A Valentine For Christmas - A Regency Novella (12 page)

Charlie was aghast. ‘And you did not know this until you were
nineteen
?’

‘It was certainly a revelation,’ he admitted dryly. ‘I had spent nine years imagining all manner of melodramatic events and it turns out that it was something entirely prosaic and not a little sordid. My mother had been unable to face life with my father, so she had run away.’

‘She did not take you. And she did not say goodbye.’ Dear Lord, how that must have hurt him.

‘She could not take me. I suppose there was a part of me that understood that. She could not take the heir. What I did not understand is why she had not said goodbye to me. No letter, no word. That was the part that hurt the most.’

Oh, dear!
Charlie left the window seat, coming forward to settle on the floor by his knee. She took his hand in her own and squeezed it. ‘I am so sorry. It must have been dreadful.’

He looked down at her, face oddly expressionless. Reaching out, he traced a finger down the curve of her face, touch feather light. ‘I survived. People do.’

‘As it turned out, it wasn’t anything,’ he said softly. ‘She took rooms at Claridges and I went to see her. It was just my mother who was waiting for me. She had hardly changed at all.’ His hand tightened on Charlie’s, almost unconsciously. ‘She told me how sorry she was, how she had not wanted to leave me but that she simply could not stay any longer. My father was a harsh man and her life with him had been deeply unhappy. I suppose I understood.’

But he had not understood, Charlie knew that instinctively. No child could understand how their parent could abandon them, leaving them to face the future alone. She could not conceive how a mother could have left her son in such a manner, without a word of where she had gone or why.
No wonder he hated Christmas!

‘Do you still see her?’

‘She died two years ago. She took a fever and did not recover.’

Silence settled after that, both of them occupied with their own thoughts. How extraordinary he must have found it, mixing with her family at this time of year. The anger she had felt before had disappeared completely. He
was
a hero, no matter that he might think differently. He had come through the fire singed but not blackened, as any hero must.

‘I am so sorry. I cannot imagine how hard it must have been for you.’

She was sorry for the ten-year-old boy who had experienced the loss of the one person he had trusted completely. She was equally sorry for the young man who had discovered that his mother was alive after all and had been living in Italy with a man she was not married to. And, more than anything, she was sorry for the man before her who had gone through life unable to face the pain of his past and so had retreated from it.

‘Don’t,’ he murmured, shaking his head. ‘For God’s sake, do not feel sorry for me. I do well enough for myself. I have told you that I do not enjoy this season and now you know why. But I tolerate it. I take myself off until it is done and then I get on with my life. It is only a few days of the year, after all. It is nothing that inconveniences me too greatly, I can assure you.’

‘It seems to me that it is far from nothing. You cut yourself off from others and in doing so, you stop any chance of healing.’

‘I am beyond healing. There is a core of blackness in me that will never be banished. I know it and I deal with it. I told you of my past because I believed that I owed it to you. You have shown me remarkable kindness, Miss Weathering. And I have behaved badly in return.’

Charlie looked up at him. ‘But now that you have told me, will you not be able to look upon this time of year differently? Surely you understand what a shame it is to remove yourself from those who love you.’

‘You take it far too seriously,’ he said, tone deliberately light.

‘You do not take it seriously enough.’ Kneeling, she took both her hands in his, expression entreating. ‘Come, admit that you have enjoyed this day.’

‘I have. You are blessed in your family. They are remarkable.’

‘Indeed they are. And they would welcome you back next year. A few Christmases with the Weatherings and you will forget your unfortunate past.’

‘You are very generous. But next year you will mostly likely be a married woman with your own household,’ he said softly, ‘and Christmas would not be the same without you.’

The breath caught in Charlie’s throat. There was something on his face, a sudden hunger that made her feel a little dizzy. Something hung in the air between them and she stared up at him in fascination. It was suddenly hard to think. Had she ever found the room cold? Certainly, the temperature seemed to have warmed up considerably for her skin felt flushed and overly sensitive. He loosed her hands, but only so he could put his own on her shoulders, steadying her, drawing her closer.

How natural it was for him to kiss her again. An hour past she would have been incensed but now she craved his lips with the same urgency that she had glimpsed in his eyes. His mouth felt utterly right, claiming hers with a fierceness that set her on fire. Instinctively she wound her arms around his neck, pulling him closer as she opened beneath the onslaught as they explored each others mouths, tongues tangling, breath mingling, demanding and giving, each to the other. That heavy, delirious languor that he had stirred within her before returned with a vengeance and her body felt weighted by her need for him. Kissing him was delicious but it made her want so much more.

When they finally broke apart he groaned, his mouth moving to slide down the warm column of her neck, teeth nipping delicately at the skin so that ripples of pleasure cascade through her with every tiny pinprick of borderline pain. Charlie closed her eyes, head rolling backwards as he continued his slow, sensual assault upon her delicate flesh. Her breasts were tingling, nubs clenched tight as he exhorted responses from her willing body. She felt as if her whole body were opening up beneath his wicked ministrations, flesh loosening, becoming softer, melting a little more as he lifted the heavy dark hair from the nape of her neck so that he could slide his tongue across the nape. She gasped, a flame of hot desire shivering through her at the unexpectedness of it. It was shocking and terrifying and she did not want him to stop, not for anything…

With a murmur of words that were lost on her, his hands dropped, circling her waist. He pulled her up, settling her onto his lap, one arm cradling her back while the other pushed the curls away from her ear the better for him to slip the lobe into the warmth of his mouth. It felt immensely pleasurable to be suckled in such a way, and fresh wash of wanton desire flooded through her. Another area of her body that she had not suspected might be susceptible to his attentions. How fortunate that he seemed to know where each of hers was located. How delightful that he seemed intent on exploring them. While he teased her ear, teeth grazing the soft flesh, his free hand made its own entertainment, a finger sliding along the lace edging of her bodice, testing the access to dip further down. She shivered, mentally urging him on, relishing his touch on her skin, the way his breath came faster, just as hers did. He had teased open the bodice of her gown to reach down and cup a breast and she moaned as his palm cupped one soft globe, his thumb moving to rub gently, small, repeated explosions occurring somewhere in the dark, secret region between her legs. It felt as if the fuse that Valentine had lit within her with his kiss had just burned down to the fireworks, sparking that mysterious font of sinful gratification into sudden, glorious life. She gave a small whimper, turning her head instinctively, seeking the dark magic of his mouth, when a sudden sound made them both freeze.

