Knight of Christmas Page 7

  So for all his plotting, he had not had sexual congress in months. He wanted it now. This bloody minute if he could arrange it. How inappropriate. One should not be experiencing arousal when one was so blasted ill. Perhaps it was proof he was still alive and would recover.

  Bran glanced to the ceiling. The house was very quiet. Admit it. He’d been profoundly affected by seeing Angeline again. Physically, yes. But it was so much more. Whatever they shared ten years ago in that abominable situation had been overpowering. Love had grown in a brief span of time. He believed that he had fallen in love her from the moment she first walked into Oakby’s bedchamber. Unrealistic, but the heart knows. It was wrong. She was another man’s bride. But the heart knows.

  Angeline had looked so vulnerable and innocent, but he had sensed her inner strength even then. She had survived her ordeals and the loss of a son. For all her talk of being damaged inside, he could not help but admire the force of her bravery. And the abundance of magnificence and goodness he knew still resided in her.

  The fact she was a striking beauty completed the package. He closed his eyes and relived those two short weeks they made love for hours each time they were alone.

  * * *

  Angeline sat in the darkened corner of Bran’s bedroom. About to rise from her chair, she heard a groan come from the direction of the bed.

  Bran must be feeling better. Should she check on him? A ribbon of moonlight broke through the clouds, streamed through the window, and illuminated Bran on the bed. His muscular torso was on full display as he had kicked off the quilts. His lower legs and head were still in shadow. She had not seen anything quite so stunning as Bran.

  Angeline’s insides fluttered with excitement at the sight of him. She slowly spread her legs and languidly lifted her gown up past her knees. Her hand traveled up the inside of her thigh until she reached the slit in her lace drawers. She had not touched herself in years. It had been so long since she had felt any sort of desire.

  What she was doing was entirely wicked. But she kept her gaze firm on his masculine form. The moonlight caressed every muscled plane. Finding her sensitive nub, she rubbed it vigorously, allowing herself to feel for the first time in years. When Bran’s hand brushed by his semi-erect shaft, she had to bite on her lower lip to keep from moaning.

  The climax hit her swift and hard, and she stilled, wondering if he had heard her,

  But the only sound emitting from the direction of the bed was his noisy snores. Angeline lowered her skirts, and, with shaky legs, walked to the bed. Bran was fast asleep. Gently she touched his forehead. His head was still warm, but not as hot as before. Thank God his fever had broken.

  His breathing grew deeper, but there was a wheeze on every exhale. She picked up the quilts, covered him to his chin, then kissed his heavily-whiskered cheek. For the first time in forever she was optimistic about so many things. Bran would recover; she knew it deep in her now-awakened heart.

  But the most wonderful discovery? Angeline was not as dead inside as she thought. Perhaps a happy ending could be in her future at long last.

  Chapter 9

  The pounding on the connecting door brought Angeline out of a much needed deep sleep. Quinn had taken over attending Bran as she’d been close to collapsing from fatigue. Even though Bran’s fever had broken the night before, he was still quite ill. Intense coughing fits brought up a shocking amount of green-yellow sputum. However, the doctor claimed the imminent danger had passed, but he would be weak for at least another week to ten days.

  Angeline threw back the covers and scrambled for her dressing gown. She quickly opened the door.

  “Sorry to disturb you, Lady Oakby, but Mr. Knight is awake and asking for you. You wanted me to inform you at once.”

  Angeline tied the cord tight around her waist. “Yes, of course. Quinn, please go to the kitchen and have chicken broth, fresh bread, and tea brought to Mr. Knight.”

  Quinn nodded and hurried off. Angeline stepped into Bran’s rooms. The appalling smell of sweat and sickness assaulted her nostrils.

  Bran was sitting upright in bed with his glorious naked chest on full display. He smiled weakly. Angeline flushed as she thought of what she had done the night before. But she wasn’t ashamed. Not deep down. After he ate she would inform Quinn to shave him and prepare a bath. The bed linens would also have to be changed and the room aired.

