Teach Me Under the Mistletoe (5 page)

“Until Lady Penelope predicted yer future lack of marital status…”

Lady Caroline shrugged and then gave a curt nod.

To be sure, he didn’t know what went on in the minds of women, but the fact that she was the daughter of an apparently wealthy earl and not at all displeasing to the eye should have garnered her some interest. Oddly, the thought did not rest well with him, but which was more unsettling? The notion of her sitting alone, unnoticed? Or that a man would find her interesting for her family connection?

“Do you find me attractive?” she asked, shifting to face him.

Hugh tried to swallow, but his throat felt like it was clogged by sand. Even if he knew how to respond, his voice would have come out little more than a weak croak.

“Th-that is to say… if you s-saw me and didn’t know who I was… would you look twice?”

“Aye,” he whispered. He cleared his throat and met her stare. “Yes, I’d look at ye — more than twice.”

“Then why does the one man I
want
to look at me apparently not even see me?” she cried. Exasperation etched itself across her features, and she pushed to her feet. The green carriage blanket slid to the ground, her ivory silk gloves fluttering like falling autumn leaves to land on top. “Can you tell me that?”

After a fashion, her words sank in and began to make sense. Hugh frowned. “Is this about no one noticing you? Or about one man who looks through you?”

Lady Caroline seemed to sag a little and some of the intensity left her eyes. “In truth, ‘tis always been one man I wish would notice me.” She sighed. “But on the one occasion he spoke to me, it was with the indulgence one might offer a child.”

Hugh’s belly tightened. “So, you have caught the eye of… other men…”

“One or two,” she admitted, turning her head toward the reflecting pool. “Boys, really, scarcely out of their nursery skeleton suits.”

The fist clenching his gut eased. He’d analyze his reaction later. And he’d find out more about the particular gentleman she fancied. What had she said his name was? Stanton? Stratton? He’d not paid much heed when she’d gone on about the whole business the day before, but he’d work on that later also. In the meantime…

“I’m not convinced merely learning how to kiss will achieve yer goal.” Hugh stepped closer. “I mean, have ye considered how ye’ll get his attention so he does kiss ye?”

She tilted her head as she turned to regard him. An impish smile widened her lips. “I plan to catch him under the kissing bough at the winter ball in two weeks. And I want to give him a kiss he’ll remember.”

Hugh spread his hands, confused as to what exactly she was asking of him. “I’m certain any man would remember sharing a kiss with you under the mistletoe.” He definitely would were they to meet under such circumstances. He couldn’t get that momentary brush of their lips the previous day out of his mind.

“Many women will attend my parents’ ball.” She frowned. “And he prefers female companionship from ladies who are… well closer to his age.”

“Closer to his age?” Hugh stared, striving to form a picture of the man. “How old is he?”

“Lady Penelope thinks he’s not yet had his thirtieth birthday.” A knowing smile curved Lady Caroline’s pink lips. “He’s very dashing, and he’s traveled all over the world. I heard he’s been to America.”

The squeezing in Hugh’s middle returned. “Are there no young men of yer own age?”

An impatient sigh left her lips. “Have you not heard a word I’ve told you? They’re boys. Very immature. I want — I want a
man
.”

Hugh stared across the reflecting pond. He should decline, return to the stable. Just let his feet carry him back along the path. What did he know of the type of man she sought? Did she not realize he was about as far removed from being a gentleman of the peerage as a wallowing pig was from a horse?

Lady Caroline stepped closer and touched him on the arm. “Please…” she whispered.

With a sigh, he turned to look at her and found himself captured in her pale gaze. How had he not noticed the little flecks of gold that glinted in her eyes? Wordlessly, she pleaded with him for… for what?

Desire wound through him, heating his blood, chasing away all reason. When she teased her upper lip with her tongue, accountability took flight. With a strangled moan, he grasped her shoulders and tugged her closer until not a finger of the late autumn air could flow between them. He caught the startled expression in her eyes as he crashed his lips into hers.

