Книга - His Mistletoe Wager

His Mistletoe Wager
Virginia Heath


‘Five berries equal the five separate kisses I challenge you to steal.’Notorious rake Henry Stuart, Earl of Redbridge is certain he’ll win his Christmas bet – until he learns he’ll be stealing Lady Elizabeth Wilding’s kisses. A woman who refuses to be charmed!Once jilted, Lizzie must guard her heart because the ton is unaware of her scandalous secret – her son! Despite their increasing attraction, she can’t risk the persistent Hal bringing down her defences. But, when her former fiancé returns Lizzie realises that perhaps Hal’s the one man she can trust – with her heart and her son…







“Five berries equal the five separate kisses I challenge you to steal.”

Notorious rake Henry “Hal” Stuart, Earl of Redbridge, is certain he’ll win his Christmas bet—until he learns he’ll be stealing Lady Elizabeth Wilding’s kisses. A woman who refuses to be charmed!

Once jilted, Lizzie must guard her heart, because the ton is unaware of her scandalous secret—her son! Despite their increasing attraction, she can’t risk the persistent Hal bringing down her defenses. But when her former fiancé returns, Lizzie realizes that perhaps Hal’s the one man she can trust—with her heart and her son...


Hal quickly closed the distance and whispered again, far too close to her ear.

‘Think, Lizzie. Here we are. The stars are twinkling up above.’ Those strong arms slowly snaked around her waist and pulled her closer. ‘If you gaze up at me with convincing longing, the old fool will assume we are having a tryst.’

Arguing against his logic was prevented by the ominously close sound of another call from her unwelcome beau. ‘Lady Elizabeth! Is that you?’

With the most limpid expression she could manage, in a blind panic Lizzie stared longingly up at Hal. He winked encouragingly then, to her complete shock, dipped his head and pressed his lips to hers.

The sky tilted. Or perhaps it was the floor. Either way, the experience knocked her off-kilter.

Unconsciously her own lips began to respond, her eyelids fluttered closed and she found herself rising on tiptoe to press her body against his. More worryingly, she was reluctant to prise herself away. Later, she knew, she would claim this was all part of her act, but for now she was prepared to acknowledge it for what it was.

A revelation.


Author Note (#ud75cd284-43ad-58f8-bfbe-2be6b387b94b)

After I wrote Her Enemy at the Altar, a few people suggested there should be a sequel. Like me, those people had fallen in love with Aaron and Connie, and wanted the opportunity to see them again. They were such adorable characters—the feisty yet self-conscious heroine and the dashing yet tortured hero—and so perfect for each other. When I was offered the chance to write a Christmas story I decided to treat myself to that sequel and see how they were getting along.

But, as so often happens, I also fell in love with my new characters, and my sequel rapidly became their story first. Connie’s brother Hal is a notorious rake, with no desire to settle down. Lizzie has been badly let down by a man and never wants another one. However, both feel that life is missing something—which is obviously each other, but they were both very troublesome as I got them to realise it.

At times, although they instantly became the very best of friends, the pair of them were so stubbornly resistant to romance that I found myself shouting at my keyboard. Fortunately the story takes place over Christmas. Which means there is always mistletoe…


His Mistletoe Wager

Virginia Heath






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


When VIRGINIA HEATH was a little girl it took her ages to fall asleep, so she made up stories in her head to help pass the time while she was staring at the ceiling. As she got older the stories became more complicated—sometimes taking weeks to get to their happy ending. One day she decided to embrace her insomnia and start writing them down. Virginia lives in Essex with her wonderful husband and two teenagers. It still takes her for ever to fall asleep...

Books by Virginia Heath

Mills & Boon Historical Romance

The Wild Warriners

A Warriner to Protect Her

A Warriner to Rescue Her

Linked by Character

Her Enemy at the Altar

His Mistletoe Wager

Stand-Alone Novels

That Despicable Rogue

The Discerning Gentleman’s Guide

Miss Bradshaw’s Bought Betrothal

Visit the Author Profile page at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk).


For Nicole Locke.

My first-ever writing buddy.

Thanks for adopting me and showing me the ropes.


Contents

Cover (#u32b15096-7b46-5b79-9a7d-9f16de872ef0)

Back Cover Text (#u0e5035bc-b05f-58bc-9509-d02aa07e6503)

Introduction (#u602ec3e7-7864-58af-80bd-3a5f50bc0e5b)

Author Note (#u9770f535-8bd3-54f0-b390-081b8d6a7ba5)

Title Page (#u38616cca-b486-5169-a867-49fa12584373)

About the Author (#u2dcf161a-e62f-5748-9d3b-9646b87ef044)

Dedication (#ub213b4d3-2f8a-570e-9686-9a749391751e)

Prologue (#u54c12f0a-477b-5977-ad4b-4041b5246874)

Chapter One (#uc5826e11-f644-5550-b3bf-b0f4b3033b4c)

Chapter Two (#u262b142d-340c-55aa-b6ed-9ec48cb71ed0)

Chapter Three (#u701f3807-4d61-56ce-9d1e-8118ab8540c8)

Chapter Four (#ubc56fde7-4efb-555d-858b-c270b04b3918)

Chapter Five (#uf4dca285-7116-5d2c-bec0-3b5316fb408b)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


Prologue (#ud75cd284-43ad-58f8-bfbe-2be6b387b94b)

St George’s Church, Hanover Square—June 1815

Every pew was taken. No mean feat in a church as large and grand as this one, yet hardly a surprise when this was the wedding of the Season: the day when the darling of society, the beautiful only daughter of the Earl of Upminster, married her handsome peer.

Even the sun had come out to celebrate and was cheerfully streaming through the imposing stained-glass windows in an exceedingly pleasing fashion and causing a kaleidoscope of colours to decorate the floor. The air hung heavy with the fragrance of lilacs, Lizzie’s favourite flower, and tall vases and boughs festooned the aisle she would soon walk down.

Her wedding dress was embroidered subtly to match and her dainty bonnet decorated with beautiful silk replicas, scaled down to sit in a pleasing fashion. Just as she had always imagined.

In fact, to her complete delight, everything about her wedding to the Marquess of Rainham was exactly as she had imagined it. After all, she had been planning it all since she was ten, right down to the minutest of details because it was the most important day of her life. The beginning of her perfect, happily ever after, exactly six months on from her first meeting with the man she loved with all her heart.

Many in society were surprised by the match, her own dear parents included. Charles did have a reputation as a bit of a rake and had broken more than one heart before he had found his one true love. But as she was prone to point out whenever he was criticised—something which happened with annoying regularity—everybody knew rakes made the very best husbands once they found the right woman, and Lizzie was very definitely the right woman for him.

Dear Charles told her so every single day. From their very first dance he had been the most ardent and attentive suitor, and although Lizzie came with a substantial dowry, he made it quite plain that he did not give two figs for the money. The money meant nothing because he would happily take her with nothing. In rags if need be. Dowries were of no consequence when his heart beat only for her. They were destined to be together for ever. All he cared about was her. Something he proved time and time again with his effusive compliments and daringly longing gazes. It was all so wonderfully romantic. A courtship which had made her the envy of her peers and now she was having the perfect wedding, too. The first bride of June.

‘I shall give him a stern piece of my mind later! Be assured of that!’ For the second time in as many minutes her father snapped his pocket watch open and stared impatiently at the dial. ‘It is the bride’s prerogative to be late, not the groom’s. To leave us here, hiding in the vestry like common criminals, is beyond the pale, Lizzie. I have no idea what the bounder can be thinking to insult us so grievously.’

She smiled reassuringly at him. At the Foreign Office he was used to being in charge and far too much of a stickler for timekeeping than was necessary, and he had been very vocal with his misgivings about her choice of husband. She had spent much of the last two months reassuring him that everything was destined to be wonderful and her Marquess was not at all what everyone believed. ‘Calm down, Papa. Nobody in the congregation is aware that we have arrived, so it hardly matters. There is probably a perfectly good reason Charles has been delayed. He will be here.’ Last night, just before he had crept out of her bedchamber window and scrambled down the wisteria, he had blown her a kiss and told her how he was counting the seconds until they took their vows. What difference did a few minutes of tardiness make in the grand scheme of things? Especially when they were about to embark on a lifetime together.

Instinctively, her hand fluttered towards her belly and she suppressed the grin which threatened to bloom. Her father would hit the roof if he knew what she had kept secret from everyone for the last week.

Later tonight, when they were all alone, she would tell Charles about the baby. Her wedding present to him. Made in love almost two months ago, when she had gladly given him her innocence as there seemed little point in prolonging the agony of withholding it unnecessarily. ‘We are engaged,’ he had said teasingly the first time he had clambered up the wisteria and surprised her in her bedchamber. ‘What difference do a few more weeks make? Besides, when a love is as deep and abiding as ours is, a wedding ceremony is merely a formality. I am already married to you in my heart.’ As was she. Lizzie knew he would be overjoyed by the news. The perfect end to the most perfect year of her life.

* * *

It was the ashen face of her brother Rafe, over half an hour later, which caused the first real doubts to creep in. He came in through a side door, quietly closed it behind him and simply stood, slightly slumped before her.

‘He’s gone, Lizzie.’

The finality in his voice made her fear the worst. Her darling fiancé was dead? Surely not. She could not bear it. ‘What do you mean he’s gone? What has happened?’ He had been in fine fettle a few scant hours ago. Ardent. No sign of illness or fever. Tears were already streaming down her cheeks as the panic made her heart hammer wildly in her chest. ‘Did he have an accident?’ Please God, make him not have suffered.

Her brother shook his head and it was then she saw the fierce anger in his eyes.

Anger and pity. For her.

‘No, poppet. Nothing so noble, I’m afraid. I don’t quite know how to tell you this, so I shall just say it straight out. The scoundrel is marrying someone else.’

Lizzie’s knees gave way and her father supported her as she stumbled backwards on to a chair. ‘You are mistaken.’ The walls started to spin as nausea threatened. ‘Charles would not do that to me. He loves me.’

‘He left a letter...’ A letter that her brother had obviously already read because the seal was broken and the open missive hung limply in his hand.

Callously, it was addressed to no one in particular and had been left on the mantelpiece in his bachelor lodgings at the Albany. Conversationally, it informed the reader that he was bound, with all haste, for Gretna Green with the Duke of Aylesbury’s daughter. A drastic step taken because her father had forbidden their courtship a full year before. Of course, they had tried to fight the fierce attraction which had consumed them. However, his love for the obscenely wealthy Duke’s plain and awkward youngest daughter was ‘deep and abiding’ and for the longest time he had already been ‘married to her in his heart.’ Their vows were just a formality because, and this was the most crushing blow, ‘his heart beat for her alone.’

