Chapter One

      If there was anything that could be said about the Broomfield clan, it was that they knew how to bring in the holidays, in particular Christmas. The Broomfield’s held the best parties during that time of the year complete with parlor games, skating and sleigh rides, just about any form of celebrating to be dreamed of.

      The widower Squire Morley Broomfield had happily given away three of his four daughters, two had wed viscounts and one an earl, but though he welcomed and truly enjoyed his sons-in-law, no one in the neighborhood, including himself, ever thought of those beautiful and vivacious creatures as anything but “The Broomfield gels”.

      Margie, Ruth and Miriam were talented, intelligent, and possessed of golden hair, blue eyes, and enough spirit to make any man feel alive around them. Oh, and there was Mary, of course, she fit in there between Ruth and Miriam, and…well, Mary wasn’t usually what they meant when anyone said “those stunning creatures, those lively and talented Broomfield gels.”

      But everyone loved Mary. She had such heart that it would take a cold one indeed not to love her. From her Papa to her sisters, and now eight nephews and nieces, Mary was their darling and dear favorite.

      Unbeknownst to Mary, her siblings and a few of her nephews and nieces, now in their teens, had tried for years to put Mary in the forefront, to display her uniqueness at gatherings and to-do’s. Alas, the males they invited, the prospects as they called them, always loved Mary too. By the end of the celebration, they found her warm, generous and charming and ended up thinking of her as an acquaintance. Not one saw the distinctiveness in her, truthfully, because she was overshadowed by her sisters.

      To be sure, everyone was aware of this. They were at wits end since Mary was now twenty-six and the only chance they had to discreetly invite these prospects were to family gatherings—family gatherings where Margie and Ruth and Miriam were in their blond hair and blue-eyed glory, their outgoing character, with their tall grace and exquisiteness on display. Having wed handsome men, birthed striking and charming children, certainly, one can see the dilemma.

      They left their husband’s estates and gathered at the Broomfield house in Yorkshire this year. The siblings and the oldest children, even their husbands were in the midst discussing dear Mary, and though they had sent out invites, as had her father, Squire Morley, and they vowed not to get so caught up in the amusements—everything went out the window after they arrived and settled in. For dear Mary had made the house perfect and everything festive, and well… there were guests there already, overflowing the large house and guest house, and the snow so very beautiful, the music so lovely, the laughter so abundant…

* * * *

      Mary Broomfield slipped out of the crowded and bustling ballroom for a moment and headed for the dark stairs that led above. Everything had been going at such a hectic pace, and she’d been doing preparations forever. Now that her lovely siblings and family were here, she could get off her tired feet and slip away just a moment.

      Lifting the hem of the gown Ruth had brought for her from London; Mary went to the first landing, just before the curve, and sat down on the polished wood. She closed her eyes a moment savoring the sounds of holiday music and laughter, able to picture her lovely sisters gliding around the ballroom, and her older nephews and nieces getting into whatever mischief. Her father of course, enjoying a rare waltz with the widow Canning. All was as it should be. Another wonderful Christmas week was being kicked off at the Broomfield’s.

      Mary opened her eyes and slid the long green silk gloves off her arms, smiling when she thought of Ruth, who set fashion trends, worrying that Mary would start dressing like the old prudes she joined for poetry readings, or worse like the dowagers she had tea with.

      Her sisters were forever trying to assure Mary that she was young and beautiful, despite the fact that Mary herself was perfectly fine with the truth. She had curly sable hair, hazel eyes, and was only five feet tall. She also was rounded where her sisters were slim, and she had a perfectly ordinary face, to her mind.

      Oh, she was aware that she was on the shelf and hardly remembered next to the rest of her family, but as much as she loved them, enjoyed reading and hearing about their exciting life, Mary wasn’t so sure she wanted exactly that. It had been a long time actually, since Mary dreamed of anything in particular for the future. She had a full life, albeit a rather plodding one compared to her sisters. Yes, she was also aware that her father looked at her with guilt at times, as if he were blaming himself she hadn’t inherited the angelic looks to go with the talents and sense. But really, Mary wore her life like a pair of comfortable boots she pulled on for tramping about the woods. It was much better to accept oneself and enjoy people, find a life, than try and torture oneself for not fitting in a mold, that had already turned out three very perfect and very lovable siblings.

