Miss Mistletoe (2 page)

Chapter Two

“Looking for me, Lord Edgerton?”

Cece tried not to cringe. She sounded as though she had just run up a flight of stairs. But even as she tried to control her breathing, the sight of Finn standing right in front of her after so many years made her heart flutter wildly within her chest. It was as though she was still a silly girl again, breathlessly waiting for the moment he would look her way.

It didn’t help things that he didn’t have the decency to look even a little different. It was absolutely uncanny how unchanged he was from the last time she saw him. His mahogany hair neat but not fussy, his stylish jacket finely tailored but not showy, and as always, those deep green eyes pleasant but not overly interested.

“Indeed, Miss McCrea. Lord Raleigh—Richard—sent me to find you. The others are waiting; we wouldn’t want to hold up the wedding.”

She was wrong about the eyes; they
had
changed. An unfamiliar gleam of wariness darkened their depths. He was watching her as one might a feral cat, careful not to make any sudden moves. Defensiveness rose up within her, stiffening her spine. For heaven’s sake, it wasn’t as though she was going to launch herself at him right here in the drawing room.

“No, of course not,” she said, brushing past him and marching toward the front door, “I had just realized I had forgotten . . . something.” Not exactly the most inspired excuse in the world, but it was the best she could do knowing Finn’s eyes were on her back.

His shoes tapped on the marble behind her as he hurried to catch up. “Come, Miss McCrea, we needn’t run. They won’t leave without us.”

His sleeve brushed against her arm as they walked, and she only just managed not to jerk away from him as butterflies took flight in her belly. Butterflies, erratic heart, blushes—her whole body was a traitor as far as she was concerned. Why was it conspiring to reduce her to a quivering mess in front of the one person on earth she wished to appear utterly unperturbed by? She clenched her jaw in a vain attempt to ward off the embarrassment consuming her. “Which is it—we should hurry or we shouldn’t?”

His eyebrows lifted at her peevish response. She took a calming breath and slowed her pace. She was being ridiculous, and truly he had done nothing to warrant such a response. It wasn’t his fault that she had been in love with him half her childhood and managed to make a complete cake of herself in front of everyone they knew the last time they were together. “Forgive me—I’m still weary from my journey. That was uncalled for.” The words were stilted, but at least they were reasonable.

“Think nothing of it,” he replied, though the wariness in his gaze only increased. Well, fine—she was wary, too. Being around him brought out a part of her she had thought long buried. She was a respectable woman these days, with duties, and responsibilities, and enough maturity to know better than to let a man like him affect her so completely.

She trained her gaze on the carriages through the open door. This must be how a prisoner felt, walking toward the gate to freedom. The sooner she could get to the carriage, the faster she could be rid of her escort. His presence at her side was like a physical force, making her feel as though the ground itself was somehow tilted in his direction.

Which was
not
a good sign.

As they emerged into the sunshine, she breathed a small sigh of relief. All she really needed was a few minutes to herself on the way to the church. His attendance had been such a surprise; no wonder she had reacted like she did. Once he was gone, she could collect herself and hopefully be prepared for when they reconvened at the church.

Four carriages waited in the drive, each tastefully adorned with pink and white flowers—
Paeonia caucasica
, from the look of it—and flowing lengths of ribbon. Cece headed straight for the last one, eager to be free of her escort. Inside, Lord Granville’s elderly aunt sat with her hands folded primly in her lap. Cece smiled; Lady Anne was exactly the sort of companion she needed.

As she prepared to step up, Finn arrived at her side and offered his hand. Her breath caught in her throat. Blast it all, there was no getting around touching him. Hesitantly, she extended her arm and slid her gloved fingers over his. Even as she tried to remain impervious to his effect on her, awareness danced through her body, lifting her heart like a cork bobber.

She clambered up as quickly as she could, snatching her hand back the very instant she was inside. She refused to acknowledge her tingling fingers as she dipped her head. “Thank you, my lord.”

Instead of retreating gracefully, he climbed up behind her. “What are you doing?” she gasped before she could think better of it. Lady Anne started, upsetting the feathers adorning her bonnet. Cece cringed. “I beg your pardon, Lady Anne. I only meant that we should all get to our respective carriages so that we may depart.”

