Mistletoe Wishes

by Anna Campbell

  “That’s simple. She’s trying to raise the stakes before she says yes to marrying me. No woman likes to be won too easily. In her opinion, a little jealousy will do me good.”

  The hell of it was that Paul was right.

  “Serena is as pure as the day we met,” Giles said curtly. Paul didn’t need to know that was thanks to Giles dredging up some barely maintained strength of character.

  “Of course she is.” Paul brushed the statement aside. “She knows as well as I do that we’re meant to be together.”

  “So why are you worried?” Giles stifled the unworthy impulse to tell Paul how Serena had begged for his kisses.

  But then she’d made it clear that Paul Garside was her choice. Not much of a triumph for Giles, after all.

  “I’m not worried. I just don’t like to see you making a fool of yourself.”

  “So kind,” Giles said drily.

  “You’ve always had an eye for her. I can’t blame you. She’s a pretty girl.” Paul sounded a little more conciliatory. For a second there, Giles had worried that his best friend meant to thump him. Or worse, shoot him at dawn.

  That would spoil everyone’s Christmas.

  “Nothing’s set in stone,” Giles said, risking a return of his friend’s belligerence.

  But Paul’s temper had subsided, and he was again his affable, supremely assured self. “The engagement has been planned since she was in the cradle.”

  “These last years in London, you haven’t behaved like an engaged man.”

  Paul’s laugh was short. “A man has a right to enjoy his freedom. None of those women meant anything. I intend to be a faithful husband. So if you’re hoping to sniff around a betrayed wife, you’re wasting your time. Serena will have no cause to complain of my straying.”

  Giles bit back his own temper. Something inside him, probably the sour residue of failure, screamed that this practical marriage left Serena shortchanged. Paul was fond of Serena—might actually love her. If he did, he wouldn’t confess that to a friend. Even less to a rival.

  “She deserves to be happy.”

  “She will be. With me. So I suggest from now on, you avoid Serena’s company.”

  Not appreciating the position Paul placed him in, that of naughty little boy forcing himself in where he wasn’t wanted, Giles tossed back his brandy. “Given we’re sharing a house, that might be a problem.”

  Paul regarded him steadily. “You’re a clever sod. You’ll work something out.” He paused. “And you should make plans to leave on Boxing Day.”

  Giles slammed his glass down on the sideboard. “You have no right to throw me out of another man’s house.”

  “Only trying to save you from having to put on a polite face when we announce my engagement.” He shot Giles a hostile look under his golden eyebrows. “And don’t be in a hurry to visit us, once we’re married. I’m sure you’ll have better things to do.”

  Humiliation roiled in Giles’s belly. He couldn’t blame Paul for protecting his interests. But it was no fun being on the receiving end of the reprimand. “Is that what Serena wants?”

  He saw Paul consider, then dismiss a lie. “I thought we should have a private word first. She’s fond of you, in her way. I don’t want her feeling sorry for you.”

  Bravo, Garside. Giles barely hid a wince, although his hand clenched against the sideboard. Fondness and pity. How cleverly Paul damned Giles’s futile hopes.

  “Have you finished?” he asked through tight lips.

  Paul’s smile was superior. “No hard feelings, my friend.” He cast a derisive glance at his empty glass. “Have another drink, and accept the best man won.”

  He moved forward and clapped Giles on the shoulder. Giles was hard put not to strike that large, capable hand away.

  Only once Paul had gone did he release a shuddering breath. His friend must be more than a little concerned, if he brought himself to warn Giles off in such terms.

  Had Giles felt generous, he could have told Paul that Serena intended to accept his proposal.

  Giles, however, wasn’t feeling generous.

  Chapter 10

  After their quarrel in the summerhouse, Giles stayed out of Serena’s way. His skill at managing this impressed her. After all, despite the crowd, they were under one roof, and the weather had taken a turn for the worse, so everyone was confined indoors.

  But he seemed to have an uncanny ability to know when she approached. She’d walk into a room, lured by the deep rumble of his voice. Yet Giles would prove absent. The funny little skip in her pulse would subside to a disappointed chug.

