Mistletoe, Mischief, and the Marquis (The Heirs' Club)

by Amelia Grey

  His eyes studied hers so intently that for a moment she was fearful he could read her mind and know that she desired him as a woman desires a man with every fiber of her being.

  His head bent lower, closer to her face, closer to her lips, sending chills of anticipation rippling through her. Was he going to kiss her? Or was she going to forget all her upbringing, throw convention to the wind, startle them both, and kiss him on his cool moist lips?

  Quietly, calmly, he said, “Did you just hit me with another ball of snow?”

  Intensely aware of everything about him, her first thought was to deny it, but she knew that wouldn’t get her very far. There was no one else around. Now that she’d dealt herself this hand, she had no choice but to play it. Her action was daring, maybe even foolish, but she couldn’t win if she was afraid to make the first move.

  “I’m issuing a challenge to you, my lord.”

  “That was an odd way to get my attention when you could have simply spoken my name, but I’m listening.”

  “A snowball fight.” Her hands squeezed around the snow in her pocket. “If I hit you first, the boys get two hours outside tomorrow to play. If you strike me first, we’ll stay inside the entire day.”

  Breathlessly, she waited while his gaze intimately explored her face. “That’s a rather fearless challenge from a young lady.”

  It was. And she had no idea where she’d gotten the idea or the nerve to issue it. However, to him she promptly said, “Perhaps, but nevertheless, I’m confident I can win.”

  A faint flicker of admiration flashed across his eyes. “Are you now?”

  She nodded and cautiously pressed the snow in her pocket into a smaller, harder ball.

  “I don’t believe I’ve ever had a lady issue a challenge to me that would test her physical abilities against mine. For all your bravado and confidence, you do realize that I can throw much harder and faster than the lads, don’t you?”

  Her gaze swept the length of his face, across his broad chest, down to his slim hips to his powerful-looking legs, and then swiftly back up to his pensive light green eyes.

  Oh, yes. She knew.

  “You’re probably more accurate too.”

  “I’m glad you realize that. Now, do you want to change your mind about this, or are you prepared to lose?”

  “Neither,” she said backing away from him.

  He nodded. “All right, I accept. If you hit me first, Fallon and Heron can go out for one hour. Not two.”

  “There will hardly be time to do anything in only an hour. Two. That’s the challenge.”

  “One and a half. Take it or not. It doesn’t matter to me.”

  He was a tough negotiator. “And that’s a promise?”

  His eyes narrowed. “I don’t know why you need confirmation, but yes. I give my word.”

  “Good.”

  Without further thought, Lillian pulled her hand out of her pocket and let the ball of hard ice fly from her hands, hitting the marquis dead center of his breastbone.

  He looked down at the wet snow breaking apart and falling from his neckcloth and waistcoat. His eyes widened in disbelief. The wonderfully stunned expression on his handsome face would be forever etched in her memory as one of her fondest.

  Lillian brushed the excess snow from her gloves as if she’d just successfully finished a dusty job. “I believe I won, my lord.”

  He started toward her. “You little trickster.”

  She held up her hand to stay him. “Remember, I am the duke’s sister, and whether or not you like it, you lost fairly.”

  “Fair? You already had snow in your pocket.”

  “I know.” She laughed lightly, unable to believe she actually pulled off her quickly devised plot. “You should have known that I already had a plan to win before I challenged someone as strong, powerful, and clever as yourself.”

  The flicker of admiration she’d seen in his eyes earlier became a bright gleam. “I should have, and you can bet I won’t let you catch me unaware again. Tell me, do you ride and shoot as well as you throw and plot?”

  “I ride extremely well, but I’m afraid no one has ever trusted me with a pistol or blunderbuss in my hands. Not yet, anyway. Why do you ask?”

  “I’m thinking it might be best for me to practice some of my skills so I’ll be prepared for the next challenge, should there be one.”

  “The next one will be up to you, my lord.”

  “I believe that in itself is a challenge as well, Miss Prim.”

