Perhaps he was spoiled. He was far from handsome, and his manners were atrocious. Not to mention he was the size of a barn. But he’d never had any trouble attracting women. Whereas Margaret was making him work for her favors.
“My goodness.” She stared at the cart. “You’re taking this seriously.”
He gestured toward the basket hanging off her arm. “You’re not.”
She smiled, and his heart performed one of those flips that were becoming almost commonplace in her presence.
Margaret was completely bundled up against the cold. Thick coat, gloves, shawl wrapped around her head, giving the barest hint of the rich red hair that colored his dreams. The only part of her left uncovered was her piquant face.
Yet Joss found himself more powerfully seduced than he’d ever been by a reckless widow, welcoming him into her bed and wearing the merest whisper of silk.
Despite the cold, his blood warmed at the thought of Margaret wearing a whisper of silk.
“Remember that anything that goes up has to come down after Twelfth Night, and the person most likely to be cleaning up is me.”
He wanted to say that he’d be here, too. That he’d never leave.
Which was utterly mad. The house, however lovely, was in the middle of nowhere. He’d known the girl for three days.
A fortnight ago, he’d come close to quarreling with his mother, when he’d said he wasn’t coming home for Christmas because he couldn’t tolerate her matchmaking. Yet right now, if some angel floated down and asked him what he wanted for Christmas, he’d say he wanted to look at Margaret Carr until the day he died.
Sheer lunacy.
Joss summoned a light tone—more difficult than he’d expected—and sent the girl a mocking glance. “Tch. Tch. It’s poor spirited to be so hardheaded at Christmastime. If all we did was worry about cleaning up, we’d never do a damned thing.”
She frowned, although laughter still danced in those lovely eyes. “Your family will miss you. You’re clearly the king of Christmas.”
He should feel guilty. They would miss him, especially his mother, who loved nothing better than getting the whole family under one roof for the Festive Season. It would seem odd, not going down to the old house on the Sussex Downs, the house that had first sparked his love for fine architecture.
“I’d rather be here with you,” he said, before he could stop himself.
Maggie looked startled. “Thank you.” She considered his statement further. “I think.”
He spoke quickly to gloss over the sudden awkwardness. “If anywhere needs a visit from the king of Christmas, it’s Thorncroft. Why, when I arrived, you wouldn’t know it was the Festive Season at all. Not a ribbon. Not a garland. Not even so much as an echo of a carol. It’s like the house Christmas forgot.”
“Well, you’re fixing that,” she said drily.
He reached over to take her basket and toss it into the back of the cart. “See? I note a hint of cynicism. That’s the sort of attitude we have to change. And fast. Clearly this is a Christmas emergency, and that’s why fate has sent me to your door. There’s no time to be lost. Point me to the woodlands.”
***
Maggie laughed. And found herself laughing again and again, as she and Mr. Hale wandered the snowy woods behind the house in search of greenery. She’d thought they’d cut a few sprigs of holly before they headed home, but the cart was soon laden with boughs of pine and holly, enough to make the whole house bright.
The weather held while they were outside. Now and again, there was a glimmer of pale sunlight through the thick clouds. But as they turned back to the manor, the snow started again.
She turned her face up to the flakes and out of childish habit, stuck her tongue out to catch a couple. When she realized Mr. Hale was watching her, she blushed at her nonsense.
“It’s supposed to be lucky,” she said defensively.
“I hadn’t heard that.” He stared at her as if he’d never seen a woman before.
“Mamma and I used to play games in the snow. I don’t know if it’s a real superstition or not, but we always did it.” Her eyes flickered down, then up again. “You must think I’m silly.”
He smiled at her, and her foolish heart stuttered, although surely only the fading light lent such tenderness to his expression. “It’s nice to see you being a bit silly. You mostly seem to take life very earnestly.”
She should tell him to mind his own business. But she found herself responding honestly. “In recent years, I haven’t had much fun. We used to. Papa was a very jolly vicar. Everyone loved him, and his parishioners were devastated when he died. They wanted us to stay in the village, but they were so poor themselves, we couldn’t take their charity. Mamma and I continued to celebrate Christmas after we came here. I just…I just seem to have got out of the habit.” She smiled at Joss. “Thank you for reminding me that it’s the season of goodwill, not the season for sitting around feeling sorry for yourself.”
“You’re such a sparkling girl.” Her gratitude didn’t seem to please him. Instead he looked troubled. “You should have the world at your feet.”