Page 68 of The Mistletoe Dare

Prue smiled at him, her expression warm. “But it’s not over yet,” she reminded him. “Tomorrow—”

“I will be leaving in the morning,” he cut in, his voice firm. “But I thank you kindly for your hospitality.”

Prue’s smile dimmed, but she nodded. “Of course. I am glad Jules brought you. I hope you will visit us again.”

“You are most generous hosts. Duchess, Bedwin, goodnight.”

They bade him goodnight, and he strode to the door, his steps slowing as he passed Georgie. He did not look at her, but spoke quietly.

“Happy Christmas, my lady.”

Georgie watched him leave, watched the door close upon him and felt her heart speed with panic. He would leave in the morning. He would go back to Mulcaster and be alone with whatever made him so wretched and no one else would ever be brave enough to get past his defences. That didn’t mean she had to, she reminded herself. He was a grown man. He had choices. He did not need to be so antisocial.

Except he did not know how to change, and never would if no one had the time or patience or care enough to show him how.

She swallowed, panic thrumming her blood, her breath coming too fast. Fumbling in the pocket of her skirts, she found the crumpled slip of paper and smoothed it out on her lap, staring down at the words. There was no one else she wanted to kiss under the mistletoe. But there was always next year. She didn’t have to do it now. There was time. It wasn’t as if she was an old maid. Oh, lud, what was she to do? Between overindulging at dinner and her racing heart, she thought her corset might squeeze the life from her. Pressing a hand to her chest, she felt the too fast rhythm battering against her ribs and caught Aunt Prue’s eye. She lifted an eyebrow at Georgie and then stared at the door.

Oh…. To the devil with it.

Georgie leapt to her feet and hurried out. She ran to the great hall. He was there, heading for the stairs.

“Rochford!”

He turned at once, and Georgie gave a little huff of laughter as she saw where he stood. Fate perhaps, for above his head was a kissing bough. The sphere-shaped decoration was made of ivy and studded with holly berries, and beneath, tied with red ribbon, dangled a large bunch of mistletoe.

His grey eyes were wary as she hurried towards him, stopping in front of him, too uncertain to act.

“Georgie,” he said, his voice husky. “I’m so sorry. I ought not to have rushed you—”

She didn’t let herself think about it, but reached up and put her hands on either side of his face and pulled his head down for a kiss. It was only a brief press of lips and, though the temptation was to linger, she stood back, biting back a smile at the bewildered look in his eyes. Standing on tiptoe, she reached up and plucked a mistletoe berry from the bunch. There were only two left now. Staff and family alike must have stolen plenty of kisses.

“Come to Scotland,” she said, her voice breathless, putting the berry into his hands. “And we’ll see. Merry Christmas, Rochford.” And then she turned and ran back to the parlour.

Rochford blinked, but she was gone. For a moment he was certain he’d imagined it, for he’d spent a distressing amount of time these past days daydreaming such scenes, like some lovesick boy. He’d told himself he was a bloody fool, but it had changed nothing. He’d imagined it over and over. Georgie running into his arms and telling him he was forgiven, that she loved him and wanted him. Ridiculous, romantic nonsense of course, but—Rochford looked down into his hand, and the tiny white berry in his palm. It was real. She’d kissed him. She’d kissed him and told him to come to Scotland. She’d given him a kiss. A kiss and a chance.

He let out an unsteady breath and felt the unfamiliar upward curve of his lips. Merry Christmas, Rochford. By God. This was the best Christmas he’d ever had in his entire life, and this time, this time, he would not squander the chance he’d been given. This time he would not bollocks it up.

Evie grasped Louis’ hand and tugged him into the dark alcove, pressing a finger to his lips to silence his exclamation.

“Shhh,” she whispered, as his blue eyes widened in surprise. She heard his breath catch, no doubt shocked by her behaviour again, but she grinned up at him. “Look.” She mouthed the word and pointed to the scene in the grand hallway as Georgie ran up to Rochford.

Louis’ hand tightened upon hers as they saw Georgie pull the duke’s head down for a kiss and then stole a mistletoe berry from the bough. They watched the scene in silence until both parties had left. Rochford walking slowly away, with a wide, dazed smile upon his lips.

“She completed her dare,” Evie said, delighted. “I knew she liked him.”

“That was her dare?” Louis asked softly.

Evie looked up to see his eyes glinting in the darkness. “Yes. To kiss a man under the mistletoe. She’s wanted Rochford from the start, but she’s afraid of him, too. I can’t say that I blame her, either. He’s rather daunting.”

“Do you have a dare, Evie?”

Evie shook her head, blushing. “I was too afraid to take one, isn’t that ridiculous? I rather despise myself for it. I’m so spineless, Louis. I wish I were braver, but I’m not.”

Louis scowled, shaking his head. “You’re nothing of the sort. You’re brave enough to rake me over the coals when I’m in the wrong, and there aren’t many who would do that.”

“Because I trust you,” she said, giving him a wry smile. “I find other people harder to navigate and the idea of everyone looking at me makes me feel queasy.”

She pulled a face and Louis chuckled.