The Holly and the Thistle Read online

  “Yes, my lady,” the nurse said. She took the baby from Emily but paused at Lady Ormond’s side, allowing her to kiss her sleeping child’s cheek before he was carried to the nursery.

  The footman, who’d been standing patiently behind her, handed Lady Ormond a small wrapped box that she gave to her son. “Henry, here’s your Christmas gift.”

  The toddler’s stubby fingers were soon struggling with the silver-wrapped box tied with red velvet ribbon. William moved to help the boy unwrap the gift, and soon a small wooden horse emerged.

  “No surprise there,” Griffen Lambeth said. “Not with all the horse lovers in the Ormond family.”

  While Henry was playing with the horse, William took a box from his coat and handed it to the boy still on his lap. He glanced at Henry’s father. “A wee toy for the lad from Scotland.”

  Ormond nodded his approval, and Henry set his horse on the table. He tore into his newest gift, and from the discarded wrapping paper emerged a small wooden schooner, its sails furled. The toy was intricately made but sturdy enough for the young child. On the hull of the miniature ship was carved a thistle.

  “It’s beautiful,” said Emily.

  Everyone around the table strained to see the new toy, and there were many exclamations of, “Well done!”

  Henry squealed in delight. He held his new present up with a wide smile then grabbed his wooden horse off the table and held it high in his other hand.

  Lady Ormond smiled. “That was a thoughtful thing to do, Mr. Stephen. You’ll make a sailor out of him yet.”

  “All boys like boats, Lady Ormond,” the Scotsman answered. “Pretend you’re at sea,” he said in the child’s ear, giving young Henry a bounce on his knee. It was very unlikely the toddler had any concept of being at sea, but he was delighted at being bounced about, and that brought many chuckles from the guests.

  The nurse finally claimed the oldest of the Ormond boys. The adults retired to the parlour for eggnog with brandy, for those who wanted it, and for the fellowship of merry friends. Elizabeth Lambeth played the piano, and the guests who had voices to do so sang Christmas carols.

  William’s beautiful tenor shone among them. Emily was amazed as he joined in a rousing version of “Hark, the Herald Angels Sing.” The man was tender with children, and he was warm company for her friends who clearly enjoyed him, and her heart began to soften despite her resolve to stay aloof. Her eyes flicked from William to those gathered around the piano to the countess sitting in front of the fire, a cup of wassail in her hand and a smug cat-that-ate-the-pigeon look on her face. Emily went to join her.

  “You could do worse, Emily,” the countess whispered, leaning close. “You have done worse.”

  “I’m not in the market for a husband, Muriel, and well you know it.”

  “Perhaps you should be. Men like William Stephen don’t arrive in London every day.”

  “You would see me in Scotland?”

  “I would see you happy, my dear,” said the countess, reaching out to pat Emily’s hand. “That man”—the countess’s gaze traveled to where William stood singing—“can make you happy.”

  * * *

  With the hood up, William drove his cabriolet slowly back to Emily’s townhouse, wanting to prolong their time together. He’d enjoyed the evening they’d spent with the Ormonds and their friends. He hadn’t even minded that everyone was English. Odd, that. Or perhaps it was Emily. Just being near her gave him a sense all was right in his world. As he’d watched her holding the youngest of Ormond’s children, imagining her holding his own child had not been difficult.

  They entered the quiet townhouse. “I gave the servants the night off to be with their families,” Emily said. “Only one footman is here, and I suspect he’s entertaining himself with the wassail made this afternoon.”

  When she turned to bid him good night, he had other plans. “Will you offer me a brandy before I must leave?”

  She smiled and directed him into the parlour. “After hearing your wonderful carol singing, I think you deserve a brandy.”

  “Ah, you didn’t mind my croaking?” he asked.

  “You are too modest, sir. You sing well.”

  He shut the door, closing them in with a crackling fire. The footman must have put a log on before leaving for his wassail. Excellent.