  Angeline sat by the edge of the bed before placing her hand on his forehead once again. He was still far too warm, but certainly not the inferno of the last few nights. Bran was not well, but the mortal danger had passed. She was silently thankful.

  “This may sound ridiculous, but how many days have gone by since I collapsed?” he rasped, his chest rattling on every word.

  Angeline moved her hand to his cheek, it was flushed and warm as well.

  “Four days, Bran. You were very ill. For a twenty-four hour period the situation was quite dire.”

  His eyes narrowed, desire clear on his countenance. “If you keep touching me, we shall see how sick I really am.”

  Angeline dropped her hand and moved away reluctantly.

  Bran caught her wrist and gave her pulse point a gentle stroke with the pad of his thumb. “I like you sitting here close… I—” He coughed, barely able to catch a breath.

  Angeline held up the cloth to his lips and dutifully wiped his mouth when he was done.

  “Then again, perhaps you should not sit so close. I would not risk your health. What of Peter, is he well?” Bran asked.

  “I’ve kept a close watch on Peter. I must admit I was worried since he was with you all day at the farm. The doctor informs me he does not have what ails you. He thrives.”

  Bran exhaled. “Thank God. And you?”

  “I also am well. I would have caught the influenza by now. Quinn will be bringing you a bowl of soup. He will shave and bathe you after, and we will change these linens. That should assist in your recovery.”

  Bran cupped her cheek. His fingers were cool and damp. “I would prefer if it were you to shave and bathe me.” He inclined his head downward. “See what the prospect has done to me, as you can observe I am not immune to you, my sweet. I must be recovering.”

  Bran was aroused. Goodness. The thought of it caused her insides to flutter with desire.

  She heard Quinn coming toward the room, so she grabbed the quilt and pulled it on top of Bran. “I will leave Quinn to attend your toilette, and I will return later this afternoon. Please eat, Bran.”

  “Stay. Please.”

  His words were softly spoken, and she was tempted. With one last caress of his cheek, she shook her head. “I’ll return later.”

  Once inside her room, she closed the door. Angeline stood against it to catch her breath. She was flushed and excited. Good lord, she had to gain control of her emotions. Now free from their restraints, it was becoming harder to deny them.

  After dressing, Angeline hurried downstairs to the kitchen. She called together the footman, the maid, and the cook, to inform them of Bran’s status.

  “Mr. Knight will be recovering for several days yet. I would like us all to pull together and prepare the house for Christmas.”

  The cook, Mrs. Enfield, nodded in agreement. “Aye, anything for the master. You can count on us, my lady.”

  Angeline was not surprised the staff had taken a liking to Bran. There was much to admire. His outward gruffness upon first meeting was entirely a defense mechanism. The staff knew it right off, and so had Peter. Besides, Bran had paid the staff’s back salaries, they were no doubt grateful.

  As the afternoon progressed, Angeline had William drape pine boughs and holly wreaths around door frames and the staircases. Mrs. Enfield was busily planning the menus and ordering the food. The maid, Elsie, brought in her two younger sisters to assist with cleaning, and arranging the furniture in the parlor, as Mr. Tilden had sent word he would be delivering the tree Bran and Peter had selected.

&n
bsp; A quick check in Bran’s room found him fast asleep. Angeline stood and watched his broad chest rise and fall in slumber. The slight rattle was still there. He had been shaved and bathed, and already the room smelled fresher.

  Bran had generously given her pin money, and she wanted to ensure it would be a Christmas both Bran and Peter would not soon forget. Angeline couldn’t remember Bran’s exact words, but he’d said something about wonderful reminiscences of the holiday season. Perhaps she could make this a Christmas worthy of future memories. For her, as well.

  Enough brooding, time to live.

  She closed the door gently and hurried downstairs. Calling to William, she fastened her gray wool cape about her neck, then placed the pound notes in her reticule. Considering she was in mourning, she should be wearing black out in public, but she decided on gray for she was done being a hypocrite. Bran was right, she did not mourn Oakby, nor would she honor his memory by wearing black.

