Three Kisses Before Christmas, Wilde, Tanya [ebooks that read to you TXT] 📗

studied the dense woodlands for any sign of the rider. His resolve to stay in London, and away from Rebecca, had lasted all of ten minutes.

Six hundred seconds that Wolfstan had duped himself into believing his willpower was that strong. He still found it remarkable that he had convinced himself for even a passing second he could spend Christmas without one of her smiles. He was not a man who stumbled about in denial. He was done acting a deuced fool. Which was why, when Lonsdale had suggested sending Langley to call on Caroline and his sister, Wolfstan had broken out in a cold sweat.

There was nothing Wolfstan wanted more than the luxury of self-denial. He hadn’t ridden out to Westbridge Park because Lonsdale wanted to send Langley. He hadn’t come because he missed Rebecca. He hadn’t come because he couldn’t conceive going weeks on end with the absence of her laughter.

Wolfstan grimaced.

He ought to preserve some pride and purge her from his system somehow, but he found daydreaming about her constantly much more diverting than beating himself up over the fact that he was in the throes of unrequited love.

That had never bothered him. He was a patient man, perhaps too patient. But with the news that his cousin was in the market for a wife, waiting passively for Rebecca to take notice of him as a man was no longer an option.

His frown deepened when no one emerged from the woods. His gaze flicked to the mare again. He did not recognize the horse, and Wolfstan was as familiar with Lonsdale’s stables as his own. And as the horse was saddled there had to be a rider dislodged somewhere, perhaps even injured.

Instinctively, he steered Sergeant in the direction of the trees and nudged him into a gallop. Mason was in London and Caroline was with child. That left Rebecca or a stable hand as the rider. Wolfstan’s chest pulled tight at the thought of Rebecca being hurt.

The overhead shadows of the trees cast a momentary hold on Wolfstan’s thoughts as he entered the thicket. Shadows danced on the forest bed as he urged Sergeant on and surveyed the surroundings for any sign of the rider.

The air was alive with the sound of birds, crickets, and frogs in an ever-growing competition of melody. He inhaled deeply, the scent of moss and nature welcoming after the stale city air that thickened London. The sun would set soon and the temperatures dip.

“Drat.”

Every nerve ending in Wolfstan fired to life.

“Why do I keep getting myself into these fixes?” a small voice muttered off to his right. Wolfstan drew to a halt, his senses on alert as he studied the surrounding vegetation.

He knew that voice.

He would know it anywhere.

“Rebecca?” he called. His voice traveled on a soft breeze, bouncing off hundreds of rustling leaves.

A moment’s pause, then, “Wolfstan?”

“I’m here.” Wolfstan nudged Sergeant into the direction of her voice, trotting deeper into the forest, eyes sharp and assessing. Where the devil was she? She ought to be making her way to him. Was she hurt?

He swore he heard a small curse.

“Rebecca?” he called again, this time more insistent. He gripped the reins tightly. “Are you injured?”

“Not exactly,” she answered. She sounded more put out than in pain. Relief swamped him.

He frowned. Her voice had come from directly overhead. An echo? He pulled Sergeant’s reins and cocked his head to the sky.

“I’m over here.”

His gaze tracked the sound of her voice, finding her perched on a tree branch. Of all the things he’d thought he’d find, Rebecca, arms circling the trunk for dear life, would never have crossed his mind.

He blinked up at her. Even in a bloody tree, one look at Rebecca Flowerdy and Wolfstan knew he would never get back all the pieces she had taken from him over the years. They were hers. Always. Forever.

“How the devil did you get up there?”

“I climbed, obviously.”

He ought to have seen that coming. “Why?”

She shook her head. “I’ll explain later. Can you help me down?”

Wolfstan bit back a grin. “I’m not sure. You have this wood-nymph quality up in the tree. I believe it quite suits you.”

“Wolfstan.”

He laughed and nudged Sergeant until he leveled beneath Rebecca and held out his arms. “Take my hands.”

“What if I fall?”

“I won’t let you fall.” When uncertainty lit her gaze, Wolfstan went on, “Trust me, Rebecca.”

“I do . . . It’s just . . .”

“Are you afraid of heights?”

“I’m heavier than you might think.”

“I am stronger than I look,” Wolfstan countered.

“I do not think you understand. I am much heavier than I appear.”

Wolfstan allowed his gaze to dip over her figure. There was nothing heavy to his eyes. She was all delicious curves and sweet, puckered lips. Her eyes were the color of summer meadows and turbulent seas, depending on her mood, her rich copper hair had featured so many times in his dreams it was laughable.

But heavy? No.

“You must not believe me when I say I am a lot stronger than you give me credit for.”

Her eyes narrowed on him.

He grinned in answer.

“Very well,” she yielded after a considerate pause. “But if you let me fall I shall never forgive you.”

He nodded, motioning with his gloved fingers for her to take them.

With a deep breath, she unclasped one arm from the tree as she lowered to her haunches and reached for his hand. Her fingers gripped his tightly as she tested his strength before releasing her remaining arm and reaching for him.

He slid his fingers between hers.

“Now what?” she asked.

“You launch yourself into my arms.”

“Be serious.”

“I have never been more serious in my life.” Wolfstan was sure the devil danced in his eyes. “Take the leap, Rebecca Flowerdy. My chest is broad.”

The corner of his mouth lifted when she rolled her eyes. But take the leap she did. His muscles contracted, and he caught her in his arms as he’d promised. Her lips grazed the shadow of his jaw and the puff of her breath on his cheek