Mistletoe Wishes

by Anna Campbell

  It didn’t help.

  For the first time, she saw Giles Farraday in full. And heaven help her, the view was magnificent. Without prompting, her hand slid up his shoulder and around his neck, until his black curls brushed her fingers.

  “Very good,” he whispered. “Now move closer.”

  He didn’t need to tell her. Already she swayed forward, as if he was the moon and she was the tide. When those thin, elegant hands closed around her waist, heat sizzled through her.

  “Don’t jump, girl,” he murmured. “None of this should come as a surprise. You know he wants to touch you. He can’t do anything else.”

  She barely heard as she tilted her face up. “Giles…”

  “Yes, like that.” Impossibly his dark gaze turned darker. “As if you can’t endure waiting one more second for him to kiss you.”

  Rising on her toes, she stretched toward those beguiling male lips. “You’re talking too much.”

  Still he held apart. Curse him. Did he mean to drive her mad? “Now you’re getting the idea.”

  “Kiss me,” she whispered.

  “Excellent.” Except he no longer looked in charge. Instead he looked as dazed as she felt.

  “Kiss me, Giles.”

  One more excruciating second of delay, before his grip on her waist tightened with unmistakable purpose. “Damn it, Serena,” he groaned as his mouth crashed down on hers.

  Chapter 4

  Through the rush of blood to his head, Giles heard Serena’s shocked gasp. Before he could tell himself to move away, to treat her with the respect she deserved, she curved so close that he felt every inch of her warm, lovely body.

  Ridiculous that in all his years of fantasizing about kissing Serena Talbot, Giles had never imagined that he’d ever have the real woman trembling in his arms. Yet as she pressed against him with such eagerness, waves of shivering combed through her.

  It was poignantly moving to know that he was the first man to taste those luscious pink lips. He took his time, letting her grow accustomed to the kiss. Yet still the doors of heaven remained closed against him. Although at least now, she made some attempt to join in. Greedy hands closed around his arms, and her lips moved with subtle interest against his.

  Too subtle.

  He trailed his lips along her cheek, and his hold on her waist firmed. Essence of Serena filled the air. Flowers. Lemon soap. A tinge of feminine warmth that was new.

  “Open your mouth, Serena,” he murmured.

  She started with surprise. “Open? That seems…odd.”

  He smiled and nuzzled her silky hair, tied up in its usual loose knot. If fate ever granted him a moment’s true privacy, he’d tug every pin free, until that golden mass cascaded over his hands.

  “I know what I’m doing.”

  “I don’t,” she said shakily.

  Despite her fears, she turned to glance her mouth across his with a beguiling mixture of hesitation and boldness. His heart crashed against his ribs. Heat seared away all thought of where he was, including the knowledge that the village church wasn’t the most discreet site for a tryst.

  Their lips, barely parted, clung, and he tasted her sweet, humid breath. He slipped his tongue into the honey interior, letting her rich flavor flood his senses.

  She made a soft sound—protest or acceptance, he couldn’t say. Then with beguiling enthusiasm, she angled up, and her mouth flowered under his. He tasted her deeply, as darkness invaded his head and desire gushed through his veins.

  Serena was delicious, glorious, marvelous. Better than his dreams.

  Her tongue fluttered against his, and it was his turn to groan in wordless encouragement. The kiss took fire, and he caught her up against him, lashing his arms around her, wishing to hell that he never had to let her go. A tiny glimmer of reason warned him that he went too far, too fast.

  The angels who watch over foolish girls too trusting for their own good must have been listening. He became aware of a sound that didn’t belong in this paradise.

  Serena must have heard it, too, because she stiffened without, he was pleased to note, moving away. “Someone’s trying to get in,” she said on a mere breath of sound.

  “I locked it. I told you,” he said into her ear and couldn’t resist biting her earlobe.

  “Giles…” she protested on a sensual shiver. “People will talk.”

  “Let them. Nobody knows who’s in here.”

  The heavy iron handle rattled again, then fell silent. Serena stared up at Giles with an expression he couldn’t read.