The familiar words cut deeply, slicing through her initial disbelief and shock more effectively than anything else could have. What a dreadful way to discover words which had meant so very much to her had ultimately been meaningless to him all along.

‘If we act in all haste, Rafe, we might be able to mitigate the scandal.’

Ever the pragmatist, her father’s conversation wafted over her. A message was dispatched to the Duke of Aylesbury. Fevered plans were set in place. Her papa’s government connections and high place in society would all be utilised to make everything all right, they would close ranks around her to protect her flawless reputation—yet how could things ever be all right again? She had been jilted.

Jilted!

With every meticulous and carefully laid plan for her perfect future made so thoroughly for so long, she had failed to foresee this terrible scenario. Lizzie had been the silly fool who had fallen for the charming Marquess until a much richer prospect had come along. The pregnant, silly fool who had stood waiting patiently for him at the church, who had believed all his calculated seductions, all his blatant flattery, so blinkered by her love for him that she had not heeded all the well-meant words of caution from nearly everyone in her acquaintance including her own family. The trusting, needy, idiot who did not even warrant the courtesy of a letter of her own from the treacherous scoundrel who had deflowered her, nor a mention in the one her brother had found. Written by the same duplicitous hands which had been all over her body only hours before. Charles must have known he was eloping when he had climbed into her bedroom window, but had used her regardless. Like the true libertine and shameless rake he was. Their fairy-tale courtship and all of his apparently heartfelt declarations whispered intimately in her virgin’s bed stood for naught. It had all been a pack of lies and she had fallen for every single one.

Her hand automatically went to her belly again. All at once, the sickly smell of lilacs threatened to overpower her, or maybe it was the catastrophic ramifications of her now-dire situation. Or perhaps that was merely the bitter taste of humiliation and utter, complete betrayal. Total devastation. Willingly, she had given a man her tender, young heart and he had blithely returned it to her bludgeoned.

Shredded into irreparable pieces.


Chapter One (#ud75cd284-43ad-58f8-bfbe-2be6b387b94b)

A London ballroom—St Nicholas’s Day,

6th December 1820

Hal twisted the sprig of mistletoe idly between his fingers and took another cleansing breath of the cold night air. The heat in the tedious Renshaw ballroom was stifling, but then again, as it was quite the crush inside no doubt everyone would laud the evening as a resounding success. There was nothing guaranteed to cause more excitement in town than two hundred sweating aristocrats stuffed into their winter finery and all forcing themselves to be cheerful in deference to the season.

For Hal, it also signalled the start of a month of sheer hell, as now he was the Earl of Redbridge he would be expected to attend every single one of the festive functions between now and Twelfth Night. It was, apparently, a Redbridge tradition, and the only one his mother was determined to continue even though her tyrannical husband was mouldering in the ground, and she had happily ignored all his other edicts since his death last year. In fact, she was so looking forward to it, Hal couldn’t bring himself to complain, even though it culminated in him hosting the final, most opulent and eagerly anticipated ball of all at his Berkeley Square house on the sixth of January. Twelfth Night. The official end of the Christmas season.

In previous years, he had always managed to make a hasty exit from the short but frenetic festive season. He had danced and flirted with a few game girls, then disappeared to his club or to a gaming hell or to the bedchamber of whatever willing widow or wayward wife he happened to be enjoying at that particular time. Now he was stuck. Shackled by an ingrained sense of duty to his mother, who was enjoying life to the full now that she finally had her freedom and her period of mourning was over. Although like him, she hadn’t seemed to mourn much. His father had been a mean-spirited, dictatorial curmudgeon who criticised absolutely everything his wayward children did. But he had made Hal’s gentle mother’s life a misery.

Hal had lost count of the number of times he had heard her crying, all alone in her bedchamber, because of yet another cruel or thoughtless thing his sire had done to her. However, if he went to her when she was crying, she would pretend nothing was amiss. ‘Pay it no mind, Hal. Marriage is meant to be filled with trials and tribulations.’ Something which did not make the prospect of it particularly enticing.

If he went to his father and called him on it, after the tirade of abuse which always accompanied such impertinence, his father would shrug it off as the way of things. A wife was a means of getting heirs. Nothing more. That duty discharged, they were merely doomed to tolerate each other. That was the inevitable way of things. And surely it was long past time Hal stopped sowing wild oats, settled down to do his duty to the house of Stuart and begat some heirs of his own to continue the legacy? And whilst he was about it, he needed to start learning about estate management and how to do proper business, which in his father’s world usually meant ruining people and feasting off their carcasses in order to amass an even larger fortune than he already had.

‘The world runs on coin, Henry, nothing else matters. Or do you intend to be a shocking and scandalous disappointment to me for ever?’

A silly question, seeing as Hal had no appetite for either cruelty or proper business. Instead, he had made it his life’s mission to thoroughly disappoint his father at every given opportunity as a point of principal, and the single most thorough way of doing that was to be creating frequent scandals. Hal enjoyed the spectacle of his livid father’s purple face as much as he did bedding a succession of wholly unsuitable, and gloriously unmarriageable, women. Reckless wagers at the card table came a close second. His father abhorred the careless use of good money on anything so frivolous and unpredictable. Money was for making more money to add to the heaps and heaps they had already, because money meant power and his father adored being powerful above all else. Even if that meant making everybody else miserable or his only son hate everything his father stood for. As the years passed, the gulf between the Earl and his scandalous only son had widened so much there might as well have been a whole ocean between them. A state of affairs which suited Hal just fine. Being scandalous had become so ingrained, such an intrinsic part of his own character, now his father was dead he actually missed misbehaving. It was as if a part of him was missing.

It was not the only thing in his life which had changed since he had inherited the title. He also had to run the enormous estate he now owned, something he never expected to relish, and the vast and varied business investments were a constant source of amusement. Because it turned out Hal had a natural talent for making more money by considering investment opportunities his father would never have dared touch, and without having to resort to those abhorrent proper business tactics his dreadful father had used, Hal had been feeling a trifle odd for months now. Yet could not quite put his finger on why.

The sad truth was simply having fun really wasn’t fun any more. Since he had become the Earl of Redbridge he had found the gaming hells had lost their appeal, as had the bawdy widows and wayward wives. Instead, he found himself wanting to dive into his new ledgers rather than a willing woman’s bed. He enjoyed reading the financial news and, to his utter dismay and total disgust, found the debates in the Lords fascinating. All the things his father had wanted him to take an interest in, the very things he had avoided resolutely for all of his twenty-seven years, now called to him and Hal was uncharacteristically inclined to listen. It was beyond disconcerting.

To begin with, he assumed this odd malaise was a temporary condition, brought about by the lack of need to vex his father and the shock of taking on his mantle, but the odd mood had persisted way beyond those unfamiliar, tentative first months. In fact, he hadn’t been between anyone’s sheets but his own in an age, and apparently out of choice rather than lack of opportunity. The last time he had engaged in a bit of bed sport, Hal had had to force himself and then found the whole interlude wholly unsatisfying. Almost as if something was missing although he could not say what. The widow had been passionate and lustful—two things he had always enjoyed in a woman—yet Hal had not been able to get out of her bed quickly enough and certainly had no intentions of ever going back to it. All in all, his lack of libido was becoming quite worrying. As was his lack of risky, devil-may-care behaviour. If he did not find a way to combat it, Hal was in danger of turning into his cold, dour father and that would never do.

‘Are you hoping to find a willing young lady on this terrace to steal a kiss from?’ His brother-in-law, next-door neighbour and best friend in the world, Aaron Wincanton, Viscount Ardleigh, stared pointedly at the green sprig in Hal’s hand. ‘And if you are, should I make myself scarce? I can happily hide somewhere else if I am interrupting a potential tryst.’ His friend held aloft two generously filled brandy glasses and did a poor job of blending into the background.

‘By all means, join me. There is nobody here I want to kiss.’ Too many seasons spent in too many ballrooms had made him quite jaded. Each crop of new debutantes seemed to become sillier than the previous ones, not one of them could converse on any topics other than the banal and he found their blatant, simpering new interest in him since he acquired his title irritating. Especially when they wouldn’t give him the time of day beforehand. He had been far too scandalous. But now, he was an earl and they all wanted to be the one to give him his father’s longed-for heirs.

‘Oh, dear. Have things got that bad?’

‘It’s all right for you. You are no longer an eligible bachelor. You can breeze in and out of any ballroom unencumbered. I can scarcely make it to the refreshment table without some hungry young miss trying to get her matrimonial claws in me. And do not get me started on the mothers!’

‘You are an earl, tolerably handsome, I am told, and a rich one to boot. I doubt you will need the mistletoe, I dare say most of them will happily kiss you quite enthusiastically without it. Even with your womanising reputation.’ Hal groaned and stared mournfully in to his brandy, something which made his brother-in-law laugh. ‘Is there really no one you find even slightly intriguing?’

‘It is hard to be intrigued when they are all so frightfully eager.’

His friend nearly choked on his brandy. ‘A travesty indeed! Poor you. All these eager women and no inclination to indulge.’ Good grief! Had it become that obvious? Things were clearly direr than Hal had imagined if other people were beginning to notice, and that was beyond embarrassing. ‘I think I know what ails you?’

‘You do?’

‘Yes, indeed. Your lack of interest in the opposite sex can easily be explained. You miss the thrill of the chase. We men are born with the inherent desire to hunt for what we need.’

‘I hate hunting.’ Hal’s father had thoroughly enjoyed it and had forced his reluctant little boy to accompany him on far too many of them. He still recalled the first time he had seen a poor, terrified fox ripped to pieces by a pack of dogs and how frightened and appalled he had been when his father had soaked his handkerchief in the still-warm entrails and smeared the sticky blood all over Hal’s face. A hunting tradition, apparently, and one he still could not understand. ‘You know I hate hunting.’

Aaron rolled his eyes. ‘Not foxes, you fool, women! You cannot deny you are a hunter of women. A lone and fearless predator. When they are all so depressingly eager and happy to fall at your feet, you miss the thrill of seducing them.’

‘Perhaps.’ Without thinking he turned his body to gaze through the windows back into the ballroom and watched the sea of swirling silk-clad young women on the dance floor to see if just one of them stood out to him and inspired him to go seduce them. Then sighed when none did.

‘The trouble is,’ his friend continued, far too cheerfully for Hal’s liking, ‘you grew up with Connie.’

‘And what, pray tell, does my tempestuous sister have to do with this?’

‘She has set a standard you have come to expect from all women.’

