Marquess Under the Mistletoe

by Jillian Eaton

  “How do you know Lady Honora?” she pressed.

  “I do not.” Accepting a cup of drinking chocolate from one of the passing servants, he took a sip of the steaming brew, then made a face. “This doesn’t even have any brandy in it.”

  Bridget smirked. “As it is only three in the afternoon, I cannot imagine it would.”

  “If we were to have a house party, every drink would have brandy in it.” Still, he had to admit the drinking chocolate wasn’t half bad. A bit sweeter than he typically liked, but as his stare lingered on Honora, he wondered if sweet was something he’d been overlooking.

  “Lord Slatington!” Stepping into his line of vision, Lady Appleton greeted him with a brilliant smile. She was a striking woman, with just a few threads of gray hair and a faint trace of lines across her temple to distinguish her from her daughters. “We are honored you and Lady Bridget were able to join us.”

  “The pleasure is all ours,” said Bridget. She gave Jasper a teasing nudge with her elbow. “I’ve wanted to get my brother out of the house for some time, and your party gave me the excuse I was looking for.”

  Jasper struggled not to roll his eyes. “Thank you for inviting us, Lady Appleton. As you can see, my sister is very much looking forward to socializing with her peers.”

  “She’ll certainly be able to do plenty of that here. We’re expecting eighteen friends to join us. It would have been twenty, but unfortunately Lady Hanover’s daughter is feeling unwell and Lord Westshore was called away to London on last-minute business.”

  Eighteen?

  Bollocks.

  It wasn’t a house party – it was a stampede.

  And he was trapped right in the middle of it.

  “How wonderful,” Jasper said through clenched teeth.

  “I’m delighted you think so,” Lady Appleton beamed. “Your belongings have been brought upstairs. The majority of the guests will be staying in the east wing, but I thought a man of your stature might be more comfortable in the west. The rooms are far larger, and offer a beautiful view of the pond.”

  It was a reminder, however small, of his new title. A title that should have still belonged to his father. When his throat tightened, Jasper could only manage a nod. Thankfully, that seemed to be enough for Lady Appleton.

  “If there is anything you need,” she said, reaching out to pat his arm in a motherly gesture, “anything at all, you let me know directly. We’re so very pleased to have you. Oh!” Her eyes lit up as she focused on something – make that someone – over Jasper’s left shoulder. “Have you met my youngest, Lady Honora?”

  “I have,” Bridget interceded before Jasper could manage a reply. “But my brother has not. I know he’d love to make her acquaintance.” Her lips curled in a mischievous smile, his small warning she was up to no good before she said, “In fact, he was just asking about her. Weren’t you, brother dear? You wanted to know if she were married.”

  He gave his sister a warning glance.

  There were two creatures in the world that could devour a man whole if given half the chance. The first was a tiger. The second was a woman with an unmarried daughter. Without a single doubt, Jasper knew which one he’d rather face off with: the bloody tiger.

  Lady Appleton gasped with delight. “Then I must facilitate introductions. Honora!” Her voice rang out above the crowd. She gave a tiny wave with her fingers. “Honora darling, come here for a moment. There is someone I’d like you to meet.” Her eyes narrowed. “Honora. Come here.”

  Jasper turned in time to see Honora shake her head. When she saw him staring at her, she froze like a deer in the crosshairs of a hunter’s bow, and he would have grinned if he weren’t still annoyed with Bridget.

  Obviously reluctant to obey her mother’s command but not wanting to cause a scene, Honora set her jaw and stalked towards them with all of the enthusiasm of a prisoner facing the guillotine.

  “Yes?” she said, refusing to look at him.

  “Honora, I would like to introduce you to the Marquess of Slatington. Lord Slatington, may I proudly introduce my daughter, Lady Honora.” Grasping her youngest by the elbow, Lady Appleton all but shoved Honora towards Jasper as if she were tossing a sacrificial lamb into the lion’s den.

  He automatically reached out to steady her, and before she could snatch her hand away, he raised it to his mouth and lightly brushed his lips across her knuckles.

