Chrystabel herself had yet to be kissed. To her mounting distress, in all of her nearly seventeen years, the opportunity had never arisen. Most of the suitable young men back in Wiltshire had left years ago to fight for the king. And many of the unsuitable ones had gone to fight against the king, while the remainder had seemed too gutless to even talk to an earl’s daughter, let alone kiss one. Which was a shame, because Chrystabel liked talking to all sorts of people, and might have liked kissing them, too, given the chance.
But now she was almost glad she’d never been kissed by anyone else. Because that meant the only man who’d ever kiss her would be Joseph. And she was certain kissing Joseph would be the most wondrous feeling on earth.
Where would it happen? Since she did feel a little cold, she decided to imagine him kissing her before a roaring fire in the magnificent great room. Heat from the flames warmed her back while Joseph held her face in his hands. He had nice hands, she’d noticed, with exceedingly clean fingernails. He must scrub them diligently after finishing up in his conservatory each day. She loved how conscientious and gentlemanlike he was.
Anyhow, his thumbs stroked Chrystabel’s cheeks as his face moved closer. His gaze was tender and hypnotically green, his breath tickling her chin just before his full, soft-looking lips touched hers. And then…
Well, she wasn’t exactly certain what came next. But she knew it would be magic. Her eldest sister had told her so the morning after her wedding, just before she’d left the Grange with her new husband. “When you kiss the man you’re meant to be with,” Martha had said on a blissful sigh, “it’s pure magic.”
And Joseph was the man Chrystabel was meant to be with. She couldn’t wait to experience their magical first kiss.
“You’re awfully confident for your first day as a matchmaker,” Arabel grumbled even though she never grumbled.
Chrystabel raised her chin. “I know what I’m doing, Arabel. You’ll see.” She glanced back as they crossed the field, pleased to note that the young couple appeared to have vanished into the woods. Her plan of dressing the fugitive all in brown had worked. Creath wouldn’t be at risk.
Everything was going perfectly.
“I don’t like it.” Apparently Arabel didn’t think everything was going perfectly. “It feels wrong to desert them when we said we would return.”
“But you said nothing of the sort.” The snow crunched beneath their shoes. “I will take the blame. You’ve no reason to fret.”
Arabel continued to fret anyway. “Matthew will be furious. They could be out there for hours, waiting for us, worrying that something might have happened to us. We have to go back!”
Instead of turning around, Chrystabel walked even faster. “I’m not going back, and I’m not letting you go back, either. There’s far too much to do. We need to finish decorating before we can make perfume for the ladies. I need you to add garlands to the grand staircase while I hang wreaths in the dining room and library.”
And she’d also take a wreath to Joseph’s conservatory, she added silently. Not that his indoor garden needed decorating, but now that she knew where it was, she was eager to pay a visit. And who could fault her for mistakenly wandering into the wrong part of the castle in the midst of her wreath-hanging fervor?
Nobody. It would look like a perfectly innocent blunder.
Would he kiss her in his conservatory?
“Chrystabel, are you even listening?” When they reached the inner courtyard, once more Arabel rudely interrupted her thoughts. “You cannot leave Matthew and Creath out there alone!”
“You think not?”
“Let me guess,” Arabel groaned. “You want me to watch you.”
THIRTEEN
JOSEPH WAS PLANTING flowers when Chrystabel walked into his conservatory.
In the diffused light from his parchment-covered windows, wearing her shoulder-baring red gown, her cheeks flushed with holiday excitement, she suddenly looked different.
She suddenly stole his breath.
Holy Hades, had his mother been right?
No. She’d put ideas into his head, that was all. Ideas he ought to ignore.
Chrystabel was carrying a Christmas wreath. Determined not to betray his thoughts, Joseph restricted his reaction to a single raised brow. “Surely you don’t need to decorate in here.”
“No, no.” Her smile was entirely too charming. “I arrived in here mistakenly.”
And he was the Royal Gardener. “You wandered into this half-built wing thinking it was part of our living quarters?”
“Yes,” she said, a brazen lie that he found inexplicably charming as well.
He needed air, and he needed to come to his senses. Even though he’d gathered enough pots for his seeds already, he crossed to the wall where he kept stacks of them and fetched an empty one back to his bench, using the time to draw several deep, steadying breaths.
His head felt clearer when he returned. She was still standing there smiling. She’d set her wreath on the floor. “You have an enormous space here.”
“Indeed.” Entire wings tended to be enormous. “Shall I show you back to the main house?”
She glanced about, her wide-set chocolate-brown eyes bright with curiosity. “Would you mind if I have a look around first?”
I most certainly would. He gritted his teeth. “By all means.”
He went to one of the fireplaces and chucked another log inside, trying to take no notice of his guest. But though she’d said she wanted to look around, she wasn’t looking around. She was looking at him. He wasn’t looking at her, but he could feel her gaze on his back.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Building up the fire to keep my plants warm.”
“I meant, what were you doing before that? When I came in.”
“Oh.” With a