the holidays. Richard always appreciated their efforts, but he had never joined in the preparations. Today was a first, and strangely, he was looking forward to it. Or had he been looking forward to spending more time with Grace? She had dominated his thoughts from the moment he had awoken.

Richard assisted first Bridget and then Ruth into his carriage, but as soon as Grace accepted his hand, he held her back. He didn’t have anything in particular he wanted to say to her, just a minute to see if he had been imagining the shift between them.

Beneath her straw bonnet, a pair of curious sapphire-emerald eyes met his. “Yes?”

He grinned. She was pretty in a bonnet. In a low voice he asked, “Any tips for today, Gracie?”

“Why of course, Richie dear,” she whispered. Her lips formed a straight line and her eyes glimmered. “Be impressive.”

He chuckled and let her in the carriage. He had expected her to give him something specific to do or say, but Grace was a complex character and never so simple. He should have known. Just as he should have realized that he had imagined nothing. There was something simmering between them. But what to do about it?

Upon sitting next to Bridget, he asked. “Where first? ”

“To our dearest friends,” Bridget said. “I think we should start with the Petersons.”

Richard scratched his cheek that itched as it warmed from the icy breeze outside their carriage. “What about Miss Coleridge? She is on the way there, and we have made more than enough.” He didn’t know Miss Coleridge well, as she was a few years his senior, but she was one of their closest neighbors.

“The spinster?” Bridget frowned and looked at Grace. “Would she be offended?”

Grace tapped her chin. “It’s hard to say. Her temperament is so even-natured that I believe she would be grateful to be thought of.”

“Ruth?” Richard asked.

She shrugged. “Why not?”

Richard smiled. “There we have it. Our first stop is Miss Coleridge’s.”

When they reached Miss Coleridge’s house, she beamed over her gift. “How thoughtful! Now I can finally trap a man into marrying me.” Her mirth was contagious, and they all laughed and schemed over which man in the neighborhood would be her lucky suitor. Richard had left any party planning to his mother, but he made a note to include Miss Coleridge in their next gathering if they managed to save Belside. She was a delight, and he had a few friends that would appreciate her quick wit and ready smile.

The hours passed quickly as they delivered kissing bough after kissing bough—each a little different in size and style. If the rumors of his attention to the Steele sisters hadn’t been confirmed at the card party, they certainly would today. He wasn’t afraid for himself, but thoughts of how it would wound Grace’s reputation in coming days filled him with worry. He knew she planned to use it as her method of escaping Wetherfield, but it bothered him more than ever .

“That’s all of the names on our list,” Ruth said, relaxing back into the upholstered carriage seat.

“There are still three left,” Grace said, holding up a few smaller ones they had created with remnants. “What should we do with them?”

“We could bring them home with us,” Bridget suggested.

Richard balked. “What would we do with kissing boughs in every corner?”

Bridget raised a brow and eyed him, then Grace. “I am sure you could think of something.”

He felt his cheeks tinge with a subtle warmth. Him. Blushing? He cleared his throat. “I have a better idea. I have a few tenant families that might appreciate one.”

His gaze naturally shifted to Grace, curious of her approval.

Obvious surprise lit her eyes.

Why was she surprised? “Do you not think it a good idea, Miss Steele?”

“I . . . I do.” A smile flashed across her mouth. “I think it’s a grand idea.”

Relief filled his lungs. He directed his carriage driver to the family who had recently recovered from having their home rebuilt. They were terribly gracious to him, thanking him for his aid in the reconstruction and for the silly kissing bough.

He had humored his sister over this ridiculous project, wanting to redeem himself for failing her as a brother, but now he appreciated her creative desire to serve her neighbors. By the third delivery, he was convinced that his sister had been inspired. Nothing had brought a feeling of connection to his tenants in the last fifteen months as did this one small act of kindness.

It was late afternoon by the time they completed their last delivery. All of them leaned back into the carriage with cheeks rosy from the cold and hearts lighter from the joy they had brought to the neighborhood.

“Shall we return to Belside Manor for melted chocolate and shortbread?” Bridget asked.

“Will it be Gracie’s recipe?” Richard asked, his nickname for Grace slipping out before he realized it. His gaze whipped to Ruth’s, who smiled smugly at her sister. Drat! Why had he put his foot in his mouth?

Grace met his eyes, understanding and assurance there. He had wanted to read her mind earlier, but she was reading his. “Of course, Gracie’s famous chocolate will be served. Soon the fashionable houses in London will get wind of it and be begging for the recipe.”

Just like that, she had smoothed out the situation, as if she had coined the nickname herself.

When they reached Belside manor, the staff was in full force turning out the house with Christmas decor. Bridget pointed to the ceiling. “I instructed them to hang our kissing bough under the entrance hall chandelier. I cannot wait to see it.”

“Ours will be hung in the library.” Grace unwrapped her scarf from her neck. “Since our parents take this tradition very seriously, and we prefer they steal their kisses behind closed doors.”

They all laughed. Bridget was a whirlwind of energy, emboldened by their day, and was the first to cast off her outer clothing. She hurried to find a servant to request their chocolate and biscuits.

“All this day needs is a little music,” Ruth said. “Mr. Graham, do you mind if I look through your sheet music?”

The direct question, without a hint of shyness, nearly stopped him in his tracks. “You need not ask. Make yourself at home.” Home . . . if all went as planned, she would be the mistress here .

He gulped down the wave of regret building in his throat. Grace came up beside him, her hand coming to rest on his arm.

“She feels safe here. Ruth is only ever herself at home. You should be proud of your efforts. I believe she views you as a true friend now.”

A friend. People had married less before.

“What’s wrong?”

