Chapter 14

14

T he party was well underway and, by all accounts, a surprising success.

Nate took in what he could of his surroundings, gaining blurred glimpses of the crowded great hall as he spun about in a country dance. Not a pastime in which he’d intended to engage, but his land agent’s wife, Mrs . Hammond , had pulled him onto the dance floor and insisted. And while years without practice caused him to shuffle as though he had two left feet, it didn’t seem to matter. The dance had none of the practiced finesse one was apt to find in a London ballroom, but the disordered flurry of steps and twirling bodies were accompanied by peals of laughter that knew no comparison.

Everywhere he looked—from the dance floor, to the side tables where guests continued to pick at sweetmeats, to the chairs where those who’d decided not to dance were engaged in animated conversation—there was joy. The same joy he’d witnessed as a child when his mother and father had acted as the party’s hosts. Perhaps there’d been a slight decrease in the number of roasted vegetable dishes upon the table when they’d all sat down to dinner. Perhaps the great hall contained a few less ribbons upon the holly boughs than in years past. Be that as it may, the merriment in the room seemed to push against the walls and soar to the towering ceiling.

Because he’d done it. He’d returned to England with the harebrained idea that he could plan a St . Stephen’s Day party in a near-vacant house in a matter of days, and he’d succeeded. He hadn’t let his tenants down. For once, he hadn’t let his father down.

And yet, his own joy stopped just below the surface. It tugged at him faintly, creating small pangs of warmth, but it couldn’t reach deep within his chest.

Because she wasn’t here. Because this was the room where he’d watched her walk away on the arm of her almost betrothed—her true betrothed now? The room where ice had formed between his ribs because he knew he’d missed his chance, that she was no longer for him, and even so, the selfish part of him had battled to reemerge and claim her for his own.

Truth be told, it still did, sinking in its angry claws and demanding he fight to get her back.

Even though she’d already chosen a different path.

He missed the next step in the dance entirely, using the moment to suck air into his taut lungs and regather himself. That’s when he caught a glimpse of dark hair threaded with a gold ribbon, and every one of his nerve endings jumped to alertness.

Mrs . Hammond tugged on his hand, leading him back into the rhythm of the dance with a wide grin, and he spun as required, the movement jerky. However , his eyes fought to refocus on that spot in the crowd. No , there was nothing remarkable about dark hair and ribbons; any number of his guests possessed both. There was something about that particular figure, though. That flash of features.

He found it again, just a peek before someone taller in stature walked in front of her, and the dance required him to execute another turn. Yet the image had become a little clearer, enough for him to discern a rosebud mouth. A set of gently slanted black brows above eyes the color of rich brandy.

He whirled as if the sight had made him foxed, releasing Mrs . Hammond’s hand. Staggering a step to the side. And then, for one perfect, unimpeded moment, he saw her. Emily . She stood amidst the throng like a beacon, the light from the sconces seeming to fall upon her alone. The dark green of her gown accentuating her pale skin and hugging every curve. His winter fairytale queen.

Why was she here? Had she come alone? Did that mean … His heart slammed against the wall of his chest, daring to anticipate.

“ Excuse me,” he muttered to Mrs . Hammond , who’d already fallen upon another man’s arm to finish the dance. He extricated himself from the cluster of revelers, moving toward the side of the room.

Except suddenly, Emily was also moving but in the other direction, weaving amongst the mass of guests until he nearly lost sight of her again.

Where was she going? Had she noticed him? He had to speak to her, had to get to her side at once?—

No . He needed to do even better than that.

He needed to give her the recognition she deserved.

Fortunately , one of the violinists glanced up at the opportune moment, and after a single gesture from Nate , the music faded away.

He wasted no time in rushing to the side table, halting just long enough to retrieve the cup of wassail he’d set down and give it a few loud taps with a spoon. Then , he bolted forward, the crowd obligingly parting for him, until he stood before the main doors. Facing the entire jovial scene.

“ If I could have your attention.” He called out to the merrymakers in a commanding voice he didn’t think he’d ever had cause to use before. A voice befitting a viscount . “ Forgive the interruption, but I’d like to offer a toast.”

A low hum followed, in which the guests wound down their conversations and fetched their glasses, and he used the time to quickly scan the room. For his eyes to travel over the sea of people until they connected with the gold ribbon and ebony wisps of hair.

He breathed a sigh of relief. She’d stopped near the side table, where his footman, Daniel , nudged his way in to pass her a glass of wassail. An action for which Nate would have to thank him later.

But first things first—for Emily was here, listening, and he didn’t have a second to waste.

He cleared his throat and held his glass up, bringing his gaze back over the eager crowd. “ First , I toast to all of you for your loyalty to Rosemead , without which the estate could never prosper. May your Christmastide be plentiful and merry, and may you experience health and happiness in the coming year.”

A low cheer began rumbling through the crowd, but he held up his hand, signaling another minute of quiet. “ I’d also like to take a moment to toast to my father, Lord Pembrook . I don’t think I’m alone in missing his presence at this year’s celebration, but I keep his acumen and dedication in mind, and I aspire to follow his example while I oversee the estate in his absence.”

He allowed the cheer to build this time, taking the opportunity to catch his breath. To quickly determine the next words he would say, because they needed to be just right. For all he knew, Emily was still a betrothed woman, and her reason for being here had nothing to do with what he hoped. Nonetheless , he at least had to let her know …

He nudged his glass upward, taking one last look at the array of faces before setting his eyes solely on her. “ And last, but certainly not least, I offer a toast and my utmost gratitude to the woman who made this night possible: Lady Emily Prescott .”

