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“And why not? It will be a marvelous match. We all love Paul.”
Why did Mary’s chirpy certainty grate? “You make it sound as if we’re already engaged.”
Mary subjected her to a thorough inspection and finished with a satisfied nod. “You’ve turned into a bit of a diamond in the last year or so. And the word is that Paul has noticed.”
This should be exactly what Serena wanted to hear, especially as she’d always been a harum-scarum disaster, more inclined to climb a tree or play a hectic game of cricket, than sit with her embroidery.
So why wasn’t she overjoyed at Mary’s praise—and the news that her family approved of her suitor? This niggle of discontent made no sense at all.
Before she could fathom her odd reaction, Paul and Giles approached.
“And here are my two favorite girls.” Paul smiled with the brilliance of a man who never doubted his welcome wherever he went. “Mary, you’re looking the picture of health. And, Serena, how lovely you are today. If we were under the mistletoe, I’d kiss you.”
“You may kiss me anyway.” She smiled at Paul and took his outstretched hands. “It’s the privilege of old friendship.”
Paul bent to kiss her cheek. She waited for the usual thrill at the touch of his lips. But the fleeting contact left her unmoved. Dear Lord, what was wrong with her?
As she drew away, she caught Giles’s interested gaze and stupidly, she blushed. The memory of that horrible dream constricted her breathing, so she sounded cursed fluttery as she greeted Paul’s friend. “And, Giles, welcome back to Torver. Did you have a good trip up from London?”
"Serena, how cruel.” Ironic humor lengthened Giles’s lips. “You’ve known me nearly as long as you’ve known this vagabond, yet I don’t merit the same rights?”
“Same?” Puzzled, she stared up at him. He towered over her, taller than Paul. How had she never noted that before?
A purr of laughter escaped him as he leaned in. “Who needs mistletoe?”
He’d kissed her before in silly Christmas games. Since their first term at Eton, Frederick had invited Paul and Giles to spend school holidays at Torver House. While Giles’s visits in recent years had become rarer, he’d never missed a Christmas. He was part of the fabric of her life.
So why did his casual kiss stop the world? At the cool brush of his lips across her cheek, shivery heat rippled through her. She closed her eyes, fighting for balance.
“Serena?” Giles’s soft, deep voice—why had she never before recognized its beauty?—seemed to come from far away.
She blinked and with surprising reluctance, stepped apart from him. Another horrid blush stained her cheeks, and she only just stopped herself from raising a hand to touch where he’d kissed her. Her skin burned where his lips had touched.
Drat that dream. It had turned her batty.
Reluctantly, she met Giles’s eyes. Dark and somber, they settled on her face. She’d learned through the years that little escaped his penetrating intelligence. The idea of him seeing her confusion made her cringe.
“Welcome home,” she stammered, only realizing what she said after the words emerged.
For once, Giles’s smile lacked an edge. “Well, that’s a nice reception.”
She blinked again to bring the bustling room into focus and realized that the whole interaction had lasted mere seconds. Mary and Paul weren’t looking at them but discussing some mutual acquaintance.
Still those enigmatic eyes exami
ned her face. She shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other. “I…I meant…”
To her surprise, he touched her cheek with one elegant hand. Mostly Giles kept his distance from her. Gestures of affection were unheard of. “Don’t spoil it.”
The brush of his fingers was almost as devastating to her composure as his kiss. “Spoil?”
Could she sound any more like a complete ninnyhammer? Paul stood beside her, yet her attention riveted on Giles.
Giles was still smiling with a sweetness she’d never before associated with brooding Lord Hallam. “I’ve always thought of Torver as my home, presumptuous as that may be.”
“What about Lanyon Castle?” The Marquess of Hallam had vast estates in Devon. She’d never visited them, but Paul and Frederick had spoken with awe of the splendors of the Farraday feudal pile.
“Brr.” Giles gave a theatrical shiver. “Just thinking about the place makes me feel like I’m coming down with a cold.”
