Prince for Yuletide: A Victorian Christmas Novella Page 3

  “But you do not? You strike me as a quite sociable young lady.”

  “Because I wear a red cloak and hood? That’s rather presumptuous, my lord.”

  “Not at all.” He tilted his head, his eyes very blue behind the white fur of his mask. “You are an accomplished dancer, able to converse and waltz easily. You’re adept at wending your way through large crowds. And you are a charming companion.”

  Eliana felt a blush rise.

  “Thank you.” To cover her confusion—for normally such compliments did not unbalance her—she took a sip of mulled wine.

  Then instantly regretted it, as sour citrus filled her mouth. She swallowed, trying not to cough. At least their host had added a bit of brandy, as was customary, and the liquor warmed the back of her throat.

  Count Nikolai took a drink from his own glass, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. He had a strong throat, and she liked the line of his jaw, what she could see of it behind the mask. She wondered what the rest of his features looked like, then an instant later scolded herself for such shallow musings.

  The worth of a person was not in their looks, after all, but in their hearts and minds, in their conduct and humor.

  She should know.

  How many men had fallen in love with her, declaring she was their perfect muse, all because of her pretty face and smile? In fact, she felt increasingly sure that none of her suitors had cared to dig much below the surface to discover who Miss Eliana Banning truly was. Why bother, when she would look so well as a wife upon their arms?

  Sometimes she wished she had not been born quite so cheerful and outgoing—not to mention pretty—but was instead more like her sister, whose quiet competence had carried her into a brilliant match.

  “Why so pensive?” Count Nikolai asked. “I agree the wine is dreadful, but surely there is a cure for such a terrible taste.”

  “I believe there’s a table with sweets at the other end of the room,” she said.

  “I find our conversation sweeter still,” he said, then let out a short laugh. “You must forgive my flattery. It seems the wolf has been quite tamed by Mademoiselle Red.”

  She blushed again, hoping her red silk mask concealed the reaction. Heavens, this wolfish lord made her feel like a starry-eyed debutante, not a young lady with two Seasons’ worth of flirtations behind her.

  “I’m not sure what I would do with a pet wolf,” she said. “It’s probably better to set you free in the woods, instead.”

  His eyes flashed. “Is it better to live tame and cared for, or free and lonely?”

  The question pricked at her, echoing as it did her recent dissatisfactions.

  “Can’t one have both freedom and contentment?” she asked.

  “One might, but perhaps not in this society.” His voice had turned from teasing to thoughtful. “There are always expectations, as you know.”

  Yes, she did. Every year she found herself more hemmed in by those expectations: to make an excellent match, to be a companionable wife, to remain cheerful and bright no matter her mood. To be the Eliana that society had branded her.

  Who was she truly, outside of that cocoon? Who did she want to be? She feared that if she ran away to the woods to find out, she would die of exposure. Or loneliness.

  Eliana shook herself and gave the count a wry smile. “I did not mean for our conversation to become quite so sober. Normally I’m more pleasant company, I assure you.”

  He tilted his head, regarding her. “Sometimes the cover of anonymity allows us to speak the truth most clearly. You needn’t hide who you truly are, or what you feel.”

  He was too perceptive, and her own thoughts were too muddled to speak clearly of.

  “What are you hiding, Lord Nikolai?”

  For a moment he said nothing, his pale blue eyes studying her intently. “At this moment, I am hiding only the fact that I would like to kiss you.”

  She would have taken it as flirtation, except for the seriousness of his tone.

  “Now that you’ve spoken it, it’s hardly a secret.” She flipped her scarlet fan open and began fluttering it before her face.

  “It is our secret, between the two of us. But I see I’ve offended you, Mademoiselle Red. My apologies. Despite my costume this evening, I am not a wolfish gentleman.”

  Still fanning herself, Eliana glanced at him. She was not sure she believed him—there was something dangerously masculine in the way he looked at her. Though perhaps it was the Russian way. At any rate, her heart was beating far too quickly for comfort.