The older woman blinked. “But we are in our carriage, young lady.”

“Yes ma’am,
we
are, but—”

“Lady Anne is correct, I’m afraid. All the other vehicles are filled.” As if to punctuate his point, he rapped on the roof and, like the slamming of a prison gate, the door snapped shut and the carriage sprang forward.

Heaven help her—she was trapped.

* * *

Finn had to remember to properly thank Richard for sending him after Cece.

Yes, he was one of the few gentlemen present who were not family, but that didn’t make it any easier for Finn to swallow.

And now here they were, trapped for the next twenty minutes at least.

To her credit, though, at least Cece wasn’t actively making things worse. In fact, for a woman who was supposedly once in love with him, she seemed to want remarkably little to do with him. Finn watched her, bemused, as the carriage rolled along Hertford Hall’s well-maintained drive. After Richard’s teasing last night, Finn had expected . . . well, he didn’t know what he expected, but certainly not indifference. But that was exactly what he got as she stared steadfastly out the window, never once allowing her gaze to touch any part of him.

Which, of course, was fine with him. The last time she had shown interest in him, it hadn’t exactly ended well for him. To this day, there wasn’t a Christmas that went by that someone didn’t bring the incident up, and Lord help him if he ever wandered anywhere near a bough of mistletoe. He crossed his arms against the echoes of annoyance that built in his chest just thinking about it. She had the right of it; the less time they spent in each other’s company, the better.

“Now I remember how I know you.”

Finn shifted his gaze to Lady Anne, whose pale eyes bored into him with disconcerting directness. “Indeed, madam?”

Beside her, Cece’s dark eyes darted away from the window, her posture suddenly tense. Bathed in the late morning light pouring through the window as she was, there was no missing the blush that colored her smooth, pale cheeks.

Interesting.

“You are young Raleigh’s friend. Your grandfather was Earnest Edgerton, was he not?” Lady Anne’s voice was raspy with age.

Cece visibly relaxed, her shoulders dropping as she turned back to the window.

Smiling to the older woman, Finn nodded. “You are correct on both counts, my lady.”

Lady Anne’s clouded gaze settled on Cece, her brow pinched as if working out a riddle. “Hmm,” she murmured, nodding vaguely. “I suppose I can see why a young gel such as yourself would pull such a silly stunt. He is quite handsome, just like his grandfather.”

Finn nearly bit his tongue. God’s teeth, had she really just said such a thing? One look at Cece told him she must have. Her gentle blush had transformed to such a violent shade of red, Finn almost felt sorry for her.

Almost.
As it was, he lifted a single eyebrow in her direction. Perhaps now she’d realized just how much ribbing he had been subjected to over the last few years. As if it wasn’t enough from the men he knew—now he could add elderly females to the list. That “silly stunt” would never leave him, it would seem. At least Cece was embarrassed because of her own actions. Finn was little more that an innocent bystander.

Seemingly oblivious to the discomfort she had caused, Lady Anne settled back against the cushions and hummed, her body swaying comfortably with the motion of the carriage. For several minutes no one spoke, the rhythmic sounds of the horses’ hooves filling the awkward silence.

Finn couldn’t quite decide where to look in the small confines of the carriage. He tried to concentrate on the passing scenery, but he kept cutting his gaze back to Cece, wondering what was going through that mind of hers.

It was odd, being so aware of another person, yet not saying a thing. But what could he say with Lady Anne there? And what would he say anyway? Heaven knew there was no doubt in her or anyone else’s mind that he wasn’t interested in her.

Across from him, Lady Anne let out a breathy snore, and he and Cece glanced up at the same time. Their gazes collided and held for several heartbeats, a handful of seconds at most. He blinked, surprised at how much emotion he saw simmering just beneath the surface. She looked away quickly, but it was too late. There was no denying how much their being together affected her. Instead of the exasperation he expected to feel, the strangest sensation slipped down his neck. Absently, he rubbed a hand over the suddenly sensitive skin.

She’d changed. A lot, actually.

