A Candlelit Regency Christmas: His Housekeeper's Christmas Wish. Louise Allen
the heavy luggage.’ He held it up by its scruff while it stared cross-eyed at him and mewed pitifully. ‘He doubtless has a particular tool for removing kittens from footwear.’ He turned to hand the kitten to the maid, but she had gone, the sound of her giggles fading down the corridor. Alex put the animal on the floor and it gazed up at him, tail tip twitching, its pink tongue protruding a fraction beneath its whiskers.
‘I suppose you think you are endearing?’
The kitten mewed, then made a leap for the dangling tassel of his Hessian.
‘No!’ Alex caught it in midair. ‘You are a menace. On the other hand, females like cats and they dote on babies of all varieties. I suppose she might take to you. You’ll make her smile at any rate.’ The maid had left the basket she had brought the towels in. Alex upended it over the kitten, which squeaked piteously. ‘Humbug. You are obviously a loss to the acting profession. Here.’ He screwed up a scrap of paper, pushed it under the basket and then began to undress to the sounds of shredding and fierce miniature growls.
* * *
Tess straightened her back and lifted her chin with the vague feeling that perfect deportment might compensate for wallowing in wicked luxury. A hot bath instead of a chilly sponge-down, soft towels, fine-milled soap, a fire. Bliss. Even having to put on her drab grey gown again could not entirely suppress the fantasy that she was now a glamorous woman, perfumed, exquisitely gowned and coiffed, an exotic creature that any man would put on a pedestal and worship from afar.
At least afar would be safe. Tess knew perfectly well from observation and whispered gossip what men got up to in close quarters given any encouragement, and her fantasy did not quite dare explore that. Although when she contemplated a certain gentleman’s shoulders—
The door opened and Alex walked in, carrying, for some reason, a small wicker basket. ‘You are very pink,’ he remarked after one glance at her face. ‘Bath too hot?’
‘Er, no, I am sitting too close to the fire, I expect.’ And blushing like a rose, fool that I am. Apparently it would take more than one luxurious bath to turn her into a lady capable of stealing a man’s breath. ‘What is in the basket?’
‘A very early Christmas present for you.’ He placed it on her lap. ‘I thought you needed cheering up.’
He had bought her a hat! Or perhaps a muff, or a pretty shawl. A lady could not accept articles of apparel from a man, she knew that. Tess used to sneak into the back of the room when Mrs Bond had given the lectures in deportment that were intended to prepare the young ladies who had been sent to the convent to finish their education. Tess should not have been there because, obviously, she was not going to be launched into society or have a Season, so she had no need to know all about attracting eligible gentlemen in a ladylike manner. But it had been a pleasant daydream.
Those rules did not apply to her, she decided as her fingers curled around the sharp corners of the basket. I am not a lady. I am an impoverished...orphan. A bonnet is not going to compromise me.
The basket seemed to move as she opened it, and then a small ginger ball of fluff scrambled out and latched on to her wrist. Needle claws dug into her skin. ‘Ouch! You have given me a cat?’ Not a hat. Was he drunk?
‘A kitten.’ Alex came to his knees in front of her, tossed aside the basket and tried to prise the ferocious little beast from her arm. ‘Ow! Now she has bitten me.’
Good. ‘He has bitten you. Marmalade cats are usually male.’
‘Really?’ All she could see of Alex was the top of his head as he bent over her and wrestled with the kitten. The top of his head and those broad shoulders... What was it about that part of a man? Or was it only his? Tess had not reached the age of three and twenty without having admired some good-looking men from afar, and being closeted in a convent did nothing to suppress perfectly natural yearnings, however sinful those might be.
His big hands were gentle, both on her wrist and with the kitten, who was becoming more and more entangled in Tess’s cuffs. ‘Little wretch,’ Alex was muttering. ‘Infernal imp. If you were a bit bigger, I’d skin you for glove linings, I swear.’ But she could hear the laughter in his voice as he did battle with his minuscule opponent. ‘I wonder if tickling will work.’
Abruptly the needles were withdrawn from her wrist, there was a scuffle under her elbow and the marmalade kitten shot out, skidded across the polished boards and perched on the cross-rail of the table.
Alex lost his balance, pitched forward and for an intense, endless, moment her arms were full of his solid torso, his mouth was pressed into the angle of her shoulder and her face was buried in his hair.
He smelt of soap and clean linen, the now familiar citrus cologne and something...simply male? Or simply Alex? His hair was thick and tickled her nose, and when she shifted to support his weight her fingertips found the nape of his neck, bare and curiously vulnerable. His lips moved against her skin, she felt his hot breath and the tension in his body, then he was pushing back, rocking on to his heels, his eyes dark and his expression unreadable.
‘Hell’s teeth—’ Alex huffed out a breath and smiled. It seemed a trifle strained. ‘Sorry, I do not mean to swear at you and I certainly did not mean to flatten you. I seem to be making a habit of it.’ Whatever he had felt in her arms it was not excitement, delight or any of the other things her fantasies had conjured up with a dream lover. Naturally.
‘Why did you give me a kitten?’ Tess asked, more tartly than she intended.
Alex shrugged and stood up. He had the sense not to carry on apologising, she noted. ‘You are miserable. I thought it would cheer you up. Ladies seem to like small baby creatures to coo over.’
‘I cannot speak for the ladies in your life, my lord, but I do not coo. And do they not prefer diamonds?’
‘I am surprised at you, Miss Ellery. What do you know about ladies who prefer diamonds?’
‘Why, nothing.’ Tess widened her eyes at him innocently. ‘But surely your mother or sisters—or your wife, of course—would prefer a gift of jewellery to kittens?’ She knew all about kept women from the whispered conversations when she joined the boarders after lights out. They all had brothers or cousins who were sowing their wild oats in London and they exchanged confidences about who were considered the worst rakes, the most exciting but dangerous young men.
‘Hmm.’ Alex shot her a quizzical look, but she dropped her gaze to her scratched wrist and began to wrap her handkerchief around it. ‘I do not buy my sisters or my mother presents, and I am not married.’
‘No, I suppose I should have deduced that you were not.’ Tess tied a neat knot in the handkerchief and looked up.
‘Indeed?’ His eyes narrowed and she discovered that relaxed, amiable Lord Weybourn could look very formidable indeed. ‘And how did you arrive at that conclusion?’
‘How did I deduce that you were not married?’ Tess swallowed. She had strayed into dangerous personal territory and she could only hope he did not think she had been fishing...that she had any ulterior motive. She fought the blush and managed a bright smile. ‘It was easy from what you said about Christmas. If you were married, your wife would not allow you to spend it cosily beside the fire with your brandy and books. You would be out visiting your in-laws.’
‘So you imagine that if I were to be married I would live under the cat’s foot, do you?’ The relaxed, rather quizzical smile was back again.
‘Not at all. But visits to relatives are what happens in families.’
‘I wouldn’t know. I am out of practice with them.’
‘That is a shame.’ She dreamed about being part of a family, a real family, even if there would be bickering about whose turn it was to entertain the awkward relatives