  “Lady Honora.” Amused by the sparks flashing in her eyes, he lingered over her hand a second longer than he should have. Her fingers were long and slender, enclosed in white satin gloves. She wore no rings or bracelets. She didn’t need them. Her beauty was elegant in its simplicity and did not require flashing jewels or circles of gold to compliment it. “How nice to finally make your acquaintance.”

  “Indeed,” she bit out before she yanked her arm back.

  Lady Appleton’s gaze darted between them, a smile slowly dawning. “Lady Bridget,” she said in a voice that was unnecessarily loud given her close proximity, “won’t you come with me while I refresh my drink? I’m dying to know where you had your dress made. It wasn’t the new little shop on Bayberry Street, was it?”

  “In fact, that is precisely where I got it,” Bridget replied before she allowed herself to be pulled away, leaving Honora and Jasper alone. Or as alone as two people could be in a room filled with their peers.

  Someone began playing “Hark! The Herald Angels Sing” on the pianoforte in the drawing room. The familiar hymn reminded Jasper of Christmases past as he grinned at Honora and she in turn glared at him.

  “I knew a marquess was coming,” she said finally. Her mouth twisted. “I did not know it was going to be you.”

  “A last minute decision. Bridget wanted to see the sights.” He sipped his chocolate, a dark brow lifting as his admiring gaze traveled down her body with deliberate attention to detail before slowly making its way back up. “I’m rather enjoying them myself.”

  Honora made a sound of disgust under her breath. “Fortunately, this house is large enough for us to avoid each other over the next seven days. Which is exactly what I intend to do.”

  “Why?” he asked.

  “Why?” she repeated incredulously. “Because I don’t like you and you don’t like me. I believe that was made clear this morning in the village.”

  “I never said I didn’t like you.” To prove his point, he took a step closer. Close enough to see the tiny flecks of gold in her irises. Close enough to see the rapid flutter of her pulse. Close enough to see her breasts lift as she took a quick, angry breath.

  “Truth be told,” said Jasper huskily, “I think I might like you quite a bit.”

  She stared up at him, a line of confusion burrowing itself between her eyebrows. “I don’t understand.”

  No, he could see that she didn’t. And why would she? He didn’t understand it himself. His attraction towards her was supposed to be feigned. A means to prove that a waspish little shrew wasn’t immune to his charms.

  Instead, he found himself being charmed by her.

  Prickly bits and all.

  Perhaps Honora was more a hedgehog than a shrew, he decided. Sharp and poky on the topside, but soft and silky beneath. Very soft, he thought as his gaze inadvertently slipped to her bosom. Without an oversized cloak to disguise them, her curves were as lovely as he’d imagined they’d be. And the sudden urge to touch her – to glide his fingertips across the side of her breast and down her ribcage before settling on her hip – was so strong that he clenched his hand into a fist and forced himself to take a step back.

  Jasper was many things, but a libertine wasn’t one of them. He needed to remember that Honora was hardly an experienced seductress. She was an innocent. Sharp-tongued enough to wield her own sword, which was one of the things he admired most about her, but an innocent, nevertheless.

  He was even willing to bet a large portion of his considerable fortune that she’d never been kissed. After all, what man would be brave enough to risk
losing a limb (or a more sensitive appendage) over something as inconsequential as a kiss?

  I would.

  The words, even silently spoken, caught Jasper off guard. A frown darkened his countenance, and Honora’s expression soured in response.

  “You’re having a bit of fun with me, aren’t you?” she accused.

  “What?” Still struggling to understand his own feelings (and what they meant), he was slow to respond. “No, I–”

  “If you’re after a tease, find someone else. I don’t have time to play silly games with little boys.” With a toss of her head, she walked away.

  This time, Jasper was just grateful she didn’t have a door to slam in his face.

