The Girl is Not For Christmas: A Christmas Regency Romance Novel Page 12

  Livvy sucked in a shaky breath and turned back to him, her eyes alight with merriment.

  King had the oddest sensation of being kicked hard in the chest.

  “Oh, King, thank you.”

  “Whatever for?” he asked crossly, finding he was suddenly breathless and out of sorts.

  “For making me laugh when I felt like crying. Again.”

  He shrugged, frowning at his feet and avoiding her eyes, which he had just noticed were an even more intense shade of blue than the sky. She fell quiet and King kept staring at his feet until he couldn’t stand not to look back at her. He’d known she was studying him. He could feel the weight of her appraisal, but still the act of meeting her gaze unbalanced him, as if he was on a ship that had pitched to one side.

  “Are you well, King?”

  The pitching sensation increased on hearing the soft concern in the question, the sincerity. So many people might ask, yet so few really wanted to hear the answer. In fact, besides Walsh, he couldn’t think of a single one who truly cared, and wasn’t that the most depressing realisation for a man of his years?

  “Of course, fit as a flea,” he remarked, trying to sound insouciant and at ease and managing neither.

  The way she looked at him, her intense scrutiny, made him want to squirm like a child about to be birched, and he felt hot and uncomfortable.

  “Does it pain you? Not drinking, I mean. I think it does. You’re fighting it, aren’t you? Terribly hard.”

  To his horror, she took his hand and squeezed.

  “I’m proud of you, you know. I can’t pretend to understand what it is you are feeling, but… but I’m sure it would be easier to just give in, and you haven’t, and… well done, King. Oh, goodness, that sounded horribly patronising, didn’t it? I didn’t mean for it to, I promise, only—”

  He kissed her.

  Really, she’d left him no other option. He felt as if her words had cut his chest open and exposed his innards, rotten and festering as they no doubt were, and yet… yet she looked at him as if he might actually be worth something. It was too much. She made him feel too much, which was to say anything at all. It had been so long since he had allowed himself to feel anything, and then Miss Prickly bloody Penrose had waltzed into his life and scolded him and bossed him about, and… made him feel… things. It was damned inconvenient. Whatever those things were, he had not the least desire to examine them any closer, and so the only thing to do was to shut her up because she was making his throat tight and his eyes burn, and so he’d kissed her. Except now he’d only made matters worse because she melted into his arms without a murmur of protest and with a good deal of enthusiasm. Oh, and she was sweet, so much damned sweeter because he knew how strong she was and how no one else—barring perhaps the children—ever got to see beyond the prickles and strength, because she had to keep going, she had to hold them all together. She was doing it, too, with nothing more than string and sealing wax, and the sheer force of her will.

  Desire was a searing ache in his chest and, damn, that was a strange thing because desire did not usually feel this way. Lust, he understood, but this was an uncertain blend of want and need and pain, and he did not know why or what to do with it.

  He let her go, a little more abruptly than he had meant to, and she staggered, clutching at his arms. Her eyes were still bright, her cheeks flushed, and her lips reddened and swollen by the force of his kisses. He wanted to do it again. Hellfire, he wanted to haul her upstairs to his room and not let her leave until he’d made her understand just what manner of man he really was. Oddly, he wanted to protect her, too; he wanted for her to never know what kind of man he was, because he did not want to lose the look that was in her eyes now, as foolish as it was. Foolish of them both.

  “Oh, my,” she gasped, staring up at him. “Th-That was a practical lesson, I take it?”

  He gave a jerky nod and tugged at his waistcoat. “Quite.”

  “Y-Yes, I thought that must be it.”

  “We’d best go in before someone sees us.”

  She nodded again, still staring at him. There was an unfocused, glassy look to her eyes now he could not help but feel a little smug about. Well, a fellow had his pride, dash it all! He couldn’t be the only one who was feeling half seas over when he was more sober than he’d been in his life.

  “When shall we go a-rifling?” she asked, a mischievous twitch to her lips that made him want to kiss her all over again.

  “Rifling?”