He shook his head. “I am glad she feels safe here. I want everyone to feel the same when at Belside. Shall we see what music she plans to play? Perhaps she will pick a song for you to sing.”

“You know I am not musical.”

He thought of the obnoxious requirement on Aunt’s list. “You should learn.”

“I fear it’s too late for me.”

“Nonsense. There is nothing like today.” He slid his arm behind her back, as if it was the most natural place to rest it in the world, and led her to the drawing room. He released it just before they entered and missed the feel of her immediately.

The next hour was full of relaxed chatter and idle speculation on who would use the kissing boughs first at each house. Ruth played a few songs, and while Grace refused to sing, the afternoon was perfect. He was content to have time away from his problems. After all the chocolate was gone, Ruth announced her desire to return home.

As they walked into the entrance hall, Bridget shrieked, “There it is!” She pointed to the kissing bough hanging in all its red, white, and green glory. The smell of evergreen permeated every corner, seemingly wrapping them up in the holiday spirit.

“Of all the baskets we made, I believe this one is my favorite.” Grace moved to look up at it .

Bridget grinned. “I might have selfishly saved the best for ourselves.” She sighed with pleasure. “It is such a triumph seeing one’s creation displayed like that.”

Ruth put on her cloak. “All it needs is a willing couple.”

Bridget’s eyes widened. “Oh, yes. And fortunately, we have the perfect couple standing right beneath it.” She motioned to him and Grace.

“Us?” Grace laughed a little hysterically, and every muscle in his body seemed to tighten. He looked at Grace and then up at the mistletoe they’d been appreciating. When had they positioned themselves beneath it?

“Come now,” Ruth said. “It’s just a little sporting fun, and Mr. Graham is a gentleman.”

He cleared his throat. “I am a gentleman . . .”

“And it’s tradition,” Bridget added, moving to Ruth’s side as if showing her allegiance in some unspoken battle. “There’s nothing at all untoward about it.”

He swallowed and turned to Grace.

She glowered up at him, but it didn’t hide the array of emotions passing over her. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Are you calling me a coward?”

“Not my words exactly, but I believe the description is adequate in this situation.” That pert nose lifted in an air of superiority, but he caught the slightest tremble of her lips.

Oh, this was going to be fun. It felt like all the times they’d bantered before, but this time neither of them would have to run from the growing tension between them. He stepped closer, the toes of his boots touching the toes of her own. “When have I ever backed down from a challenge? ”

She visibly swallowed. “You can become a coward at any moment, and today just happens to be your unlucky day.”

He wanted to laugh at her logic. “And what about you? You’re no coward?”

“Ha! I can handle a simple kiss. You think every woman swoons at your feet, but I assure you, I will not.”

The gauntlet had been thrown. His voice dropped to a whisper. “Very well. Don’t blame me if you cannot stop dreaming about me tonight.” He knew what he’d be dreaming about, and he hadn’t even touched her yet. The thought of remedying that, with full, guiltless permission, set his hands in motion. He circled her waist and drew her to him, her hands flying to rest at his chest.

“What are you doing?” she asked breathlessly.

“We’re going to kiss, aren’t we?” he whispered, not wanting to continue if she did not want it.

Her eyes darted to his. “That’s only our lips touching, not the rest of us.”

“Maybe if you’re kissing Mr. Dobson. A real man isn’t so inept.” His words were brusque, but it was because she felt insanely comfortable in his arms, and he didn’t know what to make of it.

She licked the corner of her mouth, unwittingly teasing his sensibilities. “Shan’t I be the judge of your abilities?” she asked, blinking slowly.

Her sea-blue-green eyes drew him ever closer—the color bold, inviting. He looked at her for three counts, her breath on his mouth, the smell of her holding him captive, his blood rising and heat climbing, and then leaned forward and set his lips against hers. Instead of grazing her mouth as he had intended to do, he felt her challenge pushing him to make it at least a little memorable. A memory that would sustain him, should he never kiss her again .

He caught her bottom lip between his, moving his mouth against hers, careful at first and incredibly gentle. But Grace was no docile animal who would shirk a little touch and shy away. She was a clever fox who had enticed him with her mere smile, needling words, and loving heart. She leaned into him, catching him completely off guard, filling him with her scent, her heat, her passion. She kissed him back as if she were the expert—as if she intended to not just haunt his dreams forever but be in his every waking thought too.

Her hands slid up his chest and splayed half on his face and half his neck, sending a thrill through his body. Whatever power she was unleashing, he yearned for it. A hum filled his ears like his head was under water, drowning in perfection. His hands tightened around her silky gown. She had been his support, his partner, his joy these last weeks, and all his hidden, growing feelings he had fought to suppress were suddenly freed.

But this was Grace. His sister’s friend. The woman who annoyed him to no end. And he was kissing her and forgetting every reason he shouldn’t.

Belside. He forced the word into his mind. Belside. He had to think of Belside.

With all the willpower he could muster, he broke the kiss, his chest heaving.

She drew her own breath, her cheeks red, and her eyes glazed over. Her smile unfolded slowly like the petals of a flower.

Heavens, she was beautiful.

Grace. Was beautiful.

And she felt like heaven in his arms.

He was going to kill his sister.

Releasing Grace took effort, but he stepped back. He’d gone too far. Kissed her for too long. He turned. “Bridget, I . . .” But Bridget was nowhere in sight and neither was Ruth. The front door was ajar, sending a swirl of cold through its narrow gap, but he felt none of it. The warmth Grace had gifted him still clung to him like the softest blanket he’d ever touched.

He looked back at Grace, who ducked her head shyly. Did . . . did she care for him as much as he had come to care for her?

He swallowed, aching to pull her to him again.

They would never be able to return from this.

Not ever.