Miss Mistletoe (7 page)

Chapter Nine

As the carriage pulled up in front of Hertford Hall, every window blazing with the glow of candles and Christmas cheer, Cece knew she should be happy. It was a momentous occasion, with her father traveling for the first time since losing his vision. It was something she had hoped for for a long time now, and with the backdrop of the falling snow and the sounds of music and merriment filtering from the house into the courtyard, it should have been a triumphant moment.

Instead, she felt somehow hollow. A feeling that did not sit well with her.

“Well, my dear, are you ready?” Papa’s voice was gentle, his face kind.

“Yes of course. I know everyone is so anxious to see you again.” Cece’s eyes flitted to Mrs. Kelly’s beside her. Even in the darkness, compassion shone deep in their emerald depths. The color reminded her of Finn, and Cece forcefully pushed the thought away, smiling encouragingly at the older woman. “And Mrs. Kelly, thank you for coming with us. I’m certain you shall enjoy yourself.”

“Of course, Miss.”

The door opened then, and the Granville liveried footman helped them alight and led them inside. There, the warmth of the candles, the fireplaces, and hundreds of people greeted them.

“The mistletoe is over there, dear cousin.”

She turned to see Richard pointing to the alcove. He winked and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. Cece rolled her eyes. “Very funny, cousin.”

“Just teasing, of course. I’m so glad that both of you could make it.” He gave her father a sound clap on the shoulder and the two of them launched into conversation, freeing her to look around. Without even consciously meaning to, her eyes seemed to seek a particular shade of mahogany hair as her gaze swept the ballroom. When she realized what she was doing, she sternly rebuked herself and rejoined Papa and Richard’s conversation.

For the next hour, Cece mingled with the other guests, staying close to her father’s side. She served not only as guide, but as liaison as old friends converged on them. She tried to announce each of them to him, and he did a wonderful job of putting everyone at ease.

By the time the clock struck ten, Cece was already exhausted. She couldn’t have been more relieved when Papa patted her arm and said, “I do believe I could take a breath of fresh air. What say we take a stroll to the conservatory?”

He didn’t have to ask twice. “As you wish.” She made their excuses and led him through the ballroom and down the back corridor, eager to have a bit of quiet. As they walked, she tried not to think of the last time she had been among Hertford’s tropical plants, when she and Finn had rediscovered each other, so to speak. She stifled a sigh, thinking of how much things had changed since then. Why did he have to go and propose to her? To tell her of how well suited they were and how logical their match would be? She could have lived happily for a lifetime on the perfection of their kiss; instead, she was stuck with the pain of having to turn him away.

She was well and truly lost in thought when they reached the door, and she carelessly pushed through, her head down to make sure there were no obstacles for Papa to trip over. But something about the smell of the air and the odd glow around them made her look up. She stopped dead in her tracks, gasping at the scene in front of her.

The conservatory was alight with hundreds of candles, scattered among the dark leafy foliage like fallen stars. The frosted windows, stretching from the floor to the domed ceiling like a glass cocoon, reflected the flickering light, adding intimacy to the huge space. Despite the snow floating gently to earth just outside, the space was warm, heated by the crackling logs burning in the two massive fireplaces.

A figure stepped out from a cluster of
Dracena Massageana
, and Cece’s breath caught in her throat.
Finn!

Like a knight surveying his kingdom, he stood tall and straight, both hands clasped behind his back. Cece’s heart fluttered wildly within her chest. He was so handsome, so
perfect
, the very air around her suddenly seemed lighter at the sight of him.

Cece turned wide eyes on her father, unable to believe the fairyland he had brought her to. Did he know what awaited them? Though he couldn’t see it, the unmistakable scent of beeswax candles infused the floral air. “Papa,” she started, but faltered, not even sure what to say.

“My sweet tiger lily,” he said, using the endearment from her childhood that made her throat tighten. “You’ve been absolutely invaluable to me these last few years. Truly, I don’t know what I would have done without you. But I realized recently that I am the parent, and you are the child. It is time for you to stop living for me, and to start living for yourself.”

“Did Finn—” She broke off as her father gently disengaged her fingers from his arm, and brought her hands to his mouth. Pressing a kiss to the back of each one, he said, “This is my gift to you, my daughter. Nothing would please me more than to know that you are loved, happy, and well taken care of. Just as I will be.”

He smiled and released her hands. She stood there, staring at him in shock, as Mrs. Kelly padded up from behind them, smiled at her with tears in her eyes, and linked arms with Papa. He reached out to find her face, then placed a soft kiss on the housekeeper’s cheek. Cece’s eyes widened as delight bubbled through her veins like champagne. Well, of course! How had she not realized it earlier?

