Mistletoe and Mayhem - Cheryl Bolen Page 0,12

arrangement would be a blatant lie.

Until the handsome earl had gathered her in his arms the previous day, she had not been so close to a man in nearly five years. She had quite forgotten how satisfying it could feel.

She was also well aware that not just any man’s touch could provoke in her the breathlessness or the trembling that Lord Paxton’s did. She was drawn to him like hands to gloves on winter’s coldest day.

How could she not admire Lord Paxton? He was every bit as kind and considerate as his father had been. Not since Peter died had anyone, save for the Paxton men, ever cared about her or Stevie. (Benedict Blatherwick did not count, even though he clearly meant to court her. As much as she disliked thinking ill of anyone, that man’s only interest was himself.)

But Lord Paxton! He was so solicitous of Stevie, actually remembering his name (unlike Mr. Blatherwick, who persisted in calling him The Lad).

She’d been incredibly touched at how concerned his lordship seemed over her injury. After the old lord had died, her eight-year-old child had been the only person who gave a fig about her well-being. There had been a time when she was close to her brothers, but it had now been many years since she’d seen any of them. They all lived in Yorkshire and struggled to provide for their own growing families.

She did not delude herself. Lord Paxton, just like his father, would never give a thought to a romantic liaison with her. His only interest in her stemmed from a genuine goodness. She understood that no aristocrat would be romantically inclined toward the daughter of a simple country curate.

She was quite certain that unlike Mr. Blatherwick, Lord Paxton could truthfully boast that he was the finest matrimonial catch in all of England. In addition to being in possession of a fine character and an ancient title, his handsomeness could make many a maiden swoon. But unlike Mr. Blatherwick, Lord Paxton would never boast.

Even though she was not a maiden and was well past the first blush of youth at seven-and-twenty, her heartbeat fluttered and her pulse raced when she was in his lordship’s presence. How petite she felt beside his powerful body.

As they rode along on the chilly December day, she schooled herself not to look down at his muscled thighs or up at his handsome profile. So she watched him handle the ribbons with ease and admired his masculine hands, even though they were sheathed in fine kid gloves.

“How old were you when your father permitted you to drive a curricle?” Stevie asked him. Her son had not been able to remove his gaze from Lord Paxton’s expert handling of the spirited horse. She knew Stevie would do anything for the opportunity to trade places with the earl.

“Ten. But, seeing as you’re so intelligent for eight, you might be ready—not today, of course. We’ve got other priorities at present.” Lord Paxton turned to her. “Would you object to me teaching Stevie to drive?”

That was like asking her if she would have objected to leaving sooty London! “Not at all. I know Stevie would love it.”

His lordship eyed Stevie. “Then another day, after we’ve decorated for Christmas, and if it’s not too cold or damp, we shall do it.”

“Oh, thank you, my lord! I cannot wait.” Stevie could not suppress his elation. A smile stretched across his little freckled face, revealing deep dimples and his missing front tooth.

They went first to the cottage where Mr. Knight lived. “You mustn’t carry me in, my lord. I don’t wish to alarm Mr. Knight. He has enough cares without me adding to them.”

Lord Paxton helped her down.

“I do hope you’ll pop in to cheer him up,” she said. “He does enjoy company. He’s had so little since his wife died.” Her lashes lowered. “And I fear it won’t be long before the poor man follows her to the grave.”

“I’m very sorry to hear that. I cannot remember a time when the Knights did not inhabit this old cottage.”

He sounded so sad. She wondered if Mr. Knight’s imminent demise brought fresh grief over his own recent loss. He was possessed of such a tender heart.

Stevie went ahead with the basket of bread and pounded hard on the door, as Mr. Knight’s hearing was not good.

“He says we’re to come in,” Stevie said, swinging open the door.

She looked up at Lord Paxton, whom she leaned heavily upon with each limping step. “Mr.