Page 14 of It Happened at Christmas (Headstrong Heroines)

A lady should never show her emotions in mixed company. It is rather vulgar.

December 24, 1817

Christmas Eve

Red Fox Inn

Thirty miles south and west of Carlile

Jackson hid a yawn behind taking a sip of brandy.

They’d arrived at the posting inn in good time. There was only perhaps three more hours of traveling until arriving at his hunting box, but he didn’t want to push the horseflesh tonight. Besides, it was Christmas Eve, and everyone deserved to participate in some sort of festivities.

He sat at a round oak table near one of the large hearths in the common room, which was surprisingly crowded. Perhaps everyone wanted to mingle with their fellow man on this Christmas Eve night, or perhaps they just wanted to imbibe and relax away their aches and pains from being on the road. Whatever it was, there seemed to be people everywhere. His daughter sat next to him with a long-suffering expression while Lydia nursed a glass of red wine and looked just as bored.

The one thing to chase away boredom was the one thing he couldn’t indulge in for the simple fact that there were so many guests and their only room they shared with his daughter. Nudging Elsbeth’s shoulder with his, he said, “I can see about procuring a deck of cards if you’d like until dinner. It will help to pass the time.”

She let out a huff and stared at him as if he’d asked her to dive into a horse trough. “I don’t wish to play cards, Papa.”

When the corners of Lydia’s lips twitched, he tamped on the urge to grin as well. “Fair enough.” Then he glanced at the headmistress. What the devil was wrong with him in that he wanted to spirit her away merely to kiss the hell out of her? “What of you, Lady Lydia? Care to take me on in a game of faro or even whist?”

“I’m not of a mind to play cards just now, Greystone. In fact, I’m wondering if we shouldn’t order dinner before the rush.”

He nodded. “There are no private dining rooms available.”

“That matters not. We can take it upstairs and eat at our leisure. I’m certain the three of us can find an interesting topic on which to create a discourse.”

“Another evening cloistered in the room?” Elsbeth made a gagging sort of noise to express her disgust as only a sixteen-year-old girl could. As she happened to glance across the crowded common room, she sucked in a breath. “Dear heavens, surely that can’t be Miss Lexington.” She clambered to her feet and continued to stare. “It is!”

“Who is Miss Lexington?” No matter how hard he looked, he couldn’t see the person in question.

“She is a girl my age who shares my French tutor. We sometimes have lessons together if it includes an outing.” Her eyes rounded and her expression suddenly turned saccharine sweet. “Papa, may I go over and talk to her?”

Too tired to say something that would amount to an argument, Jackson nodded. “Go ahead, but then come back here. We’re going to take dinner soon.”

Before he could introduce a conversation with Lydia, Elsbeth dashed back to their table.

“Papa, Miss Lexington’s mother invited me to share dinner with them tonight. They have a private dining room. May I?”

He looked at Lydia, who shrugged. “That would be acceptable. Mind that you are pleasant and remember your manners. Don’t dally afterward and come upstairs straightaway.”

“Thank you!” Elsbeth bussed his cheek, gave Lydia a wave, and then she darted through patrons and tables to join with her friend.

“She is quite exhausting at times,” he said in a low voice then finished his brandy.

Lydia chuckled. “Such is the life of a young lady. Imagine having a school with twenty girls around that age.”

“I’d rather not, thank you. Clearly, you are made of sterner stuff than me.” With a chuckle of his own, he stood. “If you’d like, I’ll order the food then meet you upstairs?”

“That would be lovely. It’s rather loud and boisterous down here, and I’m craving quiet.” She shook her head as she rose to her feet. “How is it Christmas Eve already? Time has flown lately.”

“Must be the company we keep,” he couldn’t help but say in a barely audible voice.

Surprise briefly lit her eyes before she nodded. Then she wended her way through the crush of people in the common room toward the wooden stairs in the back corner.

