His Mistletoe Wager. Virginia Heath
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‘I believe the Earl is fifty-something.’
‘Good gracious! The man must have had a very hard life.’
‘Lady Elizabeth? Are you out here?’ The voice was getting closer and instinctively Lizzie went to dart behind her statue again, only to find herself rooted to the spot by her companion’s surprisingly strong arms.
‘Hiding is not the answer. He will merely bide his time and hunt you down later. Everyone knows Ockendon is desperate for an heir. Lucky you, by the way. To be favoured with his attentions must be the pinnacle of every young lady’s romantic ambitions. You need to brazen it out.’
‘Surely you are not suggesting I grin and bear it!’ The thought of a few minutes twirling in the pungent wake of the man’s breath was already turning her stomach.
‘Of course not. Remember what I told you. We need to let him see dancing with you is futile...seeing as your heart is already engaged elsewhere. I do believe this is one of those occasions which warrants my amorous attentions.’
Lizzie was nowhere near ready for that. There had been no time to prepare. Instinctively, she took a step back. ‘I don’t think so.’
He quickly closed the distance and whispered again, far too close to her ear. Goose bumps covered her arms. ‘Think, Lizzie. Here we are. The stars are twinkling up above. You are wearing my coat...’ Those strong arms slowly snaked around her waist and pulled her closer. ‘If you gaze up at me with convincing longing, the old fool will assume we are having a tryst.’
Arguing against his logic was prevented by the ominously close sound of another call from her unwelcome beau. ‘Lady Elizabeth! Is that you?’
With the most limpid expression she could manage in a blind panic, Lizzie stared longingly up at Hal. He winked encouragingly, then, to her complete shock, dipped his head and pressed his lips to hers.
The sky tilted. Or perhaps it was the floor. Either way, the experience knocked her off kilter. His arms tightened around her and his mouth moved slowly over hers. It might well have been a pretend kiss, done to give credence to the idea they were engaged in a tryst, but it felt dangerously real to Lizzie. She did not attempt to try and push him away, justifying her actions as a way of discouraging the persistent old Earl rather than enjoying the heady taste of the younger one who held her so possessively. Unconsciously, her own lips began to respond, her eyelids fluttered closed and she found herself rising on tiptoes to press her body against his. More worryingly, she was reluctant to prise herself away. Later, she knew, she would claim this was all part of her act, but for now she was prepared to acknowledge it for what it was.
A revelation.
Because kissing Hal was really, quite something. Not at all how she remembered it with her traitorous fiancé and dangerously addictive.
* * *
He was a scoundrel. A rogue. An opportunity had presented itself and, despite the nagging guilt he could not explain, he had seized it. Regardless of the circumstances, Hal’s reaction to the kiss was completely unexpected. Every kiss before this had always been merely a prelude. Pleasant, but not earth-shattering. A means to a more passionate and satisfying end. Lizzie’s lips were different. Almost as if they had been infused with something addictive, like opium or absinthe, because the moment they had touched his he had quite lost all sense of everything except her. It had nothing to do with passion or attraction, although undoubtedly he was overwhelmed by both of those emotions, and everything to do with a sense of rightness. They melted together, melded and, for once, a kiss was not merely a prelude but a significant event in its own right. Hal had no idea if Ockendon had seen them, if the man still stood there or if he was loudly expounding his outrage. Everything had disappeared except the woman in his arms. It was all strangely overwhelming.
She broke the contact by taking one step smartly back and to his chagrin appeared decidedly underwhelmed by the whole episode. ‘I did not give you leave to kiss me.’
‘Yet I did it anyway.’ Feeling peculiarly shaky, Hal scanned the vicinity. ‘I thought it would convince the amorous Ockendon you were unavailable.’ Not strictly true. Yes, they had a bargain, but he had been thinking of his wager with Aaron—then had forgotten it instantly the second their mouths had touched.
‘The Earl has gone.’ Obviously, it had not had the same impact on Sullen Lizzie, because not only was she heartily unimpressed, she was also briskly removing his coat as if she found it as offensive as his kiss. She thrust it at him unceremoniously. ‘Never do that again!’
‘Perhaps I was a tad over-zealous.’ He forced a rakish grin to cover his disappointment at her reaction.
‘I am certain there are other ways to bestow your amorous attentions on me without having to resort to that. We should go back inside. The very last thing I want, aside from dancing with foul-smelling old men, is to be ruined by you.’ She shuddered and then marched back towards the French doors, before stopping briefly to rally him. ‘Come along, Hal, let’s go put on a show.’
Hal tried not to feel offended. He had only sought her out because of the wager, sort of. There had been an odd part of him which had been desperate to seek her out the moment he had arrived at the Benfleet soirée, however he had put that down to his excitement at winning the bet and besting Aaron. Although Hal was trying not to think about the bet because every time he did he experienced something akin to indigestion, churning up his gut and making him feel uncomfortable about the way he was deliberately deceiving her. Then again, his conscience did feel lighter knowing she was also benefiting from the situation, albeit in a roundabout way. He was doing her a favour and favours were noble. Yet despite all that, he had been unexpectedly moved by the kiss. It hadn’t been particularly long and by his standards it had been remarkably chaste, yet it had affected him.
Affected him? Now there was something to ponder, he thought miserably as he trailed behind her back into the crowded ballroom. Something was undoubtedly wrong with him. First a lack of vigour, the bizarre allure of controlling his father’s estate, the gnawing constant niggle which hinted dangerously at a lack of real fulfilment in his life and now he was going all pie-eyed and wobbly over one silly kiss with a woman who was, at best, ambivalent to him. Or perhaps that was exactly what was wrong. Her unenthusiastic reaction had dented his male pride, ergo he was feeling unsteady.
Hal took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He was overthinking things and that was also very unlike him. Hal preferred to think on his feet. On a positive note, he was one kiss down and she hadn’t slapped his face or severed their fledgling alliance upon receiving it. Which in turn meant there would be another opportunity to steal a kiss from her over Christmas. Poor Aaron would be spitting teeth later.
That thought buoyed him and, by the time he got to the refreshment table, Hal was feeling normal. Thankfully, Lizzie spotted an ambitious-looking matron and her daughter a few seconds before he did and slipped her hand possessively through his arm. It had the most staggering effect. One minute they had been prowling towards him with definite intent, the next they suddenly veered off to the right, pretending they were looking for someone else.
‘Well saved, my lady. That was close. An eligible man must keep his wits about him at all times. I knew you would be a sterling deterrent.’
‘I am glad I could be of service.’ She smiled tightly, her eyes locked on something in the distance and gripping his arm with far more force than was necessary. ‘I would greatly appreciate it if the favour was immediately reciprocated.’ The smile was now so false it might have been painted on to a mask. Hal followed her eyes and spotted a determined gentleman scurrying in her direction and tried not to smile when the first bars of the waltz began. More by luck than judgement, fate was working in his favour.
‘I believe this waltz is mine.’ The interloper shot daggers at Hal when he saw her arm still looped through his. There was far too much pomade in the fellow’s thin hair, either that or it had not been washed in the last week. Patches of his bald pate shone through the greasy strands and the poor chap was at least two inches shorter than Lizzie, a feat in itself when she was barely a few inches above five feet.