  4

  Their gazes locked, and Eliana felt herself falling into the blue of his eyes. What was happening to her? This reserved wolf was not at all the type of gentleman she’d envisioned meeting this evening. Or, perhaps, ever.

  A commotion at the doorway of the refreshment room made her blink and look away, both relieved and disappointed by the distraction. A maskless fellow had rushed in, cheeks flushed and hair damp.

  “It’s snowing!” he announced. “Nice, big flakes, too. Perfect for wishing upon. Come out, everyone.”

  “Lord Whitcomb,” Eliana said. “Always looking for the fun in everything. No doubt he and his cronies have started a pile of snowballs to pelt the unwary.”

  Count Nikolai’s lips twitched up in a smile. “If it just started snowing, then I doubt he’s been able to gather sufficient ammunition. Now is the perfect time to venture outside and watch the snow fall. Shall we?”

  He set his mostly untouched wine aside, rose, and offered his arm.

  Should she accept? Slowly, Eliana put down her own glass of wine. The count must have sensed her hesitation, for he leaned closer and lowered his voice.

  “Mademoiselle Red, despite my appearance, I assure you I do not bite. Nor will I attack you with a snowball or attempt to stuff snow down the back of your cloak. But I would like to see the snowfall. It will remind me of home.”

  The wistfulness in his tone, more than anything, prompted her to rise and slip her arm through his.

  “How long has it been since you’ve been in Kiev?” she asked.

  “A very long time.” His voice held a wry note.

  She wondered what had sent him from his home, but she was too much of a lady to pry. They barely knew one another, after all.

  “I take it you’ve been traveling about Europe?” she asked instead.

  “I’ve been living abroad for some years, yes. Would you care to fetch your pelisse before stepping outside?”

  She glanced at the drawing room where the butler had taken charge of everyone’s outer garments, and shook her head at the line already forming.

  “We won’t be out long. Unless you’re worried about your fur?”

  “I believe wolves are used to the snow. But what of your cloak? Will the snow not mar the velvet?”

  She paused at the side door leading into the garden and untucked her hand from the crook of his elbow.

  “Simple.” She untied the cloak and whirled it about, a flutter of bright red, then resettled it inside-out upon her shoulders.

  The lining was more durable than the silk velvet, which brushed softly against her bare arms. The cloak began to slip, and he caught the edge, his fingers grazing her shoulder. The contact made heat flare under her skin. Seemingly oblivious to how his touch affected her, he pulled the cloak closed and helped her fasten it.

  “You are a resourceful woman,” he said.

  The compliment warmed her, and distracted her from her giddy reaction to his nearness. No one ever said she was resourceful or clever—they reserved those words for her sister. No, Eliana was beautiful and charming and witty, and she was growing rather tired of it.

  The count held the door open, and a gust of cool air blew in. One or two snowflakes drifted past the threshold, melting immediately in the overly warm, perfumed air of the town house. Eliana could hardly wait to step outside.

  The babble of voices and strains of music from the dance floor quieted as Count Nikolai closed th
e door behind them. As Eliana had suspected, they were not the only guests to slip out to enjoy the sight of the snow. She need not fear for her virtue—not when nearby was a gaggle of young ladies dressed like flowers, and a shepherdess and shepherd a little beyond them.

  She and the count walked a few paces into the garden. The bushes wore a dusting of snow like powdered sugar on a cake, and the peculiar silence of snowfall descended about them. Even the giggling young ladies’ voices were muffled, though Eliana could still see them lifting their hands to the sky and sticking out their tongues, trying to catch the huge, fluffy flakes drifting down.

  It felt as though they’d stepped into a different world, far removed from the whirl and expectations of London. A world where she could listen to her own thoughts, her own heartbeat, and make her own choices.

  Something cool and soft landed against her cheek, just below the edge of her mask.

  “Make a wish,” Count Nikolai said. “Quickly, before it melts.”

