His Housekeeper's Christmas Wish (12 page)

She thought about it for a moment. ‘Yes, I believe I am.’

‘I have to tell you it is not very erotic.’

‘It is not intended to be erotic!’
Infuriating man, to be able to make me blush even more deeply than I already am.
‘I am not talking about
that
kind of seduction.’

‘Your arguments have their merits, but for other men, I think. And I have to tell you that successful seduction requires passion and recklessness and surprise.’ His lips were twitching now. It was not laughter directed at her, she guessed. Hoped.

‘I would need to catch you unawares?’ Tess suggested. There was a flicker of something inside her, a warm, fidgety glow. ‘Be more passionate with my arguments?’

‘Indeed you would. And I am not easily caught with my guard down.’

* * *

Tess pondered on seduction over the next week in the intervals between ordering supplies, puzzling over whether one goose, one turkey and a ham would be enough for the Christmas meals and negotiating the use of the boiler in between wash days in order to dangle the cannonballs of plum pudding in the cavernous pot.

Alex had been amusing himself by teasing her and, perhaps, flirting a little, she guessed, although she had no experience of such a thing. According to the nuns seduction applied to sin, to devils luring souls into doing wicked things. In Minerva Press novels seduction was all to do with love and lust. Between the pages wicked women dressed in trailing silks lured the hero into their toils and then...the chamber door closed with a resounding thud, even in the most daring tale. Tess very much doubted she’d know a toil if she fell over it; she possessed no trailing silks and Alex would probably laugh himself sick at the sight of her slinking about in her very sensible flannel wrapper.

I am thinking about seducing him into bed, not into happiness
, she thought. But that
would
be sin, not because she truly believed that making love was wrong, but because his conscience would hurt him if he took her virginity.

But if he was convinced it would do no harm... It was a delicious daydream, one that brought back the heat and the tingling feelings and the ache to be held, very close, very tight.

How would one go about seducing Alex Tempest? It was safe enough to weave fantasies, surely? Laughter seemed to lower his guard. Laughter and being close enough to touch might work. Catching the man at home and alone, though, that would the first step, and Alex was very, very good at being elusive.

‘What I want for Christmas is an earl,’ she informed Noel, who was in her room helping her to wrap Christmas presents by tangling the ribbons and hiding in boxes. ‘Just the once. I know I’d have to give him back. I only want to borrow him. I suppose I would be quite hopeless at making love, but all the gossip says that men enjoy being with virgins. Which seems strange. But then men are strange, I’m beginning to find.

‘I suppose I shouldn’t be telling you this. You are much too young for such wicked conversation.’ Tess scooped up the kitten, who was trying to eat silver paper, and tickled him until he was a limp, purring handful of fur. ‘But I wish I could make Alex happy. He isn’t, you know, not deep down. He’s angry and hurting. I wish I could give him his family for Christmas, then he might settle down and find a wife and have children of his own.’

Noel made an ambiguous noise somewhere between a mew and a yowl. Tess lifted him up so his pink nose was inches from hers and his eyes crossed as he looked at her. ‘You think we need a fairy godmother? They are in short supply in London, I fear.’

‘What is in short supply?’ Alex’s voice said from behind her.

Chapter Twelve

T
ess spun round on her knees and ended up on her bottom in a tangle of ribbons. ‘You made me jump.’ How long had Alex been standing there, one shoulder against the door frame of her room, listening to her? ‘If you have been eavesdropping, then you’ll know.’

‘I have just arrived, was about to knock and the door swung open onto you complaining about shortages. What do you need?’

Unless he was an actor good enough for Covent Garden Theatre then he had only heard those few words. Tess offered up several prayers of thanks, one in Latin. ‘Fairy godmothers. They are scarce, you must agree.’

‘Why do you need one of those?’ Alex pushed the door right open with his foot, but stayed where he was, pleasingly framed in the space. ‘Just ask and I’ll sort out your Christmas wishes.’

He was flirting, she was almost certain. There was certainly a wicked gleam in his eyes.

Tess got to her feet with as much grace as was possible, given that she had a kitten clinging to her skirts, and assumed her best housekeeper’s expression. ‘You wanted me?’ she enquired.

