Page 36 of The Widow’s Christmas Surprise

“Especially you, my lord?” Jane’s voice dropped to a sultry drawl. “Will you need to be punished more than anyone else?”

Lord Wetherby stared at Jane, his tongue coming out to wet his lips. “I have not been an angel this year, but I can be awfully good when I want to be.”

“I suspect you are, my lord.” The coquettish sound in Jane’s voice had the man almost salivating.

This was Jane in her element, always flirtatious and witty. A sensual woman with an appetite, so their other widow friends had told her, that put all the rest of them—even Fanny—to shame. Had she gotten bored waiting around to go to Kinellan in Scotland and now set her cap at Lord Wetherby? Not to marry, of course, but simply for a dalliance?

Well, if it distracted his lordship from her, Maria would be ever so grateful. She hoped to meander off with Mr. Granger for a time at least. If Lord Wetherby was occupied elsewhere, that would make her own flirtation that much easier to begin.

The brake pulled into a clearing, not far, as the crow flies, from Francis House. The trees had changed to evergreen, with pine, fir, and holly scattered in a ring around the natural clearing. The gentlemen jumped out, then assisted the ladies until everyone was in a circle around Lord Kersey, looking to him eagerly for instruction.

“The greenery we like to use in the house is fir, holly, rosemary, and yew if you can find it. These plants tend to be very pungent, so the house will be fresh and lovely for our guests. Oh.” He chuckled softly. “We will also need to bring home several mistletoe balls, to make kissing boughs out of.” His grin grew broader. “We cannot have Christmas without a bit of kissing now, can we?”

The gentlemen sent up a roar of approval while the ladies fell silent or laughed nervously. Maria did not join in the laughter. She was too busy trying to keep her eye on Mr. Granger, who stood next to his sister and Mr. Garrett. Good. Now if Jane would pair off with Lord Wetherby, she could join the Granger party and perhaps pair off with the man she sought.

“If everyone will gather closer, I will give the signal and you must scatter and bring back as much greenery as you can. Remember, Saint Nicholas is watching! If you want to have something good in your stocking when we return, you must bring back as much of the fragrant boughs as possible.” Lord Kersey held his arm up and dropped it. “Begin!”

With a great shout, people began grabbing partners’ hands and pulling them off into the woods without further ado.

A strong hand grasped Maria’s gloved hand and she turned smiling into the also grinning face of Lord Wetherby.

Chapter Fifteen

Drat it. Maria’s face froze, a pleasant smile plastered across it, even though the disappointment was almost a physical blow. Why did Lord Wetherby have to choose her? Why hadn’t Jane’s seduction taken him to her instead? At least, that’s what she thought would have happened. She glanced around for her cousin, and found her standing with Mr. Garrett, Mr. Granger, and Miss Granger. Mr. Granger was turned away, pointing toward a stand of evergreens to the east.

Abruptly, Lord Wetherby pulled her to him and they started off into the woods to the right of the brake, dodging around trees left and right, forcing her to run until her side ached.

Enough. She gave a mighty tug and her hand slipped free of his. Winded, she stood panting as Lord Wetherby continued on a few feet until he realized he no longer held her hand.

“My . . . lord!” Goodness, but she was out of breath. “I believe we have gone far enough. If we find sufficient quantities of the greenery we seek, we will be unable to carry it all back to the brake.”

“We can pile it up here and let the footmen carry it back for us.” He had walked back to her and now stood close, so close that his bergamot scent warred with the fresh smell of the firs all around them.

“Then we had best get to it, shall we?” With that Maria stalked off to the right, heading for a large stand of holly bushes that should be easy to collect, praying he would not follow her. The clean scent of the holly brushed the lingering traces of the spicy bergamot away, and she began tearing off small twigs with the bright red berries, avoiding the sharp points of the distinctive leaves.

Mentally bewailing the fact that they had brought no basket to collect the greenery in, Maria lay the torn branches carefully in her arm, going methodically from bush to bush, trying not to strip an entire plant, but leave something of it intact to grow and seed for next year.

A basket and scissors certainly would have been very useful to this endeavor. Maria’s hands became scratched, even through the protection of her gloves. Perhaps she should have gone after the fir branches instead. Gathering up an armful of small pieces, she judged she had enough and turned toward the growing pile of branches on the ground. As she tossed them on the heap, one of the holly leaves caught her index finger, jabbing deep through the material of her glove and into the tender flesh of the pad.

“Ouch!” Maria dropped the branches she carried and peeled off her glove. A red indentation showed the location of the wound and she squeezed the finger to see if it still seeped. As she grasped the finger a bright bead of blood welled up on the pad. “Drat.”

“What happened?” Lord Wetherby came trotting over, took one look at how she held her finger, and grabbed her hand.

“I just poked one of the holly leaves into my finger. I’m certain it’s all right.”

“Nonsense.” He took his handkerchief from an inner pocket and gently rubbed the place where the blood had come, although most of it had been wiped away. Another gentle squeeze of her finger had produced nothing in the way of her life’s blood. Time to move on.

“Thank you, my lord, but the bleeding seems to have stopped now. It was less than a scratch. We can go on with our gathering.” Maria tried to pull her hand away from him, but he held her fast in his grip.

“Best let me make sure the cut’s not too deep.” He held her hand up close to his eyes. A sultry glance at her and he kissed her finger.

“My lord.” Desperately, Maria tried to pull her hand away from his lips, but to no avail. As she had noted during her first encounter with him in the corridor at Kersey Hall, the gentleman had strength much greater than hers. And she was here, all alone with him. “I tell you my hand is fine.”

“Indeed it is, Maria.” He kissed her finger once more before moving on to her open palm. “As is all of you. Exquisite as a porcelain figurine and just as cold.” The softness of his mouth caressed her flesh, sending a frisson of warmth to her core. “I suspect you are not always so icy.” His lips seared her palm again. “I’ll wager I can spread a warmth through you like nothing you have ever known before.”

Face hot as fire, both from mortification at his attentions and the heat he was generating in her nether regions, Maria tried to slip her hand out of his grasp. She must protest or else he would think she welcomed his advances. And despite her traitorous body’s reactions, she did not want this man’s addresses. “My lord, this is most unseemly. Do you not remember I am still in mourning for a husband not yet a year in his grave?”

He raised his head from where his lips had grazed her palm, his eyes coal black, his breath coming in hard pants. “So if you were no longer in mourning, you would not object, Cousin? Perhaps we can find a way to have your bereavement cut short.” He snaked his arm around her waist and pushed her against his hard body. “So you may pay your respects to the living instead.”