It Happened Under the Mistletoe: A Holiday Novella by Valerie Bowman Page A

he couldn’t quite bring himself to turn away. Why was he so reluctant?
    Cerian moved over and patted the bench. “There’s room enough for both of us.”
    Oliver eyed the bench. There was room, wasn’t there? That’s what drinking brandy in the early afternoon did to you. It made you believe very, very bad ideas were very, very good ones. Had Miss Blake been drinking brandy too?
    He took two steps forward and slid onto the cold stone next to her, bracing his palms against the bench. “You enjoy the conservatory?”
    “Very much. This spot especially. The orchids are my particular favorite.” She reached out and plucked one of the exotic purple flowers from the nearby vine. She twirled it between her thumb and forefinger.
    “I like it here too.” Good Lord had his voice just caught? When was the last time that had happened? He must have been a lad of fourteen. He was sitting close enough to her now to smell her light perfume, even more captivating than the orchids.
    “Are you hiding again?” she asked, gesturing back toward the main part of the house with her chin. “From the others?”
    He cracked a smile. “No. This time I was purely in pursuit of a bit of solitude. I reserve my hiding posts for the silver closet.” He looked at her from the corners of his eyes.
    She laughed at that. “Well, I’m hiding,” she admitted. “Though I’m happy to go elsewhere to allow you your privacy if you’d prefer.” She moved to stand and Oliver’s hand shot out to stop her. He clutched her wrist and pulled her back down next to him.
    “Don’t go,” he murmured.
    She settled back onto the bench and nodded. “Very well, but if we’re to remain here, make no mistake that I am hiding.” She grinned at him.
    “As long as you’re not hiding from me.” He winked at her. “Because I hate to be indelicate but if so, you’re not doing a very good job of it.”
    She pushed a curl away from her forehead. “No, not from you.”
    “Excellent. Then your secret is safe with me. Who are you hiding from this time?’
    “Sir Gilliam again,” she replied with a sigh, bracing one of her gloved hands on the bench beside her thigh.
    “Gilliam?” Oliver whistled. “Quite a determined chap, is he not?”
    “Yes. He asked me to go for a ride with him.”
    “You dislike riding?”
    “On the contrary, I adore riding. I dislike Sir Gilliam.”
    “Why’s that?” he asked, arching a brow.
    She brought the orchid up to her nose and inhaled deeply. “Oh, he’s a nice enough chap. A bit overly concerned with the health problems of his elderly relatives perhaps. He’s taken to reciting all of his family’s inherited diseases to me. Most recently he treated me to a list of his own ailments.”
    Oliver winced. “It doesn’t sound very encouraging.”
    “Oh, it’s not. He begged me wait while he hurried to the library so that he might look up the correct pronunciation of his cousin’s toe fungus.”
    Oliver pressed his lips together to keep from laughing. “No, he did not.”
    “I’m afraid he did.”
    “And that’s when you left?”
    “Made my way to the nearest door and have been hiding in here ever since.”
    Oliver couldn’t control his bark of laughter this time. “Miss Blake, do you know that you never fail to make me laugh?”
    She shrugged. “I must admit, Mama always says I have a bit of a jester in me. But I’m not jesting. If Sir Gilliam offers to show you the funny patch of skin on the back of his hand, do not under any circumstances assent to it.”
    “I’ll keep that in mind,” Oliver replied, valiantly attempting to keep from snorting. “And I’d hardly say you’re a jester. You simply have a unique way of looking at the world.”
    She hung her head at bit, studying the flower that dangled from her fingers. “I suppose it’s quite different from the way a duke looks at the world.”
    He shrugged. “I wouldn’t know.”
    Her head snapped up. “Whatever could you mean?”
    He blew a