A Yuletide Invitation: The Mistletoe Wager / The Harlot's Daughter. Christine Merrill
Читать онлайн книгу.
at Harry as though he had offered to wrap her in diamonds. Any annoyance at the chill he would take tramping about the grounds in a foot of fresh snow was replaced by the warm glow of her presence.
But the Christmas spirit did not seem to be reaching Tremaine. He grumbled, ‘Surely you have servants to do this?’
Harry shook his head. ‘I could never expect them to do such. It is tradition that we choose one ourselves. Elise is very particular about the choice, and she enjoys the walk. I could not begrudge her the experience.’
Elise looked at Tremaine in disapproval. ‘You are not dressed for the weather.’
‘Here—we can fix that.’ Harry removed his own scarf and wrapped it twice around Tremaine’s neck, pulling until it constricted. ‘There. All better. Let us proceed.’ He opened the front door wide and shepherded them through.
Elise took to it as he had known she would. Though she might claim to adore the city, she needed space and fresh air to keep her happy. She strode out into the morning, with the first glints of sunlight hitting the fresh snow, twirled and looked back at them, her face shining brighter than any star. ‘Isn’t it magnificent?’
Harry nodded in agreement. As he looked at her, he felt his own throat close in a way that had nothing to do with the tightness of a scarf. She was so beautiful standing there, with the dawn touching her blonde hair. And he thought, You used to be mine. He chased the thought away. He would make her come home again. For if he had lost her for ever he might just as well march out into the snow, lie down and wait for the end.
He looked around him—anywhere but at Elise. For until he had mastered his emotions he could not bear to look in her face. And he saw she was right: with a fresh coating of snow over everything, and frost and icicles clinging to the trees, it was a most beautiful morning indeed.
Tremaine merely grunted.
‘This way.’ Harry pointed to the left, up a low hill at the side of the house. ‘In the copse of trees where we used to picnic.’ He set off at a brisk pace.
Elise followed him easily in her stout boots and heavy wool skirt. ‘You do not mean to take the tree where we …’ She was remembering their last picnic in the oak grove, and her cheeks were going pink in a way that had nothing to do with the cold.
He cleared his throat. ‘Not that one, precisely. But very nearby. This tree is dying, and we will have to take it soon in any case. Why should it not serve a noble purpose?’
Behind them he could hear Tremaine, stumbling and sliding and cursing his way up the hill. He was falling further behind as Elise drew abreast of Harry.
She said softly, ‘I am still amazed that you are willing to do this after what has gone on between us. Although you always complied with my wishes, you complained about the bother of it in years past.’
He appeared pleased, and looked at the ground. ‘Perhaps I did. But I found, though I meant to leave it off, that the habit was ingrained. Although I complained to you, perhaps I enjoyed it more than I knew.’ He glanced back over his shoulder. ‘In future you will have Tremaine to complain over it, when he takes my place. But for myself I mean to spend a quiet hour on a winter morning, watching the sun come up.’
She smiled at him in approval, and then blushed and looked away. He glanced back again, so that she could not see his answering smile, and called, ‘Keep up, Tremaine, or you shall miss the best part.’
The tree he had chosen had been carefully notched by a servant, so that most of the work was done and it would fall correctly. In truth, there was so little left to do that it was fortunate the thing had not fallen on its own in the storm. A few blows of the axe would give the impression to his lady love of manly competence without undue exertion.
He stepped around to the far side and swung the axe into the wood. It struck with a satisfying clunk that made Tremaine flinch. ‘See? We strike thusly.’ Harry swung again, and felt the unaccustomed labour jar the bones of his arms. After several Christmases just like this, at least he was prepared for the shock. It was much better than it had been the first time his wife had suggested the activity. ‘It takes only a few strokes to do the job.’ He smiled at his adversary again. ‘Step away from that side, sir. For the tree is likely to come down when I least expect it.’ He took a short pause, turned so that Elise could not see the expression on his face, and stared at Tremaine, not bothering to smile. ‘I would hate for an accident to befall you.’
Tremaine fairly leapt out of the way, standing safely behind him. The man was terrified of him.
Harry grinned to himself and swung again. ‘It is a dangerous business, using an axe.’ Clunk. ‘No end of things can go wrong. Should the handle slip in my hands, for example.’ Clunk.
He glanced up at his wife’s friend, who had gone bone-white with cold and fear. Harry offered him the axe. ‘Here. You must try. For I expect Elise will wish you to learn the ways of this.’
Tremaine muttered low, under his breath, ‘If you think next year will find me chopping wood for the holiday, you are both quite mad. I have no property in the country, nor do I plan to acquire one. And I seriously doubt that I will be motivated to march through Hyde Park with a weapon in my hands, doing damage to the landscaping.’
‘Oh, Nicholas,’ Elise laughed. ‘What a droll idea.’
But Tremaine took the axe from Harry’s hands, and looked relieved to have disarmed him. Harry stepped back as the other man took a mighty swing at the oak, overbalanced, and fell on his seat in the snow.
‘Hmm. It does not seem that you have the hang of it yet. Best let me finish it after all.’ He retrieved the axe, and a few more chops and a stout push was all it took. There was a loud cracking noise, and he put out an arm to shield Elise. Tremaine scrambled to safety, away from the falling tree.
It crashed to the ground and they stared at the thing for a moment—Tremaine in disgust, and Elise with obvious satisfaction. Then Tremaine said, ‘I suppose now you will tell me that we must drag it back to the house?’
Elise giggled, and Harry said, ‘Oh, no. Of course not. This is still much too green to burn. This is the log for next year’s festivity. Some people save the cutting for Candlemas, but we have always done it on Christmas Eve morn. And this year it is my gift to you, Tremaine. You will need it next year, when you celebrate Christmas with Elise.’ He gestured to the enormous tree on the ground before them. ‘You can take the whole thing back with you when you return to London. The servants will take care of it in good time. They are just now bringing in last year’s log. We shall see it when we go back to the house.’
‘Mad.’ Tremaine stared at them in amazement. ‘You are both quite mad.’ Then he turned from them and stalked back to the house, sliding ahead of them on the downward slope.
Harry looked after him. ‘I do not think Tremaine appreciates my gift.’
Elise looked after him as well, trying to look stern, although a smile was playing around her lips. ‘That was horrible of you, you know. To drag the poor man out in weather like this. And so early in the morning. He abhors mornings.’
Harry tried to focus on the snow-covered back of the retreating man. Not on the beautiful woman at his side and what her smile might tell him about her intimate knowledge of Nicholas Tremaine’s morning routine. ‘A pity. For it is the most beautiful time of day. You still enjoy mornings, do you not? Or have your ways changed now that you are not with me?’
‘I still enjoy them,’ she admitted. ‘Although they are not so nice in the city as they are here. It is the best time to ride, though. For many are still sleeping from the night’s revelry, and the park is nearly empty.’
‘Oh.’ He tried not to imagine what a handsome couple his wife and Tremaine would make on horseback in Rotten Row.
‘But the city is quite empty at Christmas. And I will admit it would have been lonely to remain there.’ She hesitated. ‘I must thank you for inviting … Tremaine.’