The Dance Before Christmas Read online

  “They are.” He nodded and smiled. “I think they’re quite looking forward to it.”

  “That’s something, at any rate.” And good news really. Who knew when Aunt Lillian would reappear. And chaperones, even as annoying as she had always found them in the past, really were advisable. “Is there anything else you’ve thought of about a man madly, passionately in love?”

  “He shouldn’t appear too well rested, as he has a difficult time sleeping. She is always in his thoughts, you see.” His gaze locked on hers and her breath caught. “He can’t get her out of his mind. Even when he does manage to sleep, she’s there.”

  Anabel swallowed hard and forced a light note to her voice. “Is she?”

  “She’s relentless.” His eyes darkened with intensity. “The touch of her hand, the curve of her neck, the feel of her body against his as they dance alone in a crowd, the look in her eye...”

  “The look in her eye?” Her voice was somewhat higher than usual, but it was difficult to speak at all.

  He nodded. “A look of both challenge and invitation.”

  She forced an odd sort of squeaky laugh. “Challenge and invitation? Surely not.”

  “He’s madly in love but she’s not entirely sure of her feelings. If she should be firm and practical, or if she should surrender to what she’s begun to suspect is inevitable. Fate, if you will.”

  “Fate?” she said weakly.

  He moved closer. “Do you believe in fate, Anabel Snelling?”

  “No.” She stared into his blue eyes and a look there that made it almost impossible not to believe. “Yes. Maybe. I don’t know.” Was this still an act? “We should return to the house.”

  “Ah, but I haven’t asked you to marry me yet.”

  “Nor need you.” Of course it was an act. What else could it possibly be? “We can just say you did.”

  “Yes, but if I don’t actually ask you, our stories might not agree when we tell skeptics how I proposed. Surely we want to sound as legitimate as possible?”

  “Yes, well, you have a point.” Still, this was becoming terribly real, as if he were indeed asking her to wed. Her heart thudded in her chest, apparently not realizing he was only playing a part. “There’s really nothing to say other than you asked me to marry you in the conservatory and I said yes.”

  “You’re right. But that sounds entirely too ordinary. For a love such as ours, that is.” He shook his head. “It’s not the least bit romantic. After all, you have swept me off my feet.”

  “Regardless, it’s fine.” A grand romantic proposal on his part would only muddy her feelings, and they were surely confused enough already.

  “Fine will not do.” He glanced around the conservatory, then grabbed her hand and pulled her to the door leading into the garden.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Giving us a story about my proposal, should anyone ask, or perhaps something to tell our grandchildren.”

  “We’re not going to have grandchildren, Wesley. This is only pretend.”

  “Then pretend we’re on a stage, acting in a play. I’m much better at plays than stories.

  “Well, you are an actor.”

  “Exactly.” He nodded. “In our play, you’re the leading lady and I’m the leading man. The setting is a conservatory on a cold winter day. She’s brought him in to show him...”

  “Orchids?”

  “Yes, orchids.” He nodded. “But that was only an excuse. What she really wanted was a moment alone.”

  She stared. “Why?”

  “They only met in the last act, but already she’s feeling something special between them. She doesn’t believe in absurd notions like love at first sight—”

  “She never has before,” she murmurs.

  “Even so, she can’t deny there is indeed something wonderful happening and she very much wants to find out exactly what it is. And whether he feels the same.”

  “Does she?”

  “Absolutely. But she can’t seem to find the right words and doesn’t know where to begin. She glances out the window—” he looked out the window in an exaggerated way “—and gasps.” He gave her a pointed look.

  “This is ridiculous.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m not going to do that.”

  He raised a brow.

  “Very well.” She heaved a long-suffering sigh and then gasped.

  “She has just seen her beloved terrier dash across the garden after the neighbor’s large, wicked cat, who will surely tear him to sheds.”

  This time her gasp was real.

  “What better way to earn her affection than by rescuing her pet?” He slid open the lock, grabbed the door handle and pulled. Nothing happened.

  “The door sticks in the cold,” she said helpfully.

  He tugged again.

  She motioned toward the handle. “If you pull and twist, it usually—”

  He yanked hard and the door jerked open. Cold air rushed into the conservatory.

  “Wesley! This isn’t a stage or a play and it’s cold!” She shivered.

  “Entirely too cold but that’s part of the plot. Indeed, the only reason to go after the dog in the first place was to open the door.”

  She shook her head in confusion. “Why?”

  “Because it gives the leading man an excuse to take off his coat—” he matched his actions to his words “—and wrap it around his leading lady, pulling her close in the process.”

  “It was a ploy, was it?”

  “And quite clever too, as she was now in his arms.”

  She stared up at him. The right thing, the proper thing, the smart thing would be to move out of his embrace immediately. But with the warmth of his coat around her, his intoxicating scent filling her senses, his arms holding her close, what she should do flew in the face of what she realized she longed to do.

