Deck The Halls With Love: Lost Lords Of Pembrook Novella Read Free

one him in my life when there are several. My father, my brothers—there are five of them, you know—my uncles, cousins—”
    “Litton,” he cut in, obviously not at all enchanted by her little game.
    “It seems a rather pointless question. I favor Viscount Litton immensely. I’d not be marrying him otherwise.”
    She could not mistake the look of satisfaction that settled into his deep brown eyes, as though she’d revealed something extraordinary. “Favoring is not love.”
    “I’ll not discuss my heart with you.” Not when you’d once come so close to holding it, and then set it aside with so little care.
    “I don’t know that you’ll be happy with him.”
    She straightened her shoulders, angled her chin. “You’re being quite presumptuous.”
    “You require a man of passion, one who can set your heart to hammering. Is he capable of either of those things?” His eyes darkened, simmered, captured hers with an intensity that made it impossible to look away. Her mouth went dry.
    Ignoring his question, she released an awkward-sounding laugh. “You think you are?”
    “I know I am. Within your gloves, your palms are growing damp.”
    Blast it! That was where all the moisture in her mouth had gone. How did he know?
    “Your breaths are becoming shorter. Your cheeks are flushed.” He lowered his gaze, her nipples tautened. Whatever was the matter with her? Then he lifted his eyes back to hers. “Correction. All your skin is flushed.”
    “Because I’m dancing. It’s warm in here.”
    “It’s the dead of winter. Most women are wearing shawls.”
    “Only the wallflowers.”
    “You would never be a wallflower. You are the most exciting woman here. Meet me later. Somewhere private so that we may talk.”
    “What do you call this current movement of the tongue? Singing?”
    “It’s too public. We need something more intimate.”
    An image flashed of him kissing her. She had often wondered at his flavor, but she would not fall for him again, she would not. “For God’s sake, I am betrothed.”
    “As I’m well aware.” She saw a flicker of sadness and regret cross his features. “You should know, Merry, that I am here only because of you.”
    “Your flirtation is no longer welcome, Chetwyn. I shall be no man’s second choice.”
    “You were always my first.” His eyes held sincerity and something else that fairly took her breath: an intense longing. Dear God, even Litton didn’t look at her like that. Chetwyn’s revelation delighted, angered, and hurt at the same time.
    She released a bitter laugh. “Well, you had a frightfully funny way of showing it, didn’t you?” She stepped away. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ve become quite parched.”
    Before he could offer to fetch her a flute of champagne, she was walking away. His words were designed to soften her, but she wouldn’t allow them to breach the wall she’d erected against him. She was betrothed now. Nothing he said would change that.
    For Chetwyn, it was too late. Her course was set. She wished that thought didn’t fill her with sorrow.

 

C HAPTER T WO
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    C hetwyn discovered that being left at the altar wasn’t nearly as humiliating or as infuriating as being abandoned on the dance floor. Or perhaps it simply seemed so because he cared a good deal more about Merry traipsing off without him than he did about Anne.
    As people swirled around him, they gave him a questioning glance, an arched eyebrow, pursed lips. Then the whispers began, and he had a strong urge to tell them all to go to the devil.
    Wending his way past ballooning hems and dancing slippers, he fought to keep his face in a stoic mask that revealed none of his inner thoughts. He suspected a good many of the women would swoon if they knew that he wanted to rush after Merry, usher her into a distant corner, and kiss her until the words coming from her mouth were sweet instead of bitter. It didn’t lessen his anger that she had every right to be upset with him. But