Chapter 5
MADDIE
Maddie sipped her sherry with as much calm as she could muster, fighting her overwhelming pent-up energy.
The drawing room hummed with conversation after a lively dinner, but she did her best to avoid all of it.
Her mind remained fixed on what had occurred between her and John earlier in the conservatory.
John’s presence across the table from her during dinner hadn’t helped.
All she could think of was how close she had been to feeling his lips on hers again after years apart.
Even now, she could almost feel his breath against her lips.
The notion of it all left her thoughts and body warring against each other.
She didn’t want it, but she also did. Her brain knew that it was the worst possible thing that could occur between them, while her body wanted to press against his.
Then there was her heart, her drunken, traitorous heart that didn’t know what it wanted.
And the organ certainly couldn’t be trusted.
“Lady Madeline,” came a friendly voice to her right, pulling her from her torturous thoughts. “Is something troubling you?”
Maddie looked up to see the Viscountess Callan standing beside her, her fiery red hair gleaming in the candlelight. She had become Rosina’s closest friend after the pair had met a couple of years ago and was notoriously witty and kind.
“Not at all,” Maddie replied, forcing a smile. “I was just merely . . . thinking about my correspondence.”
Her gaze, however, betrayed her, sliding across the room to where John stood near the fireplace.
The man was far too handsome in his evening attire, the firelight playing across the sharp angles of his face.
His hair had been freshly trimmed, she noticed, and he seemed to make more of an effort tonight compared to when he’d first arrived.
Lady Callan followed Maddie’s gaze and let out a barely audible sigh. “Ah, correspondence. Is that what they’re calling it these days?”
Maddie jerked her head to the viscountess. The woman was watching John, who was speaking with her husband Viscount Callan.
Heat crept up Maddie’s neck. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“I used to spend a lot of time watching people,” Lady Callan said, nothing but kindness in her tone.
“My days of hugging the walls taught me a lot about reading the expressions of others. And I wish you well in sorting out whatever is going on with . . .” her voice trailed off as she nodded toward John and her husband.
Before Maddie could formulate a response, a footman entered carrying a large bowl filled with slips of paper. The Duchess of St. Albans rose from her seat with a warm smile that lit her entire face.
“As is custom during the Yuletide season, tonight we shall enjoy a game of Christmas charades,” Rosina announced. “I have prepared slips with holiday themes.”
A murmur of excitement rippled through the room. Christmas charades had always been one of Maddie’s favorites.
Maddie handed her glass to a passing footman, grateful for the distraction. Perhaps the activity would settle her nerves, even if just for a few moments.
“We shall draw for teams,” Rosina declared, holding out the silver bowl. “Each color represents a team of four.”
Maddie drew a slip of gold-colored paper. Her stomach tightened as guests moved about the room, finding their teammates. She glanced at the paper in her hand, then looked up to find John approaching, a matching gold slip held between his fingers.
“Think my sister could have set this one up as well?” he asked, his voice low, meant only for her. A hint of amusement danced in his eyes.
The candlelight caught the sapphire blue of his eyes, and for a moment, Maddie could not speak. A flush crept up her neck as she recalled how those eyes had darkened in the conservatory when he’d leaned toward her, his hands searing her skin beneath the fabric of her dress.
“She’s certainly capable,” she managed, proud of the steadiness in her voice. “I’d hardly consider it a Christmas miracle.”
John’s eyebrows lifted at her teasing, and the corner of his mouth twitched upward.
Before he could respond, they were joined by two others, Lord Camden and Lady Craven, completing their team of four.
The rules were explained, and the teams arranged themselves around the drawing room. Maddie sat on a settee, her back straight as a poker, hands folded neatly in her lap, doing her best not to pay attention to how close John was standing beside her.
“Gold team to begin,” announced their host. “Remember, all themes relate to the Christmas season.”
Lady Craven volunteered to act first. She approached the silver bowl and selected a slip, reading it with a small smile before folding it away. She moved to the center of the room and began by pointing to an imaginary object above her head, then mimed the action of kissing.
“Kissing bough!” Lord Camden exclaimed, to which Lady Craven clapped in delight.
“Kissing ball,” John corrected quietly, his voice dropping so that only Maddie could hear. “A favorite, wouldn’t you agree?”
