The Christmas Spirit (17 page)

It was enormous. Two great rings of holly and ivy were suspended from the ceiling, with sprigs of other evergreens thrown in. Shiny, red apples dangled cheek by jowl with pale paper roses. Colored ribbons, from the ends of which dangled dolls, and sparkling ornaments made a shimmering fairy forest. The bough hovered over the dancers who seemed to be wrestling and laughing at the same time.

Astonished at first by this behavior, Trudy quickly realized that the gentlemen were attempting to steer their partners under the mistletoe, which hung from a ribbon in the center of the bough, while the ladies were using all their wiles to dodge it.

"Oh, Matthew," she breathed, forgetting to dim her bewitching beauty in her excitement. "It is all so thrilling."

Her smile fell upon the room, and all movement ceased.  Even Matthew came to a halt at her side, seeming to freeze under her inadvertent spell. The dancers' music stopped in the middle of the dance, and they all turned to stare.

On the faces of the motionless men, she saw an astonishment, no less admiring than it was dazed. On the ladies', a mixture of reluctant acknowledgement and dismay. With a sudden blow, Trudy realized that she did not belong here, that her presence could ruin all the other guests' enjoyment unless she did something immediately to correct her lapse.

With a sweep of her magic cloak, she broke the spell she'd so unwittingly cast upon the guests. She lowered her eyes and, with a powerful intake of breath, reined her beauty in. In the next instant, the first persons to awake from the spell began to stir, then the rest followed as if they'd just remembered where they were. They were still staring at her, but their unnatural amazement had fled.

"Well--" At her side, Matthew spoke while shaking his head with a look of mild annoyance. "I should say our entry was well timed."

"Oh?" she asked breathlessly.

"Yes. The music has stopped, and the voices are, therefore, not quite so loud. That should give us a chance to pay our respects."

He swept a hand towards the receiving line to his right. While some conversations had resumed, Trudy knew that many people's eyes were still upon her. She could only hope they would forget the momentary numbness that had struck them all.

Their hosts were waiting to greet her as Matthew presented her, first to Fortescue and then to his wife. Although they seemed reserved at first--a mood left over from their bedazzlement, no doubt--both did their best to make Trudy feel welcome. Gerald Fortescue, a congenial man of slight build, peered deeply into her eyes and appeared reluctant to let her pass out of his sight. It was not until Matthew placed his hand on the small of her back and moved close that the other man released her.

"I have heard much about you, Miss Meriwether." Lady Patricia gave Trudy a generous smile. "And I see that rumor has not exaggerated for once. Sir Matthew--" she turned to him--"I do not believe I have ever heard a room go quite so silent as this one did when she entered. Have you?"

"No, my lady. But I am grateful to have you mention it, for I was beginning to think I had imagined the whole."

Trudy held her breath, assured she'd been discovered, but Lady Patricia merely sighed. "All the other young ladies will be in the blackest despair. If I were you," she advised Matthew, "I should not let such a charmer out of my sight."

With those kind words and a smile, she waved them off and turned to greet her next guest, and Trudy could release her strangled breath.

"Excellent advice," Matthew murmured behind her. He had bent to whisper into her ear. "My first order of business must be to secure your hand for the first two waltzes."

"Oh! But I meant to save them all for you!" Trudy protested, turning to face him.

Matthew stopped and smiled. "All of the waltzes?"

The startled look upon his face made her stomach flutter, though she wasn't sure why. "I had meant," she confessed with a shy sweep of her lashes, "to say all the dances."

A smile started on his lips. She could see he was trying to hide it, but unbridled amusement had lit his eyes. "I would be honored, of course. But do you not think that such a high degree of particularity would, perhaps, seem . . . rather particular?"

Trudy felt her dimples burrowing deeply into her cheeks as a blush rose to heat them. "Would it? Why?"

"Because--" Matthew paused to clear his throat as he ushered her over to an alcove--"though you mustn't think I normally give much regard to such mundane considerations--because, my dearest dear, the custom of these affairs dictates that a maiden lady shall limit each of her partners to no more than two dances--three if they are engaged."

