“Then I suppose you have to obey it. Although I think it’s a silly law.”

A swift grin crossed his face. “It’s not a law, it’s a right.”

“Well, whatever it is, you can’t go looking for happiness as if it were a shoe you lost under the bed. You already have it, you see? You just have to let yourself be.” She paused and frowned. “Why are you shaking your head at me like that?”

“Because talking with you reminds me of those embroidered quotes they’re always putting on parlor pillows.”

He was mocking her again. If she’d been wearing a pair of sturdy boots, she would probably have kicked him in the shins. After giving him a scowl, she turned to look for her discarded shoes.

Realizing what she wanted, Bowman bent to pick up her slippers. In a lithe movement he knelt on the floor, his thighs spread. “Let me help you.”

Hannah extended her foot, and he placed the slipper on her with care. She felt the light brush of his fingers on her ankle, the smooth fire racing from nerve to nerve until it seemed her entire body was alight. Her mouth went dry. She looked down at the broad span of his shoulders, the way the heavy locks of his hair lay, the shape of his head.

He lowered her foot to the floor and reached for the other. It surprised her to feel the softness of his touch. She had not thought a large man could be so gentle. He fitted the shoe onto her foot, discovered that the top edge of the leather upper had folded under in the back, and ran his thumb inside the heel to adjust it.

At that moment, a few people entered the room. The sound of female chatter stopped abruptly.

It was Lady Westcliff, Hannah saw in consternation. How must the scene have appeared to them?

“Pardon us,” the countess said cheerfully, giving a look askance at her brother. “Are we interrupting something?”

“No,” Bowman replied, rising to his feet. “We were just playing Cinderella. Have you brought the rest of the decorations?”

“Loads of them,” came another voice, and Lord Westcliff and Mr. Swift entered the room, carrying large baskets.

Hannah realized she was in the middle of a private gathering…there was the other Bowman sister, Mrs. Swift, and Lady St. Vincent, and Annabelle.

“I’ve enlisted them all to help finish the decorating,” Lillian said with a grin. “It’s too bad Mr. Hunt hasn’t arrived yet…he would hardly need a ladder.”

“I’m nearly as tall as he is,” Bowman protested.

“Yes, but you don’t take orders nearly so well.”

“That depends on who gives the orders,” he countered.

Hannah broke in uncomfortably, “I should go. Excuse me”

But in her haste to leave, she forgot all about the A-frame ladder directly behind her. And as she turned, her foot caught on it.

In a lightning-fast reflex, Bowman grabbed her before she could fall, and pulled her against his solid chest. She felt the flex of powerful muscle beneath his shirt. “If you wanted me to hold you,” he murmured in a teasing undertone, “you should have just asked.”

“Rafe Bowman,” Daisy Swift admonished playfully, “are you resorting to tripping women to gain their attention?”

“When my more subtle efforts fail, yes.” He released Hannah carefully. “You don’t have to leave, Miss Appleton. In fact, we could use another pair of hands.”

“I shouldn’t”

“Oh, do stay!” Lillian said with enthusiasm, and then Annabelle joined in, and then it would have been churlish for Hannah to refuse.

“Thank you, I will,” she said with a sheepish smile. “And unlike Mr. Bowman, I take orders quite well.”

“Perfect,” Daisy exclaimed, handing Hannah a basket of handkerchief angels. “Because with the exception of the two of us, everyone else here loves to give them.”

IT WAS THE BEST AFTERNOON RAFE HAD SPENT IN A LONG TIME. Perhaps ever. Two more ladders were brought in. The men wired candles onto the branches and hung ornaments where directed, while the women passed decorations up to them. Friendly insults flew back and forth, not to mention flurries of laughter as they exchanged reminiscences of past holidays.

Climbing the tallest ladder, Rafe managed to snatch the dangling toupee before anyone else saw it. He glanced at Hannah, who was standing below. Surreptitiously he dropped it to her. She caught it and shoved it deep into a basket.

“What was that thing?” Lillian demanded.

“Bird’s nest,” Rafe replied insouciantly, and he heard Hannah smother a laugh.

Westcliff poured an excellent red wine and passed glasses around, even pressing one on Hannah when she tried to refuse.

“Perhaps I should water it,” she told the earl.

Westcliff looked scandalized. “Dilute a Cossart Gordon ‘28? A sacrilege!” He grinned at her. “First try it just as it is, Miss Appleton. And tell me if you can’t detect flavors of maple, fruit, and bonfire. As the Roman poet Horace once said, ‘Wine brings to light the hidden secrets of the soul.’ “

Hannah smiled back at him and took a sip of the wine. Its rich, exquisite flavor brought an expression of bliss to her face. “Delicious,” she conceded. “But rather strong. And I may have secrets of the soul that should remain hidden.”

Rafe murmured to Hannah, “One glass won’t overthrow all your virtues, much to my regret. Go ahead and have some.”

He smiled as she colored a little. It was a good thing, he thought, that Hannah had no idea how badly he wanted to taste the wine on her lips. And it was also fortunate that Hannah seemed to have no idea of how much he desired her.