Kiss Me at Christmas--Playful Brides Read online

  “Come this way,” the marquess said, taking her hand and leading her down a narrow mulched path through the flowers.

  He pulled her deep into the middle of the room where they were quite obscured from view of the door. A skitter of apprehension traced down Regina’s spine. “Wh … where are the roses you wanted to show me? Which ones?”

  “These.” The marquess pointed to some lovely pink ones on the other side of a round stone bench in the center of the space.

  “Oh, those are lovely.” Regina stepped closer. She intended to sniff them, exclaim upon their loveliness once more, and then make her excuses and return to the ballroom. She was quickly regretting her decision to come in the first place. She should have at least waited to find Daffin and inform him where she was going.

  She lifted her skirts to make her way around the stone bench when the marquess’s hand shot out and grabbed her arm. He pulled her into his tight embrace and his mouth came down to crush hers. The scent of alcohol on his breath was overwhelming.

  She struggled in his embrace and managed to pull her mouth away from his. “My lord, you forget yourself.”

  His lips moved to her neck and he rained kisses along her bare skin. “No, I don’t. You knew what I wanted when you agreed to meet me. A woman doesn’t get to your age without knowing about these sorts of things. You shouldn’t be looking for a husband. You should be looking for a protector. I could be such a man for you.”

  Tears sprang to Regina’s eyes. She tried to push him away but he was far too heavy. “You’re mad,” she muttered. “No!” Her mind raced. If she screamed, someone might come running, but she would also be caught in a compromising position and either become an outcast or forced to marry this blackguard. The Earl of Dryden’s apathy would be better than spending the rest of her life with the lecherous Marquess of Morvenwood.

  The next thing she knew, the marquess’s heavy body was pulled away from her and he went sailing through the air, where he landed in a heap on the far side of the bench.

  “The lady said no.” Daffin stood next to Regina, his hands on his hips, his eyes flashing fire. A muscle appeared in his jaw as he stared at the prostrate marquess with daggers for eyes.

  The marquess’s eyes flared. Fear was etched in his features.

  “If I catch you touching her ever again, you’ll be a eunuch within moments, do I make myself clear?” Daffin ground out.

  It was only then that Regina glanced down to note that Daffin had a dagger in his hand. The blade flashed in the candlelight. The marquess nodded shakily, jumped up, and ran past them as quickly as his legs could carry him, his coattails flapping behind him.

  * * *

  Daffin turned to Regina. Her hair was mussed and her gown askew, but she still looked as gorgeous as ever. How dare that piece of rubbish touch her? He wanted to punch the marquess. “Are you all right?”

  Regina nodded shakily. She tugged at her décolletage to set it to rights. “Yes. Thank you.”

  Daffin pulled his handkerchief from his coat pocket and handed it to her. “That bastard better be happy I didn’t slice off his hands.”

  Regina dabbed at her eyes. She was still shaking uncontrollably. “I shouldn’t have come out here with him. Only his wife died and he seemed so sad.” What would she have done if Daffin hadn’t saved her? She shuddered. She didn’t want to think about it.

  “The bastard had no right to do what he did. Your meeting him here did not give him license to accost you like that.”

  “You’re right,” Regina replied with a nod. She handed him his handkerchief.

  “If that bloke is the type of man Lucy Hunt is trying to match you with, I’d say she’s doing a poor job.”

  Regina swallowed hard. “I daresay Lucy had no idea he was capable of that.” Regina walked away and scrubbed her hands up and down her arms. “I never should have come here tonight. You cannot force a love match, especially not under a time limit.”

  Daffin pulled off his coat, stepped forward, and wrapped it around her shoulders.

  “Thank you, I was cold,” she murmured.

  “I could tell.” He cleared his throat. “Why is your uncle unwilling to give you more time to find a husband?”

  Regina shook her head. “He says I’ve had twelve years already. He’s not wrong.”

  Daffin kicked at the mulch with the tip of his boot. “I’m sorry.”