  She saw him at meals, and he joined the other guests for the midnight Christmas service and all the games and festivities today. Now Christmas Day drew toward evening, the children had retired exhausted to the nursery, and her sisters had started playing silly, giggly games under the kissing bough.

  Serena felt like the specter at the feast. This year, seasonal cheer galled. She wished she was anywhere but here with her happy, laughing, loving family. And hated herself for her sourness.

  After all, she had nothing to complain about. She’d wanted Paul to make his intentions clear this Christmas, and he’d spent all day pursuing her. Until she was ready to scream.

  She only had a moment to herself now, standing beside the roaring fire, because Mary had dragged Paul under the mistletoe and was making him kiss every female in the house, from eighty-year-old Great-Aunt Agatha down to Cousin Jane, who at fourteen was enjoying her first grown-up celebrations. Her blushing elation as handsome Sir Paul Garside brushed his lips over her cheek pierced Serena’s grumpiness and reminded her of the first time Paul had kissed her, just so chastely, when she was fourteen. It had been the greatest thrill of her young life and only confirmed her determination to become his wife one day.

  She tried to remind herself that her dreams had always focused on Paul. But inevitably her gaze slid away, to where Giles stood with Frederick, observing the hilarity with a sardonic eye.

  Except after the last few days, she saw beneath that elegant detachment to the feelings he hid so well. Across the crowded hall—naturally he’d chosen a position as far from her as he could devise without leaving the room—she sensed his deep unhappiness. Her stupid heart cramped with painful longing to ease his isolation.

  But she was the last person he’d turn to for comfort. His disdain couldn’t be clearer. Serena had had plenty of time to work out what sparked his behavior in the summerhouse. Because she’d welcomed his kisses, he now thought she was a shameless hussy, which didn’t seem fair when he’d kissed her just as eagerly.

  Men had such bizarre notions.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Paul whisper something to Mary. So it was no surprise when her sister moved purposefully toward Serena.

  “Stop moping over here,” she said. “It’s time to kiss your beau.”

  Serena bit back an instinctive protest. Because Paul was her beau. Tomorrow he’d propose, and he’d be more than her beau, he’d become her betrothed. She felt trapped in a tide that she was powerless to stop.

  Just as she was powerless to stop her sister from hauling her under the kissing bough.

  “Mary—”

  “You can enjoy something more private later.” Her sister’s arch expression made Serena want to slap her into next week. “But keep it light now.”

  “At last!” At Serena’s approach, Paul opened his arms wide, and his smile made her feel like a Christmas pudding presented to a starving man. “I thought you’d hover over there, playing hard to get, until Easter.”

  “I wasn’t—” She gasped as Mary shoved her hard in the back. Losing her footing, she crashed into Paul. With unrestrained enthusiasm, his arms closed around her.

  All her dreams were coming true. And she hated it.

  She stiffened and tried to push free, but he was too strong. It seemed she must grin and bear what was to come. She snatched a shuddering breath, heavy with Paul’s scent: bay rum, horses, an
d healthy, virile male. It was a nice smell. It shouldn’t seem completely wrong.

  Gritting her teeth and wanting to throttle her sister, she rose on her toes and skimmed her lips across his cheek. The contact was over in an instant, and Serena prepared to retreat.

  “You can do better than that,” Mary scoffed.

  Serena turned her head and saw that everyone was watching. She caught Giles’s unreadable dark gaze before he glanced away. Shame heated her cheeks. How he must despise her for rushing from his kisses to Paul’s.

  “No need to be shy, sweetheart,” Paul murmured, his hold on her waist firming. “Everybody knows we have an understanding.”

  Another glance confirmed that if she didn’t count Giles, their audience radiated approval.

  She’d devoted years to dreaming of Paul’s kisses. Perhaps he was right about her being shy. His kiss might shatter her odd, contrary mood, like a prince breaking a wicked spell in a fairytale.

