together in embarrassment. She was mortified by what had happened between them.
It had been his mistake as much as hers. ‘Sit down, my dear,’ he said, as gently as he could.
She crossed a little unsteadily to the bench and took her seat. She looked up at him expectantly. Did she think he was about to join her? Poor Beth, marriage had taught her much, but she did not fully understand what drove a man.
He smiled and shook his head. ‘No, best if I stand,’ he said, keeping his tone light. He would focus on practical things until this interview was over. And then he would avoid Beth for the rest of the day.
‘Now that all our guests are here,’ he began, but stopped when she shook her head. ‘I beg pardon. I thought that-’
‘The Reverend and Mrs Aubrey will not arrive for a few days yet. Do you not recall? The rector wanted to be sure that his curate was not taking on too much of the Christmas burden.’
Jon had completely forgotten the Aubreys. Extraordinary that he should have done so, when he owed them so much. His preoccupation with his wife must be affecting his brain. He took a deep breath and began again. ‘Now that
She sprang to her feet and ran for the door.
‘Beth? What on earth is the matter? Beth!’ Too late. She was gone in a flurry of pale pink skirts. Jon slumped on to the bench where she had been sitting just moments before and tried to piece together what had just happened. He had been talking about the Christmas festivities, the Yule log, the mistletoe. He had warned her that he would be avoiding the mistletoe. Their kisses could easily become too passionate for any room but a bedchamber. It had happened here, only moments ago. If it happened in front of their guests, everyone would be mortally embarrassed.
Had she run from him because he refused to kiss her in public?
Chapter Fifteen
From her place near the centre of the drawing room, Beth let her gaze travel round, counting heads. It was almost six. Nearly all the guests were assembled for dinner. Only the Berncastles were not yet down. For the first few evenings, they had been just a small party and conversation had been rather difficult. But tonight there would be twenty people sitting down to dinner. With so many guests, they should make a merry party, surely? And better still once the Reverend and Mrs Aubrey finally arrived.
Beth was trying to avoid looking up at the chandelier in the middle of the room and the large sprig of mistletoe that hung there. It seemed to draw her eye, even while it horrified her. It was full of sinister pearl-white berries. Their pallor was waxy, like the skin of a corpse. The very sight of them made her feel nauseous, and strangely guilty. But why should she feel guilty at the sight of mistletoe? What did it mean?
She shivered a little and backed away a step, straight into a man’s arms. She knew immediately, without turning, that this was not Jon. This man’s touch, and his scent, were repellent.
The man was not about to let Beth go. ‘A kiss under the mistletoe, sister,’ he cried gleefully, pulling her under the chandelier. It was George, of course, Jon’s disreputable brother. Beth tried to slide out from his embrace without seeming to struggle, but it was useless. He was quite determined on his prize. His mouth descended on Beth’s, his lips thick and wet. Where Jon’s every touch was wonderful, George revolted her.
She began to struggle in earnest, but George was holding her so tightly that she could not even pull her mouth away from his. Then his tongue tried to force its way between her lips. She clamped her jaws and teeth together as tightly as she could. She would not allow this…this beastly invasion.
At last, defeated, he let her go.
‘A great institution, mistletoe,’ he said with a lascivious grin. ‘Gives a man-and a gel-a chance to see what they have been missing.’
Beth could not suppress a shudder.
‘I think you should perhaps ensure your partner is willing before you indulge in such activity, brother.’
Beth whirled round. Jon was standing in the doorway. He was white with anger. For once, he had ignored the presence of the other guests. He was challenging George directly.
But George was not in the least put out by Jon’s rebuke. He casually reached up to pluck a berry from the sprig of mistletoe. ‘Plenty more where that came from, eh, sister? And plenty more kisses for us both to enjoy, too, I’d say.’ He dropped his voice to murmur in Beth’s ear. ‘You don’t want to give ’em all to my prude of a brother, you know, m’dear.’
Beth gasped.
Ignoring her reaction, George turned to face Jon. ‘The ladies will have kisses a-plenty, for I have rarely seen mistletoe with quite so many berries. It is an invitation to Christmas mischief, and merriment for all.’
For a moment, Beth fancied that Jon was going to plant his brother a facer. There was a stunned silence in the room. But then Miss Rothbury broke it, stepping under the chandelier and reaching up to pluck mistletoe berries, one after another, counting them into her hand. ‘Look, Mama.’ She beckoned to Lady Rothbury who was standing by the fire, slack-jawed in astonishment. ‘They are just like jewels. I do like jewels so much, don’t I?’
Her mother rushed forward to grab her daughter’s hands and hold them still. ‘Enough, my dear, enough. The berries are to be picked one at a time, one for each kiss. And when they have all been picked, there can be no more kissing under the mistletoe. That is the tradition, you know.’
‘I may not pick them?’ Miss Rothbury sounded like a small child, deprived of a favourite toy.
Beth stepped forward to join the pair. ‘I am sure we can find plenty more sprigs of mistletoe if you like them,’ she said gently. ‘Shall we put a sprig in your bedchamber?’
Miss Rothbury’s beaming smile was all the answer Beth needed. She nodded to the butler, standing impassively just inside the door. Goodrite would see to it. For now, Beth needed to distract her guests from these odd happenings until dinner should be announced. She sensed Jon’s large, reassuring presence only a few paces behind her. Yes, she could do this.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, shall we decide now on what we wish to do after dinner? Since it is Christmas, his lordship-’ she nodded towards Jon ‘-has a predictable fancy for telling ghost stories, but we would be happy to accept more energetic suggestions. Charades, perhaps?’
With a feeling of relief, Beth shepherded the ladies along the corridor to the drawing room. The dinner had gone remarkably well, helped by Jon’s excellent and plentiful wine. One or two of the older ladies were swaying a little and would probably soon be asleep in their chairs. No matter. The younger ones could play games at one end of the room while the older ones dozed.
How long would it be before the gentlemen joined them? Beth rather hoped they would not play charades after all, for drunken gentlemen could be difficult during such games. George had been downing bumper after bumper. That kiss under the mistletoe had been bad enough. What might he do now?
She told herself that Jon would ensure his brother behaved. If necessary, Jon would throw him out until he had sobered up. At least, she hoped he would.
When Beth entered the drawing room, she saw that Mrs Berncastle was holding forth from the centre of the room. She too had taken rather a lot of wine. She was not drunk, of course. No lady was ever drunk. But she had certainly become more and more talkative and uninhibited as the evening wore on. Some of her earthy comments had put Beth to the blush.
At Mrs Berncastle’s side, Miss Rothbury was giggling, pointing up at the chandelier. Beth tried to ignore them and especially the mistletoe she so dreaded. Surely Goodrite would bring in the tea tray soon?
‘Mistletoe is lovely,’ Miss Rothbury crooned. ‘The berries are just like the finest pearls, don’t you think, ma’am?’
