Mistletoe and Mayhem - Cheryl Bolen Page 0,91

a hug.

Fitz watched them, balking.

“Damn it,” George whispered. “I’ll haul you over and tie you to the chair myself.”

His brother pinned him with a glare. “You’ll pay for this.”

“I’ve had a look at your books. I fear we’ll all pay, and we might as well start facing up to it.”

Mary gave him her hand and chattered to him all the way up the stairs.

“He’s returned,” Willa said, entering Sophie’s bedchamber with the freshly pressed crimson gown.

“He who?”

“Well, the both of them, Mr. Lovelace and Lord Loughton. Did you rest at all, Sophie?”

After her interview with Lady Loughton, she’d spent the day outside with the children, where their equally matched teams of males and females had battled with snowballs, then returned to her bedchamber with the hope of a nap. “No. I finished the embroidery on the handkerchiefs.”

Willa clucked her tongue. “I would’ve done it while you’re having your dinner. I’ve already eaten with the cook. Had a bit of gossip as well. His lordship was in with her ladyship for a godawful time. Two pots of coffee. Raised voices, they say. Hers or his, they didn’t say.” She picked up the stays and smoothed a hand over them. “Only reason he came home was he thought she’d taken ill. Shall we start with the dressing now? I’ve something new in mind for your hair.”

Taken ill?

George had lied to his brother, tempting fate with a claim of illness…or…Lady Loughton had allowed him to offer the lie. Oh, how horrid for her, knowing Fitz wouldn’t return at a mere motherly request.

“All right,” she said. “Have at it. But nothing too complicated I hope.”

“You’ve plans to corner his lordship, I’ll warrant. Let’s give you something to catch his eye.”

“I’m not trying to catch—oh never mind.” She surrendered and handed over her hair brush.

All of the children joined them at table for the boisterous Christmas Eve Dinner, even Fitz’s daughter, Mary, seated at her Papa’s left hand, next to Charlotte, and across from Mr. Cartwright at Lord Loughton’s right.

Thankful to be seated further down, Sophie had been placed next to George, the two of them flanked by her boys. Despite the day’s travel, George had turned out impeccably groomed and attired. Her hand itched to touch his freshly shaved jaw.

Across the table, Edward picked a bit of dough from his bread, rubbing it into a ball, a sly smile growing until he glanced George’s way and popped the morsel into his mouth.

“A formal dinner with so many children,” Sophie murmured. “Your mother is very brave.”

“You have no idea,” he said.

Actually, she had a very clear idea of Lady Loughton’s strength of character.

“Thank you for bringing him back,” she said.

She’d hoped to speak to George before dinner, but he’d arrived just in time to escort her in.

“I thought it best I make the journey instead of you. You said you’re not much of a rider.” His gaze swept over her in a trail of heat ending at her bosom. “You look stunning in red.”

“Your mother has been loaning me these magnificent gowns.” She picked up her wineglass and choked on a sip, suspicion kindling.

Could Lady Loughton be matchmaking? And if so, who did she mean as a match for Sophie?

“But you’re wearing a ribbon again. Where is the garnet cross you were wearing the night I arrived?”

Heat raced into her cheeks. The whereabouts of the cross was none of his business. As for the ribbon…

She touched a hand to her neck. “This serves better to cover…a bruise here.”

George had the cheek to smile, the bounder.

She hadn’t come to Loughton Manor for matchmaking, or to celebrate the Yuletide, nor even to seek a position as a chaperone. She’d come to confront Fitz.

“He’s avoiding my eye, I believe,” she murmured again.

“No doubt. We’ll corner him after he lights the Yule log.”

She blinked back sudden moisture. He still proposed to help her.

Under the table, he squeezed her hand and held on, sending her heart soaring.

“If need be, we’ll bring Mother into it. And then you and I must speak. There’s something I would discuss with you.”

“What?”

His smile drained all the joy from her, and she shook her head. “No. I cannot.”

One dark eyebrow shot up. “Would you be like Fitz and not even hear me out?” Dropping her hand, he turned to respond to a comment from Artie.

How was she to sit through a boisterous meal, the parlor festivities, the discussion with Fitz and then an indecent proposal?

George’s elbow brushed hers and he winked.

“Fustian,” she hissed, reminding herself