A Kiss at Mistletoe: Kiss the Wallflower, Book 2

by Gill, Tamara

  Of all the guests here for the Christmas celebrations, Mary was by far the most interesting. And now with her newly found fashion sense, she was blossoming into a beautiful woman, comfortable with who she was, no matter whom she conversed with. She now allowed gentlemen admirers to court her and not be so cold and aloof and it made the little rough pebble she once was, sparkle into a diamond.

  Not that Peter needed to know his thoughts. If their friendship was to survive, he would have to get over his growing admiration of his friend’s sister and find another lady to occupy his time and attentions.

  “Of course you are right. When it comes to your sister, she is quite safe with me.” Unable to tear his eyes away from her, he drank in the vision of perfection she was. As if sensing his scrutiny, she glanced up and their eyes met. Held.

  A tremor of awareness ran over him, as if she’d recognized the lie he’d just told and was calling him out on it. Within a moment she turned her attention back to Lord Fairchild and he clenched his fist as his side before excusing himself and leaving the ballroom.

  He could not want Lady Mary. He ground his teeth, heading for the card room set up in Lord Lancaster’s library for the evening, in need of a small respite. He needed to get a grip on his attraction for the chit who he reminded himself, was not what he wanted.

  He’d spent his whole childhood on tenterhooks with his parents arguing, he would not have a marriage where the woman might question his decisions and argue with him. Not that he could ever be violent toward a woman, but in the heat of an argument, he also knew he’d not had the best role models on how to go about such matters. The risk was too high.

  He stood at the Faro table with Lord Lancaster and two other gentlemen he’d never met before, ready to lose blunt if it meant he’d forget the jewel out on the dance floor.

  He would take out his frustrations here instead of with Lady Mary, where if he were able, he’d give her the first proper kiss she craved, and enjoy every blasted moment of it too.

  Chapter 8

  Mary left the ballroom after dancing with as many gentlemen as the time allowed before supper was called. With everyone taking repast in the dining room, she took the opportunity to leave for a moment’s peace.

  While she’d enjoyed the gentlemen who paid court to her this evening, Lord Fairchild in particular, the very one whom she’d hoped to dance with most had been absent.

  She walked past the library and glancing inside could not see the Duke of Carlton anywhere. So where was he? He’d not come back into the ballroom after she’d seen him during her first dance, and after settling her mama down in the dining room for supper she knew he hadn’t crept in there either.

  Mary checked the usual haunts that gentlemen ventured to during such balls and parties, but the billiard room was empty and so too was the conservatory, so he wasn’t having a midnight tryst with anyone.

  The idea made the pit of her stomach clench. She pushed the image aside, not wanting to imagine the duke with anyone. She paused at the threshold of a small parlor that was rarely used during the winter months due to its position and lack of sunlight throughout the day.

  At least in here she could have a moment alone and regain her composure and remind herself that if she had set her cap for the duke it was only because he’d been so kind to her after finding her in distress over Lord Weston.

  A gentleman such as he would never look at a woman such as herself. He was her friend, yes, but she was deluding herself if she thought anything further could come of that friendship.

  Mary pushed open the door and the slither of light from the passage illuminated the lone figure sitting on the chaise staring at the unlit hearth before him.

  “Your grace,” she said, coming into the room and closing the door. “Is everything well? You’re sitting in here in the dark.”

  He turned and watched her; his dark hooded eyes hard to read in the shadowy room that was only somewhat illuminated by the moonlight coming in through the windows.

  “You should not be in here alone with me, Mary.”

  His voice sounded annoyed and she bit her lip. Maybe they were not friends after all, and she’d imagined wrong when she thought they were.

  “Apologies, your grace. I shall leave you.” She turned for the door, hating the fact that her eyes smarted with rejection.

  “Wait,” he said as her hand clasped the door handle.

  Mary turned but didn’t venture to speak.

