Mistletoe Wishes: A Regency Christmas Collection

“And you haven’t been angry with me. And you should be.”

He admitted the truth, even if it made him feel like an awkward schoolboy, instead of a worldly man with a history of too many lovers. “I always wanted the chance to talk to you.”

The disbelief in her short laugh roused another of those unwelcome pangs in his chest. She was so convinced that she was of negligible interest. Erskine developed a hearty dislike for her overbearing mother and birdbrain sister.

“For a man renowned for his rakish ways, you’re not very rakish.”

“It’s Christmas Eve. I’m taking a rest from wickedness.” If she could see into his mind, she’d know that was far from true.

She sighed again, more heavily this time. “Surely it’s well after midnight.” She paused. “If you’d stayed downstairs as usual, I’d have been in and out of your room and you’d be none the wiser.”

Unworthy pleasure flooded him. “So you’ve been watching me, too.”

Another of those dry laughs. “You’re

very noticeable. You’re the handsomest man I’ve ever seen.” She stopped on a gasp, and he heard her squirm with embarrassment. Her damned wriggling would be the death of him. “Oh, no. Shoot me now.”

He bit back a laugh, although her artless sincerity touched him. Sensual curiosity stirred. He was still a rake, no matter what good influence the lovely Miss Sanders exerted on his deplorable character. Could he translate her admiration for his looks into permission to touch?

Oh, he was a bad, bad man. At Christmas, and at every other time of the year.

A long and bristling silence fell. Then he heard a smothered sound near his shoulder.

Astonished, he turned in her direction, although he saw nothing through the blackness. “Is that a yawn? Good God, you can’t possibly be bored.”

Lord above, she was a tonic for his vanity. Yet again, he wondered why he liked her so much. She certainly didn’t exert herself to flatter him. On the other hand, she’d been calm throughout this ordeal. The game would be up immediately if he’d been lumbered with a screaming female. They’d have no chance of avoiding discovery, if she’d started shrieking like a skinned cat. Not to mention that shrieking was damned wearing on a man’s nerves.

Another yawn. “You’ll think me the most rag-mannered hoyden in creation.”

He wanted to tell her she was charming, but he recalled too well how she’d brushed over his last attempt to tell her she was exceptional. “Captivity after midnight with a man of shady reputation tests the bravest lady’s nerves.”

“I was nervous. I probably should still be.” Another tormenting whisper of fabric as she settled more comfortably. “I was up at dawn to help my aunt with Christmas preparations. I’m awfully tired.”

He’d lay good money that Amelia had stayed abed until noon. “There’s nothing much we can do except try and get some sleep.”

A blatant lie. He could think of a hundred things he’d prefer to do.

He chanced sliding a fraction closer. “May I offer my shoulder as a pillow? We should make ourselves as comfortable as we can. We’ll be warmer huddled together.”

Very gently, expecting her to flinch away, he slid his arm around her straight shoulders and drew her down until her head rested on his shoulder. His heart gave a great thud of joy when she didn’t move away. She wasn’t in one of his coats, and the worn merino of her dress was soft to his touch. Nowhere near as soft, he was sure, as her skin. The thought didn’t make him feel any sleepier.

“We shouldn’t do this,” she whispered, although nobody was within earshot.

“It’s purely for self-preservation.”

With her so close, a tantalizing female scent teased his senses. Tentatively so as not to alarm her, he brushed his cheek against her hair. It was as silky and thick as he’d imagined.

Miss Philippa Sanders might have a sharp tongue, but she proved a lusciously sweet armful. He tightened his hold, ignoring her half-hearted protest, and rested his head back against the wall.

However undeserving he might be, Christmas this year had provided glorious gifts.

Chapter 3

GRADUALLY PHILIPPA SURFACED from sleep. Beneath her ear, something pounded deep and steady like the ocean upon the shore. Whatever she rested upon was firm and warm. She murmured and rubbed her cheek against her lovely pillow. Lazy pleasure trickled through her as someone rhythmically stroked her hair.

Then she remembered where she was. And who she was with.

How bizarre to think that a man she’d hardly spoken two words to before tonight touched her with such tenderness.