‘Are you suggesting I yearn for a foul-tempered, flouncing termagant of a woman? Because really, Aaron, I love my dear sister to distraction, but the idea of being married to someone similar terrifies me.’ Not that he was looking for a wife. Heaven forbid! The idea of being shackled for life in matrimonial disharmony, like his parents, filled him with dread. Besides, he was still too young to sacrifice himself to the parson’s trap. His father had often said all respectable gentlemen had a duty to be married before they were thirty. Hal had another three years to go to thwart that edict and had no immediate desire to become respectable. Not when he still had far too many wild oats to sow. And he would, as soon as he shook off his odd mood. He had every intention of making the man spin in his grave for a considerate amount of time as penance for being so awful. At least another decade.

‘Fear not, it takes a real man to deal with a woman like your sister and you are not in my league, dear fellow. What I mean is merely this. All those eager girls do not present a challenge to you, which is why you are so out of sorts.’ He waved his hand dismissively in the direction of the dancers. ‘Therefore I am prepared to set you an interesting challenge out of family loyalty, to restore some of your missing vigour. A bit of fun to liven up this laboriously festive social season for the both of us, seeing as Connie has decreed we spend it here with your mother, and your mother has such exuberance for society again. Wouldn’t you relish a decent challenge? For our usual stakes, of course.’

‘I suppose...’ It was a sorry state of affairs if a man in his prime was without vigour, yet the plain and simple truth was Hal had not encountered a single woman in well over a year who did not bore him to tears. Even the unsuitable, corruptible ones he favoured were leaving him cold. Although he was prepared to concede fun would be good, if nothing else, as it had been a bit thin on the ground of late. ‘What sort of challenge?’

‘How many berries are on that sprig of parasitic vegetation you are clutching like an amulet?’

‘Five—why?’ Because Aaron had a particular gleam in his eye and as their usual stakes involved the loser mucking out the other’s stables single-handed, or when in town just Hal’s, as Aaron had cheerfully sold his house years before, he was understandably wary. Being bored and being consigned to shovelling excrement for his brother-in-law’s amusement were two very different things entirely.

‘Five berries equal the five separate kisses I challenge you to steal. Each one in a different location and all five before Twelfth Night. Let us call it The Mistletoe Wager, in a nod to the season.’ Their bets always had names and there had been some momentous ones. The North Road Race. The Serpentine Swim. The Fisticuffs Experiment and the ill-conceived and often-lamented Naked Night in Norfolk, when they both nearly froze to death trying to brave the winter weather sitting out in the elements on the exposed beach of Great Yarmouth. They had hastily agreed to end that one early when they simultaneously lost feeling in their gentlemen’s areas. The Mistletoe Wager certainly sounded a lot more pleasant than all its painful predecessors.

Hal felt himself grin at the thought. Five kisses! He could do that in his sleep. ‘To be frank, I think it is only fair to point out I am so confident of my appeal, I believe you will be ensconced in my well-stocked stable tomorrow. Challenge accepted!’

‘Hold your fire, my arrogant young friend. I have not set out my full terms yet. There is one more thing I must insist upon.’

‘Which is?’

‘I get to choose whom you have to kiss.’

Hal felt his eyes narrow suspiciously. ‘No nuns. No dowagers or ladies in their dotage and for pity’s sake spare me Lady Daphne Marsh. I must insist that the ladies selected have teeth! Rumour has it those clattering dentures she wears are made with teeth chiselled out of the corpses on the battlefield at Waterloo.’

‘Really? I had heard they were carved out of a single walrus tusk... Either way, I agree they are distasteful.’ Aaron held up his palm solemnly. ‘You have my word. Only eligible, pretty ladies I would have chased after myself, before I had the great good fortune to be forced into marriage with your sister, qualify. What do you say? Shall we shake on it to seal the wager?’

For a few seconds Hal dithered, before he realised dithering was reminiscent of something his staid father would have done. ‘On one condition. The ladies you choose can only be selected from within the very ballroom we are currently avoiding. Those are my particular terms.’ That would ensure no ridiculous women were chosen. Aaron did like to best him and he would not put it past him to select five girls in the remotest corners of the British Isles just to vex him.

‘Agreed!’

Hal thrust out his hand and the two men did their level best to out-shake and out-squeeze the other, as was their custom, for a solid thirty seconds before they stepped back. ‘Five stolen kisses in five entirely different locations with five very lucky ladies.’ He turned towards the French doors and grinned triumphantly. ‘Choose away, dear brother. I feel guilty for accepting such a ridiculously easy bet.’

‘Your arrogance astounds me! Do you honestly believe every proper young lady in that room would allow you to steal a kiss?’

Hal actually laughed, because really, it was just too funny. ‘There will be no need for stealing, I can assure you. I am the single most eligible man at this ball. I am phenomenally wealthy, devilishly handsome, totally charming and, as you have quite rightly pointed out, I’m an earl. There isn’t a young lady in that ballroom who would not welcome my advances. In fact, I dare say a few of them might try to steal a kiss from me with precious little effort on my part this very evening.’ Which ironically was part of his current problem. They really were all so predictably eager.

‘I refuse to believe you. As the father to two tenacious daughters and husband to a wife of supreme intelligence, I believe you are grossly underestimating the female sex. There must be at least a dozen young ladies currently in the ballroom who are in possession of good sense and taste, and thereby would never consider attaching their lips to yours.’

Hal watched with mounting amusement as Aaron carefully scanned the crowds, his frustration with the eager young ladies beyond becoming more apparent with every passing second. After a full minute, his intense perusal became a trifle desperate, then he straightened and nearly sighed with relief. When he turned back to Hal there was definite mischief in his expression, yet it did not daunt him. ‘Who is the lucky first of the five?’ Because he fully intended to pluck off one of those white mistletoe berries tonight in front of Aaron’s eyes and then ceremonially place it in his hand.

‘I don’t recall stating there would be five different ladies, old boy.’ Aaron was grinning smugly from ear to ear. It was a familiar tactic. Each time one of them proposed a ridiculous wager, the devil was in the detail of the language. Like attorneys they always quibbled about the minutiae of the terms. Hal went back over their conversation himself, preparing to counter, and experienced the first trickle of unease when he realised his irritatingly smug relative was right. There had been no mention of five different young ladies which shifted the parameters of the challenge significantly. To steal a kiss from a young lady once was a relatively simple task, by and large. More than that involved actual wooing and Hal had always been scrupulously careful about where and to whom he wooed. And Aaron knew it, too.

‘I shall not be selecting five young ladies. In fact, there is only the one. All you need to do is find suitable opportunities and locations to kiss her five times.’ He turned and pointed triumphantly through the condensation covered window to the solitary figure sat alone in a corner. ‘I choose Lady Elizabeth Wilding.’

‘Sullen Lizzie?’

‘Now, now. You of all people should know how unfair nicknames can be here in the ton. Wasn’t your own dear sister known as the Ginger Amazonian for years? A dreadful name which was most unfortunate. If people overhear you calling the poor girl that, the name might stick.’

Hal could almost smell the horse manure and realised he had been ambushed. ‘As I recall, dear brother-in-law, it was you who gave my sister that unfortunate nickname, so don’t try to use that against me. Besides, she is sullen. The sullenest woman in Mayfair. Why, she barely casts me a disdainful glance if we happen to pass on the street. You picked her on purpose, you snake! Everybody knows Lady Elizabeth Wilding loathes all men!’

‘How can you say that when the chit was engaged once?’

‘And callously called it off on the morning of her wedding without a thought to the poor groom’s feelings!’ Everyone remembered that juicy titbit of gossip. It had caused quite a scandal, from what he recalled, as the announcement was made to the congregation as they had waited for the bride and groom to take their vows.

‘Marriage is for life, Hal. I believe it shows how sensible she is to have refrained from making the wrong choice. And even you have to concede that the dissolute Rainham was a bad choice. Nobody has seen the fellow in years—probably had to run away from all his creditors. Brava to her, I say. It hardly makes her a man-hater to have realised Rainham was a mistake at the last minute—merely choosy. When one has the largest dowry of any young lady in the ton, one has to be very careful.’

‘Ha! By all accounts the dowry is so sweet because her personality is so sour. Her poor father must be so desperate to marry her off to have offered such a ridiculous sum. How many Seasons has she been out now?’ Hal prodded Aaron in the chest. ‘I shall tell you. Too many and that in itself tells me everything I need to know. Even with the dowry she is resolutely dour. She has not, to the best of my knowledge, entertained the overtures of a suitor in years. Her mouth curls in distaste every time she converses with a single gentleman. And when was the last time she accepted an invitation to dance?’ Sullen Lizzie positively glared at any fellow brave enough to get within ten feet of her. Despite her famed beauty, Hal had never bothered being one of them. Gently bred young ladies with pristine reputations were not his type and he sincerely doubted scandalous earls were hers. Kissing the frosty Lady Elizabeth once would be a huge achievement. Managing to do it five times would be a miracle.

‘Are you conceding the challenge then, because if you are I shall send a note to my stable master immediately, instructing him to cease all shovelling for the night. I want you to have a decent pile in the morning. We did shake on the wager, after all, and I must remind you that you are both a gentleman and a peer of the realm, and as such duty bound to honour your word. It is a great shame, though. I had hoped you were made of sterner stuff. Lady Elizabeth is a very beautiful woman and, as you previously stipulated, one who is in possession of all of her own teeth.’

Male pride, Hal mused, was a dangerous thing. Everything about the wager told him he would lose so why bother. However, a bigger, primal part of him wanted to best his cocky friend and in truth Lady Elizabeth was a stunningly beautiful woman and it would be no great hardship to kiss her. Unsociable. Unapproachable. Unreachable. Very definitely a challenge for only the finest, most skilled of hunters, and only where women were concerned he was undoubtedly that. ‘I wouldn’t dream of conceding.’

He watched Aaron’s face fall before staring back at him stunned. ‘Really? Are you completely sure?’ And now his friend sounded nervous, as if he regretted his own choice, too, but was also too stubborn to back down.

‘I shall kiss Sullen Lizzie five times in five different locations before Twelfth Night. And you, Aaron, are going to move a veritable mountain once I win and I am going to crack open a bottle of my finest port and watch, gloating, while you do it!’ The more he thought about it, the more Hal was convinced Lady Elizabeth Wilding was the perfect candidate to test his superior powers of seduction on. At least she wasn’t eager and surely that had to be a point in her favour. Hal would have to be resourceful and tenacious. Like a hunter of old. Already, he could feel the previously sluggish, hot male blood coursing through his veins at the prospect. He clinked his glass against his flabbergasted friend’s.

‘Let the Mistletoe Wager commence!’


