Jenni Fletcher - Miss Amelia's Mistletoe Marquess

‘I don’t recall thinking any of that.’ She stiffened, offended by the implication. ‘Everyone grieves in their own way.’

‘But I suspect that you wouldn’t behave like this. I ought to be practical like you were, don’t you think?’

‘I still have emotions, Mr Whitlock. Just because I threw myself into work when my father died doesn’t mean I didn’t love or mourn him. A person can be practical and still feel .’

‘Forgive me—’ he reached forward suddenly and caught one of her hands ‘—I didn’t mean to suggest otherwise. It takes strength and courage not to let your emotions get the better of you, to carry on with life even when you’re in pain. Sometimes I’m afraid that I’ll never be able to move past what happened, that I’ll never find peace or joy again.’ His gaze burned into hers. ‘You have fortitude, Just Millie . I admire and envy you for that. On top of which, you’re an excellent listener. Your sister is very lucky to have you.’

‘Thank you.’ She looked down at their joined hands. Hers looked so small and weak inside his, yet he said he envied her strength. ‘And things will get better for you, I’m sure of it. Even the memories will fade eventually. You’ll find peace and joy again.’

‘Will I? Why do I deserve those things when he’s gone?’

‘Because everyone deserves those things. And you will because wounds scar over.’ She strove to sound reassuring. ‘You were wounded that day you lost your friend, just like I was when I lost my father. They might not have been injuries anyone could see, but they were still real. Some wounds might be mortal, but the rest heal and scar over in time. You might not be the same person you were before, but you’ll be able to move on some day.’

‘Move on…’ he repeated the words, his fingers tightening imperceptibly over hers. ‘I’m almost afraid you’re a part of some dream, too, Just Millie , only a good one this time. Are you sure you’re real and not a figment of my imagination?’

‘I think so.’ She nodded, though she had to admit she was feeling somewhat light-headed. Probably because her pulse was accelerating to a positively alarming rate. She tried drawing in a breath to slow it down, but the room seemed unusually lacking in air. It made her feel as if she were panting instead.

Desperately, she shifted her gaze away from their hands and then instantly regretted it. His shoulders were broad and muscular and the neck of his shirt was open, revealing the strong column of his throat as well as the top of his chest and a dusting of pale golden hair beneath. Her gaze continued downwards, as if drawn of its own volition, certainly against her own better judgement. He must have woken up in a sweat because his shirt was stuck to his skin in places, making the stomach muscles beneath as visible as if he were naked.

She ran her tongue nervously over lips that felt bone dry all of a sudden. Their close proximity was utterly inappropriate, even more so than her being there was already, but his hand was still holding hers, his fingers warm and strong, and she felt an almost irresistible impulse to stroke the inside of his palm with her thumb.

‘I’m very real—’ she cleared her throat instead ‘—but I don’t deserve your admiration. Sometimes I feel trapped, too, not in the past, but in the present. I don’t compare my situation to yours, of course, but there are days when I want to scream at the very top of my lungs. If I hadn’t found your house this evening, I might actually have done it, just to see how it feels.’

‘Go ahead.’

She looked up in alarm. ‘I’m not going to scream, Mr Whitlock.’

‘Why not? It’s the perfect opportunity. There aren’t any other houses within hearing distance, just a lot of trees. You might frighten a few badgers and squirrels, but we can live with that.’

‘I still can’t scream.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because I don’t do things like that. It’s not who I am. Once maybe, but not any more.’

‘Then who are you, Just Millie ?’

‘Who am I?’ The very question made her feel reckless. ‘I’m Miss Amelia Fairclough, teacher of sewing and housekeeping at the Fairclough Foundation. I’m practical, virtuous and self-sacrificing.’ She drew her fingers away from his to tick the qualities off one by one. ‘Which I know because everyone tells me so.’

His lips twitched as he lifted an eyebrow quizzically. ‘Aren’t they supposed to be positive qualities?’

‘They are, but put all together like that they just sound so utterly boring.’

‘Surely people don’t tell you that ?’

‘Not to my face, but it’s implied. Self -sacrificing, as if I don’t have a self !’ She dug her nails into her palms in frustration. ‘It’s not that I’m unhappy, at least not exactly. My work is very rewarding and it pleases me to know that I’m doing something useful and helping others, but I want to be more than just practical and virtuous! I used to be, only those things have become habits and now everyone expects them of me. I feel so…’

‘Trapped?’

‘Exactly! And boring. I feel as if I’ve become someone I didn’t want to be, someone I’m not even sure that I like. My sister and brother are both far more interesting than I am.’

‘Are you the eldest?’

‘Only by half an hour. Silas is my twin.’ She drew in a deep breath and then sighed it out again. ‘It sounds ridiculous, but I was trying to be different and rebellious tonight and look what happened! I got lost in a snowstorm and ruined your evening.’

‘You haven’t ruined anything. I’m glad to have met you, Just Millie .’

‘You are?’

‘Extremely.’ He sounded surprisingly genuine. ‘You’ve made me feel better.’

‘I’m glad.’ She peered up at him. ‘Although in that case I probably shouldn’t tell you the most boring thing of all.’

‘But now I’m curious.’ There was a hint of a smile in his voice. ‘Tell me.’

‘All right…’ She sighed again. ‘It’s that at this precise moment, what I’d like more than anything else in the world is a cup of tea.’ She screwed her mouth up apologetically. ‘That’s not something an exciting woman would say, is it?’

‘I don’t know. It sounds like a quite genius idea to me.’ He pushed himself out of his chair, started towards the door and then stopped, turning around to bob down beside her. ‘For what it’s worth I don’t think you’re boring at all. In fact, I think you might be the most intriguing woman I’ve ever met.’ His gaze dropped. ‘And my dressing gown suits you, by the way.’

‘Oh!’ She pressed a hand to the throat of the peacock-green-and-blue garment self-consciously. It swamped her slender shoulders and trailed several inches along the floor, looking more like a ceremonial robe than a housecoat, but it was soft and surprisingly comfortable, so much so that she’d forgotten she was wearing it. She even liked its musky smell. ‘I was rushing to get downstairs, but I didn’t want to do it in my unmentionables and this was the first thing that came to hand.’

‘Well, that’s certainly a relief. We wouldn’t want any unmentionables on display.’ His gaze drifted to her mouth and then back to her eyes, his own glowing with some indefinable emotion. Only it brought the word smouldering to mind. ‘Now wait here and I’ll see what I can find in the kitchen.’

Millie waited until the parlour door had closed before swallowing hard. His face had been so close to hers that for the space of a few unsteady heartbeats she’d thought that he was going to embrace her. To kiss her. The idea ought to have been shocking, but it wasn’t. On the contrary, it had been quite decidedly tempting.