Page 49 of Appointment in Bath

Meg’s heart skipped a beat as she gazed up at him, still smiling. Proximity hadn’t cured her of the butterflies that materialized in her stomach whenever he touched her or looked at her that way. She doubted if it ever would.

He gazed back at her steadily, his own smile dimming the longer his hands remained. He’d never before held her for this long after helping her to dismount. Usually, he let her go the instant her feet were steady on the ground.

But today he was in a peculiar mood. He was looking at her so strangely. His spectacles glinted in the rays of cold winter sun that filtered through the oak’s branches.

“Ivo,” she said.

His throat bobbed on a swallow. “Yes?”

“Why don’t you wear your spectacles all of the time?”

Her questions seemed to surprise him. What had he thought she was going to ask him?

“My spectacles?” He uttered a short laugh. “Vanity, I suppose.”

“I d-don’t believe it.”

“It’s true. It isn’t easy being the least attractive member of a handsome family. I must compensate as best I can. If it means my vision must occasionally be blurry, then so be it.”

She searched his face. “Who’s said you’re the least attractive?”

“My brothers, for a start. Plenty of young ladies, too. There’s not a one of them who hasn’t used their opportunity of meeting me to ask after my brother James. I’m practically invisible compared to all his splendor.”

“I’ve n-never asked about Lord St. Clare.”

His expression softened. “I know you haven’t. Bless you for that.”

She raised her hands to his forearms, squeezing them tightly. “You are handsome, Ivo. Indeed, I like you b-better with your spectacles.”

“Do you?” His fingers curled at her hips. “Not as well as I like you, I’d wager.”

“Now you’re just being silly.” She moved to step away from him, but he turned to follow, still holding her fast. Something behind Rowena seemed to catch his attention.

His mouth curled, his smile returning in a rush. “Look up, Meg.”

“What is it?” She followed his gaze to the oak branch above. Her heart lurched.

A disconcerting note of huskiness infiltrated Ivo’s deep voice. “It’s mistletoe.”

Meg was grateful for the support of his hands. She felt, rather suddenly, as though she might swoon. “I d-didn’t know it grew here.”

“Nor did I. You’re not to think I persuaded you to dismount merely to have my wicked way with you.”

She blushed fiercely.

“But,” he added gravely, “the customs of the season must be respected.”

Meg stared at him. She couldn’t think. She couldn’t breathe. One moment he was staring back at her, gray eyes glimmering with amusement. The next, that familiar gaze had grown uncommonly warm and serious, and then…

Oh, and then.

He was bending his head to kiss her.

* * *

Ivo’s lips pressed gently against Meg’s beneath the frost-covered sprig of wild mistletoe. A brief, chaste kiss. The sort one would give a friend. That’s what Ivo had intended.

But he wasn’t prepared for the feel of her. The way her lush mouth softened beneath his, their breath mingling so sweetly. It was as intimate as an embrace, making his heart thunder and his blood surge with heat.