Page 8 of The Scoundrel's Christmas Challenge
“I suppose the rumors are running rampant in London by now. That wicked Lady Winfield making men compete for her hand. And at her home, unchaperoned. I do enjoy a good on-dit when I’m the one who started it.” She blew out a breath and glanced at the clock on the mantel. “I suppose it’s time.”
“The sacrificial lamb to the slaughter.” Constance giggled as she stepped away from her mistress. “I will say the gentleman who came in the baronet’s place is very handsome. It won’t be a hardship playing up to him.”
Christiana took a deep breath and smoothed her skirt. You can do this. She opened the door to the drawing room, and Constance followed her, taking a seat in a corner of the room. Three men and an older lady stood in front of the hearth, drinks in hand. The elderly gentleman, with a rounded belly, wiry gray sideburns, and a thick head of gray hair, smiled as she entered. “Lord Bentson, how good of you to come in person. I hope your journey was uneventful.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, his voice gravelly from age. “If the outcome is favorable, putting up with the cold will be worth it.”
“Lord and Lady Elwood, are you coping well with these frosty temperatures?” she asked her neighbors.
“Aye, my lady” replied the viscount, tugging the too-small waistcoat back down after bowing over Christiana’s hand. “It’s a short distance to come for something so valuable.”
The viscountess, a plump woman with a round face and soft brown eyes, frowned. “I must admit it’s a good thing I’m here. You might have been alone with all these gentlemen.”
“Which is why I’m so grateful for your attendance.” Christiana had always wondered if her neighbors had been a love match or an arranged marriage. Lady Elwood was kind and always looked on the bright side of a matter. Her husband seemed to wear a perpetual frown, his dark brows usually drawn in a V. Two mismatched souls or did opposites attract?
“Since we can’t see the grandchildren this year, I was so happy to receive the invitation. I believe we shall have a monstrous good time.” She beamed at them all, her extra chin wobbling a bit as she nodded her head.
“And…” Christiana faltered, not knowing the third man. “I’m afraid we have not yet been introduced.”
“May I introduce Lady Winfield?” Bentson intervened. “This is one of the Duke of Scuttleton’s lads, Lord Frederick.”
Lord Frederick, a short man with thinning blond hair and barely a chin, stepped forward. His clothes were well tailored but loud. The stripes on his blue and white waistcoat were too wide, his cravat too big, his lace cuffs too long. Too many gems winked in his extra-large neck pin, a ring on each finger. He bent over her hand and brushed her gloved knuckles with his lips. “I’m hardly a lad, Bentson, at eight and twenty.”
“Very true,” agreed the old man, “and you’ve less hair than I do.” He winked at Christiana.
She’d forgotten how much she liked the earl. In truth, she had always wondered if he and her mother had only used the excuse of the Ming vase to continue their correspondence. But her mother was gone now, and Christiana would never know.
Lord Frederick let out a loud yawn and stretched his arms above his head, a sneer—or was it supposed to be a smile?—on his face as he asked, “I do hope you have some titillating amusements planned for us over the next few days. It was quite a sacrifice to leave Town this time of year.”
Christiana raised a brow. “I will do my best, sir, though titillating might not be the appropriate word.” She glanced about the room. “We are missing someone. Has anyone seen the fourth guest?”
“I’m right here, my lady,” said a deep tenor from the direction of the door behind her.
Her heart stopped. It had been years since she’d heard the voice, and it sent heat racing from her neck to the tip of her toes. It couldn’t be.
“The bloody devil,” whispered Lord Frederick, growing pale.
“No, I’m just Lord Page, though a cur like you must see the devil over his shoulder on most days.” Lucius pushed away from the doorjamb and approached the fireplace. “Looks like fine French brandy. I think I’ll have a glass. Lady Winfield, may I pour you one?”
Christiana managed a nod, realizing too late she shouldn’t indulge in such strong spirits. The man had grown more handsome. How was that possible? The candlelight danced gold upon his thick brown hair, slightly longer than fashionable and curling at the nape. The superfine coat stretched across his broad shoulders as he handed her the crystal glass. His trousers a perfect fit around his muscular thighs. She dragged her eyes back up to his face, seeing the laugh lines crinkle around the emerald-green orbs dancing with mischief.
Her mouth went dry, her tongue as thick as a sheep’s wool in winter. She could only nod, wondering if her fingers would be able to hold the drink and thinking a bottle of brandy might be best.
CHAPTER 4
Lucius smiled, hoping his racing pulse couldn’t be seen. It had been so long since he’d seen her, been in the same room, breathed the same air. How had she grown more beautiful? And how would he keep himself from pulling her into his arms and ravaging those soft, full lips?
Ironically, it was Bumbling Broken Nose who saved the hour and redirected the attention away from Lucius.
“How the devil did this ingrate get an invitation?” demanded Lord Frederick. “I refuse to spend one night under the same roof as this… this… man.” His mottled face trembled with rage, and Lucius was certain the nodcock didn’t realize he was rubbing his nose.
“It seems the bump on it is gone,” observed Lucius with a smirk. “Did I knock it straight on the second go-round?”
Lady Winfield’s delicate golden brows drew together.
She doesn’t know.
“Lord Frederick, if you would like to forfeit and leave, that is your prerogative. I’m not sure what instructions your father gave you,” said the countess, looking back and forth between Lucius and the duke’s son.
