Page 10 of The Mistletoe Dare

“I’m really not sure—”

“You said you trusted me,” he replied, watching her with unnerving intensity.

“I do. Of course, I do, but…” Evie sighed at the implacable look in his eyes. “Oh. Very well.”

“You will have the gown sent to my room and I will see to the alterations.”

“Yes, Louis.”

He nodded, apparently satisfied. The sound of the clock chiming one, echoed in the distance. Evie sighed in disappointment. “I suppose I had better go to bed.”

“Non, not yet,” Louis said, taking her firmly by the hand and leading her to the door.

“Where are we going?” she asked, brightening to think the evening was not yet over, and curious to know what he had in mind.

Louis looked over his shoulder at her, a determined glint in his eyes. “To get you something to eat.”

8th December 1840, Beverwyck, London.

Georgie came down late to breakfast the next morning after a luxurious lie in. Nearly everyone but Evie had already been and gone ages ago, but she was content enough, sipping a cup of delicious hot chocolate. She gave a little sigh of pleasure and licked her lips, setting the cup down and turning to Evie, who was smothering a yawn.

“Did you not sleep well?” George asked her in concern.

Evie flushed and returned a nervous smile. “Umm, no, not very well. All the excitement I expect.”

“I slept like the dead. Meg had to shake me to wake me up, or I’d still be snoring,” Georgie said, grinning, though her smile faded as she noticed the Duke of Rochford sit down at the opposite end of the table. He was scowling at her. She resisted the temptation to stick her tongue out at him and returned her attention to Evie.

“Aunt Prue said I might go to the kitchens and make shortbread. Do you want to come?”

Evie bit her lip. “Actually, I have a bit of a headache. I might go for a walk and get some fresh air. Clear the cobwebs away.”

Georgie nodded. “As you wish. I hope you feel better.”

Evie smiled and got up, leaving the table. Georgie reached for a fresh bread roll and tore it in half. She had buttered one side and begun on the other before she realised Rochford was still there.

“You cook?” he asked, surprising her.

She had assumed he would ignore her and had been quite happy with that. Conversing with him did not seem wise, but she could hardly refuse to answer a direct question.

“I do.”

He frowned at her, apparently unhappy with this answer. “Why? You are the daughter of an earl. If you want something, you need only snap your pretty fingers.”

“And do aristocratic men need to go out and shoot birds and deer?” she countered.

He waved this away with disregard. “It is not considered a respectable hobby for a lady, I think. It is too menial.”

Georgie stared back at him. “I don’t care. I enjoy it.”

His thick, dark brows drew together.

She gave a tut of irritation. “If the ton suddenly disapproved of men hunting, would you stop?”

“I don’t hunt anyway, so I should not care.”

She stared at him in surprise.

“You don’t hunt?” The surprise in her voice was audible.