She stiffened and tried to push free, but he was too strong. It seemed she must grin and bear what was to come. She snatched a shuddering breath, heavy with Paul’s scent: bay rum, horses, an
d healthy, virile male. It was a nice smell. It shouldn’t seem completely wrong.
Gritting her teeth and wanting to throttle her sister, she rose on her toes and skimmed her lips across his cheek. The contact was over in an instant, and Serena prepared to retreat.
“You can do better than that,” Mary scoffed.
Serena turned her head and saw that everyone was watching. She caught Giles’s unreadable dark gaze before he glanced away. Shame heated her cheeks. How he must despise her for rushing from his kisses to Paul’s.
“No need to be shy, sweetheart,” Paul murmured, his hold on her waist firming. “Everybody knows we have an understanding.”
Another glance confirmed that if she didn’t count Giles, their audience radiated approval.
She’d devoted years to dreaming of Paul’s kisses. Perhaps he was right about her being shy. His kiss might shatter her odd, contrary mood, like a prince breaking a wicked spell in a fairytale.
She raised her head and pursed her lips, saying a frantic prayer for magic. Paul’s lips descended. The kiss was innocent—although until a few days ago, she wouldn’t have recognized that—and tinged with tenderness.
Serena stood unmoved.
After what felt like an eon, Paul withdrew to regard her with a satisfaction that seemed unwarranted. Or perhaps Giles’s kisses had turned her into a hopeless wanton, capable of responding only to voracious passion.
For one blind, reckless moment, she considered tugging Paul closer and insisting on something more carnal. Her hand curled in his shirt.
Then everyone around them burst into applause, and she realized now was neither the time nor the place. Paul laughed and leaned forward to kiss her cheek, whispering for her ears alone, “The first of many delightful kisses to come, I hope.”
Before she could summon an answer—and what could she say?—he stepped away with a brief bow, leaving her standing under the kissing bough.
“Serena’s in place. Does anyone else want to kiss her?” Mary asked.
Before she could escape, her brother, her brothers-in-law, her uncles, her cousins, and her father lined up. Most made do with a peck on the cheek, although Charles, her oldest cousin, tried to kiss her lips. As he grabbed her waist and his flushed face loomed closer, she strained away. The alcohol on his breath made her dizzy.
“Charles, you’re foxed.”
“Dash it, Serena, you’re awfully pretty—and it’s Christmas after all.”
“And you’ve been celebrating too hard,” she snapped.
“If you refuse to kiss me, you won’t get married next year,” he said snidely.
Right now, that seemed a blessing. She gave Charles a brief kiss on the cheek and shoved him away.
“Careful,” he grunted, stumbling into the people behind him.
“Grow up, Charles,” Giles said firmly. “And stay away from the rum punch. You’ll have a devil of a head in the morning, as it is.”
“Damn it. Can’t a man kick up his heels at Christmas?” Charles grumbled, but once he’d found his feet, he shambled off without causing any more trouble.
Serena’s gaze settled on Giles, and a deep, tingling warmth rose from her toes to her crown, until she was sure she must glow like a candle.
“Giles…” she murmured, hardly believing he lined up to kiss her. Then she noticed Mary’s implacable hand curled around his arm.
“I saw Giles hanging back and couldn’t let him escape,” Mary said.
Serena glared at her sister. “You’re very free with another woman’s kisses.”
Mary shrugged. “Giles can’t be the only gentleman in the house who misses out on a kiss.”
“I’m sure he’s big enough to ask for his own kisses,” she said acidly, before she blushed a painful red. She remembered a time when he’d done just that, and she’d been quick to comply.