He made it precisely four steps.
Then someone rounded the corner at the exact same moment he did.
They collided with the same force and shock as the night before. But this time, there was instant recognition. Because he knew the feel of her, the weight of her pressing against him, the sweet scent of her as it washed over him.
Jillian.
She gasped as their bodies struck, her hand flying instinctively to brace herself against the wall—except the wall was, once again, him. Miles caught her reflexively, hands closing around her upper arms as her weight tipped into him. Her bonnet was askew from what must have been a hasty attempt to dress without assistance; a few curls had escaped and brushed softly against her cheek. Her lips parted on a sharp inhale, her eyes wide with recognition, horror, and something else he dared not name.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Jillian blurted, breathless. “Not again.”
Miles swallowed. “My thoughts precisely.”
She straightened immediately—too quickly—forcing him to steady her once more before releasing her. Her hands fluttered at her skirts, attempting to smooth the fabric with a composure she did not possess.
“I was merely trying to avoid the breakfast room,” she said, taking a quick step back, though her cheeks betrayed a warm flush. “I thought everyone would be gathered there.”
“As was I,” Miles replied stiffly, brushing a bit of snow from his shoulder. “That was… the intention.”
She blinked at him, her lips tightening, not in irritation this time but in embarrassment. “So, in our attempts to avoid each other?—”
“We are instead doing the opposite,” he finished, a grim thread of humor winding through the words.
“Yes,” she said, exhaling sharply. “Apparently fate is determined to shove us together.”
“Or Fairhaven is, if Beatrice is to be believed,” Miles said dryly, remembering the mistletoe that had landed on his shoulder the previous evening.
Jillian’s brows lifted. “Do not start that again.”
“I am not starting anything,” Miles replied. “The house appears to be.”
She fought a smile—he could see the battle in the subtle twitch at the corner of her mouth—but she mastered herself before it could emerge. “We are not discussing that. And we are certainly not repeating… last night’s incident.”
“No,” Miles agreed quickly, far too quickly. “We shall not. Ever again.”
She looked as though she wished to challenge his choice of the wordnever, but instead she smoothed her gloves with sharp, purposeful movements. “Then we must proceed with caution. You go that way.” She gestured vaguely over his shoulder. “And I shall go that way.”
“That seems the most prudent course.”
“Yes.”
“Yes,” he echoed, though he found himself unable to look away from her.
Her breath caught—very softly, but enough for him to notice. She turned abruptly, as if the corridor itself were aflame, and strode in the direction she had indicated. Miles remained rooted to the floor a moment longer than was reasonable, every muscle taut from the effort of restraint.
He exhaled slowly, deeply.
It was going to be a very long morning.
And if fate—or Fairhaven House itself—continued its interference, Miles suspected it would be a very long Christmas as well.
Chapter
Five
Jillian returned to the drawing room with the vague, uneasy sense of someone willingly re-entering the lion’s den after having barely escaped unscathed the first time. The afternoon was so bitterly cold that the windows of Fairhaven had frosted at the corners, forming lace-like patterns that softened the outlines of the busy room within. The fireplace crackled cheerfully, attempting, in vain, to lend warmth to a space now overflowing with visiting neighbors, local families, and the most determined collection of matchmaking matrons she had seen assembled in years. It seemed the entire county had decided to call on the Fairfaxes that afternoon—not surprising, as Fairhaven was always the center of some elaborate social orbit during the Christmas season.
The sound hit her first, a lively rising swell of laughter, conversation, and the sort of overexcited chatter that generally accompanied any event in which young unmarried men were present in sufficient number. The room was bright with color—velvets and silks, feathers and ribbons, evergreen garlands hung at every window, and a scattering of holly berries glinting like tiny rubies among the greenery. Someone had opened a freshbottle of spiced wine, and its warm fragrance lingered over the cinnamon biscuits arranged invitingly on a nearby side table.
