The Mistletoe Mistake of Miss Grayson: School of Charm: Christmas Novella

by Dallen, Maggie

  He grinned. “Yes, but only a little.”

  A laugh bubbled up and slipped out before she could stop it.

  He made to leave but turned back again. “If it helps...”

  She straightened, tensing at the hesitation that flickered over his features as he studied her.

  “I think you know precisely who you are. I’m certain that if you were honest with yourself you know what you want.”

  She opened her mouth to protest. It wasn’t about what she wanted, it was about what she could have.

  But he didn’t give her a chance to reply. “That woman I met earlier today certainly had an idea.”

  She bit her lip. “That woman you met earlier, she...she does not exist. Not normally.”

  “’Tis a shame,” he murmured. When he next smiled his eyes glinted with wicked amusement. “I truly was hoping to meet her again. Perhaps if I play my cards right I shall draw her out.”

  Her lips parted as a thrill trickled through her veins. Excitement mixed with terror and nervous anticipation. Gone was the stately and intimidating marquess who’d been glowering at her all evening and in his place was a veritable rogue.

  “Is that a threat?” she managed.

  His laughter was low and rumbly as he turned to head back, not speaking until he was closer enough to feel the warmth of his breath against her cheek. “It is a challenge.”

  5

  For the first time in either of their lives, Edward found himself on the receiving end of a lecture by his nephew. “You could at least try not to be so obvious about it,” Damian was saying with an exasperated sigh.

  The early afternoon sunlight had drenched his study in brightness that had them squinting at one another across the desk. At least Edward was still the one seated behind the large oak desk. It would have been a humiliating day indeed if he were being called to task by his nephew whom he’d raised since he was a boy.

  “You have a point,” Edward conceded. “I was too obvious in my interest last night.”

  “Last night?” Damian’s brows shot up. “What about this morning? The looks you were giving poor Miss Grayson nearly burnt the dining room down.”

  He gave a huff of amusement at Damian’s theatrics. “It was not so bad.”

  Or perhaps it was. He couldn’t quite bring himself to care. He’d spent a lifetime being the perfect gentleman, putting the title and his family duty first.

  Perhaps that was the first thing that had called to him when he’d first spotted her. The way she was shouting, the way she’d been lashing out—it could have been his own soul crying out for release.

  He wished to be selfish, just this once. Was that so wrong? After all, no one would be hurt.

  “What about Miss Farthington?” Damian asked.

  Edward frowned. Drat. He’d forgotten all about that young lady.

  “She came here in the hopes of catching your eye,” Damian pointed out. “Her mother was beside herself this morning when she realized you were not paying her any mind at all.” Damian shook his head in a way that made Edward shift uncomfortably in his seat like a schoolboy. “Fortunately, Miss Grayson had already left the room before Lady Bradford came downstairs or even she would be aware of your intentions. Or rather, your lack of intentions when it comes to her daughter.”

  Edward fidgeted. It was one thing to not worry about what his guests might think. It was quite another to rudely hurt a young lady's feelings. “You’re right,” he muttered. “I shall try to be better about paying attention to all of the guests.”

  “Particularly those who are in the market for a husband,” Damian said. His expression was bland, but there was mischief in his eyes.

  Edward knew very well that his nephew was baiting him, trying to see how serious he was about this newfound interest in Miss Grayson.

  Serious, indeed.

  But he was not about to tell Damian that. Damian would have no qualms about the fact that Miss Grayson lacked in connections and had likely very little in the way of a dowry. His nephew was so anxious to vacate the role of heir presumptive he’d welcome any lady as his future aunt just so long as it meant there might be another heir to take his place.

  An heir. Edward tapped his fingers against the desk. The mere thought of it was unsettling. After so many years of knowing that marriage and children were not for him—despite his nephew’s attempts to convince him otherwise—the thought of having a child had become rather abhorrent. Not because he hated children but because he’d realized long ago that he was not meant for a family.

  He’d tried it once. It had not suited. The memories threatened to come back, but he forced them away. Instead, he thought of Miss Grayson’s kind face, of her gentle smile, and of the way her eyes seemed to change color with each passing emotion.

  The thought of a child was unsettling...but no longer abhorrent.

  He found himself picturing those same pretty, expressive blue eyes in the face of a little girl and had to swallow down a wave of emotion.

  No, a child might not be such a bad thing after all.

  He wasn’t sure how long he’d sat there staring into the distance with what must have been a stunned expression on his face. After all, it wasn’t every day he realized he might want to be a father, after all.

  “Did you hear a word I just said?” Damian asked. Concern and amusement seemed to be warring for supremacy on his nephew’s features.

  He cleared his throat. “Er, no. Sorry.”

  “I said, Prudence is worried about Miss Grayson. She says she has not been acting like herself.”

  Edward’s brows drew up in hope. She felt it too. He knew it. He could not be the only one suffering from this affliction.

  “You don’t need to look quite so pleased with yourself.” Damian’s voice was droll as he leaned forward. “My point is, Miss Grayson is Prudence’s dear friend and a guest in this house. We should not wish for her to be made uncomfortable.”

