Page 22 of The Marquis, the Minx, and the Mistletoe
The room was irresistibly cozy, and she found herself drifting into it, depositing the empty carafe on a table as she wandered closer to the chairs. This space would make a fine nook for reading or sewing or perhaps even dozing off as one gazed out the windows, she thought, touching the arm of a chair.
The curtains were still pulled back in here, and the dim glow without shone on the veins of ice that wound their way over the exterior glass like spiders’ webs. She wondered how thick the glass was, and how cold it might be, were she to touch it. She wondered how heavily the snow was still falling outside, and if they would soon be buried in winter here at Somerton.
And she sank into the cushioned comfort of the overstuffed chair, seemingly of her own accord, as she thought these things, abandoning her slippers to the carpet in favor of drawing her bare feet up and under her robe, watching the flames leap on the ember-rich logs in the fireplace.
So entranced was she that she did not hear the approach of footsteps from the hall. It was the sudden appearance of a big, brown paw upon her knee that startled her from her reverie, forcing her to blink back to reality and directly into the big, brown eyes of Lord Moorvale's bloodhound, who had apparently been just as startled to find this seat occupied as Tia had been at the appearance of company.
She turned her head to the doorway, knowing that wherever this dog appeared, her owner was surely close behind, and found Sheldon Bywater standing, frozen, with surprise etched all over his face and a platter of tea in his hands.
She reached down to stroke the dog's head, focusing on the feeling of the fur beneath her fingers to steady the sudden lurch of her heart. She took a steadying breath and lifted her head to give him a little smile, small enough that it would not tremble or otherwise give away her sudden bout of nerves. "Good evening, Lord Moorvale."
He managed to come to his senses, giving his head a tiny shake and resuming his path into the room to deposit the tray he'd brought between the two large chairs. "Did we somehow wake you?" he asked, dragging a perplexed hand through his dark hair. "If so, I extend sincere apologies."
She smiled, tilting her head at him so that her hair spilled over her shoulders. "You know very well that there is no noise from other rooms bleeding through the walls to that bedroom. No, I simply felt restless and thought I would refocus my mind for a bit and then try again to sleep. Your fire was simply too inviting to pass by. Would you like me to find my solace elsewhere?"
"Absolutely not," he said with a slow, indulgent smile. "In fact, I'd go so far as to call this kismet. Would you like a cup of tea? Perhaps with a dollop of whiskey?"
"Mm, I will determine how much a dollop is," she agreed, leaning over the arm of her chair to pour the drinks, splashed with a liberal garnish of Scotch. It would soothe the butterflies in her chest, at the very least. "Do you often find yourself sleepless at night, Lord Moorvale?" she asked, extending a teacup to him.
He accepted, taking a sip that resulted in a raised eyebrow, surprised at the strength of her concoction, and cleared his throat on what sounded like a chuckle of approval. "Not often, no," he said, cupping the warm mug in his big hands. "I just couldn't seem to nod off tonight."
Echo whined, pawing at Tia's knee again and then huffed, dropping her head onto the cushion next to Tia's legs.
"Well, come on then, if you must," Tia said with impatience, scooting her body as close to the arm of the chair as she could.
It immediately perked the dog up and she leapt with impressive grace for one her size, into the spot next to Tia, where she promptly slumped over in what appeared to be deep and utterly peaceful rest, one paw resting on her nose, and the other on the cards in Tia's pocket.
"Good girl," Tia murmured, stroking her fingernails over the dog's golden head.
She thought of the dogs at home, two little spaniels that her mother doted upon, always hopping at her heels as she walked. Tia had always pictured adulthood as herself in one of her mother's dresses, shadowed by loyal balls of fluff. This dog, of course, was no tiny lapdog nor sleek pedigree, but the sight of her resting like this tugged Tia's heart strings all the same.
"Sweet pup," she whispered with a smile.
She turned back to Lord Moorvale and found him watching her with a sparkle in his fawn-brown eyes, like a man dazed by an unexpected blow. It sent another current of sensation from her stomach to her chest, fluttering out against her ribs in all directions.
"I do not often struggle to sleep either," she said. "To be honest, I have not yet tried tonight. I have, instead, been lost in idle thought and worthless distraction."
"I'd argue that any effective distraction has a tremendous worth of its own accord," he replied, replenishing his cup of tea and its whiskey complement. "There are times in life when you want nothing more than to be truly and utterly removed from the world around you, lost in some hobby or puzzle."
"I suppose so." Tia considered this, twisting a strand of raven-black hair through her fingers. "Although, I'm afraid the puzzle that most distracts me at the moment is also the central turmoil of my life. I am afraid I have quite ruined myself, Lord Moorvale, running off as I did. I must carve out a new path for myself now, and I've no idea where to begin."
"I daresay you've already begun," he pointed out. "I thought you could see the future, besides? I seem to recall a bit of divination, once upon an autumn evening."
"Ah," she said with a delicate blush. "My cards, you mean? I'm afraid they have been rather unhelpful tonight."
"That is unfortunate," he said, his voice low. "Have you asked them yet about me?"
She blinked at him, a bit too tipsy to feign outrage or innocence.
His gaze was steady, almost challenging.
"Of course I have," she admitted, lifting her chin at the way he grinned.
"And is there anything you'd like me to clarify?" he teased, that velvet-soft baritone making her shiver as he raised his teacup slowly to his lips.
She hadn't really known how full and appealing those lips were when last they'd met. He'd driven her to distraction just fine without this added blow to her weak, susceptible mortal body. She stared at his hands, big and heavy, wrapped around the steaming cup of tea and thought about how much of her flesh they would cover if he were to touch her.
She quickly raised her own drink to her mouth, her cheeks burning at such thoughts, and averted her eyes just a second too late, after he had already begun to chuckle at her rising color.
