Mistletoe and Mayhem - Cheryl Bolen Page 0,264

at Christmas to thank her for supporting Wister.

But I still need to know where Wister is.

“Oh dear. That doesn’t sound good. I am not sure if I want to ask what you might have done to upset Miss York,” replied Deri.

They headed into the house and upstairs to the comfort of the cozy drawing room. Rhys said nothing as Deri’s discerning gaze took in the tattered curtains and faded sofas. At least the place was clean, and considering the state of the estate coffers, it was about all anyone could expect.

“You really are going to have to spend some money on this place if you decide to keep it. But enough of that. What did you do to make the delightful Miss York disappear?”

Rhys hesitated for a moment before replying, “Wister cut my hair last night, and then things got out of hand.”

A raised eyebrow greeted his words. “Wister? What happened to Miss York?”

He steeled himself for a well-deserved lecture on the perils of getting too familiar with servants. A lecture he could have done with a few days ago, before he crossed those fateful, invisible lines. “I engaged her as an advisor. And we have been working closely together. And we became friendly. And…I kissed her.”

Deri fell silent for a moment, for which Rhys was most grateful. Though when Deri shrugged out of his coat and put a hand on his shoulder, Rhys noted a perceptible change in the mood of the room.

“You really do have a particular gift for being able to stuff things up when it comes to women. But…I shall leave it up to you to untangle that particular mess. Now what about that brandy, because you might need a stiff drink when I tell you what I discovered about your Miss York when I was in London,” said Deri.

Rhys shook his head. “Brandy, yes. Sorry, no.” He hadn’t had time to go looking in the cellars this morning.

Deri sighed. “I thought that might be the case, so I topped up the whisky before I left town. We have to celebrate my betrothal with something.”

Rhys wrapped his cousin up in a huge hug. “This is wonderful news. I am so happy for you, and I can’t wait to meet your fiancée. Sophie sounds perfect.”

“She is. I can’t wait to make her my wife. I am going to continue on home to Wales in the next day. I have to tell everyone at Ruthin Castle of my betrothal. After that I will probably head back to London for Christmas. Sorry, old chap, but I will have to stand you up for our orphans’ Christmas Eve supper.”

He fished around in his coat pocket and withdrew a hip flask. After pouring each of them a small dram of whisky, Deri made himself comfortable on one of the green floral monstrosities which sat in the middle of the room. His long legs were stretched out before him, his arm slung lazily over the low back of the sofa.

Rhys took a seat on the other ugly sofa, his whisky glass resting in the palm of his hand. He was excited over Deri’s news, but he also was desperate to hear what he had discovered about Wister. “If I promise that you and I will have a slap-up drunken night to celebrate your betrothal, will you tell me what you know of Wister?” he said.

Deri downed his drink and righted himself, setting the glass on the floor. “Of course, but it had better be a messy drinking session, and I expect as my best man that you will also ensure that my stag party is the stuff of legend.”

Rhys held out his hand and they shook on it. “I swear that when I am done with you, you won’t look at a bottle of whisky for a very long time.”

“Excellent. Well…I happened to mention Miss York to my mother. Wister is an unusual name, so it was not a surprise that Mama knew of her,” said Deri.

“Go on.”

“Long story short. Miss York came to Kington House some three years ago to be a lady’s companion to Lady Kington. After Lady Kington died, Lord Kington kept her on to manage the estate,” said Deri.

Rhys nodded. Wister had told him all of this already. “I am aware,” he replied.

“Ah, but what you don’t know is why your Wister is still here,” said Deri.

She wasn’t his Wister, though he was well past wishing she was. The memory of touching her, that soft skin…I am in