Page 19 of A Scandal Before Christmas
“Such clever decorations.” His boots clicking on the parquet floor startled Lauren.
As she looked back at him over one shoulder, her face flushed almost guiltily. Then her attention returned to straightening a paper cone. “Yes. They are surprisingly easy to make.” She regained her composure rather quickly, adding with a tiny smirk, “Perhaps you should have joined us yesterday morning instead of lurking about the doorway.”
Theodore stalked closer, the snap of flames in the fireplace an ominous accompaniment to his footsteps. When he stood beside her, his finger swept a stray tendril of hair that had escaped from her coiffure back behind her ear. “Perhaps your maid should use more pins to tame your locks.”
Lauren bristled. “The taming of anything on my person is hardly your concern, Lord Hawthorne.”
A smile briefly lifted Theodore’s lips, heat flickering to life in every nerve ending of his body. “After the intimacies we shared, how shall we ever return to the use of formal titles? It’s impossible, my love.”
For a fraction of a moment, Theodore saw pain cross Lauren’s features before her eyes shot daggers. “You insist on inane titles in its place?”
Theodore frowned. “But you are my love. How many times must I tell you this?”
Her cheeks glowed even pinker, her eyes the stormy grey of the sea during a hurricane. “What occurred between us was a mistake. It should have never happened, and it won’t again.”
Theodore slanted her glance. “A mistake? Lauren, you cannot comprehend just how perfect we are together. Not being together is the mistake.” His voice lowered. It was full of challenge and understanding. “You should know I won’t give up so easily.”
With a mutter of aggravation, she pushed past him, but he caught her arm, pulling her against him.
“Oh!” Lauren’s fists immediately planted themselves in the middle of his chest, her breath escaping in a heated sigh.
“You have the most annoying habit of running away whenever I get too close. Unfortunately for you, it only incites me to chase you all the more.” An arm slipped around Lauren’s waist, resulting in a crinkling sound. Theodore’s brow rose high. “What is that noise?”
“I don’t know what you are talking about.” Lauren chewed her bottom lip, attempting to jerk away. “Let me go—”
He spied it then, a bit of greenery and white berries peeking from the edge of her gown. “What do you have hidden in your gown?” Using his free hand, he ran his fingers along the neckline’s lace trim.
“Stop!” Lauren squeaked in alarm, grabbing at his fingers, but Theodore would not be denied. Holding her tighter, he scooped inside the bodice and encountered multiple sprigs of mistletoe.
“What the hell—” Pulling the greenery free of her bodice, Theodore stared at it, then at her. “Is there more?”
“No, you wretched, horrible man! Now, let me go!”
“Lauren.” His voice remained calm, but the thread of authority it contained would have a grown man shaking in his boots. “Is there more? Because I will search you myself if I must.”
“Oh! The devil take you, Theodore Hawthorne!” Lauren cried, fishing inside her dress and tugging out two pieces of the plant.
Taking them from her while still maintaining his grip on her waist, Theodore glanced about the room.
“Where have you hidden the rest of it?”
Lauren’s jaw tightened before waving a hand at the Christmas tree. “I was tucking pieces of it into the tree when you came in.”
Her determination in outwitting him was both amusing and frustrating. Theodore could not decide which might win out in this situation. “Just where did this particular kissing bough come from?”
For a moment, it seemed she wouldn’t answer, but then her chin tilted toward the fireplace. “Above the mantle,” she said, the faintest sneer of rebellion evident in her words.
“And how did you manage pulling it down this time?” Theodore inquired, his gaze taking in the height of the area in question. He could see the spot she’d torn it down from.
“By using a chair like any intelligent person would.”
“You persist in placing yourself in danger,” Theodore mused, rubbing a thumb over her delicate collarbone and the angry scratch already welting there.
“And you persist in making it your business,” she shot back.
“Oh, but it is my business. If you were harmed as a result of our arrangement, I’d find it most upsetting.”
“Then cease this madness,” Lauren argued. “There’s no need for subterfuge.”