  Emily poured him a brandy and herself a small glass of port. Her skin glowed in the firelight as she handed him the amber liquor.

  “Sit with me,” he said, indicating the seat on the sofa next to him.

  She sat at the other end of the sofa. “What would you be doing if you were back in Scotland now?” she asked.

  “Nothing so different than what we did today. On Hogmanay, however, if the weather allows I travel to my father’s home in Aberdeen. I spend the afternoon with my parents, my brother and his wife and my sister Aileen—and the children of course. Friends would come by as well.”

  William gave her time to finish her port; then he set down his brandy on the side table and took her glass from her hand and placed it next to his. “Come here, leannan.”

  She eyed him defiantly. “Don’t you think that term is a bit familiar for someone you only met a week ago?”

  “I might agree with you, except my intentions toward you are quite honorable, Emily. And quite serious.” Then he reached over and pulled her into his arms. He could give her no moment to think.

  * * *

  Emily regretted drinking the port, having consumed the glass of wine with dinner and the sherry before. She’d already known how little resistance she had to the Scotsman, and indulging in a bit of wine was a mistake where he was concerned if she hoped to keep her distance.

  When he kissed her, she melted into the heat of his broad chest. It was like sitting in the sun on a warm summer day and being lulled into contentment. So it was with William’s kisses. Warm and soft and oh, so gentle. She didn’t want to move. Ever.

  His warm lips trailed down her throat and his hand cupped her breast, so gently she barely felt it at first. Then he began to move his thumb over the sensitive flesh, and she moaned. Sir Thomas had been a brute, a crashing cymbal of a man. William was a soft violin. It was too hard to think when he touched her like this, but oh, she loved the way he made her feel.

  “We are good together, grá mo chroí, love of my heart,” William said between kisses, his Scottish burr rising to the surface.

  Emily’s head swam. William held her and kissed her. He laid her back on the pillows of the sofa. She wrapped her arms about his neck, her fingers in his chestnut waves of hair. His weight felt right pressed against her; he made her feel feminine.

  “I want you, leannan, not just tonight but for all the nights you have to give.”

  She knew what William was asking, what he wanted. And perhaps he didn’t mean it for always, but for tonight she would be his. She was tired of fighting her desire to be with William this way. Perhaps the virtuous widow could fall just one night. “I want you, too.”

  William stood and lifted her into his arms as if she weighed nothing. He opened the door of the parlour with one hand and carried her up the stairs.

  “Which room?”

  Emily pointed to the door of her bedchamber. William opened it, kicked the door closed with his boot and carried her to the bed. The room was bathed in light from the fireplace and from a candle. Emily’s stomach was all nerves. She had never been with a man like this one and she knew little of lovemaking. Sir Thomas’s meager efforts had been most disappointing.

  “Let me undress you, my love.”

  The man knew something about women’s clothing, and in no time he had her gown, gloves, corset and chemise dispensed with. Her stockings he left on, but he dropped her shoes to the floor. He took the pins from her hair and slipped his fingers through the long black tendrils.

  “Your hair is like a night without stars and is as soft as mist on heather.”

  No man had ever spoken thus to Emily. William’s words were like a sw
eet balm to her soul. For a moment he stared at her, and she tried to calm her beating heart—and to ignore she was naked before the brawny Scot.

  “Even more beautiful than I believed,” he rasped.

  In less than a minute he’d discarded his clothing and joined her, pressing his warm, muscled body into hers as he pulled the cover atop them. His scent of man, the sea and bold adventure enveloped her. He felt so good, and her body responded to his gentle touches, wanting more. But she was nervous, anticipation and fear coursing through her. It had been over three years since she’d known a man, and her husband was hardly a lover one could commend.

  “I want to love you, Emily,” William whispered. “I have wanted you since the first time I met you.”

  She whispered his name as his moving hands sent shivers down her spine. Her softness embraced his hard body and soon they were joined. Moving together, it was not long before they arrived as one at the peak of pleasure, and when the passion subsided, Emily lay drained in William’s arms, vaguely aware she’d just done something that she wouldn’t have believed possible.