  “Perhaps it is. You’ll have to decide that. I’ll see you at dinner this evening?” Lillian then turned and rushed away.

  Chapter 3

  So she was a blonde. A stunning blue-eyed blonde.

  He should have kissed Miss Lillian Prim when he had the chance. She deserved nothing less after hitting him with snow. Three times.

  By mistake.

  Then by design.

  Then by mischief.

  Seth wasn’t sure he’d ever met a more worthy opponent, including all the men he’d dealt with in his life.

  Yes, he should have dismissed the fact she was Crispin’s sister and given in to his desire to pull her warm velvet-covered body close to his chest and kiss her. Long. Deep. Slow. He sure as hell had wanted to and was even on the brink of doing it, but because of her kindness to his nephews, he’d decided to be a gentleman instead of a scoundrel and took his leave. And how did she thank him for his noble act? A snowball to the back and, what seemed at the time, an innocent and easy challenge to win.

  But it wasn’t.

  Why?

  Because he was infatuated with her.

  He’d caught sight of her the moment she walked into the drawing room. Probably because he’d been watching for her. She’d had the brashness to seek him out with her clear blue eyes and give him a devilishly radiant smile before joining her sister whom she favored so much they could have been twins.

  If he’d thought her lovely and desirable this morning when she wore a cap that completely covered her hair, with cheeks that were kissed by the wind and a smile that could light up the night sky, tonight she was dazzling. She’d tempt a saint. And he was no saint.

  Candlelight made her wavy hair look like the richest of honey flowing from a glass jar. Thick, golden, and shiny. Delicate, wispy curls fell across her forehead and down the sides of her rosy, petal-soft cheeks. A blue velvet ribbon adorned the crown of her head.

  Seth sipped his claret and looked at Miss Prim over the rim of his glass—again. It was some consolation that he’d caught her glancing at him a time or two, too. Though admittedly, not as often or as thoroughly as he was staring at her.

  After a time, she moved away from her sister and over to a couple of ladies who stood near the blazing fireplace. With every step she took, the thin, flowing fabric of her pale blue dress fluttered seductively against her long slender legs. Her stroll to the other side of the room was slow, confident, and desperately appealing to all his senses.

  The neckline of her bodice swept invitingly low, showing a rise of pillow-soft breasts barely hidden under a layer of lace that was surely meant to tempt as well as give a peek about what lay beneath. She wore no jewelry other than dangling gold earrings that winked and sparkled at him every time she moved her head.

  Damnation, everything about her enticed him.

  The drawing room was noisy with guests. Only a few, like Seth, would be staying over until after Boxing Day. Viscount Fieldingham and his ladyship and Mr. and Mrs. Jasper Edgeworth were among the few. Both wives, he’d learned, were good friends of the duchess. Most in attendance were from the village or other manor houses in the area and only attending for the evening.

  Another guest was Crispin’s uncle, Mr. Archmond Nash. He had cornered Seth when he first entered the room and had been happily telling him stories from his stint in the British Royal Navy for the past quarter of an hour. Seth was content to let the man do the talking. That way he could continue watching Miss Prim while appeari
ng to converse with Mr. Nash. It didn’t matter to either of them that soon after their conversation began, Seth realized he wasn’t fooling the cagey gentleman. Their unspoken arrangement was working for both of them. Mr. Nash had a captive audience to hear his battle stories and Seth had a cover to watch his prey.

  Earlier in the afternoon, when he’d wanted to have some instructions for the lads delivered to Miss Prim for their lessons on the morrow, he’d discovered she was staying in the main section of the estate. On the same floor with the duke and duchess. Not in the guest wing where Seth was housed. Obviously Crispin was taking no chances with his sister-in-law’s innocence.

  Seth couldn’t blame him. Miss Prim was captivating and too bold for her own good.

  Since she had stirred his curiosity, anger, and his desire in the few minutes he’d spent with her, he had no doubt she’d roused all those emotions and probably more in other gentlemen as well. Offers for her hand must have been pouring in for her during the Season, yet she wasn’t betrothed. Obviously, she hadn’t met her match. For an instant, the thought that perhaps he had entered Seth’s mind.

