Serena was a bit surprised when Greyson sought her out that afternoon. He had said that awful thing about being jilted making her interesting and she’d been cold and rude upon his arrival. She had assumed that they would bide their time, feigning politeness until Christmas came and went, the house party concluded, and she would wed Lord Gosling and Grey would go off to India.
India! Oh, what that must be like! She couldn’t even imagine all the dramatic sights, bright colors, exotic scents that one might encounter there. She’d heard about Goddesses with a thousand arms, wild tigers, an overwhelming heat, and fabrics in colors like saffron and crimson.
She knew, deep in her bones, that it would be a richer, more exciting experience than she would ever have here in England, where the best travel she might hope for as a Noble Lady would be a trip to Bath, or perhaps a visit to Paris. Her gowns would be in demure, pastel shades. There would be no tigers.
Suddenly, her world seemed rather small.
So when Greyson tugged her aside and said, “I am wondering if you would like to help me avoid an international incident,” she replied, “For the good of England, I suppose I cannot say no to that.”
“Excellent. Join me in the duke’s study in a quarter of an hour,” he murmured.
Since when did Greyson Jones murmur things to her? Since when did she like it?
“But I have to—” There was an issue with the tea sandwiches Cook wished to speak to her about. And the housekeeper urgently needed to discuss the linens. But Viola could deal with all that. “Oh bother. Never mind all my hostessing duties. It’s rather dull anyway. I shall meet you there.”
“The safety of England depends on it, my lady.”
She didn’t believe him of course. But she was intrigued.
A quarter of an hour later, in the duke’s study
Serena mostly closed the door behind her—leaving it a few inches open for the sake of propriety. Though the whole purpose of this house party was to land her a husband, being caught in a compromising position with Greyson Jones in her brother’s study was not how she wanted to go about it.
She probably ought to have a chaperone, but she rather thought one might get in the way of thwarting an international incident.
Greyson didn’t seem to notice her slip into the room, and she took a minute to look at him, really look at him. He was slightly taller than average, with broad shoulders and a lean, strong body cloaked in simple, but well-tailored, clothes. His sandy-colored hair was cropped short. His lips were full. His eyes were gray, like his name, and they sparkled when he noticed her.
“Excellent. How good of you to meet me.” He crossed the room, as did she, and they met in the middle. “Here—papers of the utmost secrecy.”
She took the offered pages and glanced at them. Her face fell.
“These are lines from Bridget’s play.”
“And I daresay that if we do not have them memorized by practice this afternoon, I fear violent retaliation from Lady Bridget. I wouldn’t put it past her to spark an international incident.”
Her first thought: what a silly ruse! But the man did have a point. It was never a good idea to underestimate Bridget’s capacity for creating mayhem.
“Especially with Sophronia on her side. Are you really a spy?”
“Diplomat and ambassador. I recently returned from an extended stay in Bavaria and shall soon go abroad to represent England’s interests, while working to establish good relationships with the locals in foreign countries. Namely, India.”
“That didn’t answer the question.”
“Would you like me more if I were a spy? Because then I shall write directly to the Foreign Office, demanding a position.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she scoffed, while thinking yes.
“Speaking of ridiculous...”
“Yes. These lines. Let’s learn them. I have a million things to do. Problems with linens and tea sandwiches and one of the guests keeps moving all the mistletoe, though that might be Bridget and Sophronia.”
“Do you like all this?” Grey asked earnestly, waving his hand to indicate something, or everything.
“What is all this?” She mimicked him.
“Hostessing, entertaining, keeping house. Dealing with crises involving tea sandwiches and linens and unruly relatives. Bustling about, trying to be the Perfect English Lady because that’s how everyone will judge you.”
Her breath caught for a moment. How astute of him to read right into the contents of her heart and head. Especially when no one else seemed to.
“It is what I was raised to do. And I’m not certain there are other options for a woman of my station.”
Grey took a step closer.
“But do you like it?”
“I...I...never thought about it,” she stammered. But this was a lie. Those traitorous little thoughts had been crossing her mind more and more frequently. Just a moment ago, she was sad that she would likely never see India or wear a saffron-colored dress.
Serena gazed up at Grey. He seemed disappointed that she wasn’t more: that she wasn’t unhappy being a gently-bred lady of quality, that she didn’t seem to want more to occupy her time than household matters, that she would be content with a supposedly stultifying existence of marriage and babies and managing servants and not much else. But she didn’t have the words to tell him that she didn’t know of any alternatives enough to really long for them.
But India, though...
That tempted her.
“Shall we do the lines?”
Grey nodded and adopted his stance as Lord Pirate Captain.
“Argh, my lady.”
“I swoon...”
Serena swooned, trying to fall softly, languidly, like the fall was an elegant movement from a dance, and like she knew he would catch her. And he did. Strong arms enclosed her, keeping her warm and secure. But not safe, no. There was something slightly dangerous and thrilling about Mr. Greyson Jones, agent of the throne, and about being held in his arms for one, two, three seconds longer than necessary or proper.
