Mistletoe Wishes

by Anna Campbell

  With a choked growl of disappointment and anger, she ripped the mistletoe from beneath her pillow and flung it to the floor.

  She should know better than to trust in old wives’ tales.

  Chapter 1

  Serena still felt out of sorts the next afternoon, when the carriages rolled up to Torver House to disgorge the Christmas guests. A fortnight of family and friends and fun lay ahead. Or so she told herself as she trudged downstairs to join her parents on the wide front stairs, where they waited to welcome the visitors. The house was set on a rise above the train of vehicles making their way along the winding drive.

  The day was fine and cold, with a pale, wintry sun in a pale, wintry sky. Beside her, her ebullient, gray-haired father was almost incandescent with anticipation. There was nothing Sir George loved better than this yearly gathering of Talbot connections. Her mother, a more contained personality than her father, looked equally pleased in her serene way.

  First to bound up the stairs toward Serena was her brother Frederick, tall, dark and exuberant like their father. Followed by Serena’s older sisters Belinda and Mary with their families, and a horde of aunts, uncles, cousins, and friends.

  By the time everyone shifted into the great hall for spiced wine and gingerbread, the air resounded with laughter and squeals of excitement. Gangs of children chased each other through the cavernous room hung with boughs of Christmas greenery, and various dogs added to the mayhem.

  Serena found refuge from the cheerful chaos beside the hearth, where the Yule log blazed. Most years, she loved this explosion of life in a house that had become sadly quiet since her sisters married and her brother took up residence in London. But now, a headache nagged at her, and she couldn’t help wishing that the children weren’t quite so ecstatic to see their cousins.

  “Serena, are you all right?” Mary asked, coming up beside her.

  Serena forced a smile. “Fine.”

  Searching gray eyes, so like her own, leveled on her. “You don’t seem yourself.”

  She didn’t feel like herself, but even to this, her favorite sister, she couldn’t confess the details of last night’s unsettling dream. Anyway, what was there to confess?

  A footman opened the main doors to some latecomers, distracting Mary. To Serena’s relief.

  “Ah, here are Paul and Giles,” her sister said with transparent pleasure.

  Two vigorous young men strode into the crowded hall and stopped beneath the kissing bough suspended near the door. Torver House always set up a mistletoe corner, although the decoration was less extravagant than the one in St. Lawrence’s.

  In her ears if not in reality, the cacophony receded, and for one breathless moment, Serena observed the new arrivals as if she’d never seen them before. Which was mad, when she’d known Paul since she was a baby, and Giles since eight-year-old Frederick had brought the orphaned marquess home the Christmas after he started at school.

  Sir Paul Garside was a sight to set any girl’s heart fluttering. The handsomest man she’d ever seen. Tall. Golden. Perfectly turned out in a dark-blue coat that matched his eyes. At ease with his world.

  Unwillingly, almost afraid, she let her attention stray to Paul’s companion. Dark. Quieter than Paul. Compelling in his self-possession.

  Serena had always disbelieved the gossip that painted Giles as the gentleman the London ladies pursued. But even across the vast hall, something hot and dangerous quivered into life inside her when those unreadable obsidian eyes settled on her.

  “Serena?” Mary said sharply, shattering her odd reaction. “Are you listening to me?”

  Serena’s cheeks heated as she met her sister’s curious eyes. “Sorry, Mary. I was miles away.”

  “No doubt dreaming of a June wedding to Paul Garside,” her sister snapped.

  Serena’s blush deepened, and she checked quickly to see if anyone had overheard. “Shh.”

  Mary rolled her eyes. “Nobody’s paying any attention. And what if they are? Your penchant for Paul is no secret.”

  “Oh, how mortifying,” Serena said in horror.

  “Well, in the family at least. It’s possible Paul doesn’t know. Men are always so clueless about things like that.”

  “I…I like Paul, I always have.” Why on earth did that statement convey an edge of desperation?

  “Of course you do. He’ll make you a wonderful husband. If you mean to catch him, you must know you’ve got the family’s approval.”

