Page 211 of Ten Lords for the Holidays

“Have you tried English mulled wine?” she asked him. “They’re serving some in the refreshment room. Perhaps you have something similar in your homeland.”

“I believe we do,” he said, “though I will not know until I taste it.”

“Will you join me in a glass?”

“With pleasure.” His solemn voice held none of the light flirtation she was used to from gentlemen. Which, of course, made him all the more appealing.

She took his arm and steered him through the crowd. Their passage elicited laughter and comments concerning Red Riding Hood and her tame wolf, and Eliana could not help smiling in return. No doubt they made quite a sight together—as if they’d planned their costumes from the start.

They reached the parlor off the ballroom, where the refreshments were laid out. Like the ballroom, this room, too, was packed with people, elbow to elbow.

“Allow me to fetch our wine,” Count Nikolai said. “There’s no need for both of us to fight through the crowd.”

“Thank you, my lord.” She glanced about for a place to wait, and spied an alcove on one side of the room with a low bench, miraculously unoccupied. “I’ll sit over there.”

She expected him to leave her and go jostle for a place at the tables, but instead he gently took her elbow and escorted her to the bench.

“What nice manners they have in Russia,” she said, taking a seat. Her red cloak pooled about her, a little too disconcertingly like blood.

He tipped his head. “Some foreigners know how to treat an English lady. I shall return shortly, my lady.”

To her surprise, he bent and took her hand, pressing a kiss upon the back of her glove. It sent a jolt of heat through her, though surely she could not possibly have felt the warmth of his lips through the fabric.

She blinked, and then he was gone, smoothly slipping through the crowd.

What a curious man Count Nikolai was. A foreigner with a touch of melancholy, though perhaps that was because he was far from home. Indeed, it was a sad time of year to be alone. She would be quite downcast if she were spending the holidays away from her family and friends.

Her own discontents seemed rather small in comparison. Eliana took a deep breath and resolved not to mope any longer about her romantic prospects. The right man would come along, and she must simply trust the fact.

After all, look at her sister. A year ago Selene had been headed for certain spinsterhood, when a carriage accident and a chance meeting had transformed her life. Certainly the same thing could happen to Eliana.

“My lady.”

The sound of Count Nikolai’s low Russian accent made her blink. He stood before her, a glass of mulled wine in either hand.

She took the glass he held out, admiring the gold filigree about the rim.

“Please, sit.” She patted the bench beside her. “There’s room for two.”

Barely, but it would be rude to make him stand there and drink his wine.

“As you wish.” He sat beside her, and once again she was struck by the edge of elegance in his movements.

His leg pressed lightly against hers, and a strange heat washed over her, as though she sat too near a blazing fire.

“Tell me about Kiev,” she said, in an effort to distract herself from the sensation. “I know very little about Russia. What do you do for fun at the holidays?”

“We enjoy the snow. We go ice skating. Do you like to skate?”

She could not help the little shiver that went through her. “Not at all. I fell into a pond when I was a young girl and nearly drowned, so I stay far away from water whenever possible.”

“I did not mean to distress you.” His blue eyes were sympathetic, as though he, too, bore childhood scars. “Shall we sample this mulled wine of yours?”

“Certainly.”

It was a welcome distraction from the old fear, and she raised her glass to her nose. The scent of cloves and oranges wafted up, along with the briny smell of warmed inferior wine.

“Alas,” she said, “I’m afraid our host has not used the finest of vintages.”

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