A Christmas Dance (8 page)

“Suit yourself.”

She nodded and returned her attention to the barrel. Then sent a wary glance at the door. “What if someone were to come in?”

Really, she should have considered that earlier, but she’d been so excited at the notion of finally having the opportunity to play. . .

“The polite thing to do would be to issue an invitation to play,” William drawled. “Go on, Patience. The door’s open and it’s just a silly and innocent game. They’d have no cause for censure.”

“Right.” Of course he was right.

Breathless with amusement, she leaned over the barrel and began her first attempt at Bob-Apple. After a bit of
maneuvering, she managed to catch an apple with her chin, and even succeeded in scraping her two front teeth in a little before the fruit popped free of her grip and bobbed up to smack her in the nose.

“Blast.”

Next to her, William’s chuckled. “You’ll never catch one that way.”

She wiped her nose and straightened. “Which way would you recommend?”

“Grip the apple at the top and bottom.”

“How?”

“Open your mouth wider.” He ran his tongue across his teeth. “If anyone can manage that, you can.”

She frowned at him. “You agreed to forget that.”

“Forget what?”

She snorted and motioned over the barrel opening. “You seem very sure of yourself. Why don’t you show me how it’s done?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Why not? You said it was an innocent game.”

“I also said it was silly.”

She felt her brows raise. “Are you above being silly?”

“Naturally. I’m an earl.” He eyed the barrel, his jaw tensing a little. She was beginning to suspect that occurred
whenever one of his plans threatened to go awry. As if to confirm that suspicion, he said, “I’d planned to watch, not play.”

“Well then, change your plans so you may provide me with a bit of instruction.”

“Thank you, no.”

“Very well.” She shrugged and bit the inside of her cheek. “If you wish to be stodgy about it.”

“I am
not
stodgy.”

“My apologies. Can’t imagine what I was thinking.” She turned her back and said in a barely perceptible voice. “Except that you won’t play an innocent—“

“Step aside.”

He moved to stand in front of the barrel, casting her a warning glance.

“There will be no dunking.”

“I wouldn’t
dare
.” Not now, anyway.

“And no laughing.”

“What?” She gaped at him. “You can’t possibly be serious.“

“I am merely providing you with a lesson in the most effective method--”

“Lesson or not, you’ll be an earl with his head stuck in a barrel of water.”

He considered that, then the barrel, and then her. Suddenly, his face lit with a grin. “There is that. I can’t believe you talked me into this.”

* * *

William truly couldn’t believe it. Even as he leaned over he found it difficult to grasp that he was actually putting his head into a barrel of water to demonstrate how best to go about catching a floating apple with one’s teeth. It was beyond his scope. He was a grown man, an
earl
, engaged in a ridiculous child’s game. And, he was forced to admit as the first apple bobbed out his reach, enjoying it immensely.

He’d forgotten the fun of it, the challenge, and yes, the sheer ridiculousness of it. He’d also forgotten what it was like to take a spot of water up the nose, but he didn’t let that unwelcome reminder ruin his fun, nor his concentration.

To his satisfaction, considerable pride, and what he rather hoped was Patience’s impressed amazement, he caught the next apple he went after.

Stodgy, was he? He’d like to see her find success so quickly. He took the apple out of his mouth, set it aside, and used one of the cloths to dry his face. “There you are. Nothing to it.”

There appeared to be a great deal to it for Patience. She was nearly doubled over with laughter.

“Oh, heavens,” she gasped out, pushing her spectacles up. “Heavens, that was
enormously
silly.”

“Delighted to have amused you.” He motioned to the barrel. “If you would be so kind as to return the favor?”

* * *

William listened to the sound of Patience’s continued laughter as took her turn at the barrel and decided that “silly” did not accurately describe the scene before him. Charming, endearing, and oddly arousing were a far better fit.

Watching Patience Byerly try to catch an apple with her mouth was, without doubt, one of the most delightful things he’d ever witnessed, and not only because the game required she spend a considerable amount of time bent at the waist. Although that did, naturally, captured a substantial portion of his attention.