  He frowned. “Of course not. I told her last night that she had nothing to be embarrassed about despite our uncommon first encounter.”

  Damian nodded in approval and Edward looked away. Of course, he’d also flirted with her outrageously after that and might have made insinuations...

  “And our other guests,” Damian continued.

  Edward waved a hand. “Yes, yes. I’ll be on my best behavior with that Miss....” He looked up with a question.

  “Miss Farthington,” Damian said with a roll of his eyes.

  “Yes. Quite. I’ll be on my best behavior with her, too.”

  “Good,” Damian said, clapping his hands on the arms of the chair as he stood. “You can start by being partners with Miss Farthington during the afternoon’s festivities.”

  Edward winced at the thought of spending time with a young lady looking to be wed. He was too old for this nonsense.

  Most of the time.

  He had a vision of crystal blue eyes and battled a grin. Most of the time he was too old for this romantic nonsense. But apparently that did not apply to a certain headmistress.

  “Miss Farthington will be expecting you for the mistletoe decorating. You two will be partnered together.”

  Edward’s jaw dropped. “Now wait a moment—”

  “It will go a long way toward making amends.” Damian turned back to face Edward, his grin mocking and frustratingly knowing. “I must admit, it is awfully diverting.”

  “What is?”

  “Me lecturing you on good behavior for once.”

  Edward sat back and crossed his arms with a harrumph. “I am not the one who needs lessons in decorum.”

  “Mmm, perhaps not,” Damian agreed a little too mildly. “But you definitely need help when it comes to courting.”

  Edward flinched as though he’d been struck. “I do not.” But even as he said it he realized it was a lie. He’d never attempted to court anyone since his first wife, and that had been...well, a disaster, plain and simple.

  He looked to Damian, who was still
hovering in the doorway, clearly reveling in this new reversal of roles. “Well then?” he demanded. “What do you suggest?”

  Damian grew a little more serious—as serious as Damian could manage. “Let her come to you.”

  Edward arched his brows. “Pardon?”

  “You are a marquess,” Damian said.

  Edward waited for more. When it did not come, he said, “Thank you for pointing out the obvious.”

  Damian huffed in exasperation. “What I mean is, you are a wealthy gentleman in a position of power. If you are too forthright, you walk a fine line.”

  “You cannot honestly be accusing Miss Grayson of being the sort to trap a man—”

  “No, most assuredly not,” he said, looking just as horrified by the suggestion as Edward felt. “I am merely saying that the power is so unequal, you would not want to make her feel pressured or uncomfortable.”

  Edward grunted his agreement, still miffed at the insinuation. “I would never pressure the lady into anything.”

  “Aside from that,” Damian continued as if he hadn’t interrupted. “Prudence and I both feel she is overwhelmed at the moment. Confused, at the very least. Give her time. Let her get to know you. Let her reveal herself to you.”

  Edward stared at his once rakish nephew. “When did you become so wise about women?”

  Damian doffed an imaginary cap. “When I fell in love with a complicated lady of my own.”

  Edward gave a huff of amusement as Damian left. Complicated, that was definitely the word for Miss Grayson. And Damian was right. She would be his guest for a fortnight. Surely he could be patient, give her the space she needed while also letting her see that he could give her all that she desired if she let him.

  “Space,” he muttered. He could manage that.

  * * *

  A little while later, he was attempting to do just that. It was with effort that he kept his gaze and his attention off of Miss Grayson and focused on the lady beside him instead.

  Miss Farthington, his partner in the decorating festivities, was bent at such an awkward angle he was sure she would keel over, her pretty features contorted with discomfort.

  “Are you certain I cannot be of assistance?” he asked.

  She gave him a smile that ended with a wince. “I shall be just fine,” she said. “I merely need a moment to rest this twisted ankle.”

  He frowned down at the small woman. “I did not even see you twist it, how did you—?”

  “It happened so quickly, you see,” she said, already limping down the stairs to the main hall where they could see some of the others laughing as they decorated.

  “Oh wonderful, there you are, Miss Grayson,” Miss Farthington said loudly when they’d reached the others.

  She reached out and grasped Miss Grayson by the arm, dragging her over to where Edward still stood. “We would not wish for Lord Ainsley to be left to decorate on his own, now would we? It would hardly be fair.”

  Miss Grayson opened her mouth but shut it just as quickly, her questioning gaze moving from Miss Farthington to him.

  He shrugged just as Miss Farthington made her excuses, saying she needed to rest her foot. Though he could have sworn she’d said it was her ankle that had been injured.

  Miss Grayson’s gaze followed the brunette as she turned away. “She seems remarkably strong for one so small, does she not?”

  “Mmm.” He eyed Miss Farthington walking away. “She also seems to have lost her limp rather quickly.”

  Miss Grayson clamped her lips together so promptly he knew without a doubt she was trying not to laugh.

  He ached to hear that laugh, even if at this particular moment...that laugh was at his expense. It was plain to see that Miss Farthington had been keen to get away from him. Which was...fine, he supposed. Though odd, considering he’d spent the last decade trying to avoid marriage-minded ladies and now had two in his house who were trying their best to steer clear of him.

