When She Was Naughty (A Christmas Short Story) Page 2

  Unfortunately, the waistcoat was as vexing as the woman who’d tricked him into wearing it. The buttons refused to yield to his will. Damned tassels. For God’s sake, tassels. How had he been so stupid as to wear the thing? He lost all powers of rationality where Chloe Garland was concerned.

  He spat a vicious bit of blasphemy into the night air.

  “Lord Cheverell?” The light, familiar voice came from behind him.

  Chloe.

  He cursed again, silently this time, and turned.

  How was it possible for a woman to be even lovelier in the dark? There were no glowing candles to illuminate her pretty features or her tempting figure. But the moonlight turned her skin to gleaming silver satin, and even though shadows cast by the lanterns obscured her upswept hair and the finer contours of her features, nothing could hide her wide, lovely eyes, nor her lush, deep red lips. Those lips that teased and tempted.

  She looked at his hands, which remained frozen in the act of tassel-wrestling. “Do take care not to rip out the stitching. I worked hard on that.”

  “You made this?”

  “Of course. I didn’t trust that anyone else would make it sufficiently hideous. Asymmetrical snowflakes are surprisingly difficult, and adding the fifth leg to the reindeer took time. The hardest bits were those pompons.” She nodded at the fuzzy red balls sprouting from the right lapel. “I pricked my finger more than once.”

  “Good.” He renewed his attack on the stubborn buttons.

  “Come now. It’s only a waistcoat. I didn’t know it would injure your pride so deeply.”

  “My pride is intact.”

  “Well, I seem to have wounded your feelings in some way.”

  “You have no idea of my feelings.”

  “Perhaps not.” She smiled impishly. “You do keep your emotions rather close to the vest.”

  With a growl of frustration, he abandoned his struggle with the waistcoat buttons. “This is impossible.”

  “Here. Let me help.”

  Working from smallest finger inward, she loosened her left elbow-length glove and slid the red silk sheath downward. Slowly. Revealing her forearm. Then her wrist. Then her hand and delicate fingertips.

  As she repeated the process with the other glove, Justin’s pulse went wild. He’d seen burlesque performances in some of Covent Garden’s most scandalous establishments, and none of them were this arousing.

  Gloves removed, she closed the distance between them. As she reached for the waistcoat buttons, he made the mistake of glancing downward. Good God, her low neckline served up her bosom like two dishes of cream.

  “Wait.” He retrieved his coat from the bench and wrapped it around her shoulders. “Before you freeze.”

  Before I go mad.

  He yanked the lapels together over her bosom. There. Better, in theory. In actuality, it was little help. He had four other senses eager to aid his downfall.

  She’d been drinking mulled wine. Her lips were stained a deep claret red, and the scents of cloves and cinnamon hovered in the air between them. Her kiss would taste like Christmas.

  As she set to the task of persuading the first button loose, her hand brushed his chest. His knees went weak. Apparently even layers of dreadful needlework, velvet lining, and starched shirt still weren’t armor enough against her touch.

  He drew in a sharp breath.

  She tsked. “Be still, you.”

  “Miss Chloe—”

  “I know, I know. This is forward, familiar, and horribly improper. Scold me if you like, but you will waste your breath. I will not be intimidated.”

  He clenched his hands in fists at his sides. “I’m sufficiently acquainted with your character to know that much.”

  “I got you into this situation. It seems only fair that I should get you out of it.”

  Very well, Justin concluded. As ordeals went, this was a minor one. He should take it like a man. Well, he should take it like a significantly less virile man. He steeled himself and did his best impression of an unfeeling rock as Chloe undid the buttons one by one.

  A sense of irony did not escape him. Over the past several months, he’d entertained many fantasies that began with her helping him out of his clothing. And then continued with him ripping hers to shreds. However, of all the settings and occasions he’d imagined, he didn’t recall any of those fantasies taking place in the front drive of her house on a frosty winter night. And none of them, absolutely none of them, featured reindeer of any kind.