It was something she wanted to explore.
“Wake up, my lady,” he said softly, words only for her to hear. “There is danger and adventure out there. You don’t want to miss it.”
I don’t want to miss it.
“Oh, danger? Adventure? Where?” This time she didn’t sound scared. She sounded curious.
“Well, not here, in Shropshire, of course,” he murmured, a hint of amusement infusing his voice. “We must get to my ship.”
“But we shall be besieged by my lovesick swan.”
They paused for a moment of silence where Gosling would utter his ridiculous line of “Quack, my love. Quack, my love.”
“Very well, my Lord Pirate Captain, let us go at once to your ship,” she whispered. And oh, it felt like weight was lifting from her chest, even though it was just pretend.
“It shall be a dangerous journey, but I vow to protect you.”
“Oh, Lord Pirate Captain, I shall cling to you with my delicate lady arms.”
“I wish to be clung to by your delicate lady arms.” His voice was low, and rough, like he meant it. Really meant it.
It was then that Serena realized he was still holding her—she had never quite recovered from swooning into his arms, never quite disentangled herself and put distance between them.
That realization was followed by another: that she liked it here, in his arms. She liked the way he looked at her with such fierce, unabashed longing that it took her breath away.
When had that happened?
How had she never noticed?
Her heart started to pound, slowly and steadily, but insistently. And she knew, just knew, what was about to happen. Mr. Greyson Jones was going to kiss her.
And she wanted him to.
In an instant his lips were on hers. The moment between before and after was over so quickly she didn’t have time to think about it. One second they were at odds, as always, and the next, hi
s lips were firm upon hers and she was yielding.
With this kiss, her senses began to awaken. To the soft pressure of his lips, the warmth of his body, the way her heartbeat drummed up its intensity, the way his hair felt as she slid her fingers through the soft strands, the way her core tightened with something like wanting.
From yielding to yearning within the space of a kiss.
“Serena...” There was no teasing in his voice now, just a low urgent growl. It thrilled her, that.
All of the sudden she felt positively giddy. Sparkly. Alive. She had done a wicked thing, kissing a man in the study, a man whom she hated, and she had liked it.
More than liked it.
She smiled at him, pressed one more kiss upon his lips, and said, “Well, that is the second most interesting thing that has ever happened to me.”
Chapter 8: In which there is dancing. And it is romantic.
Later that evening
Serena and Viola had arranged for dancing and music in the great hall as that evening’s entertainment. The guests took turns performing on the pianoforte, as the local musicians who would have comprised the orchestra were all stranded by the snowstorm.
The room was dominated by the large evergreen tree, which had been embellished with candles and other decorations the ladies had made while gossiping and drinking tea all afternoon. Garlands of holly and other greenery decorated the windows. Mistletoe hung in the doorways.
Footmen milled about with spiced mulled wine and crisp, cold champagne. The guests were all merry and starry-eyed and singing and indulging in biscuits and mince pies. The younger guests—Bridget, Alexandra, and the young Viscount Newton—were making mischief under the mistletoe and sneaking sips of wine.
Grey paused, taking it all in, remembering when he had been one of those young ’uns. There was nothing like an English Christmas. He was deeply glad, down in his heart and soul, to be here enjoying it in such splendor, especially since he didn’t know when he’d be back to do so again.
But as wonderful as it all was, none of it compared with the softness and desire in Serena’s eyes after he had kissed her.
He had kissed her.
He had kissed the lovely and perfect Lady Serena.
He had hoped and dreamed of that moment for years. Even when his best friend was engaged to her, he dreamed of her. And especially when Frye revealed he’d broken the betrothal, Grey had hoped and dreamed. He had carried a torch for her that whole while.
If he hadn’t been leaving England, Grey didn’t know if he would have taken the chance. As it was, he hadn’t known how she would react—would she slap him? Or kiss him back? He just knew that he couldn’t live with himself if he didn’t try.
And when he thought she would give him a chance...well...there was only one thing to do.
Kiss the girl.
Every second had been better than the fantasy. The softness of her lips, the way she surprised him by yielding at first and then matching his passion, the way her fingers threaded through his hair, the breathy sigh of something like sweetness and contentment after.
And then she had gazed him with softness and desire, instead of her usual stormy and flinty gaze.
It was clear that she was almost as undone as he.
He wanted to get undone with her again.
Grey also badly wanted to know what she meant by “that is the second most interesting thing to have ever happened to me.”
The good thing about being snowed-in together in a castle was that he had a good chance of being able to find her and ask her.
He found her easily; unfortunately, she was dancing with Gosling, the lovesick swan who was currently proving to be quite the rival. Well.
Grey strode determinedly across the room, through the dancers.
“May I cut in.” It was not phrased as a question.
Gosling was startled by Grey’s impoliteness, but then took advantage of the opportunity to demonstrate his gentlemanliness and chivalry. Or maybe he didn’t fancy a fight. He acquiesced.
“I shall look forward to another dance with you later, Lady Serena.” He kissed her palm.
