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Charles opened the door and a blast of cold air swept over them. “After you.”

Chapter Four

The ground was cold underfoot and muddy in some places. Snow remained in patches, crunchy and icy after having sat so long. It was a dreary winter scene as the small party trekked through the garden and to the woods beyond, in search of anything that would dress up the dining room to feel festive.

Millie debated telling her sister of the note burning in her pocket, but decided not to draw Helena into anything that might cause her to fret. Despite what Millie had said to Wesley, she was aware that the idea of a man entering her chamber without permission had an odd sense of dissatisfaction to it. She was not frightened, though, because her secret suitor’s intentions were clearly good.

Perhaps the gentleman had not stepped foot in her room at all. He could have sent a maid to deliver it for him. There could be a completely innocent explanation. Millie was determined to find out what it was—as soon as she learned who had left the note.

“Can either of you reach those berries?” Helena asked, gesturing to a clump of mistletoe high in the tree.

Charles rubbed his jaw, looking up at it. “Unlikely, my love.”

“Wesley?” Millie asked, though she assumed it was much too far out of his reach for him as well.

“It is quite high.” He lifted his eyebrows, meeting her challenge. “But for mistletoe? I can surely try.”

“There will be many happy young people in the house if you are successful, Mr. Prescott,” Helena said.

He shrugged out of his coat and held it out to Millie, who took it and folded it over her arm, subtly inhaling the scent of pine wafting from it. Unfastening his shirt sleeve at the wrist, Wesley rolled it up to his elbow. She looked away, careful to keep her gaze at eye level. It was already difficult enough to interact with Wesley without thinking of how he looked last night shaving before the mirror. She could not add another attractive feature to the catalogue in her mind.

“You do not mean to climb the tree,” Charles said, tucking his chin.

“It seems the only way to reach the mistletoe, Mr. Vale.”

Helena didn’t look certain about this plan any longer. “Is it safe?”

“The oak is old and sturdy. I am not concerned about its ability to hold me.” Wesley moved to the base of the trunk and reached for a thick branch above his head. He pulled himself up, climbing onto the branch just below it, and Millie sucked in a quiet breath of surprise.

Goodness. The man was strong. His forearms flexed beneath the movement, impossible to look away from.

Drat. Her mind’s collection of attractive images now had another entry. Wesley pulling himself into the tree was a feat she had been substantially unprepared for.

He climbed another branch higher, then reached for the knife tucked in his pocket and cut the mistletoe off at the base of the branch. “Ready?” he asked, and Helena put out her hands to catch it before he let it fall.

Wesley shot Millie a quick glance, then proceeded to move back toward the main trunk of the tree.

“What of that clump?” she asked, pointing above him. “If we have more, we can hang kissing boughs above the table.”

Wesley looked above him. The second clump was much higher. “Easily,” he replied breezily.

Millie took a step back, watching him climb three more branches, the circumference of each growing smaller and smaller. “Perhaps it is unwise⁠—”

“Nonsense,” he called, moving out on a branch and reaching for the large clump, leaves and white berries punctuating the greenery. “I’m nearly there.”

Millie held her breath as he pulled out his knife and sawed at the base of the mistletoe. Once it came free, he seemed to lose his balance, dropping the clump as he grabbed on to the branch for purchase.

“Wesley!” she called, her entire body tensed from the fright. “Come down at once!”

When he seemed secure in his footing, he glanced down at her over his shoulder. “At once?”

“Yes. I command it.” Millie’s breaths came in sharply, clouding before her with each exhale.

“Well, if you command it.” Wesley gave a flourish and began to climb down.

It was her own fault for pressing the matter and asking him to climb higher for more mistletoe, but the possibility of Wesley nearly falling had not been on her mind. He was infallible, a man incapable of stepping so much as one foot out of place.

Once his boots landed on the ground with a thud, she let out a shuddering breath.