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He laughed, and his hands on her shoulders lowered to her arms, feeling how little they filled the sleeves. “A nip and tuck here and there, perhaps, and you’d turned heads. That’s for certain.”
“I’d look grand, promenading in Hyde Park, in your coat.”
“You’d set the fashionable world on its ear.”
“Everyone would wish to know my secret.”
“What would you tell them?”
“I haven’t the faintest idea,” she admitted with a wrinkle in her nose. “I can’t have any ladies thinking the best way to add to their wardrobes is to steal coats fromyou.”
His hands had fallen farther still, his fingers wrapping gently around hers. Her fingers were warm. It seemed his coat was doing its job. But she reacted instantly to his touch.
“Simon, your hands are freezing.” She kept hold of one hand to lead him to the door, pulling him along behind her. The faster she spoke, the thicker her Irish accented each word. “Come inside at once. Silly man. What ifyoucaught cold? Ah, that’d be grand, wouldn’t it? Me telling their graces that their son stood about in his shirtsleeves like a lunatic, and all the time me talking to him like an addlepated fool.”
They were safely inside, the door shut behind them, standing in the quiet corridor. Isleen inspected the hand she held, then covered it in both of hers. She rubbed it, chafing warmth back into his fingers.
Simon laughed, his amusement softened by her ministrations. She looked up at him, her dark eyes narrowed, and her pink lips pursed with irritation.
“Isleen.” Gently, he took her hands in his. “I’m fine.”
She huffed, and determination lit her dark eyes, but then as she met his gaze, he watched her features soften. The stubborn tilt of her chin changed as she lowered it a fraction, the wrinkle had gone from above her nose, and her cheeks turned a rosy shade of pink. She swallowed, and he realized they stood nearly toe-to-toe. Far closer than was polite.
But he had no desire to step back. In fact, he wanted to do quite the opposite. Tilt his head down toward hers. Put his hand on her waist…
“You ought to take your coat back.” Her gentle words interrupted his imaginings.
“I suppose I should.”
She slipped free of the shoulders, then the sleeves. Then she held the coat between them by the collar. “It is a fetching color on you, Simon.”
He took it from her but didn’t put it on. “I think I like it best on you.”
Isleen blinked up at him, and he half-expected her to withdraw again in shyness. But that wasn’t his Isleen. Instead, she put one hand to her hip and tossed her head back with a flirtatious smirk. “What a thing to say, Simon Dinard, Earl of Farleigh. Shameless flattery, that’s all it is.”
He laughed and put his coat on, shrugging into it with ease before turning to face her again. “Whatwereyou and my cousin speaking about? Why did you need air?”
“That’s neither here nor there.” She waved away his concern. “He’s a kind man. I like him.”
“Not more than you like me, I hope.” Had he really said that out loud? Perhaps Josephine had been right when she’d told him he was out of practice when it came to flirting.
Isleen didn’t seem to mind. Her expression remained playful. “That remains to be seen. Though I suppose Imustlike you more, when you’ve offered me your coat. And sung songs with me in a pub.”
“I’ll certainly never forget that.”
“It seems like you will win the wager you made with Sir Andrew.” Isleen shrugged one shoulder, then sighed with dramatic disappointment. “That means I’ll have to take part in that ridiculous English tradition. Mistletoe, indeed.” Her nose wrinkled again.
Simon offered her his arm, which she took, and he led her down the corridor. Back toward where all the people were working on lanterns and kissing balls, ribbons and greenery. The Christmas ball was three days away.
“Would you rather we put candles in windows?” he asked. “And lay out tables of food, with our doors unlocked?”
“There’s no harm in those things,” she pointed out. “The latter does a lot of good. Though I can’t imagine anyone would climb the castle hill in the dead of night to secret away bread or grain.”
He watched her from the corner of his eye. “There is no harm in a mistletoe kiss, either.”
Isleen studied the floor as they walked, her brows drawn tightly together. “If you don’t mind my saying so, I’d still prefer not to have a stranger’s kiss be what I remember about this Christmas Eve ball.”
They had arrived at the door to the Regent’s Gallery, where they could plainly hear conversation buzzing from within. The footman outside took hold of the handle. Simon had but a moment to see her reaction as he asked, “Who said it would be a stranger to claim that kiss?”