Chapter Two (#ud75cd284-43ad-58f8-bfbe-2be6b387b94b)

Lizzie gazed wistfully at the ormolu clock on the Renshaws’ opulent fireplace and stifled a groan when she saw the time. It would be at least another hour before her father relented and allowed her to summon the carriage. His insistence that she maintain this silly façade after five long years was beyond tiresome. Initially, he had insisted she return to society to maintain appearances. Her continued presence gave credence to the lie that she had chosen to terminate her engagement to Rainham, as was a woman’s prerogative, and therefore she had nothing to be ashamed of. It was necessary, he explained, to keep her scandalous, dirty secret a secret.

Back then, she had readily agreed to keep her baby a secret and spare her family the scandal. The wonderful Wildings had rallied around her, fiercely protective, and their loyalty was something she would always be grateful for. So many girls ‘in trouble’ were cast out and shunned by their families, even more had to suffer the horrendous grief of giving up their child and never seeing or daring to mention the poor thing again. Fortunately, she had been spared both of those ordeals. For the first year she stayed largely at the family estate in Cheshire with her brother, his wife and their young son Frederick, venturing back into town to keep up the necessary appearances when the need arose, but after her mother had died, Lizzie and George were summoned back to Mayfair to live with her father, something she had agreed to do temporarily because she could not stand the thought of him being all alone.

Aside from the bothersome London Season and the shorter Christmas one, where she was forced into a society which would instantly turn on her if they were ever appraised of the truth, she got to live her life exactly as she wanted to.

Almost.

Yet to all intents and purposes, little George did not exist outside their Mayfair house. Small children, it turned out, were very easy to conceal from the prying eyes of the world. For the longest time it had been surprisingly easy to behave in public as if nothing untoward was going on. Back when he was a baby, Lizzie had only been too pleased to comply. It would have caused the most horrendous scandal for both their family and the Government to have done otherwise. As the most senior man at the Foreign Office, the King’s chief advisor on the delicate art of global diplomacy, her father had to be seen to be above reproach and she had not wanted to bring his ambitions to a shuddering halt because of her foolish indiscretion. She had returned to society after her clandestine confinement and nobody was any the wiser. All in all, they had done such a good job that even now, remarkably, her pristine reputation was still intact and, to all intents and purposes, she was just another single young lady on the marriage mart.

Except she wasn’t.

Despite her father’s steadfast refusal to give up the hope Lizzie would find a suitable man to marry, there was nothing which would ever tempt her to take a trip down the aisle again. Once bitten, twice shy, and Lizzie had been bitten too hard. So hard she was certain she still bore the treacherous Rainham’s teeth marks. From the outset, she had rebelled against her papa’s misguided belief she would soon snare another man who could be convinced, or bribed by his powerful father-in-law, into claiming the new-born child as his own. Instead, she actively repelled any man who dared to come within six feet of her. And, for good measure, any woman, too. The last thing she needed was allowing anyone to get too close, just in case she inadvertently let slip something which might embarrass her family or, more importantly, bring unwarranted shame and censure on her son.

Heaven forbid she would consider the alternative and marry a man who was shallow enough to be bribed to take on her child. Georgie deserved better than that and Lizzie would never allow him to be an inconvenience to a husband who would prefer her delightful little boy did not exist at all. As a wife, she would be bound by her husband’s edicts. What if Georgie was banished to boarding school or some remote property to be brought up by strangers? Unloved and all alone. She would protect him from that with the last breath in her body. No, indeed. The very last thing she could ever risk, for the sake of her beautiful boy, was marriage.

However, her dear papa refused to acknowledge her fears or that the trusting, foolish girl she had been had died the day Rainham had jilted her. What had emerged from the wreckage was a stronger, harder woman who would never be seduced into the merry dance of courtship again, no matter how charming or handsome her would-be suitor was. If she could thank the scoundrel Marquess for something, other than the fruit of his lying, deceitful loins, then it would be for opening her eyes to the harsh realities of life. Lizzie had been a hopeless dreamer then; now she was a realist. Her papa called it pessimism. It was much better to always expect the worst, that way you were guaranteed never to be disappointed. Being at the mercy of fate, or fickle men, was not a situation she would ever allow again.

And, on the subject of plans, soon she would put her most audacious one into action. This would be her last foray into polite society. One more month of maintaining this ridiculous charade for the sake of propriety, and her dear papa’s career, before she withdrew from the ton for ever. Georgie was not a baby any more. He could run around, talk and asked an increasing amount of questions about everything, the most consistent one causing her the most sleepless nights. Where is my papa? There was only so long her darling boy would accept her blithe answer of far, far away without complaint, yet she knew she was being unfair to him by keeping him the dark.

Her little boy needed to go to school and experience the sort of childhood all little boys deserved. He needed to play outside, not be restricted to twice-weekly jaunts to Richmond Park with his mother. The infrequent visits with her brother’s son were not enough and, as good a grandpapa as her dear father was to George, or no matter how many hours he spent playing with him, her son needed to be with children his own age, not adults. She wanted him to grow up feeling confident and secure in who he was. It was hardly his fault he was the Wildings’ dirty little secret.

Her dirty little secret.

After Christmas was done and dusted, and after she had found the right words to tell her beloved father of her decision, Lizzie was going to leave the sheltered safety of their Mayfair house. The spacious cottage in Yorkshire had already been purchased in the name of Mrs Smith with the small inheritance she had been left from her grandmother and via an attorney sworn to secrecy. It was already decorated and comfortably furnished in readiness. The well-paid attorney had seen to that, too. In a few short weeks, Lizzie would, to all intents and purposes, cease to be Lady Elizabeth Wilding for as much of her life as possible.

Instead, she would pretend to be a young widow—lord knew there were enough of them thanks to the carnage of decades of war—and Georgie would grow up like a normal boy, free from the stain of illegitimacy. Nobly fatherless because of Napoleon. Just the two of them. In quiet, peaceful, utter bliss. No more questions. No more lies—all bar that one.

Even so, she dreaded telling her father. He had stepped into the breach all those years ago and still believed his protection was necessary, until she learned to trust again and found a man to relieve him of the duty. Hence, she was at the Renshaw Ball at her misguided papa’s request, miserable and beyond bored, and would no doubt have to attend all manner of so-called similar entertainments for the next, interminable, miserable month.

In desperation, he had even taken to approaching potential husbands on her behalf. Sensible, staid men who were nothing but upright and no doubt he had significantly inflated her dowry as bait. Luring them with the enticing scent of money, encouraging them to come and talk or ask her to dance. Refusing to believe her insistence that she was done with men and never wanted another one, no matter how dull, staid and annoyingly persistent the fellows he selected were.

So pathetically, because she could not bear to hurt her papa’s feelings, she was hiding in the furthest chairs reserved for the most committed of wallflowers, attempting to be invisible. A sorry state of affairs, indeed, but easier than upsetting her father with yet another argument.

Why couldn’t he see that time was running out and the scandal he had vehemently suppressed for years was in danger of blowing wide open? They could not keep George sequestered in the house for ever, or wire his talkative mouth shut, and hell would have to freeze over before she would allow the rest of society to judge her innocent baby based on the circumstances of his birth. Lizzie would never regret George, regardless of how he had come to be in her life, and she was so very tired of hiding him. Poor Papa. His eagerness to find her a husband was beginning to drive a wedge between them and that broke her heart as well. The last five years of nonsense could not be allowed to continue much longer.

‘A penny for your thoughts?’

The deep male voice from behind startled her, yet Lizzie hid it instinctively. Sometimes, particularly arrogant young bucks still attempted to flirt with her for sport. Something which was always ruthlessly nipped in the bud. A slow, calculated glance to the side revealed Henry Stuart, the newly minted Earl of Redbridge. Handsome as sin and with a sinful reputation to match. She did not bother hiding her irritation at recognising him.

‘Do not trouble yourself, my lord. I can assure you that whatever misguided impulse sent you my way, it was most assuredly futile. I am in no mood to engage in polite conversation or anything else this evening.’ She flicked her eyes back towards the dance floor and turned her body away from his, allowing the uncomfortable seconds to tick by. Men were like wasps. If you ignored them, they eventually went away.

She heard the slight creaking protest of wood and realised he had eased his big body into the chair alongside. She gave him her best unwelcoming frown and curtest tone. ‘I do not recall inviting you to sit.’ This insect clearly needed swatting.

Looking decidedly bored, the Earl glanced at the rows of empty chairs around them and shrugged. ‘These seats have been expressly placed here by our hostess to rest upon. I do not recall being told I needed anyone’s permission to sit in them. Please ignore me, Lady Elizabeth and, in turn, I shall ignore you as you have made it quite plain you would prefer me to. Believe me, there are a million places I would rather be as well.’

As she could think of no immediate retort to such blatant indifference, Lizzie stared resolutely at the dance floor and her unwelcome companion did the same. Neither spoke. After a full five minutes, she actively considered standing and moving to the opposite side of the room. His continued presence rattled her, although she could not say why. Men did not linger when they had been rejected. As a rule. But moving would alert him to her discomfort and that would never do. ‘You can sit there all night. I still will not talk to you.’

‘Yet here you are, talking regardless.’ He stifled a yawn. ‘Fear not, fair maiden, like you, I am hiding. I find these events tiresome.’

‘There are many other places to hide, my lord, perhaps you should retire to one of those and leave me in peace. I was here first and, in case I have not made it obvious enough, I am not desirous of either your company or your attentions.’

Only his eyes turned to look at her and they were inscrutable. Very green. Very bored. ‘Clearly you have an inflated sense of your own appeal if you have construed my sitting as evidence of my interest in you.’ Lizzie instantly smarted at the insult, yet quashed the urge to show it. She could hardly go around dismissing men curtly from her presence, then become offended when one was blessedly uninterested.

‘I should still prefer you to sit elsewhere.’

‘Believe me, under normal circumstances I would be only too happy to comply with your request. However, drastic times call for drastic measures. I find myself in the unpleasant position of having to endure your company and, as I have specifically chosen to sit with you, you might try to be a little honoured by the accolade.’

‘Honoured?’ Despite the affront, he did, devil take him, have her intrigued. ‘And why, pray tell, do you have to endure me of all people, when there is a positive ocean of other, more agreeable people here to annoy?’

He gave the room a dismissive scan, then his sea-green eyes locked with hers far more impertinently than any eyes had in quite some time. ‘May I be brutally frank with you, Lady Elizabeth?’

He was still regarding her blandly and, much as it pained her, Lizzie nodded. ‘Honesty? From a renowned rake? This I have to hear.’

