Page 21 of A Sea View Christmas (On Devonshire Shores)

“Amazing!” he exclaimed. “A regular fire-eater!”

Squeals and laughter followed as one by one the players—James, Emily, and Effie—reached in and grabbed raisins, putting them into their mouths.

Mr. Gwilt stood nearby, a basin of cold water at the ready, should anyone be burned.

Taking his turn, Colin flinched and shook his hand. “Ow!” Mr. Gwilt stepped over, and the young man dipped his fingers into the soothing water.

“Too slow,” Effie teased him. She turned to her stepfather. “Your turn.”

He grinned in reply and snatched out a raisin.

Sarah hung back, watching the game. No one looked her way or challenged her to play. No one expected her to take part in anything as frivolous as a game.

As a girl, she had liked snapdragon and been good at it.

When had she stopped playing games, joining in?

When had she become a spoilsport? She might have more responsibilities now, but that did not mean she could not enjoy herself now and again—especially during the holidays when surrounded by loved ones.

Sarah walked forward with determination and joined the other players around the table.

Georgiana’s eyes widened. “Are you going to play, Sarah?”

“Why not?”

The others turned to look. She had not meant to make a spectacle of herself.

She took a deep breath, eyed a likely target, and reached in her hand.

She yanked it back and reflexively stuck index finger and thumb into her mouth, raisin and all.

The hot raisin sizzled on her tongue. For a moment she left the smarting fingertip in her mouth.

Noticing the others regarding her in curiosity or concern, Sarah pulled it out and said, “Who’s next? Oh ... the fire is going out.”

The brandy flames faded, and the game ended in a matter of moments.

Perhaps she ought to have waited a few seconds longer.

Pausing to pick up her glass of punch, Sarah smiled at no one in particular, and while the other players compared how many raisins each had eaten, Sarah slipped away.

Going belowstairs, she passed through the kitchen, where Mrs. Besley and Lowen were sitting down to a well-deserved late supper.

“Need something, Miss Sarah?” Mrs. Besley made to rise, wincing as she put weight on her gouty foot.

Sarah raised a palm. “Don’t get up. Just going into the workroom for something.”

She retreated into her private haven, retrieved a pitcher of water from the cold larder, and stuck her finger into it.

Proud , foolish creature...

Footsteps scraped over the threshold, and she looked up in chagrin to see Callum Henshall.

“Burned yourself, didn’t ye, lass?”

She sighed. “Yes. I was hoping no one noticed.”

“I notice everything about ye.”

Pleasure at his words competed with embarrassment. “I’m all right. Just feeling foolish.”

“What made ye try it?”

“I used to be good at it. Who do you think taught Georgiana? But it’s been too many years. I lost my nerve for a second, and the hesitation cost me.”

“Let me see.”

“It’s nothing.”

He extended his palm.

“Oh, very well.”

She placed her hand in his. He held it up and frowned at the red patch of skin at the tip of her forefinger.

“Perhaps Mrs. Besley has some liniment?”

Sarah shrugged. “Custom says to hold a minor burn near a fire, but I don’t think I could stand that.”

He shook his head. “Old wives’ tale. A cold compress is all you need. Well, that and...”

“And what?”

He pursed his lips, and gently blew cool air over her hot finger. Ahh...

“Is that helping?”

Sarah’s pulse raced. “Helping ... what?”

He held her gaze and slowly pressed a feather-soft kiss to her throbbing finger.

“Y-yes,” she faltered. “Helping.”

Mr. Gwilt appeared in the doorway. “Oh. Uh. Pardon me. Just wanted to see if you were all right, Miss Sarah. I see you are... in good hands.”

“I am, Mr. Gwilt. Thank you.”

After the games had been played, people rose and drifted away from the drawing room to stretch their legs, refill their teacups, or select a few more dainties from the dining room.

Colin wandered out across the passage, and Georgie followed him. She found him in the quiet parlour, glancing almost forlornly toward the kissing bough.

She walked over to condole with him. “I’m sorry Miss Marriott could not join us. You might kiss me under the mistletoe instead, if you like. A sorry replacement, I know, but I do hate to see you disappointed.”

“Not at all, Miss Georgie.”

Even so, she leaned forward, tapping a forefinger to her cheek. He grinned and leaned down, planting a kiss there.

“There,” she said. “Not so bad, I hope?”

“Quite the contrary.”

Sarah came up from belowstairs and hesitated in the opposite doorway, Mr. Henshall on her heels.

He said, “Ah, someone is taking advantage of the kissing bough, I see.”

Sarah looked from Georgie to Colin and back again in evident surprise but did not deliver the mild reproof Georgiana expected.

Later, after the party ended and most people had gone to their own homes or to bed, Mr. Henshall stayed to help Sarah and Mr. Gwilt tidy up the remaining plates, cups, and glasses left here and there in the public rooms.

When Mr. Gwilt carried the final tray of dishes belowstairs, Mr. Henshall lingered in the firelit parlour. He nodded to the kissing bough with a glimmer in his eyes.

“Well, Miss Sarah. What do ye say? You, me, mistletoe ...?”

Sarah bit her lip, feeling uncertain. Peter, as a clergyman, had not approved of the pagan tradition, so she had never been kissed beneath the mistletoe. But now ... with this man?

How could she resist?

Pulse tripping, she walked over and joined him there.

Mimicking Georgie’s earlier gesture, she tipped her cheek toward him.

He leaned close, but did not touch her. She turned in question, and his lips unexpectedly brushed hers.

Sarah stood there, stunned, unable or unwilling to move away.

He kissed her gently and she, oh so tentatively, kissed him back.

Then, pulling away slightly, she murmured near his lips, “Mr. Henshall, I...”

“Callum.”

“Callum. I...”

His mouth again descended on hers, silencing further words, further thought or protest.

She had been kissed before, years ago. Peter had given her an awkward, nervous kiss upon their betrothal and one more fervent before his ship sailed. Yet nothing in her memories compared to this.

Sarah was overwhelmed with sensations: Surprise. Pleasure. Wobbly knees. She had not known this was what a kiss could feel like.

And she found she liked it, very much indeed.