Page 47 of The Widow’s Christmas Surprise

His words brought no response, which alarmed him greatly. He tore out of the kitchen, taking two steps at a time to the ground floor. Racing for the front staircase to the first floor, he sped past the library, music room, and receiving rooms. They had been little used when Maria and Jane had lived here, so likely had nothing to offer, although if he couldn’t find wood anywhere, he’d come back to the library. At least books would burn.

On the first floor he hurried into the dowager’s chamber to see if anything had been left there. The room had been stripped and swept clean. No bedding remained, but the bedcurtains still stood around the four-poster bed. Should he pull them down to drape around Maria? Poking at the fireplace, also without a stick of firewood, a growing sense of dread filled him. If he couldn’t get Maria warm and very shortly, she could catch an ague or a severe chill. People died every day from such ailments. He’d never forgive himself if he lost her due to his own foolish actions.

He opened the door to the bathing chamber wide to allow enough light to come in so he could see. The windowless chamber was small compared to the bedroom, but then it had been built with a mind to keeping the heat in. Feeling for the small fireplace used to heat water for the bath, his hand met with the box that held the wood. Bless the lord, it still held several sticks. He quickly filled his arms, then paused. This room was small and would hold heat well. What better place to bring Maria? If he started the fire now, the chamber would be cozy by the time he brought her here.

After shoving the wood into the small grate, he grabbed the tinderbox and quickly struck a spark. The fire leaped into life and Hugh said a prayer of thanksgiving. A swift search of the chamber revealed two more stashes of wood, enough to keep the fire going for at least an hour or so. He checked one more time to make sure the fire blazed, then ran from the room to fetch Maria.

Huddled over and shivering so hard the chair clattered on the wooden floor, Maria barely seemed to notice when he scooped her up in his arms once more and carried her to the bathing chamber. There was no place to put her, save the bathtub, which was porcelain and cold. He’d have to improvise something, then set about finding her some dry clothing, though that seemed a hopeless cause in the bare household.

“Maria? Maria!” She still had not responded by the time Hugh got her to the bathing chamber. Body shivering and teeth chattering all the way, she’d lain like a block of ice in his arms. Somehow he had to get her wet things off and get her warmed up.

The fire had heated the small room appreciably by the time they arrived. He stood her in front of the fireplace, then ran back to the bedchamber and yanked at the bedcurtains. The rings that held them to the frame popped and shot all over the room, but the thick material came away in his hands. Striding back to the warming room, he doubled the fabric and lay it in the tub. “Now, let’s get those wet clothes off you, sweetheart.”

Thanks to the fire, her shivering had lessened. Still, she was soaking wet. She’d never feel warm while she wore those garments. But how would he get her out of them? And what could she wear while they dried? They intended to marry, true, but Hugh wasn’t prepared to strip her and leave her naked.

His own shirt had gotten wet when he carried her, but it would dry quickly if held before the fire. She could wear that—more for modesty’s sake than warmth, but it would serve.

“Maria, take off my coat.”

She shook her head and clutched the jacket more closely.

“You can have it back, and my shirt as well, but we need to take off your clothes so you can get warm.”

She eyed him suspiciously, then gave a ghost of a smile. “I . . . I knew you . . . c . . . couldn’t k . . . keep that p . . . promise.”

“Good lord, woman.” Hugh shook his head as he peeled the damp jacket off her. “I’m trying to save your life, not seduce you.”

“C . . . could do both.”

A chuckle escaped him. Maria was nothing if not persistent. At least it showed a return of her spirit, so much better than the awful lethargy that had frightened him earlier. “Let’s get you warm before we think of doing anything else.”

Stripping off her dripping pelisse was easy, although she shook harder and inched closer to the fire. Proceeding to remove her gown, however, he hesitated. He was about to cross a Rubicon from which he’d not return. If discovered, they risked censure and their marriage became a certainty, no possibility of appeal if his circumstances changed for the worse. But if she died, none of that would matter in the least.

With unsteady fingers, he unbuttoned the little silver buttons, each carved into a rose, that ran down the bodice of her riding habit. The material, a fine wool, was damp and cold to the touch. It came away, revealing a very pretty pair of embroidered stays over a sleeveless linen chemise. He swallowed hard and his nether regions stirred despite the cold.

“You c . . . can gawk later, Hugh.” Maria rubbed her arms where the gooseflesh had the hairs standing at attention. “Help me with the skirt fastening in b . . . back.” She turned around and he untied the skirt and underpetticoat, which fell sopping to the floor. Kicking them away, she wobbled on unsteady legs, then inched closer to the fireplace and held her hands out. “You need to stoke the fire while I unfasten my stays. Thank goodness these close in the front.”

Glad of something to do other than stare at her luscious body, Hugh grabbed more wood and poked up the fire before dumping the logs in. Sparks flew upward and heat poured out into the room.

A glance over his shoulder showed Maria standing only in her chemise now, the thin material clinging to her, showing every delicious curve or shape. Perhaps that thin material would dry while on her. And she could have his shirt as well, to help hide her many temptations. Pulling his shirt out of his breeches, Hugh let the folds fall around his hips, then unwound his cravat, which he draped over the tub rim. He grabbed the back of his shirt and pulled it over his head.

“Ooh, Mr. Granger. What a nice, strong back you have.” The teasing sound of Maria’s voice raised his spirits. If they could get her warmed up, with a little luck, she would not take cold from this incident.

“Why, Lady Kersey. You say the nicest things.” Smiling, he waved the shirt in front of the flames to dry it even more. “I hope you mean—”

He turned to hand her the shirt and stopped, his heart hammering in his chest.

Not only had she removed her stays, but her chemise as well, standing before him naked save for her stockings and garters. His mouth dried and his cock surged against his breeches.

More lovely than he had ever imagined—and he had imagined her naked before him many times in the past weeks—she reminded him of Botticelli’s The Birth of Venus. Her smooth skin, pale in contrast to her dark, rosy nipples, made him long to run his hands all over her. Breasts that would fill his hands and stiffen his member gave her a rounded form above, while her generous hips provided like curves below. While the dark, thick triangle at the apex of her thighs beckoned him to explore its secrets. Hugh drew in a ragged breath. “Dear God.”

She rubbed her arms, making her breasts bob up and down. “I’ve thought of another way you can help me get warm.”

“Maria.” He couldn’t allow this to happen. “We cannot do any such thing. You know we cannot.”

Grabbing the shirt he still held out to her, she reached up and removed two pins from her hair. It cascaded down over her shoulders in snaky, wet strands. She shook out his shirt, then wrapped it around her hair, squeezing the water from it, then rubbing it vigorously, seemingly unaware of the way her breasts jiggled and bounced with every movement.

His cock kept track of every motion, it seemed, bumping against his breeches insistently until it lay hard and ready, seeking a way out.