  Serena’s annoyance persisted, although she wasn’t sure why. “I had no idea my hopes were subject to such speculation.”

  Mary’s laugh was dismissive. “You’re mutton-headed if you don’t. A couple of years ago, Mamma made us all promise not to mention it, because you’re such a contrary creature, you might go off the idea.”

  Serena’s attention returned to Paul. Her father and mother were giving him a rapturous welcome. Odd how difficult it was to resist looking toward his acerbic friend standing beside him, also welcomed, also loved. “When I was ten years old, I made up my mind to marry him.”

  “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 examined 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.”

  She frowned. He might sound like he was joking, but something in his expression made her wonder if he was. “I’ve heard it’s magnificent.”

  The irony crept back into his smile, and she found herself regretting the loss of that unsuspected sweetness. “Oh, it’s that, all right.”

  “But not a home?”

  “It takes love to make a home.”

  Before she could question his statement—surely the most astonishing part of what had so far proven an astonishing day—he turned to speak to Belinda and Frederick who had dodged darting attacks from overexcited youngsters to reach the fireplace.

  Released at last from his blazing black gaze, Serena took her first full breath since that extraordinary kiss. When Giles stared at her, she’d felt as though someone tightened a strap around her chest.

  What in the name of all that was holy had just happened?

  Nothing. Everything.

  Who knew Giles concealed a romantic streak beneath his cynical hide?

  But that wasn’t what had made her heart clench with poignant emotion. No, what made her ache was the revelation that beneath his rakish dash, Giles Farraday was lonely.

  ***

  Giles looked out the window of the bedroom he always used at Torver House and pondered the bleak winter landscape outside. The estate nestled in a pretty valley where a river ran down toward the distant sea.

  But that wasn’t what he saw, as he stood above gardens and fields, hills and coppices, all bare with the season.

  No, his attention was centered on the knot garden directly below, where his best friend walked in the gathering dusk with the only woman Giles had ever wanted. His best friend, who had informed him a week ago that this Christmas, he meant to offer for Serena Talbot and that he had every hope of being accepted.

  Of course he did. He’d be a deuced blockhead if he didn’t.

  The girl had never had eyes for anyone else. And Paul was quite the catch. Rich, handsome, honorable.

  And, Giles admitted grudgingly, a damned nice fellow.

  There were no impediments to the match. The families were close, Serena would make the perfect chatelaine for Paul’s charming Palladian house. After the wedding, she wouldn’t even have to move far from the parents she loved. Paul’s estates were only several miles away from Torver.

  Everyone liked Paul. Damn it, Giles liked Paul. When he didn’t want to shoot the lucky sod for crowning a singularly fortunate life with a happy marriage to lovely, ardent Serena Talbot.

  The outcome seemed inevitable. Paul and his bride would live a glorious life, and rear a brood of golden-haired children, and enjoy a contented, prosperous, useful future.

  Paul was probably suggesting that very future to Serena right now.

  Damn. Blast. Hell. Bugger.

  Giles sighed and told himself that he’d always known this day would come. She’d never been for him. That had been clear from the first.

  When he’d arrived as a grieving, prickly boy, reeling from the loss of his beloved parents, Serena had been wary. As she’d grown up, her patent adoration for Paul meant that in her world, Giles operated as a mere adjunct to his picturesque friend. Nothing much beyond Paul bloody Garside ever registered with her.

  Giles’s one consolation had always been that while Paul was undoubtedly fond of Serena, his feelings hadn’t advanced far past that. It wasn’t much of a consolation. Paul had had more than his share of flirtations, but Giles knew that he always meant to please his family and marry the youngest Talbot girl. In recent months, that plan had changed from a duty to a pleasure.

  Paul was as susceptible to a pretty face as the next man. This last year, Serena had fulfilled the promise of beauty that Giles had always seen beneath the muddy pinafores and untidy braids.

  So this Christmas, the engagement was all set to go forward.

