Her cheeks burned. “Matthew. How-how long were you standing there?”
He pushed himself away from the doorframe and walked into the room. “Long enough to know who you mimicked. I must say, I’m impressed. I did not know your voice could reach quite so high.”
Meg shifted her gaze. She needed to change the subject before he asked why she’d been mimicking Miss Josephine. “Why are you not with the others?”
“Mother sent me to retrieve Louisa’s wrap,” he said, motioning to the shawl in Meg’s hand, “but I see you have beaten me to it. Now, tell me, why were you imitating Miss Josephine so skillfully?”
Blast. “No reason.” He dropped his chin with a dubious expression, but she rushed on, desperate to turn the attention on him. “You seem to have been enjoying your evening with her though.”
“I suppose. She is an entertaining young lady, but she is a worse flirt than her sister was at her age. Though Miss Warren seems to have grown out of it.”
Hope pushed past the coldness in her heart like a hellebore flower breaking through the snow. Still, she forced herself to remain flippant. “So she didn’t capture you will all her talk of horses then?”
He scoffed. “She certainly thought she knew a great deal about them. Do you know, she actually tried telling me I was wrong about the breed of my own horse? You and Louisa know far more than she does. I eventually ignored her errors and just responded with laughter.”
Meg couldn’t hide her smile. She should’ve known Miss Josephine would slip up eventually. If there was one thing the man couldn’t be corrected on, it would be his knowledge of horses.
“Why are you smiling?” he asked before wincing. “You and Louisa haven’t assumed I’ve taken a liking to the girl, have you?”
Meg could have laughed. They absolutely had thought that, just like they had with Miss Paulson. However, his happy manner with Miss Josephine—as opposed to his rather reserved behavior with Miss Paulson—had almost convinced Meg that his mother had found someone for him to love at last. How relieved she was that it was not true, yet again.
“Honestly,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, “I cannot believe the sheer amount of women the two of you have wished for me to marry.”
Actually, Meg knew of only one.
* * *
Matthew joined Meg as they crossed the room.
“Can you blame us?” she asked. “We’ve never known you to speak to so many women in your life.”
He paused in the doorway. She was right to be suspicious. He had spent more time with more women than he’d ever had before, including women he would never choose to converse with, like the Warrens. During the brief moments he’d been able to pry away from Miss Josephine, he’d managed a few words with her sister, but he was clearly the last gentleman Miss Warren wished to speak with that evening.
Still, he’d tried, and with the evening nearing its end and numbers five and six seen to, he could almost taste the freedom of riding on his new horse, no longer needing to return to Mother for yet another lecture on why he needed to marry and help Father with the estate.
Now if only he could tell Meg his reasoning. But then, he was so close to completing his task. He’d come too far to give up now. He would simply have to create better ways to hide the bargains from now on.
“Well, perhaps I have simply changed while at university,” he said. “Perhaps I have felt the need to be more kind to others.”
Meg snorted, a sound deemed improper for most women, though it only endeared him to his friend more.
“You don’t believe me?”
“Not in the slightest,” she said. “But it doesn’t matter. I have my own secrets I am unwilling to divulge.”
“Do you now?”
She nodded.
“And what secrets, pray tell, are those?”
“No, no, Mr. Pratt. We are no longer playing a game. I don’t have to answer that now.”
They shared a smile. He’d missed their repartee today. The past few days he’d spent with her and Louisa had been wonderful, once he’d gotten rid of whatever feeling he’d had that moment they’d shared in the snow. Since then, it hadn’t returned, so he’d simply chalked it up to indigestion or the simple joy that came from knowing he’d won their snow fight.
He’d wanted to spend more time with her at the party, as well, but with the bargain in place with two women that evening—and Miss Josephine attaching herself to him like a piece of lint—he’d hardly had a moment to do so. He was sorely tempted to hide away in the drawing room with Meg until the carriages were ready, but his sister needed her shawl.
“Shall we return to the others then?” he asked.
Meg hesitated. “Yes, I suppose so. Only, may I keep you here for just a moment longer? I wish to express my gratitude to you for these past few days, for seeing through with your promise and spending time with me and Louisa. I have to admit, we highly enjoyed ourselves.”
His heart warmed. Meg had never hesitated to express her gratitude to him and his family, even for the simplest of acts. He supposed her grateful nature was born from having worthless parents. He pressed down his anger—simmering at the mere thought of the Bakers—with mischief. “You know me, Meg. I would never say no to more time of leisure.”
“Or to a bargain?”
“You really have no idea.”
She studied him for a moment without saying a word.
“What?” he asked as her silence continued, unnerving him.
“I’m merely attempting to conjure a deal with which you would be unable to agree.”
He chuckled. “I wish you luck. There never has been such a one.”
“Really?”
“Absolutely.”
“Very well, then I have one for you now.” Her eyes shone brightly, the candlelight from the sconces in the corridor reflecting in their blue depths. “If you accept my challenge, I agree to take the blame when next we are in Society and you wish for a bit of respite in a darkened corridor.”
Instantly, he shook his head. “We have already attempted that at the masquerade, if you recall. Mother still blamed our absence on me.”
