Elisabeth Fairchild by The Christmas Spirit Read Free Book Online

cider—”
    “I never drink cider,” he said abruptly, and then mollified his sharpness, saying,
     “Tea has a good brown cider coloring, hasn’t it?” He leaned forward, no smiles now,
     only concern for his guest, and curiosity, as if her opinion really mattered to him.
     How warm and inviting his eyes. How entrancing the intensity of his focus in observing
     her—as if he hung on her every word, her every desire. “Do you like it? I’ve become
     quite fond of Earl Grey’s private blend. I find it something quite out of the ordinary.”
    Like his attention, she savored the scent. “Perfume in a cup,” she whispered.
    “Exactly,” he agreed, closing his eyes as he sipped. “Rather like swallowing the spirit
     of a woman.”
    His words startled her, made her insides as warm and sweet as the tea she imagined
     sliding down his throat as he held his mouth just so, above the cup, holding the taste
     on his tongue as a connoisseur of wines might. She imagined herself wetting a man’s
     lips just so, her spirit savored.
    A tempting thought, elusive and sweet, like an idea not yet formed, like the tea,
     she decided as he drained his cheerfully flowered cup.

Chapter Five
    When the tea was reduced to dregs, the remaining finger sandwiches stiff as corpses
     upon the tray, Copeland asked his guest, “How shall we spend our afternoon? Do you
     care to stretch your legs, or are you in the mood for a hand or two of cards?”
    Nothing too stimulating.
    “We must hang holly, ivy, and mistletoe,” she said, as if it had been long ago decided.
    Copeland’s brows rose in surprise. Henrietta’s brows would have risen as well, to
     hear such a suggestion.
    “It is scratchy, sticky work. Are you sure that is what you wish to do?”
    Her chin rose. The cleft in the apex of that chin drew his attention completely. How
     odd that he should be attracted to, of all things, a woman’s chin. Like a heart, upside
     down, that cleft.
    “In perfect keeping with the Christmas spirit, if it please you,” she said politely,
     and yet he was beset by the notion that she would hang evergreens for her own sense
     of pleasure, not his.
    “By all means,” he said. “You are certainly welcome to decorate if you wish.”
    She smiled, and yet, seemed in some way unhappy.
    “I always helped with the decorations as a child.” He rose from the table. “In this
     very room. Me, Marcus, and James. Margaret, still in leading strings, on the floor
     with her doll.” He could see it. “Garlands. A wreath. Candles. I remember standing
     on Bolton’s ladder . . .”
    An odd feeling—off balance—like teetering at the top of a ladder—like balancing on
     the blade of his ice skates—the same feeling he got whenever he looked into Miss Walcott’s
     eyes, beset him. Sadness wrung his heart, and anticipation.
Like Christmas morning—yes—just like Christmas morning.
    His heart fluttered, reminding him this might be his last Christmas. Funny, he had
     always thought Bolton’s Christmases would end before his. The old gent was twice his
     age, after all. That would be the correct order of things, would it not?
    As if thought summoned him, Bolton appeared in that instant. Copeland suffered a moment’s
     guilt, counting another man’s Christmases. As the butler held wide the door, it occurred
     to Copeland that despite their talking over their cups for more than a quarter of
     an hour, he knew little of the woman whose skirts swayed like a ringing bell before
     him. He must remember to ask her about herself, to voice his growing concern that
     she might be his only guest for the evening—for the holiday, and she without a proper
     chaperone. For now, there was something delightfully festive in informing Bolton,
     “We mean to help with Yuletide decorating.”
    “Do we, indeed, my lord?” Bolton sounded surprised.
    “Just like when we were children.”
    Bolton looked at him a moment, remembering, a slow smile forming. “Very good,