  Except…

  Except something unexpected had happened downstairs when he’d kissed Serena—a treat he always paid for in nights of restless longing.

  Call him an optimistic fool, but he’d swear that for one sizzling moment, she’d looked into his eyes and seen him. Seen him as the man he was, not Paul Garside’s shadow.

  And he’d wondered. Hell, how he’d wondered.

  Then she’d stepped back.

  But that fleeting instant gave him hope. At a time when all hope seemed dead.

  The quest might be futile. But he very much feared, however everything fell out in the end, that he meant to challenge his charming, eligible, handsome friend for the prize they both wanted.

  Although if the best man won, Giles hadn’t a chance in Hades.

  Chapter 2

  Three days before Christmas, and Serena remained mired in confusion. She should be deliriously happy, and instead, she was more miserable than she’d ever been in her life.

  Which made no sense when at last fate granted her dearest wish, Paul Garside courting her. His attentions since his arrival were unfailing, with the emphasis on unfailing.

  This afternoon, in a desperate attempt to find a moment’s peace from his constant company, she’d slunk away from the house to seek refuge in the cold and empty village church. When just days ago, the idea that she’d want to do anything but bask in his presence would have seemed preposterous.

  But she badly needed time alone to think. To remind herself that all her life she’d wanted Paul to pursue her. She should be ecstatic at his interest.

  Instead of scared to death.

  When the outside door squeaked behind her, she gave a guilty start. Even if she had nothing to feel guilty about. By heaven, she was turning into a bundle of nerves.

  Foreboding in her heart, she glanced back from where she sat in the family pew. Several times Paul had tried to corner her, starting with a chilly stroll in the knot garden the day he arrived. She feared he wanted to get her alone so he could propose. And however unlikely the fact, fear wasn’t too strong a term for her reaction to that prospect. Just now, she was in too much turmoil to make any decision.

  Oh, how she wanted to kick herself.

  The new arrival wasn’t Paul. But he wasn’t much of an improvement. Instead of a tall, fair-haired man, a taller man with dark, sensual features stood in the arched doorway leading through to the vestibule.

  “So this is where you’re skulking,” Giles drawled, sweeping off his hat as he entered the body of the church. He was casually dressed for the country, in a black coat, doeskin breeches and boots. His insolent gait a silent challenge
to sanctity, he sauntered up the aisle toward her.

  “I’m not skulking,” she snapped. Although to her shame, she was. She slumped back into her seat. “Quiet contemplation is appropriate to the season.”

  “Paul wants to talk to you.” Giles paused beside the pew and regarded her like some curious scientific specimen.

  “Oh,” she said glumly, but when Giles’s eyebrows rose, she straightened and injected false enthusiasm into her manner. “I wonder what he wants.”

  “Who knows?”

  She knew. He wanted her staring up at him with starry-eyed adoration, as he outlined the future that she’d planned all her life. “He didn’t say?”

  “I didn’t ask. Last I saw, he was checking the stables. They were your regular haunt before you became the Belle of Torver.”

  “The Belle of…” A blush rose. Which was ridiculous. Giles’s tone was taunting rather than admiring. “I should go and find him.”

  But she didn’t shift.

  Giles did. To her dismay, closer rather than away.

  Her heart somersaulted in a most disconcerting manner. Curling her fingers into her dark green merino skirts, she told herself to settle down. She didn’t like this odd, prickly awareness of her brother’s friend, but she couldn’t control it.

  Serena wasn’t lurking in the church only to escape Paul. These days, Giles Farraday was just as troublesome.

  More, curse him.

  “Oh, for God’s sake, make him put in some work to catch you. He’ll savor his victory all the more if he has to make an effort to win it.”

  Appalled, Serena stared at him, while another blush stung her cheeks. “What did you say?”

  “Would you rather play coy?” He opened the gate to the pew and stepped into the small box to sit beside her. Immediately the echoing space of the parish church shrank to suffocating narrowness. Her nincompoop heart performed a drunken jig in her chest.