Chapter 15

G wen couldn’t believe her luck.

She and Tom stayed up late into the night making love. As promised, he showed her so many new things, such as how they could make love with her on top, astride him. Tom had clearly loved the way her breasts had bounced as she rode him, and his obvious enjoyment had fired her in return.

He had even showed her how to use her mouth on him, licking and sucking. Although the act was designed for his pleasure, she found that she enjoyed it as well. It made her feel not only desirable but powerful, that she could drive Tom out of his mind the same way he did to her. He suggested that they stop as he neared his climax, offering to finish another way, but she had begged him to let her continue. She would never forget the heat that flared in his eyes when she said that, nor his hoarse cries and curses as she continued pleasuring him. She had been so excited when his cum spurted in her mouth, knowing how good she had made him feel. It turned out that Tom understood the effect performing such an act had had on her, because as soon as he recovered, he grabbed her by the ribcage, flipping her onto her back, and buried his face between her thighs. It took less than a minute before she was trembling and crying out for him again.

Tom gave her unimaginable pleasure over and over again. But what was just as thrilling was the realization that he truly desired her! It had not all been an act borne out of the fact that she had been paying him two hundred and fifty pounds the first time around. There was no denying the way he had looked at her in the mirror last night, with her body on full display. He found her ample curves arousing, not revolting.

They awoke just before midday, both of their stomachs growling. Someone had left a breakfast tray in the hall. Tom brought it to the little table by the window, and they tucked in eagerly.

“I suppose we missed Christmas services,” Gwen noted ruefully.

“I suppose we did,” Tom agreed, polishing off half a strip of bacon in one bite.

Gwen stirred honey into her tea. “How will you spend today?”

Tom shrugged. “My family’s all back in Hampshire. Some years I make it home, but when I don’t, I have a quiet Christmas in Town.”

Gwen sipped from her cup. “I don’t have much planned, either. I’m grateful that the Widows extended me this invitation. I’m sure someone in Merstham would have asked me to spend Christmas Day with their family, but it would have felt as if I was imposing.”

“That’s just it,” Tom agreed. “All of my friends from the boxing gym are either married with families of their own, or their parents are close to London. Don’t want to go making a bother of myself.” He shrugged, adding another scoop of eggs to his plate.

“Well, seeing as neither of us have any plans, perhaps we could spend the day together.” The words were out of Gwen’s mouth before she had time to properly consider them. Why had she said that? What were the chances that Tom Talbot, who wasn’t just popular, but was something of a celebrity, would want to spend Christmas Day with a bumbling bluestocking like her?

But Tom grinned easily. “That’d be grand. Most places will be closed, but I know a few spots where we should find a lively crowd. Would you like to see how folks like me celebrate Christmas?”

Gwendolyn exhaled, relieved. “I would like that very much.”

And so, after they finished devouring every scrap of food on the tray, she dressed in her practical wool gown and Tom put back on his brown velvet frock coat. He chuckled as he waved the lace cuffs about. “I’ll look stupid walking around in this. At least my greatcoat will cover the worst of it.”

“I think you look very festive,” Gwen said, striding through the door he held for her.

“That was the idea,” he replied as she closed the door behind them. He offered her his arm, and they made their way toward the stairs. “I got all this second-hand, obviously. They haven’t made coats like this for at least a few decades. When you’re my size, it’s not easy to find things that fit, so I figured this would do well enough.”

“I imagine that’s right.” Gwen accepted her cloak from the butler. It was of plain grey wool, but her hat was made of cranberry-colored velvet, a rare indulgence.

As she tugged her mittens on, Gwendolyn asked Tom, “Have you considered having a dress coat custom-made?”

A look of horror crossed his face. “Have you seen what tailors charge these days? It’s highway robbery.” He ran his hands up and down his greatcoat, which was of a practical black wool. “I did have this made, as I couldn’t find anything to fit me, but a greatcoat’s different. I’ll be able to wear this for decades. But some silly thing to wear to a party?” He snorted. “I’m not paying real coin for that.”

Gwendolyn was secretly amused. Not that she knew so very much about boxers, but she had pictured the heavyweight champion as a flashy sort of fellow, spending his winnings as quickly as he came into them. Honestly, the person Tom reminded her of was thrifty Aunt Agatha, who made her own bread and darned her own stockings so many times that when Gwen finally sneaked them out to the rubbish pile, they were little more than rags.

She gazed up at Tom as he wound a red and gold-striped scarf around his neck and accepted a tall hat from the butler. The association with Aunt Agatha, her favorite person to ever walk this earth, made her regard him all the more fondly.

He offered her his arm and they set forth at a jaunty pace, heading south. “Where are you taking me?” Gwen asked.

