Excerpt: 1812, December, A Kiss For Charity by Sherry Ewing (Part 1 of the flirtation scene)

Grace sat at the dining room table across from her sister who was glaring at her with furious eyes. If the table were any narrower, Grace was positive that her shins would be bruised from Miranda kicking them to show her displeasure. It was hardly her fault that Grace was seated next to the Marquis of Aldridge, especially since she had no say in the planning for the seating at Christmas dinner. Grace had no doubt her sister would seek her out later to accuse her of purposely making such an arrangement to thwart Miranda’s attempts to bring the man to heel.

Thus far, Miranda had failed, as Grace knew she would. Watching her sister shamelessly flirt with the marquis and following him about the room prior to dinner had been an embarrassment. Adrian had been detained elsewhere, or he would have had Miranda locked in her room for behaving so horribly. The girl had even attempted twice to bring Aldridge, then his brother, Lord Jonathan, beneath a decorated bunch of mistletoe to demand a kiss in order to keep with the holiday tradition. Her sister was going too far to win this wager, and Adrian needed to put an end to Miranda’s exploits before the poor girl got hurt or ruined.

The gentleman next to her expelled an exasperated sigh, and she saw that Miranda was batting her eyelashes at the marquis as though she were about to take flight. Grace was not sure for whom she felt sorrier.

“I must apologize for my sister, Lord Aldridge,” Grace declared quietly when she saw Miranda begin speaking to the gentleman to her right.

“If you were responsible for her behavior, Lady de Courtenay, she would be as ladylike as you are yourself. I do not hold you accountable.” He seemed to realize that his tone was a little sharp because he apologized in his turn. “I beg your pardon. The correct answer, I believe, would have been, ‘not at all, Lady de Courtenay. Your sister is everything delightful.’” He sighed again.

“You are still too kind,” Grace stated, blushing. “I will admit that part of the blame is also mine, since Miranda and I have a silly wager between us.”

This time, the sigh was almost a groan. “A kiss?” He studied her. “No, not a kiss. A proposal? My dear Lady de Courtenay, has no one warned you that I proposition silly debutantes, I do not propose to them?”

“I did try to warn my sister, but she is a determined young lady when she sets her mind to something… or someone.”

He put his fair head to one side and regarded her with a gleam in his hazel eyes. Leaning a little closer, he murmured, “You are far more interesting to me than your sister, Lady de Courtenay.”

Grace tried not to laugh, honestly she did, but she could not resist the small sound that escaped her lips. “I am afraid, my lord, that your reputation precedes you, not to mention your association with my friend Moriah.”

Charm. He had loads of it, and Grace could understand why the rumors about him were true. What woman would not fall under that handsome devil’s spell?

Those burning hazel eyes continued to stare at her leaving her flushed and tongue-tied. “I am hardly that interesting, my lord,” she murmured while she rushed to fill the deafening silence between them. What in the world could someone like the marquis find noteworthy in a woman like her? They hardly ran in the same circles.

He sat back a little, and his lips curled at the corners, just a little. “That, my dear Lady de Courtenay, is because Society’s gossip gabblers protect innocents like you and your sister from knowledge about what men like me find fascinating. Even though such knowledge might protect them. An innocent widow? What a delightful challenge!” Gold glints danced in the hazel eyes as he added, “But, never fear; I will not forget I am in my mother’s house, and you are her guests. A small flirtation, perhaps? Just to annoy your sister?”

“Your mother has been very gracious,” Grace replied kindly. “As to annoying my sister, I would like nothing better than to set her down a notch or two. She is so confident she will always get her way.” She took up her wine glass and watched the man next to her over the rim, even venturing to cast him a mischievous smile.

“Then let me raise a glass in salute to the beauty of your eyes and the charming color that rises under your smooth and silky skin,” he purred, suiting action to word, and somehow making the act of placing his lips on the rim of the wine glass seem… Goodness. Had he just swiped his tongue across the rim?