“No, no. I promise, I will not accept anything less than the total amount of the responsibility.”
Matthew thought for a moment before nodding. “Very well, I can agree to that. Now what would you have me do?”
Her lips curved. “I would have you kiss me.”
Chapter Seven
Matthew pulled back, his brow low over his eyes. “You…what?”
“I trust you heard me so I do not have to repeat myself,” Meg said, her voice smooth as she raised a determined chin.
He felt for the doorframe behind him, resting his hand against the wood. He was only vaguely aware of his palms beginning to sweat. “But why?”
She released a tiresome sigh. “I am standing beneath a kissing bough, Matthew Pratt. Why else would I ask for such a thing?”
He leaned back, catching sight of the ball of mistletoe and greenery hanging above them in a circle, tied together with a neat, red bow. A strange feeling came over him. Disappointment? Relief? He couldn’t be sure.
“Oh, of course. Well that’s an easy task then isn’t it?”
He shook away the nerves that had crept into his shoulders. He’d kissed Meg before beneath a kissing bough. He could do it again.
He leaned forward and placed a quick peck to her cheek. It was over before it had even begun. “There. Now, about your end of the bargain. I think if I—”
“Is that all?”
He eyed her frown. “What do you mean?”
“Is that all I receive for my end of the bargain?”
He hesitated. Why was she so disappointed? That is how they had kissed every year beneath the mistletoe. “I-I didn’t think you’d wish for anything more.”
She huffed. “Do you not think I deserve more for the deal we have struck? After all, I’m going to make your mother very upset with me. Perhaps she throws me from
Hollridge House, what then? And all for a simple kiss you would bestow upon your grandmother?”
He could see her point, but an anxiousness settled across him, and he wrung his hands. Was she asking for…He shook the thought from his mind. “Very well. A kiss to your brow then?”
She gave him a dull look—lowering her brow, half-hooding her eyes—then faced him squarely. Silently, she tapped a forefinger against her lips.
He’d expected that she’d been hinting such an action. After all, a kiss on the lips was greater than bestowing one on the cheek or forehead. Still, his heart quickened.
“You…you wish for a real kiss?” he asked, wondering why, after all these years, she would wish for one now.
She shrugged. “It is not so strange, Matthew. I’ve seen countless others do so beneath the mistletoe.” She straightened and raised her chin. “Come now, no more dawdling.”
It was true then, Meg wanted him to kiss her. But why? What would that prove? And more importantly, did he wish to kiss her in return?
Blood rushed throughout him, burning the tips of his ears. He stared down at her, her shining blue eyes watching him, her red lips parted and ready to share in his affection. His heart beat so heavily against his chest, it felt bruised.
Was he really going to do this? Was he going to kiss his friend?
His friend.
He clenched his teeth together, muffling his thoughts with an imaginary cover. It didn’t matter what he desired. Meg was his friend, and he didn’t wish to ruin that.
He glanced over his shoulder to keep from staring at the moisture glinting on Meg’s lips. “What if we are discovered by the others or the servants?”
“The servants will be celebrating downstairs still, and the party, I’m certain, will have barely arrived at the back door by now.” Meg sighed, returning his attention to her as she placed her hands on her hips. “Honestly, Matthew, it is only a simple kiss. And we are standing under the kissing bough, you remember. No one would think twice about seeing such a thing.”
No one, except perhaps Mother. She had instructed Matthew not to kiss any of the nine. Though, did Meg really count towards the list? A kiss might make things awkward between them, but was it possible that he was simply overthinking the whole issue?
“I’m not sure about this, Meg,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck.
She stared at him wide-eyed. “I never thought I’d see the day that you would say no to a bargain.”
She was goading him. He knew that. But blast if it wasn’t working. He felt the itch to win, to accept her deal and succeed, but he couldn’t scratch it. Could he?
“A bargain, I might add, that is well in your favor,” Meg continued.
Matthew tapped his foot on the threshold. Very well, a simple, holiday kiss could not ruin their friendship of more than ten years. After all, many people participated in the amusement. Why couldn’t they?
“If it is too much for you to handle, Matthew, I understand. You needn’t accept my offer for the first time in your life.”
He really should swallow his pride, ignore his need to win every challenge put before him. But he needed to keep his record strong. And that adorably charming smirk needed to be wiped from Meg’s face once and for all.
She raised a flippant shoulder. “I suppose I’ll have to tell—”
He reached forward with one hand, ending her words as he slipped his fingers around the back of her neck and placed his lips on hers.
He intended for the kiss to only last a moment, long enough to stop her goading and put his pride above her own. But when he acknowledged the warmth of her lips, that strange feeling from before blossomed in his chest. Heat spread throughout him, as if he’d just had a steaming cup of chocolate. Only, Meg’s lips tasted of peppermint.
When they were younger, Matthew had occasionally wondered how it would be to kiss Meg, though he’d always set the thought aside, thinking it would be strange to kiss his friend. However, with her gentle lips on his, softer than he ever could have imagined, the action felt natural, perfect. As if they had been sharing in this affection for the entirety of their lives.