It was her obvious determination to enjoy herself, however, that captured his heart. It was the same eagerness he’d seen at Hyde Park and heard in her voice every time she spoke of trying something new, or going somewhere different, or meeting someone she didn’t know. The woman seemed to have a boundless supply of enthusiasm.

A supply she drew on now as she followed her apple as it moved about in the barrel, shuffling her feet and stretching her form across the water. She angled her head one way and then
another, tried a variety of tactics and then finally succeeded in biting into her apple.

“Ha!” She straightened, took a hardy bite out of the apple and grinned at him. “I did it.”

“So you did,” he said, or at least that’s what he thought he said. He wasn’t really paying attention to what came out of his mouth. It was
her
mouth that suddenly held his interest. That wide mouth now damp with water and juice from the apple. It was an unholy temptation.
She
was an unholy temptation. He couldn’t look away as she chewed, swallowed, and reached up to wipe away a small drop of apple juice from the corner of her lips.

Without thought, he stepped forward and took the apple from her hand. He caught the flash of nerves and excitement in her eyes. Fearing the nerves might get the better of her, he tossed the apple aside, closed the remaining distance between them, and pulled her into his arms.

She made a small feminine sound he sincerely hoped was surprise and not protest, and then he bent his head and took his first taste of Patience Byerly.

He meant to keep the kiss sweet and light, a gentle meeting of lips. A woman’s first kiss should be gentle and sweet, shouldn’t it? And that it
was
her first kiss, there could be no doubt. She was the very picture of innocence. Her face tilted
straight up, her eyes squeezed tight, and her lips firmly clamped together. She looked nearly as naive as she did charming.

She didn’t taste like either. She tasted like sin.

He should have expected it. Hadn’t the majority of his decidedly sinful fantasies over the last week been centered on that incredible mouth?

But even as he berated himself for being unprepared, he realized that the reality of kissing Patience Byerly was far more vivid than anything his imagination could have created. Nothing could have prepared him for his body’s reaction to her taste—the wave of heat, the sharp stab of desire. He wanted more. He wanted everything. And absolutely nothing that could be reasonably described as sweet and light.

As her mouth relaxed and began to move beneath his, his hands began to explore of their own accord—up her back, across her shoulders, down to mold her waist. She made a soft sound and arched closer, her fingers flittering along the back of his neck and into his hair.

The sound, the movement, the feel of her body molded to his was overwhelming. Dimly, he wondered how something so simple as a kiss could feel so monumental, how it could stir a desire in him more powerful than any he’d ever known. He marveled at it, reveled in it, even as he--the most disciplined of men--felt his
control begin to slip. Though it took an enormous act of will— and, in truth, more than one attempt-- eventually he succeeded in pulling away before he lost himself completely.

For several long moments he could do little more than stare at her as their breath mingled in pants. When he was certain he could touch her without pulling her close and starting the kiss all over again, he lifted his hand to gently cup her face. “Perhaps—“ He had to pause and clear the gruffness from his voice. “Perhaps there is one Holiday tradition I wouldn’t mind adhering to.”

She blinked very slowly. “Bob-Apple?”

Laughing softly, he pressed his lips to her forehead. “Kissing you.”

Chapter 7

The morning following Virginia Higgs’ dinner party, Patience woke, dressed, sat down for a spot of early breakfast and came to the sudden and rather disturbing realization that she had no clear memory of what had happened at the party after she had kissed William in the orangery.

How very odd
.

Vaguely, she recalled returning to the ladies’ retiring room and then being accompanied by Caroline back to the parlor. She knew she had eaten, drank, and spoke with the other guests during the dinner, but for the life of her, she couldn’t remember what she’d dined on, who she’d spoken to, or what she had said.

Her mind had remained utterly fixed on William, and that one spectacular kiss. At least, she
assumed
it was spectacular. Having never before kissed a gentleman, she couldn’t claim to be an expert on the matter, but it had certainly
felt
wonderful. It had left her light-hearted, light-headed, and decidedly over-warm.

