Chapter 15
Christmas Day
This Christmas, Tilly decided, was a right lackluster affair.
And not for want of trying.
She’d done everything this year that she’d done in past years—changed out the greenery in the drawing room…
hung the mistletoe…lit the Christmas candles…
laid the Yule log last eve. Further, her gifts had been met with nothing less than delight by their recipients.
There was Isabel wearing the delicate gold earbobs that perfectly complimented her late ma’s locket she always wore…
Lord Percival packing tobacco into the walnut pipe she’d found at Fribourg their five boys, ranging in age from twenty-something to ten or so, and for whom, Tilly, of course, had gifts; and the Duke and Duchess of Arundel, who always gave Tilly a present.
Last year, it had been the prettiest enameled hand mirror she’d ever seen.
It all should’ve combined to produce the atmosphere of holiday festivity and fun that she so loved.
But as she sat on the chair nearest the window for light, flipping through the book Isabel had given her on the culture of the Indian subcontinent—she reckoned she had been asking quite a lot of questions about the Royal Pavilion in Brighton—none of that usual delight accompanying the spark of discovery fired through her.
And she knew why.
Choice.
She’d made some choices that had landed her in this spot of despair.
Of course, the choice that had pushed it all into motion was that choice to have a little wild night at a masquerade ball.
Then it was one choice made after another—the choice to hold onto an earl’s fancy signet ring and teach his son a few life lessons…the choice to kiss Rhys…the choice to make love with him…
And now, she was left with no choice but to miss him.
That was new.
Just as she’d never chosen a man before, she’d never missed one, either.
A knock sounded at the door, to which Tilly paid little mind.
“You may enter,” said Isabel without looking up from Lucy and Bonnie.
Irwin entered, but a second set of footsteps had Tilly glancing over—and her heart heaving a great thump and tumbling over itself inside her chest.
She hadn’t known a heart could do that.
But then, until a month ago, she hadn’t known much about the heart.
Though she couldn’t rightly say she knew much more about it now, except for one thing—it was terrible at communicating what it wanted, and then when it didn’t get what it had secretly wanted all along, it became sore and achy and unable to enjoy anything.
But, now, upon seeing who was entering the drawing room behind Irwin, her heart made it abundantly clear that its true desire had arrived.
Rhys.
Oh, wasn’t he a sight for a sore heart.
The room went completely still, even the puppy.
Black eyebrows winged into a scowl, Lord Percival lowered his pipe. “Osborne?” It was as if he refused to believe what his eyes were telling him. “As I told you, I would contact you when I have word about—”
Rhys shook his head, interrupting Lord Percival. “I obtained the ring.”
What was that note in Rhys’s voice? Was it…resolve?
“Then a letter would’ve sufficed if you’re here to thank me,” said Lord Percival, dismissive.
But Rhys had the look of a man who wouldn’t be dismissed. “I’m not here to thank you.”
That got a lift of the eyebrows from the room.
Tilly hardly noticed, for Rhys’s silver-gray gaze had shifted and had caught hers and now refused to release it.
And like that, the world shrank down to two—them.
As if from a great distance, she heard Isabel say, “I suppose you’re here to wish us a happy Christmas, then.”
His voice a low, velvet rumble, he said, “Happy Christmas.”
But Rhys wasn’t saying it to the room.
He was saying it to Tilly.
“Osborne,” said Lord Percival, plainly irked, “don’t you have a family to be with today?”
“I do.”
Still, he spoke solely to Tilly.
Her.
She was the one he wanted to be with today.
She couldn’t breathe.
His eyes burned with an intensity she’d seen once—on their final night together.
He’d spent so much of his life in the role of wastrel and rake, but here he was himself.
He wasn’t in a role.
He never had been with her.
“I have a gift for you,” he said with an imploring note that struck straight through to her heart.
“Oh?”
“It’s not here.” Beside that pleading note ribboned another—uncertainty. “Will you come with me?”
“Yes.”
She hadn’t hesitated.
This yes felt different from any other yes she’d ever uttered in her life.
This yes wouldn’t simply lead her from this room.
This yes would lead her into an altogether different future from the one she’d seen for herself five minutes ago.
Her heart, which she’d only recently become intimately acquainted with, knew it.
Yes.
And she took his hand.
Yes.
The first yes in a series of yeses today—Rhys hoped.
But he wouldn’t push his luck.
He would take this one yes—for now.
Nerves jittering through his veins, his heart in his throat, Rhys found himself to have suddenly become his least eloquent self as he and Tilly made their way through Lord Percival’s residence and into the carriage.
To her questions like, “How are you?” and “Where are we going?” he replied, “Good,” and “You’ll see,” and let that serve for conversation.
What he wanted and how he needed to be were at direct odds with one another.
He wanted to be close to Tilly…to hold her and feel the soft weight of her body within the embrace of his…to be one with her.
But he couldn’t entertain those thoughts, much less act upon them.
Not if he were to play fair and leave her with that which she’d only recently discovered and valued most—choice.
So, when they’d entered the carriage, he’d sat across from her and let her ask questions and watch him with that bewildered, curious look in her topaz-blue eyes.
“You’re being very mysterious.”
“I know.”
He needed to keep his distance from her for now.