  He quickly banished that.

  Mr. Nash was winding down his story about slashing rains, gale-force winds, and waves as high as a castle that had battered his ship by the time Crispin joined them. Not long after, Mr. Nash excused himself and headed over to the very person who had monopolized Seth’s thoughts—Miss Prim.

  Enough of watching her, he thought as he turned to face the duke, who was similar to Seth in height and build. And like Seth, Crispin wore his power, prestige, and breeding like a comfortable second skin.

  “You might have thought you were hiding it,” Crispin said, “but I’ve noticed you can’t keep your eyes off Lillian.”

  Seth took another sip of his wine. “I learned the hard way that it’s best not to turn your back on that one.”

  Crispin’s eyes narrowed. “That sounds as if something might have happened between the two of you. Is there something you need to tell me?”

  Seth shrugged and said, “Only that we met earlier in the day.”

  “She must have made quite an impression on you.”

  An indelible one.

  “She’s beautiful, clever, and smiles often.”

  Not to mention that she is also cheeky as hell.

  “That tells me it must have been a memorable meeting,” Crispin prompted.

  “That sums it up accurately.”

  “You seem so intense when you look at her. What are you thinking?”

  “Should I kiss her or throw a ball of snow at her?”

  Crispin frowned and with his forefinger reached up to rub a small, faded scar near the corner of his eye. “Neither would be wise.”

  “Which is why I restrained myself on both,” Seth said on a rueful sigh. “Don’t worry, I won’t betray your trust in me.” Not tonight, anyway.

  “You misunderstood, my friend.” Crispin turned and glanced at Miss Prim. “When I said it wouldn’t be wise, I wasn’t talking about what I might do to you should you step over the line of propriety, but rather what she might do to you. The Prim sisters are quite able and prepared to take care of themselves.”

  “After having met this Miss Prim, I would not wager against that statement.”

  “Good.” Crispin touched his scar again and smiled. “My introduction to my wife was being hit by a basket of mistletoe. You’re not bleeding so I’m going to assume your meeting with Lillian was a bit more civil than when I met Gwen.”

  “Not by much. She didn’t draw blood, but it probably wasn’t because she didn’t want to.”

  Crispin chuckled. “That perplexes me. Lillian is probably the quietest and most even-tempered of the five sisters.”

  Seth grunted a laugh. “I find that hard to believe.”

  “It’s true,” his friend insisted.

  “Then perhaps that’s why she’s not spoken for,” Seth mumbled under his breath.

  “Not from want of offers,” Crispin assured him. “She seemed to enjoy every bachelor who pursued her during the Season, but in the end turned down all who asked for her hand.”

  Seth thought again that it was because she hadn’t met her match.

  “Gwen told me Lillian asked to help keep an eye on your nephews while you attend the hunt tomorrow. She knows children and how to manage them. You’ll have no cause to worry about them.”

  Seth wasn’t so sure about that. Crispin’s confidence in her didn’t put Seth’s mind at ease. He had firsthand knowledge of Miss Prim’s mischief. She had tricked him into agreeing the boys could go outside. There was no telling what she might have Heron and Fallon doing during that time.

  “Which brings up the point,” Seth said to his friend. “I have no idea how long it might be before Mrs. Barstaple will be well enough to travel here and resume her duties. Perhaps it might be best if I try to find someone from the village to care for the lads until she can return.”

  “No need to do that.” Crispin dismissed his suggestion with a clap on his shoulder. “I’m sure we have enough extra staff who can help. I’ll speak to Gwen about it. We can take care of the boys until their governess arrives.”

  “I’m not certain Miss Prim will be the best substitute governess for them. She’s not a typical young lady.”

  “None of the Prim girls are. But you wouldn’t want a typical young lady, would you?”

