Page 23 of The Secret Suitor

“Gather ‘round if you care to join!” Lady Dalmeer said. “We are going to play Steal the White Loaf. Only, the item you must all pilfer without my notice is…” She lifted a sprig of greenery into the air, her eyes bright with mischief. “Mistletoe!”

Good gads. It was time for Wesley to make a hasty retreat. Unless…well, he could not very well abandon his sister in this scenario, could he? Who knew what blackguard would hope to take advantage of the game.

“Shall we play?” Oliver asked, arms folded across his chest. They had each drunk a cup of tea and lost Nell to the sweeping nature of such a large gathering.

Millie stood beside her cousin, lips puckered in thought. “I would rather not. Lady Dalmeer has surely had this planned from the beginning, and I fear what she has in store for us.”

“Personally, I am not opposed to kissing a few women.” Oliver shot Wesley a wink he could not quite interpret.

“What makes you believe there is going to be kissing?” Millie asked, her cheeks turning a soft shade of pink.

“The woman held up mistletoe,” Oliver deadpanned.

Millie gave him a searching look, and Wesley watched the interaction. Hadn’t Oliver been known as a sort of flirt? He’d thought the man enjoyed kissing women when he could.

The group fanned out in a half-circle behind Lady Dalmeer, who stood with her back to the room, the mistletoe sprig sitting on the carpet just behind her.

Wesley remained on the edge of the crowd, beside Millie, as people tried to sneak forward and be the one to snatch the sprig from the rug. Time and again, they were caught. Two people were required to act out an animal of their choosing until it was guessed. One man had to answer three questions honestly. Mr. Stroud was caught and told to recite a poem.

“That will be difficult,” Millie whispered, leaning close enough that her sleeve brushed Wesley’s arm. “The man has never met with a poem he liked.”

Wesley glanced down at the offending fabric, hoping to identify what about it made his skin tingle.

Mr. Stroud stuttered. “I’m—I am not sure I know…may I read one?”

“Do you not know ‘Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star’, man?” someone called from the back of the room to the accompaniment of laughter.

“I do.” Mr. Stroud cleared his throat and recited the first part of the children’s poem, his face deeply red and his voice monotone.

Wesley felt for the gentleman. It was a forfeit designed to embarrass him, but judging by the confusion on Lady Dalmeer’s face, she had not known that.

The game continued, people creeping forward and growing still as statues the moment the countess turned her eyes on them. Wesley took a step as she began to turn and dropped his foot at once, nearly causing Millie to collide with him, but she caught herself in time.

Miss Stroud was not as fortunate.

“You’ve been caught, Miss Stroud!” Lady Dalmeer said, an impish gleam in her eye.

Miss Stroud giggled, making the feather in her golden hair dance. “What is my punishment?”

“It will be no punishment, I can assure you of that.” Lady Dalmeer looked about the room, then settled her attention on Miss Stroud again. “You must find the man who has caught your eye and present him with a token.”

A murmur flitted through the gathering.

Miss Stroud did not need to search the room. Her attention turned at once to where Wesley stood, her gaze narrowing in on him like a predator. She smoothed one gloved hand over her intricate coiffure, then crossed the room with purpose.

Wesley watched her approach with trepidation. Selecting him to be the recipient of her token was not ideal, but he could not rebuff her in front of all these people. In no way did Wesley want to embarrass the woman. She had been nothing but polite to him. Her dinner conversation had been entirely pleasant for the last three evenings.

But Wesley was not at the house party for a liaison, and the woman was certainly hoping he felt something for her when he could not—or perhaps she was merely trying to state her interest now.

Good grief, but this was vastly uncomfortable.

Miss Stroud held out her gloved hand as though she expected him to kiss her knuckles. Wesley hesitated, unsure of her intentions.

“Mr. Prescott, I would like to bestow a token on you, but I have nothing with which I may part. The only thing I can leave you…” She gave her hand a small shake and waited until he took it in his. “The only thing I can leave you with is a kiss.”

A murmur swept over the gathering. All eyes were on them, making Wesley’s neck flush. He had kissed his small share of women—he’d gone to university, after all. But never in front of a crowd, and never without his express desire and, quite importantly, never without mutual consent.

Miss Stroud’s blue eyes sparkled. She stepped forward, and he opened his mouth to protest, searching for the words to slow her advance, when she veered to the side and briefly pressed her lips to his cheek.