In all the books she’d read, and in all the whispering, giggling conversations Clarissa had shared with her married friends and sisters, nothing had prepared her for the intensity, the passion, the purity of Lord Wyckburg’s kiss.
Her heart soared, and she knew, at long last, she was home. The man she’d sought among the suitors in London was here, kissing her as if he’d never let her go. He slid his arms around her and pulled her against his solid chest. She clung to him, praying he’d never stop. Warmth and tenderness swept over her.
“My lord,” Aunt Tilly’s voice broke in. “Really, I must protest!”
Clarissa swallowed a moan. Lord Wyckburg ended the kiss, but his lips moved first to her eyelids and then her forehead. With a sigh, he drew back. Cold air rushed in where his warm body had been seconds ago.
Christopher’s eyes glowed with quiet joy and tenderness. “I’d apologize, but I’m afraid I’m not sorry, not one bit.”
Neither am I, she wanted to say, but instead summoned a playful smile. “We could blame the mistletoe.”
He brushed a finger over her cheek. “I’ve wanted to do that all day.” Sorrow returned, and he closed his eyes. “What am I doing?” He stepped back and cleared his throat.
Clarissa flushed, realizing they were the focus of everyone in the room. That kiss had gone way beyond the acceptable mistletoe kind and had bordered on impropriety. But she didn’t care. She wanted more. Much more.
Christopher cleared his throat again. “Forgive me. I am not in the habit of assaulting young ladies, not even under mistletoe.”
“Isn’t mistletoe wonderful?” Clarissa sad. “It’s resilient and verdant even in the darkest winter. Perhaps we can learn something from it.”
He turned tortured eyes on her and her attempt at levity crashed to the floor. “Miss Fairchild, you must know that you’ve touched my heart in a way I thought I’d never feel again. But I cannot ever offer you a future. I refuse to bury another wife.”
Clarissa gaped. He’d as good as told her he wanted to marry her, but the curse stood in the way. She considered a life with him. What had seemed restrictive and dull with other men now appeared bright, with endless new discoveries and beautiful possibilities—only with him. In but a few hours, this man had touched her heart as none other. No wonder his late wife had been willing to take a chance.
Now more than ever, she had to find a way to break the curse and convince him to take another chance on love. With her.
She squared her shoulders, raised her chin. “Then we must double our efforts to find a way to end the curse.”
“Even if we do, I won’t risk your life testing whatever solution we find. The danger is too great.” He turned away.
She rested a hand on his back, and he tensed, but didn’t step away. She whispered, “Christopher.”
His shoulders heaved. “I had the carriage modified to a sledge. Tomorrow, unless it’s stormy, I’ll take you home so you can celebrate the rest of Christmas with your family.” He nodded to Aunt Tilly and strode out of the room.
Clarissa let her hand fall as his rejection fully sank in. He wasn’t just denying himself; he was denying her. Her throat thickened. Servants drifted out, bidding her a joyous Christmas. The footman with the mistletoe gave her a cheeky grin.
The housekeeper, whose name she’d learned was Mrs. March, stopped next to her. “Thank you, miss, for bringing a smile to my lord, and for bringing Christmas back the castle.” Her mouth curved into an awkward smile before she strode quickly away.
Moments later, Clarissa and Aunt Tilly were were left alone in the festive room.
Aunt Tilly stared at her. “Curse?”
Clarissa related everything she knew about the curse. “Do you think it possible Great-grandmother Fairchild knows anything of it?”
Aunt Tilly put her hand on her head. “A curse? Impossible.”
“Then explain why every countess has died only months after bearing a son.”
“The lords murdered them.” But her voice lacked conviction.
“I don’t believe that. Not anymore. Do you really think Lord Wyckburg is a murderer?”
“I admit, after meeting him, he seems gentle and kind. Sad. Not sinister.” She heaved a sigh. “I suppose a curse isn’t any more difficult to believe than a legacy of murder.”
“Something is going on. And I refuse to leave Chri—er, Lord Wyckburg, to face a lifetime of loneliness. I must help him.”
Aunt Tilly tilted her head. “What, exactly, do you feel for him?”
“Oh, Aunt Tilly, I’ve never felt this way before. Of all the suitors I’ve had in London, none has made me feel this way.” She gestured around her. “And look what he did for us. For a man who’d never celebrated Christmas before in his life to have gone to so much trouble… it’s beyond kind and generous. It’s heroic.”
“It is, indeed. Clearly, he’s a good man.”
Clarissa sat down and took Aunt Tilly’s hand. “I love him, aunt. I know it’s mad, and I know we’ve just met, but I vow I’ll have him and no other.”
Aunt Tilly drew in a breath. “Your father will have something to say about it, considering what everyone believes about the Wyckburg lords. And it sounds as though Lord Wyckburg may be equally hard to convince.”
