Let It Snow (36 page)

“Hello, angel,” he said. The gravel in his voice surprised him. His throat was parched and his fingers felt stiff when he moved them.

She came and sat on the bed. Yes, she must be a dream. What fine lady would come into his room and sit on his bed in so familiar a fashion?

He leaned forward to touch her hand. A hammer pounded through his head, but he ignored it. He stroked his thumb across the back of her hand. “Is this a good dream?”

Her pupils widened and he could hear the catch in her breath. When she spoke, it was a breathy caress. “It is no dream, sir. Do you remember anything?”

She lifted her arm, but then dropped it. When she bit her lip, his gaze was drawn to her lips again. Full, sensual, and perfect. He could bite and kiss them for hours. To have them on his skin would be a treasure. On his cock, would be heavenly.

She blinked and turned her head from him. But the redness in her cheeks gave it away. She knew what he wanted. And if she did not want it, she would walk away.

He took hold of her wrists and pulled her toward him. He wanted her. And this was a dream, so he saw no reason to proceed with caution or whisper honeyed words to flatter her into seduction.

He reached for the chemisette tucked into her bodice, wanting to be rid of the fine sheer cloth that hid her décolletage from view.

“What are you doing?” she whispered in a tone so soft it made him instantly hard.

“I am unveiling your treasures.” He tore off the thin fabric and feasted his eyes on the enticing fruit of her body. “These are far too lovely to hide away,” he said, sliding his hands under them.

“You should be resting.”

He kissed her neck. She smelled of honeysuckle and her warm skin tasted sweet and salty, like baked bread.

“You should not overexert yourself,” she said, even as she angled her neck to give him access. “It’s been four days since the incident. I think you need a bit more time to recover from your wounds.”

That stopped him.

“Wounds?”

She touched his head. The heat of her hand touching his body made him want to kiss her again. But something was wrong. He put his hands over hers and realized that his head was wrapped in a bandage.

Earlier, he’d been too pained by the loud sounds to notice that it wasn’t a sleeping cap on his head.

“You were assaulted by criminals.” She bent her head down. “You came to assist me when I was attacked on the road.”

He could remember seeing glimpses of her face. Remember her touching him. But he could not remember any criminals or being on the road with her.

“I-I have no recollection of that.”

She stroked his cheek. “That is common after an injury such as yours. I’ve seen it in the soldiers we tended after battle. You need rest.” She pushed him gently, urging him to lie down again. “In time, it will all come back to you. It was only yesterday that your fever broke.”

“Who are you?” he asked.

“Mrs. Violet Laurens of Welbury Park.”

Mrs.?
He’d nearly made love to another man’s wife? Perhaps he
had
been thrashed in the head.

“You are
married
?” He accused, crossing his arms.

Violet’s eyes narrowed and she met his stare with one of her own. “Widowed.”

“Ah.” No harm done. The lady was free. He loosened his arms and placed them at his side.

“Now, may I ask for your name?”

His name. What was his name? A moment ago, he remembered his valet, his sister. “Kit—” The words fell off. He could not remember. He rubbed his temples, searching for the name that was at the edge of his mind.

He tried to think. Kit. Kittleson? Kittridge? Kitson? Christopher? He couldn’t be sure.

“It is alright. Do not strain yourself, Kit. You are safe for now.”

“Why can I remember the name of my valet, but I cannot for the life of me recall my own?”

“Perhaps you are oft used to yelling it across the house? Like as not, you say his name far more than your own.” She winked.

It was as plausible an explanation as any. He looked up to see her smile and then he forgot everything but the desire to touch her.

“I take it we do not know one another?”

“No.”

“Seeing that I am here in your home, I think we should take steps to remedy that situation.” He grinned slowly and looked at her through his lashes.

“You are persistent.”

“I can say with confidence that I am.” He may have forgotten some things, but he had not forgotten how to charm a lady. “Now tell me something about you.”

“I do not know what to say.”

“How long have you been widowed?”

“Three years.”

