A Kiss at Mistletoe: Kiss the Wallflower, Book 2

by Gill, Tamara

  A light blush rose on her cheeks at the mention of it and he wanted to reach out and see if her skin was as heated as it looked. “Are you ashamed?”

  One delicate shoulder lifted in a shrug. Dale tore his gaze away from her person. In all seriousness, did she have to keep reminding him of what lay beneath her gown? It was bad enough that he knew he could never have her. Not in the way he’d like to.

  The idea of her beneath him, her hair mussed from bed sport, her lips swollen and red from his kisses, her body marked from where he’d dragged his lips from the tops of her nipples to the core of herself. She’d never think of the washed out popinjay Lord Weston again if he did act on his desires.

  A clap on his shoulder startled him and his whisky spilled over his coat sleeve.

  Peter laughed. “Ho there, my friend. I did not mean to startle you so.”

  Dale placed the tumbler aside, pulling out his handkerchief to dab at his jacket. “I did not see you come over, that is all.”

  “Brother,” Lady Mary said, looking less than pleased that her sibling had decided to join them.

  “Mary,” Peter said in return in just as bored a tone. “Should you not be talking to the eligible gentlemen here instead of boring my friend with your nonsense? To mingle will be good practice for next Season.”

  She sighed, rolling her eyes. “Charming. And I should hope I wasn’t boring you, your grace. I think I can say with honesty that we’re friends and can speak plainly.”

  Dale caught Peter’s eye and didn’t miss the flicker of contemplation in his friend’s orbs. “Of course we’re friends, Lady Mary.” When he didn’t venture to say anything further, she made her excuses and left to sit beside her friend on a nearby settee.

  “I do apologize, Carlton. My sister is a little eccentric and straightforward to the point of being blunt. If she’s said anything inappropriate, I shall speak to her about it.”

  Dale shook his head, dismissing the idea. He actually liked the fact that Lady Mary spoke her mind. The ton was full of lies and intrigues and quite rightly, he never enjoyed that side of society.

  “She did not bother me.”

  “Huh,” his friend said. “Well, let me know if she does. Even if you are a duke and a good prospect for many beautiful women, my sister is not one of them. She needs to understand that.”

  Dale frowned, not for the first time feeling as though Peter thought him unworthy of his sister. “Why would you say that? Am I not suitable for your sister?” The question was asked before he could rip it back. What was he saying?

  Peter’s eyes widened. “Oh, you’re a good enough catch and suitable for her of course, but we’re friends and she’s my sister. Do not forget I know how much of a rogue you are, and have shared in your wild nights in London. She would not do for you.”

  Something about Peter’s tone put him on edge and he bit back an impertinent retort. Instead, he said, “From what you stated yourself we would make a good match, so do explain why we would not.” Dale knew what he was saying. It was because of his antics in Town, how he lived. The hard way in which he existed. Nights out at gambling dens, endless balls and parties, women who fell at his feet willing to warm his bed. That Peter knew and had partaken in his lifestyle was reason enough his friend would push his sister away from his orbit, even so, it rankled.

  “Mary will marry for love or not at all. If there is one thing that I know about my sister it is that,” Peter said, smiling a little to try and dispel the tension that had risen between them.

  Dale stared at his friend, hating the fact that Peter thought so little of him. “And she could not love me?”

  Peter glanced at him, wide-eyed. “Could you love her enough to change your ways? To stop your nights of debauchery, of gambling, of flirting with every beautiful woman who crosses your path? You my friend are a wild one, and I daresay only a very biddable wife would condone your rakehell ways. That woman is not my sister and the sparks that would fly would be quite terrifying.”