Alex’s gaze seemed somehow heavier, warmer as his eyes rested on her. It must be the different angle she was seeing him from now she was on her feet.

It was a moment before he replied. ‘Only to tell you that I am dining at Brooks’s tonight and I will be out to dinner at Lord Hawthorne’s tomorrow night.’ He flashed her his rapid, wicked smile. ‘My last fling of dissipation and sociability before Christmas descends like a pall on London.’

‘It is still only the thirteenth.’
What is he going to say when he sees what I have planned for Christmas?

‘I know, but everyone will start leaving for the country by the fifteenth, if they have not already gone.’ He turned to leave, then glanced back over his shoulder. ‘I’ve got a carpenter to make a proper cradle for Daisy. He’ll deliver it tomorrow.’

‘Oh, thank you.’ Tess started forward, to touch his hand, kiss his cheek, then stopped as the realisation of what she was doing hit her.
No, it isn’t fair, don’t make it harder for him to behave like a gentleman.
She turned the movement into a clap of her hands. ‘That’s wonderful—an old drawer isn’t really deep enough to keep out the draughts.’

He smiled and turned to leave. ‘Thank you,’ Tess whispered again as the sound of his footsteps across the hall faded away. It had taken thoughtfulness to notice the makeshift crib and to do something about it. It had involved him making an effort,
personal
effort, when he could have easily ignored a servant’s child as something that was not his concern. ‘There’s hope for you yet, Lord Weybourn.’

* * *

The sound of the key in the latch froze Tess on top of the ladder. Around her in the hall both footmen and Dorcas stopped dead, their arms full of evergreens.

‘Oh, my God, it’s only seven o’clock, he’s not due back for hours.’ Phipps clutched the foot of the ladder, making it sway and Tess yelp and clutch the hanging lantern with both hands. The bunch of mistletoe she had been attempting to fix fell on to MacDonald’s head, Phipps burst into laughter and Dorcas gave a small shriek.

The front door swung open slowly to reveal Lord Weybourn standing on his own front step, fog swirling around him as he held his latch key in one hand and a large wreath tied with scarlet ribbons in the other. ‘This just fell off,’ he said. ‘I caught it. It appears to consist entirely of holly. Exceedingly prickly holly.’

‘I knew I should have used wire, not string, to hold it to the knocker. Sorry, my lord.’ MacDonald tossed the mistletoe to Phipps and strode forward to take the wreath. ‘Ow. Oh, bug—I mean, ouch.’

‘Oh, bug—ouch, indeed.’ Alex came in and closed the door behind him. ‘Phipps, do you intend to kiss me under that mistletoe or to take my hat and coat?’

‘Take your hat, my lord.’ Phipps threw the mistletoe to Dorcas and reached for Alex’s cane. From her perch Tess could see the tops of Phipps’s ears were bright red.

‘And what, exactly, is this?’ Alex enquired as he shrugged out of his caped greatcoat.

‘Christmas evergreens. It is the twentieth after all.’ Tess looked down into Alex’s upturned face and tried to read his mood. Obviously arms full of prickly holly and his hallway in chaos was not how he expected to be welcomed home, but was he annoyed beyond that? ‘We were not expecting you to return yet.’

‘That much is obvious. Why are you up a stepladder, Mrs Ellery, when there are two able-bodied males here and three more in the stables?’

Because Phipps is scared of heights and MacDonald is clumsy
was the truth, but she couldn’t betray the footmen. ‘A woman’s artistic touch?’ she ventured.

‘I see.’ Alex retrieved the now somewhat battered bunch of mistletoe from Dorcas and held it up to her, took a firm hold on the ladder, waited until she had tied the angular fronds in place and then said, ‘Now come down, please.’

‘Yes, my lord.’ Tess attempted her best meek and obedient voice.

‘Did I order Christmas evergreens?’ he enquired when she was standing in front of him.

‘You didn’t forbid them, my lord.’

‘A major oversight. I did not forbid massed carol singers, handbell ringers and a full-size yule log in the front room either. Are those to be expected?’

