Page 31 of Mistletoe and Christmas Kisses
“Must you be desirous?” she whispered in horror as if he’d suggested he planned to take his sword and run someone through.
Dex hung his head, his spurt of laugher striking her cheek. “Oh, Georgie, how I’ve missed you.” Heat blistered her skin as he withdrew his hand, his thumb skimming her jaw, a sensitive spot beneath her ear. He didn’t linger, didn’t even seem to know his touch affected her. “I must. If I don’t produce an heir, my family is left with a perilous path of succession. My cousin, Alistair. Remember him? He would ravage the duchy in less than a year. Hundreds of tenants lives held in the balance. The decision is without ambiguity, isn’t it? One I’ve put off for far too long. When my father was still strong enough to discuss my future, I promised to provide the name of my fiancée by Twelfth Night.” He tapped his fingers in a staccato rhythm on the floor. “I could hold off, perhaps, negotiate for more time, but to what purpose? It’s the last thing I can give him. The last thing Iwillgive him.”
“So soon.” The Feast of the Epiphany, Twelfth Night, was the official end of Christmastide and just over two weeks away. But the choicewasn’tnegotiable. Alistair Fontanel, Viscount Harrison, was one of the most profligate wastrels in England. A complete and utter bounder. He’d tried to kiss her when she was fifteen, and Dex had bloodied his lip in repayment. That was the last she’d seen of him. “You must marry once, I suppose. Give it a whirl,” she murmured, the most inane advice she’d ever uttered.
He laughed again, the sound shadowing her like a caress. “Dependable guidance, Georgie Whitcomb.”
She polished off her brandy, wishing she had more. Tomorrow, she would think about Dex marrying. But not now. Not in this enchanting world where she had his attention for the first time in seven years.
“You’ve visited my father,” he said, the turn in conversation surprising her. “Though he didn’t mention it to me.”
“Of course.”
“You think I’m a bad son. When I’ve tried, visiting Derbyshire at least once a year, managing the accounts for the estates from afar because he was ill.”
She shook her head. “Maybe I think he was a bad father.” At Dex’s startled exhalation, she clarified, “For a man who wanted to guide his future, I mean. For a person with a life passion. He can be forgiven as it’s not typical in our circle.” A desire to be something more, to learn and toknow, pieces of Dex that had wrapped silken thread around her heart and yanked tight. “He blames me, in part, for the love you have of all things deceased and captured in sediment.” She released her own laugh, shocked to hear it sounded authentic. “I believe that’s how he phrased it.” In between coughing blood into his embroidered handkerchief.
“We were children. What to do but roam every square inch of our environs?” Dex edged his finger over until it covered one of hers, a tentative touch. The ache in her belly was immediate and overwhelming. “The fossils were a dividend to such friendship.”
A burst of merriment in the hallway had them bounding to their feet. Although Georgiana was a widow and Dex a family friend, the twilight splendor of this impromptu picnic painted an intimate and vaguely improper picture neither of them could refute. There was a bump against the wall, more laughter, inebriated conversation. Georgiana grimaced, realizing they were being interrupted by a trysting couple. She looked around with a nervous giggle. The room wasn’t a bad spot for it.
“Get behind the sofa,” Dex whispered, adding a hand signal that looked like he was giving an order to his dog. “Under the dust cover. I’ll get rid of them.”
Blowing out the candle, she kicked it across the room, scrambling to do his bidding for thesecondtime this evening. “How?”
“I’ll figure that out when they stumble in,” Dex growled and yanked the sheet over her as she dropped to a crouch, a cloud of filth raining down like snow. Not a minute later, he lifted the length of canvas just enough to catch her gaze. That look, she thought with a burst of excitement she was mad to feel—she should’ve been afraid of that look. That smile. His eyes had changed color, too. Always a dreadful sign. Now hazel, with dazzling, devilish streaks of gold racing through them. She’d have loved to record mood to color, a notion as crazy as the exhilaration pulsing through her.
“A wager,” he whispered as the study’s doorknob rattled. “Remember those?”
“Are you daft? I’m not wagering like we did when we were children!”
His smile captured his entire face. “Are you saying no to a wager? You? Georgiana Elaine Collins Whitcomb?”
She glanced at the door, where the commotion continued though no one had tumbled in on them yet. Waving her hand frantically, she said, “Yes, yes, I’m amenable!”
“The couple about to interrupt our reunion. I say it’s Lady Alexander and Lord Welford.”
She searched her mind for interactions she’d helplessly recorded this evening. “Lord Ambrose,” she blurted. “And Lady Delmont-Burris.”
“Inspired,” he murmured and tapped his travel-weary Hessian on the faded carpet, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth. No silly patent heels for this man. His expression was wicked. She’d forgotten how much she liked being wicked, too. “If I win, you draw up a list of three suitables from your society.” He sketched his hand in a lazy loop, nothing complimentary about her life’s work in the gesture. “I need help finding a wife, and you can advertise having assisted a lowly man saddled with a dukedom. Fairly charitable my piece, as it’s good for both of us. Will completely legitimize your organization’s name if one pauses to consider.”
She rocked back on her heels, flustered but definitely,definitelynot overcome with jealousy. “Dex, the suitables I typically locate aremen.”
He released another of those dangerous smiles. “Not my proclivity.”
“Yes, I’ve heard,” she couldn’t help but reply.
His brow winged high, just the one. A trick Dex knew made her want to punch him. Or used to. And, blast it, he’d left it to her to ask, “What doIget if I win?”
He gazed at her, a flurry of emotions sweeping his face. “What do you want?”
“An adventure,” she answered without thinking.
The moon moved behind a cloud and shadow swept over him. “Done,” he returned and dropped the sheet as the door burst open, and the amorous couple stumbled in.
In the end, she and Dex both won.
Lord Ambrose and Lord Welford made fumbling excuses for entering a deserted space when their respective spouses were in other parts of the house, while Dex made gracious asides, offering no explanation for his presence in the room, not one word. And no one asked.