All I Want for Christmas...is you (3 page)

“I should hope I’m at least tolerable.” Lucas
flickered his gaze to the Viscount with a grin that was genuine,
though he was thinking, good God, society has decided I am sort of
arrogant icon. “I have a few flaws I’ll confess to after a glass of
brandy or two.”

The younger man snorted and returned his grin
then looked around. “Speaking of brandy, I saw a servant somewhere
out here serving it with coffee. Can I get some for you also,
Lucas?”

“Yes. Thank you, Bram. If your sister doesn’t
mind keeping my company whilst I smoke?”

“Verena doesn’t mind. Tried one herself
once.” Her brother teased and turned away, heading off to find that
server.

Lucas’s long tawny fingers withdrew a cheroot
from his breast pocket and lit it, teasingly offering her a
pull.

She took the gesture as he had hoped and
laughed saying, “I’m leaving them to men, Bennigton. My curiosity
led to a rather unpleasant bout of unladylike coughing and eye
watering. Not to mention a dizzy head which Bram crowed over for a
good hour.”

Lucas smiled lazily, thinking that speaking
to her was better, so much more than he hoped. She had a way about
her…. “I take it he was some partner in your curiosity of
cheroots?”

“More than that.” She clasp her hand to her
wrist, fan dangling from her right one. “He has always been
somewhat too game for anything whereby I may lose what he calls my
unnatural poise and too proper composure.”

“You are his half sister?”

“Yes. We had the same father. Unfortunately,
we both lost our mother’s young. Bram is a mix between overly
protective and conspirator.” She added, “He and I were raised deep
in the North Country where I’m afraid our guardians were a bit
indulgent. The duchess’s widower son and a set of servants, is whom
we fell to. She is our father’s aunt. He too passed on some four
years ago.”

“My condolences.”

She nodded. “My brother and I are close,
friends as well as siblings, so it has been interesting to say the
least, these years and formal seasons.”

“I noticed that,” Lucas murmured exhaling
smoke, “your poise and composure. It is rather an admirable fete
for any young woman entering the society, from deep in the country.
They do so love to keep the younger set in awe of them.”

Her brow arched. “That is interesting and
flattering…that you noticed, my lord, considering you are among
those whom even a woman of my stern nerves finds herself bracing to
meet.”

His gaze skimmed her face before coming to
meet her eyes again. “Had I been aware of it, Miss Shyer, I would
have put such unnecessary anxiety to rest years ago where you are
concerned.” Lucas was aware he was flirting, nearing another
territory indeed as new as he was to such things, when he added, “I
regret we were not introduced before tonight.”

She was surprised obviously, but covered it
in glancing away, somewhere over his shoulder and murmuring, “You
are very kind, my lord.” Her gaze touched his again. “Such social
skills that make a woman feel flattered and at ease, is an
admirable trait.”

Lucas saw her brother heading toward them and
said, “Not at all, my dear. I assure you I have considered
approaching you many times over the years.” He caught her startled
blink just before he turned to the viscount and thanked him for the
warm brew. Then put out his cheroot and took a sip. Flickering his
gaze to her as her brother handed her a glass of some steaming
wassail.

“I am to the card room, Rena.” Her brother
bussed her cheek and muttered, “Lady Manning has spotted me and
chased me damn near across the room with that giggling chit of
hers. Sorry to abandon you, but his lordship will escort you in, if
you don’t mind, Lucas?”

“Not at all.” Lucas laughed at his grimace.
“Duck and run while you can, old boy. I believe I heard that her
ladyship has been chatting about on blond and gold eyed
grandchildren.”

While the man choked on a sip of his drink
and slipped off, Lucas’s lingering chuckle sounded and blended with
his sisters.

“Poor Bram,” she said finally shaking her
head. “He was born with much too much handsomeness. I fear his ease
with the female sex, as they make his roguish life too easy for
him, makes him all the more attractive to those hopeful debs. Their
Mama’s see it as a challenge, I think, to snare the
unattainable.”

