Page 17 of Ten Lords for the Holidays

LORD LOCRYN AND THE PIXIE’S KISS - DEB MARLOWE *

PROLOGUE

CORNWALL, ENGLAND

Spectacular colorsfairly danced across the horizon, but Thistle missed the sunset entirely. Instead, she bent and crooned over a tiny, lone sea holly plant.

“Well, good evening, you brave wee one! Are you not so pretty—and so daring, taking root all alone here amidst these rocky pools?”

She didn’t find many such seedlings here, at the bottom of the cliffs below Castle Keyvnor—and it was her business to know. Thistle was a Pixie, and a caretaker of many of the wild things that grew and flew and raced along the tidal coast in these parts. She had a soft spot for the sea holly, though, as she had been named after the plant. She even resembled it. Her skin held the same soft grey-green hue as the spiky foliage and her hair and eyes shone a striking blue-lavender—the same as the plant’s bristled flowers.

Leaning down, she stroked the prickly leaves and breathed across their waxy surface. The small seedling shuddered and shimmered, suddenly a little larger and more robust.

“There, now.” Thistle smiled in satisfaction—and then, startled, looked up.

“Thistle!” Her friend Derowan perched on a rock above.

“Derowan? What are you doing here, so far from your tree?” Derowan was a dryad, a tree spirit, and rarely ranged so far from her home.

“I know, I cannot stay long, but I had to find you! He’s there, in the gardens at Lancarrow—right near my tree!”

“Who?”

“Him! The human! The one you spoke on and on about earlier. The one you are interested in.”

Thistle flushed. “Interested may be too strong a—”

“Never mind!” Derowan reached down, grasped her arm and popped them both into the spreading arms of her tree.

“A little warning, next time, please!” Thistle latched onto a branch. She always found it dizzying to be dragged through the netherspace under someone else’s control. She steadied herself quickly, though, and gazed downward.

Derowan’s oak stood on the edge of the Lancarrow gardens, almost a bridge between the wild woods, where the Pixie’s barrow stood, and the more manicured acres tended by men. And two men stood below. Not gardeners, but Gryffyn Cardew, young master of Lancarrow, and his cousin, Lord Locryn.

“Oh, he has grown since his last visit, has he not?” Derowan crooned quietly. “Grown so handsome!”

True enough. The young man, on the cusp of adulthood, was strikingly good-looking—in the plainer, human fashion, of course.

“You spent a great deal of time with the Hambly girls today,” he said to Gryff as they settled in to listen. “I heard you took them all around the village. Did one of them catch your eye, perhaps?”

“Perhaps,” Gryff said with a slight smile.

“Then I will hope they begin to visit more frequently. It would be no bad thing for your family—or for Lancarrow—to snag a connection to Keyvnor and the Banfield earldom.

“If they do begin to visit—will we see even more of you, Locryn?” Gryff raised a brow. “I saw you spending some time with one of the younger girls when we stopped down by the docks.”

Thistle leaned down to better hear Lord Locryn’s response.

“Yes, I was sketching that big bush of sea holly on the bank at the end of the long dock. Did you know that is a relatively rare specimen? It only grows along the coast in the south and west of England.”

“Rare plants are your specialty. I must concern myself with learning everything of the ones that keep the estate going.” Gryff cocked his head. “But what of the girl? Old Banfield will pass on one day and she’ll be poised to enter society as the daughter of the new earl. Is that rare enough for you? Or is she just another garden-variety conquest for the son of the Marquess of Berylstock? She is certainly pretty enough, I would say.”

“Lady Gwyn, yes. Quick of wit—and she is a fetching little thing—dainty and bright-eyed and that hair—so brilliant in the sun with just a hint of a reddish tint running through the blonde.”

Locryn held silent for a few moments and Thistle clasped her hands together in delight.

But then he sighed. “But she’s a bit young, eh?” The corner of his mouth lifted. “And so am I—too young to contemplate such an innocent young miss. Just now I prefer women who are moreknowing, if you understand me.”

“So I hear,” Gryff remarked. “You’re also a bit young to be gaining a rakehell’s reputation.”

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