Maid Under The Mistletoe (The Mapleton Family Saga #1) - Annabelle Anders Page 0,28

food had been served and the drinks consumed, there would be cleaning and scrubbing to prepare for the large party scheduled for the following evening.

Christmastime, she decided in that moment, was for the wealthy and entitled.

Feeling tired and useless, she dismissed such a dismal opinion.

She’d received the gift of a sliver of hope. Her mother’s aunt had only recently learned that she was orphaned. She offered her a home and said she’d be interested in presenting her to society in London. She’d told her she need not ever worry. Charlotte would not be without a roof over her head.

She would not be the companion to a cruel old woman in Scotland.

Charlotte shuffled through the corridor toward Miss Fairchild’s chamber. Another maid had already taken over her duties, but Charlotte had nowhere else to sleep. Charlotte no longer believed in fate, or destiny. But with this new opportunity, she almost believed in good luck.

The guests would be dining now, celebrating the eve of their savior’s birth. With roast beef, duck, potatoes, squash, brussels sprouts and Christmas pudding.

She stifled an ironic chuckle. There would be no turtle soup, however, nor would there be any pie. Oh, but her arms ached. One would have thought she’d been stirring pots all day long. She closed her eyes, rolled her shoulders, and––

Went crashing into something tall, and solid.

“My lord.” She gulped as she stared into Lord Mapleton’s eyes.

He was dressed in his great coat, had a scarf wound around his throat and had donned his gloves. “Why are you not taking supper with the other guests? You’re leaving?” How preposterous for her to demand any sort of explanation from him!

She’d convinced herself she’d never see him again.

Part of her rejoiced at this last opportunity to drink him in. Another part wept at the cruelty of it.

His eyes shown, however, with an excitement she’d not seen in them before. “The storm has let up and I wish to spend Christmas Eve with my family.” But he had grasped her by the shoulders.

He seemed lighter in spirit, somehow. She caught her breath when, with all his attention upon her, he smiled. Not the rueful grin she’d witnessed before, but an expression of hope.

He reached inside his coat, searched around and then presented her with a carefully wrapped package tied with a red bow. “Wait until morning to open it.”

A gift? He’d purchased her a gift!

Without taking the package from him, she unclasped the scissors from the sewing chatelaine at her waist. She reached beneath her cap and snipped a lock of hair. Unclasping the chain she always wore, she then drew out the locket and secured the hair inside.

He didn’t stop her nor ask what she was doing, just waited until she’d held out her token to him. Only then would she take his gift.

Which was the height of impropriety, but she did not care. She would have something to remember him by.

This was goodbye. She glanced up at the ceiling, hoping… But no.

Where was mistletoe when a girl needed it?

And then the lack of greenery hanging above them was no longer a problem. His mouth landed on hers for the most urgent of kisses. How was it that his lips could be hard and demanding but at the same time, soft and coaxing? She didn’t know. She only felt.

Oh, Anthony.

Oh, my love.

Her knees went weak by the time he saw fit to release her.

“Will you forgive me?” Emotion strained his voice. “Forgive my rash words earlier today. I did not mean any offence. I got… carried away and––”

She covered his lips with one finger.

“All is forgiven.” She’d known it. His character had never been in question.

His gaze locked with hers and he nodded. He did not push her hand away, but mumbled beneath her touch. “Thank you.”

She studied the creases by his eyes, the way his hair swept away from his face, but for one wayward lock. And the strength of his cheeks, and chin. His nose wasn’t quite perfect. And his lips. Those lips she’d crave… She must memorize his features to draw upon for the remainder of her life.

“Merry Christmas, Charlotte.” He grinned.

Dear God, but he must have reconciled himself to his betrothal. Her left side, just above her breast, ached. Her eyes stung but she forced herself to smile.

“Merry Christmas… Anthony.”

He leaned forward to press his mouth against hers one last time. Without thought, her arms snaked up to wind around his neck. She had to stand on her toes to reach him