Page 8 of One Jewel-tide Scandal (Singular Sensation #10.5)

Thank goodness the butler and a couple of footmen bustled in with more than a few boxes, which spared her from coming up with a witty response.

“Ah, you can set the boxes on that settee there. I will look through them shortly.” She gave them a bright smile, which caused the butler to stare for a few extra seconds.

“There are still a few boxes we’re searching for, my lady,” Fredricks said as he cast a curious glance to the baron.

“No need to rush. Thank you.”

When the three left the room, Alexandar frowned and eyed the boxes with speculation. “What are you about?”

“Oh.” She bit back a smile. Was this a victory or merely a chance to see him at sixes and sevens? “I thought we could set out a few decorations.”

“Why?” Mild consternation settled into his expression.

“Why not?” When Cleo came into the room, she clicked her tongue and patted her lap, but the cat largely ignored her.

“It might be a lovely thing to invite an air of festivity into the house. After all, you could be here for an extended period with the snow. And it’s not the servants’ fault my husband never enjoyed celebrating the season. ”

“I see.” Yet his expression was so comical she laughed despite herself, and what was more, it felt wonderful, almost freeing. “Well, it is your prerogative, so I won’t voice an opinion.”

“Good.” It was anyone’s guess how they would get on with the introduction of Christmastide, but at least it broke up her days. “Do you wish to join me in taking a look to see what we’re working with?”

“Do I have a choice?” The tone of his voice suggested he’d rather throw himself bodily out into the storm.

“You do not, and it will help pass the time until tea.”

As the fire snapped and popped, and the wind continued to howl outside, they both looked through the boxes.

Charlie snoozed on his sofa while Cleo prowled about the room.

If she knew her cat well—and she did—the feline would nose her way into the contents of the boxes sooner or later.

Everything in the house was fair game as a toy.

The baron pulled a dried sprig of mistletoe from one of the boxes and held it up.

“I remember a time from my youth when my parents thew a house party. Some of my mates were in attendance. We got up this scheme to go hunting for mistletoe in the woods on the property. My mother said it would be a cheerful addition to the dinner table, but my father said they were nothing but forest detritus.” Alexander shrugged.

A faint grin tugged at his lips as he studied the dried bit in his hand.

“My friends and I wanted it for stealing kisses from some of the young ladies at the house party.”

“What happened? Did you get your kisses?” Despite herself, she was entranced by the story.

“Eventually, yes, but when I went up to dress for dinner, my father tossed the sprigs in the fire.” His chuckle was rather weak as he glanced at her. “The kisses my friends and I stole were without mistletoe, I’m afraid.”

“That’s horrible.”

When he shrugged, his jacket went taut across his chest, and suddenly she wondered what he would look like if he bared his torso.

“The years following were much the same until my father died. Once my siblings attained their majorities and married or got engaged, they celebrated the holiday in their own ways. Usually, one of them invites Mama to stay through Twelfth night, but she always declines, says it’s tradition everyone comes to Tattingham Grange. ”

“And since you are a bachelor on the town, you rarely grace them with your presence.” It wasn’t a question as her fingertips glided over a collection of tin bells. The random, fairy-like tinkles of the treasures sent her backward in time to when her parents had the halls decked out in such finery.

A flush over his cravat. “I suppose. She hasn’t expressed an interest in coming to London.” He replaced the mistletoe. “To be fair, I rent rooms at the Albany, and women aren’t allowed there.”

She frowned. “Your father didn’t have a townhouse?”

“Oh, he did, but my sister and her growing family resides there. They needed the space more than I did.”

The fact he’d done that for his sister spoke volumes about his character.

“You can’t be that horrid of a man, then.

” Movement from the corner of her eye made Charlotte turn her head.

Charlie had woken. He watched them both with a wagging tail.

Cleo stood guard on the floor in front of the sofa, looking for all the world as if she didn’t trust the male elements in the room.

