Chapter 9

9

A s a girl, Emily had often imagined the way Nate’s lips would feel if they fell upon hers. She’d spent more time than she cared to admit pondering whether they’d be smooth or rough, whether they’d brush against her in a featherlight caress or overtake her with a consuming pressure.

However , her imaginings couldn’t have prepared her for the way his kiss would steal the air from her lungs and make her heart detonate as if composed of fireworks. She couldn’t have predicted that his lips themselves would be soft, but that the stubble along his jawline would lightly abrade her skin.

He neither skirted her lips nor ravished them, but pressed against them with a steady force, like he wished to savor her. To know her.

This was all a terrible idea. Something that shouldn’t happen, couldn’t happen, for it was a dream she’d long since thrown away. She’d learned her lesson, knew better than to return to childish fantasies.

And still, she didn’t pull away. Didn’t think about wisdom or old hurts or guarding her heart. Instead , she returned the pressure of his lips, allowing herself to know him, too.

As if of their own volition, her arms reached up to wrap around his neck, her fingers extending to comb through the hair that had grown long enough to curl at his nape. She’d long wondered what those dark gold strands would feel like, and it turned out they were sleek beneath her fingertips, something she could relish until dusk became dawn.

His hands, meanwhile, slid down her back to encircle her waist in a pleasurable embrace. Those battered hands that she’d held, stroked, and soothed as he laid bare all his secrets and regrets. As , little by little, he became less the young man who’d so flippantly dashed her feelings for him and more someone who’d matured, changed—someone to whom she wanted to give all her care and comfort.

But the longer their lips stayed connected, the less she could focus on who he’d been in the past or who he meant to be in the future. She could think only of how his tongue gently teased her until her mouth fell open, and of the hot jolt of bliss as the tip of his tongue flicked over hers.

She’d allowed gentlemen to kiss her before, but it had never been like this. She’d never had a man caress her lower back and experienced the sensation deep in her core, had never tasted another man’s mouth so intimately and felt desire spiral in myriad directions. This wasn’t a mild sensation that skirted the edge of enjoyment. This was champagne and butterflies, and she wanted more of it, wanted to become drunk and dizzy?—

A sharp clatter echoed off the marble floor tiles, followed by a woman’s startled gasp.

Something fell … Someone’s here …

All at once, her brain made sense of the noises, and her body snapped to alertness, jerking away from him and sitting straight against the chair back.

The housekeeper, Mrs . Ruck , stood in the doorway nearest the servant’s stairs, holding a tray containing a teapot and an assortment of dishes and utensils. Minus one spoon, which had relocated to the floor below.

“ I beg your pardon, sir. Lady Emily .” After a moment of open-mouthed silence, the housekeeper managed a small curtsey, her cheeks turning a vibrant shade of crimson. “ I found some more ointment in the stillroom and brought it along in case you have need of it, and Mrs . White thought you could both use some tea and biscuits. She also asked if you’d like dinner prepared and sent up. Although perhaps I’d best come back later?—”

“ No .” Emily and Nate spoke in unison, and Nate beckoned Mrs . Ruck forward, pushing aside the basin so she could place the tray on the table in front of him.

The housekeeper was quick to obey, although she refused to quite look either of them in the eye. Not that Emily blamed her after the scene she’d witnessed. Emily swept a finger across her temple, her face feeling like it had been set afire.

As for Nate , he rummaged in his pocket for his watch. Glanced from the watch face to the windows with an expression that was strangely pinched. “ Thank you,” he said gruffly. Breathlessly . “ We’ll have dinner, although there’s no need to prepare anything special or bring it to the dining room. We can go down to the kitchen instead. If that’s agreeable to you, Lady Emily ?”

Her heart seemed to have lost control, galloping like a horse free from its reins. Her stomach flipped and twisted, so the last thing she wanted was food. Yet what else was she to do or say? “ Certainly .” She jumped up from her chair, sucking in a quick mouthful of air that had grown charged and heavy. Her eyes darted around the great hall—the space she’d been familiar with for years but that suddenly looked foreign—and registered it was growing dark yet again.

