Merry Misrule - St. Clair, Ellie Page 0,33
touch, his attention, his temptation.
“I just… I wanted to… thank you for the pocket watch,” she said softly, bringing it out of her pocket once more, holding it in the palm of her hand. It fit perfectly. She brought out the other pocket watch, the one he had given her, and allowed it to warm her other hand. “It brings back so many memories. Of my grandmother, of her giving it to me, of Christmases long ago.”
She blinked at the suddenly appearing tear forming in her eye.
“Anyway. It means a lot to me.”
“Well,” he said gruffly, pushing away from the sideboard, “it was my fault that you were without it for so long, so I hardly think that I am the one to thank.”
He was right. But even so, she was appreciative of the gesture, as well as the fact that he had gone to such lengths to retrieve it.
“You were quite clever about it all,” she said, approaching him, looking up at him shyly.
“Well, that’s what I’m good for,” he said with a laugh, but she heard the vulnerability behind it and realized that he didn’t think there was much else for which he was.
“You have a skill,” she said. “You are quite the storyteller. You can captivate an audience.”
“I do my best.”
“Tell me,” she said, stepping closer still, so that she could look into his eyes, “was any of it true?”
He sighed. “Yes and no.”
“What does that mean?”
“There was a young woman who lost her betrothed to war, but he never returned for her. Not at Christmastime or any other time. She did give me the rose, told me I reminded her of her lost love, but it was just a rose from her garden. She was still waiting for him, watching for him, when I left.”
“That’s so sad,” Joanna said, her voice just above a whisper. “I do hope he returns to her.”
Elijah was shaking his head. “The letters had stopped, so she assumed the worst. She was probably right.”
They were both silent for a moment.
“There is still a lesson in that story.”
“Is there?” Elijah looked up, his dark eyes boring into her with such intensity that she nearly shivered. “That war is evil?”
“Yes,” she said with a slight nod of her head “That it is. But there is more to it. There is also how important it is to follow one’s heart, to take advantage of what you have when you have it, and to not take anything for granted.”
“That is… profound,” he murmured.
“What was it like?” she asked, knowing the subject lacked romance but unable to keep herself from asking. “Going to war?”
He paused, his hand coming to his drink, still sitting on the sideboard, circling it around the tabletop. “It was… not what I expected,” was all he said, and she sighed inwardly. He still had no wish to share with her. She understood, and yet couldn’t help but feel some disappointment as well.
“You should get back to the others,” he said, turning away from her and walking toward the fire, as though it drew him with its flames, its heat.
“Why?” she asked, unable to help herself from following him.
“You shouldn’t be here, alone with me,” he said. “You could get caught, compromised. Do you not recall what happened the last time the two of us were alone together? We wouldn’t want a repeat of such a thing.”
“No?” she said, looking up at him from beneath her lashes. “You wouldn’t have any inclination to try again?”
“I know better now,” he said, his back still to her, his words a growl, “but I still might not be able to help myself. Not with you. Go, Joanna. Happy Christmas.”
She retreated a step or two, looking up as she stopped just underneath the doorway — underneath the mistletoe.
“Elijah,” she called softly to him from across the room, “what if I want you to help yourself?”
He whirled around to face her. “Did you just say what I think you said?”
“I did.”
“You want to be caught under the mistletoe?”
“I do.”
“By me?”
“By no one else.” The words caught in her throat, breathless, wanting, pleading.
He hesitated for a quick moment more before he came striding across the room, stopping just before he reached her. He was an arm’s length away and her pulse pounded, her breath coming fast and wild.
She was shocked by his next words.
“I won’t kiss you.”
“Pardon me?”
“I will not kiss you,” he repeated, despite the storm that raged in his eyes as he stared at her. “You have