Liv took up a square of paper. “Turn around then. I won’t have you peeking.”
He sighed in feigned disappointment but dutifully turned his back and she scribbled her secret in a nervous rush.
I’m in love with a highwayman.
At least, he was a highwayman tonight. She grinned as she folded the paper and dropped it into the bowl, giving it a quick stir to mix up the contents so nobody would know which one was hers.
“All done.”
“What did you write?” he teased, sotto voce. “I stabbed my uncle with a letter opener?” He reached past her and plucked a secret from the bowl, and she was eternally grateful that she’d buried her secret was the bottom. “Host’s privilege to read them early,” he grinned. “I’ve been unfaithful to my husband with the pastry chef.” he read.
“One should never trust a pastry chef,” Livvy chuckled. “Everyone knows they’ll just dessert you.”
Dev groaned at the terrible pun. “He’llchouxyou up and spit you out.”
“And spend most of his time withtarts,” Liv snorted, unable to help herself.
Dev nudged her shoulder. “Go on, you read one.”
“I sneaked into a brothel and pretended to be a courtesan so I could seduce the man of my dreams,” she read. “Goodness! I wonder who did that?”
“I hope it worked, whoever it was. Audacity like that should be rewarded.” Dev opened another one. “I stole a silver pocket watch from the prime minister.” He gave a grunt of amusement. “I bet you ten pounds that was Harry. Before he married Ellie, of course. He hasn’t stolen anything for years, unless it’s been in the service of King & Co.”
“Last one,” Ellis said firmly. “I’m in love with my friend’s brother.”
Her heart gave an odd, guilty stutter as she read it out loud. Even though she hadn’t been the one to write it, she was in the same boat. She glanced sideways at Dev, perversely comforted to learn that she wasn’t the only one in the room pining forthe unattainable. Loving someone unsuitable was apparently a common trait.
She just hoped there was a matching slip of paper in there that said, ‘I’m in love with my sister’s friend,’ and that the two lovestruck authors would pluck up the courage to do something about it.
She refolded the paper and placed it carefully back in the bowl. “Can I get a drink? I’m very thirsty.”
Dev threaded his arm through hers just as Fletcher appeared in the doorway of the ballroom. Another servant struck a large brass gong, immediately claiming everyone’s attention.
“Ladies and Gentlemen!” Fletcher intoned, his voice carrying with impressive volume over the buzzing crowd. “The hour has come for wassailing. Those wishing to take part, please make your way to the orchard.”
Chapter Fourteen
There was a general rush toward the doors and a flurry of excitement as guests went to find their cloaks and shawls. Liv had left hers up in her room, so she excused herself to get it, and by the time she came back downstairs at least half the guests had made their way outside.
Dev was waiting for her by the open French windows, his only concession to the cold a pair of black leather gloves. Together they skirted the rink where a few hardy revelers were skating and joined the procession toward the walled garden on the east side of the house. Liv kept her hands deep in the pockets of her cloak for warmth.
Lanterns on hooks lit the path, and as they entered the orchard itself, they were greeted by the glow of a dozen flaming torches, held aloft by various members of staff.
The apple trees were bare of leaves, their stooped forms and gnarled branches lit by the flickering light, and Liv watched in interest as half a dozen revelers dressed in winter green pulled out an assortment of pots and pans and began to bang on them with joyful abandon, making a terrible racket.
“That’s to scare away any evil spirits.” Dev’s voice was deep in her ear as he stood at her side. “And to wake the trees from their winter slumber.”
He accepted a steaming wooden bowl from a hovering servant as the cacophony of sound continued. “And this is wassail. Made from mulled cider, spices, honey, and wine.” He took a sip then pushed the rim of the bowl towards her.
“Waes hael,” he said softly, his breath a silvery cloud in the freezing air.
“Drinc hael,” Liv murmured, remembering the correct response from their previous discussion.
She lifted her hands and cupped them over his to steady the bowl and looked up at him as she obediently took a mouthful. The warm, sweet liquid slid over her tongue and down her throat, and she was struck by how primitive this ritual was. Sipping wine reminded her of taking communion in church, but there was nothing holy about the heat in Dev’s eyes as he watched her swallow, nor the wicked shiver of desire that made her stomach clench.
All this talk of apples made her feel like Eve, desperate to taste the forbidden fruit. Only instead of knowledge, she wanted Dev. Every inch of him.
“Good girl.” Dev sent her a satisfied nod, his gaze lingering on her moistened lips for a heart stopping moment before he passed the bowl to a reveler on his left, breaking the strange spell that ensnared them.
