What puzzled him was that she wasn’t using any of the usual tricks women employed…no flirtatious glances, no discreet strokes or caresses, no suggestive comments. She dressed like a nun on holiday, and so far she hadn’t once pretended to be impressed by him.

So the devil knew what had inspired all this lust. And it wasn’t the ordinary sort of lust, it was…spiced with something. It was a steady, ruthless warmth, like strong sunlight, and it filled every part of him. It almost made him dizzy.

It was rather like an illness, come to think of it.

As the wine was consumed and the decorating continued, the large room echoed with laughter, especially when Lillian and Daisy tried to harmonize a few lines of a popular Christmas carol.

“If that sound were produced by a pair of songbirds,” Rafe told his sisters, “I would shoot them at once to put them out of their misery.”

“Well, you sing like a wounded elephant,” Daisy retorted.

“She’s lying,” Rafe told Hannah, who was stringing tinsel below him.

“You don’t sing badly?” she asked.

“I don’t sing at all.”

“Why not?”

“If one doesn’t do something well, it shouldn’t be done.”

“I don’t agree,” she protested. “Sometimes the effort should be made even if the results aren’t perfect.”

Smiling, Rafe descended the ladder for more candles, and stopped to look directly into her ocean-green eyes. “Do you really believe that?”

“Yes.”

“I dare you, then.”

“You dare me to what?”

“Sing something.”

“This moment?” Hannah gave a disconcerted laugh. “By myself?”

Aware that the others were observing the interaction with interest, Rafe nodded. He wondered if she would take the dare and sing in front of a group of people she barely knew. He didn’t think so.

Flushing, Hannah protested, “I can’t do it while you’re looking at me.”

Rafe laughed. He took the bundle of wires and candles she handed to him, and obediently went up the ladder. He twisted a wire around a candle and began to fasten it to a branch.

His hands stilled as he heard a sweet, soft voice. Not at all distinguished or operatic. Just a pleasant, lovely feminine voice, perfect for lullabies or Christmas carols or nursery songs.

A voice one could listen to for a lifetime.

Here we come a-wassailing Among the leaves so green, Here we come a-wand’ring So fair to be seen. Love and joy come to you, And to you your wassail, too, And God bless you, and send you A Happy New Year, And God send you a Happy New Year.

Rafe listened to her, barely aware of the two or three candles snapping in his grip. This was getting bloody ridiculous, he thought savagely. If she became any more adorable, endearing, or delectable, something was going to get broken.

Most likely his heart.

He kept his face calm even as he struggled with two irreconcilable truthshe couldn’t have her, and he couldn’t not have her. He focused on marshaling his breathing, stacking his thoughts into order, pushing away the mass of unwanted feeling that kept flooding over him like ocean waves.

Finishing the verse, Hannah looked up at Rafe with a self-satisfied grin, while the others clapped and praised her. “There, I took your dare, Mr. Bowman. Now you owe me a forfeit.”

What a smile she had. It set off sparks of warmth all through him. And it took all his self-control to keep from staring at her like a lovestruck goat. “Would you like me to sing something?” he offered politely.

“Please, no,” Lillian cried, and Daisy added, “I beg you, don’t ask him that!”

Descending the ladder, Rafe came to stand beside Hannah. “Name your forfeit,” he said. “I always pay my debts.”

“Make him pose like a Grecian statue,” Annabelle suggested.

“Demand that he give you a l-lovely compliment,” Evie said.

“Hmmm …” Hannah eyed him thoughtfully, and named a popular parlor-game forfeit. “I’ll take a possession of yours. Anything you happen to be carrying right now. A handkerchief, or a coin, perhaps.”

“His wallet,” Daisy suggested with glee.

Rafe reached into his trouser pocket, where a small penknife and a few coins jingled. And one other object, a tiny metal figure not two inches in height. Casually he dropped it into Hannah’s palm.

She regarded the offering closely. “A toy soldier?” Most of the paint had worn off, leaving only a few flecks of color to indicate its original hues. The tiny infantryman held a sword tucked at his side. Hannah’s gaze lifted to his, her eyes clear and green. Somehow she seemed to understand that there was some secret meaning to the little soldier. Her fingers curved as if to protect it. “Is he for luck?” she asked.

Rafe shook his head slightly, hardly able to breathe as he felt himself suspended between an oddly pleasurable sense of surrender, and an ache of regret. He wanted to take it back. And he wanted to leave it there forever, safe in her possession.

“Rafe,” he heard Lillian say with an odd note in her voice. “Do you still carry that? After all these years?”

“It’s just an old habit. Means nothing.” Stepping away from Hannah, Rafe said curtly, “Enough of this nonsense. Let’s finish the blasted tree.”

In another quarter hour, the decorations were all up, and the tree was glittering and magnificent.