  When she’d undone the last button, his waistcoat hung open, exposing the front of his crisp white shirt. The shock of frigid air could not quell his hammering heart.

  “There,” she said. “You are free of it.”

  Free of the vest, perhaps. Free of her? Never.

  “Thank you,” he said. “Now return to the party. It’s cold.”

  Unsurprisingly, she ignored his directive. “I owe you an apology. I should not have lied to you about the waistcoat. I’m sorry.”

  “There are no apologies necessary. It’s nothing.”

  “It’s clearly something. Something enough to drive you away.”

  “I am not driven away. I simply recalled I have another engagement this evening.”

  It wasn’t an untruth. Justin had a pressing appointment with a decanter of whisky, and he needed to leave for it now. Before he did something rash, like seizing Chloe in his arms. She was standing much too close, and still wearing his coat around her shoulders. She was wrapped in him, and he couldn’t take it much longer.

  “You were right,” she went on. “I think I did want to humiliate you, just a little bit. And not only in recompense for the pond incident.”

  “It was a reflecting pool.”

  “Yes, yes. You are always correcting me.” She huffed out a breath. “We are two very different people. So much is obvious. But our families are connected now. Even if you don’t like me, can you at least make an effort to tolerate my presence?”

  Damn his eyes. She believed he disliked her. Worse, she believed he found her company intolerable. The fulcrum shifted in his chest, and the decision was made. He could not allow her to think such things.

  “As difficult as it is to admit,” she went on, “it hurts that you have rebuffed my every overture toward friendship.”

  “If I have hurt you, I swear it was unintentional. I would heap pain on myself before I would cause you the slightest discomfort. But much as I know you resent my corrections, I must correct you at least one time more. “

  “What is it this time?”

  “The truth of the matter is, I do not dislike you. I do not find you intolerable. Nevertheless, I have never desired your friendship.”

  She blinked several times in rapid succession. “Consider me corrected.”

  She turned to leave, but he caught her by the wrist.

  “Chloe, I have always wanted more.”

  Chapter Three

  More?

  Chloe took a step in retreat. She studied him, wary.

  What did he mean, more?

  He gestured at the topcoat wrapped about her shoulders. “Reach into the breast pocket. Left side.”

  Chloe worked her hand into the narrow silk pocket, searching. She’d almost concluded it was empty, but then her fingertips grazed something small and round and metal. It felt like a...

  No. It couldn’t be.

  Grasping the circle between her thumb and forefinger, she withdrew it and held it under the lantern for examination.

  A ring.

  Not just any ring. A gold band studded with diamonds all the way round, and in the center a gemstone as big as her thumbnail. An emerald? Aquamarine? The dark made it difficult to tell.

  “It’s a sapphire,” he said. “Matches your eyes.”

  The breath left her lungs. “Surely you’re not saying that you... That this...”

  “It is—or rather, was—meant for you. Yes.”

  “Is this some sort of joke?”

  “Whe
n have you ever known me to joke?”

  A fair point.

  Chloe struggled to wrap her mind around this situation, but failed. This was all too much to be believed. Even the ring sitting in her hand seemed an illusion. As if an especially large snowflake had drifted onto her palm, and it would melt at any moment.

  “You had no idea of my attachment,” he said.

  She shook her head, dazed. “None.”

  “Remarkable. I thought it must be obvious.” He looked into the distance. “I suppose I flattered myself, assuming you to be paying attention.”

  “I was paying attention. Too much attention. All year long, I’ve worried and fretted over your opinion of me. I thought you disliked me.”

  “You thought wrongly.”

  “But you kept hovering about me.”

  “As a moth circles a flame.”

  “Scrutinizing my every word and deed.”

  “Captivated. Rapt with fascination.”

  “Always looking down on me.”

  He threw up his hands. “I am tall. There is no other way for me to look at you, other than to look down. And I cannot help looking at you, as you’ve noticed. I find you incomparably lovely. Enticing. Bewitching. Desirable. Beautiful. Take your choice of words, it applies.”

  Her cheeks flushed with heat. What did one say when an imposing, handsome earl gave her a dozen compliments all at once, thrusting them at her like a hastily assembled bouquet?

