Miss Mistletoe (3 page)

And this was her chance.

At last she saw him, his dark mahogany head catching her eye as he and Richard entered the back of the ballroom. Relief and hope washed through her like a cool breeze in the overheated room. She had only to catch their eye—a friendly wave should be enough to get them to come say hello.

Another guest, Mr. Brody, stepped into her line of vision then, and Cece suppressed a groan. Being short was such an inconvenience. Her irritation was quickly replaced by alarm as the man started toward the mistletoe, Miss Carrington giggling at his side. Oh no—the two of them were practically betrothed! They wouldn’t hesitate to take part in this particular Christmas tradition.

But even as she longed to block their path, Cece knew there was nothing to be done. She watched helplessly as they stepped beneath the waxy green leaves. Mr. Brody pressed his lips to his sweetheart’s cheek, then winked at the crowd as they smiled indulgently. When the deed was done, he reached up and plucked a berry from the arrangement before escorting Miss Carrington to the punch table.

Only one berry remained. One precious, irreplaceable berry that could mean the difference between finally catching Finn’s notice and losing him forever.

As if sensing her desperation, Richard suddenly looked up. Their eyes met and she lifted a hand to beckon him over. Her cousin grinned and nodded, tapping Finn on the shoulder and pointing in her direction.

Cece’s blood went first cold then boiling hot as the corner of Finn’s lip tilted up in a slight smile before he started toward them. He was coming! The knot of tension in the middle of her chest loosened a little more with each step they took. It was an absolute wonder that no one seemed to notice the thundering of Cece’s heart as she looked from the last, tiny white berry, to Finn, and back. They were almost there. If no one else stepped up in the next fifteen seconds, then her plan might work.

Richard and Finn were saying something to each other, laughing as they slipped through the crowd toward her. Taking a deep, shaky breath, Cece stepped to her right, finally positioning herself beneath the mistletoe. She desperately tried to act as though she had no idea that the festive greenery was suspended above her, an earthly halo that would make her dreams come true.

“Well, look who it is,” Finn said, smiling at her as he and Richard came to a stop in front of her. “How different to see you in your Christmas finery, and not the light muslins of summer.”

Cece smiled, allowing herself to be lost in the deep green of his eyes. “Good evening, Finn—I mean, Mr. Edgerton. You are looking well this evening.” She imagined that she could make out his woodsy scent among the cinnamon, nutmeg, and spirits flavoring the air.

He leaned the slightest bit forward, his eyes flitting down her frame and back up again. “Not nearly so well as you, Cece.”

The hair on the back of her exposed neck stood on end, and she scarcely dared to breathe. This was it. He would lean in now, he would kiss her, and the taste of his lips would flavor hers for eternity, as she would never let anything touch them again.

“Thank you,” she responded, her throat so tight the words were barely above a whisper. She unconsciously licked her lips, glad that the beeswax balm she’d stolen from Evie had made them soft and supple despite the punishing weather they were having.

“Well, look at that,” Richard said, pointing above Cece’s head. “You’re under the mistletoe, little cousin.”

The heat that swept Cece’s cheeks was swift and searing. Leave it to her cousin to get to get to the point of the matter
.
Cece looked up and gave a nervous little laugh. “I am, aren’t I?”

Her eyes flitted to Finn, but she was so nervous she couldn’t even meet his eyes. Instead, she let her gaze fall to somewhere in the vicinity of Richard’s shoulder while she lifted her cheek slightly, like an offering to the gods.

Richard chuckled. “Well, never let it be said that we Moores don’t appreciate tradition.”

What? What did he mean by . . .

Her eyes went wide as she realized what he was about to do. No—
Finn
was supposed to kiss her, not Richard! But before she could muster any sort of response, her cousin pecked her upturned cheek, exactly as a brother or father might. She stood frozen in horror as he reached up, plucked the very last berry from the mistletoe, and held it aloft. “Last of the kisses, my friends.”

There was a smattering of applause from those nearby, all completely oblivious to her devastation. Richard smiled at her and turned to leave, and Finn followed suit. No, this couldn’t be happening! This was supposed to be her moment, the one she had waited hours, days, perhaps even years for.

As Finn took a step away, she saw the moment for what it was: her absolute last chance. If she didn’t give him a reason to think of her as a grown woman, then he would walk away and forget her for the girl she was.

Without thinking, she lurched forward, not even knowing what she was about to do. Her hand closed around his wrist and he stopped at once, turning with his brow knitted in question.