They turned and started for the door before Papa paused and tilted his head in Finn’s direction. “Take care of her, Edgerton. Otherwise, you’ll have to answer to me.” With a wink to Mrs. Kelly, they walked back toward the hallway, shutting the door behind them.

Cece swallowed and slowly turned to face the man she had been trying to forget for months—years really. Soft strains of Christmas carols filtered down from the party, reminding her of the last Christmas they had been together. She knew now that, though he appeared unchanged on the outside, he was so different than the man she thought she knew. He was so much better, in so many ways.

Finn walked toward her, never taking his eyes from hers. She, in turn, could not have looked away for anything in the world.

“My dear Cecelia. These past few months, I have cursed myself a thousand times over for letting you slip away. I told myself that it was for the best, that I must set aside my feelings for you in favor of your wishes.

“But here’s the thing.” He stopped in front of her, close enough that she could smell that wonderful woodsy scent that haunted her dreams. Close enough that she could scarcely take in a full breath with the delectable closeness of him. “I can’t go another day without saying to you what I should have said the day we parted. Cecelia McCrea, I love you.”

Her hand flew to her mouth as she gasped. Could this moment possibly be real? She started to respond, but he rushed on.

“I love you so much that I can hardly bear the thought of another day without you. So much so, that I would lay my heart, soul, and intentions bare before you, your father, all the people at this ball, and the whole world if I could.”

He reached for her hand and she gave it without resistance. Unhurriedly, he peeled off her glove. The whisper of warm air against her skin made her shiver, and he smiled as he brought her fingers to his lips and kissed each one in turn. “I love you for who you are, who you have been, and who you will be. I love the bold girl who made herself known to me under the mistletoe, and the selfless woman who cares so much for others, and more than anything, the smart, beautiful woman who I hope will fill my house with greenery . . . and love.

“Now,” he said, lowering her hand. “You wanted to say something?”

Tears filled her eyes, making the golden light quiver and dance all around them. “I do,” she whispered, a laugh catching in her throat. “I love you, Finn Edgerton.”

His whole face seemed to light up, joy sparkling in his eyes. He threaded his fingers through hers and tugged her to him. “Then look up, my sweet Cece.”

Narrowing her eyes in suspicion, she tilted her head back and peered above them. Hanging from the ceiling by a length of gold ribbon was a perfect bough of
Viscum album
.

Mistletoe.

She smiled when she realized that a single, perfect white berry remained nestled among its glossy dark leaves. He took advantage of her upturned face and pressed his lips to hers. The heat of the kiss licked through her entire body, melting her heart with its delicious intensity. She slipped her arms around his neck and pulled him to her, savoring the perfect taste of him and the incredible feeling of
rightness.
The kiss went on and on as she lost herself in his arms.

When at last he pulled away, he reached up and plucked the last berry and handed it to her with a wicked grin. She couldn’t help but laugh. “I suppose I shall always be Miss Mistletoe.”

He shook his head, trailing a finger down her cheek before brushing another kiss across her lips. “I wouldn’t say that, my love.”

“You wouldn’t?” she breathed, distracted by the soft kisses he feathered along her collarbone.

He pulled back. “Absolutely not. Because if I have my way, you won’t be
Miss
Mistletoe any longer; you’ll be
Lady
Mistletoe.”

She drew in a sharp breath, meeting his warm gaze.

“I’ve been given the blessing of your father to ask you a very important question. Cecelia Elizabeth McCrea, will you be my wife?”

The happiness that flooded her was pure and sweet. Papa had been a part of all of this. With Mrs. Kelly by his side, Cece no longer had reason to worry. She nodded, not even a hint of reserve holding her back from what she wanted most. “Yes!”

Finn grinned and scooped her up, spinning her in a quick circle. When he put her down, he kissed her once more before reaching into his jacket pocket. “Then this, my future wife, is for you.”

He held out a rolled sheet of paper, tied with a red ribbon. She cut a questioning look to him before accepting the gift and pulling it open. Her mouth dropped open when she recognized her own handwriting. “My drawing,” she breathed, running her fingers over the paper.

“Yes—but it’s also your wedding present. I asked that your father set aside a portion of the funds from your dowry for you to have the conservatory of your dreams.”

It was quite possibly the most romantic thing she had ever heard. She stepped into his embrace, wrapping her hands around his waist. “Thank you, Finn. It’s the best gift you could have possibly given me.”

He gave her a gentle squeeze, brushing his lips to her forehead. “Just promise me one thing.”

Tilting her head back, she met his gaze. “Anything.”

