Dashing All the Way : A Christmas Anthology Page 2

  “I have never heard a man say such a thing.”

  He scowled. “I don’t think you’ve been mingling with the right men.”

  “I cannot bear it here,” she proclaimed. “Not another Season. Not another year.”

  The intensity of her words seemed to strike him. “Then, of course, I will help you.”

  “You will?” The words tumbled out of her. Hope was in her sights now.

  “I’ve been lost. In pain,” he admitted. “I’m honored you’d ask.”

  “When can we begin?” she asked breathlessly, barely daring to hope.

  “Now,” he said, his voice a subtle purr.

  “How?” she asked. “Should I fetch paper? To take notes?”

  “You won’t need paper.” He cocked his head back, his gray eyes piercing. “You must trust me.”

  “I—”

  “I promise not to hurt you,” he said, his eyes blazing with purpose.

  “I trust you can help me.”

  Those lips of his. Those devilish lips of his curved wickedly. Slowly, he stood, his hand still wound about hers. “Lesson one then.”

  “Yes?” she prompted, eager to begin.

  “Kiss me.”

  Chapter 2

  The look of pure astonishment combined with consideration was worth posing that absolutely wild demand. Anthony gazed down at the pert lady that he found himself admiring more and more with every passing moment. He realized, to his astonishment, that his demand was something he desired.

  Such a thing made no sense. Ladies such as this one were not in his domain. At least, not for seduction. His own past had ensured he would never, ever put a young woman at risk of ruin. For he had no desire to wed. Yet, here they were, standing before the fire, drinking mulled wine with Christmas a little more than a week away. The clock had long struck midnight and this was, perhaps, the most inappropriately he’d behaved with an unmarried lady in his entire life.

  And it wasn’t for the inappropriateness of the conversation. But it was rather because he found her quite the opposite of what she had claimed. She was, indeed, desirable.

  Very.

  Oh, not in the traditional sense. There was no guile to her. No batting of the lashes or pursing of the lips. She did not bow her head and gaze up at him. Nor did she speak in anything but the frankest tones he’d ever heard from a woman of her years.

  No, it was her boldness. By God, it thrilled him. She’d decided she wanted something and she’d seized it.

  The world needed more ladies like this one. As he gazed down upon her plain but intelligent face, he hoped beyond all reason that she would comply.

  Instead, she arched a golden brow and smirked. “Whatever for?” she asked.

  Whatever for? Whatever for?

  “I have been known to be quite good at the proposed activity,” he teased.

  She gave him the oddest look then. “I have no doubts. But I cannot see how it will assist me.”

  He laughed. “Kissing will teach you about desire. And desire often makes a woman desirable herself.”

  “I already know about desire,” she stated.

  He blinked. “Indeed?”

  “Don’t be rude. I’m not inhuman.”

  He blanched. “I do beg your pardon. That was not my intent. But so many ladies don’t seem to take that into account.”

  She nodded. “Young ladies are meant to be ignorant.”

  “Alas,” he agreed. “May I ask how you have gained such knowledge?”

  She tsked. “I read, of course.”

  “Of course.” It was all he could do not to laugh, but he knew if he did so she would be both indignant and hurt. He didn't wish to elicit either emotion. “And when you read, do you merely learn about desire or feel it?”

  She frowned. “That is a very strange question.”

  “You see, I ask because theory and practice are two very different things.”

  “I suppose,” she hedged.

  “No supposing,” he cut in. “I can understand that desire is pleasant for I have felt its unyielding pull.”

  Her eyes rounded. “I confess I have never felt compelled by anyone.”

  “No one?” he asked, stunned. Most young people, at some point, found themselves desiring someone. It was the nature of youth.

  She bit her lower lip lightly, not in seduction, but in curiosity as she clearly thought back on her short life. Then she shook her head and shrugged. “No. No one has come that might take my fancy. The men I meet are either intolerably dull or conceited beyond all recovery.”

  He laughed again. “Which category do I fall in?”

  She blushed. “Goodness. Badly done of me. Neither, if you must know.”

  “I’m relieved to hear it.”

  “You’re odd,” she clarified and then her blush deepened.

  He laughed. It was all he could do to muffle the sound lest some wandering soul down the corridor hear and grow suspect.

  “Oh dear,” she whispered, blushing. “You see? I am no good at this conversing with men.”

  “You excel at it,” he countered, quite truthfully.

  “You jest, sir.”

  He shook his head. “If you spoke as you do now to all, men would flock to your side.”

  She snorted. “They’d shut me up in a madhouse.”

  That gave him pause. Was she correct? “It would all depend on the men, but I’d like to think most of us are admirers of bold ladies.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “How many men do you know?”

  He bit back a laugh again. “Quite a few, but I do eschew certain company. I find a great many dull, myself.”

  She grinned. “Do you?”

  “Oh yes. There’s a reason I spent most of my life abroad and with artifacts.”

  “You seem like a man at complete ease in company.”

  “Oh, I am,” he agreed. “I know my place in it and it is not to be like so many Englishmen who venture little from hearth and home.”