Where once she had watched him with innocent doe eyes, there was a certain world weariness about her now. And the changes didn’t stop there. She was taller, leaner now but with the kind of curves that could keep a man up at night. Her once unruly blond curls were now artfully arranged, each strand shining like spun gold. He tilted his head, taking in the soft arc of her jaw and the pronounced cupid’s bow of her upper lip. The girl he remembered had matured into a lovely and proper young woman.

Miss Mistletoe is all grown up.

Her gaze snapped to meet his, outrage clear on her face. “Excuse me?” Her tone was soft enough so not to disturb their companion, but with an unmistakable edge.

He bit the inside of his cheek—damn it all, he hadn’t meant to say it
aloud
. Shrugging, he said, “Nothing. I was just thinking that you were all grown up now.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I heard what you said. Just so we are clear, I
loathe
being called that.”

“I’m not surprised. It does call to mind a rather ignominious event—one I know we’d both rather forget. But truly, there’s no harm meant in it.”

“Just because no harm is meant doesn’t mean that it is not
caused
, my lord. Are not injuries of pride the worst of all?”

She had a point. He shrugged, not quite prepared to concede completely. “Still, it’s better than some names I’ve been called.”

“So says you.” Cece crossed her arms, meeting his eyes directly. “Every time someone calls me that, it is like being branded as impulsive, immature, and foolish all at once.”

“Come now, it’s hardly as bad as all that.”

“Isn’t it?” Her chin lifted, though whether in defensiveness or challenge, he hadn’t a clue. “For a woman, I would argue that it is. Truly, I wish that I had never met you. Then I would have never done such a thing.”

Defensiveness it was.

“Oh, so it’s my fault then?” Whatever tiny amount of sympathy he may have had for her vanished. He leaned forward, keeping his voice to barely above a whisper. “Do you realize how ridiculous that logic is? You’re the one who made a spectacle of us before God, man, and every gossip from here to Leighton and back. All I did was politely greet an acquaintance.”

* * *

He was right, curse him.

Cece had known that even before she opened her mouth, but for the life of her she couldn’t keep the words from spilling from her. Because even though he might be right, so was she. If he hadn’t been so blasted handsome, if he hadn’t commanded her attention like the sun itself calls to a sunflower, if he hadn’t have been so kind to his friend’s little cousin, then she would have never fallen in love with him. As ridiculous as it would sound to someone else, it
was
his fault.

But even so, the blame for her actions that last night they’d seen each other lay solely at her feet.

She closed her eyes, assaulted by a barrage of memories so strong, it was as if she were once again standing in Aunt Vivian’s ballroom, surrounded by the trimmings of Christmas and the low roar of a hundred guests laughing and making merry. . . .

She had strategically situated herself beside the mistletoe, hoping against hope that Finn would reemerge from wherever he and Richard had gotten off to. She knew there wasn’t much time, and each second that ticked by was both unbearably slow and entirely too fast. Nervousness had her belly doing somersaults, and she pressed a hand to her middle in the vain effort to quell her fluttering nerves. Her eyes darted to the arching doorway above her for perhaps the twentieth time in the past ten minutes. Of course, nothing had changed in the last fifteen seconds.

There were still only two berries left on the mistletoe.

Two.

She swallowed, glancing around the crowded room. Blast—where
were
they? She willed the people around her not to approach the alcove in which the bough was hung, not to kiss one another and carelessly strip one of the few remaining precious berries from the mistletoe. She knew the tradition—once the berries were gone, that was it. No more kissing until next Christmas.

The problem was, she couldn’t wait until next year. There was no telling if he would even be here then. She had waited for at least seven of her sixteen years to be noticed by him—if it didn’t happen tonight, then it never would. Since he had graduated from Eton last spring, she knew there would be no more summers together at Hertford, where she visited her cousins, and Finn rusticated with Richard for a few weeks before their next semester began. Soon he would be off to university—Oxford to Richard’s Cambridge—and if he was to think of her ever again, she had to do something he wouldn’t forget. Something that would open his eyes to her, and force him to see her as the young lady she was becoming, and not the girl she had been.