Driven by insatiable physical hunger, he ignored the fact that he was crossing yet another forbidden line. After initially stiffening, Lady Caroline melted against him, her softness meeting his taut, demanding body. Hugh slipped his right arm around her shoulder to the center of her back. If he could have pulled her closer, he would have. He shifted his left hand until his fingers cupped the slender curve of her neck. Her light floral scent wove around him like a persistent sweetpea vine. She moved her lips beneath his, meeting his every demand.

When he would have pulled back, she whimpered in protest, the little noise sneaking past her parted lips. Hugh lingered at the edge, his breathing ragged and labored.
“Might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb,”
his father had been fond of saying. Still… maybe better not to be hung at all.

Hugh withdrew his arm from her shoulder and stepped back but continued to rest his fingers lightly against her neck, unable to bear cutting the contact completely.
I’m sorry…
The words trapped themselves in his throat. He wasn’t sorry. He’d never be sorry even if he did end up on the gallows for his actions.

He focused on the woman — yes, she was all woman and kissed like one as well — in front of him. Wide hazel eyes stared up at him. Kiss-swollen lips moved wordlessly. Her breathing was as tattered as his. Did the blood run as hot in her veins? It drove him nearer to madness to consider it. At the base of her throat, a tiny pulse throbbed, quick as a bird’s beating heart.

“I… I…” She seemed to be struggling with words herself.

As Hugh stepped back, he allowed the tips of his fingers to trail across her collarbone. Lady Caroline rewarded him with a sharply indrawn breath and a shiver.

“Thank you,” she whispered as he stepped back.

The image of her in another man’s arms, an older man who preferred his women “sophisticated,” rose to the forefront of Hugh’s mind, taunting him. Deliberately, he turned the torment to anger.

“And will ye kiss yer gentleman like
that
under the mistletoe? Do you think you’ll manage now, my lady?” he ground out, uncaring if his words sounded spiteful. “Will one lesson do ye? Will ye be able to give him a kiss he can remember?”

Lady Caroline covered her mouth with the back of her hand. Tears welled in her eyes. “Why are you so unkind?”

Because I’ve just stolen the first of your sweet innocence… and maybe lost a bit of myself in the process.

Hugh sliced the air with his hands. “If ye get yer gentleman under the mistletoe and kiss him, I’d say it’s a fair wager ye’ll get his attention.” Unable to remain in her presence any longer, he turned on his heel and stalked across the terrace. She’d find her way back to the manor. Or not.

Chapter Five

Kitty watched Hugh McCollum march along the garden path until he became no more than a tiny moving speck. The breeze pushed a thick strand of hair into her face. He must have loosened it while they’d been kissing.

Kissing… that kiss.

She no longer wondered how a man kissed… or how he would want to
be
kissed. Her lips still tingled. Her body still hummed with an awakening ache she’d never before experienced. If one kiss from a man of Hugh’s ilk did those delicious things to her, surely she would combust in the embrace of a worldly man such as Lord Strathern.

A gust of wind caught her cloak, billowing it like a frigate’s sail. She grasped it and pulled it tight. Her hands felt cold enough to crack. Where had she left her gloves? Glancing around the stone terrace, she discovered them resting atop the green carriage blanket. She didn’t want to return it to the stables, didn’t want to chance seeing Hugh. And she could hardly carry it to the manor. How on earth would she explain having it in her possession?

Her gaze fell on the iron door set into the white stone of the miniature Roman ruin. If the door were unlocked, she could hide the blanket in the folly and send a message to Hugh where he could find it. Stooping to pick up the soft wool, she recalled his gentle hands as he’d tucked the blanket around her legs, taking care to keep the chill off her.

Why had he been so horrid after they’d kissed?

As she dragged her feet toward the folly’s door, her boots scuffed across the stones with a scraping sound that echoed off the front of the building. The knob in the center of the door was stiff and hard to turn, but it didn’t seem to be locked. By pushing all her weight against the heavy door, she finally moved it inward several inches. It was enough to shove the blanket through the opening, though, and the door closed more easily than it had opened.

She found the pins buried in her hair and repaired the damage Hugh had done. She had no mirror to check it, but the wind could be blamed for its messiness. Rather surprisingly, her hands trembled as she drew on her gloves. The silk offered little respite from the icy blasts of wind whipping around the folly. She should get back.