  Once she arrived at the jewelers, she strolled about the shop looking for a present for Bran. It struck her afresh she did not know him all that well. They’d had so little time together. She stopped before a solid mahogany humidor and realized she had never seen Bran smoke. Of course. He’d mentioned his father lost everything over a tobacco venture. He must abhor tobacco.

  A display case with diamond stick pins and various masculine signet rings caught her attention, but she had not seen Bran wear any adornment except a pocket watch. Angeline leaned in to gaze at the watches. They were such a personal gift, something a wife would give a husband—or a woman would give a lover.

  A lover.

  Desire coiled in her belly. His words had played in her mind constantly since he had spoken them. “If you want me in your bed, you will have to make the invitation.” The prospect became more appealing with each passing hour.

  Angeline had not been with a man since Oakby got her with child. Would her late husband have even followed through on his threat to send Peter away to school? Hard to know, and she could not have taken the chance. Oakby had been unreadable, and she too much of a coward to oppose him. Yes, she could admit it here and now. She had spent her entire marriage enveloped in fear and guilt. No more.

  She pointed to an ornate gold watch with intricate scroll work and etchings. “Can I see that one?” she asked the clerk.

  The man lifted the tray from the glass case. “I can engrave anything you like.”

  It was beautiful but masculine, just like Bran. Angeline stroked the watch with her gloved fingers. The clerk placed a velvet case with different chains next to the watch. Yes, it would be a perfect gift. Glancing across at the fancy inkwells, she pointed at a cut-crystal and wood set.

  “I would like to see the inkwell.”

  * * *

  Bran awoke with a start. The room was dim and no doubt the sun had set.

  Damnation, did I sleep away another day?

  He coughed, and then looked at the sputum in the cloth. The discharge was not quite as yellowish-green. He was indeed lucky. Bran had heard others in the town had not recovered from this sickness.

  His chest spasmed with a sudden dull ache that had little to do with his lingering illness. It still hurt like the devil knowing he had a son and he died. Bran imagined there would always be an open wound in his unused heart for the rest of his days.

  What about the rest of his days? His previous thought of returning to Canada no longer appealed. Could he and Angeline move past their miserable and scandalous beginnings and start again? Or was the damage too wide and deep—especially for her? A soft knock at the door had Bran reaching for his dressing gown and slipping it on. Sleeping nude was his preference, but he would not receive a guest in his state of undress even if it was Angeline. “Enter.”

  The door opened a crack and Peter stepped across the threshold. “Hello, Uncle Bran.”

  “Peter, you should go at once. I do not wish you to catch this and become ill. Your mother would never forgive me.” Bran smiled weakly.

  “I’m tired of being in the nursery.” Peter sulked. “I haven’t seen you or Mama for days and days.”

  “It is to protect you, nothing more. Just a couple more and then we can have dinner again together in the dining room.”

  “Uncle Bran, are you staying with us forever and ever?” Peter looked at Bran with those glorious eyes of Angeline’s, his face expectant. “I prayed to Father Christmas to grant me this wish. It is all I want for Christmas, truly.”

  A lump formed in his throat causing a wave of emotion to flood him. He should be honest with the boy. “I’m not certain, Peter. Be a good lad and return to the nursery. I will not see you ill. I will be up and about in a couple of days, I promise,” he said gently.

  Peter nodded and slipped out of the room. The door closed behind him.

  Stay forever and ever.

  It dawned on Bran that it was his Christmas wish as well.

  Chapter 10

  Five days later, Christmas Eve

  Angeline met Bran at the head of the stairs. For the first time in days he was up and dressed. Worry furrowed her brow as he smiled wanly in greeting. He was well aware he still looked pale and drawn. It was also obvious he had lost a little weight judging by the looseness in the fit of his trousers. At least he had started to take normal meals in the past three days.

  “We can forgo this if you are not up to it—”

  “I am fine, Angeline,” Bran said in a firm, strong voice. “Do not fuss.”