  “You’ve nothing to be sorry for.” Regina wrapped his coat more tightly around her.

  Daffin put his hands on his hips. “I never realized the amount of pressure put on ladies of your social set to make a good match.”

  “It begins at birth, I’m afraid, but I can’t help but wonder if it would all have been different had my parents remained alive.”

  “What happened to your parents?” Daffin asked. He couldn’t help himself. She looked so vulnerable and pretty. He told himself he should stay away from her, but seeing her attacked by that damned marquess had brought out not only his protective side, but apparently his sensitive streak, too. He truly wanted to hear about her parents. Truly wanted to learn more about her.

  “They died in a carriage accident when I was twelve,” Regina replied. “Grandmama raised me after that.”

  He studied her profile for a moment, his gaze tracing the curve of her cheek, her tender mouth, her stubborn chin. Then he inwardly shook himself, stepped closer, and said in a low voice, “My mother was dead by the time I was twelve, too.”

  “Really?” She lifted her face and peered up at him with those bright blue, assessing eyes.

  “Yes.” Why was he telling her this? He’d never told anyone. Why had he told her any of the things he’d already shared with her? Something about her made him feel as if he could trust her. Made him feel as if she wanted to know about him, too. Made him feel noble.

  “What happened to your mother?” Regina asked.

  He paused for a moment, only a moment. Tonight apparently, here in the rose arbor, was a time for confessions. “She was murdered.”

  Regina gasped. “No!” She lifted her hand and grabbed at his wrist. A spark shot down his arm. “I’m sorry, Daffin. That is awful.”

  He briefly closed his eyes. He’d never admitted that to anyone, either. His life. His past. His family. They were subjects he kept tightly guarded. He moved away from her and took a seat on the stone bench.

  “Did your father raise you then?” Regina asked, tiptoeing toward him.

  “No,” Daffin said, “I barely knew my father.” She might have been enamored of him for a moment, thinking he was dashing and charming and handsome, but once she learned the truth about his family, she’d realize her mistake. Perhaps that’s why he was reluctant to tell her.

  Her eyes bright with unshed tears, Regina leaned toward him and placed a warm hand on his arm, just above his elbow. Her touch simultaneously burned him and comforted him. “Is that why you’re a Bow Street Runner?” she asked. “Because your mother was murdered?”

  Just like that, she’d cut to the heart of who he was, why he did what he did. But she didn’t know the truth. She didn’t know why his mother had died or who his mother had been. If she knew that, she’d recoil from him. She’d make her excuses and return to the ballroom as quickly as possible. Instead, she was watching him with real sympathy in her eyes. Real tears. He’d seen enough fake ones over the years from criminals who were only sorry they’d been caught to know real from fake. And she’d touched him. Even now, her hand rested on his. His instinct was to move away. He did not do well with sympathy. It made him want to shrug out of his own skin.

  She finally drew her hand away and stared up at him quietly. She was obviously waiting for him to answer the question she’d posed. A question that burned in his gut. Yes, that was why he was a Bow Street Runner. Because he’d found his mother dead at the bottom of the stairs in their elegant town house, and even at the tender age of eleven, he’d known immediately it hadn’t been an accident. But he damned sure didn’t want to talk ab
out it.

  His answer was a curt nod. He moved to the side of the bench, giving her space to sit next to him.

  “Do you have any brothers or sisters?” she asked, squeezing into the tight space. Her hip brushed against his.

  “No.” It was the best and only answer he would give. None who would claim him. None he would claim.

  “We have that in common then,” Regina replied, “growing up without parents. Without siblings. Were you lonely?”

  Daffin stared unseeing at the canopy of bright pink roses that adorned the nearby white trellis. He’d meant to escort Regina back to the ballroom by now. Why was he still here? Why had he sought her out to begin with? He’d assumed her life had been perfect. She came from one of the best families in the country. He assumed she had been raised by loving parents in a loving household rife with servants and money and cousins and friends and happiness. All things he knew nothing about. He’d been mistaken about her—she’d known sorrow—and he wasn’t used to being mistaken about anything. His instincts were usually dead-on.

