Page 9

Nine

THE KISS

Kiss, according to the Oxford English Dictionary:

To press or touch with the lips (at the same time compressing and then separating them), in token of affection or greeting, or as an act of reverence; to salute or caress with the lips; to give a kiss to .

December 25

P hoebe woke with a start, grabbing the bedcovers to her chin and looking around the room wildly. Then the last few days came rushing back. James, the trip from London, her father courting someone, that someone catching a chill because of her, and the kiss.

Oh my. James had never kissed her the way Charles had last night. Her body strummed with just the thought. To think she might have married him and never had the experience of a real kiss. And she wanted more.

Was it Charles in particular or just a man other than James? Her instinct told her it was Charles in particular. Fortunately, it was Christmastide with an abundance of mistletoe, and Phoebe was determined to find out.

She took her deep-green velvet dress with a cream lace overlay from the wardrobe where it had been unpacked. A maid knocked on the door.

“Good morning,” she said, popping her head around the door. The girl had a round face and soft brown eyes. “My name is Jenny and I’m to help you with your morning dress.”

“How is Lady Annette?” she asked, praying the hostess was doing better.

“The fever has broken. She is tired but will recover,” Jenny told her. “We had quite a scare.”

“Yes,” agreed Phoebe. “Is my father up, do you know?”

“Yes, miss, he’s in the breakfast room.”

After Jenny combed and wrapped Phoebe’s hair into a loose chignon, pulling strands of curls to frame her face, she walked Phoebe to the breakfast room. Her father’s eyes were puffy from lack of sleep, she assumed, and the lines of his face seemed deeper. He, Mr. Page, and Mr. Wilkens stood as she entered and ran to her father.

“Papa, she is better?” Phoebe hugged him tightly, blinking back the tears as his arms wrapped her in a warm embrace. “I’m so sorry. So, so sorry.”

“Nonsense, it wasn’t your fault. And Nettie, er, Lady Annette would never blame you. She only wants to be your friend.” He kissed her on the forehead. “Do you think that is possible?”

“Of course, Papa. I only want you to be happy. If she is the one who can do that, how can I not grow to love her as you do?” Phoebe meant every word. Her father had made so many sacrifices for her. She would do whatever needed to ensure his happiness. If he loved this woman, she had to be wonderful.

“I must see if she’s awake,” Papa said, kissing her forehead once more. “Enjoy your breakfast. We shall spend Christmas Day together after all.”

Phoebe realized he was right. They would be together for the holiday. She turned to Will and Charles with her best smile. “Good morning.”

They both returned the greeting, and Charles hurried to pull out a chair for her. “Would you like coffee or tea? I’ll pour you a cup.”

She gave him another grateful smile. “Tea, thank you.”

“Did you sleep well?” he asked.

“Fitfully. And you? And Mr. Page?” Would Lady Annette’s brother be as understanding as his sister?

“Like a rock,” said Mr. Page, his hazel eyes bright. “I knew she was out of danger before I went to bed. As did Charles. And today, you shall take Nettie’s place for the activities. Swapping one beauty for another.”

She looked up at Charles, who had just set down a plate in front of her laden with a small amount of eggs, ham, and two slices of toast. “Thank you. You are too kind.”

He stared at her for a full moment, his eyes not straying from her face. She resisted the urge to squirm. “Are you feeling better about the… incident?” He reached across the table and pulled his coffee cup next to her, took a seat, and waited for her answer.

“Now that I know she will be well, yes.” Phoebe glanced at Mr. Page. “Do you think she will forgive me?”

He snorted. “My sister doesn’t carry a grudge and is one of the sweetest people I’ve ever known. If you are willing to be her friend, she will be more than happy to do the same.”

Relief swept over Phoebe. She dug into her eggs with gusto, realizing how hungry she was. Lord Beecham entered. “Happy Christmas to all,” he said jovially.

“Happy Christmas,” all three replied.

“My lord,” Phoebe began, “do you think Lady Annette will join us today?”

Beecham shrugged. “Don’t know. She’s mostly worried about tomorrow. Nettie has always passed out the gifts on Boxing Day.”

“May I take her place? It seems we may soon be related, so I wouldn’t mind helping.” Perhaps it would show Lady Annette that she was a good person, not just a spoiled daughter.

