Page 38 of The Grand Mistletoe Assembly
Alastair helped her into the carriage and sat beside her, placing his hat and cane on the seat across. He took her hand and held it, all the while peering into her eyes. “Have you been to the Theatre Royal?”
“Sadly, no. I hear it is magnificent.”
“Remember when we attended a village production ofA Comedy of Errors? You laughed so hard I thought you might swoon.”
“I adore Shakespeare’s comedies. I think I liked that one best because I saw it with you.”
“Ah, now you’ve ensured I shall have a wonderful evening.”
They shouldn’t be holding hands. No, they should not. Wasn’t it lovely that they were? No one would know because they were in the interior of a well-sprung carriage, and when they alighted, they would not do anything to call attention to themselves.
A jolt of fear threatened her peace of mind. She would not allow it. She needed this, a morsel of happiness after so many years of loneliness. When they arrived, she would swallow her trepidation and force herself to look people in the eye. Who would know her? Not one person, she was sure. They’d merely nod and smile because she was on the arm of a well-known peer. They’d probably think she was his mistress.
Let them. I will not deprive myself of this one pleasure.
They were late, and the queue was short. They entered the theatre barely in time to be seated in Alastair’s box before the play began. She chose the second row of chairs, not the first, which allowed more privacy. A warm hand grasped her own, sending tiny frissons of heat into her nether parts. The play was familiar. The actors were not, but they were wonderful, and Lily chastised herself for hiding in the country and missing so much of what she once enjoyed. During an intermission, she sat back in the shadows while Alastair left to secure refreshments. If anyone wondered who she was, her handsome companion could tell them. She no longer cared.
How absolutely blasé you’ve become.
The rest of the play was equally good, and when they wound their way through the crowd on their way out to the street, she stopped as if an icy talon slid down her spine. She’d caught a glimpse of the one woman who could not be here. Or had she? Nerves, that’s all this was. Surely it wasn’t Hannah.
Alastair acknowledged several friends and seemed unaware of her reaction as he called for their carriage. They didn’t speak until they were both inside.
“Are you glad you came?” he asked.
“I am. The play was wonderful.” She was in control again.
He took her hand and gently stroked her covered wrist. She closed her eyes and let herself feel the erotic strokes, imagining those fingers elsewhere. When the carriage stopped, Alastair leaned closer.
“I know we’ve just recently become reacquainted, but it seems like the years have fallen away. May I escort you to the charity assembly at the end of the week? Your niece told me you are reclusive, although I’ve yet to understand why, but I shall honor your decision if you choose not to go.”
She wanted to say yes. She wanted to spend as much time in Alastair’s company as she could before returning to Langston Grange. She wanted to savor his expressions, his seductive voice, and his turns of phrase. She wanted memories of him to cleanse the horrors in her past.
Others would be at the assembly, people he knew and who had known his wife. His daughter would be there. No. She couldn’t risk being recognized by a dowager who might remember the old scandal.
The evening had been perfect, and here she was, contemplating ruining it by refusing to give him the answer he sought. She shouldn’t be churlish. Nothing happened at the theatre. She was being a ninny. She should say yes, say she was looking forward to the assembly.
They entered the quiet house and slipped into the drawing room, away from the prying eyes of the night footman. “Can I offer you a brandy? My nephew’s late father put down an impressive cellar both here and at Cardmore Hall.”
“I have a better idea.” He looked into her eyes as he slowly tugged her glove completely free. He lowered his mouth to her hand, and when his lips touched the inside of her wrist, tingles went straight to her center. His tongue traced a pattern there that nearly melted her knees, then he drew her gently toward him and kissed her.
She’d forgotten what a delicious kisser he was, eliciting murmurs and sighs as the kiss deepened and their tongues entwined. His mouth brushed her ear. “Say yes, Lily. Say you’ll attend.”
When his lips caressed her neck and feathered kisses behind her ear, she knew what her answer would be.
“Yes. Yes. I’ll go.” She stepped back and held both his hands. A candle in a wall sconce gave her a clear view of his expression. “I have a caveat.”
“And what is that?”
His voice was low and seductive, so she leaned forward until she reached his ear. “You must promise to find a way to kiss me again, exactly like this.”
He stood back, his mouth curved in a half smile, his lids half-closed.
“You are still a wild minx, Lily Sinclair. It must be all that glorious red hair.”
Only she wasn’t Lily Sinclair. She was Lily Whittington, a woman some thought had murdered her husband.
CHAPTER 4