Grey took over.
“I hope you don’t mind.”
“No,” she said softly. “I don’t mind.”
They began to dance.
Of course, Serena was an excellent dancer. The result of the finest instructors, hours of practice, her innate grace. She was made for ballrooms.
“I’ve been dying to see you all evening,” he told her.
“We have spent the better portion of the day together.”
“There’s something I’ve been dying to ask you.”
“Dying, Mr. Jones? You seem to be in perfectly fine health to me.”
She was teasing him. Maybe even flirting with him. This was all the encouragement he needed.
“You said our kiss was the second most interesting thing to have happened to you. What was the first?”
“I would think you, Mr. Jones, should know.”
“Relieve my poor male brain of the struggle of figuring it out.”
“Being jilted, of course,” she said, with a rueful smile and his heart sank and he remembered what he’d said. “Nothing like being thrown over by a duke to give a girl an air of mystery and tragedy.”
“Ah. Right.”
Words he would never, ever live down. Words she would never, ever let him forget.
“Speaking of dukes, where is Frye? I am worried that he hasn’t arrived yet, especially in this weather. I confess I did imagine at least a dozen horrible things happening to him after he jilted me, but none involved him freezing to death in a blizzard, which I am beginning to worry about.”
“He’s a strong and resourceful man; I’m sure he has no need of our worry. Tell me more about the kind and lovely Lady Serena and her violent fantasies for her former betrothed.”
“Are you surprised? Just because I am well-mannered and demure, you think that I am not imagining all sorts of wicked things?”
“Please, please tell me more about your wicked thoughts.”
Grey tried to give her a charming, wicked grin and didn’t quite manage it. He and Lady Serena were conversing about something real, she was revealing another side of herself, one that she didn’t show at all, if ever, and he was the lucky man who got to hold her and waltz with her while it happened. His grasp on her tightened.
“When Frye jilted me, it was the first time the world did not conform to my expectations. It was an eye-opening experience, to say the least. But now I often wonder what else might not go according to plan. I cannot quite imagine another life for myself, other than wife, mother, and Lady of the Manor, but still...I wonder. The possibilities are endless.”
“And the kiss?”
“Of course you would ask about the kiss. I suppose you want to know if it turned my world upside down, made my heart burst, sparked a deep longing within...all that romantic stuff.”
“Yes,” he whispered.
“What does it matter to you? A rake, man about town, about to leave for foreign lands perhaps never to return...What does one little kiss matter to you?”
He nearly stumbled.
What did one little kiss matter to him?
To start, it was hardly one little kiss. It was only something he’d fantasized about for years. He could have made some flippant remark about collecting kisses from English lasses before setting sail for foreign lands. But this was his moment to give her an idea of how much he had longed to kiss her and of what it meant to him when their lips touched.
Finally.
“It matters to me. And it wasn’t a little kiss,” he said, his voice low but firm. “A little kiss is quick, fleeting. A brief caress of lips, if that. It’s almost perfunctory, being so quick, because a real kiss makes you want to linger. Our kiss lingered. I don’t know about you, but time stopped when I kissed you. It could have been moments, or hours, or days, I know not, just that something so soul-consuming can’t have been little
. What I do know is this: I’ve wanted to kiss you since forever. If it pleased you, I could kiss you forever.”
He had watched as a blush crept into her cheeks as he spoke. Was he embarrassing her? Or was that the flush of desire? Grey didn’t know. He hadn’t been able to stop himself from saying all those things. So much for his training as a diplomat—there he was, laying all his cards on the table, leaving his heart open to a crushing attack.
“I...I don’t know what to say.”
“You could say that you feel the same way,” he said, because this was no time to retreat. Grey continued. “You could say that when our lips touched you felt the whole world spark to life. That time stopped as it did for me. That when it was over you felt like life might never be the same.”
“Until yesterday I despised you.”
“I know,” he said, with a faint sigh. “I deserved it. And today? Tonight?”
“I am confused.”
Confused. He would take confused. It was better than being despised, and a step in the direction toward love. He had less than a week before the conclusion of the house party to maybe make her love him.
“That, my dear, is the power of a kiss. It might make you fall in love with me.”
Chapter 9: In which prospects are discussed.
The dowager duchess’s chamber
Serena stole away from the party to visit with her mother. Her kiss with Greyson and their conversation was weighing heavily on her mind, inspiring questions about the rest of her life that she didn’t know how to answer.
Namely, why did the thought of Greyson leaving England cause an odd pang in the region of her heart?
Why had she spent more time imagining what India might be like than how she might redecorate Hartley Hall, one of Gosling’s residences? Imagining herself as Lady Gosling, on a redecorating mission, should have made her downright giddy.
Her mother. She needed to talk to her mother.
“How fares the party?” the dowager duchess asked. She was propped up against a pile of pillows and attempting to sip some tea.
“More importantly, how are you faring, Mother? I should have thought you’d be on the mend by now.”
At the Christmas Wedding Page 16