"Oh--"

Matthew's next question cut her off before she could express her disappointment. "Would you truly reserve all your dances for me?"

"Of course. Are we not agreed that such conventions are unworthy of our notice?"

"We are, indeed. However, I am finding in myself an absurd desire to protect you from vicious tongues."

His serious tone took her aback. Trudy gazed into his searching eyes and felt something inside her diminish. "You needn't, you know," she said quietly. She rewarded him with her tenderest smile and thought she heard his sudden intake of breath. Matthew reached out a finger to caress her lower lip.

"Dunstone?" All around them, the din had started to grow again. Now, one insistent voice broke through it.

Starting, they both turned to find a gentleman at Trudy's side. "You do not mean to keep this young lady all to yourself tonight, I hope," he said, stepping forward to clap Matthew on the back.

"I had considered it," Matthew said ruefully. "Faye, I am forced to present Lord Cranleigh, who, I presume, has come to beg a dance. Lord Cranleigh, Miss Meriwether."

Trudy gave the young gentleman a glancing smile, but she clung to Matthew's arm. "Shall I have to--" she began, but, before she could finish her plea, she was cut off by Matthew again.

"I am afraid so. Not for the reason we discussed, but rather because, if you do not, we shall likely have a riot on our hands." He gestured behind her.

When she turned her head to look, she saw that a crowd of gentlemen had formed in their wake.

"But--" She nearly wilted at the sight of them. "What dances shall you and I have together?"

"All of the waltzes," Matthew said firmly and loudly to the gathering behind her. "I may lack your audacity, my dear, but I am no fool. Stay clear of the mistletoe mind." He gave this warning to the men.

Just then, a footman came up, and Matthew said to Faye, "Let me take your cloak." Before she could prevent him, he helped her off with it, and, as the servant carried it away, Lord Cranleigh claimed her hand.

Trudy felt herself being swept away from Matthew to join in the dance that was forming. She thought of disappearing from the frightening scene, but her magic cloak was gone. Matthew's face was all alight with pride, and she could not bear to have that look erased

Besides, she realized, as her nervous partner got up a harmless banter, she had often danced with other elves. Although the steps would be a bit different, the music was the same. It would not hurt her to take a few turns of the room on other men's arms.

She gave herself to the dance and tripped lightly about the room, pausing with a curtsy when the steps called for one. Every now and then, she glanced back to see Matthew who was watching her with enjoyment.

At first, his sanguine acceptance of these other men's claims made her wonder just how firmly his feelings were engaged. But, then, when she noticed that someone had offered him a chair, she recalled his recent illness, and she realized he could not dance the whole evening without doing himself harm. An abrupt awareness of his mortality seized her. It clamped on her heart with fear. Although he would live a great deal longer, Matthew would surely precede her to the grave by many years. Many decades, in fact. Perhaps as long as a century.

And Trudy knew with an unquenchable pain, she would not want to live that long without Matthew.

Matthew watched her glide about the room as if she floated on butterflies' wings, charming each of her partners in succession. As every head turned to stare at her, he did not have to wonder how she managed it, for every time she merely glanced his way and smiled, he felt a pull so strong, he could scarcely keep his seat. His impatience to hold her was becoming intolerable when he first saw her flag, as if a thought had swept all the joy from her.

He started to his feet, just as the music, most fortunately, stopped. He did not wait for her partner to return her to his side, for that was never likely to occur. Instead, he strode across the ballroom floor and claimed her right out from under the nose of her next supplicant.

"I believe this is a waltz," Matthew said, barely giving a glance at the other man, "and the waltzes are all mine."

Faye stepped into his arms, not waiting for the music to start, and Matthew caught his breath. Her hair, which was as light and as feathery as down, tickled his chin. Her phantom perfume teased his nostrils, making his head spin. While they waited for the other couples to form, Matthew closed his eyes and let a cornucopia of sensations take him.

Then, the music started, and he was twirling her around the floor in a perfect circular motion. Long out of practice, Matthew found that the steps came easily to him. He flowed like a river with Faye. Although he led, his dancing skill seemed to emanate from her and her desires, as if she were a sorceress spinning him in a spell.

