Merry Misrule - St. Clair, Ellie Page 0,27

sleigh. She waved back to the two of them before the sleigh passed, and Elijah suddenly stood, calling out to the footman driving theirs.

“I say, Georges! Beat that sleigh!”

“My lord?” The footman, his nose, ears, and cheeks completely red from the cold, looked at him in shock.

“I said ‘Beat that sleigh!’ Come Georges, you don’t want Thatcher getting the best of us, do you?”

Nor did he want Thatcher out of his sight with his sister in front of him, for his parents and Baxter and Ophelia must be in the third sleigh.

Georges grinned, and without any more encouragement, he urged the horses on, and their sleigh began to pass Thatcher’s once more.

“That’s it!” Elijah said, standing and shouting triumphantly, one fist in the air.

Thatcher looked over, saw the race was on, and began to prod his own horses forward.

Joanna cried out with glee as she held a hand over her hat, making sure it didn’t fly off into the wind. Lord and Lady Oxford were bundled into the sleigh with their son as well, but seemed to be enjoying the race along with them, while Alex urged Georges on himself. Shouts and taunts began to fill the air as they all called out to one another while the sleighs continued forward as fast as the snow allowed.

“To the break in the trees!” Elijah shouted, standing again, unable to help himself. He had always been competitive, and even now, when he had no way to actually affect the win, he couldn’t help but put everything he had into this.

Joanna tried to stand, but then fell off balance and into his side, laughing. She held onto his arm, and even through her mittens and his layers of clothing, he enjoyed the feel of her, especially when it meant that he was supporting her.

“Go, go!” she called, until finally they surged ahead and skidded through the break of the trees, coming out first the other side. All within their sleigh let out a shout of glee, and Elijah couldn’t help himself.

He leaned down, placed his gloved hands on either side of Joanna’s face, and kissed her right on the lips.

It was a quick smack of their lips together, but it obviously surprised them both, as suddenly they sat back and stared at one another.

“I… I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—” he began, knowing that he should never have done such a thing without her permission, but before he could say anything, his voice was overwhelmed by Thatcher and Georges beginning to shout good-naturedly to one another about whether or not the race was fair.

“You started this, you know,” Joanna murmured, and he wasn’t sure whether or not she was referring to the jovial argument between the two footmen or their own interest in one another.

Either way she was right.

“That I did,” he murmured back, looking out over the snowy expanse below them, “that I did.”

And he wasn’t sorry.

Not one bit.

Their “small tea” that afternoon was anything but, just like most meals at Briercrest Manor.

Joanna, however, could hardly eat.

All she could think about was that kiss. She wasn’t entirely sure if it could even be called much of a kiss. Elijah’s lips had been on hers so briefly that they were gone before she had even realized what he was doing.

It was more so the simple fact that he had done it that she couldn’t stop thinking about. As well as the fact that she had liked it.

He had obviously been excited about their win, yes. But would he have kissed anyone, or just her? That was what she needed to know. But why — why did it matter so much?

She trailed her finger through crumbs abandoned by the small sandwich on her plate.

Elijah Kentmore. Not the man that she would ever expect herself to have any sort of feelings for, unless one counted resentment, anger, and, yes, attraction.

But this desire for more, this yearning for him that wouldn’t go away — she hated herself for her betrayal. She had vowed to stay far away from him so that he could never hurt her again. Well, now she was opening herself up to the worst kind of hurt possible.

She couldn’t let him come any closer.

He might say he had changed, but how could she really be sure? How could she know this wasn’t all just some game to him, just like everything else was?

The thought caused her breath to hitch in her throat — could she be a game? A bet? The ultimate prank, one