  She raised her head and pursed her lips, saying a frantic prayer for magic. Paul’s lips descended. The kiss was innocent—although until a few days ago, she wouldn’t have recognized that—and tinged with tenderness.

  Serena stood unmoved.

  After what felt like an eon, Paul withdrew to regard her with a satisfaction that seemed unwarranted. Or perhaps Giles’s kisses had turned her into a hopeless wanton, capable of responding only to voracious passion.

  For one blind, reckless moment, she considered tugging Paul closer and insisting on something more carnal. Her hand curled in his shirt.

  Then everyone around them burst into applause, and she realized now was neither the time nor the place. Paul laughed and leaned forward to kiss her cheek, whispering for her ears alone, “The first of many delightful kisses to come, I hope.”

  Before she could summon an answer—and what could she say?—he stepped away with a brief bow, leaving her standing under the kissing bough.

  “Serena’s in place. Does anyone else want to kiss her?” Mary asked.

  Before she could escape, her brother, her brothers-in-law, her uncles, her cousins, and her father lined up. Most made do with a peck on the cheek, although Charles, her oldest cousin, tried to kiss her lips. As he grabbed her waist and his flushed face loomed closer, she strained away. The alcohol on his breath made her dizzy.

  “Charles, you’re foxed.”

  “Dash it, Serena, you’re awfully pretty—and it’s Christmas after all.”

  “And you’ve been celebrating too hard,” she snapped.

  “If you refuse to kiss me, you won’t get married next year,” he said snidely.

  Right now, that seemed a blessing. She gave Charles a brief kiss on the cheek and shoved him away.

  “Careful,” he grunted, stumbling into the people behind him.

  “Grow up, Charles,” Giles said firmly. “And stay away from the rum punch. You’ll have a devil of a head in the morning, as it is.”

  “Damn it. Can’t a man kick up his heels at Christmas?” Charles grumbled, but once he’d found his feet, he shambled off without causing any more trouble.

  Serena’s gaze settled on Giles, and a deep, tingling warmth rose from her toes to her crown, until she was sure she must glow like a candle.

  “Giles…” she murmured, hardly believing he lined up to kiss her. Then she noticed Mary’s implacable hand curled around his arm.

  “I saw Giles hanging back and couldn’t let him escape,” Mary said.

  Serena glared at her sister. “You’re very free with another woman’s kisses.”

  Mary shrugged. “Giles can’t be the only gentleman in the house who misses out on a kiss.”

  “I’m sure he’s big enough to ask for his own kisses,” she said acidly, before she blushed a painful red. She remembered a time when he’d done just that, and she’d been quick to comply.

  “I’d count myself privileged to kiss Serena.” His voice was level, but she knew he had to be sarcastic. After all, in the summerhouse, he could have kissed her to his heart’s content, and he’d decided he wasn’t interested.

  “Do your worst,” she said, bracing and presenting her cheek.

  He seemed to take forever to move. She held her breath until her head swam.

  Leaning in, he glanced his lips across her cheek. The contact was over in a second.

  Unlike Paul, Giles didn’t fling his arms around her or try to kiss her on the lips. For heaven’s sake, her brother and father had shown more warmth.

  Yet a thousand vivid impressions assailed her and banished everything but his nearness from her mind. The noisy, crowded room faded away, and all she knew was Giles. His height. His delicious scent. The cool touch of his lips on her skin.

  She closed her eyes and told herself she had nothing to cry about. Even as a tight ball of tears jammed in her throat.

  She was so attuned to Giles that she heard his breath catch when he shifted away. Her hand rose to draw him back.

  Then she heard him speak to Mary and realized she was about to make a complete fool of herself. She forced her hand back to her side, opened her eyes, and struggled to act as if nothing had happened.

  Because of course it hadn’t. A friendly kiss beneath the mistletoe meant nothing. It was just a Christmas game they played every year.

  “There, Mary, are you satisfied?” he asked lightly.

  Her sister batted her eyelashes, as if Giles was her new flirt, when she’d been happily married for the last six years. “What about me?” She pouted with exaggerated chagrin. “Why should Serena have all the fun?”

