The Laird’s Christmas Kiss (The Lairds Most Likely 2)

to pluck a sprig and hold it above her head. She fluttered her eyelashes in an exaggerated fashion. “Pray, won’t you kiss me, kind sir?”

Fergus laughed and grabbed her by the waist. “Aye, I’ll kiss ye, lassie, but I dinnae need permission first from someone waving an English weed in the air.”

He pressed his lips to hers, then smiled at his father-in-law with no trace of any earlier hostility. “My wife is in favor of your offering.”

Ugolino smiled back and snatched up a sprig of his own. “Tomorrow we’ll hang the mistletoe around the house, and the kissing can begin. But first, let me kiss my bride.”

Giulia looked charmingly ruffled when he released her, and Elspeth was surprised to catch an approving smile on Brody’s face. She would have thought all this nonsense was too rustic and unsophisticated to divert a rake of his reputation. “Did you already know about this tradition?”

He shook his dark head. “No. It’s no’ a plant that grows hereabouts. If it gives me an excuse to kiss ye, I’m all in favor.”

“I’d better be careful where I stand, then,” she retorted, struggling with further amazement at the idea that he wanted to kiss her, mistletoe or not.

“Aye, make sure it’s right under the mistletoe.”

She ignored that, although the prospect of Brody’s kisses made her breathless with excitement. Of course they did. She’d never been kissed, and after his adventures with all those loose women, he should be good at it. Her kissing career would start with a master of the art. When she fell in love for real, she’d have grounds for comparison. “We always hang it in our London house if we’re down there for Christmas.”

He arched a sleek eyebrow at her, and the glint of mischief in his eyes made her heart stutter. “Are ye saying you’re an old hand at this kissing game?”

Once, yesterday even, she might have found herself blushing and stammering, but the admiration in his eyes gave her the nerve to tease him back. “That’s for me to know and you to find out.”

“You’ve kissed hundreds of men, I’m sure.”

“Perhaps not hundreds.” She’d been a little girl when the family hosted Christmas parties in London. Her father had still been alive, and any kissing had been a childish game, like bobbing for apples or snapdragon.

“I look forward to seeing what ye can teach me.”

“Not much, I’m sure.” She narrowed her eyes on him. “I’ve heard the gossip.”

To her surprise, he didn’t laugh. “A man can turn over a new leaf.” He paused. “With the right incentive.”

“What are you saying?” she said, her fingers tightening on her champagne glass and her heart rising to stick in her throat like a lump of soggy tapioca.

He glanced around, then lowered his voice, although from what she could see, nobody paid them a scrap of attention. “I’ll tell ye once I get you alone under the mistletoe. At last something useful comes out of England.”

“Brody…” she said, not sure whether she meant to protest or encourage him. For a girl who had foresworn all interest in him, this was a dangerous game to play.

She stared up into green eyes that seemed to send her a private message. It took her a few moments to realize that her mother had come up to join them. “Elspeth, you look lovely tonight.”

The intensity drained from Brody’s expression, and he was once again the urbane gentleman who charmed all the ladies, with no thoughts of settling for one in particular. “Lady Glen Lyon, Elspeth always looks lovely.”

Her mother smiled at him. “You’re such a charming fellow, Brody.” She checked back on her daughter. “You’ve changed your hair.”

“Marina lent me her maid for the evening.”

Her mother patted her own elegant blond knot. “Perhaps she’ll give me some pointers. She’s made quite the difference to you, my dear.” She frowned. “And is that a new dress? I don’t recall seeing it before.”

Elspeth glanced down at the dark blue silk she’d worn a hundred times and hid a smile. Marina and Sandra had done her proud. Instead of a plain gown that buttoned like a noose against her throat, Sandra’s magic scissors had created a flattering square décolletage that revealed more flesh than she was used to showing.

Despite Elspeth’s protests at the extravagant gift, Marina had produced some exquisite Brussels lace to soften the dress’s stark lines. The soft, buttery color lent a creamy tinge to her skin. She’d already noticed how Brody’s eyes dwelled on her exposed bosom, but was cynical enough to know that libertines were in the habit of inspecting a lady’s breasts. He wouldn’t think her bosom anything special.

“It’s something old I had altered,” she said, touching the gold locket that dangled at her throat. It had been her grandmother’s, and she didn’t wear it often. Her previous style of gown didn’t call for much jewelry.

“I should lend you my sapphires. They’d look perfect with that color. I’m pleased to see you paying more attention to your appearance. You’ve never been interested before.”

“Doesn’t Elspeth look lovely tonight?” Marina came up and smiled at her protegée with open approval.

“Breathtaking,” Brody said with what seemed like genuine fervor, and Elspeth had to remind herself that compliments were part of a rake’s arsenal. He didn’t mean anything beyond politeness, even if it sounded like he did.