  “Yes. You promised to come and rifle Ceci’s gowns with me, remember?”

  “Ah, yes, rifling it is. Well, I don’t know. When will she be the farthest from her wardrobe?”

  “I believe she is going with Charlie to pay a call on Mr and Mrs Treloar over at Widemouth Bay. They ought to be gone at least a couple of hours. You’ve put Harry in such a good mood I’m sure he’ll mind the children if I ask nicely.”

  “Very well. As soon as they’re gone, then.”

  “Yes,” she said, nodding, but making no move to return to the house.

  “Well… we should….” He gestured awkwardly at the side door he’d ushered her out of.

  “Oh, yes. We should.”

  King supposed he ought to be pleased by the reluctance with which she turned and went back into the house, but all he could hear were alarm bells ringing so loud his head was pounding, or was that his heart? Perhaps he was coming down with something. His hands were clammy and still not as steady as he’d like. Gods, he wanted a drink. Except he couldn’t have a drink. I am not drinking, he reminded himself, but now it was not just because he didn’t want to send himself to an early grave with nothing to show for his miserable existence, but… but because Livvy was proud of him. Damn her eyes! What business had she being proud of him? The next thing he knew she’d say she cared for him or… or that she….

  He sucked in a sharp breath and clutched at his chest, wondering if perhaps he was about to turn up his toes after all.

  “King? King! Are you sure you’re quite well? You’ve gone the ghastliest shade of white, like a milk pudding.”

  King blinked and gave Livvy his haughtiest look of disdain, the one he reserved for presumptuous upstarts. “Quite well, I thank you. If you would excuse me, Miss Penrose, I… I must…”

  His mind blanked. He didn’t have the least idea of what was so pressing he must do it at once, and besides, she knew damn well he was an idle wastrel. He panicked, knowing only that he had to get away from her before he figured out what the hell it was that terrified him. He had a feeling knowing the answer would only make the situation increasingly dire.

  So… he ran away.

  Chapter Ten

  10th December 1818.

  One highly strung earl, a devious valet, and a gateway to fairyland.

  Livvy watched King go with a frown. There was something about him that made her think of the children when they were hiding something. They knew they’d not be able to keep her from finding out eventually...so they ran away. He certainly had the look of a man running away. It had been the same when he’d kissed her, the sense that he was deflecting her attention. Not that she was complaining. It had been the most marvellous kiss. It lingered even now, the taste of him upon her lips, the warmth of his body against hers. Oh. She was all light and fluffy and floaty, like a billowy cloud. Before meeting King, she had never understood how any woman could be foolish enough to get themselves into difficulties with a man who was quite obviously trouble. Indeed, King was so obviously trouble he might as well have the word stencilled across his forehead in capital letters. She suspected it would in no way diminish his charm and women would continue to throw themselves at his feet. Not, she told herself firmly, that she had done anything of the sort.

  After all, he had kissed her. Rather abruptly, it was true. Livvy frowned, considering that. What had she been saying that had set him off? Something about admiring his efforts to remain sober, if she remembered rightly, though remembering was more difficult
than she liked to acknowledge, but really… that kiss. It was a wonder she was still standing, let alone had any grip remaining on her faculties.

  She made her way back to the breakfast parlour, considering the Earl of Kingston as she went. It occurred to her that he was rather highly strung. He was clearly the kind of fellow who lived on his nerves and did not understand how to deal with emotional situations, so ran away before they bothered him too deeply, a man who needed reassurance at regular intervals, though he’d rather die than admit it, let alone ask for it. From the little she knew of his father, the Marquess of Eynsham—and that only what Charlie had told her—she very much doubted he’d ever had anything resembling reassurance or comfort of any kind. Livvy pondered this as she returned to the children, relieved to find that nothing had been broken or upset in her absence.

  She sent them off to complete their various jobs, and Susan took Birdie off to change her clout, leaving Livvy with George.

  “I think we’d best send King some breakfast up, George. The poor man didn’t eat a thing between Harry’s cravats and your performance.”

