Page 1 of The Scoundrel's Christmas Challenge
PROLOGUE
June 1815
Almack’s London
Lucius, Viscount Page raked his gaze across the ballroom filled with the Season’s latest hopefuls. His sister, Annette, was busy with a group of attendees, so he took the opportunity to move toward the exit. Just as he reached the door, he glanced over his shoulder and saw Nettie waving at him furiously, pushing through the crowd to reach him.
Blast! He tossed her a wicked smile and slid from the room, pulling out his flask at the same time the oak door slammed shut behind him. Taking the stairs to the next level below, he found a dark dusty alcove and settled in for a strong drink. But the whisky did nothing to banish the memories assailing him this evening. Lucius had managed not to think of her for an entire week and then… Smack! Her smiling face had returned, taunting, laughing, alluring.
It had been the chit in the pale-rose silk with the honey-blonde hair. The tiny glass birds dangling from her ears as if trying to take flight, the wings glittering with the woman’s every step. She’d looked like Christiana’s twin from the back. Nodcock! Was that all it took for her to saturate his thoughts again? He tipped the flask and took a long draw, then smacked his lips and let out a defeated sigh.
“Lucius, you shouldn’t have,” Christiana exclaimed, her light-blue eyes sparkling as she removed the delicate crystal figurine from the velvet. She held it up, watching the hand-painted swan shimmer beneath the candlelight.
“You told me they represent grace. Something you have in spades.” Lucius smiled, feeling ridiculously pleased with himself. The gift had set him back a bit, eating up half his allowance for the month. The delight in Tia’s eyes was worth it.
“And fidelity,” she added, casting him a sly look from beneath dark-blonde lashes. “When do you leave for university? I shall miss you, Lord Page.”
“Not until after Epiphany. You won’t get rid of me so quickly.”
“You will leave, make new friends, and forget about me.”
She was such a beauty, even when she pouted. “Never,” he said and meant it.
Lucius took another pull from his flask. He shouldn’t have left Nettie alone, but he planned on returning before the doors were locked at eleven. After which, not even a duke could cross the threshold. No one would bother his sister, he thought with confidence, not with four protective brothers watching over her.
Footsteps echoed in the stairwell, growing louder. Lucius leaned farther into the alcove, his dark coat blending into the shadows. When the figure emerged onto the landing, he smiled to himself. Nettie always had been like a bloodhound when it came to her siblings. She could sniff them out from any hiding place.
Silent, he watched as Nettie poked her head around the corner, looking up the next flight. With a sigh, she turned on her heel. Lucius smiled.
“You smell of whisky.”
Devil it! His smile faded. “Good whisky. Expensive whisky,” answered Lucius. “Less of a headache tomorrow.”
“Brother, why do you torture yourself so?” Lady Annette Page, standing with her hands on her slender hips, the paste emeralds in her dark hair catching the weak light from the wall sconce, was a force to be reckoned with. Irritation flashed in her green eyes, so like his own, almost matching the Pomona silk of her dress. Annette knew of the Christiana tragedy, but Lucius would never admit to being lovesick.
She sighed. “I miss her too. She taught me all the ridiculous, intricate rules I needed for my first Season. Not that I remember them all. I so wish she was here to help me through it.”
A low growl started in Lucius’s throat. He’d met the honied-hair beauty at a Christmas ball, where she’d stolen his heart. They had written while he was at university, and he had plans to marry her when he finished. But when he came home with best friend and ever-charming rogue, the Earl of Winfield in tow, the scoundrel had wooed her himself.
Proposed.
Married her.
Christiana had stolen Lucius’s heart. They had both shattered it.
A few months ago, the noxious rake had died in a scandalous accident, leaving Lady Winfield childless and alone. After the funeral, Lucius’s flask had come out.
“Have you tried talking to her again?” Nettie asked, placing a hand on his arm as he tried to take another drink.
“She won’t see me when I call or answer my letters. At the cemetery, she told me that men had been the cause of all her sorrows. She would never allow another into her heart.” He put the flask away. “Got herself locked away on her mother’s country estate.”
His sister shook her head. “I’m sorry, but I’m sure she just needs time. Winfield was a terrible husband?—”
“I tried to warn her. Of course, it only made me appear jealous of the knave.” Lucius snorted, then handed Nettie the flask. “Take a nip. It will make the night pass faster.”
She took a swallow and gasped, choking a bit. “Heavens, how can you drink this rot?”
“It’s an acquired taste. It gets better with each swallow. Try again,” he teased with a grin.
