Page 132 of Ten Lords for the Holidays

On the way here, as Grandmama and Father had chatted about nothing in particular, Holly had started to become melancholy.

She couldn’t help it.

She imagined what it would have been like to sit in her mother’s room as they used to do and tell her all about the handsome earl and the butterflies she got in her stomach when he smiled at her.

Or what it would be like to introduce him to Mama.

By the time she’d arrived at the Assembly Rooms, she was on the verge of being positively miserable.

When Mr. Winchester had interrupted her maudlin musings, she’d felt no relief from her thoughts.

And then Lord Stockton had appeared.

And her misery had dissipated.

It was foolish, Holly knew, to have her emotions so affected by a man she hardly knew.

Yet, she was no more able to stop her heart from fluttering when he came to take her hand than she could stop the snow from falling.

She watched in silence as the flakes fell from the sky, dusting the ground in a blanket of pure white.

She’d forgotten what it was like to just watch the snow without feeling bereft. Forgotten the simple but no less powerful peace there was to be found in watching the world turn white.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” he asked quietly.

“It is,” Holly whispered, loathe to break the perfect stillness around them. “I don’t think I’ve noticed just how beautiful in years.”

He didn’t respond, but Holly hardly noticed.

It was only when she was suddenly enveloped in sandalwood and heat that she realised he’d removed his jacket and placed it round her shoulders.

Her heart stuttered as she turned her head to see him standing behind her, his hands resting on her shoulders.

Resisting the urge to burrow her nose in the lapel and inhale the masculine scent, she merely stared at him.

The moment seemed fraught with something that she couldn’t name before he dropped his hands and moved to stand beside her.

“There’s not much I can do about your toes, Lady Holly, but I can at least keep the rest of you warm.”

She laughed then, swamped by his coat and feeling strangely secure.

“Why do I get the feeling that you don’t do much of that?” he asked.

“Much of what?” Holly frowned.

“Laughing,” he answered softly.

His words hit a bit too close to home, and Holly raised a brow, hoping to break the peculiar tension surrounding them.

“You must think me very dour, my lord,” she quipped.

“On the contrary, my lady, I suspect you have far more spirit than anyone of my acquaintance. And there’s certainly more to you than meets the eye.” He winked.

His words were oddly pleasing to Holly, and she felt that dratted heat in her cheeks.

“Ah, there it is,” he grinned.

“There what is?”

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