He heaved an irritated sigh, although clearly more at his own situation than at her rudeness, and stared at the dance floor with an expression of complete distaste. ‘Since I came into the earldom, I find myself in the hideous position of being eligible. Earls, apparently, need wives, and there are a vast number of eager candidates for the position keen to push themselves forward—I confess, I am finding it all rather tiresome.’

‘From what I know of your reputation, sir, I would have thought you would relish so much opportunity.’

His dark brows drew together and his top lip wrinkled in disgust. ‘Opportunity? Are you quite mad, Lady Elizabeth? The only opportunity this whole sorry situation offers me is the opportunity to be caught soundly in the parson’s trap! A place, I can assure you, I have no desire to be. Any decent rake worth his salt does not dally with nice girls. Everybody knows that!’ He shuddered and Lizzie found herself smiling before she stopped herself. At least he was being honest.

‘All very tragic, yet I am still none the wiser as to why you have singled out this particular corner of the ballroom to hide in, or more specifically why you have to endure being here. With me. Or why I should feel honoured in the process.’

He lent sideways to whisper, as if he were imparting some great secret, and his warm breath tickled her ear. It was, surprisingly, a wholly pleasant sensation. ‘It is well known, my dear lady, that your charming disposition and sociable nature are not for the faint hearted. Especially during this joyous festive season.’ She watched the hint of a smile linger for a moment on his face, a hint of a smile which was every bit as roguish as he was, saw his broad chest rise, then fall slowly under his crossed, irritatingly muscled arms and felt her pulse flutter at the magnificent sight of him. Her bizarre reaction made her scowl at him in anger. Something which obviously amused him greatly, because the half-smile turned into a full rakish grin, and to her complete shame, that grin did strange things to her insides.

‘You have quite the reputation, Lady Elizabeth, thank goodness, as I cannot tolerate people without a bad reputation. All that goodness makes me nervous. However, I digress, it is your reputation for ill-humoured and barely concealed dislike of polite society which I am in dire need of. A deterrent, as it were. You, madam, are the perfect foil for a man in my position. A sullen shield to defend me against my hordes of eager admirers. Nobody will dare to come and talk to me when I am sat here with you. I shall be spared every crushing bore, every ambitious mama and every nimble, nubile, pathetically eager yet dreadfully dull, potential bride.’

* * *

When he had first approached her, Hal was determined to charm her out of her perpetual frown. However, at the very last moment he had realised the beautiful and frosty Lizzie would probably be immune to such overt flattery. With her pale golden hair and cornflower-blue eyes, she must have heard every compliment ever uttered and, as Aaron had warned, she was definitely a woman far too intelligent to be won over by flowery words.

At the last second he had changed tack, because he always came up with the best ideas on the hop, and failed to be charming and was now very glad that he had. It had been exactly the right move and one which cemented his belief in his ability to understand women better than most men. Sullen Lizzie was responding to his casual uninterest with far more interest than he had ever witnessed her display before, when really he was only being honest.

Sort of.

He was finding the hordes of admirers tiresome and he genuinely did have no intention of marrying any time soon, what with all the wild oats which had so vexed his father still in urgent need of sowing whilst he diligently avoided being respectable.

Her pretty blue eyes, which had been narrowed in annoyance just a few minutes ago, regarded him with wary curiosity. ‘Have you been encouraged to come speak to me at the bequest of my father?’

‘Not at all. I cannot recall the last time I had cause to speak to the Earl of Upminster.’ An interesting snippet. Clearly her father disapproved of her solitary tendencies if he was actively directing suitors towards her. ‘I take it he is trying to marry you off?’ For effect, he scrunched up his face at the word marry and, without thinking, she nodded before she stopped herself. The change was quite spectacular. Her slim shoulders stiffened and her back straightened. Her eyes went icy blue. Her expression became bland. Cold. Even her character seemed to withdraw deep inside herself until all that was left was determined, stony indifference. It was like watching the drawbridge go up on a castle. Hal could not remember a time when he had spoken to a woman quite so...guarded before. Getting past all her layers of defences was not going to be easy and already his conscience was niggling him that something about this situation was very wrong, but a wager was a wager and, if nothing else, he needed to prove something to himself as well as to Aaron. ‘My father used to drive me mad with his demands that I marry.’ More truth. What the blazes had got into him?

‘I notice you managed to resist him.’

‘As have you.’

‘My father means well.’ There was a note of exasperation in her tone. He watched her lovely eyes wander towards the Earl of Upminster and soften instinctively at the sight of him. There was love there. Loyalty. Then he noticed the way she winced when her father grinned back encouragingly. Clearly he assumed the fact she was talking to a man was a good sign. Even if the man happened to be him. Without realising it, she had shown Hal her Achilles’ heel. ‘He just does not understand...’ She stopped herself. Her plump lips sealed in a flat line.

‘He just does not understand that you are not inclined towards marriage. Most people do not understand such a thing could be possible, I suppose, especially for a woman, when procuring a husband is meant to be at the very top of her list of priorities.’

‘It does not even feature on my list of priorities.’ This was said with such fierceness she quite forgot to put her guard up for a moment. There was fire beneath all the ice, too. Interesting.

‘Mine either. No doubt I shall have to succumb one day. Produce the obligatory heir and a spare, but I am only twenty-seven and far too young to settle down.’

‘Hence you are using me as a shield to ward off the eager hordes.’ The ghost of a smile touched her lips and Hal experienced a strange flutter in his chest at being the cause of it. For some reason, he sensed the stare of another and, when he looked towards it, saw her father watching their interactions like a hawk. ‘I wish I had a shield to protect me from my father’s enthusiasm for finding me suitors. But alas, he is beyond determined and I fear I am doomed to suffer regardless.’

‘Perhaps I can return the favour?’ The words were out before he could stop them. However, the opportunity was there, ripe for the picking, and a true seducer took advantage of the moment. Thinking on his feet. ‘I notice your father appears to be interested in you talking to me.’

The shutters came down again and her expression became unreadable. ‘He will get over it.’

Tread carefully, Hal. ‘I think it is fairly safe to say we both have an aversion to marriage. Your father wants you to find a man and half of this ballroom wants me to be the man for them. Why don’t we form an alliance against them all?’

‘I am not sure I follow, my lord.’

‘The way I see it, this dreadful Christmas season is stuffed with potentially awkward and bothersome social functions which we are both duty-bound to attend. Your father is going to bore you with a succession of would-be suitors and, because my mother is determined to enjoy life and I must be her escort, I am going to have to spend a great many hours hiding from the hordes on freezing terraces, if tonight’s experiences are anything to go by. Therefore, why don’t we pretend to be interested in one another? Your father will be thrilled you have selected a suitor of your own accord, thus one would hope he will leave you alone to allow romance to blossom, and your legendary sullen disposition and my most obvious attentions towards you will deter other young ladies from coming after me. And at the very least, we will both have someone like-minded to talk to during all those long interminable hours of enforced gaiety. These affairs can be so dreadfully dull.’

Hal allowed the silence to stretch as he watched her mull over his proposal. To his complete surprise, he did feel a little guilty at how he was trying to manipulate her, but that was far outweighed by the benefits of their unlikely partnership. Even if he lost the bet, which of course he wouldn’t, Lady Elizabeth would be an effective deterrent from all those eager young ladies and that, in itself, would make the next month far less painful even if he did end up having to take up the shovel.

‘No, thank you, my lord.’

‘I wouldn’t be so quick to dismiss it out of hand if I were you. Such an arrangement benefits both of us and I suspect the pair of us would rub along quite well. We are both obviously jaded and have a healthy disregard for all this nonsense around us. Think of all the fun we could have.’

‘I said no!’ The barricade went up again and this time it was unyielding. She sat stiffly, staring away from Hal resolutely. Their brief, enlightening conversation was clearly at an end. Something about her demeanour made him reluctant to push further. He had the distinct feeling if he continued to attempt to whittle down her defences he would do more harm than good. Sullen Lizzie was going to be a stubbornly tough nut to crack and therefore Hal would have to use subtle persistence to get her to voluntarily lower the drawbridge rather than a battering ram to breach the enormous walls she had placed around herself. He sat quietly beside her. Just in case she had a change of heart.

After an age, she stood and he watched, fascinated, as her eyes once again sought her father. The sigh of frustration was audible when the Earl of Upminster beamed at her expectantly across the room and beckoned to her to come and meet the gentleman stood ramrod-straight and eager at his elbow. A far more suitable and sensible suitor than Hal.

‘Are you sure I cannot tempt you into an alliance?’

Her step faltered and it was then that he realised he might still stand a chance. ‘Absolutely not. The idea is preposterous.’ But she was tempted. And for now, that was enough.


Chapter Three (#ud75cd284-43ad-58f8-bfbe-2be6b387b94b)

Her father could barely contain his excitement in the carriage ride home. ‘Although your choice of fellow leaves a great deal to be desired, it was encouraging to see you finally talking to a gentleman, Lizzie. Are you finally warming to the idea of courting again?’

Of course she wasn’t, but she could see the benefits of the outrageous proposal. Having a pretend beau would certainly make the next month bearable. Perhaps refusing him had been a hasty decision? And then again, she had survived five interminable Seasons and five miserable Christmases by herself; she could jolly well manage one last month on her own. ‘It was a conversation, Papa. Please do not read anything more into it than that. I am quite indifferent to the Earl of Redbridge’s charms.’

Besides, Lizzie had already decided never to converse with the man again despite the allure of a month of peace. He had been far too solid and too tall, smelled far too nice and, for some inexplicable reason, he interested her in a way no man had since her traitorous former fiancé. The lack of charm and flattery had been refreshing. A little too refreshing, and she had found herself breaking her own rules by talking to him. And he was astute. He had immediately worked out her father wanted her to wed, yet he had understood her reluctance to comply. Without thinking, Lizzie had let things slip unguarded out of her mouth. At one point, she had to remind herself midsentence that Henry Stuart was cut from the same cloth as Rainham. A handsome rake. A charmer. Something worth bearing in mind when her pulse kept racing every time he had gazed down at her. As soon as she had reassured herself she was still uninterested, talking to him had been almost entertaining.

Almost. Which was a worry.

The man had a very impertinent way of conversing with her which she had decided she did not like. Leaning close and talking in that hushed, deep whisper had made several pairs of nosy eyes stare at them intently. Something which was made all the more uncomfortable by the irritating fact the whispering had been unsettling, too. Lizzie had not been that close to a man since the last time her wretched former fiancé had scrambled down the wisteria and had no desire to ever be again. Unfortunately, her traitorous body seemed to have other ideas and had covered itself in hundreds of goose bumps when his lips had hovered close to her ear. She sincerely doubted her unexpected reaction had anything to do with the Earl of Redbridge, more likely they were caused by five years of blissful isolation from all things male.