Though he’d not wished to discomfit her, he needed to know if she was freshly grieving. That would damper any attempt at seduction.

“I have never been married,” he said.

She looked incredulous. “How can you know that? You don’t remember your own name.”

Yet he knew that it was true. “Was I wearing a wedding band when you brought me here?”

“No.”

“I am not married,” he repeated. The last thing he wanted was for her to hesitate to get to know him because of some foolish notion that he had a wife. He loved women, but there was no one who meant
that
much to him.

“You seem so certain.”

“I just know that is not the sort of thing I would forget.”

“What do you remember?”

He decided to try a different tack. “I remember you,” he said. “I remember you sitting close to me, touching me, as you did a moment ago.”

“As I said, you have been here for a few days.”

He memorized the lines of her soft lips. “You sang to me.”

When her skin turned a lovely shade of rose, he found her even more beautiful.

“Yes.”

Holding her hands in his, he whispered, “You bathed me.” He paused, looking from their joined hands to her bosom, rising and falling with each breath, up to her almond shaped eyes. “Everywhere.”

She swallowed and closed her eyes a moment before meeting his gaze. “You needed care. My maids are too innocent for such a thing and Avery and I have done it so many times before.” Her words sped out of her mouth like a coach racing down the lane.

“You’ve taken other men into your bed and bathed them?”

If it was possible, her skin became even redder. “Uh, no. In the war. And, with my husband. I-I helped soldiers in the infirmary.”

She avoided looking directly at him.

“Then you really are an angel,” he said softly. He’d seen the horrors of war. The one year he’d spent in the Iberian Peninsula had horrified him. The senseless brutality, the raping of innocent girls, villages being burned down to root out the enemy. The worst was watching soldiers in his regiment at the edge of sanity, firing on their own kind. If he never set foot on Spanish soil again, it would be too soon.

He’d sold his commission and never looked back.

Wait. He
remembered
that. “I remember,” he whispered. He rubbed his thumbs over the back of her hands. “I remember!”

“What? What do you remember?”

“Spain. I served in Spain for a year.” He grimaced. “The worst year of my life.”

“That’s wonderful!” she said. Then she shook her head, her eyes wide. “I meant it is good that you have not lost all of your memory. You know you were a soldier. If you remember that, then surely you will regain the rest.”

Of all the blasted things for him to remember,
that
was the thing still in his mind. If he could light a torch and burn it out of his brain, he would.

“From your mouth to God’s ears, madam. I should hate to be left with only the bitter and no memory of the sweet.”

He stroked her hands again. He needed to feel her warmth, to feel her pulse race under his touch. The past could not be undone, but the future was a die that had yet to be cast.

“Will you sing to me again?”

“What?” Her dark lashes lowered and he could hear a tremor in her voice.

“I should like to hear you sing now that I am fully awake to enjoy it.”

“I cannot think of the words at the moment.”

He suspected it might be the fact that his hands had travelled up her wrists, massaging the supple skin. He couldn’t get enough of touching her, even if it was as chaste as this.

“What if I start and you join me?” He continued stroking the soft skin, but slower now. “
As I walked forth one summer’s day, to view the meadows green and gay, a pleasant bower I espied
…”

“
Standing fast by the river side
,” she sang with a clear voice, soft and airy, “
And in’t a maiden I heard cry, Alas, Alas, there’s none e’er loved as I
.”

He closed his eyes and let the world disappear apart from her voice.

“
Then round the meadow did she walk, catching each flower by the stalk
.”

When the words died, he looked back at her.

“You were not singing,” she reproached.

“Forgive me, madam.
Such flow’rs as in the meadow grow
…”

They continued in harmony, their voices twining and merging together, hers lifting them toward heaven and his gliding under hers. Until she faltered and blushed in the last verse.

“
The green things served her for
…”

“
—Her bed. The flowers were the pillows for her head
,” he continued on, though he couldn’t help but smile. The song was anything but bawdy, yet the lady could not say the word ‘bed’.

He finished the rest of the sad song, never letting go of her hand.

