Page 6 of The Christmas Ball (Noble Holidays #9)

“Will you allow me to court you?”

The question rang in Viola’s ears.

It was the last thing she’d expected Lord Winslow to say. She’d been bracing herself for… Well, in truth, she didn’t know. He was too much of a gentleman to suggest something unsavory, but this?

She was scarcely aware she’d halted, staring at him, until Drew stalked forward and demanded to know what was going on.

Now everyone was looking at her, and she felt unsteady, as though the ballroom had suddenly slanted off-axis.

Was it all a trick? A prank her brothers had concocted, to pay her back for her meddling in their lives?

No, not even they would go so far.

“Why?”

she asked Lord Winslow.

He regarded her seriously.

“I find you witty, and beautiful, and refreshingly outspoken, and I’m not afraid to say so in front of this entire company. It is my fondest wish that I should get to know you better, Lady Viola. If you will allow it.”

Could he be serious? She hesitated, staring back at him, fear keeping her mute. And yet, as Drew had noted, Lord Winslow was baring his intentions, making himself every bit as vulnerable as she’d been the day he’d pulled her out of the pond.

More so, for, unlike her, there were witnesses to his naked plea.

“Say yes, Vi.”

Theo stepped forward, flanked by three of the eligible young ladies.

“Or no, as the case may be. But either way, put the poor man out of his misery and let the dancing resume.”

She lifted her chin, refusing to let her brother bully her.

“By all means, continue the ball. Musicians, play! Guests, dance, I beg of you, while I have a quiet word with Lord Winslow.”

Theo shot her a look, then shook his head.

“Don’t be a coward in this, Vi,”

he said quietly, before escorting his bevy of admirers away.

“Good advice,”

Mena said, coming to collect Drew and give Viola a piercing look.

“We shall leave you two to confer, though I suggest the middle of the dance floor isn’t the place for it.”

“Of course.”

Lord Winslow offered his arm. “My lady?”

Somewhat dazedly, Viola let him lead her toward the tree. He halted to one side, out of the flow of the dancing, then turned to face her, taking her hands in his.

“Lord Winslow.”

She drew in a steadying breath and kept her voice pitched low.

“Are you quite certain about this?”

He leaned forward, his gaze intent.

“Absolutely.”

His breath tickled her cheek.

“I’ve spent months thinking of you, Viola. And not just carnally.”

The corner of his mouth turned up in a wicked smile.

“It took until now, however, for me to realize the depth of my feelings toward you.”

She pulled back and searched his eyes.

“And if I reject your suit?”

His smile faded.

“Then I will leave Yorkshire tomorrow, if you wish it, and never trouble you again.”

The thought made her heart drop to the soles of her dancing slippers.

“I don’t think I’d want that.”

“Then what do you want?”

There was an anxious look about his eyes.

Behind him, the tree shone, striking gold glints from his hair, silhouetting his broad shoulders and strong jaw.

She stared at him a moment, all their interactions running through her mind.

He was a man of honor and action, possessed of a wry humor and loyalty to his family.

Intelligent, without a doubt. Patient, too, which, if she allowed herself to consider what might lie ahead, was all to the good.

Still, his question resonated through her, tangling with her old fears and sorrows.

What did she want?

The answer arrived, clear and startling in its intensity. How had she not seen it before?

“You,”

she said simply, reaching up and drawing his face down toward hers.

His eyes closed briefly, as though his prayers had been answered, and then his lips descended on hers.

They were warm and firm, and she felt as if in that moment, something true and profound rose between them, breath or soul or—dare she think it?—love.

He gathered her close, and she clung to his shoulders, letting her lips speak all her hopes, all her long-shuttered dreams.

After some time, she realized the music had stopped again.

The ballroom was very quiet.

Drew cleared his throat loudly from nearby, and Lord Winslow—Grayson—drew back, breaking the kiss.

The room immediately erupted into applause and cheers, the onlookers making far more of a racket than a mere two-dozen people should.

Viola felt her cheeks flame with embarrassment, but she couldn’t help smiling as she turned, hand-in-hand with Grayson, to look at her family and assembled guests.

“I take it that’s a yes?”

Drew asked, raising one dark brow, while Mena, at his side, beamed as though the entire thing had been her idea.

And perhaps it had been.

“It is a yes,”

Viola said.

“Very much so.”

“Oh, I’m so glad!”

Grayson’s sister clasped her hands at her heart.

“It seems that Yorkshire is the very best place to spend Christmas, after all.”

“I couldn’t agree more.”

Smiling at Viola, Grayson tucked her arm through his.

“And this, I think, is the best Christmas I shall ever have.”

“Just wait,”

Theo said.

“I’m certain my sister will do everything she can to top this one, next year.”

“There’s no need,”

she said, turning to the man she knew would become her husband.

“After all, who can exceed perfection?”

She gazed into his silvery eyes, inhaling the scent of evergreens and candle wax, of perfume and spice.

Beside them, the Christmas tree glowed, fulfilling all its promises.

The shadows she’d scarcely realized she harbored inside had been exorcised, banished by the light.

Of family. Of friends. Of, at last, true love.