  He stood, watching her with an intensity that sent a shiver of awareness down her spine. Just as it did when she was dancing earlier with Lord Fairchild and she’d caught the duke watching her. He looked displeased seeing her then and she couldn’t help but wonder at it. Couldn’t help but hope that it might mean he didn’t like seeing her dance with anyone but himself.

  The duke ran a hand over his jaw, seemingly struggling with some inner turmoil.

  “Have you received your proper kiss yet?”

  She started, having not expected him to voice such a question to her. “Would you care or even wish to know if I had, your grace? Do you not have other concerns more taxing on your mind than whether I’ve been kissed or not?”

  “It ought to not concern me,” he said, with a disgruntled air. “But it does.”

  What did that mean? Mary walked slowly toward the duke. She couldn’t gauge his mood, but the way he stood before her, as if he were almost scared of her and would take flight at any moment, made her bolder than she’d normally be.

  “To answer your question, no, I have not kissed anyone, but the night is young, and I seem to have caught the attention of a few eligible gentlemen this evening. Maybe my luck is changing,” she teased.

  His grace frowned.

  “You would throw yourself at anyone?”

  Mary gasped. “Excuse me?” she said, shocked that he’d say such a thing to her. She wasn’t a wanton hussy. “Jealousy does not suit you, your grace.” The moment the words left her lips she regretted them. Of course he wasn’t jealous, he was merely looking out for his friend’s sister. Didn’t wish for her to make a spectacle or fool of herself.

  He stepped closer and his chest brushed hers. Mary licked her lips, liking the feel of him touching her there. Perhaps there was a part of her that wanted to act a little wild, rail against the cage of conformity that she was obliged to abide in life.

  Her love of the outdoors, doing things only men would normally take part in and should not exclude the fairer sex. Why should women always do as they’re told, toe the line and behave? Not cause a scandal. Why couldn’t her husband love her with a passion that suited her spirit?

  “If I were to kiss you, Lady Mary, I fear that I should ruin all future kisses you should receive from other suitors, or even that of your future husband.”

  His words spiked her temper and boldly she lifted her hand, running it down the lapel of his coat. The superfine material was soft to the touch, and yet beneath it lay a bed of hardness, a beating heart that even she could feel was racing beneath her palm.

  “Perhaps it will be I who’ll ruin all future kisses for you, your grace. I may be an untried miss, but I’m a quick study.”

  Dale stared down at the little hellion before him, her sweet face beguiled, tempting him like no other had before and he ground his teeth, wondering if he should kiss her and damn well prove his point that she’d never have a better instruction in the art with anyone else. He leaned down, but a feather separating their lips. This close she smelled as divine as she looked, a tempting little morsel just waiting to be gobbled up.

  “Would you like me to kiss you, Mary?” He used her given name and didn’t miss the pleasure that flooded her face.

  Her hand, that was still lodged firmly on his chest, slid up over his shoulder to wrap about his neck. The action brought her up hard against his chest, and through the thin silk of her gown all her delectable womanly assets pressed against him.

  Her action robbed him of the opportunity to shock her a little, make h
er turn and run out of here. Instead, she’d met his taunt and upped the stake with a move that left him reeling.

  Dale instinctively wrapped his arm about her waist, settling her snug against him and catching her gaze, now heavy with need and expectation, there was little left in him to refuse her wish.

  He sealed his lips against hers, but she didn’t kiss him back, and her innocence in taking part in such pastimes should’ve been like a dose of cold water, that had him setting away and keeping her safe.

  She was a maid after all. Untried and his best friend’s sister. A woman who should’ve been well and truly off limits.

  His wits however, had other ideas.

  Instead, he clasped her jaw, tilting her face to meet his kiss better and tempted her with small, soft brushes of his lips against hers. She opened on a sigh and he took the opportunity to delve between her lips, touching her tongue with his.

  A sound of utter pleasure emanated from her and he groaned as she mimicked his actions, her own tentative tongue sliding against his.

