Merry Misrule - St. Clair, Ellie Page 0,1
open and stepped through, finding the room inviting with its warm fire blazing, the steady, solid bookshelves stacked from floor to ceiling, filled with the finest of tomes. She longed for a library like this, one which required a ladder to reach to the very highest shelf.
But at the moment, she was just lucky to be able to make it to the circulation library and borrow a single title.
The room was the same. Everything in the house was the same, it seemed, except her. She was the one who had changed. She sighed and turned to leave the room, but upon reaching the doorway, she came to an abrupt halt.
For there, blocking her exit, was the very man she was attempting to escape.
“Well, well, what — or should I say who — do we have here?”
Eli wasn’t entirely sure who this woman was, but his sister had only a few close friends and was not prone to making new ones. He had seen Caroline conversing with her, and was instantly captivated by the woman, her striking features catching his eye from where he sat scanning the room from his corner.
He was attempting nonchalance, but the truth was, he felt much safer in the corner — where he could pretend to be the man he once was and not who he had become.
He had left England as Elijah Kentmore, charmer, schemer, practical joker.
The war had turned him into someone else entirely — someone, he was sure, this room of revelers were not yet ready to meet.
He found drinking a few cups of his father’s fine port helped bring back his former self, removing the layers that had been added through his years at war.
He hadn’t tried using women yet to do so, but he figured this one would do as good as any for experimentation.
She, however, did not seem entirely convinced.
“Did you follow me?” she asked, her green eyes turning stormy, but he enjoyed the fire emanating from them, even if it was an angry fire and not an amorous one.
“Would you like me to say yes?” he asked, flashing her a grin, but she was unmoved.
“I’d rather you didn’t,” she said, her mouth set into a grim line — a mouth of pretty pink lips that he would love to taste.
“Do you know where you’re standing?” He quirked an eyebrow, a look that always worked with women — but it seemed this one was immune to his charms.
“In the doorway of the library,” she said, unimpressed.
“And underneath the mistletoe.”
“I am not,” she said stonily, but then, after twitching a couple of times as she seemed to attempt to rein in control, she couldn’t help herself. She looked up.
If her countenance could have grown grimmer, then it did.
She crossed her arms over her chest, squeezing the bodice of her gown — and her perfectly formed breasts — closer together.
Eli tried not to look. But he wasn’t that good of a man.
His head dropped. So did her lips.
He had never seen a frown so somber, and he yearned to turn it upside down.
He leaned in closer to her. She leaned back. He stepped inside the door. She stepped back.
“It doesn’t seem as if we are standing under the mistletoe any longer,” she said. “And in fact, it could be argued that it was you who was doing so — not I. Now if you’ll excuse me—”
“Who are you?” He couldn’t help himself. He needed to know.
She stared up at him, her brows lifting and her eyes widening before she peered closer at his face, pausing for a beat. “You’re serious.”
“How could such a question be asked in jest?”
Her lips parted in surprise. “You don’t know who I am.”
Why did she say it like a statement instead of a question? He searched her face. Should he know her? He supposed there was something familiar about her — but he couldn’t quite place her.
“Err—”
“Unbelievable.” She snorted, shaking her head.
“My apologies,” he said, doing his best to show how contrite he really was, “but since this is a new acquaintance for one of us, perhaps we should start off on a right note.”
He picked up her gloved hand, raising it, pressing his lips to it before she wrenched it away.
“Lord Elijah Kentmore.”
“I don’t think—”
He swiftly stepped toward her, wrapping an arm around her back and dipping his head to kiss her before she could protest any further — they were below the mistletoe, after all — but before his lips touched hers, she ducked underneath