  George chuckled and reached out to tug on her skirts. “Libby Lib Lib.”

  “Hmmm, you may well Libby me, you little monster. You knew that was a naughty word, didn’t you?”

  George gave her a beaming smile of such innocent joy she could not help but bend and kiss his nose.

  “Libby, Libby. Want gog.”

  “We don’t have a dog, George, my sweet.”

  George huffed and tugged on her skirts again.

  “No gog?”

  “No dog,” she said, making up a tray to send up to King with his favourite blackberry jam on.

  “Libby. Ing?”

  Livvy turned to look at him. “What, darling?”

  “Ing?”

  She blinked. “Do… do you mean King?”

  “Es. Where is Ing?”

  For some inexplicable reason, Livvy felt a tightening in her throat.

  “Silly goose,” she muttered to herself. “I think King has gone for a lie down. He’s not feeling quite himself, but you’ll see him later. Why don’t we go and see Gelly?”

  George put his arms up in the air, a demand to be lifted into her arms. “Gelly, cake!”

  Livvy laughed and picked George up, heedless of his jammy hands on her frock. He could hardly make it worse at this stage. “You’ve just had breakfast.”

  George clutched her about the neck and gave her a sticky, blackberry flavoured kiss. “Cake!”

  “Oh, very well. Let’s go and see what we can find.”

  Unsurprisingly, Ceci made herself and Charlie late by dithering over what to wear, but finally her husband ushered her out of the house. Birdie and George were taking a nap, Harry was reading and listening out in case they woke, and the girls were cutting pictures out of the latest fashion prints to stick on their walls. Free at last, Livvy went to find King, and bumped into Walsh on his way to the kitchen.

  “Is Lord Kingston feeling better now?” she asked, wondering if his valet might give her some insight into why he’d run away in such a tizzy.

  “I can’t rightly say, Miss,” Walsh said with a heavy sigh. “Keeps his thoughts to himself, he does. A deep one, as they say.”

  Well, that was hardly helpful. “Did he eat any of the breakfast I sent up?”

  “No, Miss,” the valet said mournfully. “I am afraid he didn’t eat a bite of it. I worry for the poor devil. I do what I can, but I’m only a valet, when the fellow needs a wife. Lonely, he is, I reckon, not that he’d ever say so. He needs a bit of care and looking after, like any man, or I fear he’ll take a turn for the worse.”

  “Mr Walsh,” Livvy said sternly. “I have told you in no uncertain terms that I have no designs on Lord Kingston, so—”

  “Oh, no, Miss!” Walsh broke in, his expression one of mortification she didn’t entirely believe. “I didn’t mean you. No, indeed. You made yourself quite plain and I wouldn’t think to ever try to change your mind. Good heavens, what would you think of me? No, it’s only that he’s my master and a good fellow at heart. It plain tears me up to see him in such a way and if he goes and… and….”

  Walsh’s voice wobbled dramatically. He took a deep shuddering breath and cleared his throat.

  “I just don’t know what would become of me if he surrenders this time, and… and turns back to the bottle. For there won’t be no one to save him next go around.”

  Livvy stared at the valet in horror. “Good heavens, is… is it so bad?”

  Walsh shrugged. “Oh, he puts a brave face on it, Miss, and he’s trying hard. Truth is, I never saw him try as hard as he’s doing now and… and that is surely down to you and your kindness. He doesn’t want to let you down see, Miss Penrose. You saved his life.”

  “Nonsense,” Livvy said briskly, thoroughly unsettled by this entire conversation and not least the disturbing gleam in the valet’s eyes, which was… she did not know what. “Boscawen saved him. I wanted to turn him out on his ear as you must surely know.”

  “Ah, but you didn’t, Miss, and ’twas you not your brother what sat and nursed him and chased the devils away.”

  Livvy opened and closed her mouth to protest, but decided this conversation had gone on quite long enough. “Where is the earl now?”

  “Sleeping, Miss,” Walsh replied, with the regretful air of a man who expected King to shuffle off this mortal coil at any moment.

