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a happy man as he rode away from The Grange. It was not his habit to be particularly perceptive but he could not have failed to notice the change in Rosie. He had no hesitation in attributing this to her mysterious ‘cousin Jack’. She had always been a remarkably pretty girl but now her beauty seemed lit from within. There was a glow about her and Sir Clive did not care to speculate as to its cause. All he knew was that her eyes turned far too often to her supposed relative. When they rested on him, their expression could only be described as hungry. Who the devil was the fellow?
    ***
    Christmas came and went and Jack’s health continued to improve steadily. The festive season provided Rosie with a momentary relief from her fears that the time for him to leave them would soon arrive. Christmas was a vibrant affair and Tom carried armfuls of greenery into the house for Rosie and Harry to use as decoration. Mrs Glover tolerated the boughs of evergreens which invaded her precious rooms but she drew the line at mistletoe, which – with its risqué encouragement of kissing games – she considered un-genteel, if not downright unholy. She fought a constant vigilante style battle, in between cooking a feast fit for a small army, against its introduction by the maidservants and footmen. On Christmas day a Yule Log was lit in the fireplace. The family and staff, indulged in a day of celebration, gift giving and general indulgence. Mr Delacourt, generally the most abstemious of hosts, made a bowl of punch which caused Jack, when called upon to sample a cup, to choke at its fiery effects. Harry laughed as Jack mopped his streaming eyes, but diplomatically pronounced it very fine. Tom joined the family for dinner being, as Rosie pointed out, more a family friend than an employee. Rosie wore a new gown of ruby damask silk over an underskirt of embroidered lace. The gentlemen were similarly fine in their full-skirted coats, snowy ruffles and knee breeches.
    In the evening, Rosie played the piano and they sang carols. Jack, in a fine baritone voice, taught them a few Scottish ballads which his mother had sung to him when he was a child. Then Tom, with a skill no-one had ever suspected he possessed, took Rosie’s place and played a few country dances. Jack held out his hand to Rosie, who, blushing slightly, allowed him to lead her around the room while Mr Delacourt looked in approbation from a punch-induced haze. Her cheeks were becomingly pink, eyes shining and lips parted. She knew, from Jack’s appreciative looks when they faced each other to perform their steps, that the effects of the exertion suited her.
    Later, Tom returned to his own quarters and Mr Delacourt, drowsy from the effects of over-indulgence, followed Harry upstairs to bed. Rosie gathered up the sheets of music and closed the piano lid and smiled at Jack who stood watching her.
    “Dance with me again,” he held out his hand and, although she came to him, she laughed.
    “We have no music, sir,” she said with a mocking little curtsey.
    “We don’t need it,” he replied, drawing her close.
    This was a very different dance. Jack demanded eye contact throughout the routine. This time, Rosie’s high colour and deeper breathing owed nothing to her physical activity and everything to the intense arousal caused by Jack’s nearness. As he drew her tantalisingly close and then whirled away as the convention of the dance dictated, she wanted to cry out with longing. She finally understood what Mrs Glover meant when she said that dancing was the devil’s way of getting a maiden to misbehave. If only Jack would allow her to misbehave!
    Jack, a wicked glint in the sky-blue depths of his eyes, danced her out into the hall and paused under the chandelier. Rosie threw him an enquiring glance and he pointed up to where a solitary sprig of mistletoe nestled amidst the greenery above their heads.
    “How on earth did you manage to smuggle that past Mrs Glover?” Rosie