      A flicker of light lit the walls from the entry hall below, and Mary leaned up to peek between the rails and watch the butler admit a very late arrival.

      As Graves set the candelabra down, no doubt explaining to the fellow that he could have entered through the ballroom doors, which she recalled were open and quite lit at the front of the house, Mary’s gaze moved to the swags on the railing, bows and greenery, the shadows cast from the decorated chandelier in the hallway. She tilted her head back to note the mistletoe she’d hung on every landing.

      It was something her mother had done with a wink. Mary recalled her father and mother bidding them goodnight at the end of every evening during that Christmas week, stopping at every landing to kiss. It brought a smile to her lips and in her head she heard her father saying, “Just as your sisters, we’d made a vulgar love match, not done you know, but there it was, I saw her and fell headlong for her.” Now her sisters did the same with their husbands, and many of the guests slipped in a kiss or two on their way to the floors above.”

      Mary’s thoughts were interrupted by the tread of boots on the landing, and she noted the not too steady form of the male making his way up.

      “You are going in the wrong direction,” she offered amused, supposing he had either stopped at Oxly Inn before arriving, or perhaps come from one of the other estates throwing their grand holiday parties.

      The man, tall, broad shouldered and from the amber light casting a bit from below, apparently had longish raven hair, somewhat mussed, replied a bit more than foxed, “My dear lady, I assure you I am not. I would rather have my arse roasted than endure one more moment of screeching debs singing Stille Nacht, Heilige Nacht in German.” He hiccupped. “Or crowds in ballroom taking the shine from my best Hessians by trampling my feet in their overzealous celebration of this…whatever holiday it is.”

      He put a hand to the wall and weaved a moment. “I took this to be the opposite direction on purpose.”

      Mary said first, “My sister’s sing quite well, Sir. So you are missing a treat, and our guests are a bit more civilized than to dare trample a gentleman’s boots...” Still amused she stood. “But I daresay you are in no condition to discern the difference. Come, sit down before you fall.”

      He took a couple more steps. “My apologies m’dear, it seems I’ve insulted my hostess, eh?”

      Mary watched him reach her side, where upon he nearly fell down beside her. His elbows leaning back a moment on the landing while his long legs stretched out.

      “I’m Mary Broomfield, this is my father’s house. But everyone in the family considers this their Christmas celebration. Do you mean to tell me, you’ve no idea which house you have entered?”

      He straightened a bit, his arm brushing her own as he admitted, “Apparently not. Think I know the Broomfield’s. Lovely gels or some such, beauties all of them.”

      Wincing she laughed. “Um, that would be my sisters.” She let her eyes adjust to the dim light, watching his fingers rake through his hair, his hands dangling, forearms on his thighs then, as he blinked and stared downward. “I was just about to get some coffee, would you like some?”

      He turned to look at her, and Mary was quite startled to find herself looking into a devastatingly handsome face, aristocratic, a bit harsh in a cynical way. But with thick black lashes, some sort of gray or silver hued eyes, sensual mouth. And yes, up close he was lean and broad shouldered, sinewy she would guess.

      His neck cloth was undone and hanging under his jacket lapels, his ruffled shirt missing the collar, exposing a warmly skinned throat.

      “What was your name again?” He asked as if he hadn’t heard her.

      “Mary.” Her hazel eyes twinkled and she tried not to laugh at his intoxicated state.

      His gaze did a swift scan of her hair which was simply pulled up with a ribbon and the rest left to tumble down to mid back, a few wayward spirals escaping. That lovely green dress, silk, off the shoulder, exposing what she knew was an out of fashion body with too much flesh.

      The last thing she expected him to say was, “What rather glorious hair you have, Mary.”

      Her brow rose. “Ah. Well. Thank you, Sir. But my sisters have the beauty, this…” She fluffed her hair, “Has been tamed for the evening, to make it appear at its best. Rather has a resemblance to the dowager Radford’s poodle most of the time.”

      His white teeth flashed between sensual lips, and it did an odd little flutter to Mary’s belly. He murmured, looking at it again, “I must be sobering, for I do recall that the Broomfield beauties are all blond. “

      “And wed. My sisters are blond.” She laughed. “Now, who are you?”

      He frowned as if having to think a moment. Then he lifted his hand, turning more toward her, “Coaldrake, Everyn…um…Hurst.”