“Leave that to me.”
Aunt Tilly chuckled and kissed her cheek. “I know that look. Come, off to bed.”
They crossed the main hall toward the stairway. The metallic scraping of a gun cocking sent chills down Clarissa’s spine. She froze. Aunt Tilly gasped.
Standing in the shadows, Henry pointed the barrel of a pistol at her. “I cannot kill the original witch who cursed this family and my sister, but I will take vengeance on you.”
Stunned, Clarissa stared in disbelief. The surreal scene came straight out of a gothic novel. This couldn’t be happening. Too shocked to be afraid, she fell into a state of unnatural calm.
She moistened her lips. “Shooting me won’t bring back your sister, Henry.” She used his Christian name in the attempt to reach him in a personal way.
“It will avenge her death.”
Very softly, she said, “Perhaps, but will it help you find peace?”
He hesitated. “My sister will be avenged.”
“Are you truly prepared to kill?”
The determination in Henry’s face faded, and the gun lowered an inch.
“Henry!” barked Lord Wyckburg. Christopher! Again, her knight had come to save her.
Henry flinched but put a second hand on the gun to hold it steady. “Stay back, Christopher. This is something I have to do.”
“No, you don’t.” Christopher raised his hands and walked slowly toward Henry.
Henry glanced at him. “You do it, then. It could lift the curse.”
“It might.” Christopher took another step toward him. “But what if we kill her and the curse remains? What then?”
“We will have justice!”
“It won’t be justice or even vengeance. It will be murder.”
Henry flinched. Christopher leaped. He sailed through the air and landed on Henry, knocking him down. The gun flew from his hands and slid across the floor. Henry struggled against Christopher who held him tightly. Then Henry went limp. All the fight seemed to leave him. He started weeping. Christopher gathered Henry in his arms and held him. Clarissa stood in shocked silence. Unable to think of anything else to do, she picked up the gun, eyeing at it as if she’d never seen one. This weapon had nearly taken her life. It might have harmed Aunt Tilly or Christopher. Lives could have been shattered if the gun had gone off. If someone had been killed, Henry would be haunted all his life by his actions. He would have faced possible deportation or execution. Christopher would lose his last remaining family member.
All the gothic novels she’d read made this type of event seem thrilling. But it wasn’t. It was horrible. A sob lodged itself in her throat then forced its way out.
Christopher sat talking softly to Henry. After a moment, they both stood. Henry came to Clarissa, head down and shoulders slumped. She couldn’t decide if he was horrified over his actions, or angry he’d failed.
“I’m prepared to face the law for what I tried to do.” He spoke in quiet monotone.
Clarissa gulped back her tears and glanced at Christopher, whose impassive face gave her no clue as to his thoughts. Briefly, his control slipped, revealing grief and inner turmoil. If she turned Henry over to the law, Christopher would have no family. He’d be alone in the world. And Henry was only a grief-stricken boy who hadn’t been thinking clearly.
She handed the gun to Christopher without taking her gaze off Henry. “That won’t be necessary. I can’t pretend to imagine what you’ve lost, but I can see how you must view me as the one responsible for your sister’s death. I won’t swear out a warrant for your arrest.”
Henry drew in a labored breath. “Thank you,” he mumbled. “I’m in your debt. I hope someday you can forgive me.”
“I already have. Just please know I’m not your enemy.”
Henry nodded without looking at her then mounted the stairs as if each step pained him.
“Good heavens,” Aunt Tilly said. “I didn’t think my heart would survive that.” She pulled Clarissa into a rough embrace and kissed her cheek. “You were so brave.”
Lord Wyckburg let out his breath slowly. “How can I ever apologize for that?”
Clarissa touched his arm. “You needn’t apologize. He’s young, he’s hurting, and he’s trying to make sense of it all.”
He put a hand over hers. “You are remarkably compassionate.”
“I did it for you as much as for him.”
Their gazes locked, and he touched her cheek again. “Thank you.”
“Thank you for saving me. He may not have pulled the trigger, but I’m grateful for your intervention. Once again, you are my knight. All you need is the shining armor.” She rose up on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. Then, seeing his arrested expression, boldly kissed his lips.
He went utterly still. He returned her kiss as if he were starving. But then, as before, he pulled away. “We cannot keep doing this.” He glanced at Aunt Tilly, who stared at them with a thoughtful expression.
“Young man, if you insist on kissing my niece, I demand to know what are your intentions toward her?”
He heaved a great breath and closed his eyes. “I’m afraid I cannot act on my desires. My intentions must be nothing more than providing shelter until I can return both of you safely home. Good night.”
He left Clarissa standing alone, more determined than ever to save him.