Lord Hiltoncroft nudged him as the village folk came into view. “The first one to kiss a maiden wins,” he increased his pace.
“That’s not a bet. None of the fair maidens would willingly kiss your ugly mug,” Archer said, then grinned playfully.
Hiltoncroft chuckled. “Ya, we’ll see about that.”
Archer gave a challenging stare, then said, “I’ve three shillings that say you cannot get the girl of my choice to kiss you.”
Hiltoncroft chuckled as he turned his gaze to Archer. He said, “And I shall choose your maiden. Whoever gets kissed first wins.” Hiltoncroft held out his hand to shake before adding, “Do we have a bet?”
Archer took Hiltoncroft’s hand and shook it firmly. “Indeed, we do.” He glanced around the village square, his gaze moving over the revelers, maypole, and garlands that decorated the village. “Let us get a mug of ale while we observe the girls. I wouldn’t want to be hasty in my decision.”
“Never that, old pal,” Hiltoncroft said as he clapped his hand on the back of Archer’s shoulder. “Wouldn’t dare make it easy on you.” He added with a wink.
Archer chuckled as they made their way to an alehouse and procured their mugs. As he sipped the bitter brew, he looked out at the crush of commoners. And not for the first time, he wondered what it might be like to be one of them.
Alas, this was the closest he would ever come.
Dressing down and attending the May-Day festival had been a pastime of Archer’s and Hiltoncroft’s ever since they’d gotten out of short pants. It was one thing Archer looked forward to every year, and he had the keen sense that this year’s festival would be the best yet.
He tapped his foot to the upbeat tempo being played nearby as he sipped his ale and watched the crowd near the maypole. Maidens and children with flower wreaths and ribbons in their hair danced merrily as men stood by.
A group off to left watching the dancers caught his eye, and he stopped tapping his foot as he studied them. One man and five women. He smirked at his discovery as he studied each woman.
His gaze flitted back to the willowy, brown-haired beauty beside the man. She would present a proper challenge to Hiltoncroft’s kiss. If nothing else, the man beside her would be a perfect deterrent.
Archer took a long draw of the ale before lowering the mug and turning toward Hiltoncroft. “That one,” he said as he nodded in the woman’s direction. “The dark-haired woman right beside the man.”
Hiltoncroft followed Archer’s direction, the sip of ale he’d just takin shooting from his mouth as he found his mark. “You’re mad! She is clearly with that man,” he protested.
“When has another man ever proven as a detriment to your ambitions?” Archer asked a challenge in his gaze—one he knew his friend could not resist.
Hiltoncroft narrowed his gaze to peer at Archer. “Very well.” He shook his head, then looked out at the crowd. His forehead creased as he studied the surrounding maidens. “That one,” he pointed, “The raven-haired chit standing alone.”
Archer’s gaze moved to the woman. She was pretty enough, but the way she had her arms crossed over her chest, and the tight line of her mouth made her appear unapproachable. A cold fish, to be sure.
Archer peered back at Hiltoncroft. “She looks positively frigid. You cannot be serious. I’d wager she’s never been kissed.”
Hiltoncroft chuckled. “At least she doesn’t have a protector like mine does.”
“Her cold exterior serves just as well,” Archer said, his tone unamused.
“Then we are well matched.” Hiltoncroft’s grin widened as he brought his mug of ale to his lips.
“Indeed,” Archer mumbled. “May the best man win.” He marched toward the dark-haired icicle, determined to win the bet. He would stroll right up to her, steal a kiss, then return to gloat and collect his shillings from Hiltoncroft.
That would teach the pompous ass a lesson, for there was no way Hiltoncroft could secure a kiss as quickly. Not without receiving a pummeling from the woman’s protector, at any rate.
And Archer would wager his fortune that Hiltoncroft would never accept a beating. He was far too fond of his face, as well as his ability to walk.
It was the very reason Archer had selected that particular woman. To make the mission as hard as possible on his friend.
Halfway to the icicle, Archer glanced over his shoulder to grin at Hiltoncroft, but his friend no longer stood by the alehouse. Archer let his gaze roam toward the woman he’d choose and found Hiltoncroft moving toward her group.
Perhaps he meant to put up a fight after all.
No matter, Archer would still secure the first kiss.
He hurried his steps, his attention turned back to the woman Hiltoncroft had chosen for him. After a few more strides, she noticed him approaching and narrowed her eyes. They were the most unusual shade—a captivating violet.