      She weeded through that while shaking his hand, assuming he had a title in there somewhere, and summarizing that one of her brothers in law had invited him, likely whilst in London. They did have cronies and men at the clubs they sometimes invited up for the holiday. His hand was warm, rather stronger than she expected, and ungloved.

      Mary released it, after murmuring, “Welcome to Broomfield, Everyn.” She closed her fingers feeling a slight tingle there from the contact. To distract herself, she raised a bit to look below. “The ball is in full swing and will likely go on till dawn. Perhaps you’d like a more comfortable hide away?”

      He stood, grasping the rail to steady himself, and as Mary also did he murmured, “Lead on, just dump me anywhere out of the way and carry on with your…” He looked at her. “What exactly were you doing on the stairs?”

      “Hiding away.” She laughed and instead of leading him down, she took his arm and turned him. “Up here. I’ll get you settled and find that coffee.”

      “I don’t suppose you’d change that to brandy?”

      “I believe you’ve had quite enough spirits. Sorry.” She half led, half carried a man a head taller than herself, up two more flights and to the right, ignoring the fact he pulled his arm free and threw it around her shoulder.

      Mary had some experience with men in their cups, given that she had helped both Ruth and Miriam haul their husbands to bed just this way, of course they’d laughed themselves silly doing it. Nevertheless, she made nothing of Everyn’s leaning on her—despite how surprised she was that he smelled warm and spicy and her mind certainly conscious that he was a handsome devil.

      The small parlor doors were slid back and she led him right in, leaving him to half fall in a chair by the fire. The lamps were lit and snow fell outside the long uncovered windows. The chair was large enough and though the room rarely used, it was comfortable enough and decorated with the same festive flair of the entire house.

      Mary lit the candles on the mantle and murmured, “I’ll be right back, then left him, taking the servants stairs down to collect coffee. The half dozen servants were busy and bustling. They exchanged a quick smile since they were used to seeing Mary in their domain. She filled a silver pot with fresh ground coffee and a container of cream, one of sugar, and taking two cups went back up to the parlor.

      Her guest had made himself comfortable and removed his formal coat, and it appeared he’d added a log to the fire without falling into the hearth.

      She glanced at him as she poured. “Cream?”

      He had been staring into the flames but now glanced at her. “Black.”

      She poured her own and then took him the cup, watching his lean fingers take it, musing that he really was quite foxed as he missed his mouth twice before he finally took a long drink.

      She held her own cup and walked to the window, just to side of him. Savoring several sips, she then peeked aside to find him looking at her.

      “Forget my name again?” she teased.

      “Not at all…Mary.” He raised the cup, downed it and shuddered. Getting up, he poured another, sloshing a bit, but managing to fill it again. Instead of sitting down he walked a bit steadier toward her, and as if his legs were untrustworthy after all, sat down on the window seat to sip.

      “Snow,” he muttered looking out the frosted glass.

      Her lips pulled into a smile. “I believe that is what they call it.”

      Giving another of those white grins, this one lazy, he leaned his head back against the facing, looking up at her. Though given his height and her lack of it, there wasn’t far to look. “So why are you hiding out at your own ball, Mary Broomfield?”

      He’d said it in a whisper as if asking a great secret. She chuckled softly. “Not hiding exactly. But in case you haven’t heard, our family is rather energetic and lively, and I prepare for months so that my father and siblings, their families can have the perfect Christmas week. We’ve always gone all out for the holiday. My mother used to before she died, and well, it’s a very important tradition, as much as it is fun and a bit of foolery for the grown ups. The entire neighborhood looks forward to it.” She shrugged. “Once everything starts, or rather begins nicely, I like to steal away once in awhile and just savor the memories.”

      He blurted as if he had been half listening half thinking, “How old are you?”

      She cocked her brow. “Twenty-six.”

      “Hmm.” He cocked his own brow. “Let me guess. You have a husband who is part giant and five or six children…”

      “Not at all. I’ve never been married.”

      His brow lowered. “Good God…” He appeared as if he would stand.

      She laughed almost reading his mind. “Relax, Sir. I’m not the sort who would trap a man in desperation. I am quite content with my status. And even should someone claim that Mary Broomfield did anything the least bit like that, the entire county would laugh them silent. Your compliment aside, and, since you could not know that my reputation is for being both sensible and intelligent, I can assure you’ve no need to panic.”