She didn’t pause, didn’t consider any of the thousands of repercussions the moment, played out in front of a whole room full of people, could bring. Instead, she sucked in a breath, raised on her toes, and pressed her lips to his.

Fresh mortification welled up within her, and it was all she could do to open her eyes and face the object of her childhood
tendre
and her current regret. He was watching her, his green eyes cool and steady. Still, no matter how she tried to remain impervious to him, she simply couldn’t.

Everything about him commanded her attention, even if she did not want to give it. If she could have snapped her fingers and magically been back home in Hampshire at that moment, she would have done so. But of course, it was no use. She was stuck in this blasted carriage until they reached the church, which seemed to grow more and more distant no matter how much she willed the journey to be over.

Cece shifted on the velvet squabs, unconsciously putting as much distance between them as possible. Once, she would have died for the chance to garner Finn’s entire attention like this. And even now, her insides were flipping at his nearness, at his woodsy smell and his carriage-filling presence.

She had to fight the treacherous attraction her silly brain seemed to think she still harbored for him. After all, even if she had wanted to pursue it—and with their history, she most certainly did not-—she could not have. Her father depended on her too much for her to ever leave him.

There was only one solution for getting through the day unscathed.

“You are right, of course,” she said, her voice soft but clear as she turned her attention to the safety of the greenery beyond the carriage window. “Everything was completely my fault. But I learned from my mistake. From now on, I shall strive to ignore you completely.”

Chapter Three

Finn hadn’t believed her.

In all their years of knowing one another, Cece had never succeeded—nor tried, as far as he could tell—in ignoring him. During the ceremony, he found himself glancing in her direction, waiting to catch her sneaking a glimpse his way. But she hadn’t. As Evie had read aloud the letter she had written for Hastings before they exchanged vows, and so many of the congregation were sniffling as they shared smiling glances with their loved ones, Cece had kept her eyes trained steadfastly on the altar. And when Hastings had stolen a kiss from his bride when the vicar had his back turned, she had chuckled along with the other guests, seeming to glance everywhere in the church except toward him.

And then later, as they partook in the glorious wedding breakfast, where the food had been plentiful and the conversation as free-flowing as the wine, she still had never looked in his direction.

It was especially remarkable, seeing how seemingly every other eligible female there found a way to cross paths with him. He had endured more subtle propositions and hopeful smiles during that breakfast than in the whole of the preceding ten months. Apparently his theory that having an earl present would deflect interest from a mere viscount was grossly wrong.

Except, of course, when it came to little Miss Mistletoe. The one person he had dreaded, sure that she wouldn’t leave him alone, couldn’t have been less interested in him. It was almost amusing, her pretending that he didn’t exist, all the while conversing pleasantly with those around her. She had made her point. She was no longer his own personal puppy, trailing along behind him.

Instead, she had played the part of a demure miss, chatting with those around her and laughing in soft tones from time to time. Even now, when the newly wed couple had said their good-byes and all but the guests staying at the Hall were beginning to take their leave, she still managed to avoid acknowledging him in any way, shape, or form.

Considering they were seated beside each other at Richard’s twin sisters’ pianoforte musicale, it was quite a feat indeed. His gaze flickered sideways, taking in her ramrod straight posture and tightly clasped hands in her lap. Something about her aloofness made him want to bother her. Something to shake the unfamiliar poise so he could catch a glimpse of the girl he remembered.

This silent treatment had gone on long enough anyhow. They were adults now—they could converse as such. He leaned toward her, breathing in the flowery scent that he could never quite name but recognized nonetheless.

“I’m impressed.”

Cece’s shoulders tensed, but her eyes remained steadfastly fastened on the front of the room. Finn leaned in another few inches, keeping his voice low. “Clearly your ability to ignore another’s existence is far superior to mine. I’d have given up ages ago.”

This earned him a sideways glance that lasted about half a second before she looked away. A smile came to his lips. He knew she would never be able to ignore him completely. It wasn’t in her to do so. The ignominious nature of their last meeting aside, he had always rather liked the girl. He was only now remembering how much.

“And do you realize, without your commentary, I had no idea what
any
of the flowers were at the ceremony today. When I write my sister, I shall be forced to describe them as ‘pleasant-looking white flowers with tolerable good scent.’ ”

Cece pursed her lips, holding her silence. Just when he was about to give up, she whispered,
“Zantedeschia aethiopica.”

“Ah.” He nodded gravely, as if that cleared everything up. “
Zan-does-a-thick-opica
. I should have known.”

