Dashing All the Way : A Christmas Anthology Page 5

  “With the bottle.” Anthony swirled. “I promise I shall be the victor.”

  Aston arched a brow, then said, “I saw.”

  “Saw?” His chest tightened.

  “The way you looked at her.”

  “I’ve no idea what you’re on about,” he said, flooding with relief that Aston had not seen the kiss.

  Aston snorted. “Of course you don’t. But I’ll tell you this, if you let that one go, you’re a bigger fool than all those peers you disdain.”

  “Who?” he asked, even as he knew he was a bloody ponce for obfuscating.

  Rolling his eyes, Aston drawled, “The lady of the hour. Lady Evangeline, since you make me be so precise.”

  His shoulders sank. “It’s so obvious?”

  “Not to most,” Aston said easily. “Probably not to anyone but me. . . And probably your sister. Wise woman that one.”

  “I’ve known Lady Evangeline for a few hours combined.”

  “Doesn’t matter.”

  “Does it not?”

  “Indeed, no.” A look of pure, nauseating bliss transformed Aston’s rough features. “I knew the moment I saw Rosamund. It terrified me. Oh, I didn’t know I’d marry her. But something deep within me knew she was mine and I hers. All it took was a moment.”

  “You’ve been at the brandy,” Anthony said.

  “Brandy and I are good friends, but I am not three sheets to the wind, as you seem determined to be.”

  He lowered the decanter and stared out into the black night. The clouds parted for a moment and stars danced overhead, pure crystals in a black velvet curtain.

  Aston slipped down from his seat and headed back for the door. Before he slipped inside, he paused. “Give it thought, before you cast that feeling aside. Once it’s gone, you will not find it again.”

  With that, the duke slid inside, always a tiger, always prowling, yet with a grin upon his face.

  Was it true? Was he casting aside his chance?

  He’d seen love. He’d seen the darkness of it and where such passions could lead.

  Surely, to acknowledge the power of what she’d invoked in him would only be the path to ruin. For them both.

  The Earl of Ellesmere had danced attendance upon her the last two days. The strangeness of it did not make it unpleasant. But for all that she looked at him and passed the time in friendly banter as they surveyed the many books in the library, she felt no affinity for him. Nothing like the soul-searing passion that Anthony caused within her.

  Was that something to take lightly?

  Anthony would never marry her. She’d barely seen him since their stolen kiss.

  So, she had pushed the thought aside and continued on her perusal of the vast collection of ancient tomes, reveling in the fact that a man was happy to discuss The Odyssey with her.

  Christmas was on the morrow. It hardly seemed possible.

  A whole day had passed. She and Anthony had steadfastly avoided each other. Wisely, they had not continued in his promised education. For she knew as well as he that, alone, they were a dangerous pair. Something she never would have thought possible for herself.

  The relentless placidity of her life had seemed impenetrable. How mistaken she had been.

  “Do you read Greek?” Ellesmere asked brightly as he turned a page.

  She shook her head, not just in answer, but in the hopes of clearing it. “I do not.”

  “Would you like to learn?”

  A laugh rippled past her lips. “Would you teach me?”

  “If you’d like.”

  “Of course,” she crowed. “A Greek tutor was for my brother, not me.”

  Ellesmere’s face creased with annoyance. “Too little is made of the intelligence of ladies, in my opinion.”

  “When you have daughters will you feel the same?” she asked before she could think better of it.

  Ellesmere grew serious. “Yes.”

  The sudden intensity of the moment made it clear that he was seriously considering that she could be the mother of these hypothetical daughters.

  The thought should have caused her elation. Why didn’t it? Why? It was not fair that the very man she’d sought to help her find someone like Ellesmere had taken up her thoughts like a conqueror.

  No, not a conqueror. Anthony was not violent or cruel. He had seduced his way into her mind with his devilish smile and his pure belief in her that she could achieve her desires.

  “Do you plan to marry soon?” she blurted.

  His eyes flared but then he laughed. “If you must know, yes. I am not an old man, but it is time. I have spent enough time at play and wish now to make a family.”

  “I see,” she breathed.

  He studied his book too carefully. “Do you?”

  “An earl must marry.”

  After several moments, he lifted his gaze. “We are to prevaricate?”

  “I have known you little, my lord. What would you have me say?”

  “Do you think I’d make a welcome husband?” he queried.

  “I am certain any lady would be most fortunate to have you.”

  A smile lifted the seriousness from his brow. “I’m glad to hear you say it.”

  The entirety of their conversation was so jarring she had no idea how to continue. Even if this is what she had desired, she felt at sea. “Now, I do believe I must meet the duchess for tea.”

  “Must you?”

  “I cannot be an ungrateful guest,” she replied. Which was true. “She has been nothing but kind.”

  “Then go. But I look forward to this evening.”

  “As do I,” she agreed.

  Suddenly, he laughed. “I hope you enjoy singing.”

  “I do. But may I ask why?”

  “The duchess is a lover of carols.”

  “Then we shall be a very merry party.”

  “I do hope so.”