      That smile still intact, she mused, “I assume you are one of those hunted London bachelors?”

      He winced. “My apologies.” And relaxed again before muttering, “One grows eyes in the back of their head, you know, even when foxed, during these social gatherings. I think… I started out this rustication at m’cousin Freddy’s house, and once word got out that I was there…” He shuddered, “Barely escaped with my skin.”

      “Freddy. Ah, that would be Lord Fredrick Banning. I see. Yes, well. It may comfort you to know that though my sister’s wed titles, and I care for my brother’s in law, I’m happily ignorant of most of what the ton does, or must do. I believe my sisters were the same, though they move in those circles now and then.

      My father raised us to be rather scandalously independent and sensible, and as he put it. It paid off wonderfully, for his gels since Ruth and Miriam and Margie, all made good matches as well as brought him sons-in-law he could call friends. We’re one of those odd families who got lucky or unlucky as the ton would find it, we live the lives that bring us joy, and our family is close. My sisters wed for love, as father did, and they got wealth and titles by sheer accident.”

      “Amazingly rare.” He smiled shortly and took another sip of his coffee after raising his cup to her. Following a swallow, he muttered, “Unheard of in my circles.”

      She watched the candlelight play on his raven hair. Despite the muss, it shone a blue black and lay well past his collar. His silvery eyes peeked up through those dark rimmed lashes and Mary looked away.

      “You do not spend Christmas with your family?”

      He snorted. “No. Though my poor blighted father must. Between the dozens of aunts and uncles, the cousins and ne’er-do-wells he supports, as well as the handling their petty jalousies and problems, I do all in my power to make myself scarce this time of year.”

      “Except for Cousin Freddy?”

      “Ah. Yes. I unfortunately had to stop there on some errand for father. ‘Was the least that I could do, considering the old man is likely hiding away himself at this moment. The relatives descend you know, much like vultures this time of year, at m'father’s estate, and the servants liken it to a plague of locusts and…” He waved his hand and grunted. “Suffice it to say, that Christmas, like any other holiday, is one we both dread.”

      “What a shame.”

      He looked at her. “Family duty and all that. Can’t get rid of the relatives, they keep breeding too. Each batch more eccentric and demanding and…”

      “I meant that you don’t enjoy the holiday.”

      He laughed. “Dear girl, a man of my station and age enjoys very little aside from...” He seemed to gather his wits and chuckled. “Never mind.”

      “I can guess.” She reached for his empty cup and took it with her own, to the table she’d set the tray on. Mary guessed also that he was thirty-three or four, certainly no more than that. “Will you have more?”

      He had stood, and unlatched the window, poked his head out to look at the snow—or to clear his head. He re-latched it and turned to answer, “No. thank you.”

      She put the cups down and they stood there a moment, Mary was very much aware that he was still less than sober. Although she was also human enough, despite her status of old maidship, to be attracted. There wasn’t a lot there, aside from jaded cynicism, a man of vice and—the opposite sort of thing she expected to be attracted to.

      Still, she really could not help it, there was something amusing and alive beneath all that, and for the time being at least, she savored the warmness she felt standing there.

      “I should be off.” He seemed to snap out of some muse, and headed to the chair, slipping on his coat.

      “Have you consumed anything today besides drink?”

      “I believe I did.” He grinned at her, fumbling with the neck cloth and giving up then stuffing it in his pocket. “Breakfast or lunch, to be sure.”

      She shook her head. “Where are you staying?”

      He raked a hand through his hair. “The closest inn?”

      “All filled, I’m afraid.” She shook her head, and then shrugged, “You are welcome here, for however long. And certainly you are welcome to either join in the festivities or amuse yourself.” She looked around. “You’ll at least take supper? We had so much left over and…”

      He was looking at her oddly as Mary met his eye, which caused her to fall silent. But hand upon the chair back, he actually teased, “I sense you are concerned on my behalf, Mary Broomfield. Don’t be. No likely tales will emerge of strangers wondering about in the snow and starving. I have my coach, and there is always cousin Freddy…”

      She raised both brows. “As you will. Although I was just going to steal a tart or two myself.”

      He grinned shaking his head. “You would temp a man with tarts? For shame, Mary.”

      Laughing she turned and waved him along. “Come, Sir. We’ll slip down the back stairs, stuff a napkin full before cook notices, and...”

