by Jenna Jaxon
“Is the lady ready?” Uncle Marbury called out.
“Yes, my lord.” Lady Mary nodded, her cheeks as red as apples. She glanced toward the far end of the glade, the area deemed “safe” by Lord and Lady Marbury.
“And the gentleman?”
“Very ready, Lord Marbury,” Lord Claremont called, stamping his feet as he kept an eye on Lady Mary.
“Go!” Uncle Marbury shouted.
Lady Mary picked up her skirts and bolted away as if fleeing a pack of slobbering hellhounds. As she approached the center of the mistletoe ball, she glanced back over her shoulder and shrieked.
Lord Claremont followed on her heels, scarcely an arm’s length away.
Jenny gasped as the nimble lord reached out and snared Lady Mary’s cloak.
The lady squealed and swung around to face her pursuer, laughing as he stopped them directly beneath the mistletoe.
Jenny held her breath as Claremont, a well-built young man dressed in leather riding breeches and a green coat with whom she’d scarcely spoken two words, claimed his forfeit by placing a chaste kiss on Lady Mary’s right cheek.
A cheer went up and the whole group applauded the couple. Once her debt was paid, the lady took the gentleman’s arm as he escorted her to the circle designated for the victorious duos. The next lady, Miss Diana Longworth, took her place opposite Jenny’s cousin Eric.
Jenny’s sense of excitement grew as the next couple raced away. Only two more and then it would be her turn. Hers and Lord Somersby. She danced and twisted along, unable to stand still.
“You’re going to run your race before it begins.” Celinda laughed and grasped her arms. “Stand still or you won’t be able to make it to the mistletoe before Lord Somersby claims his kiss.” She peered into Jenny’s face. “You are enjoying yourself, aren’t you? That was the whole reason for coming here.”
“Oh, yes.” Jenny’s attention was distracted as the next couple bounded away toward the mistletoe ball. “I’ve never had so much fun.”
“So you’ll allow Somersby to catch you? Experience your first kiss under the mistletoe?”
A strange hollowness dampened her anticipation. It would be her first kiss some place other than her hand. Did she want to bestow that honor on Lord Somersby? Her aunt’s kiss had led to her marriage. Would the mistletoe kiss take her down the same path?
Before Jenny could form any kind of reply to that, Celinda stepped up as head of the line. She eyed Alec, sent him a grin, and grasped her long skirts.
“Go!”
With a whoop of laughter, Celinda took off, pelting down the middle of the imaginary circle.
Jenny held her breath. She had no idea if Celinda could outrun Alec. He’d always beaten Jenny in any running contest when they were younger. However, the true question was did Celinda wish to outrun him?
About half-way to the mistletoe, her friend stumbled, shrieking as her arms windmilled in the frigid air.
Alec, only a step behind, put on a burst of speed, and grasped her arm to keep her from toppling over into the damp leaves. “Are you all right, Lady Celinda?” he asked, his laughter tempered with concern.
“Oh, yes, Mr. Isley. I am quite well. But it seems I must pay the forfeit to you.” Celinda’s eyes snapped in the cold air, her breath coming in rapid puffs.
“I only wish every forfeit I’ve won had such a pleasurable outcome.” Alec grinned, then leaned close.
Jenny’s heart stopped as his lips met Celinda’s red, rosy cheek. She clenched her fist, her throat going dry. Celinda had been good as her word. Jenny didn’t know whether to be angry or grateful.
Confusion reigned until Uncle Marbury called out, “Will the next lady step forward.”
Heart in her throat, Jenny stepped up to the imaginary line. A peep at Lord Somersby had been the wrong choice.
He stood relaxed, confident. Taking what looked to be a runner’s stance, he nodded to her.
“Are you ready, Miss Crowley?” Uncle Marbury asked, an eyebrow raised.
Excitement surged through her veins. Ignoring it, she collected her wits and nodded. Clasping her skirts in a death grip, she concentrated on listening for her uncle’s signal. She still had no idea if she could best Lord Somersby or whether she would allow him to snare her and claim his kiss. She took deep breaths, ready for the shout.