‘No, my lord. At least, there will be carols downstairs. But no handbells, I promise, and the fireplaces are too small for yule logs.’

‘And are any other rooms infested with fir cones?’ Were his lips twitching? Just a little, perhaps.

‘No, my lord. Just the hallway and below stairs.’

‘I think I could tolerate a sprig or two of holly in the study. And fix that wreath back on the front door, MacDonald. We don’t want the neighbours to think we are lacking in Christmas spirit, now do we?’
Yes, there is a definite twitch. Almost a smile.
‘You, Mrs Ellery, are a very bad influence on my household.’ His gaze flickered up to the mistletoe immediately over her head. ‘And on me,’ he added softly.

Tess took three very deliberate steps backwards. ‘Shall I have tea brought up, my lord?’

‘Tea? No, brandy to the study, MacDonald. Is my post there?’

‘Yes, my lord.’ The footman doubled away; Alex vanished into the study.

Tess looked round at her remaining helpers. ‘We are almost done, I think. Phipps, just let me have that remaining holly, the pieces with lots of berries, and I’ll arrange it in a vase for the study. Dorcas, if you could tidy up and, Phipps, you remove the stepladder—’ From the study there was the clatter of something metallic falling, then rolling. Then silence. ‘What was that?’

‘Sounded like the silver salver, Mrs Ellery.’ Phipps hesitated, his arms full of stepladder. ‘Should I go and see?’

‘No, it is all right, carry on tidying up, I’ll go.’

* * *

One of the few advantages of the Christmas season was a definite reduction in the amount of correspondence, Alex mused as he hitched one hip on to the corner of the desk and spun the salver round to pick up the bundle of post that had arrived since Bland had left after lunch.

He began to shuffle though the pile. Invitation, bill, bill, circular, tickets from the Opera House, letter from Rivers, a journal... And a letter on thick cream paper with a heavy seal. He turned it in his hands, saw the impression in the blue wax, a jagged line of lightning against a stylised cloud.
Tempest.

For a moment he was tempted to toss it onto the fire unopened. Alex looked down at it in his hand. His shaking hand.
Coward.
With an effort of will he stilled the tremor then broke the seal.

Weybourn. Alexander. I do not know whether this will find you in London or what to do if it does not. Or what will befall us if you will not come.

It was his mother’s handwriting. He hadn’t seen it since he was seventeen. Alex stood up and the salver went spinning off the desk, hit the polished boards, spun and fell with a clatter.

Your father is very ill. He will not admit how ill, or how weak he is. Dr Simmington tells me he will not recover, that it is only a matter of time.

The elegant handwriting faltered and became less controlled.

Matthew is not capable or able to take control of everything that must be done here. Alexander, I need you to come home. Your family needs you to come home. Your father will never admit he cannot cope, that he needs you. But despite everything, despite what your father did and said and what you vowed, I beg you, if you have any affection left for your poor afflicted mother, return to Tempeston.

Lavinia Tempest.

The letter slipped from his fingers, drifted down to the carpet like a great falling leaf.
Return to Tempeston. Come home.
He closed his eyes.

‘My lord? Alex?’ A whisper of movement, a scent of lavender water, a touch on his arm.

Alex opened his eyes. Tess stood before him, the letter in one hand, the other resting on his forearm. Her face, puzzled and anxious, was turned up to his. ‘What is wrong?’

‘My father. Read the letter if you want.’ He didn’t seem able to move away, to think.
Your family needs you.

‘Oh, Alex.’ There was a rustle of paper and then Tess’s arms were around him, her hand pulling his head down to her shoulder, her breath warm against his neck. ‘I am so sorry. What terrible news.’

She held him as though he needed comfort, as though he had broken down. What was wrong with her? Didn’t she realise he didn’t care? He hadn’t seen them for ten years.

Tess was murmuring nonsense in his ear, rocking slightly back and forth as she held him. Alex found his arms would move, that he could hold her, too, soft and warm and fragrant. Feminine and sweet and, under it all, a backbone of steel. ‘I do not need comforting,’ he said. But he let his cheek rest on the soft mass of her hair while he got his balance back.

