Page 2 of Mistletoe and Christmas Kisses

“You arrogant cur,” she said for his ears alone.

“You brash hoyden,” he returned for hers, his ghost of a smile proving he wasenjoyingthis.

“Children, children, let’s not argue,” Lady Fontaine admonished from her spot at the head of the table. The jewels circling her wrist, paste because they’d had to sell the real ones to pay the bills, created a merry chime as she waved her hand in the air, a magician without a wand. “Family friends, it’s all in good fun,” she added, a vapid explanation Camille guessed no one believed.

Though Tristan had often circled her orbit during her childhood, they’d never been friends. But her aunt had always treated Tristan like family, provided shelter and encouragement when he and his father got into the raging battles that later drove an heir to a dukedom to join Wellington’s army and ride away to Belgium.

Not once looking back to see who he’d left behind.

“Obviously more enemies than friends,” Countess Milburn tittered.

Tristan blinked and tilted his head as if the idea hadn’t occurred to him. When she’d thought it a thousand times herself. “Who says we’re enemies,” he murmured and gave Camille a look that said something her mind didn’t understand but her body,oh, the wash of heat centering in her belly and moving into a neat tuck between her thighs…

Viscount Ridley slapped his glass to the table, spraying wine across starched linen and china. “Mercer, hold up, you’re embarrassing my intended. I suppose you must be reminded of courteous behavior now that you’re off the battlefield.”

Tristan halted, his glass suspended halfway to his lips. His eyes when they met hers were flat, a verdict she wasn’t sure how to interpret. “That’s not embarrassment on Lady Bellington’s face, Ridley, it’s anger.” He finished his motion, polished off his wine, looking down his aristocratic nose at the man she’d only yesterday accepted a proposal from. “You’d better learn to recognize the difference, or you’re in for a grueling matrimonial haul.”

“As if I’d take your—”

“I should add, I think it best you don’t mention a battlefield to someone recently removed.” Tristan peered into his glass as if wishing more wine would appear. “We fighting men tend to get testy about such matters, lack of courteous behavior as you so kindly mentioned.”

Her aunt jumped into the fray, willing to roll the dice for fun but not with malicious intent. And dipping a toe into the disaster of a pond that was the Battle of Waterloo was going too far, even for her. “Aren’t the floral arrangements adorning the room gorgeous? The mix of evergreens, holly, and English fir a scrumptious holiday presence? The cinnamon sticks interspersed throughout a brilliant touch. I wanted to bring the forest inside the manor, incorporating the fragrances of winter and Christmas, with as much color as the season could provide. Out of season, hothouse varieties being too steep for my purse, you see.”

“Lovely, Lady Fontaine, just lovely.” Countess Milburn touched a pine needle with her gloved finger. “You can evaluate the decorations for my annual winter ball in two days if you enjoy that sort of thing. I know you’ll be in attendance. I was exceptionally disappointed with last year’s preparations. And to think, I’ve used Germaine and Sons for years.”

Her aunt laughed and patted her ample chest, eyes sparkling in a way Camille had come to fear over the years, hard little sapphires glowing in the candlelight. “Oh, dear me, I’m as untalented as one can be with floral arrangements and the like. Every shrub I plant dies a quick death, pathetic things. My gardener cannot even bring them back once I step in.”

Giving her head a firm shake, Camille sent another pleading look down the table.Not here, not now.

But when had Isabel Fontaine ever followed any whim but her own?

“My niece created each flowery composition you see in this mausoleum of a house. Longleat could not survive without her. Camille has been interested in plants, cuttings, and such since she was in leading strings. It’s her special talent when most women in thetonaren’t allowed one. An interest of their ownandthe freedom to explore it. But with her parent’s demise when she was five, I was left to manage her upbringing in my way. Spinster aunts are a strange lot, aren’t we?” Lady Fontaine patted her lips with her napkin and pretended to ignore the horrified looks being once again aimed in Camille’s direction. “Her conservatory is nothing short of a museum dedicated to the study of botany. Fascinating aside from the spider webs and teeny-tiny insects and smell of decaying organisms. My library is filled with gardening texts, too, floor to ceiling. The girl always has her nose stuck in one. A book that is. Or a hand buried wrist-deep in dirt. She even corresponds with a botanical group in London. A group ofmen. A riveting hobby, isn’t that right, my dear?”

Camille took a slow sip of wine and closed her eyes. Counted to five as she considered why her aunt raised this topic when she knew Viscount Ridley would be horrified. Of course, the plan had been to tell him. At some point. When it was too late for him to back out and ruin her design to enter into a loveless marriage to save Longleat Manor from creditors. “It’s a business,” she finally muttered after a charged silence, as the gathering processed the idea of the daughter of a marquess having a specialtalent. Abusiness. Reading biological texts and meeting with men, if only by letter. It sounded shocking, even to her, when listed out like that.

“How industrious,” Countess Milburn murmured in a tone stating it was anything but.

Viscount Ridley smoothed his hand—a rather handsome hand, slim fingers and neat, clipped nails—down his crimson waistcoat. Over the slight, verymanageable, bulge that was his belly. “Well, this endeavor will end with our marriage. It’s no wonder you’ve been around for a season or two longer than anyone with your grace and undeniable beauty should have, Lady Camille. No viscountess has a hobby such as this. Practically sounds, dear God,academic.”

Awareness fluttered through her like someone had trailed a finger along her skin. Camille blinked to find the Duke of Mercer’s piercing gaze fixed on her. He made no effort, none at all, to hide the challenge coloring his emerald eyes almost black.

Tell them, his look said,go on.

Oh, that rebellious encouragement had nearly led to a swan’s death, as he’d told the entire gathering, thank you very much. She’d come close to drowning in the Serpentine.Andembarrassed herself for life in front of the man she’d loved since her first memory of him.

Glancing at the slice of nougat almond cake on her plate, Camille tapped the thistle branch she’d wrapped in gold ribbon and placed by each place setting, completely giving up the ghost. “I retained thirty accounts from the florist in Helmsley when he retired last year. In actuality, I make a tidy sum, which has kept Longleat afloat, if I may be so crass as to admit it. Celtic sprays, love knots, bridal bouquets, consulting on gardens in distress and the like keep me—”

“You makemoney?” Viscount Ridley clutched his chest as if his heart had stopped with the news.

“For aiding gardens in distress,” Tristan added in a deafening voice as if the viscount was hard of hearing. “Did you not grasp that part, Ridley? Perhaps your advanced years are catching up with you.”

Ridley colored, a bright pink stain swimming unflatteringly across his cheeks. “We were at Eton together, Mercer. I only have you by a year!”

Tristan propped his elbow on the table and dropped his chin to his fist. “Honestly, I don’t recall.”

“Ousted during your third term, weren’t you? ThatIrecall.”

“Rusticated, not expelled. A six-month sojourn from classes.” Tristan’s smile was positively beatific. “I thought I had the composition for the perfect pyrotechnic, but magnesium is a fickle ingredient, I learned and quickly. Took me a year to pay off the damage to the laboratory. And my hair didn’t grow back properly fortwo.” He dragged his hand through the luscious, overlong strands, dark and wild as the healthiest soil in England. “Burned it right off my head on one side and took part of an eyebrow with it.”