A Match Made in Mistletoe
“She will be. With me. So I suggest from now on, you avoid Serena’s company.”
Not appreciating the position Paul placed him in, that of naughty little boy forcing himself in where he wasn’t wanted, Giles tossed back his brandy. “Given we’re sharing a house, that might be a problem.”
Paul regarded him steadily. “You’re a clever sod. You’ll work something out.” He paused. “And you should make plans to leave on Boxing Day.”
Giles slammed his glass down on the sideboard. “You have no right to throw me out of another man’s house.”
“Only trying to save you from having to put on a polite face when we announce my engagement.” He shot Giles a hostile look under his golden eyebrows. “And don’t be in a hurry to visit us, once we’re married. I’m sure you’ll have better things to do.”
Humiliation roiled in Giles’s belly. He couldn’t blame Paul for protecting his interests. But it was no fun being on the receiving end of the reprimand. “Is that what Serena wants?”
He saw Paul consider, then dismiss a lie. “I thought we should have a private word first. She’s fond of you, in her way. I don’t want her feeling sorry for you.”
Bravo, Garside. Giles barely hid a wince, although his hand clenched against the sideboard. Fondness and pity. How cleverly Paul damned Giles’s futile hopes. “Have you finished?” he asked through tight lips.
Paul’s smile was superior. “No hard feelings, my friend.” He cast a derisive glance at his empty glass. “Have another drink, and accept the best man won.”
He moved forward and clapped Giles on the shoulder. Giles was hard put not to strike that large, capable hand away.
Only once Paul had gone did he release a shuddering breath. His friend must be more than a little concerned, if he brought himself to warn Giles off in such terms.
Had Giles felt generous, he could have told Paul that Serena intended to accept his proposal.
Giles, however, wasn’t feeling generous.
Chapter Ten
* * *
After their quarrel in the summerhouse, Giles stayed out of Serena’s way. His skill at managing this impressed her. After all, despite the crowd, they were under one roof, and the weather had taken a turn for the worse, so everyone was confined indoors.
But he seemed to have an uncanny ability to know when she approached. She’d walk into a room, lured by the deep rumble of his voice. Yet Giles would prove absent. The funny little skip in her pulse would subside to a disappointed chug.
She saw him at meals, and he joined the other guests for the midnight Christmas service and all the games and festivities today. Now Christmas Day drew toward evening, the children had retired exhausted to the nursery, and her sisters had started playing silly, giggly games under the kissing bough.
Serena felt like the specter at the feast. This year, seasonal cheer galled. She wished she was anywhere but here with her happy, laughing, loving family. And hated herself for her sourness.
After all, she had nothing to complain about. She’d wanted Paul to make his intentions clear this Christmas, and he’d spent all day pursuing her. Until she was ready to scream.
She only had a moment to herself now, standing beside the roaring fire, because Mary had dragged Paul under the mistletoe and was making him kiss every female in the house, from eighty-year-old Great-Aunt Agatha down to Cousin Jane, who at fourteen was enjoying her first grown-up celebrations. Her blushing elation as handsome Sir Paul Garside brushed his lips over her cheek pierced Serena’s grumpiness and reminded her of the first time Paul had kissed her, just so chastely, when she was fourteen. It had been the greatest thrill of her young life and only confirmed her determination to become his wife one day.
She tried to remind herself that her dreams had always focused on Paul. But inevitably her gaze slid away, to where Giles stood with Frederick, observing the hilarity with a sardonic eye.
Except after the last few days, she saw beneath that elegant detachment to the feelings he hid so well. Across the crowded hall—naturally he’d chosen a position as far from her as he could devise without leaving the room—she sensed his deep unhappiness. Her stupid heart cramped with painful longing to ease his isolation.
But she was the last person he’d turn to for comfort. His disdain couldn’t be clearer. Serena had had plenty of time to work out what sparked his behavior in the summerhouse. Because she’d welcomed his kisses, he now thought she was a shameless hussy, which didn’t seem fair when he’d kissed her just as eagerly.
Men had such bizarre notions.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Paul whisper something to Mary. So it was no surprise when her sister moved purposefully toward Serena.
“Stop moping over here,” she said. “It’s time to kiss your beau.”
Serena bit back an instinctive protest. Because Paul was her beau. Tomorrow he’d propose, and he’d be more than her beau, he’d become her betrothed. She felt trapped in a tide that she was powerless to stop.
Just as she was powerless to stop her sister from hauling her under the kissing bough.
“Mary—”