He reached inside his coat, searched around and then presented her with a carefully wrapped package tied with a red bow. “Wait until morning to open it.”
A gift? He’d purchased her a gift!
Without taking the package from him, she unclasped the scissors from the sewing chatelaine at her waist. She reached beneath her cap and snipped a lock of hair. Unclasping the chain she always wore, she then drew out the locket and secured the hair inside.
He didn’t stop her nor ask what she was doing, just waited until she’d held out her token to him. Only then would she take his gift.
Which was the height of impropriety, but she did not care. She would have something to remember him by.
This was goodbye. She glanced up at the ceiling, hoping… But no.
Where was mistletoe when a girl needed it?
And then the lack of greenery hanging above them was no longer a problem. His mouth landed on hers for the most urgent of kisses. How was it that his lips could be hard and demanding but at the same time, soft and coaxing? She didn’t know. She only felt.
Oh, Anthony.
Oh, my love.
Her knees went weak by the time he saw fit to release her.
“Will you forgive me?” Emotion strained his voice. “Forgive my rash words earlier today. I did not mean any offence. I got… carried away and––”
She covered his lips with one finger.
“All is forgiven.” She’d known it. His character had never been in question.
His gaze locked with hers and he nodded. He did not push her hand away, but mumbled beneath her touch. “Thank you.”
She studied the creases by his eyes, the way his hair swept away from his face, but for one wayward lock. And the strength of his cheeks, and chin. His nose wasn’t quite perfect. And his lips. Those lips she’d crave… She must memorize his features to draw upon for the remainder of her life.
“Merry Christmas, Charlotte.” He grinned.
Dear God, but he must have reconciled himself to his betrothal. Her left side, just above her breast, ached. Her eyes stung but she forced herself to smile.
“Merry Christmas… Anthony.”
He leaned forward to press his mouth against hers one last time. Without thought, her arms snaked up to wind around his neck. She had to stand on her toes to reach him but was not to be deterred. Panic had struck her without warning.
She could not allow him to go.
Not yet.
Parting her lips, she tasted his. And then his mouth opened, and the kiss deepened. His hard body pressed against hers from shoulders to just below her thighs. He wanted her, she knew. Perhaps that was all this ever was.
Nonetheless, she was a woman drowning, clinging to a sinking raft.
When he finally pulled away, he rested his forehead against hers. “We’ll speak tomorrow.”
She nodded. Had she just made a fool of herself? But he held her against him, still. She would be miles away by the time he remembered to seek her out. She wanted to tell him goodbye. She wanted to tell him that she loved him.
He released her and took three steps backward.
“Anthony!” She halted him one last time.
He tilted his head.
“I–I…” She could not do it. “Merry Christmas.”
And with one last smile, he was gone.
“Tell me you did not travel in this weather! In the dark, no less!” Daphne set her knitting aside as Anthony carried in the log he’d chosen for this year’s Yule, Rufus and Walter trailing behind him. He grinned, feeling more invigorated than he had all week.
He and his driver had borrowed a sleigh from Lord Denton, promising to return it tomorrow. “It’s like daylight out there. Did you start the fire with the piece cut from last year’s log?”
His sister shook her head, as though in a daze. “I didn’t think you’d be coming and didn’t want bad luck… What has come over you? I take it you’ve resolved the marriage contracts then?”
Michael, who’d been snoring softly on the settee, roused himself. Likely hearing the word ‘marriage’ was enough to disturb his dreams. “What? You’re back! And you don’t look as though your dog just died, as you did this morning before leaving.”
Anthony placed the log on the floor near the hearth and then turned to face these two. They would be affected by his decision. He jammed his hands into his pockets and then lifted his chin. “I’ve decided against the betrothal.”
“Thank God.” Both Michael and Daphne responded at once.
“I’m so glad!”
“What did Miss Fairchild say? Oh, Heavens! And the Viscountess!”
Anthony winced. “I haven’t told either yet.”
Michael laughed and Daphne groaned.
“When do you plan to have this discussion?” Daphne’s forehead wrinkled. “Surely not–”
“Tomorrow.” Anthony would be totally upfront with them. “But there is more.”
This time his younger siblings remained mute, simply waiting for him to continue.
“I’m going to ask another lady.” If possible, the room fell even quieter. Not even the logs in the fire dared make any popping sounds. “Miss Charlotte Drake.”
“You rogue you.” Michael stared at him with admiration in his gaze. “Who is she? Someone you met in London last spring?”
But Daphne’s eyes had narrowed. “Miss Drake? Surely not.” She sputtered. “Drake? Miss Fairchild’s companion?”
Anthony nodded. “She is Miss Charlotte Drake.” And he loved her. And he believed she loved him back. “She is a vicar’s daughter, fallen on hard times. She is refined, plays the piano beautifully. Educated. Sweet. Charming.” She’d kissed him as though he were saying goodbye forever. He planned on surprising her tomorrow. He’d drop onto one knee. “I want to give her grandmother’s ring.”
Daphne, as usual, watched him carefully. “You… love her?”
He dug in his heels. “I don’t give a damn who her family is. I could care less about what the ton has to say about all of this.” He’d marry her. “If she’ll have me. God, I hope she’ll have me.
“The trouble is…” he continued. “Without Miss Fairchild’s dowry, finances will be tight–considerably so–over the next few years. I’ll have to cut your allowance nearly by half,” Anthony winced in his brother’s direction. “And Daph, we’ll need to delay your season by a year or two…”
Daphne rose from her chair and paced across the room. “None of that matters if she is the right bride for you. Don’t get me wrong, Anth.” She spoke in levelled tones. “I want your happiness more than anything else. My only concern is that you are not being led on a merry chase. What if she is only using you? You’re a titled gentleman, wealthy enough in your own right. Likely something of a king to the likes of her.”
“She’s done nothing of the sort. She’s done her best to avoid me, in fact.”
“Have you thought of taking her on in a less permanent capacity? Are you certain you need to marry the chit?” Michael’s eyes flicked toward Daphne. “Sorry, sis.”
Michael’s words were far less crass than his own had been and still, Anthony cringed at them. “That is the last time you’ll say anything of the kind in my hearing.” His voice came out gruffer than he’d intended.