Heat flooded Maddie’s cheeks at the memory his wicked words evoked. A memory she would never forget, no matter how many years had passed.
“Point to the gold team,” Rosina called, marking the score on a small slate.
Each of the other teams took their turns acting out Christmas puddings, carolers, and Yule logs. The room filled with laughter and friendly competition, the atmosphere growing merrier with each round. Maddie found herself drawn into the festive spirit despite her persistent draw to John.
When it was the gold team’s turn again, John stepped forward. “I shall try my hand,” he said, approaching the bowl and selecting a slip. His eyebrows rose as he read it, then tucked it into his waistcoat pocket.
Maddie watched, mesmerized, as he took his place at the center of the room. Gone was the remote, melancholy man who had haunted the house party. In his place stood the man she had known—confident, playful, alive. He began by miming a big triangle with his hands.
“House!” someone called.
John shook his head, then repeated the motion, staring at Maddie as if willing her to read his mind.
“A tree,” Maddie said suddenly, realizing what he intended. “Christmas tree”
John turned to her, eyes bright with approval. “Correct, Lady Madeline.”
The game continued, with the gold team accumulating points with each round.
The connection between her and John seemed to translate into an uncanny ability to read each other’s gestures.
And when the other teams acted, he sat beside her, shoulders touching, whispering guesses that made her laugh despite herself.
“Your turn, Lady Madeline,” the duke announced when their team’s place in the rotation came again.
Maddie rose from her seat, aware of all eyes upon her. She approached the bowl and selected a slip, unfolding it carefully. She smiled when she read the clue: wassail bowl. The drink was a favorite of hers.
Standing before the party, she was acutely aware of John’s gaze upon her. She began by miming the lifting of a large bowl, then pretended to ladle from it and pass imaginary cups to invisible recipients. She mimed drinking, then exaggerated an expression of warmth and satisfaction.
“A punch bowl!” Lady Craven suggested.
Maddie shook her head, continuing her pantomime. She pretended to lift something round from the bowl and take a bite, then resumed her drinking motion.
“Wassail!” John called out excitedly.
“Correct,” Maddie confirmed, meeting his gaze with a small smile, frozen in place as the sparkle in his blue eyes mesmerized her.
Maddie shook off the reaction, feeling the ache of what might have been settling in her chest. She returned to her seat, more unsettled than before.
“The gold team wins!” Rosina exclaimed. “Now we shall tell ghost stories! As the winners, someone from the gold team shall tell the first one.”
“Who among us has a story to tell?” Lord Camden asked, looking between them.
“Perhaps Lord Ravensworth,” suggested Lady Craven. “He has the perfect voice for it.”
The countess’ husband flashed her a curious look, which she returned with a suggestive glance at her husband that brought heat to Maddie’s cheeks. The pair were a notorious love match. And besides, Lady Craven was correct about the deep timbre of John’s voice. She wouldn’t mind listening to him.
All eyes turned to John, who hesitated only briefly before nodding his assent. “I shall do my best.”
John rose and took his place at the center of the room. The footmen had dimmed some of the candles, creating the perfect setting. John stood silent for a moment, gathering his thoughts, and Maddie leaned forward in anticipation.
“In the North of England,” he began, his voice low and measured, “stands an ancient manor house known as Briarwood. It is said that each Christmas Eve, when the snow lies deep upon the ground and the wind howls through the bare branches, a particular window in the east wing glows with golden light, though that chamber has stood empty for over a century.”
John moved closer to the fire, allowing its flames to cast dramatic shadows across his face.
“The chamber once belonged to Lady Elena, the most beautiful woman in the county, renowned not only for her looks but for her kind heart and musical talents. She had fallen deeply in love with a young soldier who was called away to war just days before they were to be wed at Christmastide.”
Maddie felt herself drawn into the tale, the room around her fading as John’s voice painted vivid images in her mind.
“Before he departed, the soldier gave Elena a silver locket containing his portrait and a lock of his hair. ‘Keep this close to your heart,’ he told her, ‘and each night, at the stroke of midnight, look to the stars. I shall do the same, and in this way, we will remain connected despite the distance between us.’ ”