  Her expression showed annoyance and hurt at his curt reply, so Bran laid his hand on top of hers. His face softened.

  “I appreciate everything you have done for me, but for tonight, let us not be invalid and nurse. Let us just enjoy the company and the holiday.”

  Biting her lower lip, she smiled and nodded. They took the first step and Bran nearly stumbled. He grabbed the banister to steady himself. “I have smelled the pine the past few days. Everything looks lovely,” Bran stated, smoothing over his misstep.

  With slow and careful movements, they descended the stairs. Angeline held his arm. His steps grew surer and steadier the longer they walked. He took some care with his clothes selecting a soft gray suit with a red waistcoat trimmed in gold, and a matching red ascot held in place by a gold stickpin, He wanted to convey his eagerness at enjoying the season.

  William opened the door. Bran glanced at Angeline. She waited with bated breath for his reaction; her excitement was plain to see in her lovely eyes. So he slid his gaze back to the parlor.

  The magic of Christmas surrounded Bran with a loving embrace. The room glowed and danced in shimmering gold from the soft incandescent light issuing from the multitudes of candles in the room. It was as if the angels themselves had chosen this yuletide celebration for their own.

  Bran’s childhood Christmases were glorious and magical—much like this room. A fire burned in the hearth. Three stockings hung from the chimney with care, just like in Peter’s story. In the corner of the room was the huge Christmas tree that he and Peter had selected. The tree was so large its tip brushed the eight-foot ceiling. He could see the love and care taken in decorating it.

  Gold-painted pinecones decorated the branches, and garlands of popcorn circled the tree. Cherries and holly berries were clustered together in the boughs. Tiny frosted cakes were also used as hanging decorations as well as silver foil and red ribbon. At the top of the tree perched an angelic fairy in lace and gold. Lit beeswax candles were on nearly every branch and William stood nearby to ensure the candles did not set the tree alight. Colorful wrapped presents sat on the floor in front of the tree.

  He was without words. Angeline had seen to all this while he lay abed sick, miserable, and feeling sorry for himself. If he loved her before, now the emotion increased a thousand fold.

  “Angeline, the tree is beautiful. This entire room.”

  He gazed at her stunning, expectant face. How gorgeous was she framed in the golden light. For ton
ight she’d banished the widow’s weeds and again wore the cranberry gown. Her hair was swept up in an attractive style. Holly berries were woven through her coiffure, giving her a decidedly festive appearance. He wanted to kiss her, hold her, and love her for the rest of his life.

  Peter’s squeal of delight pulled his thoughts from Angeline’s breath-robbing beauty.

  “Uncle Bran!”

  The child ran to him and thrust himself into Bran’s arms. He lifted him high above and whirled about in a circle, causing Peter to laugh merrily.

  “Bran, you shouldn’t—”

  “I feel fine Angeline, better than I have felt in years.” He kissed the boy on the cheek and set him down.

  Peter pointed above Bran and Angeline. “Look, mistletoe!”

  Bran followed the direction of Peter’s finger.

  Ah. Perhaps I will receive a kiss after all.

  He stepped closer to Angeline and cupped her cheeks with his hands.

  “Peter, be a good lad and turn around.” He glanced at William with a raised eyebrow and the young man turned away, a slight smile on his face.

  “Bran, we shouldn’t—”

  “Tonight is not a night for ‘you shouldn’t or we shouldn’t’, Angeline. And may I say you look beautiful tonight.”

  He lowered his head and his lips barely made contact with hers at first. With a gentle, tender movement he kissed her. Bran waited patiently for her response as he leisurely deepened the kiss. At last Angeline opened and invited him in. His tongue tasted every inch of her mouth, and she enthusiastically returned every thrust and exploration. Peter’s giggles broke the spell. Bran stepped back, his hands still possessively framing her face as his thumbs caressed her flushed cheeks.

  “I asked you to turn away, Peter.” Bran laughed gently.