      He was following her, laughing, and chuckling more as they headed down the hall and descended dark stairs, that were scarcely wide enough for two people.

      Mary put a hand out to stop him, just at the bottom. She winked and pointed to the archway to the kitchens. The scent and warmth, the noise of the servants, could be heard.

      She pointed opposite, to another arch, which he would have to duck under, which led to a higher ceiling brick chamber, sometimes used for extra pantry space.

      He headed that way and Mary went into the kitchens. She loaded a tray of more than tarts, a jug of milk, ham and bread, cheese and what not, then wrinkled her nose at the servants raised brow smiles and left to join her conspirator.

      He’d made himself at home; even lit a couple of thick tallow’s sitting on a crude table. She set the tray down, placed the jug beside it and pulled out the hewn stool as he took the other. “Help yourself.”

      He did, managing to consume most of the food while looking around the chamber and while Mary ate a few tarts. There wasn’t much but shelves filled with foodstuffs and on the floor against them, items such as grinders and kitchen tools.

      He fished around for a handkerchief and wiped his mouth, finally looking at her. “You’re an odd one, Mary.”

      “So they say.” She ran her tongue over her teeth and smiled.

      His silver eyes observed both actions. “I don’t believe I’ve ever dined in a kitchen pantry before.”

      “It shall be a cherished memory then.” Her laughter sounded softly.

      “Um.” He rested his elbows on the table. “Wouldn’t you rather be with your family?”

      “I am with them. I mean, I know they are enjoying themselves. I shall see and be with them all week.”

      She shrugged. “We’re close, but no one goes into a dither if I wonder off. They’re likely assuming I’m either in the kitchens, helping cook or up in my chambers, reading. One year I found the butler had slid on the icy steps and turned his foot. I actually donned his coat and manned the door the rest of the evening.”

      He laughed. “Why do I believe that?”

      She pursed her lips. “I believe it was last Easter holiday, could have been, that I left in the middle of a hand of whist to go for a ride, the urge hit me just like that.” She snapped her fingers

      “Now you are stringing me down the trail.”

      She tilted her head slightly. “I might be. But actually, my siblings quite shine and know well how to enjoy themselves and entertain. I do join in, and enjoy myself. But it is a rare thing to have a stranger, a rather foxed, though entertaining stranger, wonder in during a holiday ball. While I’m quite sure my brothers in law, likely my sisters, would know exactly who you are, I’m finding not knowing much more enjoyable.”

      “Did I not introduce myself?”

      “After a fashion.” She shook her head when he opened his mouth. “No, really. Don’t spoil it.”

      “What?” He laughed perplexed.

      She shrugged again.

      He was smiling but his gaze moved over her torso and face, lingering on her eyes. “I see.”

      Mary had to look away, and she did by gazing around the chamber as if thinking. He had the most compelling eyes. “So, I’ll have Dinah prepare you a room, at least for the night?”

      “It would be rude of me to decline.”

      “Yes. It would.”

      He laughed a deep and soft sound.

      Mary’s gaze was drawn to it, that mouth and smile before she flickered her glance up to meet his. “Are you ready to retire?”

      “Not at all. I’m much too curious now.”

      She excused herself before she asked about what, and found the maid Dinah loading a wheeled cart with more champagne. After informing her of another guest, she went back to the chamber and told him, “Second floor, and the end of the hall by the bathing rooms. You wouldn’t happen to have luggage?”

      He nodded and stood. “My coach is…”

      She cut him off, “I’ll instruct the footmen, they’ll find the driver and coach and have everything settled. Trust me, they are experts at last minute guests and sorting out coaches and baggage.”

      She left him once more, and returned to find him standing just in the kitchen entryway, gaining interesting looks from the cooks and help, as he watched their bustling around the long and airy room.

      Standing before him, she said over the noise, “You look as if you’ve never seen servants at work.”

      “I haven’t, at least not in the kitchens. Makes me feel even more pity for my father’s staff.” His glance flickered to hers, holding amusement and some abashment. “His estate and our relatives no doubt quadruple the size of this house and number of your family.”

      She got the idea and believe it, that he was one of those people cursed rather than blessed with family. She had observed such all of her life, and she suspected it was why everyone in the country found it so amazing they actually were excited when the Broomfield’s gathered together, it was rare indeed for families to get along, and rarer still to find ones that planned holiday gatherings with such enthusiasm.

