The mistletoe just across the table caught his notice. If it weren’t for the numerous people in the room, especially her mother, who luckily sat at the opposite end of the table, he would’ve taken advantage of the tradition to share a kiss.
The more he was with Frances, the more he wanted to repeat the one they’d previously shared.
For now, he’d settle for her smiles. He wouldn’t have guessed coaxing them from her would be so easy based on her reserve at the house party only a few months ago.
She was blossoming before his eyes. He liked to think he had something to do with it but couldn’t say for sure. She’d already expressed her love of the holidays. And she was with her friends from the league. Both could be helping her to overcome the shyness she’d previously shown.
Yet the way she looked at him out of the corner of her eye made him wonder—made him hope. Her simple blue wool gown with brown trim gave her a more approachable look than some of the more elegant ones she sometimes wore.
He needed a moment alone with her to raise the question he’d crossed the ocean to ask. He should’ve done so already. Yet each time he’d had a chance, his feelings had overcome him, and he’d forgotten his purpose.
Still, he could feel the clock ticking. His time was growing short as Christmas quickly drew near. If he were smart, he would speak with her before the Christmas ball. He didn’t want to spend the evening watching her dance with others if she didn’t know how he felt.
“You’re doing a fine job, Sinclair,” Linford said as he walked closer to look over his shoulder. “Though I do think that garland needs to be a bit longer.”
“Do you?” Thomas scowled as he looked at the piece. “Perhaps you could lend a hand.”
“Well.” Winston frowned, clearly preferring his supervisory role. “If you truly need assistance.”
“Here’s a piece, my lord.” Lady Winifred pointed to a bough before her. “This would be perfect to add to the length.”
“Thank you.” However, Winston’s tone suggested he felt anything but grateful for her suggestion.
Thomas smothered a smile as he waited for the marquess to bring over the bough. Together, they nearly doubled the length of the garland. “How is that?” Thomas asked Frances.
“Perfect. We want to place a few over the windows at The Pavilion, and I believe that is just the right size.”
Her approval pleased him, and the minor scratches were quickly forgotten.
Several footmen had also been put to work making garlands, and Lady Eliza briefly studied their work. “Frances, shall we make a few of these into wreaths?”
“Excellent idea.”
The gentlemen in the room groaned, including Thomas, while the ladies discussed what sizes to make.
Eliza produced spools of wide red ribbon, and everyone settled into the project. Despite the work, Thomas took every opportunity to be close to Frances, to speak with her, and to brush against her, using the excuse of reaching for this or that.
He adored the way her cheeks flushed each time they touched. He could relate since it felt as if his entire body heated with every touch as well.
“Frances, will you do the honor of tying the bow?” Thomas asked her as he held the wreath upright.
“Of course.” She cut a length of ribbon and scooted her chair closer to reach it.
He watched as she worked, appreciating the graceful way her fingers moved as she looped the ribbon into place. Her intent expression suggested she was focused on her task.
Funny, because he was focused on her.
A glance around them showed everyone involved in their projects as they conversed. If there was a chance to whisper something to Frances, this was it.
He leaned close to her ear, careful no one else could overhear. “I should very much like to kiss you again,” he whispered under his breath.
She jerked, her hands stilling as a lovely hint of pink crept up her cheeks. She turned to look at him, and they were only inches apart since both their hands were on the wreath. Her eyes, the exact shade of melted chocolate, went wide. Her mouth opened but no sound emerged as she stared at him.
“Right here. Right now.” He dropped his gaze to her rose-colored, luscious lips. “I want to taste you again, Frances.”
If that didn’t make his feelings clear, he didn’t know what would.
Her gaze swept around those nearby before returning to his. “I-I would like that, too.” Then she quickly returned to her work, though her fingers were less steady than before.