“Yes. Radcliff suffers the same affliction.
Though I suspect he is a bit more cynical than your brother.”

“Jaded, yes.” She met his gaze. “But I like
him. When he does visit at my brother’s home, he has no
pretenses.”

Lucas tried to discern if she was testing to
see if his own interaction with her held such. He forgot somewhere,
probably when he crossed into flirting, that males of Jerome and
Bram’s age were more suited to a woman her age.

He said, “It’s an effect that people
sometimes adopt to appear something they are not. Jerome is as he
is, and that is why he makes friends with men such as your brother
and myself. We too value that rare intimacy where one may be
oneself and not ones title or some rep society has built around
us.”

Her gaze held his for another string of
heartbeats before she murmured, “It is interesting then, my lord,
and enlightening to discover that even those we think may be of one
character are more than pillars of polished ivory.”

He let her take a sip of wassail before he
returned, “You’re an attractive woman, Miss Shyer. Even seasoned
males are human enough to not be presumptuous of your interest in
welcoming something other than a proper and polite notice.”

She swallowed and he saw a pulse just at her
throat speed just a hint, and then he felt a current, a spark of
mutual attraction that he cautioned himself to nurture and test,
rather than pounce on.

“The rules that govern a woman’s conduct in
society places rather stringent limits on what a female may show or
not show, my lord. Particularly ones of certain age who looks
rather foolish affecting the coy tricks that debs do. Assuredly, if
the female never learned them to begin with. And more so, should
any male who wishes to presume, is reputed to be by rumor and is by
appearance, rather intimidating.”

Lucas shook his head looking down at the
half-filled cup and then back up and slightly through his lashes.
He was being enlightened as to the ton’s view of him, and damned if
it did not replace his preoccupation of the age discrepancy, with a
hope that he retained or even had that something which the female
standing before him may find attractive.

“I am a mere mortal, Miss Shyer. I promise
you there is more here than a reputation and title.”

Chapter Two

Verena Shyer’s fingers tightened on her glass
as she held her outward composure by a thread. She also held that
violet gaze of Lucas Bennington, Earl of Moncrief with faux nerve
that had nearly fled a dozen times since she had noticed him across
the room.

Rena, as her brother oft called her, had
noticed too many years ago to count that the peer was not only
darkly handsome, with a mixture of the aristocratic high cheekbones
and a tall, lean muscled frame, that stood out amid the florid and
fair. But those eyes, ever since that day on Bond street when they
had pierced hers, between thick black lashes, held things that she
had to tell herself many times were only her wishful thinking.

As images floated through her head of him,
many filed away in her secret thoughts, she also knew that every
time she had sensed him looking at her, at some assembly or ball,
even the theater, she’d spend hours rehearsing what she’d say
should he approach her, and he never had.

It had been rather daring, somewhat desperate
of her, to call her brother’s attention to him and force an
introduction. His voice, which she had heard and could now pick out
of a crowd, as she had listened to it before, was warm and deep,
putting little chills on her spine and nape. Whilst she had heard
from the first, that he was a man somewhat aloof and cool, not
known for his intimacy with his peers, she had in some part of her
mind, separated the fantasy of speaking with him, with the reality
over time—that he was indeed daunting and distant, though God knew,
she saw something else, something sensual and sexual in his dusky
peach mouth and violet eyes.

Rena had told herself that this too was her
imagination, her own personal and private fantasy. Nevertheless,
from the moment she had come to London and had her debut, she could
have cared less about the males her age whom she was supposed to
vie for and attract, according to the duchess. She did not share
the woman’s constant bemoaning of her ascent into old maidship, and
place on the shelf.

There were many beautiful and sought after
females older than herself, who had swarms of admirers and swan’s
writing odes to them and fighting over a spot on their dance cards.
Rena did not feel any attraction or allure to those young men. She
had always been utterly fascinated and completely preoccupied with
her feelings whenever Moncrief was around.

