Page 8 of A Hellion's Christmas Kiss
“I would not go that far,” he said with a self-deprecating smile. “I am not nearly as skilled at this as you.”
She waved his words away. “It is perfect because you made it. It doesn’t need to be anything more than it is.” She gestured toward their parents. “Should we ask them if we should hang it, or wait until all the decorations are finished?”
Lucian glanced toward the others in the room. He didn’t know what their intentions were, but he knew what he wanted. This was his chance to get Rosella alone. He turned back to her. “Let’s hang it. If they object, they can tell us later.” He grinned. “But I suspect they won’t say a word. They wouldn’t want to hurt our feelings.”
Rosella’s lips twitched with amusement. “In that, you are undoubtedly correct.” She gathered her bough and gestured toward his. “After you, my lord.”
“Not at all,” he said, bowing slightly. “Ladies first. I insist.”
She didn’t argue. Rosella turned on her heel and headed out of the room. Lucian followed close behind, his heart quickening at the thought of their time alone. He had many questions for her, and if fortune favored him, he might even steal the kiss he so desperately desired.
Four
Rosella and Lucian carefully strung the boughs of holly along the banister of the grand staircase. They worked mostly in silence, and Rosella struggled to find a way to encourage him to speak. She ought to be grateful they were not bickering, but mere peaceful accord was not enough. Rosella longed for more—much more. She wanted to be the love of his life, though she realized with a pang that such a wish might never come to fruition.
“I believe we have secured everything,” Lucian said, stepping back to inspect their work.
“It appears so,” she agreed, taking a step back as well.
The banister looked lovely with the boughs of holly elegantly draped along the sides. Rosella admired their handiwork but could not shake the wistful thought that her life could not be fixed as easily as a string of greenery. Why couldn’t life be simpler? She sighed, the weight of her unspoken feelings pressing on her chest.
“Do you think they expect us to create more decorations?” Lucian asked, breaking the silence.
Rosella shrugged. “I am not sure. We could, though I doubt anyone has noticed we left the sitting room.”
“They did seem quite keen on this project, yet they have not bothered to check on our progress,” Lucian mused, a slight frown creasing his brow.
“It’s probably best not to concern yourself with their motives,” Rosella said carefully. “I suspect we might not like what they hoped to achieve.”
“Oh?” He lifted an inquisitive brow. “And what do you think they are trying to accomplish?”
Rosella hesitated. She suspected her mother was orchestrating some grand scheme, but she did not want to voice her suspicions. Revealing her mother’s potential matchmaking efforts might embarrass him—or worse, make him retreat entirely. “I could not say for certain,” she finally replied, keeping her tone light. “But considering how often we have bickered in the past…”
“They might be hoping we will learn to interact more civilly.” He frowned again. “Though we did not need a decorating scheme to accomplish that. We have already settled things between us.”
Rosella smiled faintly. “We know that, but they are not privy to our truce.”
Lucian tilted his head, his expression thoughtful. “True enough. If that was their intent, at least we have given them no cause for worry. We have not argued once.”
Why did that make her feel sad? Did she actually miss their bickering? Perhaps a little. At least when they argued, there had been a spark—a semblance of passion. Now, there was a stilted distance between them, a void she could not seem to cross. She was close to him, but at the same time, impossibly far away. It was maddening. “If that is the measure of success, they have nothing to fret over,” she said, an idea sparking in her mind. “Why don’t we leave off the decorating and find something else to occupy ourselves with?”
“And what do you suggest we do instead?” he asked, his curiosity piqued.
“We could play a game,” she offered. “That sounds far more entertaining than stringing more holly.”
Lucian tapped his chin thoughtfully, then smiled. “Do you have a particular game in mind?”
Her planning hadn’t extended that far, and she hesitated. “Not exactly,” she admitted. “But that’s part of the fun, isn’t it? Let’s see what the game room has to offer. I doubt anyone else is in there right now.”
He nodded. “Very well. Let’s go.” He motioned for her to lead the way, then fell into step beside her. When they reached the game room, he pushed the door open and held it for her. “Now that we are here, what are our options?”
“There is always billiards,” she suggested.
“A fine choice,” he said, his lips twitching into a smile. “Do you know how to play?”
“A little,” she confessed. “Asher taught me, but I am not very good. I have hardly practiced and can’t shoot with much accuracy.”
“I can help with that,” he offered. “If you are willing to let me show you.”