‘I know it was just a conversation, Lizzie, however as it was the first conversation you have deigned to grant a man of your own accord in years, and because I saw you smiling once or twice, you will forgive me for marking its significance. Regardless of your indifference towards Redbridge—which I heartily approve of, by the way—your change of heart towards the opposite sex in general warms mine. Who knows? You might meet a nice man whom you are not indifferent towards. I know plenty of sterling fellows who would suit you perfectly. One more suitable than Redbridge, of course, as his reputation is unacceptable.’ His face clouded briefly as they both inadvertently thought of Rainham. ‘I want you to marry, Lizzie. Someone safe and dependable. I promised your mother on her death bed that I would see you settled with a good man after what that blackguard did to you. We both hoped you would find someone sooner rather than later.’

‘But I have no desire to marry anyone, Papa. Mama would understand if she could see how happy Georgie is. Throwing a new husband into the mix at this stage in his life would unsettle him.’

‘The boy needs a father.’

‘No. He doesn’t. And certainly not one who would tolerate him at best, or hide him away on some distant estate at worst. Forgive me for disagreeing—but he does not need a father. He has a wonderful grandfather instead.’

She watched his eyes go all misty for a moment before he cleared his throat to try to disguise his emotion by pretending to clear away a speck of imaginary dust. ‘But I am not getting any younger. You know how much I worry about you being left all alone in the world when I am gone.’ The guilt turned sour in her mouth. He would be devastated when she finally plucked up the courage to tell him she intended to be all alone sooner rather than later and would leave him all alone in the process. They would visit, of course, but it would hardly be the same. ‘And the right husband would bring my grandson up as his own. I would make it a stipulation in the settlements.’

Wouldn’t that be dandy? Poor Georgie’s place in his mother’s house would be an enforced legality and no doubt the source of a great deal of resentment. ‘Does that honestly strike you as the best outcome? Because it doesn’t to me. I am quite capable of looking after myself and my son unaided, Papa. I do wish you would stop worrying about us.’

‘Tell me, Lizzie, as a parent yourself, can you ever envisage a time when you will not be concerned with little Georgie’s welfare?’ He had her there. Probably never was the answer. ‘Now be a good daughter and indulge this old man for once. I know what is good for you and I refuse to give up on your mother’s last wish. You deserve the love of a good man.’ He patted her hand affectionately, his mind made up regardless.

As always. Exactly why she had been forced to go behind his back.

‘I have high hopes of this festive season. High hopes indeed.’ He had kissed her cheek and practically skipped up the stairs to bed. A very bad sign as he had that twinkle in his eye. The one which he always got when he was intent on matchmaking and, as he had only recently increased her dowry, his buoyant mood did not bode well.

More guilt was piled on afresh and she spent all night questioning the logic of her impulsive decision to refuse Redbridge. Such a bargain only served to give her father hope where none existed and that seemed cruel. Being duplicitous, although it was something she had been forced to do for five long years, was not something which sat well with her, especially when she was doing it to her family rather than the rest of the world. However, her father’s attempts at marrying her off were becoming overt in the extreme. Very overt and very extreme. He meant well, she reminded herself. He meant well and he loved her. For that alone she would grit her teeth and endure whatever challenges he threw at her in their final month with as much good grace as she could muster.

* * *

Lizzie managed to catch about two hours of sleep before she was woken at dawn by her maid with a steaming cup of chocolate and a report of the weather. ‘It’s freezing outside, my lady, but it doesn’t look like rain.’

‘Can you tell the nanny to ensure little Georgie is bundled up against the cold and tell her to inform him if he refuses to put on his gloves again then he will not be flying his kite. And I am sure they have already thought of it, but check the carriage is packed with a few extra blankets.’ Knowing her son, he would get cold once he had tired himself out dashing around Richmond Park and if he was too chilly he would not nap on the way home. Something which always made him surly in the afternoons.

As it was every Tuesday and Thursday morning, breakfast was on the table before seven and Georgie was already bouncing in his chair with excitement. ‘Come along, young man. Eat your porridge. You know your mama will not leave until the bowl is empty.’ Her father was an indulgent grandparent and insisted on eating with them every morning, even if that meant getting up twice a week at such an ungodly hour.

The drive to Richmond took over an hour and the streets were nicely deserted at such an unsociable hour. As the remote park would be, too. Lizzie would be able to spend a blissful few hours outdoors with her son miles away from London and away from prying eyes and be safely back home by early afternoon when the fashionable residents of Mayfair went out. They had visited the huge parkland at Richmond twice weekly for the last six months for the sake of both her own and her son’s sanity. It was not as if the pair of them could wander around Hyde Park or St James’s. Georgie had never been to either in case he was seen and the scandal erupted. He loved to run free in the countryside, loved to explore wooded nooks and crannies and delighted in all God’s creatures, whether that be the smallest woodlouse or the majestic red deer that roamed wild in the open parkland of Richmond.

Soon he would be able to do this every single day and as happy as that prospect made her, it was bittersweet. Part of the reason her son enjoyed these jaunts so very much was regaling the excursion in great detail to his grandpapa afterwards. As soon as they arrived home, her son would boisterously run into her father’s study, clamber on his knee and describe every beetle, every twig, the exact strength of the breeze and the hue of the sky. Then he would lie for at least an hour under her father’s desk while the pair of them worked in companionable silence—her father on important affairs of state; Georgie sketching childish depictions of animals in the expensive coloured chalks his grandpapa had bought him for that express purpose. She was dreading telling them those days were now numbered, despite the fact it was ultimately for the best.

Her son shovelled in the last spoonful of porridge. ‘Come along, Mama! I hope we see the deer again today. Do you know that the Latin name for the red deer is cervus elaphus? Grandpapa found it in one of his books. They mainly eat grass and twigs—but apparently they are also partial to moss.’

‘Really? Well, that is interesting. What else did you learn about them?’ She wrestled him into his coat, then took his hand. Listening to his incessant, excited chatter Lizzie resolutely banished all thoughts of her father’s meddling and the Earl of Redbridge’s increasingly tempting offer from her mind.

* * *

Aaron had been gloating over breakfast. As soon as the ladies left them to their newspapers, he had grinned smugly across the table and recounted the magnificent way Lady Elizabeth Wilding had given him short shrift at the Renshaw ball. ‘All that practised charm, your fortune, title and apparent good looks did nothing to sway the lady. You do not stand a chance of winning this bet, Hal. You have no idea what a good mood that puts me in.’

Hal took it all gracefully, but seethed inside. Aaron took the word competitive to new levels and was a gloating victor. The best Christmas present Hal could give to himself was the splendid sight of his brother-in-law wielding a shovel and, by Jove, he had to do whatever it took to ensure it happened. Sullen Lizzie had been interested in his proposition. He had seen it with his own eyes and an alliance between them was the best way forward to fulfil the terms of the Mistletoe Wager. All he had to do was convince her of the benefits. There was a chance that might be better achieved in private than in a public social setting.

* * *

An hour later he found himself striding jauntily up the front steps of the Earl of Upminster’s Grosvenor Square town house, a house which had always been but a stone’s throw from his own, but might have well been on the moon for all the dealings he had had with its occupants, an enormous bunch of flowers in his arms.

He rapped the brass knocker smartly and stood tall, his most charming smile firmly in place and his thick hair freshly combed. The large, imposing butler was a bit of a shock. The fellow looked more suited to prize fighting than domestic service. He positively filled the door frame. ‘Good morning. I have come to call on Lady Elizabeth. Please tell her I am here.’ Hal handed over his calling card, but kept the flowers. He wanted to see her face when she saw those as he had picked the blooms specifically.

‘Lady Elizabeth is not at home, my lord. I shall tell her that you called.’ The heavy front door began to close.

‘Now, now, my good man, we both know how this game is played. It is barely eleven o’clock so I am sure she is home. Nobody goes out this early. Not in Mayfair.’ Unless they were on the hunt for the perfect bunch of flowers to give to a guarded yet intriguing occupant of this very house. Hal had had to travel to Covent Garden directly after breakfast for the cream roses. ‘Inform Lady Elizabeth that I intend to remain rooted to this front step until she grants me an audience.’

The giant butler sighed. ‘Suit yourself, sir, although I must warn you, it will be a waste of your time. Lady Elizabeth is genuinely not at home this morning.’ The door went to close again and Hal began to suspect that the man might be telling the truth.

‘Can you tell me where she is then?’

‘I am afraid not, my lord.’

‘Will she be back this afternoon?’

‘Yes, my lord. However, she is never at home in the afternoons, if you get my meaning.’ The butler stared impassively. ‘Nor will she be at home tomorrow morning as she is never at home in the mornings either.’

‘Then you admit that she is, as I suspect, currently at home as we speak, yet resolutely not at home to all callers regardless as to who they might happen to be.’

‘Not at all, my lord. Lady Elizabeth is genuinely not at home on Tuesday and Thursday mornings, and not at home any other time.’

This clearly called for a different tactic. ‘Can I ask what your name is?’

‘You can, my lord. I am Stevens, his lordship’s butler.’

‘You are a vexing fellow, Stevens.’

‘I do try, my lord.’

Hal dipped his hand into his pocket and fished out the silver crown he always kept there for emergencies. Covertly, beneath the enormous bouquet he held, Hal flashed the coin at the butler. ‘Be a good chap and tell Lady Elizabeth I am here to see her.’

Stevens glanced down at the coin, scowled and promptly closed the door. Hal couldn’t help admiring him for it. He liked a man who could not be bribed, it said a great deal about his character. But not all men were as moral, so he wandered around to the mews instead.

However, it soon became apparent that the Earl of Upminster had possibly the most moral staff in Mayfair. With his bribes increasing from a crown to a guinea to a colossal five pounds, he was similarly turned down by the stable boys, a footman and scullery maid who had been sent out to buy beeswax. In fact, their lips were sealed tighter than Stevens’s, who had at least informed Hal she was genuinely out and would be back this afternoon—although not for him.

That left him with a bit of a quandary. He was too tenacious to give up, but too lazy to stand guard in the square until she came home. Living less than a sedate ten-minute walk away he did not have to. This afternoon suggested after midday and later this afternoon suggested after one. He would stand guard from one, bouquet in hand, and meet her when she arrived home. She could hardly tell him she was not at home when facing him, could she?

* * *

The Upminster carriage turned in to the square a little past two to Hal’s enormous relief. Over an hour of sentry duty in December had rendered his feet and fingers frozen solid, but the expensive flowers thankfully still looked impressive as he walked towards the holly-wreathed front door to greet her.

