Her chest hurt with the effort to remain unaffected. “No…you do not know my mother…of her kindness, of her loyalty, and that when she loves, she does so with her entire heart. It hurts that you would judge her so unfairly and by the standards of other women you must have encountered in your life. I am not trying to entrap the earl. Never that.”
She vibrated with indignation, took a deep breath, and continued, “I…I could see the tendre Lord Deerwood and my mother have for each other. Mama has been broken and hurt for so long, that it relieves my heart she still can love and yearn for more from life. My mama is pure of heart, demure, respectable, and though she is a bit enamored of scandal sheets, she is not mean-spirited at all! But she can be painfully shy, which some might misconstrue as indifference. I only thought to help her along, and it angers me you would try to take away the cheerful smile I just saw on her face because of your own arrogance and vanity. Your father is an earl…a man of maturity and excellent sense. I daresay he does not need you to decide whom he should shower with his attentions!”
He lowered his hands and studied her as if she were an unusual creature.
“You are very decided with your tongue, aren’t you?”
Now he sounded as if he admired her.
“I agree, Miss Middleton, I do not know your mother, and I may do her a disservice by comparing her to others. I should also trust my father’s judgment and not meddle in his affairs. I will endeavor to do so if you promise no more mischief.”
She frowned. “I…”
He held up a hand. “If there is a genuine attachment between the pair, they will discover it for themselves with no added manipulation, wouldn’t you agree?” he queried in a smooth voice, his eyes never leaving her face. “They’ve received a proper nudge just now…I am certain you also witnessed that passionate kiss.”
She flushed, recalling the wicked embrace. She wondered if he was right, but Callie knew her mama. The viscountess would need several nudges, and while Callie’s and Letty’s encouragement were meant to be helpful, this dratted man would see it as manipulating his father. She wanted to growl at him. “I suppose so,” she reluctantly agreed.
“And if love,” he said with skepticism, “were to arrow its way into their hearts, it is up to the earl and Lady Danby to discover it with no one conspiring to set them up in a compromising situation that would lead to a forced marriage, especially with so many guests here. After all, there are many one notorious gossip amongst this set.”
Oh!
A revelation bloomed through her. “You do not believe in love,” she said with soft surprise.
He jerked in surprise. “I love my family, and I know this because I would do everything necessary to protect them.”
“There is also romantic love.”
He grimaced. “I am sure there is,” he said flatly. “It is not only his father who has been the recipient of many ladies’ plot to align with my family. I still recall how unpleasant their cries of love were.”
“I pity you since I believe you do not think love really exists. Not every wooing is about wealth and connections.”
His face softened, and she was grateful for it.
“Ah…the flowers and the poetry, the lengthy walks and kissing, and then naked and sweaty, tangled limbs atop a bed? That is merely lust and a passion for life. If some want to call it love, who am I to object?”
Shock blossomed through her in a chilly wave. Naked and sweaty, tangled limbs atop a bed? The images provoked in her mind was salacious and downright shocking! Callie considered a variety of answers and rejected them all. What could she say?
Laughter and something devilish lurked in his brilliant eyes. “Ah…, I’ve distressed your sensibilities.”
Callie retreated a few steps, needing the space between them, for his presence was overwhelming and, in that instant, felt wicked. The awareness they were alone…and that it was late, settled inside her. Instead of allowing her the distance, the dratted man followed her. She kept retreating, and he kept advancing. Callie only stopped when her rear encountered one of the Roman statues by the sashed windows.
“Miss Middleton…Callie…”
Her heart jerked at the intimacy of her name on his tongue.
“Is it a shortened name?”
“Yes,” she husked. “Callisto…”
“Beautiful,” he murmured, with a slight smile.
Why her father had decided to name her after a nymph, she had never understood.
Something indefinable gleamed in the viscount’s gaze. “I cannot help noticing clenched between your fingers is a sprig of mistletoe.”
With a sense of alarm, she glanced down at the small green leaves crushed in her hands. Callie released it as if it were fire, and it fell to the ground between them. She fought to gather her composure at their proximity.
“The mistletoe is still here…with us,” he said with tender amusement.