Miss Isabella Thaws a Frosty Lord(40)
Highlighting lips she could not wait to feel upon her own. To—
“Isabella?”
“Isabella? Issybelle?” Gingerly, Nicholas shifted the bundle in his arms. “’Tis time to awaken, my love. I hear the house stirring.” Through the window, he also saw the fiery orange ball glimmering beyond the barren trees and couldn’t believe he’d actually slept through a sunrise. Talk about Christmas miracles!
She moaned and nuzzled his neck, making no attempt to move from her sprawled position over his body. Pity he hadn’t thought to lock the blasted library door.
Pressing his lips to her temple, he tried to speak sharply but failed miserably, his words sounding every bit the caress they were. “We may be officially betrothed as of last night, but that doesn’t give either of us leave to ruin your reputation this morning.”
“Does it give us leave to leave?” she asked in a sleep-husked voice. “Perhaps you could begin ruining me on the carriage ride down the drive?”
“If you continue tempting me with your warm body and warmer bum,” he lifted his pelvis into her posterior to emphasize his point, “we’ll both be ejected from Redford Manor and invited never to return ere we have time for breakfast.” That finally reached her, if her sultry giggles were anything to go by.
“How do you do that?” he asked as she slowly straightened and began the task of tidying his neckcloth, which she’d completely unwound some time during the night. “Laugh with the joy of a schoolgirl yet the seductiveness of a siren?”
“Do I now?” Her cheeks flushed bright. “It’s all those hidden talents you’ve yet to discover about me, you know. Much like my dancing.”
“Yet to discover? A lady of continual mystery, eh?” She still lounged on his lap but more primly than before, if one could call such an intimate position prim. He made every attempt to right his own clothing before a servant—or their fine hosts—thought to knock on the door. “Aha—you just called your dancing a talent. So you’re ready to claim that gift, you have? I’m gratified to hear that as Frostwood Hall’s ballroom rivals that of any you can imagine.”
“Truly?” Her eyes widened.
“Truly. And I promise to show you where it’s located in the rambling mansion I grew up in if you promise me a dance every evening before we retire to bed.”
She pursed her lips as if in deep thought. “Well…if you agree to put bells on this,” she pulled tight the horrific knot she’d just tied and tucked the ends of his neckcloth inside his shirt, “so I can find you anywhere I please, I could always promise you a dance in bed.”
“Minx,” he laughed.
“Glorious scoundrel.”
“You know, you have the look of your mother when you smile.” The words burst from him without thought.
“Oh my. That is the highest compliment I could receive. Mama was the most beautiful— Wait…how would—? When did you see her?”
“I don’t…” know.
But he did—even as he grappled for an explanation a sudden flash of recollection, of recognition solidified in his mind. While he slept, he’d been visited by an angelic spirit of uncommon beauty whose serenity and warmth was unmistakable. He’d known instantly she was his Isabella’s beloved mama. But more than that, the woman had been holding the hand of his sister! Dear Althea as he’d always wanted to remember her—golden curls dancing and impish smile beaming.
Spirits be damned, he thought, they’ll stuff me in Bedlam if I confess to such a thing. “’Tis a bloody Christmas miracle, I do believe, but I’d rather not begin our wedded life with you thinking I’m a bedlamite. May we agree to attribute my knowledge to the magic of Christmas?”
“We may indeed.” At that moment she grazed her hand up the side of his face until encountering his right eyebrow. “It is split,” she whispered. “How very wondrous!”
“Wondrous? My eyebrow? Now that I think on it, we’re two of a kind, are we not, in the blemished-eyebrow arena. But how did you know? Harriet again?”
Isabella recounted the dream she’d woken to, ending with how she saw the most handsome man being given into her care. “Another Christmas miracle. And if it’s any consolation, I shall forever remove lack of modesty from your list of foibles. When one looks as you do, only false modesty would be considered a failing.”
“Ah…not that I’m one to discount the spirit of Christmas and what magic may ensue, but mayhap you’ve only imagined I possess a fair countenance. For which I’m eminently pleased, I assure you.”