Joanna Maitland - Regency Mistletoe & Marriages - A Countess by Christmas / The Earl's Mistletoe Bride

It was not the kind of look she was used to getting from men. Aunt Bella had reminded her only recently that she was a pretty girl. Had urged her to win Mr Cadwallader over with one of her smiles. Had she become vain in recent years? She lowered her head in chagrin as she began to trudge back to the house in Lord Bridgemere’s wake. Though she had never actively sought it, she had come to regard flattering male attention as her due.

There were some who would say she was getting a taste of her own medicine, no doubt. Because whenever one of the men of Middleton had sidled up to her in the market, or some such place, under some spurious pretext, to tell her how pretty she was, she had felt nothing for them but contempt. And now the first man she had met who had actually awoken some interest was completely impervious to her charms. He had not paid her a single compliment, nor tried to hold her hand, or snatch a kiss. And yet whenever she was in Lord Bridgemere’s vicinity kissing seemed to be all she could think about.

Whereas he, to judge by the stiff set of his shoulders as he drew steadily further and further away, found her annoying.

She flinched, wondering why that knowledge should hurt so much. These days he was out of her reach socially, anyway. Perhaps, she decided glumly, it was just that he represented everything that was now out of her reach. The social standing and the affluence that she had taken for granted when she and Aunt Bella had been so comfortably off.

There was nothing so appealing as something that you knew you could never have.

That afternoon Helen took the opportunity to slip away to the library, since the light in there was so much better than it was in their room, with her sewing basket tucked under her arm. She had told her aunt that she intended to make a start on the alterations she had already decided her gowns needed, and the minor repairs her encounters with Lord Bridgemere had made necessary. But really she wanted to get on with the little gift she had been sewing for Aunt Bella. Besides which, the floor-to-ceiling windows contained some heraldic designs which she wanted to sketch. She had decided to use them as a basis for another project which, it had occurred to her, she must complete very swiftly, since it lacked only three days until Christmas.

She made herself comfortable upon one of the window seats with which the room was blessed, and bent her mind to the task in hand. She was not sure how long she had been sitting there when she became aware she was no longer alone.

She looked up from the tangle of silks on her lap to find Lord Bridgemere standing in the doorway. His face was, as usual, hard to read.

Helen felt her cheeks grow hot, and knew she was blushing. It was the first time she had seen him since that early-morning walk of which she’d had such high expectations. And which had resulted in her making such a fool of herself and caused her a morning of quite painful soulsearching as she’d faced up to several unpleasant truths about her character. She had come to the conclusion that whenever Lord Bridgemere looked at her what he saw was a very vain and silly woman.

‘I was just passing,’ he said, moving his arm towards the corridor outside. ‘And I saw you sitting here alone.’

And had been transfixed by the way the sunlight gilded her hair, the pout of her lips as she concentrated on whatever it was that she was doing.

He cleared his throat. ‘Why are you on your own, Miss Forrest? Is your aunt unwell?’

Even as he said it he knew that she would not be down here if that were the case. She would be upstairs, nursing her adopted relative. Or down in the kitchens, making some remedy for her. She would not have bothered to ring the bell. A smile kicked up one corner of his mouth as he pictured her marching into the kitchens and elbowing his servants aside to concoct some remedy which only she knew how to make to her own satisfaction.

‘Far from it,’ replied Helen, wondering what could have put that strange smile on his face. Did she have a smut on her nose? Or was he just recalling one of the many ways she had made a fool of herself since she had come here?

‘Aunt Bella is in the card room with Lady Norton. They plan to spend the afternoon drinking tea and gossiping about the fate of mutual acquaintances.’

Her face was so expressive he could not miss a little trace of pique at the way the older woman was treating her. There was something going on between these two ladies that he needed to uncover. The general belief was that Helen was the older Miss Forrest’s sole heir. But she had told him she needed to go out to work because she was penniless.

Yet she was still fiercely loyal to her adopted aunt. Whatever had happened between them, it had not soured her.

He found himself walking towards her.

‘And what is it you are doing?’

‘Oh, nothing much!’ Helen quickly stuffed her rough sketches of the Bridgemere coat of arms into her workbasket, and held up the bodice of one of the gowns she was altering. ‘Tedious stuff. Making buttonholes and such,’ she said.

His brows lowered slightly. ‘Is there nothing more amusing you could be doing?’

Helen grappled with a sense of exasperation. She had accused him of neglecting her and her aunt, had felt resentful of the amusements he had provided for the other guests. Yet now he was here, playing the gracious host, she felt uncomfortable. She was not an invited guest. She had done nothing but cause trouble since she had entered his house. And he must have a thousand and one more important things to do with his time. He ought not to be wasting it on her.

‘Please do not trouble yourself with me. I am quite content. I…I would actually prefer to be doing something useful than frittering the time away with cards or gossip.’

‘Is that so?’

Sometimes Miss Forrest said things that were so exactly what he felt about life himself that it was as though…

He sat down on the window seat beside her and took hold of the piece of material draped across her lap.

‘Oh, be careful of the pins!’

He let it go. He had only focussed on it because he had not wanted to look into her face. Lest she see…what? A quickening of interest that she very obviously did not return? She thought him hard and unfeeling, full of his own importance. And worst of all dull. There was no worse character flaw a man could have in the eyes of a girl as lively as this. Had not Lucinda told him so often enough?

It took Helen a great effort to sit completely still. The material which he had dropped back onto her lap was warm from his hand. The fleeting sense that it might have been the touch of his hand on her leg had created an echoing warmth in the pit of her stomach. Which was even now sinking lower, to bloom between her thighs.

Oh, Lord, she hoped he had no idea how his proximity was affecting her! Why did it have to be this man, the one man she knew she could never have, who was making her respond in such a shocking way?

‘If you really would enjoy being useful, it occurs to me that there is a way in which we could help each other,’ he said, laying his arm casually along the edge of the windowsill.

Did he know that extending his arm like that made her feel enclosed by his arms? Was he doing it on purpose, to make her even more conscious of him?

And in what way could she possibly be of any help to him?

Unless she had betrayed her interest in him?

He had no need to marry, but if a woman was silly enough to let him know how physically attractive she found him, might he think he could cajole her into a brief affair?

‘I don’t think there can possibly be any way I could be of help to you,’ she said primly, averting her head. If he was going to insult her by suggesting what she thought he was, then she had no intention of letting him see how much it would hurt!