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Because he struggled to preserve a scrap of pride when he teetered
on the edge of humiliation. But that didn’t mean she deserved his spite. “I’m sorry. A case of the seasonal megrims.”
Serena studied him with a troubled expression, her hands loosely linked at her waist. She wore a light blue dress in some floaty material that made him think of summer instead of the depths of winter. “Will you come back and dance with me?”
Stand before all the people he loved and pretend he felt nothing stronger than mild friendship for Serena Talbot? He’d rather have all his teeth knocked out with a hammer. “I don’t like dancing.”
His surliness should chase off a sensible girl. Clearly Serena wasn’t sensible. She drifted further into the room, curse her. “You used to.”
“I’ve changed.”
“That’s true.” The color in her cheeks intensified. “You’ve grown very handsome.”
Heat turned his own cheeks red. And didn’t that make him a soppy sod? In London, he did a fair job of playing the man of the world. Here with Serena, he felt like the awkward schoolboy who had arrived at Torver eighteen years ago. “Doing it too brown, Serena. I’ve always been an odd-looking beggar.”
“You certainly were as a boy.” To his surprise, fondness curved her lips. “Nothing seemed to fit. Your nose was too large, your legs were too long—”
“My feet were too big.”
“Yes. Yet even then, you danced.”
He shot her a narrow-eyed look. “What’s this about, Serena? Requests for my company. Compliments on my appearance. You mean some mischief, or I’m a Dutchman.”
Trailing her hand along the edge of a gilt and mahogany table, she stepped closer. Every hair on his body stood up in alarm—and forbidden longing. “I liked what we did this afternoon.”
“So did I,” he said, before he had a chance to question the wisdom of reminiscing about kisses, when they were alone together and at imminent risk of discovery.
“I’d like another lesson.”
Her frankness felt like a punch to the stomach. He straightened and struggled for a coherent reply. “There’s no mistletoe in here.”
“You could kiss me under the kissing bough in the hall. Nobody would look twice.”
A grunt of unamused laughter escaped. “They would, if I kissed you the way I did this afternoon.”
She bit her lip. “You could kiss me here and pretend there’s mistletoe.”
“I thought you were in love with another man.” The words felt like a blow to a bruise, but they had to be said.
Instead of taking offense, she stopped at the end of the table and regarded him with an enigmatic expression. Which was odd. He’d spent years observing Serena. He thought he knew her as well as he knew himself.
Tonight proved him wrong.
A prudent man would send her packing. But he’d been hungry for her company for so long, he couldn’t yet bring himself to banish her back to the family—and that ass Paul.
“Perhaps I’m flighty.”
Another grim laugh. “Not you. You’re the faithful type.” Unfortunately so was he, damn it. “You’ve always adored the eligible Sir Paul. You’ve never wavered.”
She looked annoyed. “It’s so embarrassing to discover that everybody has been speculating about my affections.”
Giles leaned back more naturally, starting to enjoy himself, despite everything. In the long, desolate years ahead, he’d recall every moment of this encounter when Serena had taken the trouble to seek him out. The candlelight on her skin and hair. The distant sounds of the packed house. Having her to himself when for once, she didn’t seem to want to be elsewhere.
Even if she still wittered on about Paul Garside.
Oh, well, real life was rarely perfect. Otherwise, how would a man know he’d made it to heaven? “If you mean to turn into a flighty piece, you’ll have to learn to dissemble.”
“I can dissemble,” she said in a cranky voice that made him want to hug her. By now, she was mere feet away. One small step, and he’d be close enough to touch her.