However, the carriage did not slow and sped past him, its elusive occupant hidden from his view by the tightly drawn curtains, and turned down towards the mews. Hal quickly followed, rounding the corner just in time to see the impressively tall, wooden rear gates slam shut. Frustrated, he dashed back to the front door and knocked again.

After an age, Stevens opened it.

‘I know she is at home Stevens, I just saw the carriage return. Kindly tell her I am here.’

‘Lady Elizabeth has been made aware of your presence, my lord, and of the fact you have been loitering outside for most of the day. She has asked me to convey a message and was most particular it was issued verbatim.’ For effect, he coughed gently, then scowled and bellowed, ‘Go away, Redbridge! You are as welcome as a dog with fleas.’

‘She said that?’

‘She did, my lord. And in that exact tone.’

‘Ah.’ Seeing as his only option was to try and overpower the butler, something which he was not entirely certain he could do and which would ruin the line of Hal’s coat significantly, he had no choice but to admit defeat. ‘Can you see that Lady Elizabeth gets these, Stevens.’ He thrust the flowers forward. ‘And as you are so good at delivering messages verbatim, would you kindly tell her exactly this. My tempting invitation still stands.’ He winked at the giant saucily and watched the big man’s eyes widen. ‘Please make sure you wink, Stevens, as that is part of the message, too. Good day to you. It has been a pleasure.’


Chapter Four (#ud75cd284-43ad-58f8-bfbe-2be6b387b94b)

The following evening, within half an hour of their arrival at the Benfleet soirée, Lizzie’s resolve not to argue with her father lifted surprisingly swiftly and was soon replaced with raging, clawing anger. Because this time, her dear, meddling papa had gone too far.

‘I have taken the liberty of filling your dance card for you.’

He had said this so blithely, in the midst of a crowd, which made calling him on it impossible. He had also made sure her partner for the next dance was stood right next to him as well, effectively trapping her because the calculated old politician knew full well she would rather not cause a scene. The ‘lucky’ gentleman, a slightly rotund fellow with no discernible chin, appeared terrified as he held out his hand, making it obvious to one and all he had been press-ganged into service and was there only on sufferance. She was tempted to feel sorry for him.

With gritted teeth, she allowed him to lead her to the dance floor, all the while shooting daggers at her father. Once this dance was done, they would be having words, and when those words were said she fully intended to go home.

* * *

However, being skilled in the art of diplomacy, her dear papa had already anticipated her intent and had successfully managed to render himself invisible. For over an hour she danced stiffly with man after man, trying to catch a glimpse of him, her mood deteriorating significantly every time he failed to materialise. To make matters worse, he had apparently found the dullest men in the whole of Christendom to saddle her with. All so crushingly safe and dependable they blended into the wallpaper. All depressingly in want of a wife with a substantial dowry. When the ancient Earl of Ockendon came to claim her, Lizzie pretended to need to visit the retiring room, fled on to the terrace and shivered behind a statue. Freezing to death was infinitely preferable to dancing with him.

‘Isn’t it a little cold to be stood out here without a shawl?’

Lizzie spun around and saw the Earl of Redbridge lounging against the balustrade, smiling smugly and looking effortlessly gorgeous. ‘Where have you been!’ Instantly, she clamped her silly jaws shut. He did not need to know she had been frantically looking out for him.

‘Be still my beating heart. You sound astoundingly pleased to see me.’ His words grated. ‘In fairness,’ he said as he shrugged out of his coat, ‘I only arrived a few minutes ago. I saw you dancing with someone, looking more sullen than usual, and had been waiting for the opportune moment to rescue you because I am a charitable soul, by and large. But you disappeared out here at speed. At one point, I was certain you were going to break into a run.’ He solicitously placed the warm garment over her shivering shoulders. It smelled of him and, despite her better judgement, Lizzie snuggled into it gratefully. He might well be an irritant and a rake to boot, but his thoughtful gesture was kind and not at all what she would have expected from a man like him.

‘My father has filled my dance card and I blame you for it!’

‘How can I be to blame? I wasn’t even here.’

‘I chatted with you last night. Then you sent me flowers. It set a precedent and it has given him ideas. He has lined up every dullard from here to Land’s End, hoping I will take to one of them.’ She tried, and failed, not to notice the way the soft linen of his shirt clung to his upper arms or the way his waistcoat emphasised his broad chest and shoulders. He reached out and plucked the ribbon of her dance card from her wrist and scanned the names.

‘Good grief! What a shockingly dour bunch.’ To her consternation he then picked up her hand and gently threaded the ribbon back over it. His fingers were warm. Too warm. They were giving her skin ideas. ‘As I alluded cryptically to your charming butler yesterday, my offer still stands. I am prepared to lend myself to you as your decoy beau to ward off this sea of dullards if you agree to protect me from my ocean of eager hordes.’

This must have been what Adam felt like when Eve offered him a bite of her apple and, curse him, his proposition was attractive. ‘I suppose...for the sake of a month of peace, I could pretend to be a little interested in you.’ Good gracious. Lizzie could not quite believe those words had just come out of her mouth, but thanks to her father, what other choice did she have? Her stubborn papa was vehemently determined to get her wed with unacceptable over-zealousness. She was heartily ashamed at being so weak-willed in the face of such temptation. ‘But only on the strict understanding that it is all a sham and I would never really entertain you as a suitor.’ Of its own accord, one of her fingers was jabbing him pointedly in the chest. It was alarmingly solid. His reaction was to smile down at her, unoffended by her insult.

‘That’s the spirit. I hope you have a talent for acting because nobody will believe it if you continue to glare at me as if I am something offensive stuck to the bottom of your shoe.’

Now that he came to mention it, her facial muscles were beginning to ache from the exertion of her frown. As they always did at these unwelcome social functions. Lizzie scrunched up her face to loosen them and then stared back at him blandly. ‘I do not wish to give my father false hope. I should prefer it if you appear more keen than me in his presence. That way, once I terminate our acquaintance he won’t be too upset.’

‘Agreed. I shall be a simpering, fawning lapdog in front of your father and an amorous suitor in front of your dullards.’

She did not like the sound of that. ‘Not too amorous!’

‘My dear, you know nothing about the ways of men. When a young lady is being courted and appears uninterested, it means she is still fair game and only spurs the other fellows on. Men are a competitive bunch. It is in our nature. However, when the lady is obviously keen on another, they will retreat. As gentlemen, they are duty bound to do so. It’s in the gentleman’s code somewhere. Besides, nothing will cool their ardour quicker than the sight of you fawning over another man. We have our pride.’

‘My father has increased my dowry to make me more attractive.’ Pride and duty would hardly stop the greedy from coveting the money she came with.

‘Even more reason why you must encourage my amorous advances in front of them. I am disgustingly rich and, as I obviously do not need your money, they will assume we are in love.’ She stiffened then and her outraged reaction clearly amused him. ‘I understand your reluctance. Really, I do. You are frightened you might forget our arrangement is all a sham and genuinely fall in love with me. A perfectly understandable fear. I am irresistible, after all, and you are bound to develop romantic feelings.’

The snort of laughter escaped before she could stop it, because he was amusing if nothing else and that knowing, rakish grin he perpetually sported did suit him. ‘There is no danger of that, my lord!’

‘Then tonight we shall begin our ruse and by the end of the evening we will be the source of much-fevered speculation.’

Lizzie huffed as reality dawned. ‘Thanks to my over-zealous father, I am doomed to dance with a card full of dullards, unless I conveniently freeze to death first.’

‘Fear not, fair maiden, once we go back inside I will shamelessly monopolise you. You’ll be spared dancing with another dullard this evening and every evening henceforth. From this point on, the only man you will dance with is me.’

‘I thought I was to be spared another dullard.’ She frowned belligerently and he met it with another roguish smile. It tempted her to smile back. Almost.

‘Careful, Lizzie. If you are going to be mean to me I shall have my coat back.’

Automatically, her frozen fingers clutched at the garment possessively. Even for December, it was particularly cold. The statue next to them positively glittered with frost. ‘I did not give you leave to call me Lizzie.’

‘Yet I have called you it anyway. As a special treat, you can call me Hal. Henry is far too formal, especially when a couple is as besotted as us.’

‘We are not besotted.’ The set-down had less impact with her teeth chattering together. Both his hands came up and began to briskly rub the warmth back into her arms through the fabric of his coat. She wanted to chastise him for his impertinence, but it did feel marvellous. Escaping into the icy night air had been foolhardy in sleeveless silk.

‘Heaven forbid! However, we must give off enough of the appearance of it if we are to be left alone. The ton loves to watch a blossoming love affair from afar. It makes it easier for them to gossip about it. If we orchestrate this charade correctly, we are guaranteed at least three yards of space at every function from now until Twelfth Night.’

Something which sounded very tempting.

‘Where did you find roses in December.’

‘I know a fellow in Covent Garden who can get any bloom for a price. Roses, freesias, tulips, lilacs...’

‘I loathe lilacs. Be sure to never buy me those when you are pretending to court me.’

‘Understood. No lilacs. Not that I would have bought you lilacs, of course, they don’t suit you at all. The flowers in your bouquet were chosen specifically because they reminded me of you.’

Lizzie pulled a face. ‘Don’t tell me—the cream roses symbolise my alabaster skin?’

He grinned back, unoffended. ‘Indeed they did, while the tiny pink rosebuds echoed the beautiful sweetness of those luscious lips I ache to kiss.’

‘How clichéd. And the holly? Your joy at falling hopelessly in love with me at Christmas?’

‘Not at all. They are reminiscent of your charming personality. Sharp and prickly.’

She liked the fact he was not trying to flatter her. Since Rainham, she had greatly distrusted it and found herself grinning at his cheek. ‘Lady Elizabeth?’ A voice called from the French doors. Her persistent dance partner had clearly tracked her down. The unladylike groan she gave made Hal laugh. Lizzie felt the intimate timbre all the way to her frozen toes.

‘Dear me...if my ears do not deceive me, I do believe the Earl of Ockendon is ready for his dance. Tell me, is his breath still rancid? Last time I got too close to him, I swear it singed my eyebrows.’

‘My father believes I need a safe, sensible man. Upright and above reproach.’

‘And to be that he needs to be hurtling towards seventy?’

‘I believe the Earl is fifty-something.’

‘Good gracious! The man must have had a very hard life.’

‘Lady Elizabeth? Are you out here?’ The voice was getting closer and instinctively Lizzie went to dart behind her statue again, only to find herself rooted to the spot by her companion’s surprisingly strong arms.