  Chapter Six

  Dinner was a celebratory affair. Everyone was in high spirits, and the conversation flowed as freely as the wine. If anyone noticed Honora wasn’t laughing or smiling as much as her sisters, they did not bother to point it out, and she managed to make it through the seven-course meal without drawing any unwanted attention to herself. A good thing, as all of her attention was on the Marquess of Slatington…no matter how many times she tried to ignore him.

  He sat in the seat of honor beside her father. His sister was beside him, and Rebecca beside her. Honora sat on the other side of the table, tucked in between the twins, both of whom had been leaning across her all night to share one hilarious story after another. It was a small miracle she’d avoided having her wine tipped into her lap. Wine that had gone largely untouched, along with her food. She was too unsettled to eat, and for that she blamed Jasper.

  Why did he have to be the marquess her mother had invited? If only their paths hadn’t intersected in the village. Then she’d never know what an incredible arse he was…or what his cologne smelled like. He would just be another guest. One she’d smile politely at and then forget. Except he wasn’t just another guest. He was…he was…well, she didn’t know what he was. But she knew it wasn’t good.

  It wasn’t good at all.

  Taking a bite of cake, she pushed the plate aside as her gaze inadvertently flicked across the table yet again. Jasper was conversing with her father. To her shock, Lord Appleton was actually grinning, a rare feat for a man who hardly cracked a smile. Her dislike for the Marquess of Slatington immediately intensified for the single reason that no one else seemed to find him as abominable as she did. Then Jasper suddenly turned in her direction and she looked away, her cheeks flushing as she wondered if he’d caught her staring.

  She received her answer ten minutes later, after dessert had been cleared away and guests had risen out of their seats to mingle before the men departed for the gaming room and the women retired to the parlor.

  Standing in the corner of the room, partially obscured by one of her mother’s beloved potted ferns, Honora nearly jumped out of her skin when he appeared behind her as if by magic and whispered in her ear, his husky voice sending a jolt of awareness down her spine.

  “Is there something you’d like to say to me, Lady Honora?” he murmured, his breath stirring the tiny hairs at the nape her neck.

  She whirled around to face him. A mistake, she realized almost immediately, for it put them thigh to thigh, chest to chest, beating heart to beating heart. The swell of her breasts rubbed against the silk of his emerald waistcoat and she gasped when her nipples stiffened. Withdrawing a step while self-consciously draping an arm over her bosom, she jabbed an accusatory finger at Jasper.

  “Are you following me?” she demanded.

  His eyes, the dark blue of a storm sweeping in off the ocean, gleamed with amusement. “I believe you are the one who has been stealing glances at me all night, Lady Honora.”

  She didn’t like the sound of her name on his lips.

  Or maybe she liked it too much.

  Either way, the sooner she could get away from him, the better. All she needed to do was turnabout and walk over to one of her sisters. Or her mother. Or even – God help her – Lady Hanover. Surely Jasper wouldn’t dare to openly pursue her in the company of another adult. But while her head commanded her feet to move, her treacherous heart kept them planted to the floor.

  “I do not have any idea what you’re talking about,” she sniffed.

  The corner of his mouth hitched. “I’m sure you don’t. Tell me, Lady Honora, why are you hiding in the shadows by yourself while all of your other sisters are basking in the light?”

  “I am not hiding. I am simply enjoying some time to myself. Alone,” she said pointedly.

  “That sounds like a splendid idea,” he said. “I think I’ll join you.”

  She huffed with impatience. “Then I wouldn’t be alone, would I?”

  “No,” he acknowledged, “but you’ll be in excellent company. That is the point of a house party, is it not? To enjoy the company of others?”

  “I don’t know what the point of a house party is.” Pivoting so they stood shoulder to shoulder, she crossed her arms and glowered at the guests in an attempt to force her attention away from the Marquess of Slatington. But no matter how hard she tried to concentrate on the color of Lady Macbeth’s gown – was it eggplant or was it puce? – she could not ignore the very large, very masculine presence right beside her.

  Finally, she tilted her head and glared up at him.

  “What do you want?” she asked in exasperation. “Why can’t you leave me alone?”