  “Damn it, Mary,” he muttered, clasping her jaw with both hands. He stared at her, beseeching her to run. She licked her bottom lip and all sense fled. Muffling a curse, he took her lips again and kissed her. Hard. She met his onslaught head-on, a quick study she certainly was, and her ability to take charge, turn the tables on him and send him reeling when she nipped his lip with a teasing air coiled heat through his veins.

  And then she was gone, wrenching herself out of his arms and staring at him with confusion. Her eyes were large and round, her breasts heaving with each breath. Dale glanced at her lips, bruised and swollen from their kiss and his need doubled. She was a temptress and he wanted her. So. Damn. Much.

  He wasn’t sure what was going through her mind, but whatever it was sent her packing and she ran from the room. Dale swore, running a hand through his hair. He’d overstepped his mark, perhaps even insulted her. As for what Peter would say to him if he found out…

  “Shit,” he muttered, striding to the door.

  Dale returned to the ball, and keeping to the edges of the room, he spied Mary with her friend, both of them chatting amicably within a small group of men and women both. He studied her a moment, relieved to see she’d not fallen into a fit of the vapors, if anything, she seemed alight with color, her cheeks reddened and her lips still a little swollen from their kiss.

  He let out a relieved sigh. He would ask her to dance and ensure she wasn’t upset with him and to confirm she was well. After all, they had become somewhat friends the past few days and he would hate his lapse in gentlemanly behavior to sever that.

  “How fetching Lady Mary is this evening. What say you, old boy,” Lord Weston said, siding up to him, his gaze fixed on Mary.

  “Lady Mary always looks well no matter what day it is.” Dale didn’t like the fact that the man was so vain that his eye was only turned when a woman was up to his standards. Not that Dale was totally innocent of that charge either, he’d certainly thought Mary’s wardrobe could do with a little updating.

  Lord Weston threw him a curious glance before saying, “I wanted to apologize for the other day how you and Lady Mary found me and Lady Hectorville in a certain state of déshabillé. Not my finest moment, but, well, she is a vixen as you well know.”

  Dale understood what he was saying about her ladyship and her bed sport, but the simple fact that she often shared her bed with many and was never tied to one man soon made it clear to Dale that he could not carry on a liaison with her. He didn’t share well, never had, not even as a child.

  “It is probably wise that you cease such activity under Lord Lancaster’s roof. I don’t believe he’d be pleased if he heard Lady Mary was submitted to such an education.”

  Lord Weston paled at Dale’s words and he inwardly laughed. Good. He wanted the fop to feel uneasy. He’d certainly made Mary so.

  “Mary won’t say anything, she’s in love with me, you know. Tried to kiss me the other evening.” Lord Weston glanced at Mary now dancing with Lord Fairchild again, and his eyes narrowed in thought. “Maybe I should let her try again and see where it takes us.”

  Dale fisted his hands at his side. A cold chill swept down his spine and he turned to face the little snot. “You meddle with her and I’ll meddle with you. Do you understand?” His voice brooked no argument and was laced with deadly promise.

  “What is it to you what I do with Lady Mary?” Lord Weston smirked. “It’s not like you wish to court her. Hell, no one has these past five Seasons. She doesn’t know this, but we dubbed her Ribbon Rebellion, being so fond of such adornments on her gown and that she’s a bit of an unorthodox chit when it comes to society’s expectations for her sex. What a laugh we had of it and she was never the wiser. Even Peter had no idea and we even mentioned the name right under his nose.” His lordship laughed.

  Dale clocked him one in the nose and watched with great satisfaction as he fell like an old, rotten oak, landing on his arse on the parquetry floor. The music stopped and guests standing nearby gasped as Lord Weston tumbled to the ground, blood spurting from his nose and dripping down onto his perfectly tied cravat and waistcoat.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing, Carlton?” he said, his voice muffled behind his hands.

  Dale leaned over him, pulling out his handkerchief and dropping it on Lord Weston’s chest. “Knocking you on your arse just as you deserve. Speak again in front of me, or anywhere else about Lady Mary,” he said, lowering his voice, “and you’ll get another one.”