“The place it all began,” Tom answered. “Green Park.”

Green Park was, of course, the location of Pulteney House, where she and Tom had spent the night after the bachelor auction at the Thalia. But Gwen was all but certain that Tom, who wasn’t willing to expend coin on a coat that was within the last decade of fashion, did not plan for them to visit the expensive hotel. “Green Park? Really?” At his nod, she gestured to the snow crunching under their boots. “We might be the only ones who dare to venture out in this weather.”

He barked out a laugh. “That’s where you’re wrong. You’ll never have seen it so packed.”

She couldn’t imagine how that would be true but shrugged. “I am all curiosity.”

They exchanged commiserating looks as they passed Pulteney House. Gwen spotted the reservoir up ahead. It didn’t look crowded at all, nor did it look like the water had frozen over.

But she could hear shouts coming from deeper in the park. Not shouts of alarm; these cries bespoke pure joy.

The shouts of children playing in the snow.

Sure enough, as they came around the reservoir, she saw dozens—no, hundreds—of children running across the snowy lawn. Some of them were toddling about and some of them were taller than she was. Many of them were shabbily dressed, in threadbare coats or no coats at all, with patches on their trousers and shoes splitting open, the sight of which made Gwen’s heart squeeze.

But none of them were bemoaning their inadequate attire. Indeed, based on the amount of running taking place, Gwendolyn would have ventured to guess that they were staying warm.

The snow at the edge of the park had been trampled to mud, so the children were venturing deeper into the field. Snowballs were flying in every direction. In fact, one would have hit Gwendolyn square in the face had Tom not reached out and batted it down.

“Sorry, miss…” The hurler of the snowball, a boy of around eight who was wearing a fur cap so ancient it looked like it had a touch of the mange, trailed off, then raised an arm to point. “Blimey, it’s Tommy Talbot!”

Tom waved. “Merry Christmas!”

The children stood rooted to their spots, staring at him in awestruck silence.

Then, from the back of the crowd, a solitary snowball was launched. It flew over the children in front’s heads and smashed into Tom’s chest.

Tension was almost palpable in the air. Tom glanced down at the snowy circle on his coat and back up. His eyes narrowed, and his jaw tightened.

But Gwen couldn’t help but notice that his lip was also twitching. Unable to hold in his grin, he shouted, “Oh, so that’s how it’s going to be?” He bent down and scooped snow into his giant hands. “Watch out, because turnabout’s fair play!”

The children squealed with delight as they scurried to dodge Tom’s snowball, bending low to gather more ammunition.

Tom was immediately pelted with dozens of snowballs, an indignity he appeared to mind not in the slightest. Although he was shouting taunts at the children, he was grinning all the while and scooping up snow and hurling it as quickly as he could.

Gwendolyn was so busy watching the scene that she didn’t notice the snowball hurtling toward her until it was too late. She yelped in surprise as it struck her square in the face.

Tom paused with his arm raised. “You all right, Gwen?” He jogged over. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to drag you into this.”

She laughed, brushing the snow from her glasses. “It’s quite all right. I suppose I need to return fire.”

And so, she joined in the ruckus. Two little girls giggled as they hurled snowballs at her, and Gwen laughed as she tossed one back. Her mittens grew soaked and her fingers numb, but she was having so much fun, she didn’t mind.

Midway through the fight, Gwen noticed a man in a brown coat standing on the graveled path behind them. He didn’t join the melee, nor did he seem to be interacting with any of the children.

Hairs rose on the back of her neck. Something about him felt off. There were some adults who had accompanied their children to the park, but those who were not participating in the snowball fight wore soft smiles, delighting in the happiness of the children. But this man’s face remained stony.

Was it her imagination, or was he staring at her ?

She thought about mentioning it to Tom, but when she glanced his way, a swarm of children tackled him into a snowbank and he was busy shouting protestations and vowing that his revenge would be terrible. It would have been menacing if not for the lopsided grin on his face.

When Gwen glanced up, the man in the brown coat was gone. She shook herself. It was probably all in her head.

Eventually, the pack of children trod the snow in this part of the park to nothingness, too. Tom jogged over to her, gesturing to a woman with a pushcart standing back by the reservoir. “Fancy a warm-up?” he asked.

It struck Gwendolyn that her fingers were all but frozen in her mittens. “I would.”

He led her toward the woman with the cart. As they drew closer, she noticed a large copper urn on top. It had its own little brazier burning with hot coals to keep its contents warm.

Tom nudged her with his elbow. “Ever had salop before?”

Gwen squinted. “Sal… what?”

He laughed. “Salop. It’s the sort of hot drink you get in the neighborhoods I frequent.”

She had never heard of it before. She eyed the weathered cart and the scratched urn, wondering if it was safe. “What is it made of?”

