A Yuletide Invitation: The Mistletoe Wager / The Harlot's Daughter. Christine Merrill

      ‘You still mean to go?’ She looked at him in obvious surprise.

      ‘Of course. It will be the morning of Christmas Eve. We went out into the woods together often enough that I have come to think of it as a family tradition. Would you like to accompany me?’

      She looked excited at the prospect, and then dropped her gaze and shook her head. ‘I doubt that would be a good idea.’

      He laughed. ‘It is not as if we are planning an assignation. Only a sign of friendship. If we cannot be lovers we can at least be friends, can’t we?’

      ‘Friends?’ The word sounded hollow and empty coming from her. She was making no attempt to show the world that she was happy with their situation.

      It gave him hope, and he continued. ‘Yes. We can have a truce. If you wish Tremaine to be your lover, then why can I not occupy the position he has vacated and be your trusted friend?’

      ‘You wish to be my friend?’ Now she looked truly puzzled.

      ‘If I can be nothing else. Let us go out tomorrow, as we have done in the past. We will take Tremaine with us, so that he can share in the fun. If he is what you want, then I wish to see him well settled in my place before I let you go. Tomorrow I will pass the torch.’

      ‘You will?’ If she wanted her freedom, his offer should give her a sense of relief. But there was nothing in her tone to indicate it.

      ‘Yes. I had not planned on your visit, but now that you are here it is a good thing. We cannot settle what is between us with you in London and me in the country. If you wish an end to things, then it is better if we deal with them face to face, without acrimony. Only then will you truly be free.’ He let the words sink in. ‘You do wish to be free of me, do you not?’

      ‘Yes …’

      There was definitely doubt in her voice. He clung to that split second of hesitation as the happiest sound he had heard in months.

      ‘Very well, then. If there is nothing I can do that will make Tremaine lose the bet, on Twelfth Night I will honour my word and begin divorce proceedings. For above all I wish you to be happy. Merry Christmas, Elise.’

      ‘Thank you.’

      She whispered it, and sounded so very sad that it was all he could do to keep from putting his arms around her and drawing her close, whispering back that he would never let her go.

      ‘Let us go to bed, then, for it will be an early morning.’

      She stood and walked with him, towards their rooms.

      Would it be so wrong to take her hand and pull her along after him to his door? Although her manner said that she might not be totally opposed to the idea, neither was there proof that she would be totally in favour of it. It would be best if he waited until he had a better idea of what she truly wanted.

      He put his hands behind his back and cleared his throat.

      ‘About our disagreement of yesterday, over the arrangement of the rooms. After we had gone to bed, I realised how it must look to you. And I apologise if you took it as an effort to control your behaviour. You have made it clear enough to me that it is no longer any business of mine what occurs in your bedroom. If there is a reason that you might wish to lock the connecting door, I will allow you your privacy.’

      ‘For what reason would I wish privacy?’ She sounded confused by the idea. Perhaps even after two months Tremaine was an idle threat to their marriage. She shrugged as though nothing could occur to her, and gave a tired laugh. ‘In any case, what good would it do to lock the door against you? You have the key.’

      He held his hands open in front of him. ‘I have all the keys, Elise. I could open the door of any room in which you slept. You must have realised that when you came home. But do you really think me such a villain that I mean to storm into your room without your permission and force myself upon you?’

      She caught her breath and her eyes darkened. For a moment his threat held definite appeal.

      Then he cleared his throat and continued, ‘Am I really the sort who would take you until you admitted that there was no place in the world that you belonged but in my arms and in my bed?’

      She froze for a moment, and then glared at him. ‘No, Harry, you are not. On more careful consideration, I think that I have nothing to worry about. Goodnight.’

      And, perhaps it was his imagination, but the way she carried herself could best be described as stomping off to her room. When the door shut, he suspected that the slam could be heard all over the house.

      The next morning Harry was up well before dawn, had taken breakfast and dressed in clothes suitable for the weather before going to roust Tremaine. He could not help but smile as he pounded smartly on the door to the poor man’s bedroom. He could hear rustling, stumbling noises, and a low curse before the door in front of him creaked open.

      Tremaine stood before him, bleary-eyed and still in his nightshirt. ‘Eh?’

      ‘Time to get up, old man.’

      Tremaine squinted into the hall and croaked, ‘Is there a problem?’

      ‘No problem at all. Did I forget to tell you last night? So sorry. But you must be a part of today’s proceedings. Elise is expecting you.’

      ‘Then come for me in daylight.’

      ‘No, no. What we are about must be done at dawn. And on the morn of Christmas Eve. There is no better time. Pull on some clothes, man. Warm ones. Your true love is awaiting you in the hall.’

      At the mention of Elise Tremaine’s eyes seemed to widen a bit. Then he stared back at Harry, as though trying to gauge his intentions. At last he sighed with resignation, and muttered something that sounded rather like, ‘Damn Rosalind.’ Then he said, ‘A moment.’ And then he shut the door.

      ‘A moment’ proved to be the better part of a half an hour. Tremaine appeared at the door again, no happier, but reasonably well dressed for Harry’s purposes, in a fine coat of light wool and soft, low shoes. He stepped into the hall and shut the door behind him. It was only then that he noticed the axe in Harry’s hands. ‘What the devil—?’

      Harry nudged him with the handle and gave him a mad grin. ‘You’ll see. You’ll see soon enough.’

      Tremaine swallowed. ‘That is what I fear.’

      ‘Downstairs.’ He gestured Tremaine ahead of him, and watched the cautious way the man passed him. There was a tenseness in his shoulders, as though his back was attempting to climb out of his coat while his head was crawling into it. His neck seemed to have disappeared entirely. He did not relax until he saw Elise, pacing on the slate at the foot of the stairs, probably assuming that Harry would not cut him down dead in front of a lady.

      ‘There you are.’ Elise was trying to display a mixture of irritation and trepidation at what was about to occur, but she could not manage to disguise the same childlike excitement that she had shown whenever they had done this in the past. It made Harry happy to look at her. ‘I was not sure if you would still hold to the practice.’

      Harry smiled. ‘Perhaps if you had not come home I might have forgone it. But if you are under this roof then Christmas will be every bit as full as you would wish it to be. And if we are to do it at all, then we must bring Tremaine, so he will know what is to be expected of him next year.’

      If she meant to rescue the poor man, she gave no indication of it. Instead, she nodded with approval. ‘Let us go, then.’

      ‘Go where?’ Tremaine had found his voice at last.

      ‘Outside, of course. To cut the Yule Log.’

      ‘Oh, I say. You can’t mean …’

      ‘A massive oak. I have just the thing picked out.’ He turned back to his wife, ignoring the stricken look on Tremaine’s face. ‘You will approve,