The Dance Before Christmas Read online

  “It’s been my experience that the moment anyone questions what could go wrong is the very moment everything does. And I can think of any number of problems with this plan.”

  She waved off his comment. “Oh, I think my aunt and I have thought of everything.”

  “Have you?” What about the unexpected appearance of the actor her aunt had actually hired? Or her aunt seeing Wes and calling him out as an imposter? “Speaking of your aunt, will she be here tonight?”

  “Unfortunately, no. She had intended to be, but I received a note from her late this afternoon. Apparently she had another engagement she had forgotten about. Not unusual for Aunt Lillian.”

  Wes knew this plan of Anabel’s and her aunt’s was a bad idea, but specific reasons why eluded him at the moment. What concerns would a real actor have? “Have you thought about me? Aren’t you afraid someone will recognize me? From my many stage performances?”

  “Goodness, you are arrogant, aren’t you?”

  “I prefer confident to arrogant.”

  “Self-delusion is always comforting.” She cast him a decidedly pitying smile. “My aunt said you would be amenable to this endeavor because you are not especially successful.”

  “Today maybe, but tomorrow...” He smirked.

  She raised a brow. “Dreams of stardom, Mr. Grant?”

  “We all have dreams of stardom, Miss Snelling. What would be the point otherwise?”

  “There is such a thing as overconfidence.”

  “When one is about to go onstage, in front of hundreds of people, and try to convince them he’s someone he’s not, there is no such thing as overconfidence. And for this particular role, I don’t think you want someone who isn’t completely sure of himself.”

  “You may be right there.” She paused. “Are you ready to meet my father?”

  “Not quite yet. There are a few more things we need to discuss.”

  “Your fee, of course.” She nodded. “I’ll speak with my aunt and arrange for that immediately.”

  “It’s not that—I’m in no hurry. I’m not quite as struggling as your aunt may think.” He shrugged aside her offer. “No, it’s about Earnest.”

  She frowned. “What about him?”

  “I don’t like the name,” he said loftily. “Earnest Everheart? It has no ring to it. No...drama.”

  “My aunt suggested it. It’s a perfectly fine name.”

  “It’s the name of someone who can’t achieve his goals or attain his desires. It’s an awful name for the kind of dashing, attentive suitor you’re looking for.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “I assume you do wish for dashing and attentive?”

  “This would be pointless otherwise,” she said sharply.

  Obviously Miss Anabel Snelling was used to getting her own way. He bit back a grin.

  “Earnest.” He shook his head. “I’m not an Earnest.”

  “But you are an actor.”

  “What you expect of me goes far beyond a few hours on a stage. Furthermore, there are no written lines. Nothing to memorize and certainly nothing to rehearse. I shall have to make my lines up spontaneously.” He shook his head. “It will not be easy.”

  “You are being paid for it.”

  “Regardless, given the unique aspects of this particular performance, I think we need to do all we can to minimize the possibility of mistakes. While the important part of the man’s name is Everheart—which I assumed you picked to impress your father.”

  She nodded.

  “The first name is not significant.”

  Her brows drew together in annoyance. “I suppose not.”

  “Then I suggest we dispense with Earnest in favor of another name.”

  “And what might that be?” she asked wryly.

  “I suggest Wesley. It’s a good, strong name. The sort of name an explorer would give his son.”

  She stared. “It’s your name.”

  “Therefore easy to remember.”

  “Very well.”

  “No man of adventure would name his son Earnest.”

  “I said very well.” Her cool tone belied the flicker of amusement in her eyes. “You’re not exactly what I expected, Mr. Grant.”

  He met her gaze and smiled into those enchanting green eyes. “I hate being expected, Miss Snelling.”

  “Apparently we have more in common than I would have thought.” She smiled albeit reluctantly. “If there’s nothing else, it’s time for you to meet my father and pretend to be madly in love with me.”

  “It will be my very great honor.” He opened the doors. “As well as my pleasure.”

  “It will be your role.” She swept through the open doors. “A paying role, I might add, and nothing more than that.”

  He chuckled. If Anabel Snelling wanted an actor, he’d give her one. And if, in the process, he advanced his own purpose as well, then so much the better. He’d wondered if this trip to London was a waste of time, especially since it meant missing Christmas with his family. That was still to be determined. But right now, he was fairly certain it was going to be a great deal of fun.

  CHAPTER TWO

  THE MOMENT THEY stepped into the ballroom festooned with swags of evergreens, ivy and holly accented with red ribbons and model ships, maps and globes, Mr. Grant—Wesley—swept her onto the dance floor. It was an excellent way to show the world how fascinating they found each other without being too obvious about it. The way he gazed into her eyes and led her flawlessly around the floor, it was almost hard for her to believe they were not smitten with one another.

  It was absurd of course, as they had only just met and he was an actor. He was simply pretending and so was she. Besides, the very idea that she could develop feelings for an actor was ridiculous. She was not destined to be the wife of an actor, nor was she as enamored of the theater as some of her friends were. She was not the sort of female to swoon over a handsome man spouting well-written verse on a stage. Father would never approve, and as much as they differed on any number of topics, in this she would have to agree with him.