Perhaps she didn’t.

“Well, take heart. Christmastide is but once a year, so the rest of your time should remain unbothered.” As she spoke, Charlotte moved to one of the boxes on the settee beside the one he rooted through.

When the toe of her half boots caught the hem of her dress, she wobbled slightly off balance with a tiny squeak, but the baron was there, slipping his arms around her, pulling her to him until she’d found her footing again.

“Careful. Wouldn’t want you to take a tumble,” he whispered as he peered down into her face with concern on his brow.

“Right.” Awareness went over her skin as she met his gaze. “Thank you for keeping me from taking a spill.”

“My pleasure.” Then an expression of odd bewilderment went over his face and his eyes darkened to the color of strong coffee. Seconds later, he lowered his head and pressed his lips to hers, without permission or warning.

Immediately, surprise and a bit of apprehension beset her.

Charlotte gasped and he pulled slightly away.

They stared at each other, but that fleeting kiss had been rather lovely.

Or perhaps she’d missed any sort of human connection for so long and had been made desperate.

Her eyes must have given away her longing and permission to continue, for he gathered her more comfortably into his arms and claimed her lips in a proper kiss, moving over her mouth with a languid grace that made her senses spin and heat infuse her person.

“Mmm.”

The response was muffled, and perhaps was merely the sound of enjoyment from the back of her throat as she acclimated to this man as well as the intimacy.

Her fingers curled into his lapels, and the instant she kissed him back as if she had been waiting for this exact moment, waiting for that sort of passion her whole adult life, her response frightened her.

Was she betraying her husband’s memory? Worse yet, a proper countess wouldn’t allow a veritable stranger to kiss her after knowing him a handful of hours.

With a racing heart, she pushed out of his embrace.

“The cheek of you!” Without conscious thought to what she was doing, Charlotte drew back a hand and lightly slapped his cheek.

“I…” Alexander gasped. An expression of surprise lined his face.

Cleo, ever on alert, slapped a paw onto the beagle’s head, which resulted in the dog yelping and then hiding beneath a chair at the other side of the room.

Clearly, she was mimicking her mistress.

Despite her own reaction, Charlotte’s lips twitched, as did Alexander’s.

“You took me by surprise.” Then her brain bounced to other ideas.

What would it feel like if he truly took her, right there on the rug in front of the fire?

Claimed her body as she’d wished Stuart would have done throughout her marriage?

The heat in her face distracted her, and she hoped he would think that sudden color was from the fire.

“I apologize.” He held a hand to his red cheek, glanced between his dog and her. “I didn’t think. There was just a connection between us in that moment, and… I acted upon it.”

She could call him a cad or a rogue, but in all honestly, he didn’t act like such a thing.

For long moments, she regarded him. Everything had changed between them, yet nothing had, and she didn’t know quite how to think about that.

“I should retire. I can feel a megrim coming on. Perhaps it is due to the wind.”

Oh, dear heavens I am such a liar!

“All right.” He nodded but shadows clouded his eyes. “I hope you feel better in the morning. And Charlotte?”

“Hmm?” she asked as she backed away toward the door.

“For what it’s worth, that kiss was smashing.

I can’t remember when I enjoyed myself so thoroughly in such a vein.

And…” A flush colored his neck to match the redness in his cheek from her slap.

“Your perfume is wildly intoxicating. Lilies-of-the-valley has always been a favorite of mine, and ladies don’t wear it much these days. ”

“Oh.” Inordinately pleased at such a silly compliment, she pressed a hand to her heaving chest. “I… I’m glad you like it. I order it from a perfumery from London, and I’m almost out since I haven’t been to Town in years.”

Their gazes met once more, and he was right. A queer sort of connection leapt between them. “Well, have an easy evening, Your Ladyship.”

“Thank you.” Then Charlotte fled, for deep down she was a coward, and perhaps she was reading far too much into that connection—attraction—that had flared between them.