“Now that is a good question.” Tom dropped his voice low. “It’s steeped like a tea. Sometimes it’s made using sassafras bark, but if there isn’t any sassafras to be had, sometimes they use the roots of orchis or cuckooflower, or whatever they can lay their hands on. Lots of milk and sugar. It’s good, and it’s warm.” He gave her a lopsided grin. “Care to try it?”

His enthusiasm was enough to make her set aside her qualms. “I should be delighted.”

They approached the cart and Tom ordered them each a bowl. The woman recognized Tom and tried to refuse payment, but he insisted, slapping coins on top of her cart.

She filled two plain white bowls from her urn. Gwen smiled politely as she accepted hers, then nervously brought it to her mouth for a sip. “Oh!” she cried, startled by how good it was. The salop was sweet and spicy and creamy all at the same time. She thought she detected a hint of licorice. And it was warm , thawing her numb fingers and spreading wonderfully through her belly.

Tom nudged her again. “Told you it was good.” He accepted his own bowl and drank half of it in one go. “Just what you want in this type of weather.”

Gwendolyn had to agree. Her own bowl of salop was soon empty. “Thank you,” she said to the woman, setting her bowl down on top of her cart.

Tom was counting out more coins. Most of the children had moved to a new section of the park where the snow was not yet depleted, but a couple of dozen had trailed after Tom. They now stood in a cluster around them, happy to be near their hero.

Tom placed some coins on the cart and gestured to the copper urn. “I’ll take the lot of it. Salop for everyone!”

It was difficult to say who was more delighted by this development, the cart owner or the children, who burst into a chorus of cheers and thank-yous .

“You’re welcome,” Tom said. “Merry Christmas, everyone.”

He offered Gwen his arm, and they headed toward the park’s exit. “This is one of the best Christmases I’ve ever had,” Gwen said.

He laughed. “We’ve done well for ourselves, haven’t we? Although I’m sorry you got dragged into the fray. I guess I didn’t think that bit through.”

She waved this off. “I’m not so high in the instep as to object to a good, old-fashioned snowball fight.”

Contrary to Tom’s assumption that she minded the snowball fight, Gwen had enjoyed herself tremendously. And she had especially appreciated the chance to see this side of Tom. This was her first opportunity to spend time with him outside of the bedchamber. He wasn’t at all what she would have expected of the heavyweight champion of England. He had been wonderful with those children. Gwen knew without a doubt that every single one of them would treasure the story of how they’d had a snowball fight with Tom Talbot on Christmas Day for the rest of their lives.

She also couldn’t help but notice that, while Tom had been stingy about buying a new dress coat for himself, he had been generous when it came to buying a hot drink for those children.

The more time she spent with him, the more she liked him, not just in terms of physical attraction, but as a person. Gwen couldn’t believe she was entertaining such a ridiculous thought, but if she were ever to marry, she hoped it could be to someone like Tom, someone kind, good-natured, and noble of heart. Given his working-class roots, he also would not disdain the fact that she kept bees, doing heavy work with her own hands, or her humble pursuits such as baking and making jam in her little cottage.

She sighed. It was a hopeless thought. What were the odds that Tom Talbot would want to marry an awkward bluestocking like her?

Tom squeezed her arm. “Everything all right?”

“Yes!” she squealed, somewhat guiltily. “Just, er… woolgathering.”

“I hope I didn’t get you too cold and…”

He trailed off as a young boy, perhaps five or six, came running up. He was still carrying one of the salop seller’s white bowls. The boy unselfconsciously hugged Tom’s leg, which was about all he could reach. “Thank you for the salop, Mr. Talbot, sir.”

Tom squatted down, returning the boy’s embrace. “You’re welcome. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas.” The boy handed the bowl to Tom. “Here you go.”

Tom tried to return it. “Give this back to the lady with the… Wait! Come back!”

The boy had already disappeared around a corner. He turned to Gwen. “Wait right here. I’ll be back in a trice.” Bowl in hand, he jogged back toward the park.

Gwen stepped closer to one of the brick houses that lined the street in order to get out of the wind while she awaited his return. It was a small street and quiet on Christmas Day. Gwen imagined that the families inside were tucking in to their Christmas dinners.

Some movement at the top of the street caught her eye. It was a man in a brown coat. He was joined by a second man, and they both began striding purposefully down the pavement.

She squinted. It was difficult to say as her vision wasn’t very good even with her spectacles, but she was almost certain it was the same man she’d seen in the park, the one she’d thought was watching her.

She started as she realized that while she had been gazing down the street, someone had stolen up behind her. She turned, and her heart went cold as she saw a familiar face.

Her brother was smiling, but not in a nice way. “Merry Christmas, sister.”