Christine Merrill - The Mistletoe Wager

‘I thought we had agreed not to speak of that again,’ she muttered, and tried to turn away.

He put a finger under her chin and urged her to look up at his face. ‘After you were forced to apologise repeatedly for something which was no real fault of yours? What you were doing was not so unusual, compared with other girls of your age. If you lacked seasoning or sense, it was because your family did not train you to know what was expected of you. They thought that they could confine you until the last possible moment and then thrust you into the light, where you would exhibit flawless behaviour with no practice. When you failed, it was more their fault than yours.’ He hung his head. ‘And mine as well. I might have behaved quite differently had I known the circumstances involved. And I do not remember at any time giving you the apology that you deserve in response.’

She swallowed. ‘It is not necessary.’

‘I beg to differ.’ He moved so that he was standing before her, and said, ‘Give me your hand.’

She was obviously trying to come up with a response that would make things easier between them, but none was forthcoming.

So he reached, and took her hand in both of his. ‘I am sorry for what occurred that night,’ he said. ‘The fact that you were behaving without caution did not require me to respond in kind. If anything, I should have been more circumspect, not less. You have been punished inordinately for it, although I have always deserved the majority of the guilt. Please forgive me.’

He was staring into her eyes, and it made things difficult. For it reminded him of the way she’d looked at him that night, and how it had made him feel, and why it had been so easy to throw caution to the winds and kiss her when he had known he had no right to.

But this time she managed to look away from him, instead of drawing nearer. ‘Of course,’ she said, and then she closed her eyes and dropped her head, as though praying that humility would be sufficient to bring this awkward scene to a close.

He brought her hand to his lips and held it there. Her skin was soft against his, and he lingered over it for longer than a simple apology would warrant, imagining what it might be like to kiss her palm, her wrist, and all the rest of the white skin leading to her lips. And then he smiled, remembering that this was what had caused the problem five years ago. The suspicion that all parts of Rosalind Morley were eminently kissable, and his sudden, irresistible compulsion to test the theory.

And now she was looking up at him again, over her outstretched hand, as though the kiss were causing her pain when he suspected that it was an excess of pleasure that was the problem. Should he take another liberty with her, she would yield-just as she had the last time. And he would probably run away from her-just as he had been running his whole life, from any situation that smacked of responsibility.

And so he released her, smiling. ‘There. I hope it is settled at last. There is nothing wrong with you, Rosalind Morley. Nothing at all. Never mind what your father says, or what others might think of you. You are perfect just as you are.’

It occurred to him, in an idle, confusing way, that it would take a lifetime to catalogue the things about her that were perfectly suited to his temperament.

‘Thank you.’ Her voice sounded hoarse, as though it were difficult for her to speak. He wished that she would call him Tremaine, and return some sharp rebuke that would put things back to normal between them. But instead she murmured, ‘I must go. To see about…something. And you must come as well. I…’ She touched her hand to her forehead, trying to remember, and then looked into his eyes again and went very still.

Her vision cleared and she muttered, ‘Apples. That is it. We are bobbing for apples. Harry is there. I have managed to get Elise to come out of her room, but she is looking very cross with him, and threatening to go back to bed with a megrim.’

‘So I must let your brother drown me to put her into good humour again?’

‘If you would be so kind.’

She held out her hand to him, and he was more than ready to follow wherever she might lead. But when he smiled at her, she looked so worried that he put on his most perturbed expression and yawned. ‘The least you could do is deny it, you know. If you wish me to behave, you will do much better with flattery than you do with the truth.’

‘If I flatter you, it might cause your head to swell more than it already has.’ She gave him her usually cynical smile. ‘I dare not risk it, Tremaine. Come on, then. We can finish this business by New Year if we apply ourselves to it.’

Rosalind pushed him into the hallway ahead of her, announcing, ‘I have found him.’

Harry beamed in triumph. ‘And about time. Do not think that you can avoid the party, Tremaine. It is hardly keeping in the spirit of the bet if you do not try.’

Nick sighed, and prepared for a dunking. ‘Very well, then. What have I to do to get you to leave me alone?’