  Perhaps he ought to have been insulted. But as he eyed Miss Farthington, he noticed her smirking, clearly pleased with herself as she looked upon him and Miss Grayson standing side by side. He crossed his arms. “Do you believe it possible that she has made an excuse to leave us alone together?”

  Miss Grayson’s cheeks pinkened as she shook her head. “I cannot imagine why.”

  He narrowed his eyes teasingly. “Perhaps she just does not wish to be alone with me.”

  Miss Grayson’s lips pursed as she cast a quick glance around at the others who were gathered in small groups around the main floor. “This is hardly alone.”

  “No.” Not nearly as alone as he’d like to be with her. “But perhaps even this was too much time in my nefarious presence.”

  “Nefarious?” Her voice was laced with amusement, he was happy to hear.

  “Indeed. Why, only this morning my nephew informed me that I have been much too forward with the company.” He tipped his head. “My apologies.”

  She shook her head, a smile tugging at those lush lips of hers. “If I am not allowed to apologize for my inappropriate behavior then neither are you.”

  His heart shifted in his chest, as if something were settling into place now that he was next to her. “Very well. No more apologies. And I shall strive to behave myself.” Even as he said it, this inexplicable sensation got the best of him. He had no idea what it was about her that made him want to tease and prod and even irritate, if need be. Anything to get that mask to drop, her shields to lower.

  Whatever that urge was, it had him adding with a murmur, “Though I shall continue to hope that you cease behaving so properly.”

  Her eyes widened slightly. “That challenge again, I take it?”

  She seemed calmer today. Less flustered by him and his attention. Was that a good sign or bad? He had no idea. “I see you have given it some thought.”

  She tilted her head to the side. “I have done little but give your words thought since we parted.”

  Oh yes, his heart felt those words directly. She’d been thinking about him, too. That was heartening. It made him feel slightly less insane for having been consumed with thoughts of the pretty young headmistress for nearly twenty-four hours now.

  “And what have you decided?” he asked.

  “Was there a decision to be made?” She asked it teasingly, almost...flirtatiously. And he felt the thrill of it from his head to his toes. What if she were to ever let him hold her in his arms? What would it be like to dance with her, to make her laugh until she cried, to hold her hand? He would never survive.

  This woman could slay him with a wink, he was sure of it.

  “Of course there was a decision,” he said evenly. “It was a challenge and now you must decide whether or not to accept.”

  She shot him a sidelong suspicious look as they slowly wound their way up the stairs, the mistletoe in his hands all but forgotten as he kept his gaze on the woman on his dreams.

  “And the challenge is to...what, exactly?” she asked.

  “To be yourself. To be free. To give in to your temper and your passion and any other emotions you hide away so carefully behind that pristine image of yours.”

  She stopped walking to stop and stare at him. “You speak as though you know me so very well.” She caught her lips between her teeth and then let it go. “You do not.”

  “But I’d like to, and that is the point.”

  She remained silent.

  “You are amongst friends,” he said with a broad gesture of his hands. “And besides all that, it is Christmastide. Surely everyone is allowed to let go of their inhibitions at this time of year.”

  He could practically hear Damian in his head, chiding him for pushing too hard, for taking too many liberties. And yet, Miss Grayson seemed more curious than alarmed as she tilted her head to the side. “And do you do that? Let go of your inhibitions, I mean?”

  “No,” he said with a short laugh. “I very rarely step outside of the parameters that I’ve set many years ago. I almos
t never veer off course from my goals and my plans and my very boring routine.”

  Her eyes danced with laughter at his candor. “But not now.”

  “No, not now,” he agreed.

  “Because it is Christmastide?” she teased.

  He grinned, his gaze on the mistletoe that had been hung nearby. “That is not the reason.”

  “And that is because...” She trailed off.

  He leaned in. “I met a young lady, you see. She turned my world upside down without even trying.”

  Her blush deepened. “I see.”

  Did she? He sincerely hoped she understood. Because he, for one, had no idea what had happened. How he’d gone from stoic, noble, and yes, decidedly boring marquess to...this.

  A lovesick man.

  But there it was. It was that simple. He’d been smitten and the only cure was walking ahead of him with a bundle of mistletoe.

  6

  Madeline was nearly certain that if the Marquess of Ainsley had entirely lost his wits, she would have heard about it before now.

  Surely Prudence would have confided in her and told her what to expect.

  Madeline kept her focus on the mistletoe in her hands. “Where shall we begin?”

  His voice was a low rumble beside her. “You could start by telling me why you were so upset when I found you yesterday.”

  She glanced up at him, holding up the mistletoe. “I meant with the decorations.”

  His smile made her belly do a somersault. “I know.”

  There was that laugh again. It felt like champagne bubbles in her chest, so unexpected, so foreign, and so...pleasant. She tried to swallow the sensation, to keep her expression calm and placid, her steps even as they continued to wind their way up the wide staircase.

  She had no idea where they were going, only that they were heading away from the others.

  And that she was the one leading the way.

  “May I?” He offered his arm and she took it, her heart racing as though she were running.

  “Miss Grayson,” he started.

  “Madeline,” she said. “Please, call me Madeline.”