  But good Lord, Wesley Grant was perfect. Absolutely perfect. Devilishly handsome and just a touch disheveled. As if he had been slightly mussed getting out of a carriage and was not nearly so vain as to worry about it.

  “Are you staring at me, Anabel?”

  “I am gazing adoringly at you.”

  His gaze slipped from her eyes to her lips and back. “You’re making an excellent job of it.”

  Was it her imagination or was his voice a shade deeper than before? More intense perhaps? Silly idea, of course.

  “You dance quite well, Mr. Grant.”

  “I believe that’s Mr. Everheart to you, or rather Wesley.” He grinned down at her. “You sound surprised.”

  “Not at all. I would expect you to be well trained in all manner of stagecraft.”

  “You should see me in a sword fight.” He led her effortlessly through a complicated turn.

  With his broad shoulders and his firm hand clasping hers, she had no doubt Wesley Grant did a great many things well.

  “I would think that would be far more dangerous than dancing.”

  “Not if you know what you’re doing.” His blue eyes brimmed with amusement. “But dancing can be just as dangerous.”

  “Oh?” She gazed up at him. Aunt Lillian had certainly not exaggerated the man’s appearance. His dark hair, deep blue eyes and strong jaw made him look very much as if he had stepped straight from one of her romantic novels. “Do tell, Mr. Everheart—Wesley, how can dancing be dangerous?”

  He laughed. “I suspect you already know the answer to that.”

  “Pretend I don’t.”

  “Do you really want an answer or are you just making idle conversation?”

  “Both.” Although she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted
to hear his answer. A voice in the back of her head warned that the deception she was engaging in might be far more complicated than she had previously imagined. Even a bit dangerous. A tiny frisson of excitement skated up her spine. Anabel had never been confronted with danger, but she had never backed away from anything in her life before either. Handling Wesley Grant might well be a greater challenge than she had anticipated.

  “Very well.” He pulled her closer—not enough to be truly improper but a significant distance to anyone watching. He really was a fine figure of a man. “When a man holds a woman in his arms and moves in concert with the music filling the air—filling their souls—it’s entirely possible to forget the rest of the world. To ignore everything except the feeling of moving as one, in perfect harmony, one body with another.” His gaze locked with hers. “It is at that moment that the idea of where a single dance could lead might occur to both parties. Is it no more than a pleasant interlude? Or is it a beginning? A promise perhaps of something new and wonderful and possibly forever.”

  “What utter nonsense.” She stared up at him, her voice annoyingly breathless, no doubt due to the exertions of the waltz and not the look in his eyes or the faint spicy scent of him or the nearness of his body. “Is that from a play?”

  “No, simply my own thoughts.” He chuckled. “I do have them, you know. Not everything I say is written by someone else.”

  Heat flushed up her face. “My apologies, I didn’t mean to imply—”

  “That I didn’t have a brain in my head?”

  “No, that was not my intention,” she said weakly.

  He chuckled and led her through a perfect turn. She wasn’t sure she’d ever danced with anyone for the first time quite so effortlessly. As if they had danced together always. It was rather disconcerting.

  “I will, however, confess that the sentiment about the dangerous nature of dance is not mine alone. Didn’t your Jane Austen write that to be fond of dancing was a certain step toward falling in love?”

  “I don’t recall,” she said in a lofty manner. “You read Jane Austen?”

  “I read many things.” He paused. “Needless to say, I’m particularly fond of Shakespeare, but I enjoy Austen, as well as Mr. Dickens and Monsieur Dumas and—should I go on?”

  “No, that’s quite enough. And I like Mr. Dickens and Monsieur Dumas as well, but I adore Monsieur Verne.”

  “Do you?”

  “You sound surprised.”

  “I am.” He chuckled. “My sisters are much fonder of romantic novels than they are stories of adventure.”

  “I like romantic novels, as well,” she said coolly. “Enjoying one does not mean you can’t enjoy the other.”

  “But Verne is rather, oh, intense, I would say. Especially for the fairer sex.”

  She stared at him and then laughed. “Goodness, Wesley, do you think women are so easily led they are inclined to jump into a balloon at any minute to travel the globe because they’ve just read Around the World in Eighty Days?”

  He had the good grace to look chagrined. “No, of course not.” He smiled ruefully. “My apologies, Anabel. That might have been one of the stupidest things I’ve ever said.”

  “I do like a man who admits when he’s being stupid.”

  He laughed.

  Wesley Grant was going to be far more enjoyable than she had expected. And he didn’t really seem like an actor. At least not the ones she had encountered, which admittedly were no more than a handful. The few professional actors she had met were far more interested in themselves than in anyone else. Wesley really hadn’t said much about himself at all and he did seem to be genuinely interested in what she had to say. He was more intelligent than she had anticipated as well, which wasn’t at all fair of her. His profession did not preclude intelligence.

  She drew a deep breath and smiled up at him. “I do hope you can forgive me if I implied you were less than—”

  “There’s nothing to forgive.” He smiled down at her, tiny dimples bracketing his lips. “Misunderstandings are bound to happen between lovers—”

  She sucked in a hard breath. “Good God, Wesley, we are not—” her voice dropped to whisper “—lovers. Nor do I want anyone to think we are! Why, I would be ruined. My reputation...”

