Page 14 of The Mistletoe Dare

“At seven years old?” she returned incredulously, before pointing at the Duke of Bedwin, who was trying to guess the charade with as much enthusiasm as everyone else.

Rochford shrugged, and the sight of those enormous shoulders rolling momentarily diverted Georgie’s attention as the muscles shifted beneath his tight-fitting coat.

“My home bore little resemblance to his one.”

“You’ve never played charades?”

He shook his head.

“You must have played games, though?” she pressed, appalled at the idea of a childhood with no games.

“I played hide and seek,” he admitted, but there was a darkly amused look in his eyes that unsettled her.

“Oh?”

“Oh, yes. I hid from my mother’s lover, so he couldn’t thrash me for putting maggots in his tea or dead mice in his boots.”

Georgie stared at him.

“Yes,” he replied dryly, sneering. “I’m certain you are not shocked to discover I was just as charming and ugly as a boy as I am now, though I didn’t get the measles until I was six, and the scar not long after that.”

The words you’re not ugly burned on Georgie’s tongue, but she didn’t know how to say them. It seemed far too intimate, and this man already posed a threat of sorts. She must not encourage any familiarity between them. Yet, she considered a boy of seven losing his father. No wonder he had taken it out on his mother’s lover. Why had he even known the man existed so soon after his father’s death? Hadn’t his mother protected him? He must have been so angry and confused. Compassion stirred in her breast, but she pushed it aside. A man like this would hardly thank her for such sympathy. He had obviously crushed any feeling of tenderness or sympathy a long time ago. So, instead, she ignored his comments.

“Well, it’s easy enough to play,” she said briskly. “The player, or players, choose a title of a book or play, or perhaps a nursery rhyme or a saying, and then they must try to act out the words in a way that the others in their team can guess it. I think Lady Rosamund said hers has two words and is the title of a book.”

Rochford frowned, watching as Lady Rosamund mimed screwing a corkscrew into a bottle.

“Twist,” he said. “Oliver Twist.”

“Oh!” Georgie exclaimed, staring at him in delight and then calling out. “Oliver Twist!”

Ozzie exclaimed in relief. “Oh, thank goodness. Well done, Georgie.”

“Oh, it wasn’t me,” Georgie replied, giving Rochford a wicked grin. “It was his grace.”

Rochford shook his head. “No,” he said, his tone brooking no argument as he realised the dreadful creature had set him up. Revenge, he didn’t doubt, for mocking her accent. Not that he had been. He’d thought it charming, but it was obviously a sore spot and he’d hit it.

“Don’t be such a stick in the mud,” she said, rolling her eyes. Her expression softened, and she lowered her voice. “It’s fun. Come on, Rochford, I’ll help you if you like. We can do it together.”

For the briefest moment temptation shimmered at the thought of doing anything with Lady Georgina but making a complete twat of himself in front of the entire household was not an occupation that appealed.

“Forget it. I’ll not make an arse of myself for your entertainment, much as you might like to make a fool of me,” he said coldly, and stalked away from her and out of the room. Irritation simmered under his skin, and he strode along the corridor towards the front door. He needed to get outside, into the fresh air, and away from all these bloody people.

“Don’t you run away from me, you pig-headed devil.”

Rochford’s steps faltered at the sound of the imperious voice echoing down the corridor. He turned, admitting himself astonished to discover Lady Georgina had followed him—and had called him a pig-headed devil.

“Are you going to instruct me to boil my head again?” he asked dryly.

She flushed but did not back down, instead closing the distance between them.

“Quite possibly,” she retorted. “But I want a word with you first. Are you really so high in the instep that you cannot lower yourself to have fun with these people? The duke and duchess were playing, for heaven’s sake, or do you consider yourself better than them?”

It took a deal of effort not to laugh in her face at the idea he might consider himself better than the Duke and Duchess of Bedwin. Everyone liked and admired the duke and duchess, and people were happy to laugh with them if they chose to behave foolishly. If Rochford did it, he’d be crucified. He knew that well enough.

“I don’t want to play the fool game,” he snapped, for he was hardly going to articulate any other motivation for running away.

The woman stared at him, studying him. No one ever looked at him so directly. “Very well. If it makes you so uncomfortable, you need not take part, but do come back to the parlour.”