Page 8 of The Mistletoe Countess
This decision was about redeeming his past and securing the future of Havensbrooke, not of his heart. Frederick raised his gaze, the weight on his shoulders doubling. “I know it seems small, maybe even a slight paranoia, but it’s my future, and I cannot take my family through another scandal.”
Blake shook his head, his lip curling into a frown. “This is one of those rare moments when I’m exceptionally grateful you’re the son of an earl and I’m not.”
Frederick shot him a weak glare. “You’re the son of a baron.”
“The third son of a baron, so I feel quite safe in my position of irre-sponsibility.” Blake sobered and took a seat near Frederick. “You can’t back out now. You’d lose a third of Havensbrooke based on the contract.”
“It’s a sad world indeed if my two options are either financial ruin or possible scandal.”
“Isn’t that the very definition of an aristocratic life?”
“Are you supposed to be helping me?”
Blake snapped his fingers, his smile spreading with too much mischief for Frederick’s peace of mind. “I have an idea, Freddie.”
“We change situations?”
“Not on your life. And certainly not on mine.” Blake slid into an opposing chair and leaned forward, an unsettling glint in his pale eyes. Frederick had a sudden memory of the time the two of them had bet on riding one of the new horses in the stables at Havensbrooke. Frederick had lost—and ended up with a broken arm. “But since you’ve already agreed to marry the girl, the only recourse is to kiss her.”
Frederick’s head shot up. “What?” All this kissing talk was unnerving. First Grace and now Blake?
“Come on, Freddie, you’re not as thick as all that. A woman who is used to being kissed kisses much differently than one who isn’t. If it allays your fears, then what is the trouble? I’d expect you’ll be doing quite a bit of kissing within a week at any rate.”
“You can’t be serious.”
His palm came up to temper Frederick’s reaction. “She’s practically your bride already, so show her your commitment with a good kiss. For one, it could encourage a transfer of her wayward affections, so to speak, and for the other, it may provide a gauge for how entrenched your fiancée’s heart and emotions are. Then you can plan any drastic measures accordingly.”
“You say the most ridiculous things.”
Blake shrugged. “I can’t say I ever shy away from a good kiss now and then.”
“I’m beginning to understand all the more which one of us took after Grandfather’s sensibilities.”
“Which means I must have taken after Grandmother’s charm.” Blake grinned. “So I should age like an excellent wine.”
Blake’s levity eased some of Frederick’s angst about the entire affair. He couldn’t change his decision, but Lillias Ferguson was not Celia Blackmore. He would do all in his power, with God’s help, to make his future much better than the mistakes of his past, and that process started with wooing his fiancée’s heart.
Chapter Three
Frederick marched toward the Music Room for another night of festivities, determined to make his engagement and marriage to Lillias Ferguson work. True, they were not as well suited as he’d hoped, nor was he certain of her heart being untouched, but as he’d learned firsthand, many times the past attached weights to the future if he let it.
He would not. The die had been cast.
The thick green curtain separating the massive room from the rest of the house was pulled to a close, keeping in heat and blocking his view of the guests. If he remembered rightly, card playing and games were the menu of the evening.
He paused and drew in a breath before entering, but a glimmer of dark purple peeking from beneath the corner of the curtain caught his attention. A shoe? He slowed his steps and examined further, his smile crooked up in revelation.
Gracelynn Ferguson stood mostly hidden within the folds of the curtain, book raised to almost touch her nose, attention intent on the story. Her ginger hair topped her head in a rain of curls, much the same style as her sister’s, but every expression of her downturned face bloomed with authenticity.
“Aren’t you supposed to be with the party?”
Her head raised, eyes wide, and she drew the book to her chest. “Well, I…” She looked to the curtained door and back to him, her pink lips twisted into an impish grin. “Aren’tyou?A guest of honor, even?”
There she went again, almost unraveling his smile in a most unnerving way. “I have an impeccable excuse. My valet twisted his ankle, and I went to see how his recovery was coming along.”
“How very chivalrous of you.” The conversation paused for a moment, and her gaze slid back to the curtain then to him. “Yet a feat you could have entertained earlier in the day, I imagine.” Her eyes shimmered with an unvoiced laugh. “You don’t like house parties, either, do you?”
She was a clever one. Her innocence and vibrancy dripped with a contagion, luring Frederick’s former carefree nature to resurface. “I find smaller gatherings more meaningful, as a rule.”