“Go!”
Chapter 10
Jenny leaped forward, so intent on running her feet tangled together. She stumbled to a halt not a yard from Lord Somersby’s tall figure. Another awkward step and she would have sprawled at his feet.
His face lit up in a self-satisfied grin. He nodded almost imperceptibly, as if acknowledging a signal.
Did he think she had done that on purpose? That she wanted him to catch her? She had, in fact, set out to be caught, but that smug smile changed everything. Determination fired her spirit. She’d show him she had a mind of her own. Springing forward, she raced away just before Somersby launched himself at her.
Jenny squealed and pounded through the clearing, kicking up tufts of wet, dead leaves as she fled for the far side of the circle. She could hear her pursuer’s soft laugh as he drew closer to her. He’d have her arm in moments. Why not slow her stride and show him she wanted to be captured? Wanted his kiss?
Her steps faltered. How would it feel to have his body close to hers, closer even than in their waltz, his warm lips grazing her cheek? Anticipation stirred deep within. She slowed her pace and turned to face him.
The grin that lit Somersby’s handsome face spread so wide the lines alongside his cheeks deepened. His eyes flashed with a triumphant gleam and he stopped several paces in front of her then crooked his finger, beckoning her back to him.
She stood panting, suddenly unsure as her body trembled. The shouts and encouragements of the crowd blended with the roaring in her ears.
Somersby raised an eyebrow and stalked toward her. “You should have made it more of a challenge, Miss Crowley,” he said as he drew near. “Although I’m flattered you’re that eager for another kiss from me.” He reached for her to claim his prize.
Entranced, as though she were a mouse confronted by a snake, Jenny could only stand there, heart pounding with an insistent beat, watching him close the distance between them. In another moment he would take her arm, then his kiss.
A sharp movement to her side drew her attention to Alec, standing beside Celinda. He’d crossed his arms over his chest, his face puckered into a frown that somehow bespoke not only anger but sadness.
Somersby’s arms came up to snare her.
She broke her gaze from Alec, ducked under the earl’s outstretched arm, and spun around him. A glimpse of his wide, astonished eyes when he whirled, clutching at the air where she had just been, spurred Jenny on as she shot across the clearing.
Somersby swore under his breath and chased after her, but she arrived on the far side a good three steps ahead of him. The crowd cheered as he came puffing up beside her, a thundercloud of annoyance distorting his face. “My compliments, Miss Crowley, on making me look the fool.”
“It is a woman’s prerogative to change her mind, is it not, Lord Somersby?” Jenny tossed her head, the glow from her exertion and the sweet rush of victory sending satisfaction humming through her.
“I thought you wanted me to catch you.” The young man adjusted his gloves impatiently. Sulking did not become his lordship.
“I thought so as well.” Jenny straightened her pelisse, settling it over her green cashmere gown in an effort to stem the chill air she had begun to feel again.
“Then why did you run away?” He stared frankly into her eyes. “Did I frighten you?”
“No, my lord.” With a shake of her head she began a sedate walk back to the crowd of excited young people still running under the mistletoe. His question troubled her. She hadn’t been frightened, but neither could she pinpoint why she had suddenly decided not to give in to him. She’d stopped with the full intention of accepting his kiss. Then
she’d seen Alec’s face…
A trembling seized her, starting in her stomach and radiating out until she shook from her head to her heels. In an effort to disguise her agitation from Somersby, she clasped her hands behind her and walked faster.
Dear lord, she now knew the cause of her flight as well as she knew her name. No. She refused to admit a tendre for Alexander Isley. That was impossible. The whole purpose of her visit here had been to have fun while she fell in love with someone new, like Lord Somersby. Someone not Alec. She couldn’t be attracted to the boy who had put worms down her back when she was six.
She needed to give Somersby another chance.
“Perhaps I decided I preferred to experience the mistletoe in a more private setting.” Jenny slid her gaze sideways and smiled.
