Page 9 of The Scoundrel's Christmas Challenge
“Yes, I’m sure he’ll understand if you tuck tail and run,” added Lucius. “Again.”
“Why you…” Lord Frederick took a step forward, his fists clenched, then hesitated.
“Yes?” He arched one brow, also moving forward a step and crossing his arms.
“Lord Page, please be civil,” admonished Lady Winfield. “He is a guest in my home.”
“Yes, that’s your misfortune.” Lucius turned to Broken Nose with a forced smile. “Shall we call a truce for the time we are here?”
“I-I…” He looked around for support, found none, then huffed, “I suppose. But keep your fists to yourself.”
“Lord Page will be the epitome of courtesy,” assured the countess. “But I suggest you don’t provoke him.”
When she turned her head away, Lucius saw she was holding back a smile. “Now that we’re all present, shall I give you an outline of the activities to come?”
Everyone murmured their agreement. He moved next to Christiana, breathed in her sweet vanilla scent, and waited for her to take a seat. So he could plant himself beside her. His confidence returned as he took measure of his competition. Whatever this game was, unless the winner was determined by being the oldest or the most ridiculous, he felt he could win any type of competition against the men present.
Christiana sat on the edge of a chaise longue, and Lucius stepped around her, cut off Broken Nose, and settled himself next to the lady. “There’s a bit more room if you’d like to join us,” Lucius said to Lord Frederick, patting the velvet cushion on his other side. “We could reminisce about old times.”
Lady Winfield pressed her lips together to hold back the laughter, but Lady Elwood let out an unladylike guffaw. “I remember! Your nose…” She pointed at Lord Frederick. “His sister…” She pointed at Lucius. “Lud, I wish I had been there. What a sight to see a whip of a girl?—”
“Ma’am, as much as I would like to relive parts of the event, perhaps we should let the lady proceed? You and I can continue this conversation later over the wassail bowl.” He grinned. “I’ll tell you what didn’t come out in the broadsheets.”
Lady Winfield cleared her throat, smoothed her perfectly coiffed hair with only a slight tremble in her hand, and swallowed. “Yes,” she agreed.
“You are even lovelier when your cheeks color,” he murmured, noticing she refused to look in his direction though they sat close enough to feel the heat coming off her in waves.
“Yes,” she said again. “I mean…” She scooted over, hugging the end of the chaise longue. “I have arranged a series of contests. Each of you will have one marker to use if you wish to pass on a challenge. After that, if you forfeit, you are out of the competition. The first gentleman who wins at least three challenges will be the victor.”
“And if no one takes three challenges?” asked Elwood.
“Then no one wins,” she answered with a sweet smile. “I shall keep all my possessions, and I will never be bothered again to sell them to you.”
“Let me see if I understand this.” Lucius’s gaze traveled over her face, wondering how the chit hadn’t aged a day. “We are all to compete against one another—and you—and only the victor gets his desired prize?”
He held her ice-blue gaze, watching it soften, melt as she nodded. He wanted to lift his hand and stroke his knuckles down her cheek. A slow smile curved his lips. Brilliant.
“How many events are there?” asked Lord Elwood. “If this involves namby-pamby activities like embroidery, then?—”
“Then you’ll do your best and try not to poke your finger with the needle,” interrupted his wife. “Lady Winfield, this is the most ridiculous, the most outlandish idea I’ve heard in years. Thank you so much for inviting us. I only wish we didn’t have to take the carriage back and forth each day.”
“There is plenty of room, ma’am, if you’d like to stay when you return tomorrow. I’d be happy to prepare another bedchamber.” Lady Winfield gave Lucius a side-glance. “And to answer your question, Lord Elwood, there are nine games if we finish them all.”
“Well, I’m here for the duration,” announced Lucius, leaning back and stretching his arm across the back of the couch. He noticed Christiana’s intake of breath and the sudden rigidness of her back. He was making her uncomfortable. Good. “Nothing could drag me away.”
“Me either,” spouted Broken Nose. “I shall best everyone here.”
Lord Elwood harrumphed, his jowls jiggling about his neck, his mouth turned down.
“I may be an old man, but there are still some things I can manage if the goal is valuable enough.” Lord Bentson slapped his knee. “Hounds teeth, but this will be a jolly good Christmastide.”
***
After dinner, Christiana and Lady Elwood retired to the drawing room. As soon as the tea was poured, Lady Elwood began the interrogation.
“You do realize your invitation, if seen by the wrong eyes, could be interpreted as you being the prize. Marriage to the victor.” The viscountess’s eyes glittered. “Any side bets being placed?”
Christiana’s face heated, thinking of how close Lucius had been on the chaise longue. She could almost feel the heat coming off his body, scrambling her thoughts. After five years of only annual notes accompanied by his token of “remembrance,” why did his presence affect her so?