  “I don’t know.” He scratched his jaw, short nails skimming across a shadow of bristle that hadn’t been there this morning. The scruff only served to heighten his rakish appeal, and Honora’s mouth thinned in annoyance when she felt an answering flutter low in her belly.

  “That’s not an answer,” she replied.

  “It’s the one I have to give.”

  “Is this because I haven’t fallen head over heels in love with you yet?” she asked suspiciously. Her eyes widened when his jaw clenched, and she choked out a laugh. “It is, isn’t it? I should have known. You’re no doubt so accustomed to women throwing themselves at you that you cannot bear knowing that I find you completely and utterly resistible.”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said flatly.

  Honora just grinned, her mood having lightened considerably now that she knew the truth. “I think I do. Don’t take it personally.” She patted his arm in a gesture that was deliberately placating. “I generally don’t like anyone.”

  With lightning quickness Jasper reached out and grabbed her wrist. He easily encircled the delicate bones with his thumb and pointer finger, and the tiny hairs on the nape of Honora’s neck lifted when he raised her hand to his mouth and, after a quick glance at the room to ensure no one was watching, kissed the back of it.

  Unlike the brief brush of his lips across her knuckles when they’d been introduced, however, this kiss lingered and brought with it an unexpected wave of heat. Honora gasped when he nipped her skin through her glove. He soothed the small bite with his tongue, then took a step back, a devilish light glinting in his eyes.

  “Did you like that, Lady Honora?”

  “I – I don’t know,” she said honestly as she tucked her arm behind her back. Her limb was tingling from her shoulder to her fingertips, and a ribbon of heat was slowly unfurling between her thighs. Drawing hard on the inside of her cheek, she cast her gaze outwards, pinning her stare to the magnificent centerpiece of ivy and Christmas roses her mother had arranged in a green and white vase.

  Had she liked his kiss?

  No, she hadn’t liked it.

  She’d loved it.

  But she hated him.

  It was really quite the conundrum.

  Thankfully, she was saved from trying to puzzle it out then and there when her mother tapped a spoon against an empty wine glass. A glass that had been filled and emptied more than once, if Lady Appleton’s rosy cheeks and sparkling eyes were any indication.

  “Thank you all for a wonderful dinner,” she called out gaily. “Now, if I could ask all the ladies to please move
into the parlor, we’ll begin our game of whist. Gentleman, I do hope you will enjoy your brandy and cigars in the gaming room.”

  “Parting is such sweet sorrow,” Jasper drawled as everyone began to file out, the women to turning to the left and the men to the right. No one seemed to notice the two guests who stayed behind, tucked away in a corner behind a large fern. “Don’t you agree, Lady Honora?”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “If this is because you’re bored and looking for a bit of entertainment–”

  “It’s not,” he interrupted. “I’m not. Well, I am,” he admitted when she arched a brow. “House parties are dreadfully boring.” His grin was nothing shy of wicked, and her toes curled up in response. “But thus far, I am enjoying myself immensely.”

  Which was precisely what worried her.

  Honora had met enough scoundrels to recognize one when she saw him. Truth be told, the Marquess of Slatington was the very definition of a scoundrel. Complete with the dashing good looks and debonair charm. But while scoundrels were enjoyable to look at, there was rarely any substance to be found beneath the surface. And Honora’s sharp, intelligent mind required a great deal of substance.

  Although she did wonder…what would be the harm in a little flirtation? Because Jasper was right. House parties were dreadfully boring.

  But they didn’t have to be.

  This one didn’t have to be.

  Not to mention the fact that if her family thought she was getting on well with a marquess, they might stop with all of their quips and sly comments about her looming spinsterhood. In fact, they might leave her alone entirely!

  Giddy at the idea of not being told she needed to find a husband every ten minutes, she returned Jasper’s grin. “Do you know, I think there’s a way we might be able to help one another…”

  Chapter Seven

  Jasper had never felt so used.

  Probably because he was being used.

  By the shrew.

  Or was she a hedgehog now?

  He couldn’t keep track.