  He stroked her face and lay beside her, then drew close and placed her head on his chest just under his chin. Then he repeated his promise of earlier. “Before you say anything, mo chroi, know that I love you. From the very beginning, I have wanted you to share not just my bed, but my life.”

  He said no more.

  * * *

  The thought occurred to Emily upon waking that perhaps she’d dreamed the whole episode. She was alone in her bed, and there was no sign of William. But she could smell his male essence on her pillow, and she remembered vividly their night together.

  Rising on one elbow, she found her aching head told her she had been a bit too free with wine around the Scotsman. Other parts of her body confirmed she had violated more rules than that one.

  There was nothing for it but to rise and greet the day. A hot bath to start, and then, if her head and stomach allowed, some breakfast. Today was Boxing Day and there was much to do. It was the custom to give gifts to those who had given good service in the prior year, and Emily always followed the gifts with eggnog served in carved wooden mugs. She would worry later about sending William back to his shipbuilding enterprise in the Highlands. And when he was gone, she would tend her broken heart. While he’d made love to her, William had whispered Scottish endearments and told her he loved her. Nevertheless, she had decided years ago she would not entwine her life with another man, and she had no intention of changing that decision. Their night together would be a cherished memory, but it was best he go.

  When breakfast was done and the servants assembled in the drawing room, Emily presented each with a gift: a warm shawl for Sarah, Harrison’s favorite bottle of rare brandy and a woolen scarf, to each of her footmen a new waistcoat. Her cook received a fancy mobcap she had been admiring. And to all, a few coins to spend on themselves or their families, because Emily wanted to make sure it was a very happy Christmas.

  The presents distributed and the last of the eggnog consumed, Emily slid onto the soft sofa in front of the fire in her parlour, her tea in her hand, to consider the day. Shaking off the memory of the night before and all it could mean, she reminded herself she had baskets to take to the orphanage in St. George’s Fields. Afterward, perhaps the countess might like to attend the pantomime at the Drury Lane theatre where the clown Joseph Grimaldi was performing this Christmastide.

  She had just set her tea aside and was settling down to write Muriel a note when Harrison appeared at the door.

  “Yes?”

  “My lady, Mr. Stephen has arrived and wishes to pay a call.”

  Her thoughts scattered, and somewhat nervously she replied that the Scotsman should be shown in.

  Moments later, William’s broad shoulders once again filled her doorway. Emily hardly knew what to say. She suppressed the sudden desire to fly into his arms, and the conflicting one of hiding her face in shame.

  “’Tis Boxing Day, is it not?” he said with a broad grin.

  “Why, yes.” What could it matter to him, a Scot, who lived so far away?

  “Am I not a most efficient procurer of Madeira?” Here the man had the audacity to wink at her. “That being the case, and I am certain it is, I’m to receive a boon for my good service, am I not?”

  She nodded, wondering what he had in mind. The tension between them this morning was palpable. It was raw energy.

  “A ride in my carriage perhaps? Or, if you’d rather stay in, a brandy with you by the fire?”

  She let out a small breath of relief. Perhaps he would not embarrass her by mentioning her fall from grace last night. “Well, I suppose I might have…inadvertently forgotten you among those I rewarded this day,” she admitted with a small smile. “Do come in, William, and sit by the fire. I will pour the brandy myself.”

  * * *

  William knew Emily was fighting her feelings for him, pretending they were still only acquaintances when now they were so much more; the countess had warned him her friend wanted no more of marriage. That is why, he told himself, he’d made love to her: to demonstrate what was between them, and as an affirmation of his love. He was no animal and could have waited, but he was determined to prove to her he was not one of her suitors to be idly cast aside. Her flesh was now bonded to his in a way she would not forget. Though unlikely, there might even be a child from their night together. He’d taken no precautions, since he wanted a child as soon as she’d give him one. He suspected she would deny that possibility, too.