  Thankfully, he did not wait on a response.

  He began to pace the frozen ground, crossing back and forth before her. A half-dozen strides. Pivot. Another half-dozen strides. Pivot. Repeat. His rhythm was stiff, and he didn’t seem to know what to do with his arms. Chloe suspected earls didn’t have reason to pace very often.

  She was still holding the ring in her hand. “Did you have a box for this, or...?”

  “I left it at home. I didn’t want the box to—” He halted in place and laughed wryly. “I didn’t want it to ruin the waistcoat’s silhouette.”

  She cringed. He truly had been expecting a different kind of celebration tonight. What on earth had given him the notion that she would be receptive to a proposal? He must be either vastly mistaken or boundlessly arrogant. Or both?

  Probably both.

  He resumed pacing.

  “So that picnic outing last spring,” she mused aloud, “before Andrew and Rebecca’s wedding.”

  “The walk up to Knob Hill, you mean.”

  “Yes.” She bit her lip, pondering. “On our walk up the slope, when I made a little crown of wildflowers and weaved it in my hair, and then you looked at me and heaved a dramatic sigh... Are you implying that sigh wasn’t a sound of exasperation?”

  “It was not.”

  “And when I insisted on climbing that last craggy bit of elevation to see the view, even though all the others were content to remain on the grassy slope, and you insisted on accompanying me and offering your arm, to be certain I didn’t fall off the verge... Are you implying you weren’t reluctant and annoyed?”

  “I recall feeling something akin to a thrill.”

  “Then later, when we sat down to our refreshments and the icing on the buns was melting because they’d been in the heat, and I ate three of them with my bare hands and licked my fingers clean one by one... Was that not a chastening look you gave me?”

  “I assure you, there was nothing chaste about it.”

  “Oh.” Chloe lowered herself onto the bench and sat, waiting for her brain to stop twirling. “I see.”

  For the second time that evening, she heard him curse. “We may as well have this over with.”

  He came to stand before her.

  And then he dropped to one knee.

  She jumped to her feet. “What are you doing?”

  He stood again. “I mean to propose marriage. You’re holding the ring. I’m not being precisely subtle about it.”

  Now it was Chloe’s turn to pace.

  He said, “I fully expect you to say no, if that helps.”

  “It doesn’t help at all.”

  “Come.” He waved her close to the lantern, where they could make one another out. “I must speak. I will speak. And you will refuse me, and then this wretched chapter between us will be concluded. I’ll be silent forever. But if I do not express myself now, I will never feel at ease.”

  “Neither will I, I suppose.” She braced herself. “Very well. Say what you must. But I won’t sit down, and you must promise not to kneel.”

  “No kneeling,” he agreed. He cleared his throat. “My dearest Chloe...”

  “Wait. No ‘dearest’ or ‘darling’, either. Nor any similar words.”

  “How is one to propose without terms of affection?”

  “I don’t know. But I can’t think if you speak that way.”

  “You can’t think? For God’s sake, I haven’t formed a coherent thought since we met. Not one that didn’t concern you, at any rate. It’s misery.”

  She bristled. “So this is what you want to tell me? That I make you miserable?”

  “You’ve forbidden me to use any tender words!”

  That was true, she supposed.

  “This is absurd.” He pushed his hand through his hair. “I love you. There, it’s been said. Plain language, no poetry. I love you.”

  How strange. Chloe was certain that she’d possessed knees when she’d risen from bed that morning. But she didn’t know where they’d gotten to now. The space where they’d been was currently filled with custard.

  “I love you,” he repeated. “I’ve never spoken those words before. To anyone.”

  She’d never heard them before. Not from a man.

  “It never stops, you see. It’s all the time, every moment. I’m a hopeless wretch for love of you. I hear you laugh, my breath is stolen. I see you dance, I’m struck still. When you challenge me, I am weak to my bones. You place a flower in your hair, and the whole world blossoms. You lick icing from your fingertips, and I yearn to taste the sweetness on your lips. Can you imagine?” He jabbed a finger in his chest. “Me. Yearning.”

