Under the Mistletoe by Sherry Ewing

Author:Sherry Ewing
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-9971777-1-8
Publisher: Sherry Ewing

Chapter 8

Sander raised his glass to his guests in a toast. “Welcome to my home and blessings of the Christmas season to us all.”

At the mutter of hear hear’s, Sander took a sip of his wine, and his guests did the same. Margaret was seated in a place of honor at the opposite end of the table. He gave her a nod and she signaled to the servant standing near the hidden door to the kitchen that supper could be served.

Dish after dish began to arrive, each course served with a different wine. If the fare was edible, Sander did not know. Although he appeared to be concentrating on the multitude of conversations swirling around his table, his whole focus was on Margaret. She, and her relationship with someone else at the table, was his only concern.

The obnoxious man was titled, for God’s sake, so why, out of all the women seated here, did Frederick have his attention on Margaret? There was no lack of single ladies to be found in London and even at Sander’s own table.

The more he watched them and the glances they continued to exchange, the more he felt he was missing something important. Clearly, they had known each other for some time. Sander was not the jealous type, but he would not be hoodwinked under his own damned roof! By God, he would make sure Margaret’s attention remained focused on him throughout the remainder of the night.

When the meal was over, he held out his hand for Margaret so that they could lead their guests to the ballroom. Her fingers shook. So she was frightened of him, was she? That could be to his advantage, and he would have her anyway. Meanwhile, he would tease the good Lord Beacham with the very woman he would never claim.

The musicians were already playing in the upper gallery of the ballroom. Sander led Margaret to the middle of the empty floor and bowed, and she gave him a low curtsy. Taking her in his arms, he held her far closer than was appropriate. Her eyes widened.

“Do not cause another scene, dear, for I do not care for them.” He smiled beneath the warning of his threat. “You do know how to waltz, do you not?”

He did not wait for her reply but led her into the dance. Sander knew he was an accomplished dancer, and he reveled in prancing Margaret before Beacham with a confident smile. Sander was used to getting what he wanted, and he wanted Margaret. He cared not that she was not titled. He needed a wife, if only to maintain the outward appearance that his household was…normal…when it was anything but.

“You dance splendidly, Miss Templeton,” Sander declared. He whirled Margaret in front of Beacham and smothered a snigger of delight when he saw the Viscount’s brows draw together in a fierce frown of suppressed anger.

“Thank you.” Her words were clipped, and he brought her another step closer into his arms. “Captain, I hardly think this is the proper distance for this or any other.

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