Tess leaned back against his arms and looked up at him. ‘Of course you do, you stubborn man. You love them and they hurt you and now they need you and it hurts all over again.’

‘Tess.’ There were no words and no coherent thoughts either, just wanting. Alex bent his head and kissed her and the world righted on its axis. She opened to him with the generous innocence that was Tess, untutored, a little clumsy as their noses bumped. He remembered the taste of her, slightly tart under the sweetness, like new cherries.

Her hands cupped his head, her fingertips stroked his nape and her curves nestled against him as though a tailor had cut her to fit him. Only him. She gave a little gasp as he touched her tongue with his own, then bravely stroked back, gave a little wriggle and pressed closer.

He was going to have to stop. Through the incoherence that were his thoughts that imperative took shape, became urgent.
Stop, stop now. This is Tess.
And that, he realised, was why he did not want this to end.

When he lifted his head she blinked up at him, deliciously tousled and pink.

‘Tess, we must—’

‘Plan, I know.’ She released his head, stepped back out of his arms. For a moment he was shocked by how easily she could set aside what had just happened and then realised this was the only way she could cope with it: pretend it hadn’t happened, at least for a while.

‘I’ll ring for tea. There is a great deal to be done if you are to leave early tomorrow.’ She went to the bell and pulled the cord, then sat down on the far side of the desk and regarded him with, he thought, some anxiety.

At least he could put a decent distance between them. Alex sat down in his desk chair. ‘Your mother is going to need help,’ she went on. ‘An invalid in the house makes extra work for the male staff, I imagine, so our two footmen will be useful. Do your sisters live at home?’

‘Laura’s married and lives in Edinburgh. Maria is not at all practical. At least, she never used to be. She is...was, sensitive.’

‘You’ll need John Coachman and the grooms.’ She was thinking aloud, frowning as she reviewed the staff.

‘I take them all away and leave you alone?’

‘There’s Dorcas to keep me company. And Annie. The poor child is living in some lodging house. I cannot abandon her at Christmas after I promised she could come here. Three of us will be quite safe together for a few days.’

He’d have to go, he knew that. He couldn’t ignore his own mother in the face of a plea like that. ‘Come with me.’

‘Come... You think your mother will need help sick nursing? Dorcas and I could assist with that, I suppose. But your mother isn’t going to want to have strangers descend on her.’

‘Tempeston is a big country seat, and it has the room to absorb an entire house party and all the additional servants. It can certainly cope with this household.’

She bit her lip and he wondered whether she was nervous about the thought of the big house, or of being with him. Then she took a deep breath and smiled. ‘If you think I can help, then of course I will come, and Annie and Dorcas, too. We’ll all come. It’s the least we can do.’

Brave Tess.
‘At least we have not got far to go, only into Hertfordshire, and the weather is fine.’

‘Hertfordshire?’

‘Yes, the Hertfordshire-Buckinghamshire border.’

She went very still, then gave herself a shake. ‘Tempeston is so close? That
is
good news, we will be able to do the journey in the day.’ There was a tap on the door and MacDonald came in before he could query why the mention of Hertfordshire seemed to take her aback.

‘Tea, please. And some of the cake, thank you.’ Tess waited until the door closed behind the footman. ‘We will have to think about how to explain me.’

‘And a baby. That might well need some explanation, also.’ Alex found the everyday lunacy that was now his household was helping him get a grip. He realised with a jolt that he intended to go...
home.
He had jested about the family vault to Hannah; now there seemed to be a very real possibility that he would be expected to lay his father to rest in it in the near future.

‘We could try a version of the truth,’ he said, forcing himself to think of strategy and practicalities and not of the morass of emotions and anger and misunderstandings. ‘I escorted you to England from Ghent for you to stay with an elderly lady as her companion. The elderly lady has died, you are stuck in London with no friends or relations and only Mrs White, your companion. I put you up, all very shocking, but what is one to do right before Christmas? Dorcas is the widow of a man who died very shortly after Daisy was conceived, which is why she is out of mourning now. You’ll have to work out the details between you. If anyone asks me about you I can look convincingly blank—after all, I’m only acting as a courier.’