Free The Earl’s Mistletoe Bride by JOANNA MAITLAND

us?’
    Now, why…? Oh, yes, of course. The ladies would remove their gloves at the dinner table. Stupid of him. His wits had gone a-begging. He was not helping Beth at all. He smiled his agreement to the old lady and set about restoring poor Beth’s peace of mind.
    He joined her on the sofa. ‘You seem incredibly busy, ma’am.’ He gestured towards the pieces of card spread across the table. ‘Is this for my party, too?’ He picked one up. The name ‘Sir Bertram Fitzherbert’ was written in a very elegant hand.
    ‘Place cards for your dinner table, my lord. We remembered them only this morning.’
    ‘Ah, yes. Yet another of the hostess’s duties. I had not realised quite how many burdens I was putting on Mrs Aubrey’s shoulders when I asked her to take this on.’ He glanced across at the old lady who was standing in the open doorway, giving instructions to her maid. ‘It must be much more difficult for a hostess who does not actually live in the house.’
    Beth shook her head. ‘It could be, but your butler is extremely competent. And we had weeks to prepare while you were away…’ Her voice tailed off. She threw him an enigmatic sideways glance and then quickly looked away.
    Was that an accusation? That he had decreed this grand party and then fled the field? If only she knew! Those three weeks at King’s Portbury had been more dangerous than any battlefield. If he had not been awake to the matchmakers’ scheming, he might have found himself forcibly leg-shackled to a chit he could not abide. Fratcombe was a peaceful refuge by comparison. Here he could relax and be himself. Here, no one was scheming.
    Except himself, of course!
    He laughed aloud at that subversive thought.
    ‘My lord?’ She sounded hurt. She still did not know him well enough to realise he would never laugh at her.
    ‘Forgive me, ma’am.’ On impulse, he reached out to cover her ink-stained fingers with his own and patted her hand reassuringly. She froze instantly. Good God, what was he doing? He drew in a quick, horrified breath, but forced himself to give her one last friendly pat before nonchalantly dropping his hand back into his lap, as if he had done nothing in the least improper. ‘I was laughing at the picture you painted…of myself.’ He grinned down at her. ‘Far too top-lofty to involve myself in anything as mundane as work . And absconding from the scene to ensure I could not be called to account. Very remiss, I agree.’
    ‘Oh, no!’ She was blushing now. The tints of roseon her cheeks merely served to highlight her perfect complexion. There was colour on her neck, too, though it was partly hidden behind her high collar. Under her muslins, he had no doubt that even her bosom was delicately pink and—
    She pulled another card towards her and busied herself with carefully writing the name. Just as well that she was not looking at Jon. She might be a single lady, but she was almost certainly old enough to recognise sensual awareness in a man’s face. He had no right to allow himself to stray into such thoughts. She was a nobody, a protégée at most. It was beneath his dignity to dally with her.
    ‘Oh, bl—!’ Her nib had broken and blotted the card. ‘Bother!’ she corrected herself quickly. When he did not react, she threw him a mischievous look. Unlike the simpering debutantes, she was sensible enough to realise that his touch had been a mistake. And to be forgotten at once. Yes, sensible, but delightful company, too, as he had learned since his return. Her eyes were now dancing with mischief. ‘You will permit me to observe, my lord, that your supervision of my work is not helping.’
    Excellent. She was back to her normal quick-witted self. Easy with him, and more than ready to take him to task. He much preferred her that way.
    He allowed himself a sheepish grin. ‘I will take myself further off at once, ma’am.’ He rose and crossed the room to Mrs Aubrey’s side. ‘It is clear that Miss Aubrey