Somersby stopped. His surly frown vanished, replaced with an impossibly wide-eyed stare that made her want to giggle. “Indeed, you surprise me again, Miss Crowley. I believe once the greenery is hung I shall be able to accommodate you.” His gaze lingered on her lips. “Most willing and able.”
The riot of tingles had returned, raising the hair on her arms and neck. Butterflies battered the inside of her stomach. His eyes, now the deep blue of a precious jewel, filled her whole world. She tried to swallow, but her dry throat scraped painfully against itself. So what if she was flirting with fire. Suddenly, she didn’t care. She had come to Aunt Arabella’s for just this reason, and even if Lord Somersby proved not to be “the one,” he was a little bit rogueish and terribly exciting. This might be her only chance to enjoy it.
As if divining her thoughts, Lord Somersby took her arm once more. “I would have waited to ask this until tomorrow night, but I’m afraid some other gentleman,” he paused to glare at Alec, “will steal a march on me.” He nodded toward him. “You know Isley, don’t you?”
“Yes, Alec and I grew up together.” She fluttered her eyelashes as she looked at the ground. “His sister and I were best friends. But he’s been off at university and I’ve not seen him for quite some time.”
“He’s a lucky dog to have known you for so long. I’m sure he’s made his interest known.” He shot a look at Alec. Had it been a weapon, her childhood friend would have been felled on the spot.
“Oh, I think you are mistaken, Lord Somersby.” Jenny laughed as they neared the others. “Mr. Isley has no interest in me at all.” Except that one look that might belie her words. Did Alec have feelings for her past the bonds of their long-time friendship?
“Then he’s a fool.”
The vehemence of Somersby’s words startled her. Her own speculations unnerved her as well and she hurried to change the subject. “But what did you want to ask me, my lord?”
“Would you allow me to partner you in the first dance at the Christmas Eve Ball?”
The hopeful tone, his warm hand, and the need to distance herself from thoughts of Alec made her smile and nod. “I would be honored, my lord.” Jenny tied to stop herself, but she glanced again at the young man she’d known all her life.
He was staring at her, as if he knew what she had just done.
Jenny turned quickly back to Lord Somersby and began chatting about the decorating party scheduled for after luncheon, although a sinister foreboding crept up her spine. It said she might have started something that she would regret in short order.
* * * *
With an effort, Alec dragged his gaze away from Jenny and Somersby, afraid if he continued to watch her flirt with the young earl he’d end up punching something. Or someone.
“You’d best relax your hands, Mr. Isley,” Lady Celinda said, moving closer to him, her voice low-pitched and lyrical. “Else blood will start to drip out of your fists.”
Alex spread his fingers wide, willing the tension to leave him and turned to her. He quite liked Lady Celinda. Not only pretty, she possessed an energy, a joie de vive that he found particularly attractive. With the addition of her crisp wit, cutting sense of humor, and ample dowry and he wondered why she hadn’t been snapped up last year. What man could resist her? Had circumstances been different he would certainly be dancing attendance on her. However…
“You like Miss Crowley, do you not, Mr. Isley?”
“She’s like a sister to me, Lady Celinda.” He tried to focus on his companion, but his attention kept straying back to Jenny. “We grew up on neighboring estates. She and my sister were inseparable. When we were younger I saw quite a lot of her. Not so much since I went to university.”
“Miss Crowley is a delightfully sweet girl.” Lady Celinda nodded toward the trim figure in the blue wool pelisse.
His gaze followed in time to see Jenny laugh at something Somersby had said. His fists curled again.
“She seems rather taken with Lord Somersby.”
“Yes, I’d noticed.”
Lady Celinda laughed and took his arm, leading them toward the back of the group of runners, further away from the infuriating sight of Jenny and Somersby. “You don’t approve, I take it?” She cocked her head, but said nothing more. Her glittering eyes and pursed mouth, however, did.
“As I said, Miss Crowley is an old friend of the family. I would hate to see her hurt, or even worse, ruined by Somersby.” Alec ground his teeth. He’d put nothing past the blackguard.
