Holiday House Parties by Elizabeth; Mansfield Page B

floor with a loud clump. Geordie ignored it, for he was utterly absorbed in the task at hand. The girl he was holding in the air, his two hands almost completely encompassing her waist, was feather-light, and her face, staring down at him in surprise, was—he had to admit it—breathtakingly lovely.
    â€œMy lord,” she said somewhat breathlessly, “this is not necessary. I can climb down three steps. Please put me down.”
    But he didn’t put her down. Something came over him—a whim that was not at all gentlemanly but that he found irresistible. He was not going to set her down until he was good and ready. He held her up in the air, his prisoner. “’Tis a wee dautie ye are,” he said, grinning up at her. “Light as a bubble.”
    Caroline was not amused. She didn’t know what the word dautie meant, but she was sure it was another insult. And she didn’t like being held up in the air like a plaything. “Confound it, your lordship,” she snapped angrily, “put me down!”
    â€œAye, Miss Woolcott, I will. Soon as ye call me Geordie. I dinna take kindly to yer my lords . They’re as bad as yer indeeds .”
    â€œDamnation, Lord Dunvegan, I won’t be bullied! Put me down, I say!”
    â€œMichty me, such a curfuffle owre naught!” he laughed. “’Tis a stubborn lass ye are, to be sure.”
    â€œIs it stubborn to hold to a bargain? I thought we had agreed to keep a distance between us?”
    â€œ You agreed. I was no party to it.” He lowered her to his chest and peered directly into her gold-flecked eyes. “Wheesht, my dear, is it so hard to call me by my given name?”
    â€œYes,” she said stubbornly, trying not to notice that she could feel his heart beating—and hers, too. “To address each other by given names is too … too intimate for us.”
    â€œIntimate, is it?” Slowly he set her down, but he kept one arm tight about her waist, holding her pinioned to him. Everything she said infuriated him, but he didn’t want to let her go. He felt like a small boy on a rampage of mischief that had become so uncontrollable that only crashing into a wall would stop him. “That is not my understanding of the word intimate,” he teased, hurtling on down his mischievous path by pulling her closer. “ This is intimate.” And, with malicious zest, he kissed her on her cherry-red mouth.
    Caroline was startled into momentary inaction. She had been kissed before, but never with such fervor. The sensation it produced was surprisingly pleasant, and before her brain reminded her that the man holding her so tightly in his arms was the obnoxious Lord Dunvegan, she quite enjoyed the taste of his lips and the feeling that the blood in her veins had turned to bubbling champagne. But then she remembered. This was the man who’d told his aunt that she was not beautiful, that she was full of toplofty airs, and that he disliked her intensely. Remembering, she wrenched herself free. “ Lord Dunvegan ,” she exclaimed in breathless fury, “just what do you think you’re doing ?”
    Geordie, who’d kissed a fair number of lasses in his time, was not as discomposed as she. Dizzy and dazzled he might be, but not discomposed. “Dinna ye remember?” he taunted brazenly. “I was explaining the word intimate.”
    â€œThat was not intimate. That was … licentious !”
    â€œNay, lass, I canna agree. Here we are under the mistletoe. For me to kiss ye under the mistletoe is a legitimate Christmas tradition.”
    â€œIn the first place, your lordship, the tradition does not go into effect until Christmas Eve. In the second place, even at Christmas such a kiss would be considered licentious. And in the third place, Lord Dunvegan, you are a boorish, shameless libertine , and if you ever —Christmas or not—manhandle me in such a manner again, I