Tarnished Knight - By Bec McMaster Page 0,34

the air midway and slung it around his hips. “Don’t want to get me waistcoat mucky,” he said, flicking imaginary lint off the red velvet waistcoat. With a devilish wink, he dragged the pan with the goose off the bench and headed for the oven.

“What’s going on?” Esme laughed breathlessly.

A second later she squealed as Rip slung her up over his shoulder, one hand planted firmly on her backside. “Thought you ought to ‘ave the day off,” he said, the rumble of his baritone shivering beneath her hips. “We’ll prepare lunch.”

“But you don’t know what you’re doing!”

Rip swung her through the door into the sitting room with Honoria and Lena looking up in surprise at their appearance. Esme’s cheeks burned.

“’elped you enough times. I swear I won’t burn the duck.”

“It’s a goose!” Esme slid down his body as he dangled her over a stuffed armchair. Arms sliding around his neck, she stared into his eyes as her toes found the edge of the armchair. The press of his body did wicked things to her breath. Hard against her softness.

He felt it too, embers of heat flickering to life in his eyes. A slow, devastating smile curled over his mouth. “Why look at that,” he murmured, his gaze lifting. “Mistletoe.”

Esme glanced up. “How convenient,” she replied.

When she looked back down their eyes met. Slowly he reached forward and pressed a chaste kiss to her lips, his cool breath teasing her. The brief dart of his tongue wet her lips and Esme softened, sinking against him. She wanted him so much, though she couldn’t forget the other people in the room.

Rip drew back, a look of knowing smouldering in his half-closed eyes. “Later,” he mouthed.

Esme let her arms drop and found her balance on the armchair. “Don’t you burn my goose,” she said, trying to recover her breath. “Or the beef haunch.” Her face blanched. “You’ll need to get that in the oven first. Tell Blade to take--”

Rip backed away. “Sit,” he admonished. “Drink some mulled wine and relax.” There was a challenge in his eyes. “That’s an order.”

Esme gave in. As Rip left the room, she exchanged a helpless look with Honoria.

Honoria held up her hands. “I’ve been banished too.” A wicked look filled her eyes. “Though I find myself quite pleased about the circumstances now. What a curious development.”

She wasn’t speaking of the goose.

“Lena,” Honoria barely turned her head. “Why don’t you go and drag Charlie and Lark out of bed. It’s past time for them to be up.”

With a sigh Lena climbed to her feet. “I’m not a child, you know. Why can’t I stay to help interrogate Esme? I daresay I’ll do a better job of it than you. After all…” She flashed Esme a saucy smile. “I’ve been aware of it for weeks.”

Honoria arched a brow and Lena held her hands up in defeat. “Fine.”

“Now,” Honoria said, getting up and filling a glass with mulled wine as Lena thundered up the stairs. She handed it to Esme. “What haven’t you been telling Blade? He’s desperate to know what’s going on.”

Esme accepted the glass with a sigh of resignation. “Promise you won’t tell him?”

Honoria’s smile widened. “Only if you reveal everything.”

So Esme did.

The morning passed in a fury of giggles and whispering, with Lena, Tin Man and the children venturing forth to feel the shape of the wrapped boxes under the tree. Meggie had decided to stay with her mother in the bedroom, as Annie was still too stricken to leave her bed.

Esme curled back into the armchair, the mulled wine easing her senses until she barely gave her kitchen a thought.

Dinner was served with a flourish, Blade bowing at the head of the table as he removed her pink apron and tossed it aside with gusto. Carving the goose and the beef – both nicely browned but not overcooked – turned into a theatre act until Honoria laughingly took the knife off Blade and handed it to Rip. Rip finished the carving with swift economy.

“This,” Blade called, lifting his glass of blood and mimicking the precise tones of the Echelon, “is to our very first Christmas.”

Everybody raised their glasses.

“An entirely heathen practice,” Blade continued, in mockingly perfect English, “but one I could quite continue.” He glanced down with a warm smile as he lost the accent. “You’ll ‘ave to thank ‘onoria, for ‘twas ‘er father’s practice to celebrate with their family. And I thought, considerin’ our family’s recently grown larger, that we ought to start our own