Somehow , the hours of Christmas Eve had slipped by with her staring at neither the clock nor the elements. Almost as if she were meant to be at Rosemead and this wasn’t all an unfortunate twist of fate.

She hurried away before the idea could blossom, stopping beside one of the towering windows with its frosty panes of glass. Sure enough, snow continued to drop relentlessly from the blackening sky, the wind swirling it about over the frozen landscape.

Yet the spiraling flakes outdoors couldn’t compare to the whirlwind that had become her thoughts.

She and Nate didn’t talk much over their simple meal of bread, cheese, and gingerbread biscuits.

Fortunately , Mrs . Ruck —recovered from her earlier shock—and Mrs . White were in the kitchen with them to fill the silence, exclaiming over how well the food preparations were coming along.

Emily —who’d become especially skilled at concealing her true emotions since her entrapment at Rosemead —offered a pleasant remark as much as she was able. After all, she agreed that they’d accomplished an impressive amount with their limited resources, and the entire household deserved to feel proud. She hoped, with an unexpected sort of fervor, that Nate thought so as well.

He seemed to, when he did make a comment. But mostly, he was quiet. Pensive .

Did he regret their kiss? Regret what he’d told her? She found herself repeatedly shooting glances his way, wishing she could see inside his head. But while her family often commented on her perceptiveness, she regrettably lacked the ability to decipher what lay that far below the surface. Especially with him.

He’d become a puzzle. For he was both the man who’d hurt her and the man who’d been running from his own fears and misgivings.

The man who was careless. The man who wished to make amends.

The man whom she wanted never to see again. The man whose kiss wouldn’t stop running through her memory, making her body cry out for more.

She took a drink of the cider Mrs . White had poured for them, washing down the crumbs that stuck in her throat. Full darkness had long since fallen, brightened only by the drifting snow. Which inevitably meant another night at Rosemead , and she didn’t know what to do with that. What to say. How to feel.

“ Will you come with me to the great hall, Lady Emily ?” At last, Nate turned to her, his low voice pulling her out of her thoughts.

She could still picture him standing above her chair by the kitchen hearth and asking the same question yesterday. Could remember her aloofness, her despondency, her resistance. How had so much changed in such a short time? How had she come to see him so differently?

She rose from her fireside chair without protest, trying to ignore the rapid thrum of her heart. And when he offered his arm, she took it, even though she was no longer certain whether he meant it simply as a polite gesture or as something more. Nor could she say which of those options she preferred.

She tried to push it from her mind, focusing instead on Nate’s words as he bid his housekeeper and cook good night and issued the order that they, along with the rest of the sparse household staff, were to take the remainder of the evening off. Once she uttered her own farewells and they retreated into the corridor, though, the quiet made her thoughts race backward again, to when he’d led her from the kitchen and up the stairs the afternoon before. That brief period when his footfalls had been light and assured, and he’d nearly looked joyful, and she hadn’t been sure whether she loathed him for it or felt something else entirely.

His carefree confidence was gone now, for his face had grown sober, and his steps were almost tentative. However , their path remained the same. Up the servant’s staircase, along the narrow corridor, through the door that opened to the splendor of the great hall. And then, he motioned to the very place he had yesterday: the unlit fireplace, where the yule log had been rolled in, ready to be set aflame and mark the festive season.

“ It’s Christmas Eve .” He took a few steps into the room, then glanced back at her with a newfound hesitance. “ I thought we could light it, if you like.”

She hovered by the doorway, peering at the sturdy piece of ash wood. The tree, of all things, that had set this whole misadventure in motion. Perhaps Nate was recalling how unkindly she’d taken his suggestion the first time he made it—the moment when the truth had sunk in that she was snowbound.

