Mistletoe Wishes: A Regency Christmas Collection

“I’d count myself privileged to kiss Serena.” His voice was level, but she knew he had to be sarcastic. After all, in the summerhouse, he could have kissed her to his heart’s content, and he’d decided he wasn’t interested.

“Do your worst,” she said, bracing and presenting her cheek.

He seemed to take forever to move. She held her breath until her head swam.

Leaning in, he glanced his lips across her cheek. The contact was over in a second.

Unlike Paul, Giles didn’t fling his arms around her or try to kiss her on the lips. For heaven’s sake, her brother and father had shown more warmth.

Yet a thousand vivid impressions assailed her and banished everything but his nearness from her mind. The noisy, crowded room faded away, and all she knew was Giles. His height. His delicious scent. The cool touch of his lips on her skin.

She closed her eyes and told herself she had nothing to cry about. Even as a tight ball of tears jammed in her throat.

She was so attuned to Giles that she heard his breath catch when he shifted away. Her hand rose to draw him back.

Then she heard him speak to Mary and realized she was about to make a complete fool of herself. She forced her hand back to her side, opened her eyes, and struggled to act as if nothing had happened.

Because of course it hadn’t. A friendly kiss beneath the mistletoe meant nothing. It was just a Christmas game they played every year.

“There, Mary, are you satisfied?” he asked lightly.

Her sister batted her eyelashes, as if Giles was her new flirt, when she’d been happily married for the last six years. “What about me?” She pouted with exaggerated chagrin. “Why should Serena have all the fun?”

“You’re a managing wench.” Giles gave her sister a proper smile.

Serena had no idea when she’d become such a connoisseur of Giles Farraday’s smiles, but all day, he’d done his best to give an appearance of enjoyment he didn’t feel. His smile for Mary was wry and fond, and nearly broke Serena’s heart. Because once upon a time, he’d smiled at her like that. But no longer. And she couldn’t bear that she’d lost him, just as she started to appreciate his qualities.

With her hip, Mary bumped Serena away from the mistletoe. “Managing wenches get all the kisses.”

Serena seized the opportunity to scuttle off. Usually she loved having the family together for Christmas. This year, she observed the laughing crowd playing snapdragon, and the group standing around the piano singing carols, and the guests enjoying a good natter with people they rarely saw, and wished every one of them to perdition.

She saw Paul fill two glasses of champagne and turn around, obviously looking for her. No, no, no. Not now when she felt so shaken and uncertain.

Putting her head down, she made blindly for the corridor. She could no longer pretend that this Christmas was like every other Christmas.

“Serena? Is something wrong?”

As she bumped into her mother in the doorway, she glanced up frantically. She met gray eyes, so like her own, and battled the urge to pour out all her unhappiness and confusion.

But her mother was busy, hosting this huge house party. Serena couldn’t burden someone who already had so much to do. Anyway, what could she say? Nothing made sense to her. She hadn’t a hope of explaining these bewildering emotions to anyone else.

“No,” she said in a choked voice. She struggled to find a reason for running away as if demons from hell pursued her. Across the room, she saw Paul craning his neck over the crowd. “I…I need something from my room.”

She didn’t wait for her mother’s response. Instead she picked up her skirts and dashed into the blessed quiet of the hallway.

She sucked in a breath close to a sob. If she stayed so close to the party, Paul would find her, and that suddenly seemed the worst fate possible.

Wildly she looked around for somewhere to hide. If she took refuge in her bedroom, her mother might decide to check on her. Outside was no good. The snow fell in buckets, and an icy wind howled.

Her glance fell on the door to the library. Not even Paul’s greatest admirer would call him a bookish man. This

was her best bet for avoiding him.

She whisked into the room and whirled to close the door, when she glanced up to see Giles a few steps behind her. With a shuddering gasp, she faltered back as he strode forward and shut them inside. Alone.

Neither spoke a word as he seized her with ruthless hands and swept her into his arms.

Chapter 11