  The expression on his face was nothing less than angelic, overly innocent and entirely too smug. His eyes, however, danced with laughter.

  She narrowed her eyes. “You should know right now, I do not like to be teased.”

  “And yet I find teasing you to be most enjoyable.”

  “Well, I don’t like it.”

  “And does your perfect suitor do everything you want? Has he no mind of his own?”

  “He doesn’t do things to annoy me.” She summoned a pleasant smile. It wouldn’t do to have anyone think they were having anything less than a romantic moment.

  “Does Mr. Reed?”

  “Douglas?” She scoffed. “No, of course not.”

  “I see.”

  “I daresay, you don’t see anything at all. And I would appreciate you keeping in mind that I am paying you for your services and therefore—”

  “There is no therefore, Anabel. I shall play this role as I see fit,” he said firmly, “and I have no doubt you’ll be delighted with the result.”

  It was all she could do to keep her jaw from dropping open. The nerve of the man! Who did he think he was? For the first time in her nearly twenty-one years, Anabel had no idea what to say.

  The music drew to a close. Wesley released her and stepped back with a show of obvious reluctance. Admittedly, it was rather perfect.

  He took her hand and raised it to his lips, his gaze never leaving hers. “You are paying me to be passionately in love with you. At least until the day after Christmas.” He smiled. “I assure you, you will not regret it.”

  “I don’t intend to.” She couldn’t seem to stop staring at him. Her inner voice was right—this was a dangerous man. Still, it was only an act.

  He released her hand and the oddest sense of loss stabbed her. “Isn’t it time I met your father?”

  She gestured across the room. “He’s over there, I think, fuming that Aunt Lillian isn’t here tonight.” Anabel wouldn’t know anything about anything if it weren’t for Aunt Lillian. She took his arm and they started around the perimeter of the dance floor. “She was my mother’s sister-in-law. My mother died when I was very young and my aunt was widowed several years ago. She and Father are not overly fond of each other, but I’ve always thought she was wonderful.”

  “Tell me more. The more I know about you, the more real our charade will appear.” He stopped midstep. “Where did we meet?”

  She thought for a moment. Damn it all, she hadn’t even considered this kind of detail. “I don’t know. The British Museum?”

  “Excellent.” He nodded in obvious surprise.

  “Apparently I’m not the only one jumping to conclusions about the other.” They headed toward her father. “My being pretty does not mean I’m shallow. It does not preclude my being clever and interested in things other than fashion and gossip.”

  He smiled but said nothing. Wise of him.

  “Have you considered what happens after Christmas?”

  “We go our separate ways, admitting we were not meant to be together after all.” She shrugged. “It’s as simple as that.”

  “Is it?” he murmured.

  It was really only in her mind, but it did seem the crowd parted as they approached her father. She shook her head to clear it. Father stood, talking with several other gentlemen and Mrs. Higginbotham. Mrs. Higginbotham and Father had been friends since their youth. Fortunately, Douglas was nowhere to be seen.

  “Father.” Anabel tapped him on the shoulder. He turned and stepped away from the group, and their discussion continued without him. “I want you to meet someone
.”

  “Oh?” Father’s assessing and somewhat suspicious gaze traveled over Wesley.

  “Allow me to present Mr. Wesley Everheart.” She cast an adoring gaze at Wesley. “He’s American.”

  “It’s my very great honor to meet you, sir.” Wesley stepped forward and thrust out his hand.

  Father shook his hand and studied him curiously. “Everheart, you say?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Are you any relation to Reginald Everheart?”

  Anabel held her breath.

  “He was my father, sir,” Wesley said smoothly.

  Father visibly softened. “Fine man, your father. Never met him myself. Remarkable reputation though.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Are you following in his footsteps?”

  “I doubt that I could, sir.”

  Father studied him for a moment and then chuckled. “It’s a wise man who knows his own limitations.”

  Wesley grinned. “Exactly what my father used to say.”

  “Anabel, you didn’t tell me you had met the son of Reginald Everheart.”

  “Of course I did, Father.” Indeed, she had mentioned him several times since she and Aunt Lillian had concocted their plan. Fortunately, she had only referred to him as Mr. Everheart and not Earnest—which she still thought was an excellent name. Better yet, Father’s head was usually so filled with matters of business, and who knew what else, that one could say nearly anything to him, and while he would acknowledge such conversation with an absent smile and a nod, he rarely remembered details. A trait of his nature Anabel and her sisters had long used to their advantage.

  “Where did you meet my daughter, Mr. Everheart?” Father’s tone was offhanded, belying the sharp look in his eyes.

  “At the British Museum, in a gallery of classical sculpture. She was gazing at the statues and I was staring at her.” He glanced at her as if she were the most remarkable creature in the world. It was enough to make a lady swoon if she didn’t know it was an act. But a very good act. “A goddess come to life.”

  “I see.” Father’s gaze slid from Wesley to Anabel. “Douglas asked if he could see you home.”