His mangled pronunciation did the trick. She cut an annoyed glance in his direction. “They’re calla lillies. Now shush, I’m trying to listen.”

“Are you? That is interesting. I seem to recall that you dislike pianoforte music. Do I have that wrong?”

A hint of color infused her cheeks, barely visible in the candlelight—unless one was watching carefully. “My tastes have matured with age—as have I. I’m not certain the same can be said of you.”

His eyebrows lifted in surprise as he stifled a laugh. One of Lord Granville’s cousins looked back at them from the chair in front of him, and Finn faked a cough or two. The man turned back around, and Finn smiled at Cece. “Getting me in trouble again, I see.”

“Don’t look at me. You’ve only yourself to blame for that one.” Even at a whisper, her tone was somehow prim.

The music ended then and Finn joined in to the light applause. Cece came to her feet and, without a backwards glance, headed to where her young cousins stood beaming beside their instruments. Finn crossed his arms, watching as she hugged first Carolyn then Jocelyn.

“What did you think of the music, Lord Edgerton?”

Finn tried not to grimace as he turned to Miss Harmon, who seemed to appear out of nowhere. “Quite delightful. And you?”

Lord Wexley’s youngest daughter smiled in a way that led one to believe she spent hours in front of the mirror practicing. “A charming little recital, to be sure. If you are a great music lover, however, then I shall be certain to have Papa invite you to my next musicale. Though I would never be so bold as to comment as to my own skill level,” she said as she regarded him coyly above her fluttering fan, “there are those who say I play the classics exactly as the composers would have intended.”

Finn tried to smile through his grimace. Yes, she wasn’t being bold at all with a comment like that. “How nice, Miss Harmon. Ah, I see Lord Raleigh is waving me over. Would you excuse me?”

He beat a hasty retreat, joining Richard in the corridor. “That was brilliantly timed. How did you know I needed rescue?”

“Anyone speaking with Miss Harmon needs rescue. Care for a game of billiards?”

“Lead the way, my friend.”

They started down the corridor, falling into step with one another. The murmur of voices receded as they turned the corner and continued deeper into the house.

“I was wrong.”

Finn turned and nodded to Richard. “You frequently are. Is there a particular instance of which you speak?”

Richard chuckled. “I’d say you were an ass, but I wouldn’t want to offend burros. And I was referring to my prediction that Cece would be happy to see you.”

“Ah, that. Thank God she seems to have gotten over her
tendre
for me.”

“Yes. Now if only you could say the same.”

Finn’s head snapped up. “Surely you jest.”

“How I wish that I did.” Richard shook his head sadly, as if lamenting the loss of something dear.

“You’re fit for Bedlam, old man. Best start packing now.”

“Not if you can answer the following questions.” Richard paused in the empty corridor, his brow was quirked in friendly challenge, and Finn nodded. It was always more fun to play along with his friend. “Excellent. First of all, what color gown did Cece wear to the wedding?”

“White with pink flowers, but I hardly see how that tells you anything. We rode in the same carriage, after all—one can’t help but notice things two feet from one’s person.”

Richard was unmoved. “And between what two guests did she sit at the breakfast?”

“Sir Humphries was on her right, and Mr. Bickham on her left, but I hardly—”

“And with whom was she conversing when we left?”

This was pointless. He crossed his arms and said, “The twins.”

“And just before the musicale began?”

The slightest warmth began to heat his neck. He knew it was Lady Granville, but he was done playing along. “Your point?”

Richard nodded, a satisfied grin spreading on his face. “I suspect you could name every person Cece has spoken with tonight. When I said I was wrong, I didn’t mean I was wrong about there being something between the two of you.” He learned forward, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “I was just wrong about which of you would be infatuated with the other.”

“Good God, you are full of it,” Finn said, dancing away from the tiny, insignificant grain of truth to Richard’s words. “We exchanged some less than civil words in the carriage, and she declared that she would ignore me completely for the remainder of the visit. I,” he said, putting a hand to his heart, “was merely attempting to find the best time to smooth our mutually ruffled feathers.”

Finn started forward again, little caring if Richard followed, though the tap of shoes behind him told Finn he did.

“You, my friend,” Richard said, catching up, “seemed interested in more than just her feathers.”

Finn rolled his eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous. And really, this is your cousin we’re talking about. The one who made a fool of me? I certainly wouldn’t want there to be an encore performance of that disaster.”

“If you say so. Interesting stance, though, seeing how your father left the estate damn near up the River Tick, and Cece’s father is quite plump in the pockets.”

