Page 143 of Snowbound Surrender
“Ah, my lord, it is just that — you are standing under the mistletoe.”
“What?”
“The mistletoe,” he said in a loud whisper, pointing above Hunter’s head at the bough that Scarlett had risked her life to hang. More loudly, he announced, “I shall prepare your evening clothing, my lord.”
And with that, Spicer turned and walked the other way, whistling a merry tune.
Hunter turned to his wife to find her staring up at him, a smile teasing her lips. But then she caught his expression and her hazel eyes widened, the gold flecks glinting in the remaininglight of day streaming in from the large windows staring down on them.
He threw the Yule log to the floor and took her in his arms, his lips descending on hers. Dear Lord. He was lost.
CHAPTER 11
When,upon their marriage, Scarlett had decided to keep her husband as far from her as possible, she hadn’t been aware of the fatal flaw within her plan. She had never known the effect his kiss would have upon her.
Every time he kissed her, it seemed as though he was erasing more and more of the lectures her mother had instilled in her, the memories of her father so callously leaving them at any time for all manner of women. Did Hunter feel as she did when their lips met, when their eyes caught and held, or when she walked into a room? The longer she stayed here in this house with him, the more she was drawn to him, and that scared her more than she cared to admit. If only she knew whether she was the only one feeling this way. For this could be how he made many women feel, and before long he would be back in London, leaving her behind as just another part of this estate that he seemed to forget when he wasn’t in residence.
When he took her in his arms and his lips came down upon hers hard and unyielding, however, all of these thoughts fled. He kissed her passionately, drinking her up with desperation in the movement of his mouth on hers, his tongue velvet as it caressed her, causing sensations to course through her, sendingtingles down her spine. Her body was numb and yet at the same time had never been more alive.
She instinctively pressed herself into him as her arms twined around his neck, her fingers twisting around the locks of curls that she had been yearning to touch for the past few days. He stepped forward with her still in his arms, pressing her against the wall of the entryway, his hands beginning to move now, running up and down her back, her sides, inching up toward her breasts, and she wanted to feel them on her desperately.
“Hunter,” she murmured as she tipped her head back from his, but instead of releasing her, he brought his lips to her neck, and she gasped at the sensations caused by his slightest touch. What was this spell he had placed over her?
“Scarlett,” he responded, his voice as guttural as she felt. He stepped back, but only to take one of her hands in his. “Come, let’s go upst?—”
“Ah, there you are, Oxford!”
Scarlett jumped at the intrusion, and Hunter closed his eyes tightly, as though he were willing the man away. He did not, however, release her hand.
“I will be there momentarily, Baxter,” he said tightly. “I am busy at the moment.”
“Your butler said something about a Yule log. I’ve always loved a good Yule log, I have. So I said to myself, why am I sitting here enjoying a glass of brandy alone when I could be in front of a roaring fire to welcome the season? So here I am!”
He chuckled, draining the glass in his hand, and Hunter rubbed his forehead with his knuckles. He was murmuring something which Scarlett strained to hear, but when she did, she abruptly stepped back in a bit of shock, though with just as much amusement at his choice of words.
“Well, then,” Scarlett said with a smile as Baxter had brought her back to her senses, an antidote to Hunter’s spell. Thankgoodness. She wasn’t particularly fond of Baxter — certainly not as she was of Lavinia — but she hadn’t spent much time with him save the odd dinner. He droned on and on about people and circumstances for which she had no care, nor did anyone else it seemed. She glanced over at Hunter, determining that Baxter was not in his own particular good graces. Although that could have been more to do with Baxter’s timing than the man himself. “I suppose we best get on with it. Ah, Mrs. Shepherd!” she called, seeing the housekeeper pass by. Was that a grin the rotund woman was suppressing? Scarlett looked at her with some suspicion, but Mrs. Shepherd was the picture of innocence as she stopped and folded her hands together in front of her.
“Yes, my lady?”
“As Lord Keppel is joining us to light the Yule log, perhaps Lavinia would like to be present as well,” she said, and Hunter’s slight groan from beside her made her smile. “Would you mind informing her?”
The housekeeper’s smile fell. Why, Scarlett had no idea.
“Actually, Mrs. Shepherd,” she said, warming to the idea. “Why do we not have all the servants present?”
“What?” Baxter asked incredulously, waving around an unlit cheroot. “What do you mean to invite theservants? Oxford, tell your wife not to be ridiculous.”
“Actually, Keppel, I think it is a fine idea,” Hunter said with some relish, and when Scarlett looked over at him, he gave her a warm smile. He was simply getting a rise out of Baxter, she knew, but she appreciated his support all the same.
Hunter picked up the Yule log from where he had discarded it before their sudden embrace, hefting it into his arms. It really was the perfect log, and Scarlett appreciated Hunter’s patience with her. She followed him as he set it upon the embers burning low in the grate.
It was the perfect setting. The stone of the fireplace, likely picked from these very lands, bordered the grate itself. The mantel was now lined with greenery, and the room began to fill as curious maids and enthusiastic footmen entered it. The staff here wasn’t particularly large, but when they were all in one room, they were quite the little community.
Hunter welcomed them all but then stood awkwardly beside her, finally leaning over and whispering in her ear, his breath tickling the skin underneath, moving little whips of hair against her neck. “Is there anything I … do?” he asked her, and she tried not to giggle. The man truly knew nothing about Christmas.
“Just light it and wish everyone a happy Christmas!” she said, softly enough so as not to embarrass him in front of the staff. He nodded, took hold of a match, and struck it, the flame beginning to rise in front of him. Tiny flames had already begun to lick the edges of the bark from the embers in the grate, but Hunter lit the top of it all the same. The wet bark began to smoke, but the thick log was dry inside and soon enough began to merrily burn.
“Thank you all for being here to witness the first Yule Log in Wintervale’s recent history,” he said with a smile for his staff. “I know it has been some time since I have been in residence, but I believe I have left you in good hands with my wife.” Scarlett’s cheeks warmed as the staff nodded enthusiastically, and Hunter sent a smile of appreciation her way through a sideways glance. “I appreciate each and every one of you, and wish you all a happy Christmas.”