  Dale turned his attention back to the gathered guests, not sure he could answer such a question at this time. He would be a good catch for any eligible woman, even Peter’s sister, but he would not pursue her. Not because it was obvious Peter did not think he was suited to her, or her needs, but because Dale didn’t want to marry just yet. A marriage, to him, was something toxic, a partnership that put people at odds and made them do emotionally damaging things to one another. If he ever married, his wife would be a quiet, biddable woman. She would know her role as duchess better than anything else, and therefore they would never come to odds. Lady Mary was not that woman. To imagine a life with Mary made him envision confrontations, arguments and debates. His gut churned at the memory of his parents’ disagreements.

  “I could not,” he said, agreeing with Peter. “I hope the next Season has a happier ending for Lady Mary than the last.”

  At that moment the dinner gong sounded somewhere in the depth of the home, and they made their way into the dining room. The night passed well enough, but being seated across from Lady Mary, Dale couldn’t help but listen to her conversation with Lord Fairchild, an eligible Marquess from Kent. They spoke of geography and touched on the geology of certain areas about England. The types of fish that his lordship’s lakes boasted and that his lordship would enjoy a spot of ice fishing while at Bran Manor. Her carefree laugh, free from restraint or what was expected of a woman of her rank made him smile. Somehow Lady Mary made him yearn for a life he’d never thought to have. Of a marriage where intelligent conversation was to be had, not just about gossip or gowns, or who had a new paramour, but real things. Things that impacted their life, like politics, family, wants and needs. It seemed Lord Fairchild was also thinking the same.

  Dale glared at the fellow, tearing his gaze away to look further along the table. He caught Peter’s regard, the hardened line of his jaw letting Dale know he’d caught him watching his sister.

  He turned back to his meal and Miss Grant, his dinner companion seated to his left, determined to put out of his mind Lady Mary. If not for her sake, then at least for the sake of his friendship with Peter.

  Chapter 6

  Since her transformation Mary had started to enjoy the country house party, and even didn’t mind the fact that she could not go outdoors as much as she’d like. Lord Weston plus a flurry of other young gentlemen had been most attentive since she’d updated her gowns to be more fashionable. Allowed herself to be more open to the concept of courtship and Mary found not all of the men were unlikable. Lord Fairchild loved his country estate and spent many months there instead of in Town.

  Perhaps finding a husband who suited her was not such an impossibility as she’d thought.

  This morning however she would leave the guests and go for a well-deserved ride, having sent word to the stables earlier to have her mare Pegasus saddled. The air was crisp, cutting even, as she started toward the stables, but with her bottle-green riding habit, leather kid gloves, fur cap and scarf, her short ride would not be too taxing. And she needed to get outdoors, to feel the air on her face, be alone to think and relax and not have to be the person that society wished her to be. A woman who stitched before the fire and played piano instead of going outdoors in inclement weather. A woman who was demure and without opinions of her own, everything that she was not.

  She started over the northern hill at the back of the property taking Pegasus at a slower pace than usual. With the snow underfoot, not too thick to stop all riding thankfully, but even so, it was thick enough to miss something in the undergrowth, to cause her horse to misstep and possibly hurt itself.

  This side of the property was left to grow as nature intended and with very little maintenance from their gardening staff. It made for better hunting seasons and always ensured the sport was good when the gentlemen came up for shooting parties. Mary made her way to the shooting lodge, a sanctuary for herself when not in use. That the lodge also had a stable, always well kept no matter what the time of year, w
hich meant she could place Pegasus in a stall and wile away the day reading, strolling the nearby woods, or simply enjoying her own company.

  She rode Pegasus up to the stable door and frowned when she spied it slightly ajar. Had she left it open when she’d been here last? That was a month or so ago, or had one of the groundskeepers accidentally forgotten to lock up when checking on the place. Mary slid off looking about to see if she could see anyone else about.

  She walked up to the door and peering inside saw a horse munching hay in one of the stalls, the saddle laying over the stall door and bridle too. Relief ran through her followed by confusion. Whose horse was that?

