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, sending tingles 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.
Thank goodness. 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 the servants ? 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.”
A smattering of applause began amongst the servants, who shortly thereafter began to filter out of the room to see to their duties. Lavinia and Baxter remained, looking slightly bemused.
“Hunter Tannon celebrating Christmas,” said Lavinia as she strode toward them. “I never thought I would see the day.”
“It’s just a log, Nia,” he muttered in response, surprising Scarlett as his face became shuttered. “It doesn’t much matter.”
“I would beg to disagree,” his sister argued. “You are quite an influence, Scarlett. I’m impressed.”
Scarlett shrugged, not understanding why it was so significant.
Neither of them seemed to want to discuss it, however, and before long, they were making their way to one of the drawing rooms. Scarlett was going to change for the evening, but Lavinia insisted they would be leaving shortly after dinner, so not to go to any trouble.
Looking down at the deep blue of her outdoor walking garment, Scarlett began to disagree, but when she strode past the blue drawing room toward her chambers, she caught sight of Marion with Spicer.
Hunter’s valet had his head bent low next to hers.
They were cleaning the room of the remaining greenery and ribbon from earlier in the day, but it seemed they were much more interested in one another than the task at hand.
Scarlett grinned. While she wasn’t sure what the future might hold for the two of them, Spicer seemed to be a sweet young man, and if this was what Marion wanted, then Scarlett hoped she found in him what she was looking for.
If nothing else, it would make for a lovely Christmas.
As for her own romance this season…. She slowed her steps as she returned to the main drawing room, where Hunter and his family awaited her.
She hadn’t wanted this. She had expressly kept herself as far from Hunter as possible, turning him away at every turn.
Yet, somehow he had managed to find his way through the thick shell she had built around herself, becoming far too intimate with not only her body but her thoughts.
While he would be returning to London soon, it wasn’t the last she would see of him.
This man would be with her, at one point or another, for the rest of their lives.
She was longing to allow him into her heart, but she knew when he left it would only break it clean in two.
A few more days , she thought with new resolve.
Just find your way through the next few days and all will be as it was.
Only she knew that things would never be the same again.
Hunter paced in front of Scarlett’s room.
His sister and her husband had finally left, thank goodness.
What they thought was a quick dinner had turned into an evening of reluctant entertainment.
Damn Baxter Shaw. Hunter never enjoyed the man’s company, but today had been something else entirely.
Had he not entered the room when he did, Hunter could now be in bed with his wife, enjoying the consummation of his marriage that had been so long in coming.
Did he go to Scarlett now? His body screamed at him to knock down the door and take her, as her body responded to him with more willingness than any other woman he had ever been in company with.
But tonight, when he had said goodnight to her, looking deep into her eyes with a promise of more, her hazel eyes had been dark and shuttered.
“Goodnight, Hunter,” she had said, turning from him at the divide between their rooms without any further invitation.
Did he attempt to go to her, or would he only be rejected?
He could only take so much of it from her.
Perhaps he was pushing too hard, too fast. For he didn’t simply want her to open to him physically, but he yearned for her to share more of herself with him.
He didn’t have much time, however, until he would make his return to London.
He wished he knew how he could convince her to come with him, to truly be his wife, but she seemed quite settled here.
He would ask her in the morning. Everything would be well — tomorrow.
It was Christmas, and, he had been told, Christmas was a day for miracles.