The look he gave her managed to be sweet and mischievous all at once. “Just be sure we always have plenty of mistletoe.”

Also by Erin Knightley

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More Than a Stranger

“Buy an apple, guv? Best in London, they is.”

Richard paused as a plump, middle-aged woman wearing a kerchief over her dark hair stepped in his way. Offering his most charming smile, he said, “The best in London, you say? Well, I have no doubt they are, madam. However, I am quite set for apples. If only you had said scones. I do so adore a great scone.” He winked at her, and was pleased to see a blush rise up her tanned cheeks. “I will, however, buy one for your next customer.”

He flipped her a coin, and she giggled as she caught it. “That’s right decent of you, guv. Sure I can’t offer you nothin’ else?” She gave her ample bosom a shake, and he chuckled and shook his head.

“Tempting, madam, but alas, I fear you are just too young for me.” She laughed out loud at this, and he sketched a shallow bow. “I bid you good day.”

“Cor, ’tis sure to be, now!”

He grinned and walked on, dodging a gangly young man as he darted past. Everyone seemed to move with great purpose, shouting to be heard above the clanking wagons and clomping of horse hooves. It had a rather—he searched for the right word—bustlely charm to it.

What was that?

Richard came up short, glancing around. He would have sworn he’d heard a woman scream. Around him, harried vendors continued to call out their wares as vehicles rumbled noisily up and down the cobblestone street. No one showed any sign that they had heard a cry of distress, too.

Still, he was certain he had heard it. He squinted past the glaring sunlight reflecting off the surrounding shop windows to peer at the interiors. Nothing amiss in the spice store or the candlemaker’s shop. Striding forward, Richard looked into the small bakery past the spice shop just in time to see a large man in dark clothing advance on a young woman who stood behind the waist-high counter. Her eyes were wide with shock as she pressed her hands over her mouth.

Damn it all—the bounder was going to attack her!

Without a second thought, Richard pushed through the door and leapt at the man, slamming against a back that was every bit as solid as a stable door. Richard had the advantage of a running start, and his momentum knocked them both over the counter in a cloud of powdered sugar and curses. Together they crashed to the wood floor with a bone-rattling thud, pastries raining down on them as glass and pottery shattered nearby. Good God, the man was an ox—easily twice the size of the dainty young woman who yelped and scrambled out of the way as they flailed about on the floor.

Jamming his elbow between the man’s shoulder blades, Richard landed a solid punch to the attacker’s lower back. Pain erupted in his knuckles, and Richard cursed and shook his hand. Bloody hell, perhaps the man was made of wood after all. Barn Door grunted and squirmed, calling out hoarsely for him to get off.

As if Richard would have mercy on the moralless man—and if that wasn’t a word, it bloody well should be. Attacking a defenseless woman in broad daylight was utterly unconscionable. For good measure, Richard ground his elbow harder into his opponent’s spine. It wasn’t every day one had the opportunity to rescue a lady and thrash the scurrilous villain in the process.

“I’m going for help!” the woman shouted, and he looked over his shoulder in time to see her dash for the door and disappear. Barn Door took the opportunity to twist around and land a meaty fist against Richard’s temple, slamming him into the purple cabinets lining the wall. The screech of more breaking dishes clashed with the ringing in Richard’s ears as he fought back, grappling with the larger man to maintain his position.

Richard finally got his arms hooked around the bounder’s elbows and locked them into place behind the criminal’s back. Panting, his hair hanging limply in his eyes, Richard secured his hold on the struggling man beneath him. He wasn’t going anywhere.

”What the bloody ’ell do you think you’re doing? Get your filthy hands off me, you betwattled fool!”

Instead of responding, Richard simply tightened his hold, drawing his opponent’s arms back even further behind him. He adjusted his position so he was more or less sitting on the man. Barn Door tensed and sputtered beneath him, grunting with pain as Richard tugged sharply upward. Served the blackguard right; Richard’s left eye hurt like the devil. He tsked and said, “I wouldn’t struggle, were I you. It will only make me pull harder, in case you haven’t noticed.”

Richard chuckled as the rotter growled in frustration. He hadn’t had this much fun since university. Things were always so damned civilized at Gentleman Jackson’s; it had been ages since he had really been able really let loose. He was no bruiser, but he could certainly hold his own. As he had just proved. He grinned to himself, tossing his head in an attempt to get the hair from his eyes.

The front door burst open, causing the bell situated above it to jangle violently at the intrusion as the woman and two men stumbled into the room. She was smaller than he’d realized, dwarfed by the two brutes beside her. She was damn lucky he had shown up when he did.