  As she hurried away down the hall, she could scarcely think. This was all a dream. An impossible dream. Days ago, she was a wallflower that no one noticed and now the world had noticed. She had no idea what to do. To suddenly and finally have such opportunities was bewildering, but she would not throw this away. Not when going back would be the end of all her happiness.

  It wasn’t usually common to be on a given name basis with a duke. Anthony was with several. The strange set of dukes who were friends and had descended on the house were all intimate acquaintances by chance circumstances. His sister had been married to a duke in the most curious circumstances and then, well, he’d fallen in with their set.

  The rarity of dukes together at Christmas was also strange, but the friends were so close that they often chose to spend such important days together. It had been a revelation to him that there could be such gatherings. Usually, he was delighted to take part.

  Today, he was completely at a loss for the events unfolding before him.

  What would have been a joy was now a precipitous battlefield. Several gentlemen, including Hunt and Aston, had headed out into the falling snow. Several of them had been giving him knowing looks.

  It was damned disconcerting.

  Often, a party of servants would be sent to find the Yule log but Hunt and Aston did not do what was often done. He admired them for it. For years, he’d had a dubious opinion of the English nobility, not truly certain what they were for, beyond ruling the lower orders and keeping them, well, low.

  But after his sister had found happiness in her marriage and Anthony had met the group of boisterous men, which included three other dukes not in attendance to this party, his opinion had improved. Over the last two years, he’d learned that his original opinion was still correct regarding most of the ruling class. Still, these dukes were different. Remarkable, really.

  The Duke of Hunt fell into step with him. “You’ve taken quite the young lady under your wing.”

  “I beg your pardon?” He nearly tripped and did his best to hide his surprise.

  “You don’t think Cordy and I keep secrets
, now do you?” Hunt asked, his lips twitching.

  Anthony sighed. “I had hoped.”

  “Alas.”

  They marched through the snow, studying fallen trees, looking for the perfect log.

  “You’re wise,” Hunt said.

  “Am I?” Anthony sighed. “I don’t feel it just now.”

  “You’ve avoided her,” Hunt said pointedly.

  “I have,” he confirmed. It had been hell, turning away every time he’d seen her enter a room. Because in all truth, whenever he saw her, he desired to be near her. It was perverse.

  Hunt nodded. “Well, that’s wise if you do not intend to offer for her.”

  The statement, though correct, rankled. “I’m aware of my reputation.”

  “Is she?”

  “I do believe so.”

  Hunt paused. “I won’t have any ruinations happening at my house.”

  Anthony stopped. “Do you think so little of me?”

  “Of course not,” Hunt rushed. “But I know passion. I know how it can seize a man’s wit and unless you’re willing to do the right thing. . .”

  “Nothing of that kind will occur,” he stated flatly. He’d had this discussion with himself several times in the last two days. “I promise you that.”

  Hunt let out a relieved breath. “Glad to hear it.”

  “Are you happy?” he asked suddenly.

  “What kind of a pox-ridden question is that?”

  “It’s just. . .” Anthony turned away, staring out into the vast wood. “I struggle to truly believe that married couples remain happy.”

  “Ah.”

  How could he say this? “My parents—”

  “Your parents were creatures of fire,” Hunt cut in. “The both of them. They were bound to burn each other out.”

  Was that true? My God, as a child, he’d watched their love burn bright to the exclusion of almost everyone around them. Their lives had been as stars blazing for each other but that love had turned to bitterness and cruelty. He, his brothers, and Cordelia had watched it, victims of its wildness.

  Suddenly, Jack grabbed his arm. “Do not be afraid to be happy because of your parents. It is a mistake many of us make. I almost made it. My brother almost made it as well. We would both be miserable men without our wives.”

  As if they had been discussing naught but the weather, Jack suddenly pointed at an enormous fallen tree. “There!”

  The men vaulted towards the potential Yule log and after several bouts of discussion of size and girth, and a great deal of laughter, they agreed.

  Christmas had truly begun and Anthony felt more shaken than he had since he’d been a child.

  Chapter 7

  Once again, she’d been at the opposite end of the resplendent dinner table to Anthony. It had not stopped her from sneaking quick glances at him.

  He did not seem his usual self. In fact, a strange seriousness seemed to have settled over him.

  When they all retired, the ladies to the sitting room, the men to port, she wondered what could be troubling him.

  Biting her lip, she gazed at the Duchess of Hunt who had stepped away to speak to a footman.

  If she was to make her inquiry, now was the time.

  Taking courage in hand, she crossed quickly.

  The duchess seemed surprised by her sudden presence.

  “Is anything amiss, Lady Evangeline?”

  “No. I. . .” Now that she stood here, she felt foolish. To hide her embarrassment, she smoothed her hands down the front of her gown. “It is that I worry.”

  The duchess’ face softened.

  “Is. . . Has something transpired. . . Your brother seems distressed.”

  “You are kind to inquire.” The duchess hesitated then said carefully, “Anthony is well. Though I think he is off foot just now.”

  “Off foot?”

  The duchess pressed her lips together, clearly weighing whether or not to impart private details. “Since our parents died, he has been a rock. Oh, he gives the best of appearances that he is nothing but a rogue, but deep in his heart he has always been kind and a little sad. But he always hopes for the best.”