  He walked off, heading for the terrace where he needed to cool off. Five minutes out in the crisp, winter air was just what he needed. Distantly he heard Peter call out for the music to commence and looking over his shoulder he watched as Lady Hectorville helped Lord Weston to his feet, even if the blaggard threw off her support once he stood.

  What an ass.

  Dale reached the end of the terrace and looked out over the gardens covered in snow, a smile spreading across his face. What fun that was, and not a more deserving bastard was ever on the receiving end of such a blow. It would certainly give the gossips some fodder during the break in the Season and possibly into the new one. Unless another scandal broke before that.

  He started when a small gloved hand wrapped about his. He didn’t need to turn to know who was beside him.

  Mary clasped the duke’s hand and came to stand before him. He was upset, that was obvious. One only had to look at Lord Weston’s swelling nose to know the punch the duke had afforded him had been no light touch.

  “What happened?” she asked, not wanting to bother with small talk. She’d seen the duke and Lord Weston talking as she danced and had not missed Lord Weston’s amused smirk at her as he talked with his grace. Something told her his lordship’s bloody nose had something to do with her.

  He stared down at her, and a ripple of heat, not due to the brisk outside air, stole across her skin at his intense gaze. Instead of answering her, he clasped her jaw and took her lips in a searing kiss.

  She melted into him, having thought of nothing else from the moment she’d left him earlier in the night. To stay, to kiss the duke was all that she’d wanted to do, but by doing so she courted scandal. Her parents expected her to always show decorum, but she’d never been very good at that, so a stolen kiss or two couldn’t hurt surely.

  And it did not. It didn’t hurt at all. The kiss went on, his mouth hot and insistent against hers, the slight roughness from the stubble on his face marking her skin. Mary wanted to feel more of him. She reached around, wrapping her hands on the inside of his coat, the corded muscles on his back, flexing as he held her close.

  She gasped as a hardness pushed against her abdomen. Her stomach clenched. Mary stood on her tiptoes and pressed against him to where she ached most, undulated her hips to feel him better. The duke moaned, hoisting her higher, one hand reaching down to lift her leg around his hip. The cold stone of the balustrade met her bottom as he angled her over the railing, us
ing its support to press harder against her core.

  Relentlessly he rubbed against her and it was too much and yet not enough. Liquid heat pooled between her legs and she gasped through the kiss as his actions teased and taunted her toward a pinnacle she could not reach.

  A loud, barking laugh from inside made them start and the duke stepped back, looking over his shoulder to ensure they were still alone. They were, and Mary wanted nothing more than to be there. To be alone with the duke and see where that delectable little action would eventually lead.

  “Apologies, Lady Mary. I’m heartily ashamed of myself.”

  Mary couldn’t stop her lips from twitching at his embarrassment. She wasn’t embarrassed at all. Curious and aching yes, but embarrassed, absolutely not.

  She came up to him, running one hand across his jaw. “I’m not,” she said, walking back toward the terrace doors and leaving the duke shocked and still behind her.

  The words that she wanted to kiss the duke again should shock her, but all she felt right at this moment was expectation. She liked him, more than she’d thought she would and ever since she’d run into him in the conservatory in all truthfulness, she’d hardly thought about Lord Weston.

  Oh yes, she may have told the duke she wanted his lordship to kiss her, but that was really only because the duke didn’t wish her to. Only one gentleman occupied her mind and he was on the terrace where she’d left him. She’d not thought to meet a man that not only showed interest in her life, the things she loved to do, but also listened, not just nodding and agreeing for propriety’s sake.

  Oh no, now that she’d had a small taste of what his grace could do to her, he wasn’t going to escape that easily. And with a few days left of the house party, she would have to come up with a plan to make him lose such steadfast control about her again and kiss her some more. The idea flittered through her mind that the duke might ask for her hand and nerves pooled in her belly. She bit her lip, not wanting to give rise to hope when realistically a few stolen kisses did not mean he would offer marriage. Even so, the thought of spending more time with his grace, of kissing him yet again made excitement thrum through her veins. What a wonderful thought indeed.