By the time Jackson gained their shared room—each time he was forced to do such a thing, he wondered if the innkeepers questioned the relationship between the three of them, but none of them had asked—his appetite had fled.

Well, if he were to amend that state for himself, his appetite for food had fled. He still wanted Lydia, and no, it didn’t make sense. He only knew that when he was with her, everything was… better.

After closing the door, he glanced at Lydia, who sat at the small square table. She was reading a book by candlelight, and the flame sent burnished copper highlights into her black hair and gave her skin a faint golden glow. “Dinner has been ordered. It should arrive soon.”

“Good, though I must tell you I’m more tired than hungry.” Then she regarded him with an inscrutable expression, his chest tightened. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“How am I looking at you?” It took next to no time to divest himself of his jacket, cuffs, collar, and cravat. The garments he tossed toward the foot of the bed, and he did care if they made it or not.

“Like you wish to scoop me up and devour me…” Her eyes were round, filled with both confusion and longing as she gazed at him. “I don’t know how to interpret that.”

“Don’t be coy, Lydia. That connection between us hasn’t yet played out.”

A knock sounded at the door, and as he crossed the room, Jackson removed his waistcoat and tossed it toward the bed. When he wrenched the panel open, slight annoyance filled his chest to find a barmaid holding a tray of dishes covered with a stained linen rag.

“Your dinner, Your Lordship,” she said in a whispered voice.

“Thank you.” He frowned when she scampered down the corridor, and after he closed the door with a booted foot, he brought the tray over to the table and then set it down as Lydia rose to her feet. Granted, the savory smells from the food were heavenly, but he had other things on his mind. “Where were we?” He prowled toward her while she retreated to the window.

“Do stop, Greystone. Your daughter will finish dinner soon.”

“She is not here now.” The only reason he paused was to tug off his boots. They fell to the hardwood floor with two dull thuds.

The window at her back prevented further flight. “You have mischief on your mind, I think.” Those expressive eyes darkened, and her desire fed his need.

Surely, I am slowly descending into madness.

“It’s not my mind you need to worry about, because where you are concerned, pleasure is always a good idea.” Seeing her in that white gown from the other night, the one with the embroidered holly leaves and berries made him want to do very wicked things to her.

“We should…” That protest was weak at best as she watched him.

For a long time afterward, he was never certain which of them moved first, but then she was in his arms, and he kissed her as if he hadn’t seen a woman for a decade. Oh, she was so soft and warm, and the faint taste of the wine she’d had earlier came away on her lips and made the embrace that much sweeter.

The way she twined her hands about his neck, the press of her body against his, the faint scent of lavender on her skin, the plushness of her lips on his as she kissed him back all worked to remove him from the remainder of his common sense. Over and over, he drank from her like a man possessed, and when that wasn’t enough, Jackson held her head between his hands to better deepen the kiss as he chased her tongue with his, and when he needed more, he plucked the pins from her hair. They pinged slightly as they fell to the floor, but once her black tresses tumbled about her back and shoulders, he fisted his hands into the thick mass and kissed her anew.

It was all too easy to tug her bodice down as well as free her breasts from the stays and shift beneath. “Ah, Lydia…” As she pressed her lips to the underside of his jaw, the side of his neck, and then shoved her hands beneath his fine lawn shirt once she’d tugged it from his breeches, the hold on his control began to crumble.

“Why do I have no willpower when I’m around you?” Lydia brushed a fingertip over one of his nipples, and sensation rushed through him, making him hiss with need. The same desire bedeviling him clouded her eyes as she peered up at him.

“Perhaps it’s fate, but I feel the same way.” He brushed his knuckles over her pebbled nipples, chuckling when she gasped. “You are beautiful, and I can’t have enough.”

“If I didn’t know better, I would say you are in your cups.” The whispered protest sounded overly loud in the silence of the room. “I am well aware of what I look like.”