“That’s him, right there!” she panted, pointing to where Richard and his prisoner lay on the floor. Rather obvious, in his opinion. Who else, exactly, would they think was the perpetrator? The mouse in the corner?

Now that assistance had arrived, Richard eased his grip and jumped to his feet. The cavalry rushed forward, each one grabbing one of the intruder’s arms and yanking him none too gently to his feet. It was no less than he deserved. One couldn’t go around terrorizing innocent women, for God’s sake.

“Not him,” the shop girl yelped. She thrust her arm in Richard’s direction, her finger extended accusingly. “Him!”

Him?
Me?

* * *

Jane watched with satisfaction as Mr. Black and the watchman released Emerson and tackled the crazed man to the floor. He grunted sharply as one of the men jabbed a knee in his back. Good. She hoped it hurt. How dare he burst into her store and attack her cousin like that. She’d never been so happy to see someone in her life, and she hadn’t even been able to properly greet him.

With her heart still pounding painfully in her chest, she turned her attention to poor Emerson, who was shaking out his arms and moving his neck from side to side. He was covered from the top of his short, sun-kissed hair to the bottom of his massive brown leather work boots with the precious sugar that had moments earlier topped her beautiful treats. “Heavens above, Emerson, are you quite all right?” She wasn’t willing to move closer to him, since he was still standing next to the lunatic attacker.

He threw a disgusted look to where the men scuffled with the protesting intruder before skirting around them, glass and porcelain crunching beneath his boots as he walked. The sight of her mother’s china shattered on the floor was nearly enough to bring her to tears, but Jane willed herself not to cry. She would not give the criminal the satisfaction of seeing her upset like that. The delicate periwinkle pattern winked up at her from the broken shards littering the wood planks, and she clenched her jaw against the memory of Mama offering her a sample of fresh baked ginger biscuits from the now destroyed platter. She noted with approval that the crazed man, who was still sprawled on the floor with his cheek pressed into a cream-filled pastry, had yet to recover his breath. She hoped he would be
very
sore in the morning when he woke up in Newgate.

Looking away from the source of all the upheaval in her shop, she glanced to the damaged cabinet and breathed a sigh of relief. At least
some
of the cherished pieces survived, including her favorite piece, the large vase in the place of honor at the top shelf of the cabinet. Thank the Lord for small favors.

Emerson wrapped her into a warm embrace, his surprisingly solid chest a comfort to her jangled nerves. Pulling away he offered her a reassuring grin. “I’ll live, to be sure. Are
you
all right? That must have given you quite a scare. I’m just glad I was here, so you didn’t have to face him alone.”

He looked so different, with his lean frame now padded with muscles and his deeply tanned skin. He had certainly grown into himself since shipping out so many years ago. But his easy grin and clear green eyes where exactly as she remembered them. She could have cried with relief at having him home.

“I am not so much scared as angry. I haven’t seen you in ages and you are ambushed before I even get to say hello. I’m so sorry.”

“You
know
him?”

The strangled, rasping question came from the man on the floor, and Jane and Emerson turned in unison to look at him. He looked a fright, his blond hair—and the pastry crumbs—plastered to his red face. Powdered sugar coated his surprisingly well-fitting clothes. Apparently, a life of crime paid rather nicely.

“I
thought
he was attacking you,” he ground out, then craned his head to look up at his captors. “I thought he was attacking her, I was trying to
help
, for the love of God.”

Ignoring his blasphemy, Jane couldn’t stop the inelegant snort of disbelief. “Right. My dear cousin, fresh from years at sea, came all the way here to London to assault me.”

“I didn’t know you bloody well knew him!”

She scowled at his vile language as Mr. Black thumped his side with the toe of his boot in warning. Who did he think he was, saying something like that in her own shop? Besides, what did it matter if it was her cousin or a customer—attacking an innocent person was inexcusable. “So you chose to attack first and ask questions later?” She was not about to let the man snake his way out of the punishment he was due. In her experience, that happened all too often. She clenched her teeth, pushing away the powerful emotions that the injustices of her past evoked. Lifting her chin, she addressed her two rescuers. “Sirs, this man is a nuisance and a lunatic. Please take him away.”

None too gently, the two men dragged the horrible man to his feet. He was quite a bit taller than she had realized, and she took a few involuntary steps backwards. Despite his fancy clothes, he looked strong and powerful, and she wanted nothing to do with the man. Especially with the look of fury darkening his bloodshot eyes. He looked as though he would gladly throw her into the Thames if given even an inch of leeway.

“I am
not
a lunatic,” he growled, jerking his arms against the hands that held him. “I’m the bloody Earl of Raleigh!”