      “Would you like to see father’s library?”

      He pulled away from the entry but shot her a look as they walked. “No, actually.”

      Going back up the servant’s stairs she awaited until the reached the second floor hall. Mary pointed out a doorway, down near the bathing area, where two of the footmen were carrying in carpetbags. “That will be your room.”

      He didn’t head that way but stepped look down at the lower foyer. She joined him, watching him examine the swags and decorations, the tapers lit and glinting on the red bows. The orchestra had stopped for a moment and Mary could hear the lovely sound of the piano.

      “That would be Miriam. My sister.”

      He tilted his head, listening. “She’s genuinely good.”

      Mary laughed at his shock. “Um. Our mother was a celebrated pianist.”

      He nodded his glance on her smile again. “Do you play?”

      “Only for my own amusement, and for father sometimes. I’m adequate at best.”

      He turned his hands on the balcony rail at his sides, but his gaze still on her.

      “What?” she asked at his long silent look.

      His brow twitched upwards. “Were I still foxed, I would doubt what I am hearing, Mary Broomfield. No boasting of your talents, no vanity when you obviously should have at least a bit of it? And no aspirations to snag a title, a fortune, happily ignorant I believe you said, of what society expects of women. I am in doubt of my metal faculties, because your sort does not exist. The female by her very nature is predatory.”

      Mary’s lips parted even as she rolled her eyes. “What rubbish. Perhaps in your society they are, but in my family at least, that’s complete nonsense. And I beg your pardon, but it sounds so very conceited coming from a man.”

      “It does.” He agreed. “By among the titled…”

      “Ah well. I will not defend that archaic mind set. But don’t confuse me with those of my sex who actually deserve that sort of label. It exists, I won’t deny. But I wasn’t raised that way. My father wouldn’t tolerate it. He respected my mother and thus respected his daughters enough to treat them better, and to raise them without superficial nonsense. My siblings and their children cannot deny their beauty, but they have more substance than that.”

      “I can see that.”

      She found her smile again. “Now who is leading who down the trail?”

      “I was serious.” He claimed smiling too. “But now I shall add spirit and sense to that list of virtues.”

      “I’ll let you by with mocking me,” she countered, “Since I’m enjoying that look of confusion on your face.”

      He laughed quietly, his gaze holding hers. “Careful, Mary Broomfield. I’m neither known for being easily amused, nor entertained. In fact I’m rather jaded, grim, and have been noted for growling in my cups.”

      “How fierce. Well, I don’t know you a’ tall. We’re complete strangers, so there you go. I don’t know any better and shall take your smiles and laughter as a natural part of your character.”

      He really laughed at that. And when it faded he murmured, “I would be stranger to myself as well, were such a thing true.”

      Mary filed that bit away in her brain and replied lightly, “We are even then, for I am not as virtuous as practical, and while I enjoy most things, I have a list of faults, even vices...”

      “No.” He feigned shock.

      “Ohhh yes.” She in turn feigned soberness. “A penchant for Sherry, I’m afraid, got completely foxed on my twentieth birthdate. And then, there is gambling, neither of my brothers in law will play against me.” She folded her arms and leaned toward him whispering, “Ruth and I once stole a nude statue…male… from Lady Venderlin’s garden and shall we say, enhanced it… before putting it back.”

      His hand went over his mouth, eyes large as if in shock.

      Mary made a face, “Of course father knew who’d done it. He warmed our backside, and then let our art instructor go.”

      Everyn gave up and laughed outright.

      She smiled and added, “We felt horribly guilty, since it actually wasn’t his fault we um….”

      “Um?”

      She flushed finally and waved her hand. “Never mind.”

      “I wouldn’t dream of stopping you now.” He waited for the answer.

      Mary sighed. She’d walked right into that wishing to make him smile, longing for some reason to amuse the jaded man. “Very well. I confess. We found a scandalous book at the Oxley Inn. Ruth found it actually, piled in the rubbish heap. “

      “Scandalous.”

      “Yes.” She agreed.  “But we only thought ourselves clever and knowing, until they all wed, and my brother in laws came into the family. It seems they were quite worldly and jaded…until they wed my sisters. Amazing really, how they are unashamedly in love with them. But they do so like to tease me, since Ruth shared that little fiasco with her husband. Dudley is the worst.”