  She’d asked if he was lonely. Why did that cause a lump to form in his throat?

  “I suppose so,” he replied quietly.

  “I was, too,” she admitted softly.

  Daffin turned to her. He’d made a mistake, sitting this close to her where he could smell her scent. All he had to do was reach out and touch her, and oh, how he wanted to.

  His mouth lowered toward hers slowly, so slowly, giving her plenty of time to move away. But she didn’t move away. She stared up at him with those big blue eyes and when his lips touched hers, she melted against him. Her arms moved up, pushing his coat off her shoulders, twining around his neck.

  His lips pushed hers apart and his tongue invaded her mouth. She clung to him, making moaning sounds in the back of her throat, while he went rock hard in his breeches. She was responsive and delicious and all the things that made kissing someone good. He kept up his lips’ gentle assault. He couldn’t stop. He was mindless. His hands moved up to cup her face, to keep her mouth melded to his. His lips shaped and molded hers, as if he could never get enough. Minutes later, he finally dragged his mouth from hers. Breathing heavily, he pulled her arms from his neck, clasped her hands, and touched his forehead to hers.

  “What was that?” she breathed.

  “That … was a mistake.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Regina sat silently on the coach ride home. She’d decided not to tell Lucy what had happened with the marquess in the conservatory. It would only worry the duchess and make her ask questions. Questions that might end with her wondering why Regina had been absent from the ballroom for so long. Lucy chattered happily until they reached her house to drop her off.

  “I probably should be worried about your reputation, dear,” Lucy said, eyeing Daffin as she alighted from the coach. “But I suppose you couldn’t be in any safer hands than a bodyguard’s, now could you?”

  Daffin shifted in his seat, while Regina merely forced herself to laugh and thanked the duchess for the attempts to find her a husband, however unsuccessful.

  After Lucy left the coach, silence reigned. Regina stared out the window, trying to make sense of the evening’s activities. She’d been a fool to go into the conservatory in the first place. On the other hand, it had ended in an extremely enjoyable kiss from Daffin. She couldn’t regret that. Only he’d called it a mistake. He’d called it a mistake and quickly escorted her back to the ballroom, where he’d encouraged her to enter one door while he went around to another so they wouldn’t be seen returning together.

  She’d quickly found Lucy and made some inane excuse about where she’d been that she was certain the duchess didn’t believe. They’d left within the hour after it was apparent that Regina was quite through with her husband hunt for the evening.

  She glanced across the seat at Daffin. The side of his face was illuminated in the soft candlelight from the lamp on the coach wall. He looked angry … or determined. His gaze was fastened out the window, no doubt searching for a runaway coach. Did he truly think their kiss had been a mistake? Did he have a sick feeling (in a good way) in his belly when he saw her? Or did that kiss mean nothing to him? Mistake. Mistake. Mistake. The word rang in her head. Sick feeling or no, Daffin Oakleaf obviously didn’t want her.

  The coach pulled to a stop in front of Mark’s town house and Daffin’s shoulders relaxed.

  “No trouble tonight,” Regina breathed.

  Daffin nodded. “Not the kind I expected at least.”

  * * *

  The next morning, Daffin sat behind the desk in Grimaldi’s study. His friend had told him to use the room for any business he needed to conduct while staying at the house. Daffin was hunched over a set of papers, reading notes from another case in which a noblewoman had been targeted. In that case, it had involved ransom. Regina’s and Nicole’s circumstances were different. The intent clearly seemed to be to harm or to frighten … but perhaps he could learn something from the investigative techniques used in the similar case. The last thing he wanted was to put either lady in harm’s way, but how else was he to determine which of them was the target? After last night, he was beginning to wonder if either of them was. Perhaps the time of day mattered. He needed to take Regina out alone, during daylight hours.

