Page 14 of The Mistletoe Duke

“Of course.” Susana smiled. “Just what I surmised. The two of you don’t look guilty in the least.”

Meg’s cheeks flared. “Guilty?” It had been terribly nice, being held by him. But they’d done nothing wrong. Not in the slightest. She glanced at Jonathan. His Adam’s apple bobbed.

“Of course not,” he averred.

Susana’s smile widened. “Well, you might want to get these late night meetings out of your system before the guests arrive. If you’re not careful, you may find yourselves thoroughly compromised.” She seemed gleeful when she said it, which was a trifle mortifying, but Meg ignored that.

Jonathan frowned. “Don’t be ridiculous. Meg is family.”

“She is.” Susana nodded. “And she isn’t, if you know what I mean.” The wink didn’t help.

“I, in fact, do not know what you mean.” He seemed disturbed.

Meg wondered idly if there was any whisky left in her glass.

“You and I know Meg is family. That we all grew up together. But the mavens of high society don’t know or care. All they will see is that she is a single woman and you are a roguish duke.”

“I’m hardly roguish.”

“Not according to gossip.”

“That is entirely unfair.”

“Is it?” His sister fixed him with a too-knowing glance. “My point is, when the guests arrive, you will both have to behave.”

Well really! “We were behaving!” Meg sputtered.

Susana gave her the once over. “You’re in your nightgown.” Her gaze reached Meg’s feet. “And you’re barefoot.”

“She couldn’t sleep,” Jonathan said, which didn’t help at all.

Meg stepped forward. “I came down for a book.”

“And ended up in my brother’s arms?”

All right. Perhaps it didn’t look all that innocent—

“I didn’t kiss her.”

Oh dear. Granted, he was defending his honor, but did he have to shout it quite so stridently, with such…distaste? What was she, a hideous un-kissable hag? Apparently so. Fury, pain, and humiliation whipped through her. She couldn’t help it. She whirled on him and smacked his shoulder.

His nostrils flared. “Whatever was that for?”

But Meg couldn’t answer. Her throat was clogged and her vision slightly blurred.

Susana shook her head. “You, Jonathan Pembroke, are hopeless,” she said, wrapping her arm around Meg’s shoulder and guiding her from the room, leaving the duke sputtering in their wake.

* * *

The next morning, Jonathan still had no idea what had transpired in the library the night before. Most specifically, what had made Meg cry.

Not the first time. He totally understood that bit.

It was the second time that perplexed him.

Dear God, it had ripped at his heart to see her expression collapse, to see tears well in her eyes, to see her lips tremble.

He’d only insisted that he hadn’t done anything inappropriate. He hadn’t kissed her.