The only remaining portion of the party she could recall with any clarity was the few parting words she’d had with William, when he mentioned seeing her again at the Meldrins’ dinner the following night.
Tonight
, Patience thought with a sigh. She smiled around a mouthful of scone. Only a few more hours and then. . .

And then what? Would he kiss her again? Would she let him? Probably, she
shouldn’t
let him.

Probably
, it mattered very little what she did.

Scowling, she set down her scone. Whether she never let William kiss her again, or she let him kiss her at every
opportunity, it changed nothing. She was still the daughter of a madman.

At best, she had the remaining weeks of the Little Season to indulge in a bit of flirtation before going to the country with her father. At worst, William would offer for her. She nearly groaned at the idea. If he proposed, she’d have to tell him the truth about her father. He would no doubt retract his offer, likely become angry with her for the deception, and
then
she would go to the country with her father.

Perhaps it would be best to avoid any further contact with him and save them both from future heartache. Then again, heartache appeared inevitable at this point, and every moment she spent with him was another memory to take with her when she left. Those memories were all she would have soon. How could she bear to give up even one?

She decided she couldn’t. She wouldn’t. Furthermore, she wasn’t going to merely allow William to kiss her at every opportunity, she was going to put a concerted effort into seeing that he did.

* * *

William made his way across the Meldrin’s crowded parlor in a manner he sincerely hoped looked casual, but was, in reality, a well planned route to Patience on the other side of the room.
It was a slow process, requiring he do something he had no affinity for—meandering. He moved from one group of guests to the next, exchanging a few pleasantries and then strategically slipping away before he could be drawn into a conversation. He paused in front of the fire to warm hands that weren’t cold, and then paused again to accept a glass of spirits he had no interest in drinking.

The ruse wasn’t necessary, really. He wasn’t doing anything untoward. But his sister had made a comment that morning on the amount of time he’d spent with Patience the night before, and he didn’t wish to make Patience the center of gossip, any more than he wanted to be the center himself.

He’d made a point not to arrive until dinner was nearly served and he’d been equally careful not to glance too often in Patience’s direction during the meal. And now, Heaven help him, he was meandering.

At last he reached a spot he felt was close enough for Patience to come to him without appearing bold. He stopped to peer at a small watercolor that looked as if it had been rendered with all the skill of a five-year-old, and none of the charm. Upon very close inspection he thought it was meant to be a mountain range, or perhaps a series of very pointed waves. Whatever it was, it was awful. He very much hoped Patience
hadn’t had a hand in its creation, its purchase, or the decision to hang it in the parlor.

He felt rather than saw Patience step up from behind him. “Dreadful, isn’t it?”

He wanted to shift his feet. Insulting the Meldrin family’s taste in artwork was not how he imagined beginning their conversation. “Ahh. . .”

“It was a gift from Caroline to her father when she was eight.” She pulled a face at the painting. “Mr. Meldrin insists on keeping it in the room.”

“I see. He’s fond of it, then.”

“Heavens, no--other than that it was a gift from his daughter. He says it’s a test of his guests’ tastes.”

“Did I pass?”

“Difficult to know for certain. He also says it’s a test of good manners, depending on whether or not he likes his guest. I think he keeps it in here for the sole purpose of embarrassing Caroline.”

He looked at the painting a moment longer. “That would certainly do it.”

“The. . .uh. . .the Meldrins do have some very fine art in the house. I. . .” Her hands went to her waist briefly, before she tucked them behind her back. “I could give you a tour of those in the hall, if you like.”

He stifled a startled grin. It was rather forward of her to offer. Not so forward as to be improper, as the hall was in full view of anyone who cared to step outside the parlor, but the area was separate enough from the other guests to make her suggestion just a little bit bold. . .and therefore all the more irresistible.

“I should enjoy that.” Very much, he added silently.

This time, they meandered through the room together. Avoiding stares and whispers wasn’t feasible, but a casual stroll toward the door was less likely to cause a stir than a brisk walk out of the room. And in the end, it was just as effective in getting Patience alone.