But the contact never came.
When he felt cool air on his face, he opened his eyes and realized she was disentangling herself from him. Without a word, without even a look, she stepped away and returned to grating sugar.
“You dropped your orange slices,” she said calmly, as if nothing had happened.
“Um…” Had nothing happened? Was he going mad? “I guess I’ll cut some more.”
When she nodded, he caught a glimpse of her chin—her potato peel-free chin.
So he wasn’t mad, after all!
But that must mean…
The minx! The irredeemable tease! First she’d claimed to love him, then she’d made him look a fool. What was her game? What on earth was she trying to do to him?
Whatever it was, it was working.
Every muscle in his body was coiled tight as a spring. Instead of the orange he was slicing, his vision was filled with red lips, dark, vulnerable eyes, and an ivory shoulder trembling under his touch.
He nearly cut himself twice.
“Finished.” Tossing his orange slices into the cauldron, he thrust the wooden spoon at her. “Taste it,” he said through gritted teeth.
SIXTEEN
“I’M SO GLAD you talked us into having a secret Christmas,” Lady Trentingham told Chrystabel toward the end of their Christmas Eve supper.
So far the celebration had gone even better than Chrystabel had hoped. To start, Lady Trentingham had insisted on leading a tour from room to room, exclaiming over the decorations to the point where Chrystabel had almost felt embarrassed. Halfway through the tour, Lord Trentingham had handed out goblets of wine, which had put them all in a merry mood as they’d traipsed from chamber to chamber.
Christmas spirit abounded. Everyone was dressed in their pre-Cromwell best. To complement her festive red gown, Chrystabel had added her favorites of the few jewels she owned: a small heart-shaped ruby ring, an enameled drop pendant with a single pearl, and matching single-pearl earbobs.
Joseph’s deep green brocade suit made his brilliant eyes look even greener. It was trimmed with gold braid, and with his glorious long hair loose and gleaming, he looked so delicious that the sight of him made Chrystabel’s mouth water. If only they could get their portrait painted, she imagined the two of them would make a perfect Christmas picture.
Arabel had found a necklace with tiny emeralds and seed pearls to wear with her green and silver gown, and Lady Trentingham was in gold again, having donned a second gold gown that was even fancier than the one she’d worn in the daytime. She wore two long strands of pearls, a beautiful cameo stomacher brooch, and amazing gem-encrusted earbobs that looked like swans. “I haven’t found an excuse to wear my jewels in ages,” she’d told Chrystabel. “Thank you, my dear girl!”
Creath had borrowed a lovely gown from Arabel. In white velvet with a split silver overskirt, she looked like a snow princess. Matthew couldn’t seem to keep his gaze off her, and Creath blushed prettily under his scrutiny—which Chrystabel took as confirmation that the girl had merely been startled, and not driven away as Matthew had feared. Watching the two of them sneak wistful glances at each other, Chrystabel hummed to herself, happy not only because she’d been proved right yet again, but because she loved helping people. Nothing would please her more than to help save Creath from Sir Leonard by bringing her together with Matthew. The girl seemed supportive, patient, and kind—she would make a wonderful mother to Chrystabel’s nieces, and a delightful sister-in-law to boot.
A girl could never have enough sisters.
Excited chatter filled the dining room all the way up to the minstrel’s gallery, where Chrystabel had stationed the Cartwright brothers to play Christmas tunes. Supper was nearly over, and everyone had loved the Christmas pie with its turkey, chicken, bacon, and vegetables swimming in savory gravy. The fish cooked in wine and butter, the buttered cauliflower, and the cinnamon ginger artichoke hearts had been enjoyed to the last morsel. And they had all adored Joseph’s potato pudding, especially Matthew and Arabel, who, like Chrystabel, had never seen or even heard of potatoes before.
But through it all, Chrystabel had barely tasted a bite. Though she should have been exhausted after a long day of dashing about, since leaving the cellar she’d been in something of a dither.
And it was all Arabel’s fault.
The mulling had been going along splendidly, just as she’d planned. Joseph had inched nearer to her with every sip of wine. When their gazes had locked, she’d seen his heart in his eyes. When he’d touched her so softly, as if she were something delicate and precious, she’d thought her own heart might burst. And when she’d been a breath away from finally being kissed…she’d suddenly lost her nerve.
Which was ridiculous. Joseph had obviously wanted to kiss her. Heaven knew she wanted to kiss him. And given that the sensation of his thumb brushing her chin had practically made her swoon, there was no reason to fear that kissing him would feel like anything but pure magic.
But somehow Arabel’s words had gotten to her. You wouldn’t want to find out you were wrong…
And so she’d left poor Joseph in the lurch. Clearly miffed, he’d scarcely looked at her all evening. Through four sumptuous courses, he’d ignored Chrystabel while speaking pleasantly to everyone else, especially Creath.
Not that Chrystabel was jealous.
In fact, she reminded herself, she really needn’t fret at all. She’d find another opportunity to kiss Joseph soon enough, and then he’d forgive her for wounding his pride. If not tonight, it would surely happen tomorrow morning when she gave him her roses. That ought to prompt at least a sound kiss, if not a proposal. After the way he’d looked at her in the cellar,