“You have a rather low opinion of his lordship. An opinion not generally held here. At least, not that I’ve heard.” She raised her delicate eyebrows. “You have met before, perhaps?”
Alec turned them so their backs were to the company. Less chance of being overheard. “I did, briefly. At Oxford.” Anger surged at the memory. “Somersby can be charming. He can also be ruthless and cruel if he has cause to be.”
“Indeed.” Lady Celinda glanced over her shoulder, then shifted closer to him. “What did he do to you, Mr. Isley?”
Alec shook his head. He’d have preferred to have taken Somersby on himself, but that had not been possible. “He did nothing to me. I knew him only slightly. No, it was what he did to a younger scholar I did know. John Carroll. A sensitive young man who was a poet and a good one, in fact. He was at Oxford studying the classics, and though he had a dreadful Cockney accent, he also possessed a brilliant mind. His father was a London wine merchant and John came in as a Servitor-student.”
Lady Celinda nodded. “I can see where that might put him at a disadvantage with some of the sons of the nobility. Lord Somersby took exception to him, I suppose?”
“That is putting it mildly, my lady.” He drew a deep breath and blew it out.
“What on earth did he do?”
“Generally made the chap’s life an unholy hell. My pardon.”
She waved away his apology. “Continue.”
“At first Somersby would do childish things, like grab his books and toss them into a puddle. Or criticize his clothes as being the most unfashionable rags at Oxford. At least once a week he’d trip the fellow as he was carrying a platter in the dining hall.” Alec scowled, the memory of John’s face, red with embarrassment as he scrambled to clean up the mess, still galled him. “Somersby received a reprimand for associating with a Servitor, which only made him angrier.”
“Had Mr. Carroll offended Lord Somersby in some manner?” A frown darkened Lady Celinda’s pale face. She turned around to mark the man laughing with Jenny.
“No, although circumstances came out afterward that explained the harassment.”
“Afterward?”
“Yes. Carroll left school just before he was to have gone up for his responsions.”
She cocked her head, inquisitive as a bird. “What are they?”
“His first year’s exams.”
“How unfortunate! And his leaving was due to Lord Somersby’s attentions?”
Alec nodded. “Noblemen-Commoners were discouraged from contact with the lower classes of students, but even after his reprimand, Somersby kept deviling Carroll. About a week before Carroll was to take his exams, Somersby and a group of his cronies caught him out in the stab
les. Not a place John would have normally had cause to go. He didn’t have a horse boarded there. So Somersby accused him of tampering with his saddle and gear. He produced a girth cut nearly through as evidence that Carroll was trying to retaliate against him by killing or maiming him. If Somersby had ridden out on that saddle, as he did every afternoon, with the girth damaged like that, he’d likely have fallen and possibly been killed. The Headmaster immediately dismissed Carroll.”
“Did Mr. Carroll have any defense?”
“Other than to deny the charge and proclaim his innocence? No.”
“Did he give any explanation why he was out in the stables?”
“Said he’d been studying and went out to clear his head. The smell of the horses reminded him of his father’s stable at home.”
“So they believed Lord Somersby?”
“Of course.” Alec chuckled, although it stuck in his throat. “Why would they take the word of a Servitor over that of a Nobleman Commoner?”
As if they had agreed upon it, they turned in unison to watch Somersby lead Jenny to the carriage. Two of the grooms had climbed the oak and cut down the mistletoe ball, stowing it in one of the brakes.
Lady Celinda turned back to him. “You said circumstances came out after Mr. Carroll was dismissed? What circumstances?”
“The following week Somersby’s father, the Marquess of Thaxted, presented his son with an exceptional black Arabian stallion.” Alex took her arm again and strolled toward the waiting carriages. “The story that came to my ears was that the marquess had bet his son he couldn’t get Carroll dismissed before the end of the term. The marquess, it seemed, had taken some offense at a slight—real or imagined no one was sure—from Carroll’s father the wine merchant. The reward was the horse Somersby had been wanting for more than a year.”