  “Thank you, Mr Walsh,” Livvy said, quite out of patience with the fellow, and set off to see for herself.

  Livvy knocked quietly enough not disturb King if he really was sleeping, but not so quietly that he’d not hear if he wasn’t. When there was no reply, she cracked the door open and peered in. The room was dim, the curtains closed against the sunshine outside, and Livvy looked to the bed. Sure enough, King was sprawled across the mattress. He had rid himself of coat, waistcoat, and cravat, and he looked flushed and tousled, as if he’d had unpleasant dreams. Suddenly Walsh’s words came back to her with more force and she remembered King earlier that morning, white as a sheet, and… and had his hands been trembling?

  Oh, King.

  Too overcome by anxiety to bother herself with her outrageous offence against both propriety and his own privacy, she hurried to the bed.

  “King?” she whispered. There was no reply, and Livvy sat down on the mattress, taking one of his hands in hers and reaching up to push a dark lock of hair from his forehead. “King, are you well?”

  When there was no response, she put her hand to his cheek, relieved to discover he was not feverish, but finding her concern undiminished. She laid her palm over his heart next and breathed a sigh of relief to find it beating strong and sure.

  “Livvy? What the devil are you doing?”

  Livvy gave a yelp of alarm. “Oh, my! You startled me. I thought you were asleep.”

  “I was asleep,” he said, blinking at her in confusion. “Which does not answer the question. Why are you in my bedroom and putting your hands on me?”

  “Oh… Ummm. Well, there is a reasonable explanation for that,” she said, feeling suddenly breathless and annoyed with herself, not to mention furious with Mr Walsh. What had she been thinking?

  “I’m all ears,” he said, a tone to his voice which made shivers skitter down her spine.

  “Well, I… er, I ran into Mr Walsh and enquired after you, because… Oh, because Ceci and Charlie have gone out now, only… only your wretched valet told me how you were lonely and dying of melancholy and drink, and…. Oh, I don’t remember exactly what he said, but he put me such a pelter I was certain you were about to breathe your last, and….”

  “And so you came to see for yourself?”

  “Yes,” Livvy said, relieved he’d understood. “I’m beginning to believe he… he….”

  “Played you like a fiddle?” King suggested.

  “Quite.” Livvy scowled at him, wondering why on earth she’d allowed herself to be taken in. “What was he thinki
ng?”

  “I gave up trying to figure out what Walsh is thinking over a decade ago. I’m not about to try again now. Though I believe he acts with the best of intentions, the results can be… mixed.”

  “Yes, but you do realise the dreadful man is trying to get me to set my cap at you?”

  King stilled and his voice when he next spoke was cool and remote, and not at all what she’d become used to. “Whatever gave you that ludicrous idea?”

  “Well, he’s all but put it in writing,” she said caustically, not liking his tone.

  “Well, do not fret unduly, Miss Penrose. We both know that I am of no earthly use to you beyond my limited ability in teaching you how to seduce another man of greater worth.”

  Livvy stiffened at the mockery behind his words. “There is no need to be unpleasant.”

  “Ah, but it was you who insisted we call a spade a spade, was it not?”

  “I think I’d best go now. You are clearly in no mood for company.”

  “Oh, but you’re quite wrong.”

  Livvy gasped as he pulled her down on to the bed with him and rolled them both so he was staring down at her.

  “I find I’m quite in the mood,” he said, his eyes glittering dangerously.

  “You are supposed to be helping me find something to wear in Ceci’s wardrobe,” Livvy pointed out, wondering how on earth she sounded so calm when she was trembling all over.

  She wanted to believe it was maidenly distress at being manhandled in such a cavalier fashion. Being the kind of person who thought it was the height of stupidity to lie to oneself, she was obliged to admit it was nothing of the sort. No, the thing that had her quivering and flustered was the feel of his large frame pressing hers into the mattress. She ought to be furious with him, she ought to demand he get off and let her go, but all she felt was a dizzying rush of exhilaration and a desire to ask for more.