Mismatched Under the Mistletoe - Jess Michaels Page 0,12

a step closer to him, perhaps too close. Certainly she felt too close now, though they’d been this close while dancing or when he helped her from a carriage. Why did this feel so different than those other times?

“What about you? Is there anyone you would like to…” Her tongue suddenly felt thick and she had to force the next words from her lips. “…match with?”

He held her stare for what felt like forever. Then he caught her hand in his and squeezed. “I’ll take care of my own match, Emily. Now let’s join them, shall we?”

He released her and walked off down the hill and into the crowd. She forced herself to move, to catch up.

Over the years, she had heard many people ask Cav about his intentions, his heart. He’d always laughed them off. But today he hadn’t denied that there was some woman he was hoping to match with. Someone specific. Who was she? Was she here?

And why did that thought make her head spin and her knees go weak? Cavendish was her friend. She should be happy he was considering the future—it was troubling that he had never done so before.

Yet when she pictured this man wooing and wedding another woman, it wasn’t joy for him that filled her being. It was something else, something darker. Something she had no place feeling.

So she pushed it away, tried to ignore it, and focused on the matches she already had planned. Cav couldn’t be her problem. To make him so was courting a danger she had never realized existed.

Chapter 4

Three French Hens

Cav had always leaned into the cliché that a rake kept abed until the afternoon. It was one of the beliefs that made his world go ’round: stay out late, sleep all day. But today, on the third morning of Emily’s party, he found himself wide awake before the sun. He’d dressed and paced and read and paced, but his troubles didn’t fade. After all, he was in the usual room he took when he stayed at Crossfox. Six doors down from her room.

Just the knowledge that she was so close was enough to make him toss and turn and fantasize long into the night.

“And this is how you wake up hard as a rock,” Cav muttered as he tossed the book he’d been unable to focus upon aside and stared out the window instead.

At present he truly hated himself. Hated that yesterday he’d touched her just a bit too long when he helped her with her cloak. Hated that she’d looked at his mouth and his heart leapt with hope. Hated that she’d asked who he wanted to woo and ruined any fantasy that she might be interested.

“You are an idiot,” he said to himself.

“Me?”

He turned and stifled a sigh. Emily was standing at the parlor door. She was wearing the dark green gown, the one with the velvet ribbon around the edging and the beautifully stitched peacocks at the hem. A matching velvet ribbon was wound through her corn silk hair, and he had a desperate desire to tug it free and let the curls loose.

He blinked. “Of course not you,” he said. “I didn’t realize anyone else was up and moving yet.”

She had not yet entered the room, which was odd. She was just standing there…staring at him. Why was she staring at him like that?

“Em?” he pressed.

She blinked and took a long step toward him. “Er, yes…no.”

He wrinkled his brow. “What was that?”

“I’m sorry, it’s been an odd day already,” she said with a shake of her head. “I’m finding it difficult to focus. I believe we are the only two actually downstairs yet, but reports are that the others are beginning to stir and ready for the day.”

“Day Three. If I’m not mistaken, a true love should bring to you—er, them—three French hens. I look forward to seeing what that will look like from your wonderful mind.”

She bent her head and her gaze darted away from him. “For supper tonight we’ll have coq au vin and I’ve drawn out the most adorable little hen nameplates.” She lifted her gaze. “Would you like to see them?”

“Of course.” He didn’t have to force the smile despite how awkward this conversation was turning out to be. “I always love seeing your handiwork.”

She blushed and held up a hand before she dashed from the parlor. He could easily imagine her next steps, rushing to her study down the hall, a pretty room that overlooked the garden.