  Seth was sure he saw a glint in Crispin’s eyes. His looked around the drawing room again and a thought struck him. There were no other members of the Heirs’ Club present. No other bachelors. No young ladies other than Miss Prim.

  “Want?” Seth’s eyes narrowed as he looked pointedly at his friend. “Don’t tell me you are trying your hand at matchmaking?”

  “Me? No.” Crispin gave him a sober grin. “But Gwen might be. And I see that she’s motioning to me. I better see what she wants. Get yourself another drink. Your glass is empty.”

  Seth looked down at his glass and then placed it on a table. They’d be called in to dinner soon. He had no idea whether he’d be seated near Miss Prim, but he knew there’d be no possibility of talking with her after dinner. Unless it was announced ahead of time there wouldn’t be a mixed night of entertainment and games after the meal was finished. The gentlemen would retire to a sitting room where they’d have brandy, catch up on the latest news from London, and play several hands of cards. Likewise, the ladies would gather in the drawing room for a cup of chocolate or a glass of sherry and discuss the latest fashions and gossip before retiring to their rooms.

  Mr. Nash still had Miss Prim wrapped up in his storytelling, so Seth walked over and joined them.

  “My lord,” Miss Prim said, “I hope you are feeling no ill effects from your short foray into the bitter cold today without proper armor to protect yourself.”

  She was a naughty miss. No proper greeting such as Good evening, my lord. No, she went straight for the joshing. And hell’s bells if it didn’t please him.

  “I am well, Miss Prim. How are you after your morning of fierce snow battles?”

  “Feeling excellent. Victorious even.”

  She tried to keep from smiling, but it just wasn’t in her nature to hide how she felt. He smiled too, though what he wanted to do was kiss her tempting, rosy lips. For all her impertinence, he was damned attracted to her.

  Crispin’s uncle evidently thought Seth and Lillian wanted to do some courting because he promptly excused himself.

  “Did you receive my instructions for Heron’s and Fallon’s lessons for tomorrow?”

  “Yes, I did. All twenty-five sheets of vellum you meticulously composed out for me.”

  She was teasing him—again. And he was enjoying it—again. Over the years, he’d had many young ladies, widows, and even a few a spinsters flirt with him, flatter him, and pursue him with determination, but he’d never had one challenge him. Physically, mentally, and sexually all at the same time. Until now. A crashing wave of delicious desire tumbled throu
gh him. More and more he was thinking he should forget the rules of a gentleman, return to his scoundrel ways, and ask Miss Prim to meet him in an abandoned stairwell he knew about.

  But, no, restraint was the word. Miss Prim was Crispin’s sister-in-law and an innocent young lady. He couldn’t forget either of those two things. Though he certainly wanted to.

  “It wasn’t that many and you know it.”

  “Close.”

  “More like five,” he found himself arguing and relishing it. “Now, do you have any questions about my instructions?”

  “No.”

  That answer was much too short and her expression much too innocent.

  “Did you read them?”

  “Not yet,” she said as casually as if she’d told him the sun would rise in the morning.

  “But you will?”

  She smiled, and his stomach turned a summersault. He didn’t think it normal for blue eyes to sparkle that much, for a complexion to be that flawless, or for him to be that interested in a young lady. She wasn’t trying to win his attention, approval, or affection, but she had completely captivated him.

  “Of course I’ll read them.”

  He was beginning to learn her way of thinking. “So will you be reading them before you take care of the lads tomorrow or after?”

  “Oh, you are a demanding task master, my lord.” She gave him a mock frown. “It’s Christmastime Season. Must I promise?”

  “And even then I’m not sure I should trust you.”

  She laughed. “I suppose I wasn’t on my best behavior today.”

  “You suppose?”

  “All right, I wasn’t,” she agreed without a trace of reluctance in her expression or her voice. “It’s just that I’ve already been here a couple of days and there hasn’t been much to stimulate me. It was so pleasurable to have someone to laugh with, and they seemed to need it too. So, yes, if I must, I promise I’ll read your instructions before I go to bed tonight. Now are you happy with that?”