      “Lord Edstrom?”

      “Yes.”

      He smiled slightly. “You are right, he was a rakehell.”

      “I never doubted it. It quite excites Miriam for some reason.”

      “I can imagine why.”

      Feeling as if she were getting into deep waters, also seeing something in the dip of his lashes, Mary pushed away from the rail. “Shall we take up our spot on the stairs?”

      Surprisingly he nodded, and they went down to plant themselves on the second story landing. The music drifted up, the laughter and occasionally a guest or two came through the door and headed for the rooms set up for refreshing themselves.

      Because they were out of the glow of the amber lights in the hall, they were no more than shadows on the wide stairs.

      Mary had her elbows on her knees, her chin in her hand as she watched the flicker from the lights on the stairs and railing. Still aware of him beside her, his one foot planted on the closest stair, the other below that as he leaned back on his elbow apparently relaxed.

      She could feel now then that he looked at her, and she wondered that any man so handsome and so obviously sought after would. In truth Mary wondered that a man like him was sitting on the stairs with her, during a ball, and she had a feeling that she’d convince herself she’d imagined it all.

      “What is that?”

      She looked over her shoulder at him, then up to where he pointed. “It’s mistletoe.”

      He squinted. “Are you sure.”

      She nudged him with her elbow. “Of course I am. I made it myself with wax and wire. See the berries? And… are you making fun of my very real looking mistletoe, Sir?”

      Those white teeth flashed. “Not at all. It’s rather dark here.”

      Snorting she returned, “You were making fun.” She looked up at it. “It’s one of my talents. I take it very seriously,” she teased.

      “Um.”

      At that, she glanced at him.

      He was looking steady at her. “Why did you hang it here? I thought it dangled over thresholds or something of that sort.”

      “It does. It can. But…” she told him about her mother hanging it, and why. And that her sisters and their husbands kissed under it.

      “And you? How many kisses did the creator of that very real, very like genuine mistletoe, get under it?”

      “Not a one.” She replied laughing. “Unless, you count pecks on the cheek. Those I get, from my family, and papa.”

      He straitened still regarding her as he said low and soft, “That’s not right. It’s a travesty in fact.”

      She chuckled. “Is it?”

      “Absolutely. I’m quite sure of it.”

      Mary could see it coming, but hung somewhere between disbelief that he might kiss her, and amazement that she wanted him to. Her smile melted under such a surprise and her gaze went from his mouth to those silvery eyes as she husked, “You really do...mmm.”

      His hand had cupped the back of her head and he pulled her to him the same moment he leaned, and then…his lips, his warm and velvet lips were on hers. Those butterflies in her stomach fluttered up to her head, and her hand reached out blindly to grasp his jacket at the side.

      Everyn was moving his head, the kiss soft for awhile, and then he opened his mouth and his silken tongue slid inside.

      Mary moaned and though her sisters had told her everything about male and female intimacies, nothing at all came to mind as she felt that tongue lift hers, slide over it. He was moving his head, slanting it in the most erotic way.

      Breath hot and choppy her lashes fluttered down. Mary returned the caress with her own tongue and the instant she did, everything changed. He turned more toward her, his hand under her hair, thumb near her ear, and was leaning her back, back on the landing, leaning over her.

      This shift was nonessential compared to the kissing, the things he was doing, and the flavor, the soft warm silk of that rolling tongue against hers.

      He elevated his head an inch, just so their wet mouths were blowing soft against each other. Mary’s lashes lifted just the slightest. She felt heavy yet light, tingling all over. His lashes too were only slightly parted as he touched their lips, two, three, four times together, and an intimate sound rose from it.

      The music from below, the guest, the day, everything faded. His head descended and he kissed her again. With each slant and movement the kiss became more firm, deeper, so she trembled all over from a sudden fire in her blood.

      That thumb near her ear was warm, as were the fingers threaded under her hair. Mary was scarcely aware of raising her other hand to his own nape, despite the sound he made in her mouth. The kissing was intoxicating, sexual, intimate and going on and on and on, until he raised an inch, this time breathing uneven.

      “You’re trembling, Mary.”

      Very much aware that her whole body was shaking, she lifted her lashes to reveal shimmering hazel eyes and whispered, “I am sorry. I can’t seem to help it. It’s more intoxicating than sherry.” 