  “I wish—”

  He set his finger to her lips, the heat of his touch like fire against her mouth. Startled, she glanced up at him.

  “Don’t speak it aloud, or it won’t come true. Hurry.” Count Nikolai removed his finger from her mouth. The sensation of his touch lingered, like a drop of brandy burning on her lips.

  I wish I might find someone who loves me, Eliana, for who I could be and not who they assume I am. She put all the recent fierce longing of her soul into the wish.

  His gaze still fixed on her face, his eyes widened. “That looked like a fearsome wish, indeed. I would not want to be your enemy.”

  The blush heating her cheeks surely must have melted the snowflake. “It was not that kind of wish.”

  Even behind the mask, she could see his brows rise. “In that case, I think I would want to be your friend.”

  “It wasn’t that kind of a wish, either,” she said tartly. Though perhaps it was. Not that it was any of his business. “Aren’t you going to wish for something?”

  “What makes you think I didn’t?”

  She pulled her cloak closer about her shoulders. “What good is this game if you don’t know what the other person wished for?”

  He let out a breath, a puff of white in the snowflake-crowded air. “Very well. I’ll tell you mine, but then it will not come true.”

  “You can’t know that. Wishes are magic.” The snow gently swirling about them seemed to dance in agreement.

  “You’ll see I’m right.” A self-deprecating tilt to his lips, he leaned forward and lowered his voice. “I wished to kiss you.”

  She should bid him a curt good evening and whisk herself back into the house. Miss Eliana Banning would certainly do so. But she was weary of being the vivacious yet proper Miss Banning. For just this night, this moment, she could be Mademoiselle Red.

  She could be daring, and serious, and a tiny bit wicked.

  The bouquet of young ladies had gone back into the house, and the few other people in the garden were blurred shapes, concealed by the thickly falling snow.

  She took a step forward, until she could feel the heat of his body brushing against hers. Oh, she was reckless, but she didn’t care.

  “I told you, wishes are magic,” she said, tilting her face up. “I grant your wish.”

  He sucked in his breath, as if he might argue. Then, before either of them could reconsider, he bent and pressed his lips to hers.

  Her hands went to his shoulders and she leaned in, her senses whirling like the snowflakes. Gently, she parted her lips, and his tongue dipped inside. She tasted cloves and oranges, heat and desire.

  In a sudden movement, he gathered her close against him. The nose of his mask bumped against the side of her face, but she didn’t mind. It was a small nuisance balanced against the extraordinary sensation of his kiss.

  Sparks raced through her, flaming mirror-images of the snow falling around them, but contained—barely—within her body. Fire, and the taste of his tongue, and a dizzying whirl inside her head that made her clutch his shoulders for balance.

  He was kissing her. Her. Not merry, pretty, sometimes shallow Eliana Banning, but the girl inside. The one who was now emerging, who wanted to make her own decisions instead of going along with Society’s expectations.

  The one who had spent the best evening of her life dancing and conversing with a masked man who didn’t even know her name.

  He held her tightly against him, and every inch of her said yes, over and over, lost in his arms. Their breaths mingled, and their hearts seemed to settle into the same rhythm. Nothing else mattered but this endless moment, a perfect rushing of heat and cold, of light and dark, of man and woman.

  They could have stood there, kissing, until they were covered with snow, until the night wore into dawn and the last invisible stars set. But the door opened, loudly disgorging Lord Whitcomb and his boisterous group of friends into the garden.

  Count Nikolai pulled back, and the rush of cold air against her lips made Eliana want to weep with a sudden sense of loss. His mask was dislodged, and she caught a glimpse of his handsome face; the planes of his cheeks descending to a strong jaw.

  “Have we met, sir?” she asked, peering up at him through a sudden flurry. “You look familiar.”

  “I don’t believe so.” He let her go and adjusted his mask, bringing the wolf’s face down over his own once more. “Certainly I would have remembered a woman of your particular wit, Mademoiselle Red.”

