Christmas Bliss (2 page)

She said, “I must apologize for my behavior and thank you
for your kindness.”

It was barely praise and yet his stomach tightened. He
really had to get away from her. “Neither apology nor thanks are necessary.” He
bowed. “I shall see you in the morning.”

Chapter Two

“My God, John, you look as if you’ve seen a ghost.” Margaret
commented when he returned to the back parlor.

Somehow, the girl had gotten under his skin. He couldn’t
help thinking about her out on the streets. Any number of terrible things might
have happened to her and her brother. A shudder ran up his spine. He shook
himself back to the present and turned to his mother. “Do you suppose she’s
mad, Mother?”

“Mad. No. I’ve known the girl since she was born. She’s a
wonderful girl. She took care of her father for a year during his illness. She
missed her second season and now her third, poor thing. I am sure there is
truth in what she says. I have met her uncle. The man is abhorrent in every
way, though it is hard to believe he would do the boy harm.”

“Hmm… She must believe it, to hide in my shrubbery in order
to escape him. It’s quite cold outside and to run with a small child at night
is dangerous. She was lucky not to be seen by the night watch, or worse,
accosted. It was a desperate move.”

“In the shrubbery, really! I find that quite out of
character for Emma.” She paused and looked at her son closely. “You seem quite
taken with her, John.”

He thought to deny it, but decided lying to his mother was
useless. She would ferret out the information if he did not offer the truth.
“She is very beautiful.”

“Indeed.” He could hear the interest in her voice. “But
there are many beautiful women in London. You have never paid particular notice
to any of them.”

“She is brave and caring. You don’t see those qualities very
often in women of our society. Most of the nitwits you have paraded before me
over the past five years have been conceited, insipid chits who are more
interested in wealth than substance.”

His mother raised one imperious eyebrow. “You barely know
Emma Trent, John. How can you be sure she is any different?”

He turned sharply toward her and his anger flared hot in his
belly. “How can I tell? She risks everything to protect her brother. You told
me she missed her best chances at finding a husband at all, let alone a rich
one. She is intelligent, that much I can see for myself.”

“High praise for a girl you barely know.”

She was right, of course. He didn’t know Emma. She was
beautiful and intelligent, but was that what made him want to protect her? Were
those qualities why he was defending her to his mother, whom he was sure
already liked the girl? Then a nervous thought occurred to him. “Do you
disapprove, Mother? I realize she is without title. Is that the problem?”

“Pft. You know better than that. I don’t care about titles.
It’s not as if she comes from the street or you have taken up with one of the
maids.” Margaret rose and crossed to her son. “What I don’t know is what your
intentions are?” She brushed a piece of lint from his coat and grinned up at
him.

He returned her smile and kissed her cheek. “I don’t know.”

They both laughed.

“Honestly, I feel as overwhelmed as a schoolboy at his first
social.” It wasn’t easy to admit his trepidation, but it was honest. His
relationship with his mother had always been very frank. He saw no reason to
change what had always worked in the past.

It was true. He had no idea what his intentions were with
regard to Emma Trent. Somehow, she drew him in. He never cared overmuch about
the events happening in his own home. He’d been so involved with arguing for
this cause or that, he’d allowed ten years of his life to slip by. He wanted to
know what drove her. Not knowing more about her frustrated him. In politics,
when he wanted to know something, he would ask questions and do research. Emma
would be gone tomorrow. He’d let time slip away from him and missed his
opportunity.

“Perhaps it would be best to get a good night’s sleep and
think on the matter in the morning,” she advised.

“As always, Mother, you are the wisest person I know.”

She laughed and slapped his chest affectionately. “Charmer.”

“Good night, Mother.”

* * * * *

Drinking brandy late into the night was something John only
did when he had tried everything else to fall asleep and nothing worked.
Finally, after hours of twisting and turning in his starched sheets, he put on
his trousers and shirt and made his way to the library. He could have had a
brandy in his room but that had always seemed desperate to his way of thinking.
Sitting alone in one’s bedchamber and drinking, struck John as a pathetic
habit.