She had heard her brother say offhand once,
when she had mentioned him in conversation, “By the time a man of
his rank and wealth reach that age unwed, he has decided to remain
a bachelor. If he were on the market for bride and heirs, he would
have done won his pick, for Mama’s of the ton would give their eye
teeth to have him as a son-in-law.”

While she saw that it was apparently true, it
did not seem to help her own reaction to him. Just now, standing
out in the crisp air, seeing the ocher lantern had cast light and
shadow over the bones and hollows of his face, aware, too aware, of
his frame too in snug trousers and formal black and stark white,
that seemed to enhance the warm colors of his skin, she kept
telling herself it had finally happened, that introduction.

Rena kept saying in her head, that he
actually had said what she thought he did, and there was an
intimacy in his words, and it played hell on her composure and
poise. Because he was no green boy or feckless young lord, but a
seasoned male who reeked masculine appeal in every way.

Yes. He was mortal, and yes, no one knew more
than she, that there was something there besides title and rep.
Rena wanted with long held desperation to know just the right way
and wherewithal to take every advantage of these moments and this
chance. She never had been anything other than who she was either,
though much of that was stifled during these occasions, because of
social rules.

Furthermore, she had never been a silly
woman, nor one who took things overly serious. Yet to engage a man
like this, his interest, and hold it, was a walk down a blind alley
for her. She had no earthy idea even from his devastating smile and
jesting, or the subtle compliments and flirting, how transparent or
how careful she should be, in showing her true attraction to
him.

She said whilst thinking all of that, “That
is good to know, milord, as men and women seldom get the
opportunity at society functions to interact beyond bounds of rules
and proper politeness. Yes, it does limit ones prospect to erase
misconceptions and see beyond social masks.”

That gaze went over her face again and Verena
got the notion that he was too was reading and weighing her words
and meaning, before he said, “Let us correct that then, shall we?”
he asked, “Are you chilled out here, would you like to reenter the
ballroom?”

She looked at the crush, which was spilling
more, and more out the side doors as guests sought to make room for
dancers and more arrivals. “I am in no hurry to enter.” Her smile
touched him as she looked back. “Though the snow is picking up and
I doubt my hair will stand up to getting wet.” She touched a long
curl. “It is normally stick straight, and I shall appear quite
bedraggled.”

He tossed the liquid from the cup and set it
down, offering his arm. “I believe I can find us a haven to
converse and remain dry. Though I doubt your assessment of what wet
hair would result in is true. I have seen your hair uncurled once,
at some summer gathering, and it is quite lovely.”

She murmured her thanks and let him lead her
inside, basking mentally in that compliment, and because of the
crush, slid her hand from his arm. Nevertheless, she felt a
discreet hand on her spine as he steered her to some destination he
could likely see because of his superior height.

* * * *

Leaning inside the card room doorway, Jerome
glanced over at Bram, who was watching the pair make their way
through the crowd as he was. “It must be the season of miracles. I
cannot believe that the old boy has finally realized he is not
ready for night caps and toddies.”

“It saves us the trouble of playing
matchmaker as planned.” Bram grinned and raised his brow. “When
Rena called my attention to him, I was trying to remember if you
said you’d bring him over or not, but didn’t spot you
anywhere…”

“I was trying to get through that crowd and
had, when I noticed him looking at her, and there she was looking
at him, and when he began to cross that room, I thought, at last,
Lucas’s blood is red after all, and has stirred enough to prod him
to action. I have never understood what held him back, until
perhaps this year.”

“You said that you caught him watching her
for years. I have a notion that my sister did likewise, and do
recall her not so subtly mentioning him. He does have a rather
fierce rep. Can’t expect a gel with no title and only a modest
fortune to put herself out to a man like him, in any event.”

“Lucas also is an expert shot, has a mean
left hook. “ Jerome snorted. “I have seen him at his estate in
Surrey and he works like the very devil. No idle lord that, and not
just with numbers and investments. He would out last two dozen of
those bucks out there, in any physical contest.”