Page 136 of All I Want for Christmas… Is You
"What? Oh, no, no, my lord. I just . . . I just had a small twitch in my leg. Reaction to the cold, I'm sure," she babbled against the tight breath in her chest.
"Wrap the lap robe securely around you and Lady Anne. We've gathered enough greenery for this jaunt. If Mother wishes more, she can send the grooms out. Time for some hot chocolate, I should think. What do you say, poppet?"
"Yes, Papa. And can I help dec'rate?"
"What of your nap?"
Lady Anne pouted. "I'm not sleepy. I'm too big for naps."
"Too big? And here I was thinking of napping this afternoon. Am I too big, too?" Jocelyn teased, though her voice was tight with strain and the awareness of the Marquess's closeness. She laughed, and there was a touch of hysteria in her tone.
Tarkington frowned, a reflective light in his eyes. "We shall see," he told his daughter.
When they neared the bridge, the marquess stopped the wagon and jumped down. He walked around the wagon to Jocelyn's side and reached for her. "Come here, Miss Maybrey."
"My lord, what . . . ?"
He reached up to pull her out of the wagon. Her startled, feeble resistance only caused her to fall heavily against his chest. Her gasp and protest were cut short when he stooped down to pick her up and hold her high against his chest.
Searing anger burned away embarrassment and fear. She struggled against the strength of his arms around her.
"My lord! Put me down at once! How dare you! Put me down, I say!"
"In a moment, Miss Maybrey."
"What are you doing? What gives you the right? Who do you think you are? You go beyond yourself, my lord."
"Do I?" he asked in a calm, almost laughing tone that sent the heat of her anger burning brighter. "My only wish is to see you across the bridge without that terror."
"Noble sentiments, my lord, that to another might be an excuse but not to me. It will not work. I told you. Bridges make me nervous, but it is something I deal with. I do not ask others to do so, nor do I accept anyone's effrontery that they know more than I. You, my lord, are too full of a sense of self."
"Am I?"
"Yes. Now put me down at once!"
"Certainly, Miss Maybrey." He set her down and turned to walk toward the wagon, which was on the other side of the bridge!
"What?. . But . . ." Jocelyn floundered. Then as suddenly as her anger grew bright, it dimmed. She began to laugh. She laughed until she could no longer stand. She sank onto the cold, hard-packed earth.
Tarkington had used her anger, her preoccupation with his arrogance, to carry her across the bridge. She'd had no opportunity for fear to tie her mind and heart into coiled knots. Not only had her anger burned away, but also her fear of him! What a predictable fool she'd been! She buried her head in her arms. At least she now understood his actions when they stopped to gather the mistletoe. He'd said he would make her crossing less traumatic. She supposed emotions like anger were less traumatic. He'd set it up very nicely. He should have been in the military. He'd shown his political acumen to be as good as always.
She sighed wearily and looked up as she heard the jangle of the wagon reins.
"Miss Maybrey?"
"Coming, my lord," she said, her voice and face bland. She climbed up into the wagon, pulled a corner of the lap robe across her legs, and sat stiffly staring straight ahead.
"My apologies, Miss Maybrey."
"Nonsense, my lord. Come, Lady Anne, cuddle up against me. It is turning colder. I fear the wind has picked up."
The rest of the trip back to the manor was made in silence. Not even Lady Anne made a sound, burrowed as she was up against Jocelyn. By the time they reached the manor, Lady Anne was sound asleep. A footman would have taken the child, but the marquess waved him away and came around the wagon to take her from Jocelyn's arms. As they passed the precious burden between them, their arms touched. Jocelyn's eyes flew to the marquess. He met her glance, but she could not read what she saw there. Quickly she looked down at Lady Anne, and when she was confident he had her full weight, she pulled away.
After the marquess, she entered the house and was surprised to discover he had not immediately taken Lady Anne to the nursery. Instead, he stood in the hall talking to someone in whispers lest they wake the child. Curious, she stepped to the side to see past the marquess.
"Father!" she exclaimed, then clamped a hand over her mouth. "Father," she said again, this time on a whisper, "you're early! I did not expect to see you and Mr. Bayne until tomorrow! Mr. Bayne did come with you, didn't he?"
"Aye. The meeting was canceled. Too many complained of its proximity to Christmas. It's been rescheduled for after Twelfth Night if you can imagine that long a delay. Bah! Charles has gone on to see his mother." He scratched his head. "Some dust-up, or another bit of nonsense, I gather from the garbled message he received from her addle-pated maid."