So, he carried himself down to the library, took a book of
poetry from the shelf, poured himself a rather large glass of his finest brandy
and sat before the fire. Perhaps it was still pathetic, but it felt more
civilized.

The door creaked open.

He turned to look around the high back of the chair. She was
in a nightdress that must have been borrowed from his mother. It was far too
old a fashion for Emma’s youth, but she still reminded him of an angel.

He stood up.

Her eyes went wide, and for a moment, he thought she might
bolt from the room as if she was a rabbit. He did feel as if he fit the role of
a fox about to pounce, but he could control his urges. He was a gentleman after
all.

“I do not mean to frighten you,” he said softly. Actually,
the idea that he might frighten her or chase her off sickened him. The last
thing he wanted was to scare her away. What he needed was more time. It was the
one thing he lacked.

“I thought the library would be deserted at this hour.” The
words were mumbled as if she was talking to herself.

He smiled. “I could not sleep.” He lifted the book in his
hand.

“Nor I,” she said. “I’m afraid I rarely sleep, my lord.
Tonight was not bad. I was so exhausted, I did manage to doze for a short
time.”

He moved out from behind the chair. “You need not fear your
uncle here, miss Trent. No harm shall come to you or your brother. You have my
personal guarantee.” He wanted to add
ever
. He wanted to tell her that
he would always protect her. He found himself leaning forward and wishing to
rush to her and hold her so that he could tell her that everything would be all
right.

She nodded. “I’m afraid my insomnia goes back to my father’s
illness, my lord. I think I have simply forgotten how to sleep with any
regularity. Really, it’s just as well. My uncle has been a threat and Oliver
often wakes with night terrors. I should be available to him at all times.”

He noted the dark smudges under her eyes and his heart ached
for her. He could not remember feeling such empathy for another person in his
lifetime. He was not even sure he believed her story about her uncle, yet he
wanted to help. He needed more information. “Forgive me, miss Trent, I am
always behind in my social knowledge. Can I assume that young master Oliver’s
mother was a second marriage for your father?”

She stepped forward into the room. Her smile intoxicated him
more than any amount of brandy ever could. He actually felt lightheaded and
began to worry that if she came too close, he might embarrass himself.

“My mother passed away when I was nine. My father married
miss Colleen Collins two years later and a few years after that Oliver was
born. Unfortunately, my stepmother did not survive the birth.”

“I’m very sorry, miss Trent. You have had to endure quite a
lot for one so young,” he said.

She chuckled. “I am not so young anymore, Lord Compton. I am
nearly one and twenty. The marriageable young ladies have no fear of me these
days.”

His body moved closer, even as his brain told him to keep
his distance. It was as if she held a tether attached to his chest and had
reeled him in. “I think they would be foolish not to keep their eye on you,
miss Trent. You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.” He couldn’t
stop the words from tumbling out of his mouth. He meant them, but he had not
intended to say them. His plan was to find out more about her, not show her
what a simpering dolt he was.

She blushed. “You flatter me, my lord.”

“No.” His voice was soft and he closed the gap between them.
“I speak the truth. Would you be so kind as to call me by my Christian name? I
cannot stand for you to address me so formally.” He was making a fool of
himself. He barely knew this woman. His mother had said it earlier, and it was
true.

She looked up into his eyes. It was as if he were staring
into the deepest ocean. He wondered what she thought of his dark brown eyes.
His behavior was more that of a schoolboy than the Earl of Compton. He had no
idea what had come over him. Something about Emma Trent had him behaving like a
fool. Her opinion of him was critical for some strange reason, and he longed to
know what she thought of him. Did she think him handsome? Of course not. He was
too old for her anyway. What would a woman like Emma Trent, vibrant and young,
want with a politically minded thirty-one-year-old man?