  “I can only imagine venturing from it,” she said, her voice a soft lamentation. “All my life, I’ve lived in my parents’ house. London is my greatest adventure.”

  “It is a great city.”

  “Yes, but. . .”

  “But?” he inquired.

  At long last, she said passionately, “There must be more.”

  “Oh, my lady, more than you could ever imagine.”

  At that, she gave him the funniest smile. “You might be surprised at my capacity for imagination.”

  “In reflection, I doubt it. What else have you cultivated if you read as you do and have traveled so little?”

  Her smile faded, replaced by a sort of awe. “Forgive me, but how do you understand me so well?”

  “I. . . I don’t know.” And he didn’t. But when he gazed into her eyes, he felt as if he could see deep, beyond the surface and into her longing soul. It was like staring into a great sea that he might throw himself into.

  “It is most disconcerting,” she stated.

  “Unpleasant?”

  Her lips parted. “The opposite.”

  The silence that fell between them crackled with the same clarity as the logs on the fire. All about them stilled and he looked at her again. Seeing.

  Plain, dressed in a frock rife with too many furbelows, she was, at first glance, the sort of lady he would acknowledge but never pursue. What a fool he and all men were. For she? She was the one who had depth. Not the saucy, smiling, fan fluttering fools that pervaded the halls of the ton. She was the one who would lead a man in a merry dance through time.

  “Come to my sister’s for Christmas.”

  She gaped at him as if he’d grown a second head. “I beg your pardon?”

  A soft laugh rumbled past his lips. “Come to the Duke of Hunt’s for Christmas.”

  “I understood who you meant. Your brother-in-law.”

  “The same.”

  “I have no invitation,” she protested.

  “I’m inviting you.”


  There it was. Excitement lit her eyes. The promise of escape. “How—”

  “I shall tell your mother that my sister longs for a new and young companion to add to her flock of important women.” He bent down and whispered conspiratorially, “How could she refuse?”

  She glanced to the fire. Considering.

  The truth was, if he went to her mother, the woman would be a fool to say no. Entree to a duchess’ intimate society was elusive. Such an exclusive acquaintance would be the greatest feather in any mother’s cap. No doubt, his affinity to the Duke of Hunt was the sole reason for his invitation to this house party. His invitation for the daughter would be a victory for the family.

  A duchess would ensure a powerful marriage if the girl came from the right family. . . Any family, really, if it assured a political alliance.

  “Why would you do that?” she asked.

  He scowled, thinking of the unfeeling austerity he’d felt during his visit. In truth, he’d been counting the hours until he might leave. Until now. “I can’t imagine you spending Christmas here. You are clearly desperate and miserable.”

  “Oh, dear.”

  “I did not mean to offend.”

  A great sigh escaped her. “I had no idea it was obvious from my person.”

  “You’re standing in the library with a bachelor after midnight. . . Asking for help to leave your oppressive situation.”

  “A valid point.”

  “It will be a very large party. You might even find a husband amongst the numbers, and I will assist you.”

  “You will?” she asked eagerly, her face lighting up. “How?”

  “My sister will help me choose the most likely fellow, and then I’ll help you get him.”

  As soon as the words left his lips, he felt an odd sort of bitterness at the idea that she might be the possession of another man. That was ludicrous. She was not for him. No virgin was.

  She beamed up at him, but there was still a lingering doubt, as if she’d had too many opportunities dangled before her and seized away. “It would be quite a Christmas gift.”

  “One that would last a lifetime,” he quipped.

  Her gaze turned back to him, her brow furrowing. “Then let us make an agreement.”

  He nodded, though he wondered if he’d been swept up by a complete madness. “An agreement, then.”

  “Do you still wish me to kiss you?” she asked, eyeing him as if he were the door to freedom.

  His heart slammed against his ribs at the question. He’d been largely in jest, hoping to shock her. As he studied her intelligent and slightly curious face, he breathed, almost without his own reasonable consent. “Yes.”

  Then to his utter astonishment, she tentatively placed her hands on his shoulders, raised herself up on tiptoe, tilted her head and oh so gently pressed her lips to his.

  The world spun at that light touch and he wondered, even as his mind went dancing away from him, what the hell he had done.

  Chapter 3

  Evangeline did not swoon. Swooning was not something she was capable of but just the soft meeting of their mouths did something to her that she could not reckon. It was meant to be but a token. A beginning to their quest. A show of her commitment to her escape from her home.

  But as their mouths met, her hands softened on his arms, her eyes fluttered shut and it was like. . . Coming home. Home to a place she’d never even known could exist.

  It had been her intention to pull back immediately. She found she could not and his hands slid to her waist, pulling her close, lifting her higher onto her toes, until she felt she barely touched the ground at all.

  The kiss deepened, his mouth teasing over hers until, much to her astonishment, her lips opened of their own accord.

  Breath for breath and kiss for kiss, he held her until, at last, she felt the touch of his tongue.

  She gasped against him and stepped back.

  His eyes, his startling dark eyes, studied her as if she were a wild thing come into his chamber. To her shock there was a hint of amazement in his eyes as if he, too, could not fully understand what had just transpired.