Her heart thumped against her chest as she tripped along the path toward the manor. She had to decide what to wear for the evening’s festivities. What a stroke of good fortune to be paired with Lord Strathern for dinner. Mayhap her mother thought he would make a good match as well. She simply must make a good impression. Topics of conversation! It was imperative to her cause that she speak with a degree of intelligence.

“Lord Strathern, do tell me about your travels,” she said, injecting a hint of haughty disinterest into her words. A giggle slipped out as she imagined him answering, his cultured honeyed tones caressing her as he lowered his voice and perhaps revealed an intimate detail or two of his last trip. Maybe their eyes would meet and his would spark silvery gray.

Brown!
Lord Strathern’s eyes were dark brown. A giggle slipped out at her own silliness. Of course, she’d meant brown eyes. She couldn’t wait until dinner, when she would see those brown eyes watching her as she sent him smiles and sweet glances.

The footman in attendance opened the front door. Nodding a greeting, Kitty crossed the threshold and headed straight for the staircase. She cast a quick glance about the foyer. The polished wooden floor gleamed back at her. Good, she’d left no mud after the day’s excursion to the gardens.

Kitty raced up the marble staircase and fled to her room as thoughts of the coming evening’s festivities held her enthralled. She would wear the sapphire gown with the pretty white ribbons. No! The sage green silk with the darker green bodice.

She smiled. Yes, she would pamper herself with a steaming bath to ward off the chill of her… walk. Then she would prepare herself for the dinner party with the green dress… or perhaps the rose…

She shrugged off her cloak and draped it over the back of her dressing chair. On the way to her heavy rosewood wardrobe, she rang for Henrietta. Then she flung open both heavy wooden doors and peered inside the cabinet. Neatly folded garments lined the shelves. Morning dresses on the left, walking gowns in the center next to her traveling gowns. And on the right, gowns she’d worn to countless dinner parties throughout her season in Town. Sapphire blue, emerald green, rose pink, jonquil yellow, apple green.

A bit of gray silk near the bottom of the pile caught her eye. She’d worn that gown but once. The bodice gathered beneath her breasts, tied by a black ribbon woven through white lace. The neck scooped low and puffy sleeves fell off her shoulders, leaving a lot of skin exposed. The pale gray silk that draped to the floor reminded her of spun silver. It would prove a daring choice. Perhaps she should save it for the winter ball. She could wear her hand-painted silk wrap that Papa had brought back from India. That that ought to stand out from the traditional crowd with the swirls of sapphire and flame that appeared to dance along the edges.

“You rang for me, m’lady?” asked Henrietta as she stepped into the room. “Oh… what a lovely gown.”

Kitty stared at the dress in her hands. When had she picked up the gray silk gown? She shook it out and held it up against her, staring into the long mirror. Why wait for the ball to draw Lord Strathern’s attention?

“Yes, please Henrietta. I shall need this pressed for this evening.”

“Yes, m’lady.” The maid reached for the gown.

“And please see that a bath is drawn for me.” Yes, the luxury of a good soak appealed, and a liberal application of some milk and roses lotion would be just the trick to make certain her skin would be its softest.

Lord Strathern would notice her tonight. He’d have no choice since they were to be paired at dinner.

* * * *

Hugh jammed the pitchfork into the straw on his cart and lifted. The muscles in his shoulders burned as he heaved the bedding into the stall. He straightened his back and rolled his shoulders until their protest abated. If only he could find a bit of magic to cool the blood exploding through his veins. Saints! He’d muddied things up. He stabbed the straw and lifted another forkful.

He should have walked away. Why hadn’t he?

Because her hair reminded him of fine chocolate, her skin made him think of cream, and her lips… they felt like warm silk against his and tasted of honey.

With a growl, he tossed the straw into the stall. A shadow fell across the door. Someone had come up behind him, but he’d been too preoccupied to notice.

“Hugh.” Dougal’s voice could have formed icicles.

That was enough to temper the sizzle in his veins. Hugh shoved the fork into the straw and straightened. He rolled his shoulders once more as he turned to meet his brother’s glare. “What is it?” he snapped.

“Have ye truly gone mad, man?” Anger thickened the accent that Dougal usually worked so hard to cover up.