She reached up and pushed a wayward hair from his forehead.
He held his breath and watched her. It was only a whisper of a touch, but his
entire body vibrated with it. When she pulled her hand back, he nearly
whimpered.

Emma looked away from him to a dark corner of the room. She
was lost in thought. “John.” She said it softly. It sounded as if she was
saying it to herself. Then her face lit up as she looked up at him. “And will
you call me Emma?”

Somehow his feet had brought him to stand only inches from
her. He could feel the warmth of her skin emanating in the space between them.
Her scent filled his senses with flowers and spice. His entire body ached to
touch her and hummed with need. “Emma?”

“Hmm?”

“I believe I am going to kiss you now.” He knew it was
impulsive, but he needed her.

“I think that I shall let you, John.”

If she had been outraged or told him no, he didn’t know what
he would have done. He guessed he would have gone and sat behind his desk. It
was difficult to be a gentleman in the face of such temptation. As it was, her
words stoked the fire that already burned within him. His lips touch hers as if
they were a whisper. Rubbing back and forth, he memorized every nuance of her
curved top lip and her full, rounded bottom one. His tongue licked at the
corner of her mouth and she made a soft noise in her throat. He didn’t want to
frighten her, but his own passion pushed him to nibble on her bottom lip, break
the contact and then press his lips to hers again.

She sighed in response. Encouraged, he ran his tongue along
the crease of her lips, and when she moaned his name, he took advantage and
deepened the kiss, plundering her mouth. Her tongue tentatively touching his
made him groan with want.

His arm was around her back and one hand slid up her ribs.
The thin cotton nightgown allowed him to feel every nuance of her narrow waist,
and then, where she became fleshier, he reveled in the softness of her curves.
His hand lingered there a moment, lightly caressing her through the fabric. Her
back arched and she made a noise in her throat that he knew he had to hear for
the rest of his life. The idea stunned him. It was true. This woman in his
arms, whom he’d only met hours earlier, was all he ever wanted. He was the one
who’d lost his mind, but he didn’t care. He crushed her to him. The hand at her
back had held the volume of poetry, but in his passion, Shakespeare’s sonnets
fell loudly to the floor.

She hopped back and her hand went to her lips. She did not
rush from the room, so he picked up the book and offered it to her.

She took it from him. “I do love Shakespeare.”

He cleared his throat. “Perhaps it would be best if you went
back to your room, Emma.” His voice sounded tight and dangerous. He barely
recognized himself.

She blushed and looked down at the carpet. “I hope you are
not regretting what happened just now.”

“Never that,” he said. “I have not had so urgent a feeling
for anyone before, Emma. And I have to admit, it frightens me a little. I would
not like to do something that offends to you or causes you to think of me in
anything but a good and honorable light.”

She laughed, and it was as if Christmas bells filled the
air. The sound was warm and familiar. In fact, everything about Emma made him
feel comforted and happy.

“Urgent is an interesting choice of words,” she said.

“But don’t you see? Everything you do or say, the look of
you, the sound of your laughter and even that slight blush when you look into
my eyes, makes me feel an urgency that I can barely control.”

His declaration made her frown. “My presence makes you
uncomfortable, my lord. Oliver and I shall leave at first light. We have an
aunt. We can go to her and she will look after us. Perhaps you would be kind
enough to loan us a carriage for the journey to Plymouth?”

His chest constricted to the point of pain. He was chasing
her away when all he wanted was to be near her. “I do not want you to leave,
Emma. My discomfort is the most wonderful thing I’ve felt in a very long time.”
He thought it might be the only thing he’d truly felt since joining the House
of Lords.

He reached out and touched her cheek before tracing his
thumb along her lips. It was almost as intimate as the kiss and sent jolts of
sensation to every corner of his body.

Her face was a mixture of pleasure and confusion. “I will
bid you good night then, John.”

Then his lips gently touched hers. His body responded
instantly and he had to pull himself away before he took her right there in the
library. “Good night. I shall see you in the morning.”