‘Hiding is not the answer. He will merely bide his time and hunt you down later. Everyone knows Ockendon is desperate for an heir. Lucky you, by the way. To be favoured with his attentions must be the pinnacle of every young lady’s romantic ambitions. You need to brazen it out.’

‘Surely you are not suggesting I grin and bear it!’ The thought of a few minutes twirling in the pungent wake of the man’s breath was already turning her stomach.

‘Of course not. Remember what I told you. We need to let him see dancing with you is futile...seeing as your heart is already engaged elsewhere. I do believe this is one of those occasions which warrants my amorous attentions.’

Lizzie was nowhere near ready for that. There had been no time to prepare. Instinctively, she took a step back. ‘I don’t think so.’

He quickly closed the distance and whispered again, far too close to her ear. Goose bumps covered her arms. ‘Think, Lizzie. Here we are. The stars are twinkling up above. You are wearing my coat...’ Those strong arms slowly snaked around her waist and pulled her closer. ‘If you gaze up at me with convincing longing, the old fool will assume we are having a tryst.’

Arguing against his logic was prevented by the ominously close sound of another call from her unwelcome beau. ‘Lady Elizabeth! Is that you?’

With the most limpid expression she could manage in a blind panic, Lizzie stared longingly up at Hal. He winked encouragingly, then, to her complete shock, dipped his head and pressed his lips to hers.

The sky tilted. Or perhaps it was the floor. Either way, the experience knocked her off kilter. His arms tightened around her and his mouth moved slowly over hers. It might well have been a pretend kiss, done to give credence to the idea they were engaged in a tryst, but it felt dangerously real to Lizzie. She did not attempt to try and push him away, justifying her actions as a way of discouraging the persistent old Earl rather than enjoying the heady taste of the younger one who held her so possessively. Unconsciously, her own lips began to respond, her eyelids fluttered closed and she found herself rising on tiptoes to press her body against his. More worryingly, she was reluctant to prise herself away. Later, she knew, she would claim this was all part of her act, but for now she was prepared to acknowledge it for what it was.

A revelation.

Because kissing Hal was really, quite something. Not at all how she remembered it with her traitorous fiancé and dangerously addictive.

* * *

He was a scoundrel. A rogue. An opportunity had presented itself and, despite the nagging guilt he could not explain, he had seized it. Regardless of the circumstances, Hal’s reaction to the kiss was completely unexpected. Every kiss before this had always been merely a prelude. Pleasant, but not earth-shattering. A means to a more passionate and satisfying end. Lizzie’s lips were different. Almost as if they had been infused with something addictive, like opium or absinthe, because the moment they had touched his he had quite lost all sense of everything except her. It had nothing to do with passion or attraction, although undoubtedly he was overwhelmed by both of those emotions, and everything to do with a sense of rightness. They melted together, melded and, for once, a kiss was not merely a prelude but a significant event in its own right. Hal had no idea if Ockendon had seen them, if the man still stood there or if he was loudly expounding his outrage. Everything had disappeared except the woman in his arms. It was all strangely overwhelming.

She broke the contact by taking one step smartly back and to his chagrin appeared decidedly underwhelmed by the whole episode. ‘I did not give you leave to kiss me.’

‘Yet I did it anyway.’ Feeling peculiarly shaky, Hal scanned the vicinity. ‘I thought it would convince the amorous Ockendon you were unavailable.’ Not strictly true. Yes, they had a bargain, but he had been thinking of his wager with Aaron—then had forgotten it instantly the second their mouths had touched.

‘The Earl has gone.’ Obviously, it had not had the same impact on Sullen Lizzie, because not only was she heartily unimpressed, she was also briskly removing his coat as if she found it as offensive as his kiss. She thrust it at him unceremoniously. ‘Never do that again!’

‘Perhaps I was a tad over-zealous.’ He forced a rakish grin to cover his disappointment at her reaction.

‘I am certain there are other ways to bestow your amorous attentions on me without having to resort to that. We should go back inside. The very last thing I want, aside from dancing with foul-smelling old men, is to be ruined by you.’ She shuddered and then marched back towards the French doors, before stopping briefly to rally him. ‘Come along, Hal, let’s go put on a show.’

Hal tried not to feel offended. He had only sought her out because of the wager, sort of. There had been an odd part of him which had been desperate to seek her out the moment he had arrived at the Benfleet soirée, however he had put that down to his excitement at winning the bet and besting Aaron. Although Hal was trying not to think about the bet because every time he did he experienced something akin to indigestion, churning up his gut and making him feel uncomfortable about the way he was deliberately deceiving her. Then again, his conscience did feel lighter knowing she was also benefiting from the situation, albeit in a roundabout way. He was doing her a favour and favours were noble. Yet despite all that, he had been unexpectedly moved by the kiss. It hadn’t been particularly long and by his standards it had been remarkably chaste, yet it had affected him.

Affected him? Now there was something to ponder, he thought miserably as he trailed behind her back into the crowded ballroom. Something was undoubtedly wrong with him. First a lack of vigour, the bizarre allure of controlling his father’s estate, the gnawing constant niggle which hinted dangerously at a lack of real fulfilment in his life and now he was going all pie-eyed and wobbly over one silly kiss with a woman who was, at best, ambivalent to him. Or perhaps that was exactly what was wrong. Her unenthusiastic reaction had dented his male pride, ergo he was feeling unsteady.

Hal took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He was overthinking things and that was also very unlike him. Hal preferred to think on his feet. On a positive note, he was one kiss down and she hadn’t slapped his face or severed their fledgling alliance upon receiving it. Which in turn meant there would be another opportunity to steal a kiss from her over Christmas. Poor Aaron would be spitting teeth later.

That thought buoyed him and, by the time he got to the refreshment table, Hal was feeling normal. Thankfully, Lizzie spotted an ambitious-looking matron and her daughter a few seconds before he did and slipped her hand possessively through his arm. It had the most staggering effect. One minute they had been prowling towards him with definite intent, the next they suddenly veered off to the right, pretending they were looking for someone else.

‘Well saved, my lady. That was close. An eligible man must keep his wits about him at all times. I knew you would be a sterling deterrent.’

‘I am glad I could be of service.’ She smiled tightly, her eyes locked on something in the distance and gripping his arm with far more force than was necessary. ‘I would greatly appreciate it if the favour was immediately reciprocated.’ The smile was now so false it might have been painted on to a mask. Hal followed her eyes and spotted a determined gentleman scurrying in her direction and tried not to smile when the first bars of the waltz began. More by luck than judgement, fate was working in his favour.

‘I believe this waltz is mine.’ The interloper shot daggers at Hal when he saw her arm still looped through his. There was far too much pomade in the fellow’s thin hair, either that or it had not been washed in the last week. Patches of his bald pate shone through the greasy strands and the poor chap was at least two inches shorter than Lizzie, a feat in itself when she was barely a few inches above five feet.

‘I’m afraid there has been a mistake, old chap. The lady has already promised this dance to me.’

The bald man was outraged. ‘It was arranged with the Earl of Upminster himself. I watched him write my name down on her card.’ He puffed out his pigeon chest in indignation. ‘We are colleagues at the Foreign Office!’ One effeminate hand, more suited to clerical work than seduction, shot out and lunged for the card hanging from Lizzie’s wrist, but Hal was closer and grabbed it before the upstart did.

For the most part, being blessed with height was something he was always mindful of. Those less fortunate tended to become a little intimidated if one loomed and he was too good natured to want to make others uneasy. However, occasionally a situation called for it. This one did. Pulling himself up to his full six feet and three impressive inches, Hal glowered down at the irritating fellow before him, forcing him to crane his neck up to look directly into his steely glare. ‘This dance is mine.’

‘No, it isn’t. I specifically asked for the waltz. Upminster pencilled me in for it. I demand to see that card!’ The pigeon’s chest was now so puffed the buttons on his coat were straining around the heavy padding. ‘Hand it over immediately!’

There was no need for any words. They were causing enough of a scene without further unseemly conversation. Rather splendidly, Aaron was paying them particular attention behind a potted palm. Hal tried not to look at his brother-in-law. Already, in less than a day since they’d struck the wager, he had stolen one kiss and secured the possibility of many different locations to kiss his lady again. Now all he had to do was choose the right opportunities to do so. That would take finesse. Clumsy, eager overtures would not be welcomed, of that Hal was quite certain. This fair, prickly ice maiden was too guarded. Wary and suspicious of everything, including him. However, she had just insisted he return the favour and save her from another man and that had nothing whatsoever to do with his bet and everything to do with his fortuitous alliance with Lizzie.

With deliberate slowness, Hal lifted it with a smile and slowly tore the offensive dance card into tiny pieces, then sprinkled them like confetti into Mr Pigeon’s outstretched hand. He turned towards his fairly startled-looking new ally and made a great show of kissing her hand.

‘You promised me this dance, Lady Elizabeth.’


Chapter Five (#ud75cd284-43ad-58f8-bfbe-2be6b387b94b)

There was challenge and amusement in his eyes. Half of the ballroom were watching them, whilst pretending not to. The fevered whispering behind so many hands and raised fans nearly drowned out the orchestra, yet she quite admired the bare-faced audacity of the man. Even though he had already left her completely unsettled after the kiss, and knowing the very last place she would ever find her missing equilibrium was in his arms again, dancing with him was infinitely preferable to the sorry specimen her father had sent. And this was all a charade after all. To her ultimate benefit. The perfect decoy for a month of blissful peace. Her last month of pretence.

‘Yes, Hal, I did.’

His warm palm came to rest affectionately on her hand. The possessive all-male gesture sending a clear message to everyone in the room.

She’s mine.

Lizzie’s corset suddenly felt tight at the tingle of excitement it gave her and nerves began to jump in her tummy. Hal took his time leading her to the middle of the floor, obviously used to being the centre of attention and enjoying the spectacle they presented. A tiny part of her did, too—the rest of her was frankly terrified by it all. This was all so bizarre and out of character. She never danced, nor did she ever show any interest in any men, yet here she was, being escorted into the parting sea of obviously shocked couples by possibly the most eligible bachelor in the room. Amongst the openly curious onlookers, she felt the weight of several pairs of female eyes as they glared at her with outright hostility. His hordes. Judging by the amount of dismayed expressions, there were quite a number of them.

‘You’re supposed to look besotted, not like you are being led to your execution.’ The subtle hint from her smiling partner reminded Lizzie theirs was a mutually beneficial arrangement. They were supposed to be protecting each other. She could do this. For peace from her father for their one, final society Christmas. Lizzie forced herself to relax and beamed at him as he took her in his arms.





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