Nicole’s brows drew together. “She is planning to take another husband?”
“Not yet, but I think she will. The estate next to ours is owned by the Sloanes, who have been family friends forever. John Sloane was my father’s best friend, just as Emily was my mother’s. The children of both families grew up together. Emily died three years ago, and now my father is gone too.”
Philip swallowed the last of his drink. “Just before I went to London, John Sloane spoke to me in my capacity as head of the family. He wanted to let me know his intentions for when Mother is out of mourning. He and she have always been very fond of each other. Now he hopes that in time she’ll marry him.”
Philip smiled humorlessly. “It’s an odd experience when a man who has been like an uncle asks one’s blessing to marry one’s mother.”
“I can see where it would be,” Nicole said gently. “How did you feel about it?”
Philip grimaced. “I felt a brief desire to hit him. Then I shook his hand and said that if Mother accepted his proposal, I would wish them both happy.”
“Well done.” She gave him a warm smile. “But I think you still feel some guilt and resentment?”
“I’m afraid so. Not very admirable on my part. Yet I honestly want my mother to be happy and I’m sure she will be with John Sloane.” He smiled with self-deprecating humor. “When I told my sister what John Sloane had said, Marguerite raised her brows and said that of course they would marry. That if John and my mother had died, my father would probably have married Emily after a decent interval had passed. Apparently my understanding is not very powerful.”
“Women take a deeper interest in things like love and marriage.” Nicole cocked her head to one side thoughtfully. “Will it help if I say that being possessive of your mother was a perfectly natural first impulse? I would have felt the same way if my mother surprised me with the announcement that she intended to take another husband. It’s common for families to oppose the remarriage of a widowed parent. But your second impulse was generous, and that’s the one you obeyed.”
Philip let out a slow breath. “It does help to hear you say that. Though I don’t quite understand why I’ve confessed such unworthy thoughts to someone I hardly know.”
“It is precisely because we are almost strangers,” Nicole said with a trace of sadness. “I am a safe repository of unworthy thoughts because I am transitory in your life.”
“But if you become my mother’s companion, you will be part of the household.” At least, until his mother remarried. Then she would no longer need a companion, and Nicole would need a new position, Philip realized. Still, she would be safe at Winstead for at least a few months.
Nicole muffled a yawn. “Time I went to bed. If you wish to stay up longer, I’ll take the bed in the loft and you can sleep down here.”
Philip got to his feet. “No, I’ll take the loft. It’s drafty up there, and I wouldn’t want you to take a chill.” He smiled. “If I haven’t given you lung fever yet today, I don’t want to do it now.”
Nicole picked up the empty mugs and placed them on the kitchen table. As she crossed the room toward the quilts that Mrs. Turner had provided, she passed under the mistletoe, an opportunity that Philip was not about to pass up.
Intercepting her under the sprig, he took her shoulders and said, laughing, “Happy Christmas, Nicole.”
She looked up at him, lips parted and brown eyes wide, her delicate features framed in dusky curls. “Happy Christmas, Sir Philip,” she replied in a husky whisper.
He bent his head and kissed her. Nicole melted against him, her arms sliding around his neck, her soft mouth spicy with apple and cloves. She felt as delicious as she had the night before in his bed, but this time she did not simply yield. Instead, she welcomed him. What began as a Christmas kiss rapidly developed into an embrace for all seasons. It was a moment of fire and sweetness that Philip wanted to last forever.
With a shock, he realized that once again tears were running down Nicole’s cheeks. He ended the embrace, using his hands to support her when she swayed. “Why are you crying?” he asked in bafflement. She had not been unwilling, he was absolutely certain of that. “This is not like last night.”
“No,” she whispered as she brushed the back of her hand across her eyes. “That’s why I’m crying.”
He looked at her a little helplessly. “I don’t understand.”
“It’s better that you don’t.” She closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them again, her manner matter-of-fact. “If I am going to be your mother’s companion, we really mustn’t kiss like that. It’s . . . it’s distracting. It lacks propriety.”
Perhaps, but it didn’t lack anything else. In fact, Philip very much wanted to kiss her again, so that he could savor the nuances more fully, but the moment had passed.
More than a little confused, he lifted one of the lamps. “Good night, Nicole. I’ll see you in the morning.” The ladder to the loft was in a corner of the room, and he lost no time climbing up, taking off his outer clothing, and crawling into the narrow bed that had once been used by Mrs. Turner’s son.
Despite the tiring day, it took Philip a long time to fall asleep. He kept wondering just what he was better off not understanding.
* * *
Christmas Eve morning dawned clear and bright. Outside, ice sparkled on every surface and coated leaves and twigs with crystal brilliance. The magical conditions were short-lived. By the time the inhabitants of the cottage had finished a breakfast of bacon, eggs, and apple muffins, most of the ice was gone and traveling conditions were safe again.
Nicole was grateful when Sir Philip left to go into Blisworth to make arrangements for repairing the curricle. She had made an absolute fool of herself last night, and this morning she could not look him in the eye. Thank heaven the dear, foolish man didn’t understand how the female mind worked, or he’d realize how silly she was.
He had been quite right that last night’s kiss was different from the one the night before. When she’d been hired to warm his bed, she had been frightened and stoic, but under the mistletoe she had been eager. She loved his touch, loved his taste, and wanted with all her heart to follow the kisses to their natural conclusion.
Sadly, her heart was the only one engaged. Perhaps Sir Philip did not think of her quite as a sister, but he had made it clear that he was not the least bit interested in acquiring a wife. And nothing less would do. Nicole had been willing to sell her virtue rather than starve, but she wasn’t going to give it away to a man who didn’t love her.