“You have a beautiful voice,” he said. “Almost as lovely as your face.”

“Thank you. Though I suspect you are still recovering from the blow to your head. You should hear Miriam sing.”

“The only voice I wish to hear is yours.” He kissed her wrist and felt her tremble under his mouth.

“Practicing your charm?”

“I do not need practice.”

“Perhaps not.” She eased her arm away from him. “Maybe I am the one who has forgotten.”

He leaned into her. “I would be happy to teach you.”

The corner of her mouth formed a half-smile. “Oh, I am sure that you would, sir. No doubt you have coached many a lady in the fine art of flirtation.”

That did not sound like a compliment. “I am sure you would make my best pupil to date.”

“And what would be the fee for such an instruction?”

“A kiss,” he said, throwing out caution and betting on instinct.

“A steep bargain.”

It wasn’t the first time he’d raised the stakes too high. Perhaps she’d be amenable to a lower offer. “What would you care to spend?”

“You assume, sir, that I need
you
to teach me.” She stood up and smoothed out the blue fabric of her dress. “It has been a while, but I think it will all come back to me.” She winked at him before going to the bell pull.

When Sally came a minute later, Violet instructed her to bring in a fresh pot of tea and buttered crumpets. Then she whispered something in the girl’s ear that Kit could not make out.

“I’m afraid this water is far too cold to be of use now.” She poured the water from the silver tea service into a basin, presumably to use later for washing.

“Is it time for a bath?”

Though he could see the color on her cheeks, she spoke calmly. “Now that you are awake and fully coherent, I think you will be seeing to your own needs.”

“What if there are places that I cannot reach?” He used his best schoolboy voice.

“You can call a footman. Or my butler, Avery, will see to it. He has assisted with cleaning your wounds before.”

“He has not your tender touch.”

“I think you can manage.”

Her long stare did nothing to ease the ache of his arousal. Though he wanted to climb from the bed and pull her close to his body, he could not get out from the blankets without her seeing his erection. It was a bit too soon for that, unfortunately.

“I can make do.”

“Am I to feel pity for you, sir?” Her dark lashes fluttered, contrasting with her creamy white skin.

“Yes.”

A tall, broad man entered the room. He was thick and muscled, no doubt accustomed to hard work or vigorous exercise. Kit would expect to see a man like this in the alleys of town not here in a refined country house wearing a neat black jacket and trousers.

Violet smiled brightly and Kit felt like he’d been jabbed in the ribs. Who was he to her? Not her husband, obviously, but Kit sensed something intimate from their glances.

“Kit, this is Charles Avery, my butler and steward.”

“Glad to see you are feeling better, my lord.”

Kit sat up straighter in the bed. He looked down and realized his shirt was crumpled and no doubt his hair was an untidy mess, but he would not let the other man get the better of him.

“I am quite well due to the kind ministrations of your lady. I am told you were of use in my injury. Such service will not go unnoticed.” Where was his bloody purse? In fact, where were his clothes? Surely he had not arrived dressed like this?

Before he could ask about his things, Avery replied. “You are most welcome, my lord.” Kit would have to wait to inquire about his personal effects. The last thing he wanted to do was act like a whining boy. It was important to assert his strength straight away.

Avery turned to Violet. “Is there anything else that my lady requires?”

“Sally will see to our repast. You may return to your duties. Thank you, Avery.”

Perhaps Kit was mistaken about there being some intimacy between Avery and Violet. She gave him no long looks and her dismissal was polite but firm. If there had been something more, she would have looked back when Avery exited the room.

“What is he to you?” Kit nodded his head toward the door to indicate the man who’d left. He wanted to be certain that whatever had passed between Violet and her butler was platonic not amorous.

By the look of her furrowed eyebrows, she had no idea what he meant. “You and your manservant seem well acquainted.”

“We met in the war,” Violet replied. Her flat tone invited no questions. “It is because of Charles Avery that I survived. I would give that man my life and he would do the same for me.”

“Do you love him?”