      His elbow was resting down, and he moved his hand from her nape, down her arm, under it, and from her side to her hip. Without taking those silver eyes off her he murmured, “Your lips are so incredibly soft and inside your mouth is hot and silken. You are a surprise, Mary Broomfield. I don’t think I have ever tasted anything that made me crave more and more.”

      With that he kissed her again, his lips and tongue working erotic magic while his hand flexed on her generous hip. Mary’s hold moved too, until both hands were at his sinewy nape. She was feeling the movements of his head and the sensual movement of his jaw from his kissing her.

      His scent was wonderful, his body strong and lean and his hair silken. The overall assault on her senses completely robbed her of caution, and for more time than she could have believed they kissed and kissed.

      It changed to his occasional nip at her lower lip, and at times he withdrew his tongue. And Mary was such an adept learner that she responded in like manner, worrying his mouth, raking her teeth over his lip, and since she too craved more of his flavor, it increased the fire in her body—until she became aware that her sex was damp, aching in a extraordinary way.

      She turned her head to the side, caught a gasp of air, and then shifted her legs.

      Everyn had risen slightly, watching her, and when she turned to glance at him through that foggy haze of arousal, it was to find a similar expression in on his face.

      Then, for a moment he stilled, and bore his weight on his elbow, bringing his hand up so that his finger trailed over her moist lower lip. Those silver eyes held hers as he whispered, “This is where you call a halt to things, Mary Broomfield.” That finger traced her top lip and then rested at the corner. “And this is why a man such as I, does not kiss innocent, unmarried, females.”

      “Why?” She wet her lips, already knowing the answer but enthralled by his gaze, his voice, his expression.

      Everyn held her gaze as he blindly reached up and took her hand, sliding it down. He allowed it to rest on his chest where she could feel the inflexible beat of his heart. Then lower, until it covered the hot length of his sex, very evident in his black trousers. When he released her hand Mary swallowed thickly.

      “You’re trembling arouses me too, Mary Broomfield.” He laid a hand on her white shoulder. “It should be from virginal fear, but I know it is not.”

      Mary finally found her voice, “It was my first kiss, first kisses rather. I haven’t had enough experience to master control.” She cleared her throat and attempted a smile. “Would you like me to slap your face and pretend to be offended?”

      He smiled, too, though strained, and reached to let one of her long spiraled curls filter between two fingers. “What is it about you? I have been looking at you since we met, and I cannot describe in my own mind what this beauty is? Now that I’ve kissed you, hoping, expecting some awkward and tasteless exchange, I instead find myself deeper drawn and more perplexed… You are a witch, Mary Broomfield.”

      She snorted, but grinned, sensing in the both of them a tightly held current of explosive electricity. It hummed and throbbed under this benign conversation. “I was thinking the same about you. Not the looks, they are obviously attractive, and well, the voice; there is your scent which is quite heady—but that kiss and how you do it. I would wager you have a happy mistress.”

      He shook his head laughing. “That is not a virginal thing to say.”

      “I don’t feel virginal, if there is such a thing as feeling it. It is simply a fact as a result of the lack of males in my life, or should I say, lack of suitors. It isn’t some shield with a V emblazoned on it. I did not even think of that while we kissed, aside from a kind of wondrous surprise despite what my sister’s talked about.”

      “Tell you things, do they?”

      “Most things.” She felt him touching her hair. “I’m informed about most adult relations—but that’s nether here nor there, since I’m the one feeling it.”

      “God.” He paused and looked at her. “You are too temping. I had no plans for this, in any manner, with any woman not my mistress. I have never been so tempted to…”

      “That makes two of us.” She got to her elbows and set up as he sat again at her side. She smoothed her hair back though it was less tame than before. The hall clock gonged loudly and she glanced aside to find him sitting with his elbows on his knees, his hands combing through his hair.

      He dropped his hands, turned his head to meet her stare. “I could use a drink, and a cheroot.” He grasped the railing and stood.

      She stood more slowly. “They’ll be in your rooms.”

      Everyn nodded distractedly. “Perhaps you shou—”

      “Yes,” she cut him off. “I think I shall go and join the family for a bit. Feel free to use any of the rooms, there are two libraries and well, men seem to know where to find them, don’t they.” She headed down the stairs, hearing his tread as he went up.