His audience shuffled, some standing on tiptoe and others craning their necks so they could observe the lady to whom he gestured. As for Emily , he could detect, by the little jolt of her chest, the moment she sucked in a breath. He could see, beneath the candlelight, the hint of pink that spread over her cheeks.

“ Some of you may recognize Lady Emily from Beaumont Manor ,” he said, peering across the space and into those amber eyes. Experiencing a twinge near his heart. “ The Prescott family have been neighbors and friends to us here at Rosemead for my entire life. However , Lady Emily went above and beyond the bounds of friendship with her willingness to step in and assist this week. For when I despaired that the poor weather—and other assorted difficulties—would impede this party’s success, she was there to prove me wrong. You see, she has twice as many uninjured hands as I and ten times more sense.”

A few hearty chuckles spread through the room, and the sight of her lips twitching upward caused his own to respond in kind.

“ Her ability to recognize a challenge and confront it without hesitation is unparalleled,” he continued. “ She turned things I thought impossible into realities. She led with maturity, wisdom, and grace. And she didn’t abandon the venture of helping me when I failed to display any of those characteristics.”

More laughter ensued, and he couldn’t help but join in. He’d been such an oblivious fool in so many ways. Yet Emily had been there the whole time, always knowing what to do. What he needed.

“ My household and I agree,” he said, his voice suddenly sobering. His heart racing out of control. “ We couldn’t have accomplished everything we did, and I could have never fulfilled my vow to uphold the tradition of hosting this party, if not for her. For that, she will have my eternal gratitude and most fervent admiration.”

And that only brushes the surface of what I feel for her .

He swallowed down the thick lump of emotion that threatened to make his words break, holding his glass up high. “ And so, let’s drink. To all of you. To the viscount. And to Lady Emily Prescott .”

The great hall erupted with the sounds of appreciative shouts and glasses clinking, and he took a sip of wassail, letting the spiced liquid flow over his tongue. However , out of the myriad things that flooded his senses, he only had eyes for one. Emily .

Emily , who raised her glass to him and pressed the wassail to her rosy lips.

Emily , whose eyes shone and dark eyelashes fluttered as those surrounding her showered her with praise.

Emily , who was moving again, the mass of people falling away to give her a path to the front of the room. To him.

She drew nearer, step by ethereal step, until she was at his side, even more breathtakingly beautiful up close. An image he may not be able to paint, but that he knew, beyond a doubt, would stay imprinted in his memory for the rest of his life.

As if by magic, a hush fell over the crowd, until the only sound to reach his ears was the quiet treble of her voice. “ Nate .” She tilted her chin upward, her eyes rising to the top of the doorframe. “ You’re standing under the kissing bough.”

Oh . So he was. He hadn’t considered it before. Hadn’t been able to think of anything but the woman in front of him and giving her the words she deserved.

And suddenly, he could think of nothing at all, beyond the fact that her lips were upon his, and the silence gave way to uproarious applause.

He pulled her against him at once, savoring every second. Her mouth was warm and pliant, sweet and delicately spiced?—

And gone from his far too soon, lest their display grow scandalous. However , the way she clasped his hands within hers helped make up for it. The way she turned her amber eyes upon him, and although they contained a sheen—almost as if from tears—he could detect nothing but joy. The future .

“ Dance with me, Nate .” She smiled, giving his left hand a gentle tug, for the violins had restarted, filling the room with a cheery tune.

There was nothing in the world he wanted to do more.

He ambled with her back to the dance floor, his head spinning with wassail and soft lips and hope. It occurred to him, for a flicker of a moment, that he should perhaps warn her he was sorely out of practice when it came to country dances.

Except the instant they fell into the line of couples, the exact steps became meaningless. Instead , they whirled and stumbled and laughed with abandon until the whole world spun, and he felt like he was walking on air. They joined in dance after dance until, little by little, the crowd of revelers surrounding them thinned. Until the time came to relocate to the doorway and bid farewell and Happy Christmas to the tenant families, who began to depart with their gift baskets in hand. Until the last guest was gone, and he instructed his newly returned servants that setting the great hall back in order could wait until tomorrow and that they were to take the rest of the evening to themselves.

Until , finally, he and Emily were well and truly alone.

He hadn’t known—hadn’t dreamed—this moment would exist. Perhaps that was why he found himself momentarily speechless, capable of nothing but peering at her bright eyes, her flushed cheeks. Of brushing his finger over the silky strand that had escaped from her coiffure.

Perhaps that was why his voice, when it did come, was a rasp, and he found himself stating the obvious, as if to remind himself it was true. “ You came back.”

She smiled at him, as brilliant as the day’s sunlight that had made the snow glitter. Her palm rose to his chest, her fingers splaying against the spot where his heart thrummed below the surface. “ How could I stay away when this is the only place I wanted to be?”

“ You didn’t … You aren’t …” He trailed off, loath to speak of other men. Of almost betrotheds . Yet before he could let himself wish without inhibition, he needed to hear her confirm the truth.

“ No .” She shook her head, and although he hadn’t explained himself, it was clear she’d deciphered his meaning. For she smiled again. Sank her fingertips more deeply into his waistcoat. “ In the end, I had to follow my heart.”

Something within him seemed to break free, and he leaned in, pressing his forehead to hers. Pressing his hand over hers, too, so he could detect the beat of his heart, which felt more full than he’d ever known possible. “ I’m the most fortunate man on earth that your heart led you here.”

“ Nate .” She whispered his name once more—the sweetest sound—and her eyes drifted upward. Yet again, they were standing under the kissing bough.

Consequently , there was only one thing to do. And when he kissed her this time—in the warm, empty great hall, with nothing in the background to disturb them but the yule log’s soft crackle—he didn’t need to stop.