A Wallflower Christmas (Wallflowers #5)(31)

“Rafe Bowman,” Daisy Swift admonished playfully, “are you resorting to tripping women to gain their attention?”

“When my more subtle efforts fail, yes.” He released Hannah carefully. “You don’t have to leave, Miss Appleton. In fact, we could use another pair of hands.”

“I shouldn’t”

“Oh, do stay!” Lillian said with enthusiasm, and then Annabelle joined in, and then it would have been churlish for Hannah to refuse.

“Thank you, I will,” she said with a sheepish smile. “And unlike Mr. Bowman, I take orders quite well.”

“Perfect,” Daisy exclaimed, handing Hannah a basket of handkerchief angels. “Because with the exception of the two of us, everyone else here loves to give them.”

IT WAS THE BEST AFTERNOON RAFE HAD SPENT IN A LONG TIME. Perhaps ever. Two more ladders were brought in. The men wired candles onto the branches and hung ornaments where directed, while the women passed decorations up to them. Friendly insults flew back and forth, not to mention flurries of laughter as they exchanged reminiscences of past holidays.

Climbing the tallest ladder, Rafe managed to snatch the dangling toupee before anyone else saw it. He glanced at Hannah, who was standing below. Surreptitiously he dropped it to her. She caught it and shoved it deep into a basket.

“What was that thing?” Lillian demanded.

“Bird’s nest,” Rafe replied insouciantly, and he heard Hannah smother a laugh.

Westcliff poured an excellent red wine and passed glasses around, even pressing one on Hannah when she tried to refuse.

“Perhaps I should water it,” she told the earl.

Westcliff looked scandalized. “Dilute a Cossart Gordon ‘28? A sacrilege!” He grinned at her. “First try it just as it is, Miss Appleton. And tell me if you can’t detect flavors of maple, fruit, and bonfire. As the Roman poet Horace once said, ‘Wine brings to light the hidden secrets of the soul.’ “

Hannah smiled back at him and took a sip of the wine. Its rich, exquisite flavor brought an expression of bliss to her face. “Delicious,” she conceded. “But rather strong. And I may have secrets of the soul that should remain hidden.”

Rafe murmured to Hannah, “One glass won’t overthrow all your virtues, much to my regret. Go ahead and have some.”

He smiled as she colored a little. It was a good thing, he thought, that Hannah had no idea how badly he wanted to taste the wine on her lips. And it was also fortunate that Hannah seemed to have no idea of how much he desired her.

What puzzled him was that she wasn’t using any of the usual tricks women employed…no flirtatious glances, no discreet strokes or caresses, no suggestive comments. She dressed like a nun on holiday, and so far she hadn’t once pretended to be impressed by him.

So the devil knew what had inspired all this lust. And it wasn’t the ordinary sort of lust, it was…spiced with something. It was a steady, ruthless warmth, like strong sunlight, and it filled every part of him. It almost made him dizzy.

It was rather like an illness, come to think of it.

As the wine was consumed and the decorating continued, the large room echoed with laughter, especially when Lillian and Daisy tried to harmonize a few lines of a popular Christmas carol.

“If that sound were produced by a pair of songbirds,” Rafe told his sisters, “I would shoot them at once to put them out of their misery.”

“Well, you sing like a wounded elephant,” Daisy retorted.

“She’s lying,” Rafe told Hannah, who was stringing tinsel below him.

“You don’t sing badly?” she asked.

“I don’t sing at all.”

“Why not?”

“If one doesn’t do something well, it shouldn’t be done.”

“I don’t agree,” she protested. “Sometimes the effort should be made even if the results aren’t perfect.”

Smiling, Rafe descended the ladder for more candles, and stopped to look directly into her ocean-green eyes. “Do you really believe that?”

“Yes.”

“I dare you, then.”

“You dare me to what?”

“Sing something.”

“This moment?” Hannah gave a disconcerted laugh. “By myself?”

Aware that the others were observing the interaction with interest, Rafe nodded. He wondered if she would take the dare and sing in front of a group of people she barely knew. He didn’t think so.

Flushing, Hannah protested, “I can’t do it while you’re looking at me.”

Rafe laughed. He took the bundle of wires and candles she handed to him, and obediently went up the ladder. He twisted a wire around a candle and began to fasten it to a branch.

His hands stilled as he heard a sweet, soft voice. Not at all distinguished or operatic. Just a pleasant, lovely feminine voice, perfect for lullabies or Christmas carols or nursery songs.

A voice one could listen to for a lifetime.

Here we come a-wassailing Among the leaves so green, Here we come a-wand’ring So fair to be seen. Love and joy come to you, And to you your wassail, too, And God bless you, and send you A Happy New Year, And God send you a Happy New Year.

Rafe listened to her, barely aware of the two or three candles snapping in his grip. This was getting bloody ridiculous, he thought savagely. If she became any more adorable, endearing, or delectable, something was going to get broken.