  William reviewed the plans in his mind for his ship to leave London’s harbor on Hogmanay, the last day of the year. She must be on it when he sailed for Scotland. It would be the end of the year but the beginning of their life together. With the countess’s help, he’d arranged for a special license and a vicar to attend them before he sailed. But would Emily be there as well?

  Though he regretted it, he knew she might have to shed tears before she came to terms with her heart. But in the end, she would be his. If he caused her pain in the process, he would have a lifetime to make it up to her.

  He took the brandy she offered and settled into the sofa next to her. When she edged away he asked, “So you’ve chosen to sit by the fire with me?”

  “To begin with, yes. But I’ve baskets to take to the orphanage for the children. And I’d considered attending the pantomime at the Drury Lane theatre. It’s nearly a Boxing Day tradition.”

  “I’ll go anywhere with you, leannan, though my preference would be to spend the afternoon kissing you.”

  He bent close and kissed her temple, and he was gratified to feel her shiver. Obviously, she was not immune to his kisses. After last night, he knew that, of course; there had been great passion between them.

  Patience, he reminded himself. After all, he was reeling in a very skittish fish.

  * * *

  Emily loved the children at the orphanage and regretted deeply the name the founders had chosen. She visited the Asylum for Deserted Orphans several times a year, sometimes to read to them and sometimes to bring them baked goods or clothing they might need. Today was one of those days. With William’s help, the baskets were soon unloaded and distributed to the children.

  “Bless you for doing this, my lady,” said the matron in charge of the facility. “’Twill bring the little ones joy. They did have a nice Christmas dinner, but the new clothing and warm scarves will be most welcome.”

  “I like to see them dressed warmly,” said Emily, “particularly as winter comes on.”

  William had engaged the older boys in lighthearted horseplay, a game of tag, and Emily watched. The Scotsman seemed to enjoy himself, and clearly the boys liked having a man participate in their games. Some men, she thought, were just overgrown children. Not William. He could be at home with children while never losing that fully adult and masculine presence. At ease with himself, he made others feel at ease with him. A rare man, he stood among the best.

  They spent so long
at the orphanage that they never did attend the theatre, but Emily enjoyed herself all the more, so much so she invited William to stay for dinner. He would be leaving soon, and she wanted him to share in the pleasure of the season while he could.

  At least that was what she told herself.

  * * *

  William left Emily alone for a few days while he paid a call on Ormond and made some business arrangements for his crew that would soon be sailing into London. He wanted to give her space in which to think following their excursion and dinner on Boxing Day, and he also decided to consider again what it would mean to take an English bride. His father could be difficult and no doubt would be.

  He remained determined. Despite his concerns, he would not forsake the woman he loved, not even for the family business, and not for his father’s approval. But now the time had arrived for Emily to confront the decision he hoped would change her life forever.

  He glanced up at the clear sky. At least it wasn’t raining. The weather had turned unseasonably warm, but he made sure his cabriolet carried a lap blanket should it become cold. He had sent his card to Emily’s townhouse early in the day, adding a message that he would be by at two to take her for a ride in Hyde Park. He had to risk she would agree.

  Harrison showed him into the parlour, only the faintest hint in his expression indicating that William was now considered a regular visitor to the house. Emily was waiting by the fire. When she looked up, her face lit with joy. A tide of similar emotion swept through William, knowing he’d been missed, knowing she was glad to see him.

  “Emily, have you decided to finally grant me my request for a ride in the park? I seem to recall Rotten Row the place to be seen.”

  She laughed briefly. “So you know that custom of the ton, do you?”

  “It was all those hours I spent with Ormond.”

  “Ah, yes, I’d forgotten. He’s a man who takes pride in his horseflesh.”

  “We Scots love our horses, too, my lady.”

  “Well, then, I look forward to our ride.”

  William did have a very fine Thoroughbred pulling his cabriolet—one of Ormond’s, in fact. Emily settled in next to him on the seat, and he covered her legs with the blanket.