Chapter 9

CHAPTER 9

L ovie didn't want to admit it, but she was thankful for a break from the normal chaos surrounding the holiday season. Two days had passed since they arrived at her family's home. At first, she had thought Hawke might be eager to leave, but the ease of their conversations had alleviated her of that notion.

"There you are," Hawke said, passing the open parlor where she sat in a wingback chair hidden away from the day's festivities. "You disappeared after the Christmas feast. Are you missing your family?"

"No. Hudson and Rochester are undoubtedly playing billiards for shillings with the servants and losing on purpose."

"I thought you might be worried they were concerned when we didn't arrive back in time."

"Oh, Hudson knows better. This isn't the first time something like this has happened. I honestly believe he agreed for you to escort me because he was afraid of this very thing, which speaks of his trust, or Rochester's. I have a feeling it took a little persuasion from Rochester that you were harmless and safe to escort Hudson's spinster sister."

"You use spinster as if it's a bad word," he said, walking farther into the little parlor where a cozy fire burned and the candles created a soft glow. "I brought hot chocolate. I hope you like it with milk and sugar. I can't abide it with water and no sugar." He carried no tray, just a cup in each hand. He strolled to the chair where she sat and handed her a serving. With the tea table between them, he sat on the settee. "Spinster simply means a lady who earns her own way and doesn't need a husband's income."

"Which is also to say, on the shelf. And I don't earn my own money." She said over a sip of Christmas cocoa.

"Is this your house?"

"Strictly, it's Hudson's."

He tilted his head and gave her an exasperated look. "You're splitting hairs."

"I'm melancholy and not good company, I'm afraid. We spent only a few holidays in this house, but the ones we did spend here created good memories."

"You think the good memories are gone, and there will be no more?"

She watched him closely. "Yes, I suppose I do. What about you? How do you feel spending Christmas with strangers?"

"This isn't the trip I had planned, but I did expect a certain amount of grief. I'd consider this a boon under the circumstances."

"I'm sorry. That was rude of me." She put the cup down.

"Why? Because you're curious?"

She slanted him a dubious brow.

"I'm not speaking of a kiss. I'm simply saying that it's not untoward to question one's motives or life or feelings, especially when that someone has been residing in your home for a week. Between here and your cousin's house in Mayfair, we've spent a fair amount of time together. We've talked, laughed, and even been ill."

"One of us has been ill." She bit her lip. "I confess that I wondered a little if you were dependent on drink. I'm happy to see that you're not. And not because I would think less of you, but because it makes life unbearably difficult."

"You sound like you know."

"My father drank to cover his sadness. Hudson and I are careful never to imbibe for the purpose of burying one's feelings."

"That's wise. I didn't expect you'd find me in a bad way."

"Well, according to you, I was early. I'll take the blame for the sake of peace. I'm generous that way."

He sat back against the corner of the sofa and regarded her with a gleam in his eyes. "I brought you a gift in keeping with the occasion."

"Besides the chocolate? You shouldn't have done that. Where did you find the time?"

He grinned like the devil and pulled from his breast pocket a sprig of mistletoe. "Just in case you needed an excuse."

She laughed despite the inappropriate suggestion. She'd begun to look forward to his teasing. "I thought you'd never ask."

"Oh, but I'm not. I am but a willing participant."

She popped her hands on the arms of her chair and stood. "I have had about all I can suffer on that accord. So," she said, strolling around the back of the sofa. "I will take that." She bent over his shoulder, snatched the mistletoe from his fingers, and held it over his head. His eyes were merry but round with shock as she placed one hand under his chin, tilting his head back. She relinquished the greenery long enough to boost herself up on her toes. She leaned over his face and kissed him upside down.

It was a short kiss. An awkward kiss, to be sure. And, something else. The smell of his shaving soap, his spicy cologne, and the taste of chocolate on his lips was enticing, indeed.

"There," she said, pulling back. "Are you satisfied?"

"Not by half." He looked over his shoulder.

"I could have told you that." She threw the mistletoe at him, and he caught it, barely saving his hot chocolate from spilling all over his trousers.

"I dare you to try that again, face-to-face."

"We were face-to-face."

He crooked a finger at her and set his chocolate down.

The gesture jarred her insides with excitement.

"If you please. For my poor soul's sake."

She took a deep, determined breath and marched toward him. When she stood close enough, gazing down at him because he remained seated, she held out her hand, and he humbly, but with a wicked smile, placed the greenery on her upturned palm. She swallowed. "Best to get it over with then."

He hardly had a chance to get a chortle out before she braced her hands on his shoulders, bent her head, and pressed her lips to his. This kiss, however, did not feel awkward, and it was not brief. At first, her mouth was tense, but the tingling shock of doing something so outrageous spread like an electric storm through her veins, and her lips softened and parted. She heard a whimper come from her throat. Hawke wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her onto his lap.