He might have waltzed on and on, enjoying this miraculous, almost spiritual sensation, but something about it made him grow uneasy. With his eyelids half--open, looking down into Faye's face, he could almost see Trudy gazing wistfully back up at him. He blinked hard once, then twice, and the illusion was gone.

"What is it, Matthew?"

Her gentle concern made him ache to hold her closer. Matthew wanted to fill his emptiness with her, but holding Faye in his arms was almost as disappointing as he had feared. She felt lighter than air, not real enough to fill his arms.

He tried to reassure her. "It is nothing. A passing thought, unworthy of comment."

But his smile must have seemed weak, for her dainty steps faltered. He caught her more securely, grasping her waist and hand in a tighter grip. Her body brushed against his, but still her substance failed to satisfy his need.

Then, just as he thought he might burn with the frustration building inside him, his hand that held hers grew warm, and from that little bit of warmth, his whole arm began to hum. The humming spread from his shoulder to his chest, then to the rest of him, and he almost sighed aloud.

"Look up, Matthew." Faye's gaze tilted towards the ceiling, pulling his with it. They were spinning alone under the mistletoe.

Matthew almost believed that it had been she, and not he, who had brought them there; but with that warmth still humming near his heart, he didn't care who'd been responsible. Still, with an affirmation of his masculine right, he determined to prolong this delicious moment as long as he could.

"Are you enjoying the ball?" He teased her by posing the trite question, for they had hardly spoken at all, so enthralled had he been.

"Oh, yes," she breathed happily. "It's all so
warm,
Matthew, so
warm."

She glanced around them at the dancers, laughing gaily, at the fireplace where a roaring Yule log burned, and at the children, who were  roasting chestnuts over its flames. The rich, welcome smell of the nuts mixed with the wood smoke to fill the air with Christmas.

Her pleasure in these simple things nearly overwhelmed Matthew, who in his youth had taken them for granted, if not despised them. Now, as he glanced around, holding her by the waist under the mistletoe, he saw that, indeed, there was something glorious in the warmth of human spirit in this room, and he felt more in charity with his own kind than he had in years.

Bt the heat inside him was building, too, as the dancers twirled about Faye and him, where they'd paused. The sweet smells of apple and orange and evergreen wafted down from the bough above.

Matthew--" Faye tugged on both his sleeves, pulling herself deeper into his arms. "Don't you want to kiss me?"

He laughed, looking down into her enchanting face where a touch of worry had wrinkled her perfect brow. His desire was suddenly inflamed by this hint of a flaw in a gem that was otherwise sublime.

"Yes, I want you," he said huskily, folding his arms so securely about her that her toes left the floor.

But, when he would have kissed her as she'd wanted, in the middle of the floor in front of the assembled company, she quickly struggled to get free. "No, not like that!" she said.

Matthew backed away, startled. The pairs who were dancing immediately behind him were forced to swerve, and the ladies squealed in fun. The gentlemen laughed in loud voices and called out encouragement to him.

"Faye? What the devil--" His enchantment had burst, but Matthew had to chuckle. Either that or strangle Faye.

But she looked so distressed, standing forlorn under the kissing bough, that he feared something was gravely wrong. He moved forward to take both her gloved hands in his.

Again that mysterious warmth invaded him from the fingers up.

"What is it, darling?" he asked, gently rubbing the backs of her hands with his thumbs.

"Like this," she whispered, refusing to answer him directly. Instead, she made him release her hands, only to take one of his up again.

Matthew let her do what she would, but her actions more than surprised him. For the first time in his adult life, he actually felt embarrassment, for Faye was taking his first two fingers and slipping them inside the glove of her upheld hand.

Before Matthew could wonder what the company would make of this transgression, the pads of his fingertips brushed along her palm.

Their touch was electric. It sizzled along his arm, infecting the rest of his body, so fast he gasped.

"Do you see?" she whispered mysteriously, her green eyes bewitching him and beckoning him closer, and closer, until their lips met.