Page 11 of The Mistletoe Countess
Frederick followed Grace’s exclamation to see the man from earlier standing nearby, his tall, lean frame poised not too far from the doorway where they stood. His suit shone of a lesser fineness than Frederick’s or Blake’s. Dixon? Was he a family friend?
The man flicked his gaze from Frederick to Grace, his expression stiffening.
“Grace, dear, you know how Mr. Dixon despises having attention brought to him,” Lillias offered, her voice low.
Grace tilted her head, her gaze shifting between Mr. Dixon, Lillias, and Frederick, those intelligent eyes making some sort of examination, if Frederick knew anything. What did she see? The unhappy conclusions Frederick drew resurrected his doubt with a fury.
“I’m so sorry, Tony.” Grace touched the man’s arm, and his body relaxed. “You know I never mean to make people uncomfortable. I just have an uncanny ability to do so, and”—her voice dropped to a whisper—“Mr. Cole isn’t the most straight-and-narrow sort, so I’d check beneath the table if I were you.”
Frederick couldn’t help grinning at her generosity mixed with such—well, he wasn’t quite sure what to call it. Genuineness?
Grace looked back to the kissing ball. “But why hang such a lovely invention in public at all, if it’s only meant to inspireprivateaffection? That seems rather ruthless, if you ask me.”
“Grace, dear, they’re tradition.” This from Mr. Ferguson.
Grace tightened her hold on her father and grinned up at him. “Well then, Father dear, we shall not let the tradition be wasted.” And she bounced up on tiptoe and pressed a kiss to her father’s cheek. “Besides, I always feel a bit merrier after sharing affection with someone I love, don’t you?”
“Indeed, my dear girl.”
Frederick watched them walk away, a smile lingering in his mind at the unfettered display of fondness. Miss Grace left nothing in doubt, did she? Frederick couldn’t even fathom having a woman love with such boundless, and somewhat terrifying, sincerity. Her future husband would need a steady head and a solid sense of humor, but—the idea pricked at his conscience—he’d no doubt find joy woven through the unexpected.
“I’m afraid I’ve caused you to doubt my earnestness. Perhaps Grace is right.” Lillias’s raspy voice drew his attention back to her face. She moved closer to him, entwined their arms. “A little show of affection might be just what each of us needs to ease the uncertainty of the next few days.”
“Lillias?”
She shifted her body, pressing close, her rosewater scent filling his lungs like an aphrodisiac. “Perhaps…I can assure you of our compati-bility. Of my ready willingness.” Her gaze dropped to his lips again, her words smooth, enticing. “It would not be improper for an engaged couple to show certain affections to one another.” She searched his face as if trying to convince herself as much as him. “Test the waters, so to speak?”
“I don’t know that—”
“Meet me in half an hour in the Mahogany Room,” she whispered, placing her hand over his. “It is vacant and will provide a perfect hide-away.” And with that, she slipped away to join her group of friends on the other side of the room. His gaze followed her movements, her figure made to admire.
Frederick glanced back to the kissing ball above, his mind warring with his will. Whatever her connections, he had to at least attempt to transfer her feelings to him, for the good of Havensbrooke’s future as well as his own.
Perhaps a kisswouldmake a difference.
Chapter Four
Frederick walked across the loggia, breathing in the scent of pine and winter on the chilled air. Voices and laughter emerged from inside as he took his time crossing the less-traveled path from the party to the Mahogany Room. He wasn’t certain when Lillias had disappeared from the Music Room, but he’d waited an appropriate amount of time before slipping away himself.
He’d never imagined something as simple as a kiss could feel like a precipice for his future, but perhaps Blake was right. If a kiss, or the proper type of kiss and freely given, could encourage affection, he’d ensure he’d do his best, if skill and sincerity had the power to do so.
The door to the Mahogany Room stood partially open—an invita-tion—so Frederick slipped in without a sound. His pulse hammered up a notch. A dying fire provided the only light in the expansive room, its soft glow casting deep shadows across furniture and carpet up to the wall of windows. His breath caught. Outlined by a large arched window and haloed in moonlight stood the silhouette of his bride-to-be.
She was beautiful. Dazzling, even. The entire ambience of the setting brewed with the amber hues of a dream. He eased his approach, waiting for her to turn, but she appeared lost in thought—gaze trained toward the dark outline of the distant mountains. Her shadowed profile intrigued him most of all. There was a gentleness to her thoughtful features that tugged his heart more than his desires. He’d witnessed her compassion toward her sister and father. She’d softened at the idea of having caused him to doubt her sincerity. Yet here, in this intimate moment, he’d never anticipated Lillias Ferguson to look almost hallowed, basking in moonlight and dusk. Seductive? Yes. Intriguing? Perhaps. But angelic? Innocent even?
On a whim, he swept his arm around her slim waist and pulled her against him, catching her gasp with his lips. An immediate jolt shot through his body at the connection. A first kiss often gave away many hints, but this one surprised him. She tasted of strawberries and smelled like mint and rosemary. A tremor shook from her body into his, as if this kiss was wholly unexpected, but just as he thought to pull away, she relaxed. Her pliable, warm mouth contoured to his in such a tantalizing way, it encouraged him to linger. He tightened his hold, confirming his intentions without reservation.
Her soft curves melted against him and a gentle moan purred up from her throat like a request for more. He gladly complied. Her cool fingers slipped up his chest to graze his cheek. The gentle touch—more curious than seductive—sent an almost maddening battle to his raw emotions. She felt so small in his arms, so perfectly fitted. A sudden rush of protectiveness gripped him. There was an indefinable sweetness in her caress, and her almost innocent response wrung his heart with tenderness. Hope.
Was this the woman she hid from the public? This moonlit creature?
In the quiet of their intimate moment—this first kiss—he vowed to endeavor to win her, if he could. Even if it meant staying in London more than he wished or hosting more parties than he cared for. He had to try.
With the slightest hesitation and a sigh from his beautiful companion, he drew back, the full glow of the moon lighting her face.
But it wasn’t Lillias Ferguson he’d kissed with such devotion.
Staring back at him, bright eyes as wide as saucers and lips swollen from his thorough assault, stood Gracelynn Ferguson—his bride’s sister.
