A Match Made in Mistletoe

And he’d wondered. Hell, how he’d wondered.

Then she’d stepped back.

But that fleeting instant gave him hope. At a time when all hope seemed dead.

The quest might be futile. But he very much feared, however everything fell out in the end, that he meant to challenge his charming, eligible, handsome friend for the prize they both wanted.

Although if the best man won, Giles hadn’t a chance in Hades.

Chapter Two

* * *

Three days before Christmas, and Serena remained mired in confusion. She should be deliriously happy, and instead, she was more miserable than she’d ever been in her life.

Which made no sense when at last fate granted her dearest wish, Paul Garside courting her. His attentions since his arrival were unfailing, with the emphasis on unfailing.

This afternoon, in a desperate attempt to find a moment’s peace from his constant company, she’d slunk away from the house to seek refuge in the cold and empty village church. When just days ago, the idea that she’d want to do anything but bask in his presence would have seemed preposterous.

But she badly needed time alone to think. To remind herself that all her life she’d wanted Paul to pursue her. She should be ecstatic at his interest.

Instead of scared to death.

When the outside door squeaked behind her, she gave a guilty start. Even if she had nothing to feel guilty about. By heaven, she was turning into a bundle of nerves.

Foreboding in her heart, she glanced back from where she sat in the family pew. Several times Paul had tried to corner her, starting with a chilly stroll in the knot garden the day he arrived. She feared he wanted to get her alone so he could propose. And however unlikely the fact, fear wasn’t too strong a term for her reaction to that prospect. Just now, she was in too much turmoil to make any decision.

Oh, how she wanted to kick herself.

The new arrival wasn’t Paul. But he wasn’t much of an improvement. Instead of a tall, fair-haired man, a taller man with dark, sensual features stood in the arched doorway leading through to the vestibule.

“So this is where you’re skulking,” Giles drawled, sweeping off his hat as he entered the body of the church. He was casually dressed for the country, in a black coat, doeskin breeches and boots. His insolent gait a silent challenge to sanctity, he sauntered up the aisle toward her.

“I’m not skulking,” she snapped. Although to her shame she was. She slumped back into her seat. “Quiet contemplation is appropriate to the season.”

“Paul wants to talk to you.” Giles paused beside the pew and regarded her like some curious scientific specimen.

“Oh,” she said glumly, but when Giles’s eyebrows rose, she straightened and injected false enthusiasm into her manner. “I wonder what he wants.”

“Who knows?”

She knew. He wanted her staring up at him with starry-eyed adoration as he outlined the future that she’d planned all her life. “He didn’t say?”

“I didn’t ask. Last I saw, he was checking the stables. They were your regular haunt before you became the Belle of Torver.”

“The Belle of…” A blush rose. Which was ridiculous. Giles’s tone was taunting rather than admiring. “I should go and find him.”

But she didn’t shift.

Giles did. To her dismay, closer rather than away.

Her heart somersaulted in a most disconcerting manner. Curling her fingers into her dark green merino skirts, she told herself to settle down. She didn’t like this odd, prickly awareness of her brother’s friend, but she couldn’t control it. She wasn’t lurking in the church only to escape Paul. These days, Giles Farraday was just as troublesome.

More, curse him.

“Oh, for God’s sake, make him put in some work to catch you. He’ll savor his victory all the more if he has to make an effort to win it.”

Appalled, Serena stared at him, while another blush stung her cheeks. “What did you say?”