father in writing for Parliament, the countless hours of research and preparation it took, and sometimes the worry he felt about whether he would acquit himself honorably to the earldom when he inherited.
“You will!” She had reassured him so ardently. “I can see your mettle…it is one of strength and honor.”
What did he like—horses, restoring a beautiful home, especially if it retains signs of its Tudor architecture, and reading. How happy that had made her for they now had a common interest and the best of them all—reading, declaring that, ‘inside the pages of every book was a whole other world that she could get lost in’.
She also enjoyed dancing. Though she had never danced the waltz despite having learned the steps and form from her papa. During her first and only Season in London, her father had fallen ill, and she had returned to Suffolk, where they had resided. After they had completed the mourning period, she, along with her mother and sister, had to leave their beloved homes so a distant cousin could inherit. There had been no money or time for another Season, as they had directed their efforts on keeping their heads above water without losing their reputations.
As she recounted the tale candidly, Callisto hadn’t seemed to resent her situation but appeared as a woman who understood life at times threw brutal punches, and it was the character of the person which determined if they stayed on the ground or sprung back up with lively purpose.
His admiration for her grew then, and as if it were the norm, he lowered the book, walked around to her chair, dipped into a bow, held out his hand, and said, “Might I have your hand for a dance, Miss Middleton?”
With a wide smile on her lips and merriment glowing from her lovely eyes, she nodded. Now she was in his arms, and the intent way she peered up at him evoked confusing feelings inside him. He wanted to ravish and protect her in equal measures. The duality of those needs clashed painfully inside of him. I’ve never felt this way about a lady before, he wanted to confess. But it seemed premature to do so. What if this warm sensation did not last but faded like ashes in the wind once he was apart from her?
“Sadly, there is no music,” he said.
The longest of lashes flickered, and she peered up at him. “The rain and thunder will do.”
A quick ripple of laughter escaped her as he spun her in a twirl, humming the tune for them.
“Oh, Graham, this is simply wonderful!”
The sound of his name on her lips did marvelous things to his heart. It flipped several times as if it too danced.
“We are standing below mistletoe berries,” he said, bringing them to a stop in the center of the room.
“I fear the servants went a bit overboard in their enthusiasm. We cannot escape them, it seems.”
He skimmed his fingers over her cheek, almost tentative in his exploration. Then he gave in to the clamor in his heart, lowered his head and pressed a kiss to the corner of her lips.
Chapter 9
The rain sleeted down and rattled the door and the small window of the cottage, but she felt frightfully warm. Held tenderly against the Viscount’s chest Callie felt as if she was caged within her own storm—one of brilliant fire and the hottest delight. Graham’s kiss was light, tender, sweet, and her heart tumbled over inside her chest.
“What was that for?” she whispered against his mouth.
“There are mistletoe sprigs all over this cabin,” he replied with gentle amusement. “Wasn’t this the idea when you had them placed?” He possessed such a confident presence that appealed to her beyond measure.
Callie blushed but held his stare. “I meant them for your father, and my mother.”
“Then let’s move away.”
He twirled her off in another direction and then glanced up. “Alas, another one.”
This time he pressed a kiss atop her nose, and she laughed lightly, dizzy with the heat pouring through her. The last two hours with him in the cabin had revealed a charming and good-natured gentleman that made her yearn for impossible dreams.
He spun with her again, and when he paused, they both looked up.
“Yet more mistletoe,” she said with a wide smile, but how her heart pounded.
“Did you know it is widely believed that it was the Norsemen and women who first romanticized mistletoe?”
“I did not know that,” she said with a small smile. “But I knew the Celtic