He slipped a hand about her waist and pulled her closer. “I have never been more sober in my life.” Jackson gently claimed her lips, kissed away her worries and doubts—he thought—and as he sought to bring her comfort, his heart squeezed. There was something about this woman, and he wanted her in all the ways that mattered.

Damn. The realization rocked him to his core, but he could no longer deny it.

She plucked at his shirt. “Remove this. I want to explore you.”

“Not before I do the same to you.” He removed the garment with alacrity and tossed it away. “Tonight, is for your pleasure, not mine.”

“But—”

“No,” he interrupted and then escorted her to the side of the bed. “We only have a small amount of time before my daughter returns.” Jackson kissed her while making her sit. He kneeled before her. “I want to show you that you aren’t just a carnal plaything or a distraction while on this trip.”

A blush went through her cheeks. “I never thought that… much.” She braced herself with her palms on the mattress behind her, which put her breasts on display, the dark pink tips erect and all too tempting.

“Such a refreshing change you are.” As he regarded her, Lydia watched him with wide eyes and slightly parted lips, and the picture she made further hardened his length.

“Gammon. Well, get on with it, then. I’m curious as to what you’ll do in such an abbreviated time.” As he cupped her breasts, pressed himself closer between her naturally splayed legs, a shuddering breath escaped her. “You are quite… a lot.”

“In a good way, I’ll wager?” When she nodded, he brushed the pads of his thumbs over her nipples and grinned when a shiver racked her shoulders. He dipped his head, licked one of those lovely buds, and then took it into his mouth.

A long moan issued from her and one of her hands fisted in the bedclothes.

“I wish we were elsewhere, for each time we’ve come together, we cannot make much noise, and I desperately want to know if you are a screamer.” For the next few moments, Jackson explored her breasts with his fingers, his tongue, and his lips. By the time he tugged her to the edge of the bed and encouraged her to recline backward as her skirting bunched about her thighs and waist, he was so hard he didn’t know if he’d be able to bring her to release without spending in his breeches. Yet, this night was for her alone. Putting all thought to his own comfort to the back of his mind, Jackson caressed the inside of her thighs, urged them as far apart as they could comfortably go. “Gorgeous.”

“You must be slightly mad.” Those creamy thighs quivered. Anticipation and worry mixed in her brown eyes.

“Perhaps we need to be in order to survive this life.” He winked. “I rather enjoy pleasuring you this way.”

“You already had me this way a few days ago.”

“Can I help it if I know exactly what I like?”

“Oh!” Her squeal of surprise when he licked that warm flesh at her center tugged a grin from him.

The act of pleasuring a woman orally was something he secretly enjoyed, but his wife hadn’t let him do it often. From all accounts, Lydia approved of this type of play—at least with him—for she’d rested a hand at the back of his head and urged him closer.

As he spread her open with one hand, he continued to caress the inside of her thighs with the other. Easily he found the pearl at her center, teased it with his tongue, and she shook with the ministrations. Soon, he settled on a rhythm he liked, and he repeated the cycle of teasing, suckling, and licking. The half-stifled sounds Lydia made would drive him mad, and each one was more frantic than the last. Tiny pinpricks of pain kept him on the edge as she pulled his hair and squirmed in his hold and enhanced his own desire. When she bucked her hips against his mouth, he grinned, hummed at her flesh for she was close.

“Jackson …” Her body shook and she tossed her head. “Make me fly.”

“I am endeavoring to do just that.” Again, he applied himself with renewed effort at that slippery button and dared to penetrate her passage with first one finger and then another. Her gasp of surprise echoed in the air. Damn but he wished he could feel that honeyed heat snug around his member.

Perhaps another time.

Perhaps for the rest of his life.

A strangled sort of scream ripped from her throat the second he suckled hard at the nubbin, and he grinned as Lydia fell into release. Gentle contractions tremored around his fingers, and his shaft pulsed in response. Damn, he’d never been so hard, but the discomfort was forgotten as he watched the expressions flit over her face—wonder, pleasure, amazement, exhaustion. Though he’d thought her beautiful before; now she was completely not of this earth in that bliss when her back arched and she squirmed while he continued to tease that tiny bundle of nerves.