  How did she reply? That she wished things were different? That he wasn’t a rogue? The very fact that he was had led to their meeting.

  “Do you like Ellesmere?” the duchess suddenly asked.

  “I do.”

  “I’m very glad. I knew you would.”

  She nodded. Was the duchess very kindly telling her to cease thinking of her brother? Most likely.

  Could she? It seemed impossible.

  Just at that moment, when she was about to press, the gentlemen strode into the room, making their way through the artfully arranged chairs, settees, and Adams tables.

  The duchess gave a wave of her hand and trays of mulled wine appeared as if from nowhere and the footmen began effortlessly offering them to the guests.

  The soft notes of a pianoforte filled the room. Evangeline expected to turn and see Aston playing, for he had done it every night.

  But when she looked to the instrument, it was Anthony.

  The music which poured from his fingers, filling the space, soon had everyone transfixed. The beautiful notes of the carol filled her heart with an intensity of emotion, and before she even knew what she was doing, she was walking towards him.

  As if compelled by a force greater than herself, she began to sing about the promised rose which sprung from the ground. The German words had been taught to her as a child and she softened the hard consonants as she walked forward.

  Anthony suddenly looked up and their eyes met. Her voice nearly hitched but she allowed the deep love she felt of the song to press her onward. His fingers didn’t falter as they continued.

  Her voice matched seamlessly with his playing and she stood beside him. Wishing with all her heart that she could stand beside him forever.

  As she sang of the prophecy that would bring about the Prince of Peace, the entire room seemed to fill with awe and kindness.

  Tears stung her eyes. In all her life, she’d never known such kindness. Nor such an affinity to another person.

  When the last note had left her and the pianoforte hummed to silence, those listening stood in an absolute hush for a long moment, then the applause began.

  Anthony immediately began another song, the Latin words filling her mind. Still, she questioned the wisdom of staying there, with him, before so many. When she started to venture away, Anthony whispered, “Stay. Stay here with me.”

  And she did. Come rack or ruin, she stayed. For she could not give up this moment as the hush of Christmas Eve filled them all with warmth. Not for anything.

  The crystal purity of her voice nearly undid him. Anthony had learned to play in Paris and the pianoforte, wherever one was about, was his refuge. He had eschewed it these last nights, knowing Aston, too, sought it out.

  But tonight, the darkness had pressed in. His feelings had been too many. His confusion too deep. And so, he had walked straight to the instrument and sat.

  As she sang the words O Come, O Come Emmanuel, he felt peace. Perfect peace. As if their talents had always meant to be bound.

  Surreptitiously, he glanced at her. Radiant. She was radiant. Why had he never heard her sing? If it had been up to him, every gathering that she attended would only begin with her voice soaring high, blissfully above the difficulties of this world.

  After they had performed several pieces for the rapt audience, he stood and led her away.

  Ellesmere watched carefully but not obviously, as he spoke with the Duke of Hunt.

  “I did not know you sang,” he said softly.

  “I don’t usually,” she informed him. “At least not in public.”

  “Why?” he asked, amazed that her talents had been so hidden.

  “No one ever asks.”

  “Tonight was different?”

  She looked away, her breasts rising and falling quickly. “Tonight, I heard your playing and c
ould not stop myself.”

  “That is a compliment that I doubt I truly deserve credit for.”

  “It is true, and you shouldn’t make light of it.” She licked her lips. “When you played. . . I felt it in my soul. I know you did, too. You play with such emotion.”

  “It is one of my few solaces,” he admitted, wondering how she had found her way into his soul. How she had felt him so deeply.

  She took a glass of wine from a passing tray and sipped it. “The world does not always make it easy to reveal our true selves.”

  “And what do you think of my true self?” he asked, half-afraid of her answer.

  “I see pain and sorrow.”

  He looked away. Did she see so much?

  “And joy,” she added. “Your love of the music walks hand in hand with your other feelings.”

  “When you began to sing, I felt joy. That you had been so called.” Dear God, he wanted to take her hand. To twine her fingers in his to breach the unwanted gulf between them. “You answered my plea.”

  She studied her wine. “And that plea was?”

  “That someone hear my pain,” he admitted. God help him, his voice broke slightly and he took in a shuddering breath. “I’ve never been able to put it into words. But you heard it.”

  She gave a single nod.

  “You are a marvel, Lady Evangeline,” he breathed.

  “I feel—I feel as if I know you. And you me. Why is that?”

  “You do know me,” he whispered. And God, it was true. She looked into him and saw past the rogue to the man beneath.

  There was no point in contradicting it. Rather, she gazed up at him and replied softly, “As you do me.”

  “You two are having the most fascinating of tête-à-têtes,” the Duchess of Aston said, her burr soft as she suddenly interjected herself into their conversation with an overly bright air. Then she leaned in and said, “And you are drawing a great deal of notice.”

  Evangeline winced.

  The world had disappeared for them both. It was the only explanation. Just as when they had been playing and singing they had continued in a world of their own. But it had not been a world of their own but one very much on display.

  “Laugh now,” the duchess said, her eyes flashing with intensity.