  “You’re a managing wench.” Giles gave her sister a proper smile.

  Serena had no idea when she’d become such a connoisseur of Giles Farraday’s smiles, but all day, he’d done his best to give an appearance of enjoyment he didn’t feel. His smile for Mary was wry and fond, and nearly broke Serena’s heart. Because once upon a time, he’d smiled at her like that. But no longer. And she couldn’t bear that she’d lost him, just as she started to appreciate his qualities.

  With her hip, Mary bumped Serena away from the mistletoe. “Managing wenches get all the kisses.”

  Serena seized the opportunity to scuttle off. Usually she loved having the family together for Christmas. This year, she observed the laughing crowd playing snapdragon, and the group standing around the piano singing carols, and the guests enjoying a good natter with people they rarely saw, and wished every one of them to perdition.

  She saw Paul fill two glasses of champagne and turn around, obviously looking for her. No, no, no. Not now when she felt so shaken and uncertain.

  Putting her head down, she made blindly for the corridor. She could no longer pretend that this Christmas was like every other Christmas.

  “Serena? Is something wrong?”

  As she bumped into her mother in the doorway, she glanced up frantically. She met gray eyes, so like her own, and battled the urge to pour out all her unhappiness and confusion.

  But her mother was busy, hosting this huge house party. Serena couldn’t burden someone who already had so much to do. Anyway, what could she say? Nothing made sense to her. She hadn’t a hope of explaining these bewildering emotions to anyone else.

  “No,” she said in a choked voice. She struggled to find a reason for running away as if demons from hell pursued her. Across the room, she saw Paul craning his neck over the crowd. “I…I need something from my room.”

  She didn’t wait for her mother’s response. Instead she picked up her skirts and dashed into the blessed quiet of the hallway.

  She sucked in a breath close to a sob. If she stayed so close to the party, Paul would find her, and that suddenly seemed the worst fate possible.

  Wildly she looked around for somewhere to hide. If she took refuge in her bedroom, her mother might decide to check on her. Outside was no good. The snow fell in buckets, and an icy wind howled.

  Her glance fell on the door to the library. Not even Paul’s greatest admirer would call him a bookish man. This
was her best bet for avoiding him.

  She whisked into the room and whirled to close the door, when she glanced up to see Giles a few steps behind her. With a shuddering gasp, she faltered back as he strode forward and shut them inside. Alone.

  Neither spoke a word as he seized her with ruthless hands and swept her into his arms.

  Chapter 11

  When his mouth slammed down onto Serena’s, Giles heard a soft growl of feminine appreciation. She arched into him and clutched at his hair to tug him closer. Her mouth opened hot and greedy under his.

  Heat gushed through him, incinerated all thought of her innocence and the danger of coming together like this, so close to discovery. For two days, she’d barely spared him a kind word. While all the time, his frustration and hunger mounted—hell, he’d hungered for her all his life. That polite kiss in full view had been torture. When she left the room, he’d yielded to the overpowering need to speak to her alone.

  Except they weren’t talking.

  Panting, he ripped his lips free of hers. “Serena…” he said, like a drowning man snatching a final breath before he went under for the last time.

  Her eyes were stormy, and she pulled his hair to the point of pain. “Don’t talk.”

  She was right. What the devil use was talking?

  Giles kissed her again, hard and furious. As if he hated her. He’d been in love for years, yet he’d never realized love could be like this. Like someone struck him with a club over and over again. Like fire devouring him. Sweet and terrible. Painful and fierce.

  Serena bit at his lips, stoking his desire with the sting.

  “I didn’t teach you that,” he said roughly.

  To his surprise, she responded with a low laugh. “I’m experimenting.”

  “You’ll kill me before you’re finished,” he groaned.

  “What a lovely way to die.” She rose on her toes to kiss him again.

  Through the steam filling his head, he realized that she was as mad for him as he was for her. How astonishing. How magnificent. Her hot mouth, her exploring hands, the incoherent sounds she made, all conspired to annihilate judgment.