Page 43 of Married By Twelfth Night
He thought of the obnoxious requirement on Aunt’s list. “You should learn.”
“I fear it’s too late for me.”
“Nonsense. There is nothing like today.” He slid his arm behind her back, as if it was the most natural place to rest it in the world, and led her to the drawing room. He released it just before they entered and missed the feel of her immediately.
The next hour was full of relaxed chatter and idle speculation on who would use the kissing boughs first at each house. Ruth played a few songs, and while Grace refused to sing, the afternoon was perfect. He was content to have time away from his problems. After all the chocolate was gone, Ruth announced her desire to return home.
As they walked into the entrance hall, Bridget shrieked, “There it is!” She pointed to the kissing bough hanging in all its red, white, and green glory. The smell of evergreen permeated every corner, seemingly wrapping them up in the holiday spirit.
“Of all the baskets we made, I believe this one is my favorite.” Grace moved to look up at it.
Bridget grinned. “I might have selfishly saved the best for ourselves.” She sighed with pleasure. “It is such a triumph seeing one’s creation displayed like that.”
Ruth put on her cloak. “All it needs is a willing couple.”
Bridget’s eyes widened. “Oh, yes. And fortunately, we have the perfect couple standing right beneath it.” She motioned to him and Grace.
“Us?” Grace laughed a little hysterically, and every muscle in his body seemed to tighten. He looked at Grace and then up at the mistletoe they’d been appreciating. When had they positioned themselves beneath it?
“Come now,” Ruth said. “It’s just a little sporting fun, and Mr. Graham is a gentleman.”
He cleared his throat. “I am a gentleman . . .”
“And it’s tradition,” Bridget added, moving to Ruth’s side as if showing her allegiance in some unspoken battle. “There’s nothing at all untoward about it.”
He swallowed and turned to Grace.
She glowered up at him, but it didn’t hide the array of emotions passing over her. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Are you calling me a coward?”
“Not my words exactly, but I believe the description is adequate in this situation.” That pert nose lifted in an air of superiority, but he caught the slightest tremble of her lips.
Oh, this was going to be fun. It felt like all the times they’d bantered before, but this time neither of them would have to run from the growing tension between them. He stepped closer, the toes of his boots touching the toes of her own. “When have I ever backed down from a challenge?”
She visibly swallowed. “You can become a coward at any moment, and today just happens to be your unlucky day.”
He wanted to laugh at her logic. “And what about you? You’re no coward?”
“Ha! I can handle a simple kiss. You think every woman swoons at your feet, but I assure you, I will not.”
The gauntlet had been thrown. His voice dropped to a whisper. “Very well. Don’t blame me if you cannot stop dreaming about me tonight.” He knew what he’d be dreaming about, and he hadn’t even touched her yet. The thought of remedying that, with full, guiltless permission, set his hands in motion. He circled her waist and drew her to him, her hands flying to rest at his chest.
“What are you doing?” she asked breathlessly.
“We’re going to kiss, aren’t we?” he whispered, not wanting to continue if she did not want it.
Her eyes darted to his. “That’s only our lips touching, not the rest of us.”
“Maybe if you’re kissing Mr. Dobson. A real man isn’t so inept.” His words were brusque, but it was because she felt insanely comfortable in his arms, and he didn’t know what to make of it.
She licked the corner of her mouth, unwittingly teasing his sensibilities. “Shan’t I be the judge of your abilities?” she asked, blinking slowly.
Her sea-blue-green eyes drew him ever closer—the color bold, inviting. He looked at her for three counts, her breath on his mouth, the smell of her holding him captive, his blood rising and heat climbing, and then leaned forward and set his lips against hers. Instead of grazing her mouth as he had intended to do, he felt her challenge pushing him to make it at least a little memorable. A memory that would sustain him, should he never kiss her again.
He caught her bottom lip between his, moving his mouth against hers, careful at first and incredibly gentle. But Grace was no docile animal who would shirk a little touch and shy away. She was a clever fox who had enticed him with her mere smile, needling words, and loving heart. She leaned into him, catching him completely off guard, filling him with her scent, her heat, her passion. She kissed him back as if she were the expert—as if she intended to not just haunt his dreams forever but be in his every waking thought too.
Her hands slid up his chest and splayed half on his face and half his neck, sending a thrill through his body. Whatever power she was unleashing, he yearned for it. A hum filled his ears like his head was under water, drowning in perfection. His hands tightened around her silky gown. She had been his support, his partner, his joy these last weeks, and all his hidden, growing feelings he had fought to suppress were suddenly freed.