‘Play our little game.’ Harry led him into the hall and gestured expansively towards the centre of the room. ‘We have all had a turn, and the other guests are eager to see how you fare.’

True to his word, there was a large crowd gathered around a basin of water, and the air smelled of apples. The daughter of a lord was holding a fruit in her hand and shaking the water from her pretty blonde locks, and everyone was laughing heartily and congratulating her on her success.

There were calls of encouragement from the crowd, accompanied by drunken laughter.

Tremaine approached the pan of water with caution, and looked down at the abused fruit floating there. He stalled. ‘And I am to…?’ He looked down into the water again.

‘Put your face in, grab an apple and bite.’ Harry was grinning.

He knew that Harry would never be so foolish as to kill him in front of witnesses. The worst that would happen would be a wet head. Embarrassing, of course. But not so terrible, really. It would be over in a minute. Nick stepped up to the basin, bent awkwardly at the waist, and placed his face near the water.

He dutifully chased one of the remaining apples around the edge of the pan, while Harry stood behind him, pretending to offer encouragement.

‘You have nothing to be afraid of.’

Harry was laughing at him, the miserable bastard. But he could hear Elise laughing too, so he soldiered on.

‘The water is not so very deep. You will not drown,’ Harry said. And then he whispered, directly into Nick’s ear, ‘I’m right behind you.’

Nick leaned too close to the water, trying to escape him, and took a quantity of it up his nose. He gasped and shot upright again, coughing, to the laughter of the crowd around him.

Harry clapped him smartly on the back to clear his lungs. ‘There, there. You have it all wrong. You are not to drink the water. You are to eat the apple. Try again.’

He glared at Harry and stared at Rosalind. ‘This is part of your brilliant plan, is it?’

She gave him a frustrated smile, and said, ‘Take your turn and let others have a chance.’ She rolled her eyes and cast a significant glance at Elise.

‘Very well. But if anything untoward occurs I will hold you responsible, even in the afterlife.’

‘Tremaine, do not be an ass.’ She pushed past her brother, took him by the back of the neck, and pushed his face down into the water.

This time he had the good sense to hold his breath, and came up dripping, with an apple in his mouth. To complete the humiliation of it, Elise was leading the crowd who laughed at his discomposure.

‘That was not so bad, was it?’ Rosalind grabbed him by the collar and pulled him out of the way of the next player. Then she took the apple from his mouth and offered him linen to dry his face.

‘Did I perform to your satisfaction?’ he asked, tipping his head to drain the water from his ear.

‘You were most amusing. Elise is laughing again-at you, and in front of Harry. That cannot but help put him in a good mood.’ She took a bite from the apple that he had caught.

He watched her slender fingers caressing the fruit, her red lips, so memorably kissable, touching the place where he had bitten, the delicate workings of her pale throat as she chewed and swallowed. And suddenly he knew how Adam must have felt when Eve came to him with a wild scheme that he knew would end in disaster. He had agreed, because how could he have refused her, even if it meant the ruin of all?

‘It will not be long, I think, before Harry decides his pride is not so very important.’ She looked speculatively at Elise. ‘Then perhaps I shall be able to turn the rest of the party over to his wife.’

‘And when she is back as mistress of this house what shall you do?’ he whispered. ‘Do you mean to see Pompeii, then? Once you have your freedom?’

The apple froze, halfway to her mouth, and she gave him a blank stare. ‘What do I mean to do? Harry is right, Tremaine. You are an idiot. Harry will send me home after the holidays. I will return to Shropshire and my needlework, my jelly-making and my good works.’

He snorted at the idea. ‘Do you miss home so much?’

‘I do not miss home in the slightest. But where else am I to go?’ She took another bite of the apple.

He watched her lick a drop of apple juice from her lip, and fought down the desire to suggest some good works she might try that had nothing to do with making jelly. ‘Now that you have left your father’s house, you might enjoy travelling. For you seem to have a taste for adventure.’

She laughed. ‘Tell me, sir, when you are in the city, what do you drive?’

He thought for a moment. ‘At this time I have several carriages. A curricle, of course, and a high-perch phaeton as well. Pulled by the finest pair of matched blacks in London.’