A door, opening behind them. ‘Charlie?’

Merry’s voice. Suddenly they were a frenzy of activity, Lord Valentine’s hand hastily withdrawing from her bodice and Charlie hurriedly righted herself before tugging the shawl close around her. She slipped off his lordship’s knee and moved towards her sister who was standing in the doorway, expression quizzical.

‘Looking for me?’ She almost squeaked the words. Clearing her throat, Charlie drew a deep breath, steadying herself.
Oh, dear Lord...

‘What are you doing in here?’

‘Quiet time,’ Charlie said quickly, ‘what are
you
doing here? Did you want something?’ It was possible that Merry hadn’t seen anything. They had been sitting in a high-backed chair and only Charlie’s legs had been visible, hanging over the arm.

‘In a minute. I… haven’t quite finished quiet time yet.’ And, firmly but gently, she pushed her sister back out the door and closed it behind her.

Breathe. In and out, calming down with every breath she took. Turning, she found that his lordship had risen to his feet. He looked as ruffled as she felt.

‘Dear God, but you are unsafe to be around!’

‘
I
am unsafe?’ She liked that. It had not been her that had instigated another kiss.

He walked towards her slowly. ‘I did not mean to behave in such a way. I swear I did not. It is just that you have a profound effect on me, Miss Weathering.’

‘I see.’ And so she did, in a manner of speaking. He had much the same effect on her. It did not give her cause for complaint, however.

‘That interruption… it is just as well. God knows, I did not want to stop.’ He looked thoroughly unhappy and her heart sank a little. He had not meant to kiss her, it seemed. He had not meant to touch her, but oh how she had melted!

‘I know that I am inexperienced,’ unlike Madeleine du Pont, his mistress. She had forgotten Madeleine in the heat of the moment. Had he forgotten her as well?

‘It has nothing to do with experience,’ he returned abruptly, ‘and everything to do with me losing control. Unforgivable. I am a man of six and twenty years, not some callow youth. I should have known better.’

‘You regret kissing me?’ she demanded, lifting her chin.

He looked at her for a long moment and she heard him sigh. ‘I wish I could. I need to leave here Charlie. I am not fit company for one such as you. Frankly, you deserve a man who will do you justice?’

She arched an eyebrow. ‘And you do not?’

He shook his head, his regret obvious. ‘I am a damaged man. I have seen how you live, how you all care for each other and it is a fine thing. But you would not have that kind of life with me. We would ultimately have to go back to Colchester, to the past and then… sufficient to say, it is not a life I would wish upon anyone.’

‘Because you are such an unpleasant man?’ she tilted her head, watching him. ‘It isn’t true, my lord. You deserve happiness just as much as the next man.’

‘And I take my pleasures, I can assure you,’ he returned dryly, which made Charlie blush. Not that long ago they had
both
been taking some pleasure from each other. ‘I have behaved very badly, but I promise you it will not happen again. You are not the kind of girl one trifles with, Miss Weathering. Please… accept my apologies.’

Charlie opened her mouth to protest, to tell him that surely
she
should have a say in who trifled with her and who did not. But he was already brushing past her, heading for the door and the words she so desperately wanted would not come.

And what could she say if he did not think her a suitable companion for him?

Please, pick me to trifle with my lord for I delight in your touch…

It took a few minutes for her composure to have restored enough to rejoin her family.

And a great deal longer for the small, hard kernel of disappointed pain within her to be subsumed by the small comforts of kin.

Epilogue

Eight weeks later…

Almacks glittered, as it always did, its rooms full to capacity, as they always were.

Charlie, who had not wanted for partners since her presentation two weeks before, stood a little removed from the noisy conversational groups in a convenient alcove she had discovered. It was the one place that afforded a small nook of peace and she had been enjoying the respite.

She sighed and fanned herself for the heat was quite atrocious in the crowded rooms, looking at the dancers, the crowds, the glittering finery. It was everything she had thought it would be and more.

If only she could bring herself to enjoy it.

Nothing had been quite right for the past eight uncomfortable weeks, ever since she had met Lord August Valentine. It was because of him that she did not sleep particularly well, her head filled with thoughts she could not banish. The consolation of Mrs. Radcliff had fallen by the wayside, consumed by the far larger issue of cold, hard reality and the knowledge that life might not be about heroes after all.

After their interlude in that parlor he had taken great pains never to be alone with her again. The roads had cleared enough for him to be able to travel within two days and he had finally taken his leave. His departure, a noisy one as all departures from the Weathering household tended to be, had seen her retreat to her room to shed unwelcome tears. She had not wanted to cry for him. Lord Valentine had told her that he had behaved very badly and she was more than willing to agree with him; not because she believed him to be unsuitable for her, but because he refused to try and
be
suitable. There was nothing she could do with a man who would not have a little faith in his ability to begin again. As unfortunate as his story was, the past was the past, there to be conquered for all its horrors.