“I think that would be a wonderful idea,” Lord Beecham said. “I’ll let Alice know she will have assistance.”

“His fiancée,” Charles whispered in her ear.

She shivered at his warm breath against her neck. A delicious shiver. “Thank you,” she whispered back.

The rest of the day went too quickly. There were parlor games and a magnificent feast with roast goose, venison, root vegetables, a clear broth, and white soup. The plum pudding was the best she’d ever had. And the company was warm and welcoming. Only Aunt Lucy was missing to make the celebration complete.

At the end of the evening, everyone but Charles and Mr. Page had made their excuses and left the drawing room. The three of them sat before the hearth, enjoying the boughs of greenery, holly, and ivy.

It had begun to snow again, and Phoebe went to the window, watching the fat flakes drift down against the midnight sky. Behind her, Will said, “I believe I shall call it a night.”

He rose, came over to her, and bowed. “It is kind of you to help with Boxing Day tomorrow. I hope you will become a regular visitor at Beecham Manor.”

“Thank you, Mr. Page. I hope so too.” Phoebe was touched that he was letting her know she would be accepted.

“Please, if I heard my father correctly, we will soon be brother and sister. Call me Will.” As he neared the door, she rushed behind him. Charles was stoking the fire, so she tapped Will on the shoulder. When he turned around, she hopped up, snatched a berry, and grinned at him.

He laughed and bent to kiss her cheek, but she moved her face so their lips met. She closed her eyes, not moving for a moment, waiting for that rush of heat, the excitement of the intimate touch.

Nothing.

She pulled aways and opened her eyes. Will was chuckling. “If you meant to make him jealous, I think it worked,” he said with a wink.

Phoebe shook her head. “No, it was an experiment.”

“What kind of experiment?” he asked, looking over her shoulder at Charles.

“I wanted to see if I felt anything like I did with…” Phoebe covered her hand with her mouth, appalled she almost said her thoughts aloud.

“And?” he asked, tapping her nose. “Was it a success?”

“I think it was,” she whispered, seeing Charles glare at them both over her shoulder.

Will left them alone. Phoebe turned to Charles and walked slowly toward him, her mind whirling with thoughts of another kiss. Her palms were sweaty, and her stomach was fluttering like a hundred butterfly wings.

“What secrets were you sharing with Will?” Charles asked with a serious face.

“I needed to see if I was affected by only your kiss, or any man who wasn’t James,” she said truthfully. “It seems fate knew I was making a mistake, picked me up, and tossed me in your path.”

He stepped forward and laid his hands lightly on her waist, urging her closer. Her arms went around his neck without thought, as if it were the most natural action, one she’d done a hundred times before and would do a hundred more. A hundred million, a laughing voice whispered in her head.

“And?” he asked, his voice husky, his amber eyes pinning her.

Instead of answering him, she pulled his head to hers and pressed her mouth against his. She smiled against his lips when he groaned, wondering where this man had been all her life. A pulse began in her throat and descended to her core, strumming and stroking her insides until she couldn’t breathe. He tasted of coffee and marmalade, and she wanted the kiss to never end.

When Charles pulled back, both were breathing heavily. Her chest rose and fell, and emotion threatened to overwhelm her. She was at home in his arms. Yes, there was so much she didn’t know about this man. So much she wanted to learn. But nothing he could say would change her mind. When they parted, a piece of her heart would go with him.

“Does that answer your question?” she managed, then looked up at him shyly.

He nodded and bent to feather kisses along her jaw, then resumed the delicious assault on her mouth again. When his tongue tickled the seam of her lips, her eyes popped open. Charles pressed against her lower back, melding her body with his. When his tongue asked for entrance again, she opened her mouth slightly.

It gets better? she thought as her head began to spin. Oh, so much better.

“Happy Christmas, Phoebe,” he rasped in her ear. “Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for you?”

She shook her head. “Happy Christmas to you too. Thank you.”

“For what?” he asked, pulling back, curiosity turning his eyes to a dark gold.

“For finding me.” Then on tiptoes, she kissed him again and knew no other man would ever, ever make her feel this way except Mr. Charles Wilkens.