Damn but Richard could be a pain in the arse. Finn glanced behind them to make sure no one was around. “Are you trying to marry her off to a man interested in her only for her money?”

“Not at all,” he said, opening the door and admitting them into the empty, dimly lit room. “I’m trying to marry her off to
you
.”

* * *

The steady patter of rain on the glass roof of the conservatory filled the early morning quiet the next day as Cece drifted from plant to plant. The familiar, floral scent of the hothouse air, with its earthy undertones and hint of citrus, calmed her more effectively than anything else in the world. She breathed deeply of the humid air, not the least bit concerned with the effect it always had on her curly hair.

She’d slept poorly the night before, rehashing every word she and Finn had exchanged. Even now, after an entire night of reflection, she had no idea what had possessed him to talk to her at the recital.

Didn’t he want to keep a distance from her? Wasn’t he the one who so kindly pointed out that The Incident was all her fault? She blew out a frustrated breath. What was it he hoped to accomplish by speaking with her?

“I thought I might find you in here.”

She whirled around at his voice, her hand to her throat. Dear heavens, had she conjured him from thin air? He was only feet behind her, dressed casually in tan breeches and a simple, dark blue coat. “What are you doing here?”

Finn quirked an eyebrow before allowing a lazy grin to come to his lips. “I’m not sure how I should answer such a forward question. With one of my own, perhaps? As in, what are
you
doing here? Or should I say I desired a bit of nature, and the rain made indulging in a morning constitutional ill advised? Or should I comment on the earliness of the hour, and my wish not to disturb anyone?”

The almost playful tone of his voice had her furrowing her brow. “How about the truth?”

He stepped toward her, any sound his feet might have made on the tile floor lost to the tap of raindrops above them. “I knew you’d be here.”

It was impossible to tell if the rain suddenly picked up, or if the pounding in her ears was her own heartbeat. He came specifically to find her? Or was he just teasing her now? After yesterday, she wasn’t sure of anything when it came to him. Her chin lifted. “Then one would think you would have chosen any other room but this one.”

He leaned against the rain-splattered window. “It occurred to me last night, Miss McCrea, that it’s past time to let bygones be bygones. Watching you yesterday made me realize, in no uncertain terms, that you are no longer that impulsive sixteen year old, and I am certainly no more that foolish young buck.”

Well, he certainly had done a lot of thinking last night. His statement sounded very much like an olive branch. “Something we can agree on, it would seem.”

“And, after spending the past twenty-four hours dodging the attention of some females who make your small indiscretion of years ago seem like child’s play, I find that your company . . . suits me.”

Was he trying to compliment her? Because it rather sounded as though he were declaring her the lesser of evils. “Your flattery knows no bounds, my lord.”

His raised eyebrows told her he heard the sarcasm in her voice. “We were friends once, of a fashion, and I would like to see us be friends once more. Despite your rather impressive display yesterday, I know that you enjoyed my company at one time, and I’d like the opportunity to enjoy yours.” He paused, plucking a leaf from a thriving
Aglaomorpha heraclea
plant and inspecting it in the dull morning light. “In fact,” he said, lifting his eyes to hers, “I have a proposal.”

She couldn’t name the expression in his gaze, but it seemed almost . . . challenging. As if he were daring her to play along with him. But to what end? Cece stood a little straighter as his wording sank in.

A proposal? As in a man-and-woman-alone kind of proposal? She may not be married, but she wasn’t ignorant of the sort of
propositions
men sometimes made to women they deemed loose. What kind of woman did he think she was? But the answer came to her almost as soon as she had thought the question. He thought she was the type of woman who would throw herself at a man; kiss him in the middle of a crowded ballroom.
Enjoy
his company, indeed.

It all made sense, then. Finn, seeking her out in the early morning hours, before anyone else in the house was awake. Talking to her when she was doing her best to avoid him, reminding her of the “friendship” she once felt for him.

Disappointment weighed heavy on her shoulders as she shook her head. And to think she once thought him gallant. “I am not interested in any
proposal
you have for me, Lord Edgerton.”

His brows snapped together at her tone, and he started to push away from the window. “Miss McCrea—”

“No,” she said, putting a hand out. “Don’t bother. Good day, sir.” She turned in haste, anxious to get away from him before the tears of mortification stinging her eyes had a chance to fall.

She took two steps toward freedom, but he was faster, stepping in front of her and effectively blocking her exit. “Please, listen to me. I wasn’t suggesting anything untoward.”