  Regina. His concentration was constantly interrupted by thoughts of her. A week ago, if he had been told he had something in common with Lady Regina Haversham, he would have denied it. Now he realized they had more in common than he guessed. She’d been a lonely only child in a house full of adults. She’d been an orphan. She’d surprised him with one revelation after another, culminating in the biggest revelation of all, the fact that she was an excellent kisser. He hadn’t been able to keep his hands off her last night, and that made him the worst sort of cad. The woman had just been accosted in the same room minutes earlier. He’d shown up as her protector, only to prove himself no better than the marquess. She’d been strangely quiet on the ride home. He hadn’t known what to say to her. But he knew now. He owed the lady an apology.

  A light knock interrupted his thoughts. He glanced up to see Regina in the doorway. Today she wore a light pink gown that matched the color in her cheeks. She was gorgeous. He shook off his body’s immediate reaction to her.

  She cleared her throat. “Excuse me. Nicole sent me.”

  Daffin furrowed his brow. “Is everything all right?”

  Regina took a tentative step into the room. “Yes, everything’s fine. She asked me to let you know she needs to go out this afternoon … to the dressmaker’s.”

  “The dressmaker’s?” Daffin echoed.

  “For a fitting,” Regina explained.

  A fitting wasn’t something Nicole could send Regina to do in her stead. They would both have to go. So be it.

  “Yes, Madame Duval,” Regina continued. “Her shop is on Curzon Street.”

  Daffin nodded. “Ah, yes, I know the place. When would Nicole like to go?” He did his best to keep his tone entirely professional.

  “She’s dressing now.”

  “I’m ready, actually,” came Nicole’s bright voice from behind Regina.

  The marchioness swept into the room with a smile on her face. “Good morning, Daffin. I know Mark wants me to stay home as much as possible, but I need new gowns for my confinement. I’m barely able to fit into my current ones.” She patted her belly. “Besides, there have been no carriage incidents for days. I’m beginning to think this entire thing is much ado about nothing.”

  “I’ll call for the coach.” Daffin stood and brushed past the two women. This outing would give him something to concentrate on. Something besides his inconvenient attraction to Regina.

  * * *

  Less than an hour later, they stood outside Madame Duval’s quaint shop. Boughs of holly and fir were strung along the shop fronts on Curzon Street and groups of carolers sang on the corners. Daffin brushed past it all, alert for any sign of someone following them.
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  He’d kept a vigil the entire way to the dressmaker’s, glancing out both sides of the coach and scanning the street for any conveyance that seemed to purposely get too close. Somewhat to his disappointment, the coach ride had yet again been entirely uneventful. He’d like nothing better than to track down the bastard who’d tried to hurt his friends, beat him to a bloody pulp, and send him off to gaol before Christmastide. Then the Colchesters would have peace of mind, and Daffin wouldn’t have to spend the holiday with them, intruding where he didn’t belong.

  The three of them entered the shop where the smell of fabric and lavender surrounded them. The proprietress hurried forth to greet the marchioness and her cousin.

  Nicole smoothed a hand over her middle. “I must go in the back for my fitting. Madame and I won’t be long.” She followed the dressmaker toward the rear of the shop. Regina made to join them, but Nicole shooed her away. “Stay out here, Regina. Keep Daffin company.”

  Regina’s eyes darted to the side. She looked anything but convinced that keeping him company was her best option, but she allowed Nicole and Madame Duval to whisk behind the burgundy velvet curtains in the back of the shop without her.

  Daffin busied himself by standing guard near the front door to look for any sign of someone watching them. Regina folded her hands behind her back and strolled toward the window that faced the street. She sighed. “Nicole is attempting to play matchmaker, but I want you to know I’ve done all I can to discourage her.”

  Daffin smiled. “Did you … tell her about your trip to Bow Street?” he asked, not entirely certain he wanted to know the answer. Damn. Why couldn’t he stop thinking about that proposition? He’d told himself a hundred times to let it go. Obviously, he couldn’t.

  “I did,” Regina admitted, biting her lip in that adorable way of hers. “After the fact.”

  He winced. “I guessed as much.”