  There was something in his tone that didn’t quite ring true, and her heart beat faster with hope. Had they somehow, impossibly, met before? She almost told him her name, just to be certain, but the rowdy fellows began pelting one another with snowballs. She and the count were not in imminent danger, but the air felt suddenly much colder.

  Eliana shivered, and he was instantly beside her, slipping one arm about her shoulders.

  “Time we went in,” he said. “It’s ungentlemanly of me to have kept you outside so long.”

  “It was worth it.” Somehow, she felt transformed, as though that kiss had been the key to unlock the door to her new self. She smiled at him and tried to keep her teeth from chattering.

  He raised his hand to her cheek, then frowned when she shivered once more.

  Somehow, in the space of just a few minutes, he’d whisked her inside and installed her in a comfortable armchair before a fire in a parlor he’d commandeered for her use.

  “Fetch the lady a drink,” Count Nikolai said to the footman he’d waylaid on their way inside. “And none of that wretched mulled wine, but something palatable.”

  “Very good, my lord.” The man bowed and hurried away.

  The old Eliana would have protested that it was improper to be alone in the parlor, then made some kind of bright remark to take the sting from her words. But she trusted Count Nikolai and the improbable, yet undeniable, connection she felt between them.

  “I apologize for freezing you half to death,” he said, going to poke up the fire. “I hope you don’t catch a chill. Now, remove your slippers.”

  “You’re quite imperious,” she said, nevertheless bending to undo the laces of her footwear. Her toes were rather cold.

  He dropped to his knees and gently drew off her slippers, and the feel of his hands on her feet made sparks tingle through her once more. He pulled a nearby footstool over in front of the hearth, then gently positioned her feet before the flames.

  That a wary wolf would treat her so tenderly made her nearly swoon back in the chair.

  “Thank you,” she said, trying not to sigh the words.

  Count Nikolai took the second armchair set before the hearth and gazed into the fire. His mouth set into a tight line beneath the mask, as though his thoughts had taken a grim turn.

  “I hope you’re not regretting that I granted your wish,” she said.

  “I don’t regret that kiss in the slightest.” His voice held a touch of coolness, however, that made her doubtful.

  “You mus
t think me rather forward, I suppose.”

  Although she had shared illicit kisses in shadowed corners with certain suitors, it never went further than that. None of those kisses, however, had made her feel the way Count Nikolai’s had—as if her body were the wick of a candle, with a bright flame dancing upon it.

  He turned to face her, and she wished she could pull off his mask and read his face.

  “I’m only sorry that our brief acquaintance must end tonight,” he said. “Under other circumstances, I believe we might have been friends.”

  His words were like a blow to the chest, and she sucked in a wounded breath. “Must it end?”

  “Yes. I’ll escort you back to the ballroom, and then I must take my leave.”

  Before she could ask why, or implore him to stay, the footman returned with a small glass of brandy.

  “I hope this will suitable to your needs,” he said, handing it to Eliana. “Will there be anything more?”

  “Nothing more,” she said. “You may go.”

  The footman bowed and left the room. She watched him leave, then turned to the count.

  “What if the servants say something?” she asked.

  “We are incognito,” he said. “Almost no one in London knows me, or that I am currently visiting. Finish your brandy, and I’ll escort you back to the ballroom in plenty of time to preserve your reputation.”

  “And then it will be farewell?”

  “Yes.” There was an implacable note in his voice.

  For a mad moment, she thought of lifting her mask and introducing herself, of asking him to call upon her and see if, indeed, they could be friends.

  But that was a fruitless notion. He’d already said he was leaving on the morrow, and that their time together that evening was at an end. She had enough self-respect not to throw herself at him, pleading that he stay a little longer. And how foolish was that impulse? She hardly knew the man.

  Instead she took a quick swallow of brandy, then pulled her now-warm feet from the footstool and fished about for her damp slippers.