  She turned about, searching, but couldn’t see anyone. Was the intruder inside the lodge? Was he living there without the family knowing? Not letting Pegasus go, she walked over to the lodge and peered through a window, her stomach turning into knots as she recognized the man lazing away on a settee beside a window. Without a care in the world, his boots sat up on the chair arm, his arm casually resting behind his head while the other held a book.

  In this relaxed stance the Duke of Carlton looked even more devastatingly handsome than he did in a ballroom. Or across the dinner table watching her all night.

  Mary turned back to the stable and settled Pegasus before entering the lodge without knocking. This was her lodge after all, or at least her family’s and she had more right than the duke to be here. The thought boosted her courage that he might be annoyed at being interrupted.

  He started, dropped his book on his lap, and partly sat up when she entered. Realizing it was only her, he chuckled in evident pleasure, and her treasonous body fluttered at the sight of him.

  “You scared me, Lady Mary. I did not think anyone would find me hidden away out here at this time of year.”

  Mary pulled off her fur cap and laid it on a nearby table. She went to stand beside the fire, which was burning fiercely and warming the room. “You have found my sanctuary, your grace. I often come out here to do exactly as you’re doing. Today I needed a little peace, the guests have been locked away inside for some days now, and I think some are getting a little sick of the indoors.” And she was getting sick of some of them.

  He cocked his eyebrow. “You more than most, I assume?”

  She nodded once. “You assume correctly, but,” she said, gesturing to his book, “I’m more than willing to leave you in peace and come back tomorrow. I do not want to intrude.” Even though this was her hunting lodge, the duke was here first and she was unchaperoned.

  He sat up, placing the book beside him. The action brought home once again how broad he was across the shoulders, his muscular thighs and large hands. The memory of him holding her after she’d run into him floated through her mind, bringing with it other thoughts. Of his hands running over her body, pulling her close, teasing her every nerve and making her shiver.

  “Please, stay. You’re shivering and obviously cold. Let me fetch some water and we shall make some tea.”

  Mary didn’t correct his assumption about her shivers. She glanced down, pulling off her gloves, controlling herself not to gawk at him as he stood. He collected the old metal kettle from a nearby bench and started for the door. As much as she tried, her gaze sought him out through her lashes and she admired the view of him from behind as he went out the door.

  Upon being left alone, she sighed. Whoever married the duke would be a very lucky woman. The idea of being ravished by him was almost enough to drive all thoughts of anyone else out of her head. Certainly Lord Weston didn’t bring forth the ideas and imaginings that the duke did. Nor Lord Fairchild for that matter.

  She contemplated that point before he returned and placed the water on the little grill that sat over the flames. He returned to his chair, and folding his legs he asked, “What else do you like to do, Lady Mary, other than sneaking away to hunting lodges when no one is looking?”

  His lazy smile made her blood warm. Mary sat, pulling her legs up under her and clasping a nearby pillow to lean against. “Do you really wish to know, your grace?” Not many gentlemen ever cared to know how women passed their time, but then nothing the duke had done since she’d met him had actually made any sense and so she was willing to give him the benefit of her doubts if he really wished to know.

  He threw her a half smile. “I would not have asked if I were not interested.”

  The duke was becoming more interesting by the minute. “I’m especially fond of fishing both in the winter and summer months. I love to swim and I’ve been practicing rock climbing of late. As you know we have some very good peaks here in Derbyshire.”

  A small furrow appeared between his brows. “You like to climb rocky outcrops? Is that not dangerous? Do your parents know you take part in such a sport?”

  He looked at her as if she’d lost half her mind.

  Mary shrugged. “Do not tell my parents, they do not know. And I have taken precautions and secured some ropes. It’s all perfectly safe, so long as they hold.”

  He contemplated her for a long moment, and she fought not to fidget in her chair. How was he able to make her feel all warm and fuzzy every time she was around him? He made her want other things so very different to how her life was at present. Her own home, a marriage, children, all things she’d not had longed for before. She frowned, the thought was as perplexing as it was frightening.