  “See?” he murmured. “I said they’d go away. Shall I kiss you again?”

  A pretty blush, visible through the gloom, colored her cheeks. “You know, I’ve never really…seen you before.”

  Satisfaction flooded him. What a long way they’d come in an afternoon. For once, she wasn’t thinking about Paul. She was thinking about Giles Farraday.

  How could he bear to send her away? He might go back to being invisible.

  But they’d dared enough, even if his needy soul wanted to seize her and keep her forever. He was reluctantly loosening his grip, just as the unthinkable happened.

  “Serena?”

  Hell’s bells. Paul’s voice emerged from behind the wall separating the vestibule from the body of the church. When he couldn’t open the main door, he must have come in through the vestry at the back.

  “Oh, Hades in a cookpot,” Serena whispered, her horrified gaze clinging to Giles.

  “Serena, are you in here?”

  “I should have locked the other door, too, damn it,” Giles muttered.

  In the bristling silence, he heard the click of Paul’s heels down the aisle toward them. Serena grabbed Giles’s hand and hauled him toward a large oak settle with high sides. A place for pallbearers to catch their breath. Or a guilty lover to hide.

  Taking Giles with her, she squeezed into the narrow gap between the side of the seat and the wall. The space was restricted. Delightfully so. Although with discovery so close, he was a cad to notice. Her bosom pressed into his waistcoat, and he had to lean away to conceal his sexual excitement.

  “Serena?” Paul’s voice grew louder as he approached.

  “Dear heaven.” She hid her face in Giles’s neck. His hold tightened, and he kissed the top of her head in reassurance.

  “Stay here,” he whispered.

  “No…”

  “Trust me,” he mouthed, untangling her frantic fingers from his shirt.

  When she nodded, he brushed a final kiss across her lips. If Paul saw Serena’s pink cheeks and swollen lips, he’d know exactly what she’d been up to. Even without Giles’s incriminating presence.

  He paused long enough to straighten his clothes and check all his buttons were done up. Nothing was out of place. Things were starting to get interesting when Paul turned up. Curse him.

  Giles slipped across to the door and released the latch, making no attempt to muffle the noise the heavy iron fittings made.

  “Serena?” Paul appeared on the worn stone step leading from the church down to the vestibule. “Oh, it’s you, Giles. How did you get in? The door was locked when I tried it.”

  “Dashed odd. I had no trouble with it.” Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Serena shrink into the shadows beside the settle.

  “Have you seen Serena?” At least Paul didn’t sound suspicious. Yet. “Frederick said he saw her heading this way.”

  “I ran into her in the garden, and she said something about checking on her horse.” Struggling for a relaxed manner, Giles moved past his friend into the church. He wanted to get as far as he could from that blasted kissing bough.

  Instead of following, Paul planted his feet on the step and frowned into the vestibule. “I tried there.”

  If the blockhead veered one inch to the left, the game was up. Giles’s gut tightened in dread. He’d never meant to risk Serena’s reputation.

  “It’s a cold day.” Giles crossed into the side aisle, hoping Paul would
follow. “She might be in the library. A parcel of books arrived from Hatchards yesterday, and I know she’s keen to read the latest Walter Scott.”

  “I tried there, too.”

  “Well, devil if I know where the chit is. She’s obviously not here. Let’s go back to the house and ask.”

  “So you haven’t seen her?”

  “If I had, I’d tell you.” Liar. Liar. Liar.

  The beginnings of doubt entered Paul’s eyes. “It seems odd to find you in a church, when you don’t have to be.”

  True. Which said a little too much about the state of his soul. “Thought I’d take a look at the family memorials.”

  Paul’s puzzled frown deepened. “You’ve never been interested in ancient monuments.”

  Paul was no fool, although right now Giles dearly wished he was. He mustered a nonchalant shrug. “I wanted a walk, and I wandered in here to satisfy idle curiosity. It’s not worth fighting about.”