“Jackson!” Near hysterical, Lydia collapsed fully onto her back. One hand drifted to a breast to pluck at a nipple, and he almost shot his wad right there. “How do you manage to send me over so quickly? It took my husband an eternity, but most times, the couplings didn’t result in completion.”

“Frankly, the man was a buffoon.” He couldn’t help but grin. No matter where their paths led or what the future held, they would both remember these moments.

But he wanted so many more with her beyond the bedroom.

“That was merely one tiny part of what I want from you tonight,” he whispered as he climbed onto the bed to join her. In her lethargy, she glanced at him, and there was such heated invitation in those eyes, he had no recourse except to bite the inside of his cheek and ignore the throbbing need in his highly aroused shaft.

“Good heavens.” She crawled up and then collapsed against the pillows.

“Indeed.” Needing the distraction, Jackson covered her body with his. He kissed her as if there was nothing else to do in this life and alternately as if he were running out of time. Her hands were everywhere on him, caressing, touching, exploring despite the fact he still wore his breeches, and he did the same to her around her gown. Though it would take years to learn the secrets of her body, he set out to at least try, and whenever he touched or nibbled at a part of her that made her cry out in pleasure, he was eager to find the next.

I need to know everything about you… even the remainder of your history.

Wanting to make her spend once more, he slipped a hand between her thighs. The damp curls shrouding her sex sent a shiver of pure desire down his spine, for he desperately wanted to join with her, but there was insufficient time, and he didn’t want another rushed coupling. He strummed his fingers over her swollen button while he teased a breast with his tongue and lips.

She shattered more quickly this time, and more spectacularly. When she would have screamed, he slammed his mouth onto hers in the attempt to take the sound into himself. The last thing he wanted was for anyone to overhear, more importantly his daughter. Not until he could sort out how to get on with the rest of his life.

With Lydia.

There was no doubt that she was completely lost on waves of pleasure, but so was he, only on something entirely different. Was it indeed love? He rather thought he was well on that track. Never had he been so caught up in a woman as he was with Lydia. It was raw, and real, and unmistakable. She’d truly consumed him mind, body, and soul.

When her body came down from the heights of bliss and her trembles receded, Jackson rolled onto his back, as exhausted as if he’d coupled with her. To be sure, his shaft throbbed with unfulfilled need, but he was oddly content. She blew out a breath, looked at him with such hunger in her eyes that he had to bear down in order to stave off spending. “You are quite something.”

“I could say the same of you.” Since time was of the essence, he left the bed, and began the task of putting his clothing back on. “Would there was time to claim you as I wished.”

Softly, she chuckled while tugging her bodice back into place. “We have already done that twice on this trip. I thought you would have tired of me by now.” Then she tamed her wild hair into a loose chignon and secured it with the missing pins.

“Never.” God, never. “In fact, I’ve rather enjoyed having you along on this journey. If the weather holds and doesn’t bury us with snow, I would adore taking you hiking through the Highlands, showing you some of the sights. It was my mother’s favorite place in all the world.” He struggled with the waistcoat then shot her a grin when she joined him and did the laces at the back. “My wife didn’t care to travel so far north, but I have a feeling you will prove different.”

As she had in so many ways already.

She watched him with glittering eyes and assisted him into the remainder of his clothing in silence.

After donning his boots, he sat at the table with her, and they tucked into the now lukewarm food as well as two brown bottles of ale and one of whisky.

When his wife was alive, they used to throw lavish parties, either in London or at his country estate, where loads of their friends and family would gather for festivities and games and more food than an army could eat. Yet somehow, sharing this quiet meal with Lydia with the one candle lit on the table and a companionable silence gathering around them was just as fulfilling if not more special.

“Happy Christmas, Lydia,” he said in a barely audible whisper.

