Laughter rippled around the ballroom as Sybil gave hot pursuit. "Mithter March, Mithter March, I mutht have wordth with you! There ith thomething vewy important I have to tell you! It'th tewwibly pwivate! Oh, pleathe wait! Cooee! Cooee7"
Lady Garsington was so dismayed by the public exhibition her daughter was making of herself that she fell into her husband's arms in a swoon. Sigismund stood in stunned disbelief, a glass of champagne poised halfway to his lips as he watched his sister charge out of the ballroom like a magenta Valkyrie, still cooeeing at the top of her lungs.
The ballroom was abuzz with speculation as to what Sybil Garsington could have to say to Oliver March that was so terribly private. Then it became Chloe's turn to be subjected to undisguised scrutiny, for everyone knew that Oliver had been laying siege to her in recent weeks. Not by so much as a nicker did she display any interest, but instead leaned closer to Rupert to say something at which they both smiled.
Sir Jocelyn nodded approvingly. That's my girl, he thought, and then returned his attention to Evangeline. But he hesitated before speaking, as if unsure whether or not to say something. He put his hand over hers and squeezed it lovingly. "We have mentioned plans one, two, and three, my dear, but I think we both know there is a plan four as well, don't we?"
She looked at him. "Plan four?"
"Yes, and it is very much along the lines of one and two, but definitely not along the lines of three."
"Whatever do you mean?"
"Oh, come, now, Evangeline Radcliffe, you are too much the woman to play the coy girl."
She stared at him, then went bright pink. "I-I still don't know what you mean."
He gave her an arch look, and released her hand. "Then, perhaps I should not say any more."
"Oh, please do, Jocelyn!" she said hastily. "Maybe if I change the wording a little and say that I hardly dare hope what you mean?"
He smiled then. "That is infinitely more pleasing to my ears, my dear. Still, truth to tell I am not in any position to criticize, for I too have been hovering around this very thing. By Gad, it is easier to face Boney's navy than to pluck up the courage to tell you I love you!"
Tears of joy sprang to her eyes. "Oh, Jocelyn, if you only knew how I have been yearning for you as well, but I was afraid you only saw me as an old friend…"
"Ditto, my dearest." He chuckled, and raised her fingertips to his lips. "There are no fools like old fools, mm?"
Her fingers curled elatedly in his, but then the cotillion began and her gaze darted to the sea of dancers. "Now, let us pray for plans one and two," she murmured.
"Ditto again," he murmured.
"Jocelyn, there is something I want you to know, something I haven't yet told anyone. It concerns Radcliffe House."
"Yes?"
"I have decided to sell it to Prinny."
Sir Jocelyn stared at her. "But, Evangeline, you love that house!"
"I know; nevertheless I have decided upon a new start. Now more than ever."
"A new start?"
She smiled. "Yes. As you know, HRH has been pestering me to sell for some time, and suddenly it seems right to give in to him. I fear this will be my last Christmas in Brighton."
He was startled. "You mean to leave Brighton as well?"
"Yes. When I said a new start, I meant it."
"And do I figure in this new start, Evangeline?"
She gazed at him. "Do you want to?"
"Of course. In fact, I'll take a damned dim view if you toddle off without me! However, we cannot toddle off together and remain within the bounds of propriety, so it seems to me you will just have to marry me," he declared.
She smiled through tears of happiness. "And I will just have to accept," she replied.
He squeezed her hand again. "I cannot wait to tell them all."
But her fingers tightened urgently over his. "Not just yet, Jocelyn. I want everyone else to be settled first, then we will tell them."
"Whatever you wish, my darling, whatever you wish."
The orchestra played the opening chords, and they both settled back to watch as the dance began at last. The cotillion was a vivacious measure involving the giving and taking of forfeits, and as the sequences brought Megan to Greville for the first time, he caught her hand to kiss it on the palm. There was nothing fleeting about the gesture; it was calculated to rivet surrounding attention. She felt herself become rather hot, but then glanced up and became more hot than ever, for the kissing bough was directly overhead. The dance proceeded, and gradually the steps brought her together with Greville for the second forfeit. This time he put his lips to her cheek, before the dance took them apart again.
Other sets nearby were no longer concentrating upon their own steps, for they were too intent upon what Greville might do next. Soon it seemed to Megan that their set was the only one still dancing, and then only just, for Chloe and Rupert were so astonished by Greville's behavior that several times they almost missed their turn.
Megan's trepidation increased as the cotillion moved inexorably toward the third and final forfeit. What would the forfeit be? First he had kissed her palm, then her cheek; next… her lips? Would he go that far to prove his point? Perhaps the real question was, did she want him to go that far? The thundering of her heart overwhelmed the playing of the orchestra, and then even her heart seemed silenced. She moved as if in a wanton dream, conscious only of him. Yes, she did want him to go that far, she wanted to know the warmth of his lips upon hers… Suddenly they were right beneath the mistletoe, and she felt him take her hand for the last forfeit. He pulled her close, and the entire ballroom gasped as Megan Mortimer, a mere lady's companion, instinctively raised her lips to meet those of one of the beau monde's most sought-after and eligible gentlemen.
Greville was a man of considerable experience, but was still unprepared for the sensations that engulfed him as he kissed her. Desire ignited through him like a flame, catching him unawares with its intensity, and searing his heart with its heat. He already knew that his loathing for Megan had turned to liking; now liking had in turn become something much more. Her perfume filled his nostrils, subtle, inviting, gentle, and he longed to crush her soft contours against his body and feel the warmth of her nut-brown hair spilling over his hands; longed to make passionate, exquisite love to her. He had never known anything like this before, it was mistletoe mischief indeed…
The orchestra died away and silence hung over the ball. Greville was shaken by the wonderful sensations that were still washing through him, and Megan felt as if the brilliant beam of light from Evangeline's Laterna Magica were directed solely upon Greville and her, except that there was nothing phantasmagoric about the mortifying blush that illuminated her face! Please let it be a dream, for she couldn't have really been so unprincipled as to…! But she knew she had. No wonder everyone was speechless!
Not quite everyone, for on the Radcliffe House sofa, Evangeline gave a satisfied smile. "I should be outraged and disapproving of such impropriety, but I am too smugly delighted for such airs. Jocelyn, plan one has just come up trumps, or is it plan two?"
"Does it matter, my darling?"
"No." Evangeline smiled again, and her glance moved to Rupert and Chloe, who were as stunned as everyone else by what had just taken place under the kissing bough. "Now, then, Rupert," she murmured, "if you could just get on with things as well…"
To the relief of both Greville and Megan, the silence was suddenly broken by the sound of Sybil Garsington's raised voice coming from the entrance hall. "Oh, you beatht, you beatht! Thith ith what I think of you!" There came the thwack of a female fist striking a male chin, then a thud as someone fell to the floor.