Mistletoe and Mischief by Patricia Wynn

over to fill his glass again. “If it were me, I'd say you had all the company you need, dear boy. But if it's respectability you want, I can provide it for you.” He raised his own cup in a toast. “I'll give you Miss Wadsdale for a Christmas present--with a ribbon round her, if you wish.”
    “Is she your mother's companion?”
    Ned nodded, raising his eyes to the ceiling expressively, “She is,” he said. “And I'd be grateful to you if you'd take her off my hands for the holidays. It's boring enough around here with m' mother and sister, without having to suffer from her gibble-gabble.” He lifted his glass again. “Argle-bargle, if you prefer.”
    Charles ignored his impudence and began to relax with relief. “Thank goodness,” he said, and allowed himself for once to enjoy his cognac. The golden liquid burned his throat and soothed him simultaneously. “I'll take her gladly. Can I have her tonight?”
    Ned smiled again, but kept the joke to himself. “You could if it were up to me,” he said. “But I'll have to do some talking to wean her away from m' mother. You're a marquess–she'll like that. But she's not very amenable to change, so I won't be able to bring her to the mark that fast.”
    “Tomorrow, then. At dawn.”
    “Hold on there, boy! You could probably have her tomorrow, but what will you do with her if she comes?”
    Charles drew his brows together. “As soon as she's comfortable, we'll set out immediately for London, of course.”
    Ned shook his head. “Tomorrow's Sunday have you forgotten? And you in the government.”
    Charles closed his eyes. He had forgotten the day. Of course they could not travel on Sunday. Not unless they could do so without being caught.
    He looked questioningly at his host. Ned shook his head again. “Not on your life, Charles boy. Miss Wadsdale's pious. And if the Spadgers didn't inform on you, she would do so herself. Turn herself in to the magistrate, she would, rather than break the Sabbath.”
    “Oh, damn,” Charles said. He leaned his elbows on his knees and sighed. “Well, it can't be helped, I suppose. I'll have to come for her on Monday.”
    “Right,” Ned said, downing the contents of his glass in celebration.
    Charles said anxiously, “You won't forget, will you? I need you to come through for me on this.”
    Ned eyed him mockingly. “Don't worry, Charlie boy. I'm just drunk, not weak in the head. My memory serves me well enough.” His grin turned mischievous. “For instance, I haven't forgotten the time you had the nude portrait delivered to the English master during class. I'll never forget his face.”
    Taken aback for a moment, Charles realized he had almost forgotten those days. He grinned, too, and then grimaced ruefully. “That wasn't me. That was just me under your influence.”
    “At least you had some friends then.”
    Charles pursed his lips. “I have friends now, thank you. Just not much time to see them in, that's all. I'd best be going.”
    He put down his glass and stood. Then he remembered something. “Lou-- the young lady left her baggage in Gretna Green. How should I go about finding her some clothes?”
    Ned cocked an eye. “If it were me, Charlie boy, I--’’
    Charles nodded and sighed. “You should do better without the clothes, I know. But listen, Ned, will you stop playing these stupid games! And will you leave off with that abominable nickname!”
    “Sorry, Wroxton. Old habit.” His smile was unrepentant.
    Charles's lips curved. “0h--go drown yourself! What about the clothes?”
    Ned put down his glass. “As it happens, you've come to the right place. Has she a good figure, this Miss Lou--?” He waited unsuccessfully for more.
    Charles's cheeks grew warm. “I suppose this question is pertinent?”
    “But of course it is, Charles!” Ned widened his eyes in innocence. “Can you doubt me? I need to know if my sister's clothes will fit her.”
    “Your sister's? But won't Miss Conisbrough