There was no protest in her when he took the lead, his palms on her cheeks, tilting her head for a devouring kiss. He tugged her chin, and she opened her mouth, and the onslaught, what he did with his tongue, was more than she'd ever expected. Without thinking, she ran her palms up his shirtfront and around his neck, folding into him, pressing her body to his. Hawke growled. It was the first time she'd ever heard such a sound. It gave her courage. She even smiled against his mouth.

"You little minx," he said before taking her lips again.

Her heart pounded, and her chest ached with a thrill that reached every nerve ending in her body. She felt him shift under her bottom, and he suddenly pulled his mouth from hers.

Neither of them said anything. Lovie cleared her throat and allowed him to help her stand. He scratched his forehead.

"Well." She straightened her skirts and felt a rush of heat in her cheeks as she held each breath into a steady, even, normal rhythm. "That was rather untoward of me."

A suffocated chuckle came from the sofa where he sat, and she shyly looked at him. "I hadn't expected it myself. Not that I'm complaining, mind you."

She walked on shaking limbs back to her seat. She took her cup, holding it out toward him in a toast. "Merry Christmas, Remington."

He raised his cup. "You have made it so, Miss Lovie Wright."

She lowered her cup directly. "If you're going to join the charade, you'll have to use my name properly, as in singular."

"Was it a charade?"

She eyed him over the rim of her cup, wishing it was something more potent than chocolate, like brandy.

"You aren't going to answer me, are you?"

"I believe it's my prerogative. And now the boot is on the other leg, as they say."

* * *

The following morning when Hawke sat on the edge of his bed and picked up a boot, he remembered with enthusiasm what Lovie had said. The boot on the other foot . He decided to try it, slipping his right boot on the left foot. He grimaced as he jammed his toes into an unnatural position, making the boot feel two sizes too small. An idea sprouted, except it was apt to make her more uncomfortable than him, even with his boot on the wrong foot. He left it there and pulled on the other, left side to right foot. Limping to the wardrobe, he grabbed his greatcoat and hobbled to the parlor he left her in last night. Surely, she would be there.

"What? No mistletoe?" He tried not to grimace as he stepped into the warm room decked in winter colors of storm blue and marigold yellow. Lovie was sitting on the settee where she'd kissed him last night. Oh, that kiss. It twisted his insides. What had been a farce, a tease, a means to see her blush, had turned into something he couldn't easily forget, and he wasn't certain whether tempting fate was a good idea. Before he could change his mind, he added, "I think we need to get out."

She turned in her seat, her arm resting on the back sofa cushion. "I thought you'd be breaking your fast. If I'd known you would visit my hiding place, I'd have stayed in my room." The statement lost all effect when he saw her grin as she turned away.

"I wanted to show you something."

"Outside?"

"Eventually." He rounded the settee, fighting the grimace and the urge to grunt with every step.

"What are you doing?"

He sat next to her on the settee, and feeling like a pretzel, he crossed one oddly booted foot over the opposite knee with a painful sound coming from his throat.

She looked at his feet. "What have you done?"

"Exactly what you suggested. The boot is on the other foot, and it's damn uncomfortable."

She hid a giggle with a hand to her mouth. "You are a dunderhead. Take them off."

"I can't." To his credit, it wasn't exactly a trick because he had no living idea whether the boots would come off easily or not. "I may need your help."

"Why did you do it in the first place?" Her gaze swayed from the boots to his face. "Never mind. I can see I'm wasting my good sense trying to figure out your idiocy."

"Such names you call me. Idiot. Dunderhead. I like Remington better."

"Well, Remington, hand me your foot."

He laid back against the sofa arm, holding out his leg and enjoying the enticing view as she bent to the task of yanking his boot free. Her dress was demure enough when she sat straight, but leaning over his leg, he could see the nice soft curve of her breasts as they met into an enticing vee supported by tight-fitting stays. Women's clothes were a curse to remove, but they were sometimes heaven to look at.

"I cannot believe you actually did this. Doesn't it hurt?" she asked as the other boot dropped. "There." She brushed her hands together. "I think you're capable of putting them back on."

"Only if you show me the grounds here at Wright House. Unless, of course, you'd rather kiss me again. I'd stay right here for that."

"Do I have a choice?"

"Not that I'm aware since I did do as you requested."

"The shoe?" She cast him a remorseless glance with a teasing twinkle in her eyes.

He nodded with a wide grin.

"You're a child."

"If it makes you feel better to disarm me with an insult rather than charm, I am up for anything today. In fact, I believe your insults are quite charming."

As a chuckling smile grew, she lowered her eyes. "The property. If you don't mind the winter chill and fields of tall grass, I'll show you the cattle."

"I'm at your service."

"Let me get my cloak."