Page 3 of A Hellion's Christmas Kiss
“You are finally here,” Daventry said, striding into the foyer. “We were beginning to think you had gotten lost.”
Lucian forced a smile onto his face.. “Not at all. Some business matters delayed me, but they are settled now.” He did not want to explain to his friend the real reason he had not arrived sooner.
“You have not missed much,” Daventry assured him. “You know Noelle—she will ensure this house party is…”
“Lively?” Lucian supplied dryly. His friend had seemed unable to find the right word to describe his sister’s scandalous behavior.
“That’s one word for it,” Daventry said with a grin. “Come. Let’s have a drink in my study. The ladies are having tea, our fathers are in the billiards room, and we can seize this moment of quiet.”
Lucian followed Daventry gladly. The study was familiar, a space they had often shared during his visits to the estate. No matter how much Lucian disliked these gatherings, his friendship with Daventry had always been a bright spot.
Daventry poured two glasses of brandy and handed one to Lucian. “What business kept you away?” he asked.
“I acquired some additional property,” Lucian replied smoothly. It wasn’t entirely a lie. He had purchased land adjacent to his estate, though the transaction had been finalized weeks earlier.
“You finally convinced the owner to sell it to you.” Daventry whistled. “I had not expected that. You must tell me everything.”
“There is not much to tell,” Lucian said, then shrugged.“The heir needed funds more than he needed the land, and I was fortunate to make the acquisition.”
“Fortunate indeed,” Daventry said with a whistle. “You’ve been after that parcel for years. Well done.”
Lucian nodded, sipping his brandy. The familiar burn eased some of his tension. Still, he couldn’t quite relax. He wanted nothing more than to retreat to his assigned chamber and savor a moment of solitude before facing the inevitable chaos of the house party.
Daventry set down his empty snifter. “You must want to rest,” Daventry said, noting Lucian’s empty glass. “Would you like another drink, or would you prefer to retire to your room?”
“I think I’ll rest for a bit,” Lucian said. “We can catch up more after dinner.”
“You are in your usual chamber,” Daventry said with a nod. “I trust you remember the way?”
“I do. Thank you.”
Lucian excused himself and made his way to his room. Once inside, he exhaled a long breath and locked the door behind him. This was his sanctuary, however brief. Soon enough, he would have to face Noelle, their parents, and—worst of all—Rosella. But for now, he had peace. He intended to savor every second of it, even if thoughts of Rosella threatened to invade his solitude. Always, they returned to her. He feared they always would.
Rosella wandered into the library at Daventry Manor, unsure of why she had chosen this particular refuge. She certainly wasn’t seeking a book to read; no story could soothe the restless turmoil within her. It wasn’t that she didn’t enjoy spending Christmastide with her family—she cherished their annual gatherings. Her disquiet stemmed from something deeper, something she could no longer ignore. It all came down to one man. The Marquess of Kistleton.
Lucian Abbot had held her heart for years, yet he seemed blind to her feelings. He alternated between ignoring her entirely and engaging in arguments that left her flustered and frustrated. There was no middle ground with him, no warmth to give her hope. And yet, her heart remained steadfastly his.
She sighed deeply, her thoughts swirling. Somehow, she needed to let go of this love that consumed her—or make him realize he couldn’t live without her. The latter seemed an impossible dream. How could she force a man to see what he refused to acknowledge? She longed for a life with him, but love could not be commanded. It had to be given freely, and she feared Lucian might never offer her his heart. Somehow, some way she would have to find a way to either end this love she felt for him or make him realize he could not live without her.
This Christmastide felt like her last chance. One final opportunity to show him what they could be together. But how? Their history of bickering had done little to endear her to him. She yearned for him to look at her not with irritation, but with admiration. Love. Yet she had no idea how to capture his attention in a way that mattered. She wanted his love not his apathy.
So how could she gain those things? What could she do to ensure that he could at least start to fall in love with her? She had so much love to give. If only he would see that… She sighed and strolled over to one of the shelves. Rosella trailed her fingers along the spines of books lining the shelves, debating whether to grab one for appearances’ sake. If someone found her here, it would save her from awkward questions.
“This is the last place I would have expected to find you,” a man with a rich deep voice said from behind her.
Her heart jolted, and she closed her eyes for a brief moment. Fate had intervened, it seemed. She was not ready for this, but her mother had always told her that moments like this came for a reason. She turned slowly, tilting her lips into what she hoped was a confident smile. “Hello, Lord Kistleton.” She licked her lips, an unintentional reaction to her nerves, and tilted her head, studying him. “You appear well. Your mother will be glad to see that. She fretted over your late arrival.”
In truth, he looked so bloody gorgeous it made her heart ache for the want of him. His dark hair fell in a rakish lock over his brow, and his golden eyes sparkled with a warmth she rarely saw directed at her. Her heart ached with the effort of keeping her composure. How easy it would be to let her feelings overwhelm her, to lose herself in the dream of what could be. It would be to fall under the spell of her love and lose everything to this man.
“Are you saying my mother missed me?” he asked with a raised brow, his tone teasing. “I suppose that could be true.”
“Why would it not be?” Rosella frowned, folding her arms. “Of course, your mother misses you. Do you enjoy provoking me into arguments?”
“Not at all.” He sighed and then brushed his hand over his face. His frustration was coming forth. It was always this way with them. Oh, how she wished she could change it. But damn it all…how? “My apologies,” he said softly. “I fear that I am still disagreeable after traveling all day. Forgive me?”
That caught her off guard. “You have never apologized before.” She would forgive him anything. He was her weakness and she could never stay angry with him. No that he knew that…
“Of course I have,” he said, frowning. “I am not a brute.”
