Mistletoe Wishes: A Regency Christmas Collection

He laughed in soft appreciation. He’d known immediately she wouldn’t be an easy prize to win. She was clever and used to having her own way. Which only made the game more interesting, by heaven. “I’ll give you that point.”

She looked surprised again. “Are we counting points?”

“We most certainly are.” When he stood, she faltered back across the worn Turkey carpet. She wasn’t afraid of him, but at some female level, she recognized the claim he placed upon her. Powerful currents of attraction and resistance eddied between them. He’d need all his skill as a navigator to plot a safe course through these hazardous straits. “You’d better show me this donkey.”

“There’s no need for us both to brave the cold, my lord. All I need is your permission, and I’ll take her into Penton for tomorrow’s rehearsal.”

Daft lass. As if, having found her, he meant to let Miss Farrar escape so easily. “I have a fancy to see Daisy.”

“But it’s about to snow.”

“Then there’s no time to waste.”

That lush mouth, a promise of passion if Rory had ever seen one, set in a mutinous line, and she regarded him from across the room as if he represented a strange and potentially dangerous new species. “You’re a very unusual man, Lord Channing.”

He smiled at this outspoken lassie. “You have no idea, Miss Farrar.”

“Is it because you’re a pirate?”

For a moment there, he’d felt in control of the situation. The feeling had unfortunately been fleeting. He slammed to a halt on his way to the door and stared at her in astonishment. “What on earth did you say?”

She looked shamefaced and made an apologetic gesture with one hand. “I’m sorry. Perhaps you don’t like people to mention your former occupation.”

“My former occupation,” he repeated very slowly. “As a pirate.”

“The story’s all over the village.”

“Aye?”

“You must have expected people to talk about you. And given you’ve been such a recluse since your arrival, it’s inevitable that rumors are flying.”

“Inevitable rumors.” Rory paused. “That I’m a pirate.”

Miss Farrar studied him and devil take her, understanding filled her lovely face. “Seeing you were free to take up the title, I imagine that you’ve reformed.”

“I wouldn’t be too sure about that.”

She eyed him uncertainly, but plowed on. He commended her determination. “There’s no need to feel awkward about your past crimes, my lord. Here at Penton Wyck, we take people as we find them.”

“Is that right?”

“Yes.” Her tone firmed. “When we do find them.”

He sighed and ran his hand through his hair. “You’re about to start nagging again. I feel it in my piratical bones.”

She made a conciliatory gesture. “I know you think I have no right to lecture you. After all, I’m only the vicar’s daughter.”

He didn’t bother hiding his amusement. “That would sound more convincing if you injected a wee ounce of genuine humility into your tone.”

She cast him an impatient glance. “Penton Wyck is small and isolated and the residents rely on each another. We rely on the lord of the manor most of all.”

“If my brother wasn’t well, I can’t imagine he was a mainstay of the community.”

“But he was. All right, he wasn’t out amongst us as much as he might have liked, but he played his part. He employed the villagers in the house and on the estate, he supported those in need, he attended church until he was too sick to manage it. We all sincerely mourned him when he passed away. He was a good man.”

A horrible thought struck Rory, and he frowned. “Were you in love with him?”

She met his gaze. “I did love him. He was the kindest man I eve