  Paul settled a narrow-eyed gaze on him, and briefly Giles wondered if his interest in Serena was quite as secret as he imagined. “So you’re perusing Latin inscriptions?”

  “Well, I meant to, until you ruined my contemplative mood. Come on, old man. It’s perishing in here.”

  He prayed his humorous impatience would stop Paul staring into the vestibule, as though Serena was about to jump out of the woodwork. The damnable fact was that she just might.

  Instead of cooperating, Paul’s gaze swept the shadowy space, and for a horrible moment, his attention settled on the heavy oak settle.

  Giles’s heart surged into his throat. Good God, he’d marry Serena tomorrow. Today, if he could. But he didn’t want her hurt or shamed—and undoubtedly if Paul discovered her in this compromising situation, she’d be both shamed and hurt.

  Not sure whether he was a hero or a numskull, Giles headed toward the back of the church, hoping Paul would follow.

  He didn’t. “Why not the front door?”

  Damn, why not the front door? Giles slammed to a halt before a memorial under a stained glass window depicting the Prodigal Son. Given the loss of his parents—they’d died in an epidemic in India the year he started at Eton—that particular parable had always touched him. Since his parents’ death, unconditional love had been absent from his life. “This very fine example caught my eye.”

  To his relief, Paul at last wandered over to stand beside him. His friend leveled a long look at the memorial to Obadiah Talbot, who gave his life for king and country at the Battle of Malplaquet a hundred years ago. “I had no idea you’d become a blasted antiquarian.”

  “It’s a recent interest,” Giles said lightly, as he conducted a frantic search for something on the marble plaque worthy of comment. Perhaps a genuine enthusiast would commend it. A mere layman couldn’t for the life of him discern anything noteworthy in old Obadiah’s laconic epitaph.

  “Funny you never mentioned it.”

  Yes, that was funny. Deuced odd, in fact.

  “I feared you’d mock me.” He assumed a disappointed expression. “And I was right.”

  “So what’s so special about this one?” Paul folded his arms and regarded Giles with a skeptical eye. “Looks dull as damned ditchwater to me.”

  Looked damned dull to Giles, too. “But you’re no connoisseur, are you?” He struggled manfully on. “The elegant simplicity of the carving makes this an exceptional example.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Indeed. The plain square shield and unadorned text combine in a moving memorial to a brave man who died far from home.”

  Paul continued to sound unconvinced. “If you say so, chum. Although the family story is that old Obadiah was stabbed in a brawl in a brothel the night before the battle. That’s why not much fuss was made of his memorial. He was always a bad ‘un.”

  Wouldn’t you know it? Bloody Obadiah.

  Desperate to avoid Paul’s searching regard, Giles headed for the vestry. “I’ll still raise a glass in his honor, when we get back into the warm. If Serena has an ounce of sense, she’s in the house, toasting her toes by the fire.”

  Paul shot one last look around the empty church, despite it being conspicuously Serena-less, and shrugged. “I may as well search for her there as anywhere, I suppose. The chit’s been dashed elusive since I arrived.”

  Now that was much more interesting than a memorial to some disreputable Talbot. “She’s helping her mother manage a house full of people. I wouldn’t take it personally.”

  “I don’t.”

  Giles burned to pound away Paul’s smug smile. Of course he didn’t take it personally. Serena had always been under his thrall.

  So where did that leave that interloper Giles Farraday, Marquess of Hallam? Out in the cold? Or promising to change from the race’s dark horse to hot favorite?

  Before those kisses, he wouldn’t have wagered a groat on his chances. Now? Now he wondered who she’d been thinking about when his tongue had been in her mouth. The man she dreamed of? Or the one who woke her to sensual pleasure?

  He’d give half his considerable fortune to find out.

  Chapter 5

  The remnants of fear bitter as bile on her tongue, Serena heard Giles and Paul leave through the back of the church. She remained hidden where she was, grateful for Giles’s quick thinking, although she couldn’t imagine anyone crediting that he’d become a specialist in church architecture. Now she’d sampled his searing kisses, the idea seemed almost blasphemous.