The smile she offered could have lit up the night like the fabled Christmas star. “It is not yet midnight.”

“Does it matter?”

“No.” Briefly, her gaze dropped to his mouth, and once more heightened awareness shivered over him. “Happy Christmas, Jackson. I hope everything you’ve wished for comes to fruition.”

“Thank you.” As he leaned toward her, fully intending to kiss her, a rattling at the door made him spring apart and take up a bottle of ale as Elsbeth sailed into the room fairly quivering with excitement and anticipation. Thinking she’d had a lovely time with her friend, he offered a grin. “Did you have a good chat?”

“Yes, and Miss Lexington told me something I thought surely must be gossip for all the outrageous turns the story took, but when her mother confirmed it as truth, I was shocked.”

“Oh? What’s that.”

Instead of looking at him, Elsbeth concentrated her gaze on Lydia. “It seems that Lydia is not the daughter of an earl as she’s claimed. There is no such person as the Earl of Mountfort.” Tears welled in the girl’s eyes as the color drained from Lydia’s face. “In fact, she’s not a lady at all, has no connection to the ton , not even remotely.”

“What?” Cold foreboding twisted down his spine, for at the back of his mind, he’d known this all along. And it fit with the tale Lydia had already told him; he just hadn’t wanted to see it. Especially since her brother-in-law had called her by a different name. “Who is she, then?”

Lydia rose shakily to her feet. “Elsbeth, please. I’m begging you. Stop this. I need to tell him myself, in my own way.”

“No.” His daughter shied away from Lydia’s touch, which was odd, for they had been fast friends during the week. “I admired you, Lydia—or whatever your real name is—I thought we were the same, both daughters of earls. I was taken with you and your strength, thought I could do great things with my life just like you, but you lied. How can I trust you?” Those tears fell to Elsbeth’s cheeks. Splotchy color appeared on her face, a testament to her emotional state. She turned her back to Lydia to address him. “Apparently, the headmistress is a nobody from the Lake District who married a blacksmith from Scotland. She couldn’t keep a man, cried foul, ran out on her marriage and fled.” A hiccupping sort of sound escaped the girl. “Because she’s a coward.”

“That is not true.”

Elsbeth snorted. “Nothing you have ever said has been true. Has it?”

“Yes, of course, but…” Lydia sighed when Elsbeth flounced to the bed and threw herself upon it in tears. When she met his gaze, tears filled her eyes. “It was only a matter of time until the remainder of the truth came out,” she said in a whisper.

Stunned, he gawked at her and staggered a bit as if he’d been hit with a blow. “Let us remove to the corridor for a bit of privacy.” Without waiting for her agreement, Jackson strode across the room with a tight chest. Once she joined him and pulled the door nearly closed behind her, he demanded answers. “What the hell is going on? Is what Elsbeth said correct?”

“Yes.” She dropped her gaze to the loose knot of his cravat. “I had already told you most of my story. It was merely my origins I hadn’t shared.”

“You aren’t an earl’s daughter.” It wasn’t a question. Aggravation fought with disappointment in his chest, for he’d thought they were well matched, but at least all her secrets had been revealed.

“I am not. My father was a Scottish bricklayer; my mother an English dancer, both from a small village just over the border into Scotland.” Her shrug only lifted one shoulder. Finally, she met his gaze. Shame reflected in those dark depths, but also a modicum of relief. No doubt it had been heavy carrying that burden. “It was how I met my husband, but your daughter is correct. I am no one of consequence.”

“But you live in London. You are a headmistress.” More emotions battered him, threatened to steal his breath. “Unless that is a lie too.”

“It is not.” When she pressed her lips together, he desperately wished to kiss her, to offer her what comfort he could, but he hesitated. Was what they’d had together real? Everything was questionable now. She huffed. “What are you most disappointed about, Your Lordship, the fact I’m a widow with scandal trailing behind me, a woman who escaped abuse, that I have no pedigree at all, or that I’m not the virginal innocent headmistress you have dallied with during the time we’ve been together?”

