“I really think so, yes. I think they’ll take their time choosing a tree for the yule log, and then take even more time getting to know each other before they realize we aren’t returning. And then I think they will kiss, and I hope they will fall in love. Or maybe they’ll fall in love and then kiss,” she added, unsure of the order in which these things happened.
Chrystabel had yet to be kissed. To her great distress, in all of her nineteen years the opportunity had never arisen. Most of the suitable young men back in Wiltshire had left years ago to fight for King Charles. And many of the unsuitable ones had gone to fight against the king, while the remainder 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, if given a chance.
From her older sisters’ accounts and her own daydreams, she just knew that kissing would feel glorious. And kissing Joseph would be the best Christmas present imaginable. She could already feel his long arms enfolding her, smell his mouthwatering fresh scent, taste his…well, as it happened, taste was one area where her imagination failed her. She wondered how Joseph would taste—besides delicious, of course. Lips as full and soft-looking as his couldn’t be anything less than delicious. She couldn’t wait to taste them.
Just like when she was small, she wanted to open her Christmas present now.
Where would it happen? Since she did feel a little cold, she decided to imagine him kissing her for the first time before a roaring fire, perhaps in the great room. Heat from the flames warmed her skin, while heat from the kiss warmed—
“You’re awfully confident for your first day as a matchmaker,” Arabel grumbled even though she never grumbled.
Indignant at being yanked from her lovely Christmas daydream, Chrystabel raised her chin. “I ought to be confident. I’m good at this, 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.”
Arabel continued to fret anyway. “Matthew will be furious. They might 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 government unapproved red gown, her cheeks flushed with holiday excitement, she suddenly looked different.
She suddenly stole his breath away.
Holy Hades, had his mother been right?
No. She’d put ideas into his head, that was all. Ideas he needed to reject.
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?”
He wanted to say, Hell yes, I’d mind, but that would be impolite. So instead he said, “By all means.”
Through gritted teeth.
In an effort to take his mind off her, he went to one of the fireplaces and chucked another log inside. She’d said she wanted to look around, but 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 sigh, he turned to face her. “I was planting
