Page 30 of The Mistletoe Duke

They were deep in it. Mouths melded, souls entwined, when the bark of a laugh came from the door. Horror trickled through him. What had he been thinking, kissing Meg like that, here? Now? Surrounded by the mavens of the ton? He could have ruined her utterly. He whirled around and nearly collapsed in relief when it was just his sister.

“This is becoming something of a habit,” Susana said with a smirk.

“Well, really,” Meg said, once again patting her hair. It was clear she was breathless and there was a rosy tinge on her cheeks. Also, she would not meet his eye.

“What on earth are you thinking, Jonathan?” His sister strode in and tipped up Meg’s chin, checking her face for any evidence of savagery, perhaps.

“I came in here to save her,” he said, not unlike a child caught stealing a cake.

Susana shot him a disbelieving look.

“She was kissing Hisdick,” he insisted.

Meg snorted. “I was not kissing Hisdick.”

Susana sighed. “I can’t imagine anyone wanting to kiss Hisdick.”

Neither could he, but that was entirely beside the point. “The point is, she was in here, alone with Hisdick. I came in to save her.”

“And somehow she ended up kissing you?” Susana tipped her head to the side.

“It’s not what it looks like,” he sputtered.

“It’s not?” Meg’s voice was wobbly, wan.

Dear God, were those tears in her eyes?

Blast. Women were confounding. “That’s not what I meant, darling—”

“Darling?” Susana tsked. She took Meg by the arm. “We are going back to the party. There are still several men who wanted to talk to you, dear. And you.” She speared Jonathan with a fierce glower. “Get yourself together. You’re supposed to be looking for a wife.”

He was. He’d found her.

But before he could say as much, both Meg and Susana were gone.

He knew he should follow them, knew he should go back to the party, but he just couldn’t. Instead he poured himself a whisky and dropped into the chair by the fire—though the hearth was cold—and glared at the logs.

Chapter Seven

“Where on earth is Jonathan?” the dowager asked as Meg and Susana came back into the salon.

“He’s pouting,” Susana said.

“What?” Her tone led one to believe a duke had no business pouting whatsoever. “He has a party to host.”

“Perhaps it’s too much for him.” Susana again.

Meg was glad her friend was on her side, because she wouldn’t want her as a rival.

“Perhaps,” the dowager said. “I’ll have a chat with him. Where is he?”

“The library.”

As the dowager stalked down the hall to find her errant son, Susana pulled Meg aside and checked her hair and dress for rumples. “What was that, dear?” she asked in an undertone, lest anyone else hear.

Meg shook her head. Her body was still quivering to the thrill of Jonathan’s touch, that feral kiss. It was too much to expect her to think. “I don’t know.”

Susana shot her a sideways look. “Don’t you?”