Yet everything was altered now. The great hall had been transformed, the jumble of tables and chairs arranged in neat rows, the gift baskets lined up and waiting, the tangled pile of greenery hung cheerily about the room.

And with it, something inside her had transformed, too. A part of her that no longer cursed the snow and her terrible luck. That no longer wanted to flee.

Her throat felt thick, and she swallowed, quietly crossing the room until she stood beside the fireplace. “ Yes , I would like that. Very much.”

He moved faster, then, coming up alongside her and reaching for something tucked behind the holly bough upon the mantelpiece. Two scraps of wood, slightly charred around the edges. “ These are from last year’s yule log, apparently. Mrs . Ruck provided them.” He lifted the splinters to the sconce beside the mantel, waiting until the flames from the candles took hold of the ends and extending one of the glowing shards to her. “ Will you do the honors? It’s only fitting.”

Her fingers brushed against his as she accepted the offering, and while she’d spent more of the day than she could have imagined with their hands entwined, the sensation didn’t fail to send a tingle over her skin. She knelt upon the cold marble, her eyes fixed on the flame. And then, she lowered her hand so the flame touched the ash bark, holding it there until the fire caught.

Yes , she supposed this was a fitting conclusion to Christmas Eve . Proof that their struggle in the woods hadn’t been in vain.

His trousers made the faintest rustling noise as he lowered himself beside her, setting his flame to the other end of the yule log. More fire sparked, the glow gradually spreading until it became the beginnings of a blaze not easily extinguished. She turned her head, watching the light of it dance across his profile, displaying the sharp angles of his jaw, the gold of his brows, the straight line of his mouth. For a moment, everything was quiet except for the crackle of the yule log beneath the flames. Until all at once, his words came, mingling with the soft sounds of the fire. “ Thank you, Lady Emily .”

Oh , her heart was acting peculiar, leaping and quivering in a way it had no business doing from a simple expression of gratitude. She couldn’t help it; she kept going back to the press of his lips, the weight of his arms around her, the warmth of his hands beneath hers. All the instances when she’d no longer felt like a foolish girl stuck in the wrong place at the wrong time but a woman to be desired. A woman he esteemed enough to trust.

“ It was my pleasure, Mr . Pembrook ,” she said, her voice little more than a murmur. It was a wonder she remembered how to speak at all, for the light tang of wood smoke, the firelight, and the sheer closeness of him seemed to be interfering with her ability to form coherent thoughts. Yet she remained sentient enough to notice he looked solemn. To guess at what weighed on him and recognize what he needed to hear. “ You’re going to do your father proud.”

His lips quirked the slightest bit before straightening, and she detected the subtle rush of his exhale, almost like a sigh. “ I hope so…” He continued staring into the fire, his expression making him appear miles away. Silence fell again, save for the gentle crack of wood, and the heaviness of it stretched between them until a shower of sparks flared to life with a loud pop. A muscle in his jaw twitched, his fingers curling against the leg of his trousers. And then, there were more words, spoken in a tight rasp. “ I’m sorry I couldn’t bring you home today as I promised.”

Her heart gave a tiny lurch. Was that truly what troubled him? He worried he’d let her down? She supposed he had every reason to think so. After all, she’d sat in his kitchen yesterday with her chattering teeth and broken boot, demanding to return to Beaumont .

But that was before, not now.

Not now .

She didn’t have all the correct, careful words to explain herself. Wasn’t sure if the correct words even existed. And so, she simply said what was in her heart. “ Perhaps I’m already spending Christmas Eve where I’m meant to be.”

His head pivoted so his gray eyes were no longer staring at worlds within the flames but at her. Firelight danced within his pupils. A vee formed at the bridge of his nose. And then, a lone fingertip reached up to trace along her cheek. To push a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

“ Emily …” Her name on his lips was a question. A plea.

“ Nate ,” she whispered back, her pulse thundering, and she didn’t know what else to say. Only knew what she wanted.

He’d leaned in and kissed her. Why could she not do the same and kiss him, too?