His Mistletoe Wager

‘I believe this waltz is mine.’ The interloper shot daggers at Hal when he saw her arm still looped through his. There was far too much pomade in the fellow’s thin hair, either that or it had not been washed in the last week. Patches of his bald pate shone through the greasy strands and the poor chap was at least two inches shorter than Lizzie, a feat in itself when she was barely a few inches above five feet.

‘I’m afraid there has been a mistake, old chap. The lady has already promised this dance to me.’

The bald man was outraged. ‘It was arranged with the Earl of Upminster himself. I watched him write my name down on her card.’ He puffed out his pigeon chest in indignation. ‘We are colleagues at the Foreign Office!’ One effeminate hand, more suited to clerical work than seduction, shot out and lunged for the card hanging from Lizzie’s wrist, but Hal was closer and grabbed it before the upstart did.

For the most part, being blessed with height was something he was always mindful of. Those less fortunate tended to become a little intimidated if one loomed and he was too good natured to want to make others uneasy. However, occasionally a situation called for it. This one did. Pulling himself up to his full six feet and three impressive inches, Hal glowered down at the irritating fellow before him, forcing him to crane his neck up to look directly into his steely glare. ‘This dance is mine.’

‘No, it isn’t. I specifically asked for the waltz. Upminster pencilled me in for it. I demand to see that card!’ The pigeon’s chest was now so puffed the buttons on his coat were straining around the heavy padding. ‘Hand it over immediately!’

There was no need for any words. They were causing enough of a scene without further unseemly conversation. Rather splendidly, Aaron was paying them particular attention behind a potted palm. Hal tried not to look at his brother-in-law. Already, in less than a day since they’d struck the wager, he had stolen one kiss and secured the possibility of many different locations to kiss his lady again. Now all he had to do was choose the right opportunities to do so. That would take finesse. Clumsy, eager overtures would not be welcomed, of that Hal was quite certain. This fair, prickly ice maiden was too guarded. Wary and suspicious of everything, including him. However, she had just insisted he return the favour and save her from another man and that had nothing whatsoever to do with his bet and everything to do with his fortuitous alliance with Lizzie.

With deliberate slowness, Hal lifted it with a smile and slowly tore the offensive dance card into tiny pieces, then sprinkled them like confetti into Mr Pigeon’s outstretched hand. He turned towards his fairly startled-looking new ally and made a great show of kissing her hand.

‘You promised me this dance, Lady Elizabeth.’

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