The fire crackled in the hearth behind them, the only sound reaching his ears apart from their soft, slow breaths. He stroked the back of her neck with his fingertips. He should have removed his gloves before this. How he longed to feel the smoothness of her skin.
The warmth strengthened, stirring and awakening indiscernible feelings deep inside, and his heart took flight, thudding mutely in his ears before he was lost.
* * *
Meg didn’t move, though she longed to wrap her arms around Matthew’s neck, drink in more of his tender kiss. She was too afraid if she did, the spell would be broken. For this had to be a spell. Magic or sorcery of some sort. Or perhaps it was a miracle? How else could Matthew be kissing her, his lips lingering on hers, his fingers caressing the back of her neck?
How she had dreamt of this moment. How she had longed for it for months. And now, Matthew was kissing her. Her, Meg Baker. And—dare she hope?—he was enjoying it.
He tipped his head to the side, his nose pressing softly against her cheek, his breath tickling her skin. She couldn’t help herself any longer, she had to touch him.
Slowly, she raised a hand between them, feeling her way up his waistcoat, jacket lapel, cravat, then finally, her gloved fingertips brushed against his jaw. She reached slightly higher until her hand rested at the side of his neck. Her breathing shallowed as she felt his quickened pulse.
He was enjoying this.
The knowledge sent her mind spinning. She reached her other hand to grasp his arm, but the deepest regret struck her as their reverie ended, and Matthew pulled back with a start. He stared down at her with rounded eyes, and she held her breath, praying she appeared unaffected by his lips on hers, and their sudden departure.
He dropped his hand and bumped into the doorframe as he took a step back. “Well, there you have it. Will that suffice?”
“Of course.” She swallowed. “And I will see to my end of the bargain the moment you wish it.”
He pumped his head up and down, his eyes darting away from hers to the kissing bough above. He reached forward, his musky cologne wafting toward her as he plucked a white berry from the bough—fulfilling the custom one shared when kissing beneath it.
“Here,” he said, dropping it into her outstretched palm without touching her hand.
Meg nodded with gratitude. His eyes dropped to hers, flitting to her lips for a brief moment before he took a step back and made his way down the corridor.
“We’d better return before they think we’ve become lost,” he said over his shoulder.
Meg watched him practically bound down the corridor without her. She followed after him more slowly, reliving the moment she’d just shared with Matthew over and over again, all the while clutching that little white berry as if it was the most precious pearl in existence.
Because to her, it was.
* * *
Matthew had remained hidden away from Meg after their kiss, and she did not see him until they left for the theatre the night after.
Meg had anticipated a level of uncertainty from Matthew. After all, even she felt some hesitancy with how to behave around her friend. What she did not expect, however, was for Matthew to completely ignore her, so much as to not even meet her eye.
She attempted again and again to engage him in conversation on their way to York, wishing to show him they could still be friends, to prove to him that nothing had really changed between them, but he only responded with skirted eyes and single-worded answers.
She told herself she was imagining his avoidance of her, but when they reached the theatre, seating themselves with the Wells family in their rented box for the evening, Matthew shuffled swiftly past the others to sit between Miss Wells and Louisa, with no chance of being near Meg.
She took her seat beside Louisa, trying to look to her for comfort, wondering if perhaps her frien
d might offer to switch her places, but Louisa focused intently on the program in her hands. She must not be feeling herself. She’d been silent all day and looked rather pale. Perhaps she was coming down with a cold.
As they waited for the performance to begin, Matthew’s questions to Miss Miles continually drifted toward Meg, but Miss Wells was hardly able to answer. She was a pretty girl with curly, auburn hair, but her timidity resembled a trembling kitten, and her voice was softer than the coo of a turtle dove. Matthew had never spoken highly of her, always commenting on her exhaustive shyness, but that evening, he was clearly more interested in being with her than with Meg, and that whispered to Meg the one thing she didn’t wish to believe—that Matthew regretted their kiss.
“Miss Pratt?”
Meg’s depressing thoughts ceased, and all eyes turned in their box to a tall man with a wide set of shoulders, standing right before Meg’s row.
“Mr. Abbott?” squeaked Louisa.
The squirrel from the masquerade? What was he doing here? Meg turned swift eyes to Louisa, who’s cheeks beamed redder than her rouge.
Louisa stood, giving a slight curtsy with a quick look to her parents. “What a surprise it is to see you here this evening.”
“It is a surprise for me, as well, to be seeing you,” he said. “I spotted you from across the room and thought to extend my greetings to you and your family.”
As he nodded his head to the Pratts, Louisa’s eyes darted to Meg’s. She was clearly pleading for help to be rid of the gentleman, so Meg stood with a curtsy of her own.
“Whatever are you doing in York, sir?” she asked. “I recall you mentioning you live in Norfolk.”
“Yes, but I’m here visiting an old school friend. He and his family are seated just beyond there.”
He motioned over his large shoulders. He looked rather more like a bull than a squirrel, especially with that focused, determined gaze on Louisa.
Meg didn’t believe his words for a moment. He may be visiting friends, but he’d come to York for clearly one purpose—and that was to find Louisa.
Nine Ladies Dancing Page 9