  “It does seem unlike you.”

  “And if it’s material evidence you desire, look no further.” He swept his hands down the unbuttoned horror of a waistcoat and flicked a tassel with his fingernail. “I wore this. On my body. In public.”

  Chloe swallowed hard. She had to admit, that was rather convincing.

  “The worst part about this waistcoat? Now that I know you made it with your own hands, I won’t even be able to burn the thing. I’ll have to keep it in my wardrobe. And when I’m very, very drunk, I might even put it on. I love you. There’s nothing to be done about it. I’ve tried.”

  “Tried?” Well, this should be interesting. “What, precisely, have you tried?”

  “What haven’t I tried. Believe me, I made several valiant attempts at a cure. I put a great deal of effort into the endeavor, and I’m not lacking for resources or strength of will. If there were a remedy sandwiched between pages of a boring ledger, or stuck to the bottom of a brandy decanter, or loitering about a fencing academy, or buried in a fox’s den on the grounds of my estate, I assure you—I would have found it. But I found nothing. Actually, I found worse than nothing.”

  “What’s worse than finding nothing?”

  “Finding everything. I don’t know how people survive this love business. The world is alive to a painful, bewildering degree. I’m nothing but a raw, throbbing nerve. My heart lives outside my body, where it’s more likely to be bruised than delighted. It is torment, and yet”—he exhaled, resigned—“a lifetime of torment wouldn’t be enough. I love you without reserve or limit.”

  Lord above.

  “I’m now aware, of course, that I have misunderstood you at every step of our acquaintance, and that my feelings are not and have never been returned.” He looked toward the carriage house. “Can’t imagine what’s taking my coach so damned long.”

  They stood in awkward silence.


  “I have an idea,” she announced. “You should kiss me.”

  He stared at her. “That may be an idea. But it is not a good idea.”

  “For once, hear me out before you start correcting me. When I was fourteen years old, I spent the summer with my older sister Eliza and her husband. They have an estate in Hampshire. Their land steward’s son was home from school. He was almost sixteen and quite handsome despite his pockmarks. I spent the summer drowning in infatuation. I didn’t want to marry the boy, but I hoped for some pining on his part, a good case of heartache on my end, and perhaps a few romantic letters from Harrow.”

  She was babbling, but it couldn’t be helped. “Most of all, I wanted a kiss. My first kiss. The summer went on and on... Nothing. Finally, the day before he was to leave, I cornered him in the gardener’s shed. I pinched my cheeks to make them pink, batted my eyelashes like butterfly wings, and all but drew an archery target on my mouth. At last, he either caught the hint or simply gave in. And the kiss was dreadful. It felt like a salamander had wriggled into my mouth and had an apoplectic fit.” She shook off the unpleasant memory. “Suddenly, I was cured. I wanted none of it. No lovelorn suitor, no romantic letters from Harrow, no heartache. So I was thinking... perhaps if we kissed, it would be similarly disappointing.”

  Lord Cheverell was silent for a long time. Chloe fidgeted, tapping the bewildering ring against her palm.

  “Forgive me,” he finally said. “I am uncertain how to receive this. Are you suggesting that if I were to kiss you, the experience would be similar to that of kissing a pockmarked, salamander-tongued fifteen-year-old schoolboy in the gardener’s shed?”

  “No,” she leapt to say. “No, not at all.”

  “But you believe it would be disappointing.”

  “For you. You would be the one disappointed. I have had so few kisses, and none of them good. It’s bound to be mediocre at best. I scarcely know what I’m doing.”

  His gaze was intense. “I know what I’m doing.”

  “Oh.”

  “And if I were to kiss you, Chloe, it would not be disappointing. If I kissed you, it would become my life’s purpose, my sole reason for existing, to make that kiss so deeply, lushly, passionately soul-stirring that from this night forward, for the remainder of your days, any other kiss from any other man would turn to ash on your lips.” He leaned close. His voice was thrilling and dark. “It’s not. A good. Idea.”