  “You should not be climbing rocks by yourself, Lady Mary. What if you fell? It could be days, weeks even, before anyone found you in these parts. You could be long expired by then.”

  All true, and nothing she’d not thought about herself, but all her hobbies were an escape of duty and she would be loath to have to stop. It was who she was after all, to pretend to be anyone else was impossible to imagine.

  “I never climb overly high, but I like the thrill of it.” She sighed, smiling at the thought that next year would be her last opportunity to be so carefree. Unless she found a husband who allowed her to continue her passions. “It’s such a rush when I reach the peak, makes me simply want to do it again and again.”

  The duke shifted in his chair and cleared his throat. “Tea, I think.”

  Dale didn’t move from his chair. He knew he ought to get up and help Lady Mary with the teacups, sugar and teapot, but he simply could not move. Not yet at least. After her little chat about rock climbing, reaching peaks and wanting to do it again and again, all he could think about was what she would look like beneath him, giving and gaining pleasure.

  The hardness in his pants would be obvious to even a blind person, and so he sat, trying to imagine anything other than the little minx before him, writhing, gasping, biting that sweet bottom lip of hers as he brought them both to climax.

  He groaned, flopping his head back to look up at the ceiling. He was a veritable ass. A blaggard who could think of nothing but plucking this sweet rose before him and putting her in his coat pocket.

  Mary sat the tea in front of him, setting out the cups and saucers while they waited for the kettle to boil over the flames. “Is everything well, your grace. You look a little flushed.”

  He sat forward, in part to try and disguise his groin, which thankfully was starting to behave itself, but also because he wanted to be closer to her. “I am well, I assure you. Just enjoying my unexpected company.”

  She smiled at him. The gesture was genuine, and laughter lurked in her eyes. Peter’s sister was, if he were to summarize her at all, a jovial, happy kind of woman. She certainly spoke to their guests as if all of them were her friends, and she liked to laugh at jokes, even when Dale didn’t find all of those being told by Lord Weston overly amusing.

  Dale decided he liked her very much and would like to see her settled and happy and with a gentleman who allowed her to do as she pleased, including rock climbing.

  “I am too. When I heard Peter was bringing a duke home this year, I did have a rather unfortunate notion as to what you would be like.”

  “Really,” he said, interested to know what
her thoughts may have been. His, upon seeing her the first time, were less than complimentary, and he was ashamed of what he had thought of her that night. A disaster with very little fashion sense. The woman who sat before him had taken charge of her life, and was unrecognizable to the woman he’d first seen. “Do tell me your thoughts.”

  Lady Mary grinned, her eyes dancing with mischief. “I actually thought you would be a prig. All lofty airs and looking down your nose at all of us. Even though my father is an earl and Peter is your friend, I couldn’t help but wonder if you’d find such house parties, festive and merry to be too tame for you?”

  “Ahh,” he said, leaning back in his chair and running a hand through his hair. “So you’ve heard the rumors?”

  Her grin increased and Dale found himself smiling. “Are they rumors or statements of fact?” She schooled her features and threw him a penetrating gaze. “Are you really as wild as they say you are? Or is the ton mistaken in judging you so wrong?”

  Dale wished they were judging him incorrectly, but it wasn’t so. So how would he answer such a question without looking like the established rake that, in truth, he was. “The ton is not wholly incorrect.” He couldn’t say more, as it was this conversation was highly inappropriate. To tell Peter’s sister that he’d had multiple bed partners, sometimes at the same time, was not what this, this… “Your brother tells me you’re three and twenty.”

  “That is correct.” She stood and going over to the fire, picked up a cloth that sat on the mantle and then took the kettle off the boil. She poured the hot water into the tea pot, jiggling it a little before letting it sit to brew.

  “How old are you?” she asked in return, meeting his gaze.

  “Eight and twenty. Old enough to know that our conversation subject is not appropriate.”