He thought—hoped—she would understand.
It wasn’t long before the carriage was slowing to a stop. Christmas Day appeared to be the one day of the year there was no traffic in London. He glanced out the window and saw they’d reached their destination—Burlington Arcade.
Tilly, too, leaned forward to glance out the window. Her brow wrinkled ever so slightly, but she held her tongue until they’d alighted from the carriage. “I don’t think any shops are open, if you were thinking to pick something up.”
“Follow me, Miss Birdwell.”
He was being enigmatic, but from the smile that tickled at the corner of her mouth, he thought she might like that.
Thirty or so seconds later, their echoing footsteps came to a stop in front of their destination—Number 27.
“Rhys?” came her questioning voice.
“Aye?”
“What’s this about?”
And though she’d asked the question, there hung a near imperceptible thread of knowledge within.
Before them was the empty shop she’d pointed out that first afternoon.
He dug into the interior pocket of his great coat, then held up a key like a magician revealing his trick. “Would you do the honors, milady?”
Though her eyes sparkled with curiosity barely held at bay, she hesitated the slenderest of seconds, searching his gaze.
Then she accepted the key and twisted it in the lock.
A few seconds later, they were stepping into the empty shop.
It wasn’t a large space, but it didn’t need to be for Tilly’s purposes.
Rhys closed the door and propped a shoulder against it while he watched her slowly navigate the space. She’d gone quiet, and he wasn’t sure what to make of a quiet Tilly. But when she turned and met his gaze from the middle of the floor, he knew she wasn’t about to be silent for long.
“Rhys,” she said, “what is this?”
“It’s your Christmas gift, Tilly.”
“I don’t understand.”
But he thought she did—and was too afraid to believe in what was so plainly apparent before her. She’d been disappointed by life—by men—before.
Well, not today and not him—ever.
“Do you remember the day we walked past this shop?” he asked.
“Aye.”
“Do you remember what you said?”
“I’m not sure.” A bemused laugh escaped her. “I had a multitude of things to say that day.”
He smiled, and with that smile came a subtle release of tension and, perhaps, a budding of hope. “You said an entrepreneurial spirit could make something of it.”
Her gaze locked fast onto his, she nodded.
“That entrepreneurial spirit is you, Tilly.”
“But I…” A trace of panic skittered behind her eyes. “I’m not ready. I still have fifteen years.”
“Your time is now,” he said, firm, almost commanding. “You’re ready.”
“But this…” She indicated the shop around them. “I’ll owe you for this.”
“I have a solution for that.”
“Oh?”
“Cut me in.”
A vertical line appeared between her eyebrows. “Cut you in?”
“Let me be your business partner.”
She blinked. “My business partner?”
Rhys steeled himself. He’d practiced this part—in front of a mirror.
“The thing is, Tilly, before I met you, I never had a dream of my own. But I like your dream. I believe in your dream. And I would like to share in it.” Before she could protest, he continued making his case, “You would be, undeniably, the talent in this enterprise, but I have certain qualities I can bring to the partnership.”
She tipped her head to the side and crossed her arms over her chest. Was that a smile twitching about her mouth? “Such as?”
“Well, I was able to get us the lease on this shop.”
“Fair play.”
“And there’s the Lord before my name,” he said, honestly. “It will help.”
It was simply the workings of this world, and they both knew it.
“And I have an undeniable charm that will work well with suppliers and such.”
She eyed him up and down in slow appraisal. “You do have those dimples.”
He would’ve smiled, but was too beset by nerves. The thought of her saying no…
No.
She wouldn’t say no.
He wasn’t above fighting dirty and using his dimples, either.
“Tilly,” he said, “I know you don’t want to rely on anyone, but wouldn’t it be nice to have a partner?” Here was the heart of his case. “Someone with whom you can share your dream?” A beat. “Me.”
“Rhys,” she said, suddenly earnest, “why did you do this?”
He needed to be careful here, for this shop was a gift in truth.
He expected nothing from her in return.
“If I say why,” he began, “I don’t want you to feel obligated to reciprocate.”
“Why, Rhys?”
“Because I admire you. Because you deserve to start your dream now, not in fifteen years. Because I love you, Tilly.”
He left the becauses there.
For another because ached to be spoken.
Because I want to spend the rest of my life with you.
But he couldn’t say that…yet.
And perhaps never.
He waited for his fate with the breath lodged in his lungs, with his heart attempting to pound free of his chest.
“Oh, you beautiful, generous, good-hearted man,” she said, rushing across the distance separating them and straight into his arms.
And when they kissed, it was with all the desperation and longing of that which was lost, regained.
She angled back, her gaze lifted, unshed tears swimming in her eyes—no small amount of joy, too. “I love you, Rhys. But not because I have any choice in the matter.”
“Who would choose a reformed rake, anyway?”
She shook her head. “Because you were etched into my heart long before I ever met you. Because you have so much goodness inside you. Because you’re the only man for me. But, Rhys?” Uncertainty flashed behind her eyes.
“Aye?”
“Can we just go on like this for a while?”
He took her meaning. “For as long as you like, Tilly. Forever, if you like.”
As long as he had her.
That was all that would ever matter.
And when he pressed his mouth to hers, melted her with his kiss, it was to seal that promise.