A Mistletoe Masquerade

'Well enough,' his loyal valet said, with a grin. 'He owes it all to the way I dress him, of course.'

'Really? That produces his height and the width of his shoulders and the muscles in his thighs does it? And that perfectly straight nose and the firm jaw and those very fine dark eyes?'

'Miss Lawrence, I am shocked! Thighs? A young lady should not acknowledge that gentlemen have such things, let alone assess them.' He clapped his tall hat on his head and looked sanctimonious.

'We can see them, Mr Lucas, not being blind. Naturally most of us are also not blind to the defects of character the possessors of such features may have. Miss Maylin, I regret to say, seems willing to be dazzled, despite her apprehension about his lordship.'

'And you, Miss Daisy, are you capable of seeing past handsome features to the character within?' He took her arm again and began to make his way down the path to the gate, not waiting for the Steward and the housekeeper to assemble their flock.

'Well, certainly.' Rowan watched her step, sparing him just one flickering sideways glance as they stepped through the gateway. 'When I find myself in the company of someone so endowed.'

'Ouch,' Lucas said, a laugh in his voice.

'You should not fish for compliments, Mr Lucas.'

'I am justly reproved. But we are not much further forward in our quest for ideas. What a pity Miss Maylin was not accompanied by her stepmama. Half an hour of that dame would send Danescroft fleeing without his bags packed.'

'Sir Gregory Maylin did not require Lady Rolesby's warnings about that, you may be sure. Apparently he was heard to say that some game birds come better to a lure than they do if flushed out by beaters.'

Lucas gave a smothered snort of amusement. 'I can just see her, purple toque on her head, frightening every pheasant in the Home Counties, let alone every eligible bachelor.'

He opened a wicket gate and Rowan followed, still smiling at the image he'd conjured up. They were several yards down a path before she noticed their surroundings.

'This is not the path to the house.' It was a winding route cut through shrubbery to form a wilderness walk, she guessed. The overarching trees had sheltered it from the snow, and the trodden earth beneath her stout boots was almost dry.

'It will get us there almost as quickly-it comes out in the orchard behind the kitchen gardens-and we can talk without fear of being overheard. Now, can we rely upon Miss Maylin refusing Danescroft if she is sufficiently wary of him?'

'No.' Rowan shook her head, quite certain. 'She is very timid, and has never refused to do anything her papa has told her to before. Oh, dear, if he is not a murderer, and she comes to like him, perhaps the best thing would be to let things run their course.'

'Does she need someone to love her?' Lucas asked. 'Or would the title and the status be enough for her if she could overcome her fear of him?'

'She would shrivel without love and gentleness, and she would be terrified of having to be a countess with all that implies. Why?' They emerged from the wilderness in front of a stile in the orchard fence. 'Do you think he really will propose, even if she gives him no encouragement?'

'If she does not actively repel him, yes.' Lucas eyed the stile. 'Let me climb this first, make sure it is stable.'

He stepped onto the cross-plank, brushed the snow off the top rail and swung one leg over, then the other- allowing Rowan, if she was so inclined, a fine opportunity to admire their length and strong musculature. Regrettably, considering that it was a Sunday and she should have had her mind on matters spiritual, she found herself quite unable to avert her gaze.

'Quite safe. Up you come.'

'Turn around, then.' Obediently he turned his back, then swung round again when she had both feet safely on the orchard side of the cross piece. 'Give me your hand.'

'I am perfectly capable of jumping down eighteen inches.'

He did not budge, standing in front of her with his hand held out.

'Oh, very well, if you insist on treating me as though I was feeble. I am used to long walks every day, I will have you know. And I am more than capable of negotiating a few stiles.'

'Really?' Lucas took her hand while she jumped down, then released it. They began to walk up the slope towards the high red brick wall of the kitchen garden.

'Er, yes…my last mistress was a very active lady and always required me to accompany her.' Rowan turned around before he could ask her anything else about her fictitious past and began to walk backwards. 'Look at our footprints. I do love the snow when it is fine and crisp and pure like this.'

'And look at this view.' Lucas had stopped under one of the gnarled old apple trees and gestured across to the south. The great ornamental lake stretched out before them in the distance, the tree-dotted parkland was shrouded in snow, and the only movement came from the herd of fallow deer that had just emerged from the woodland edge.

'Oh, lovely! It reminds me of ho-'

'Of?'

Home. 'Homebury Park, where my last employer often stayed,' Rowan improvised airily, leaning back

against the trunk of the tree, which acted as a welcome windbreak. 'Never mind the view-what about Lord Danescroft? We are agreed that Miss Penelope is too timid to refuse him, so we must concentrate on putting him off her.'

'And he is not going to believe her tarradiddles about losing her allowance on wagers. Not unless she is an exceptional actress.'

Rowan shook her head.

'So it is unlikely that she wagered on how many red-headed choirboys there were before they entered the church?'

'Highly unlikely! So what would put him off?'

'Lying, immorality, unkindness to children.'

'Oh. That's a daunting list. Nothing minor, then?'

'I doubt it. I have recounted all your hints and gossip. He just shrugs it off.'

'This is much harder than I thought it would be. Is there nothing I can tell her about him that is so bad her father would refuse the match?'

'No.' Lucas's brows drew together sharply. 'There is not. And I am not going to make something up, either. If Sir Gregory is not baulking at the current scandal anything that would put him off would have to be appalling. What about you? Can I tell him she is spiteful and deceitful, or has a clandestine lover?'

'No! She is none of those things, and I am certainly not going to risk her reputation. You will just have to keep pointing out to him the disadvantages and inequalities of the match, and I will try to persuade her that the world will not end if she stands up to her father.'

Lucas watched Daisy's face as she leaned back against the rough bark of the tree and looked out across the valley, her eyes narrowed either in worried thought or against the snow dazzle. She intrigued him. More than intrigued, if truth be told. Her upbringing was that of a lady, yet here she was, waiting on a little dab of a nobody. Her need for employment must be serious. He liked her fierce loyalty towards Penelope Maylin, the way she stood up to him, the humour that was always lurking in those big hazel eyes-and he liked looking at her.

He had liked the feel of her mouth under his in that fleeting kiss last night. Warm, full, trembling between outrage and response. A bird began to sing above their heads, sweet and clear on the cold air. Lucas glanced up and smiled. It was so very tempting to indulge in a little dalliance. Just a very little. He did not think he could disturb Miss Lawrence's heart too much, and he had every confidence that she would send him on his way with a clip around the ear if she found his actions unwelcome.

'Look up, Daisy.'

'Hmm?' She tipped back her head and stared up through the bare branches. 'Oh, a robin-how lovely. Look at the way his throat is working with the force of his singing. You would never believe such a tiny scrap could make so