“Yes, but—”
“You can call me Chrysanthemum. I’d love for you to call me Chrysanthemum. I love you, Joseph—I’ve loved you since the moment I set eyes on you.”
She couldn’t. “But…but we just met. You cannot possibly love me. Not that I’m not lovable,” he added quickly, then wanted to smack himself on the forehead. “What I meant was, you cannot love me already.”
“I can, and I do,” she said, and moved closer, and then they were kissing all over again.
She tasted divine. For a long time he just kissed her, long kisses that made his heart ache. Then he kissed a path down her throat, over her shoulders, and across the wide expanse of skin exposed in the neckline of her tantalizing, Parliament-banned gown.
His lips trailed down, just brushing the swell of each perfect breast, before he cupped her face in his hands and returned to her mouth. And when he caught her lips again with his, she felt and tasted and smelled so sweet he thought his heart might melt.
And then he thought it might break in two.
He shouldn’t be doing this. But he couldn’t tell her why. His head might feel woozy, but his brain still functioned well enough to know he shouldn’t be kissing her, and that he couldn’t tell her the truth.
He’d made a promise, and he had to keep it. He couldn’t tell Chrystabel he was betrothed. He couldn’t risk ruining Creath’s life by revealing their plans to her or anyone else.
Wracked with guilt, he pulled himself together and broke the kiss. “I shouldn’t be kissing you,” he said on a gasp.
She looked disappointed and adorable, her strawberry red lips even redder from their kisses. “Why shouldn’t you kiss me? You’ve kissed girls before. It wasn’t your first kiss—I could tell.”
Because it had been far from his first kiss, he felt his face heating. “It was your first kiss, though—I could tell, too.”
“You could?” She bit her adorable lower lip. “Did I do it wrong?”
“You did it very, very right. But I shouldn’t be kissing you.”
“Why?” she repeated.
What on earth could he tell her? “I should respect you more than that. You’re a proper high-born lady, and—”
“I’m not that proper,” she interrupted. “I very much enjoyed kissing you, and I’m not-proper enough to want more kissing. I promise I won’t tell anyone, if that’s what has you worried.”
“You won’t tell anyone because I’m not going to kiss you again.”
“Why?” she persisted.
“Because I like to think I’m a gentleman.” It was the only reasonable explanation he could come up with. “And gentlemen don’t kiss ladies.”
“What, gentlemen only kiss harlots? You already kissed me. Why should kissing me again matter now?”
Because if he kissed her again, he might find himself unwilling to marry Creath. But he couldn’t say that. So instead he said, “It matters because it’s better to do the right thing late than not at all. And now I consider this subject closed.”
She huffed. Adorably. “Now what?”
“Now we finish making the damned mulled wine.” Grabbing more orange slices off the table to replace the ones that had fallen on the floor, he tossed them into the cauldron and used the wooden spoon to stir the mixture viciously. “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 evening 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, which Chrystabel took as a hopeful sign. She loved helping people, and nothing would make her happier than saving Creath from Sir Leonard by helping her wed Matthew instead. Creath seemed supportive, patient, and kind—she would make a wonderful mother for Matthew’s children, and Chrystabel looked forward to welcoming her as another sister.
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