“What? I…” With thoughts too jumbled to puzzle out in the moment, he latched onto his anger, and had to dig deep for that. “I’m most disappointed that you didn’t trust me with this knowledge to begin with. Everyone has a story. Everyone started out somewhere. Everyone has experienced hardship and grief.”

“Would you have offered to have me share your travels if you knew my whole story upfront?”

“I…” He only hesitated because he wanted to say the right words in this heated moment.

“Ah, there. You have your answer.” Slowly, she shook her head as disappointment shadowed her eyes. “It has been my habit to keep these secrets for years; I had to keep myself safe. So when I met you, I told you what you needed to know.”

“You lied to me!” When the accusation was a bit too loud even though the corridor was empty, he cleared his throat and lowered his voice. “You made me believe—”

“I made you do nothing.” The longer she peered at him, the more vulnerable she appeared. Her chin trembled. Tears welled in her eyes. “Tell me what you would have done in my position. No one would have wanted their children to attend a school run by a nobody, a woman with absolutely no value in the ton , or a woman so weak that she let herself be abused.”

“No.” Emotion graveled his voice, stuck in his throat in a wad. “That wasn’t your fault, and women who survive such are not weak. Just the opposite.” Anger rang in his voice, for he was still consumed by shock, yet he wasn’t angry at her.

Mostly.

The bulk of the anger and recrimination was pointed at him, for letting himself be carried away, for being lost in her without knowing her full story.

Lydia shrugged. “So I fabricated a story and put myself in the beau monde . Because people would accept me then, and I would blend in.” She crossed her arms at her chest, and he felt her building an invisible wall between them, shutting herself off… for protection. “Suddenly doors began opening for me. I finally could become independent, have a life away from my abusive husband. I wouldn’t need to go back to that existence.” Her voice caught. “I had the ability to teach my students how to be wary, how to think for themselves, how to value themselves and see themselves as more than property.”

So many thoughts chased about in his mind, he didn’t know which way was up any longer, but the strongest notion was that he wanted the right to protect her. He couldn’t let her go back alone to that cottage where she would be bedeviled by her brother-in-law, where she might be beaten again.

Or worse.

“I don’t know what to say, quite frankly.” Yes, he was angry and confused, but the longer those two things burned in his chest, he realized why. Not because she’d lied, but because she’d been forced to, because their world wasn’t kind to women, because he was coming to care for her far too much.

“That is your prerogative, Your Lordship.” Clearly, returning to her headmistress attitude was a way of protecting herself. “But do not think to judge me unless you have been in my same circumstances.” A tear fell to her cheek, and she immediately dashed it away. “What now? Will you turn me out into the night like that long-ago rejected Mary at the inn?”

His heart squeezed as if were in a vice. “Of course not.” Rubbing a hand along the side of his face, Jackson shook his head. “I’m going down to the common room for a drink. You may return to the room. Go to bed, Lydia.”

“But—”

“Do it!” he said in a hissed command. “Stay with Elsbeth. I rather doubt she’ll let you comfort her just now, but I don’t want her running off due to high emotion.” Resting his gaze on her, he tamped the urge to cry out in frustration. “Or you. I’ll return… sometime.”

“Jackson, I…” When she briefly touched his arm, he gasped and shook off her touch lest he rush his fences and make a cake of himself before thinking it all through. “Go. We will leave shortly after breakfast on the morrow, even if I have to pay double for the drivers and horses.”

Except, he didn’t plan to return to the room that night. He would usher in Christmas Day by himself like the damned fool he was.

Had Lydia lied about the connection between them? Had her responses and reactions to their carnal play, to their bonding in the quiet times, all been a ruse? And if so, for what purpose?

Was she a title seeker? A gold digger? Surely not. That went against everything he knew of her.

Which apparently wasn’t much, but did that matter? Did any of it matter when love might be in the offing?

This wasn’t how he thought he would meet Christmas.