Page 40 of The Grand Mistletoe Assembly
A soft, dreamy expression in his eyes, Alastair slowly moved forward. His lips touched the spot he’d wiped clean. “This isn’t an alcove, but I couldn’t resist. I always loved kissing you in daylight.”
She reached up, held his face between her palms, and pressed her mouth to his, sighing as their tongues twined, and he pulled her against him. His body was hard, as she expected a former soldier’s to be, and she tingled everywhere their bodies touched. Breathless, she shifted back, pressed her hand to her lips, and hoped he didn’t see too much mischief in her eyes. “I believe you now have need of the handkerchief, milord.”
“Is the spot the color of the daffodils?”
“No, it’s the green of the leaves. It was on my fingertips.”
“Perhaps you should do the honors this time.”
They giggled like children, and when Lily finished, she emulated his previous actions, planting tiny kisses where the streaks had been. “Would you care to join me in a cup of tea?”
“And forgo all these delicious kisses?”
She sashayed toward the door, winking as she turned her head. “We do have another occasion coming up, do we not? Surely there will be an alcove or an unused room available for perhaps one more kiss?”
“I shall gladly have that tea while we discuss with whom you will be sitting in that alcove.”
Oh, she was indeed a minx. Her family had always deemed her wild. They blamed her red hair and her artist’s temperament. Even Emily had glimpsed Lily’s natural affinity for mischief and pleasure when she had lived briefly with her aunt at the Grange. Alastair said that was what had attracted him to Lily all those years ago—her free spirit in a time when ladies were supposed to be straitlaced and meek.
She stopped at the door of the study to invite Emily to join them. She was not within. They’d take tea alone in the drawing room.
When they were seated, Lily poured.
Alastair leaned forward. “What time should I collect you for the charity event?”
Lily sighed and warmed her hands around her teacup. “I’ve decided to attend with my brother. His wife is ill, and Emily said he has been looking forward to the occasion.”
Alastair studied the biscuit in his hand and transferred it to his other hand. “I’m disappointed. I won’t be if you’ll sit with me at dinner and dance the opening set with me.”
“I promise.”
“We can steal away and find that alcove when we view the silent auction items.”
“You are a hard bargainer, Pokey.”
“Uh, uh, uh.” He shook his finger. “You promised not to use that old … What was it?”
“An endearment.” She grasped his bare hand, and an immediate feeling of warmth engulfed her.
Had it always been like this when they were young and in love? Because now they were old and, dare she say it, on their way to becoming what they once were. His eyes and his kisses told her how he felt. Was he ready to love again? She didn’t know when his wife had died.
Oh Lord, she could not bear being heartbroken again. What they’d had years ago seemed to be blossoming. Would it wither and die as soon as he heard the rumors of her old scandal? Would he be disgusted and angry that she risked his reputation and his daughter’s by being in his company? Society was cruel to those who broke its rules. A man could survive being seen in the company of the scandalous Mrs. Whittington, especially when she retreated to Langston Grange never to be seen in London again. A marriageable daughter might not. She couldn’t risk tainting them. She must put a stop to this budding romance—for Alastair and for Constance—as much as her heart did not wish it.
“There you are, Aunt.” Emily walked slowly into the drawing room, her hand at her back. “And Lord Selwick. Are you paying a morning call … in the morning?”
They all laughed. Everyone knew morning calls were paid in the afternoon. Emily, bless her heart, had saved her from making a fool of herself and stumbling through an awkward excuse as to why the Grand Mistletoe Assembly might be the last time she’d be seen with Alastair. If he mentioned future engagements, she’d have time to formulate believable excuses.
When had she begun to tell lies?
The night her husband died.
CHAPTER 5
“Say I’m indisposed,” Lily insisted. She steepled her fingers as last-minute nerves plagued her.
Emily stood with her hands on her hips, her mouth in a thin line. “Absolutely not. Papa will be here to collect you in two hours, and you are going.”
“You don’t understand.” Lord, she sounded like a servant who’d been caught pilfering the family silver.
