Read Online Mistletoe Kisses and Yuletide Joy by Jo Beverley - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jo Beverley
Tags: Romance, Historical, Literature & Fiction, Regency, Historical Romance, Medieval, Anthologies, Collections & Anthologies, Holidays
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couldn't really like anyone who detested Christma s. She certainly couldn't love such a person.
She sat staring into the fire, feeling as if she'd suffered another death. Slowly, however, her hurt and anger changed into pity. How horrible not to see the blessings of the season.
Her memories were full of wonderful Christmases in this house. Of greenery and kissing boughs, plum pudding and mince pies, carols, and stories, and chestnuts roasting in the grate.
Of laughter and song.
Song. Believe me....
She wiped away a tear. No matter what little problems had fretted her family, at Christmas they'd always found joy. Each year her family and friends had renewed their warm feelings, like new logs placed on a spiritual fire.
Had he never felt that?
Did he really reject Yule as entirely pagan?
When he returned with the servants and the punch, he said, rather stiffly, "I apologize. I've upset you. I thought you of a similar mind. So normally you would be romping to the end of twelve days of mayhem?"
That didn't quite describe her family's practices, but she said, "Yes."
" Then I'm disappointed in you, Miss Mayhew."
It didn't seem charitable to snap that she was even more disappointed in him, and Kitty could see the concern in Pol and Ned. So she put it aside, accepting a glass of punch, and a piece of cake. As she ate it she made the traditional wish, and her wish was for him, that he could somehow one day find the light and blessings of Christmas.
Superficially everything eased and they sat to play hazard for millions. Since Kitty didn't like the dice game, she felt pleasantly virtuous to endure it. Unhappiness simmered in her, however, so when Lord Chatterton and Ned rose to leave, she stayed them.
" It is Twelfth Night," she said. "Why not stay to see the end of Christmas?"
" If only I could," he muttered.
But Ned -- perhaps obliviously, or perhaps rebelliously -- said, "Aye, why not?"
" Oh, and we've some chestnuts," added Pol, bright-eyed. "We could roast some and sing some songs."
When the two of them disappeared in search of chestnuts, Lord Chatterton growled, "I could throttle you."
" For making you endure some roasted chestnuts and an hour more of my company?"
" For spoiling everything with Christmas." She was pulled to her feet.
" What-!"
And kissed.
It was short, rough, and rather unpleasant. When it stopped, she said, "Why?"
" I might as well have some benefit -- kissing beneath the mistletoe for example."
" But we have none."
" I, at least, have an imagination. Try to guess what I'm imagining now."
He kissed her again, just as roughly, but something in the way he held her to him, pressed her to him, shaped her to him, left her shaken rather than annoyed. She could guess what he was imagining, and it stirred visions in her own mind.
Visions of entwined naked bodies from Renaissance masters and Grecian urns.
Voices made them break apart to stare dazedly at each other, wicked notions still dancing between their minds. Kitty felt she could hardly breathe. Or that at least her breath should be visible as a wavering, broken line of light between his lips and hers.
Ned and Pol came in, chattering, carrying a big bowl of chestnuts and a cellar of salt.
Kitty caught a mischievous, assessing look from both servants, followed with a shared smile of knowing amusement. Just who was chaperoning whom?
But chaperoning would imply courtship.
She glanced at Lord Chatterton. He, however, had turned away to study a landscape on the wall, as if attempting to reject the company.
There had certainly been no courtship in that attacking kiss. Perhaps he'd hoped to be thrown out so he could retreat with honor.
Very well, she'd make the wretched man endure it.
Kitty joined Ned and Pol on the floor in front of the fire and placed a chestnut in the embers. Rebelliously, she began one of her favorite seasonal hymns.
" The race that long in darkness pined
Have seen a glorious light.... "
Pol joined in, for the
She sat staring into the fire, feeling as if she'd suffered another death. Slowly, however, her hurt and anger changed into pity. How horrible not to see the blessings of the season.
Her memories were full of wonderful Christmases in this house. Of greenery and kissing boughs, plum pudding and mince pies, carols, and stories, and chestnuts roasting in the grate.
Of laughter and song.
Song. Believe me....
She wiped away a tear. No matter what little problems had fretted her family, at Christmas they'd always found joy. Each year her family and friends had renewed their warm feelings, like new logs placed on a spiritual fire.
Had he never felt that?
Did he really reject Yule as entirely pagan?
When he returned with the servants and the punch, he said, rather stiffly, "I apologize. I've upset you. I thought you of a similar mind. So normally you would be romping to the end of twelve days of mayhem?"
That didn't quite describe her family's practices, but she said, "Yes."
" Then I'm disappointed in you, Miss Mayhew."
It didn't seem charitable to snap that she was even more disappointed in him, and Kitty could see the concern in Pol and Ned. So she put it aside, accepting a glass of punch, and a piece of cake. As she ate it she made the traditional wish, and her wish was for him, that he could somehow one day find the light and blessings of Christmas.
Superficially everything eased and they sat to play hazard for millions. Since Kitty didn't like the dice game, she felt pleasantly virtuous to endure it. Unhappiness simmered in her, however, so when Lord Chatterton and Ned rose to leave, she stayed them.
" It is Twelfth Night," she said. "Why not stay to see the end of Christmas?"
" If only I could," he muttered.
But Ned -- perhaps obliviously, or perhaps rebelliously -- said, "Aye, why not?"
" Oh, and we've some chestnuts," added Pol, bright-eyed. "We could roast some and sing some songs."
When the two of them disappeared in search of chestnuts, Lord Chatterton growled, "I could throttle you."
" For making you endure some roasted chestnuts and an hour more of my company?"
" For spoiling everything with Christmas." She was pulled to her feet.
" What-!"
And kissed.
It was short, rough, and rather unpleasant. When it stopped, she said, "Why?"
" I might as well have some benefit -- kissing beneath the mistletoe for example."
" But we have none."
" I, at least, have an imagination. Try to guess what I'm imagining now."
He kissed her again, just as roughly, but something in the way he held her to him, pressed her to him, shaped her to him, left her shaken rather than annoyed. She could guess what he was imagining, and it stirred visions in her own mind.
Visions of entwined naked bodies from Renaissance masters and Grecian urns.
Voices made them break apart to stare dazedly at each other, wicked notions still dancing between their minds. Kitty felt she could hardly breathe. Or that at least her breath should be visible as a wavering, broken line of light between his lips and hers.
Ned and Pol came in, chattering, carrying a big bowl of chestnuts and a cellar of salt.
Kitty caught a mischievous, assessing look from both servants, followed with a shared smile of knowing amusement. Just who was chaperoning whom?
But chaperoning would imply courtship.
She glanced at Lord Chatterton. He, however, had turned away to study a landscape on the wall, as if attempting to reject the company.
There had certainly been no courtship in that attacking kiss. Perhaps he'd hoped to be thrown out so he could retreat with honor.
Very well, she'd make the wretched man endure it.
Kitty joined Ned and Pol on the floor in front of the fire and placed a chestnut in the embers. Rebelliously, she began one of her favorite seasonal hymns.
" The race that long in darkness pined
Have seen a glorious light.... "
Pol joined in, for the
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