Page 10 of The Mistletoe Duke
“Indeed.” She nodded solemnly. “It’s an ancient Yuletide custom to festoon the doorknobs with sedge, don’t you know?”
He looked at her for a moment, lips twitching. And then he smiled, and his entire face transformed. His chiseled lips softened, his dark blue eyes warmed, and, most shockingly of all, she saw he had a dimple to the left of his mouth. Lord Darton went from being middling-passable to one of the most handsome men she’d ever seen, and she inhaled sharply at the change.
Their gazes caught and held, but this was not the stony challenge of earlier. No, this was something that made Catherine’s breath flutter oddly in her chest.
“Are you all right?” Abby reached over and touched her arm, breaking the spell, and this time it was Catherine’s turn to look away.
“Certainly,” she replied. Her cheeks felt flushed, but she rallied and gestured across the meadow. “Look there. Mistletoe.”
Abby let out a squeak that set her horse dancing a few steps to the side. “Perfect!”
“Mistletoe?” The duke’s tone was back to disapproving. “I don’t think that will be a necessary addition to the greenery.”
“Come now.” Catherine felt like she was coaxing a feral animal that had scurried into hiding—albeit one with fangs and claws. “Every ceiling won’t be festooned with garlands of the stuff, if that’s your worry. Just one piece, tucked into a kissing bough. Subtly.”
He gave her a frosty look. “While some households might embrace such inherent improprieties, I assure you, Darton Hall does not.”
“It’s not just for those courting,” Abby chimed in. “But for anyone at odds to embrace under in peace and goodwill and leave their enmity behind.”
“I am aware of the history,” Lord Darton said dryly.
“Then take mistletoe in that spirit,” Catherine said, “rather than a wanton one.”
The word seemed to hang in the air between them in a plume of misty breath.Wanton.
His expression went from ice to fire as he gazed at her, his eyes suddenly smoldering with promises. She set one gloved hand to her throat, breathless. She’d encountered that look a time or two after a stolen kiss, and expected it from the rakes of theton. But not from the oh-so-proper Duke of Darton-on-Rye. Coming from him, it made her feel as though she’d just stepped into a fire.
She swallowed, glad to be seated on horseback, as her knees were suddenly a bit weak.
The duke gave himself a little shake and turned away.
“Very well,” he said, looking across the meadow at the trees in question. “One sprig. But that isall.”
CHAPTER 5
Philip’s second cousins arrived,and Darton Hall was suddenly filled with a sense of life. Perhaps a bittoomuch life, as the twins ran and screeched and constantly seemed to be in trouble of one kind or another.
He caught them sliding down the banisters of the grand staircase, having given their poor nanny the slip once again. After he delivered a proper scolding, one of them looked at him with innocent eyes.
“But Miss Randall showed us how,” he said.
“She also said not to get caught,” his brother piped up.
What could Philip say? He shook his head and admonished them to stay off the stairs, then let them run off.
Miss Randall had shown them? The woman was a menace. One moment, he felt as though she was the most regrettable lady he’d ever met, and the next he craved her company beyond all reason. It was maddening and confusing and not at all in keeping with how a duke should behave.
He glanced at the wide wooden banister and had a sudden vision of the lady in question, skirts rucked up about her legs, arms twined about the railing -
Bloody hell. He turned to the wall and took a moment to adjust his trousers, taking deep breaths to clear his head. Obviously, it had been too long since he’d kept a mistress. But they were so much work. One had to think of them, and send gifts, and keep a house for their use, and make sure they didn’t feel neglected…
Ultimately, the cost had outweighed the benefits, the result of which being that it been well over a year since he’d last been with a woman. That must be the reason he’d been having so many completely improper thoughts about Miss Randall.
And perhaps—only the tiniest bit—because somehow her presence brought a sense of lightness.Because she’s ridiculously optimistic, he told himself. And prone to wearing unsuitably bright colors, and laughing too much, and exclaiming over the littlest thing as though it were something precious: holly berries, lemon scones, even the sound of rain on the slate roof, for heaven’s sake.
Miss Randall was like a showy bird one kept about for its sweet song and pretty plumage. Pleasant, but ultimately frivolous.
Yet even as he tried to make himself believe as much, he knew it wasn’t true. Catherine Randall was very intelligent—not bird-witted in the least. For the past week, she’d kept a steady stream of entertainments going each afternoon and evening, seeming to organize such things effortlessly. When he’d commented upon it, and how everyone seemed to be enjoying the games and music, she’d brandished her ever-present notebook at him.
