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His gaze dropped to the floor the moment Leah caught him. He scratched the side of his head, clearing his throat. “The tray has been ordered.”

Leah’s face burned. Had this also been part of Mr. Hawthorne’s plan? To be caught with her under the mistletoe by Mr. Woodward? That would drive him away just as surely as Mr. Hawthorne’s flirting had driven away Mr. Newton.

She hurried away from the kissing bough, smiling in an attempt to hide how embarrassed she felt. “Thank you, Mr. Woodward.” Her cheeks were still hot.

His gaze flickered to Mr. Hawthorne, his brow furrowing slightly.

Leah’s stomach dropped. How could she explain how close they had just been standing? How quietly they had been conversing? The moment Mr. Woodward had interrupted must have appeared private…even intimate. Leah had been thinking about kissing Mr. Hawthorne, after all, which was entirely unacceptable.

She scolded herself for lowering her defenses. Mr. Hawthorne was her rival, not a friend…or anything else. She had a goal to achieve, and he stood in her way. Even now, she could sense Mr. Woodward’s interest fading. Timid men never seemed inclined to compete for a woman, especially against a man like Mr. Hawthorne—who had never struck her as a timid man in the slightest.

Two armchairs and a sofa surrounded the tea table. Mr. Woodward sat in one of the armchairs. “So…er—Mr. Hawthorne…I hope you like ginger biscuits.”

“I do.” Mr. Hawthorne sat in the other armchair with a smile. “They are my favorite.”

Mr. Woodward’s face lit up. “Mine as well.”

“Dipped in tea, or dry?”

“Tea, of course.”

Mr. Hawthorne nodded his approval. “Ah. A man of taste.”

Leah gritted her teeth, hiding her dismay. Perhaps she should leave the two men to have their own tête-à-tête without her. Was she truly about to sit through tea with the two of them?

It seemed she had no other choice.

She lowered herself into the center of the sofa between the two armchairs. Awkwardness hung heavy in the silence. “I also like ginger biscuits,” she blurted.

“I am very glad.” Mr. Woodward adjusted his spectacles again, his gaze barely meeting hers before shifting away.

How could she give the poor man a chance to escape? He obviously had no wish to remain in the room with Mr. Hawthorne present.

To her relief, Katherine walked through the door behind the maid carrying the tea tray. Her brows shot up as she took in the scene in front of her.

“Would you and Tom like to join us for tea?” Leah blurted. “There appears to be plenty to share.”

“Yes! That is a splendid idea.” Mr. Woodward’s smile was obviously forced.

Thankfully, Katherine seemed to sense the awkwardness in the room. She left to fetch Tom, and after a few agonizing minutes, returned to sit on the sofa beside Leah.

Mr. Hawthorne engaged Mr. Woodward in conversation, which seemed to put him at ease, at least. She could only hope that Mr. Hawthorne hadn’t permanently ruined her chances with him, but that seemed to be precisely what he was hoping for.

If her suspicions were correct, Mr. Hawthorne had pretended to nearly kiss her beneath the mistletoe all so Mr. Woodward could witness it. Worst of all, Leah had been fooled by his attention. Even flattered by it. She had even considered kissing him! Embarrassment burned her cheeks once again, and she reminded herself of the truth she had been momentarily blinded from:

Felix Hawthorne was dangerous. And he was not to be trusted.

Twelve

Clara arranged Leah’s hair flawlessly for the Christmas Eve dinner, and Leah once again refrained from spilling too much gossip to her maid. Fortunately, she had Katherine to confide in, otherwise Clara would have known all the details about that morning with the two men she had been forced to share tea with.

Leah’s head spun as she joined the party for the extravagant dinner Lady Dalmeer had planned. The long table was full of roast beef, venison, turtle soup, and a broad variety of steamed and buttered vegetables. Due to the decorating earlier that day, a stunning variety of festive greenery now surrounded the room.

Mr. Newton was rather silent during the feast, so Leah was left with no choice but to watch Mr. Hawthorne converse with Miss Benson across the table.

There was nothing she could do to stop their dinner conversation, which irked her to no end. She caught Mr. Hawthorne’s gaze multiple times throughout the meal, and each time she felt like a child being caught with stolen sweets from the kitchen. She hadn’t meant to stare at him, but he looked absurdly handsome in his deep green jacket and white cravat, and the candlelight and fresh greenery in the dining room was favoring him far more than he deserved.

Had Miss Benson truly not been deterred yet?