  Slowly, he lowered his hands to his side. “I think. . . I think it is likely you will be married before the New Year, Lady Evangeline.”

  Her heart thudded loudly in her breast as it hit her that the only man she wished to wed was the one standing before her. And that, she knew, would never happen. Not for Christmas. Not for New Year. Not for anything. For Anthony Basingstoke was the sort of man who would never marry a miss such as she. No matter how she might suddenly wish for it. Even at Christmastide, such a miracle would never occur.

  “I know you’re not mad, but have you taken leave of your wits?”

  Anthony Basingstoke did wonder. However, he wasn’t about to admit such a thing. “She’s desperate. Surely, you recall that state. You traversed on a continent, alone, because of it.”

  His beautiful and sharp sister gaped at him. “Anthony, I know it well. As do you. But. . .” She sighed then grinned ruefully. “We do seem to be drawn to odd characters, do we not?”

  “Our whole family,” he agreed.

  “My new family, too.”

  “That is an understatement of grand proportions,” he drawled, his voice traveling down the long salon.

  She laughed. Her husband, the Duke of Hunt, and his family could be described as nothing but mad-capped. Notorious was the wrong word to describe them, but their reputation for their outrageousness was known throughout Europe.

  “Lady Evangeline is the sweetest creature,” she said. “I have seen her from afar, sitting amongst the wallflowers but I have never spoken with her. She seems to eschew company.”

  He cringed. “Sweet is not the word I’d use.”

  Surprise softened his sister’s face. “No?”

  “I believe she is held captive by her frills.”

  “Ah.” Understanding, instant understanding, darkened Cordelia’s eyes. She arched a brow, surveying him. “And you hope to free her?”

  “Not like that,” he boomed.

  “Are you certain? You’ve not always been sweet yourself.”

  A substantial degree of outrage overtook him. “I do not debauch innocents.”

  She shook her head and tsked. “Some say there is a first time for everything and you do seem to grow bored of your lot.”

  He scowled. He was bored. He should have left London some months ago, but he loved his sister and her young children. The siren call of history did beckon, though, as it always did.

  Their father had been an adventurer. Their mother, too. While Cordy had longed for stability, he had thrived in chaos. Perhaps not in the witnessing of their parents’ turbulent marriage but, at least, in the climes which they had spent their childhood.

  “She needs your help,” he said softly. “She’s miserable. So miserable she sought me out.”

  Cordelia nodded, taking up the mantle of a new cause. “I can’t fault her taste even if I fault her sense.”

  “I do not think she likes me,” he supplied. “Not that way.”

  She rolled her eyes. “What lady does not?”

  “Quite a few.”

  She grinned again. “She seeks a husband?"

  “She does. I. . .” He frowned, really quite amazed at the turn of events. “I agreed to help her.”

  “As her matchmaker?” Cordelia guffawed.

  He winced. “No. That is what you are for.”

  “I’m glad to know my position in this debacle,” she said lightly. “How did you know I would comply with your scheme?”

  “Because of your heart.” To others it might sound a cliché, but Cordelia was a strong woman drawn to those in need.

  She groaned. “Dear brother, this is a right mess.”

  “It is not,” he argued. “I do not make messes. I sort them.”

  “While I’d agree with that usually, this—”

  “If you had seen her,” he broke in, needing her to see as he had
seen. “If you had felt her clear unhappiness, you, too, would have swooped in to do something, anything to assist her.”

  “Anything?” she challenged, her arms folding over her elegant day gown.

  He held his hands up. “Within the bounds of propriety.”

  “And all is proper?” she challenged, serious now. “Nothing has occurred between you?”

  He hesitated. He wasn’t a liar. He never had been.

  “Anthony!” she exclaimed, throwing her own hands up.

  “It was only a kiss,” he protested. “The smallest of kisses.”

  She narrowed her gaze and pointed at him before she accused, “You liked it.”

  “How do you know?” he asked, shocked that she could see it.

  She pointed her finger into his chest. “I know.”

  “It matters not,” he brushed off, capturing her hand and pulling her into a hug. “She doesn’t want me. I don’t want her. But I do. . . Like her. She is. . . She is. . .”

  Cordelia groaned. “Oh, Anthony, I’ve never seen you like this.”

  “There is no this,” he protested vehemently. “She is a young lady of intelligence who has been shunted to the shadows of her family and she knows so little of men that they will shackle her to the worst sort of boor. The only sort who might take a wallflower of such proportions.”

  “You truly wish me to find her a husband?” she clarified.

  “Yes.”

  “Good God.”

  “Surely it won’t be difficult,” he said, hugging her tightly to affirm his admiration of her abilities. “You know everyone.”

  She leaned back. “I am not in the habit of arranging marriages.”

  “This once?”

  She stared at him as if he’d lost his last wit. “If it means so much to you, of course, I will help. I loathe the fact that any young lady be in such a position. So many are. But if I can help. . .”

  He swept her around, her skirts belling out. “I knew you would.”

  “Put me down. Put me down.”

  He did as asked, but teased, “The dignified duchess now, eh?”

  “Ha,” she retorted. “The Hunts clan is anything but dignified. Grand? Yes. Dignified? No.”