  Only as her heart slowed and her terror of discovery receded did she have a chance to wonder at her reaction to Paul’s arrival—and to Giles’s kiss.

  How interesting that not even a girl in love with another man could resist a rake’s wiles. Clearly Giles had learned a lot from the worldly London ladies. The first kiss had been pleasant, but once he’d enlisted her participation, the results had been extraordinary, an emotional flight way beyond the mere physical. And the physical had surpassed anything she’d ever known.

  If she felt like that with a man she barely liked, imagine how she’d feel when Paul kissed her.

  Except her first reaction when Paul interrupted the shameful experiment—they were in a church, for heaven’s sake—had been annoyance. She’d wanted him to go away, so she could go back to kissing Giles.

  That didn’t seem right. Just as the way the sinful heat lingered in her blood didn’t seem right either.

  Giles Farraday must be an extremely skilled kisser.

  A wanton question arose, before she remembered that it was Paul she wanted. What else might Giles teach her?

  ***

  Torver House was crammed to the rafters with Christmas cheer—and Giles had slunk away like a guilty man to sit beside the library fire, desperate to escape the jollity. Everyone but him was in a party mood. There were games in the drawing room, and dancing in the great hall. With the family reunited to celebrate the season, dinner had been uproarious.

  From the first, Giles had enjoyed staying with the Talbots. They welcomed him with a generosity that he’d always known was exceptional.

  But envy tinged his gratitude. Because however kind this noisy, loving, exuberant clan was, however willingly they included him in their festivities, he remained an outsider.

  An outsider yearning after the lovely daughter of the house like grim Hades yearned after bright Persephone. Darkness hungering for irresistible light.

  If Serena and Paul reached an understanding this Christmas—and why the hell shouldn’t they?—Giles would have to stop visiting Torver. Not only would he lose the girl he loved, he’d lose the closest thing he had to a family.

  The future looked mighty bleak.

  He was hunkered down in here because he couldn’t endure seeing Paul and Serena dancing together, beautiful and golden, and from an easier, warmer world than the one Giles Farraday inhabited. If he felt that way now, how the devil would he survive knowing that every night, those two golden beings lay in one another’s arms?

  With a closed fist,
he thumped the arm of his leather chair. And wished to God that he was thumping his best friend.

  Love was purgatory. He wished it to the devil.

  After this afternoon’s antics in St. Lawrence’s, his misery bit sharper than ever. He’d felt so clever coaxing his luscious darling into kissing him, but now he paid for his sins. Because his dreams at last moved into the realm of reality, the pain of knowing Serena would never be his was sharper than ever. Tonight he knew what it was to hold her and drink in her scent and hear her sighs of pleasure.

  All evening, he’d burned to touch her again. While she skipped about in Paul’s arms as if she hadn’t a care in the world. Clearly she spared no thought for dark, brooding, lonely Giles Farraday.

  With a muffled groan, he raised his brandy glass to his lips, appreciating the liquor’s burn down his throat. He was sick to the stomach of his festering self-pity.

  When the library door eased open, Giles glanced up from the old “Blackwood’s Magazine” that he made a show of reading. If Paul intruded upon his sulks, he might just punch that handsome nose.

  But it wasn’t his best friend who edged into the room. Instead, it was the lovely girl who had fueled years of dreams and who kept Giles returning to Torver House, no matter how wretched it made him.

  The stark truth was that however wretched he felt with Serena, he felt more wretched away from her.

  “Giles?” With a furtive air, she shut the door behind her.

  The huge library suddenly seemed as small as a shoebox. Just what was she up to?

  “I thought you were busy dancing.” As he set his brandy aside, he cursed the remark’s snide note. But he felt like a dog chained and left to starve.

  “I was.” With tendrils of hair escaping the loose knot and a flush of exertion in her cheeks, Serena looked utterly beguiling. Dances at a Torver Christmas included vigorous country reels and jigs, as well as measures fashionable in high society. “Why didn’t you stay? I wanted to dance with you.”