  “And then?” She could barely get the words out.

  “And then he stares into her eyes and promises never to let her want for warmth or joy or laughter ever again.” His gaze bored into hers. “He promises to love her for the rest of his days if she’d do him the very great honor of becoming his wife. If she would dance with him for now and forever.”

  “What does she do?” she whispered.

  “What can she do? She’s at once stunned and excited and uncertain.”

  “But surely she does something? Says something?”

  “She does.” He paused. “She says it’s too soon for feelings like this. They can’t possibly be real. It’s nothing more than the game they were playing.”

  “They were playing a game?”

  “All part of the first act.” He nodded. “It was a minor game of deception. But he says he stopped playing the moment they danced together as if they were fated to dance together always. And he says dancing is the first step toward falling in love.”

  “I’ve heard that.” She swallowed hard. “Is there more?”

  “Now comes what the audience has been waiting for. He says he can’t imagine a better way to spend the rest of his life than by dancing always...” He lowered his head and his lips brushed against hers. “With the woman he loves.”

  “And what does she say?” she murmured against his lips.

  “Nothing.”

  “That doesn’t sound right to me.”

  “There are times, my dear leading lady, when words are no longer necessary.” His lips met hers, warm and inviting and every bit as wonderful as they’d been in her dreams. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed close to him, ignoring the cold air, reveling in the feel of the heat of his body against hers. And from her lips to her toes, she tingled.

  At last she pulled back and gazed up at him. “What happened to the dog?”

  “It ran in right past them. They never noticed.”

 
“This might well work on a stage, but as a story about your proposal, it will never do.” She bit back a grin. “I don’t have a dog. We should think of something else.”

  “Very well.” He gazed into her eyes. “What if we simply say the moment he kissed her, she knew this was right and true and forever? And she knew with a certainty she’d never felt before that this man, this near stranger, was the man she’d been waiting for all of her life.”

  Anabel stared. “I’m not sure she wishes to say all that.” Especially if it were true.

  “She doesn’t have to say it. It’s there in the look in her eyes. In the way she hesitates to step out of his embrace. The audience will see it, feel it with her.”

  “The audience, of course.” She stepped back, ignoring the heavy weight that settled in the pit of her stomach like a poorly cooked plum pudding. “It’s only a play. Or rather a story to tell people. It’s just pretend.”

  “Is it?” His gaze trapped hers.

  “Yes, of course.” She shrugged and moved away, reluctant, or maybe afraid, to look at him. She had begun to think, to wonder...

  No. Without thinking, Anabel raised her chin. This was a farce; there was nothing more to it than that. It was absurd for her to think—even for so much as a moment—that there was more here than that. Wesley Grant was not her destiny. He was a man being paid to save her from a marriage she didn’t want. Fate had not thrown them together. And love at first sight was as great a delusion as the charade that had brought them together. For God’s sake, the man was an actor. Apparently a very good one. Anything beyond that was no doubt due to the American’s charms and perhaps the magic of the season. She was entirely too practical to accept anything else.

  “Lady Blodgett will be here any minute. We should probably wait for her inside.” She started toward the conservatory door.

  “All right,” he said pleasantly, closed the door to the garden and trailed behind her.

  Wesley Grant was a means to an end. He had a part to play and so did she. Believing anything other than that would surely lead to heartbreak.

  And a shattered heart was the last thing she wanted for Christmas.

  CHAPTER SIX

  “IT’S ABOUT TIME you deigned to make an appearance.” Sir Archibald—although Effie could never quite think of him as Sir anything, as they’d known each other since they were children—rose to his feet behind his desk and glared.

  “Good afternoon to you too, Archie.” Effie pulled off her gloves and handed them to the butler, who nodded and promptly took his leave.

  “I sent a note to you yesterday, asking you to call on me.”

  “It was more in the nature of a command rather than a request. I do not take well to commands. You may ask William if you have any doubt about that.”

  “I know exactly what he’d say. Poor chap,” he added under his breath.

  “My husband is the luckiest man on the face of the earth and he would be the first to tell you that.” Effie ignored the chairs in front of the desk in favor of the sofa facing the fireplace. She was not about to give Archie the upper hand by sitting in a position designed to intimidate the unsuspecting. “As you know full well.”

  “You have the man under some sort of spell.”

  She cast him a smug smile.

  “Witchcraft, Effie. I have always suspected it of you.” He circled his desk and headed to a sidebar, where a decanter of something amber and two glasses waited on a silver tray. “Scottish whiskey?”

  “Goodness, Archie, it’s barely past three o’clock.”

  “Would you prefer sherry then?”

  “Don’t be absurd.” She scoffed. “And I was busy yesterday.” She hadn’t been but she and Poppy had been waiting for Gwen to return home from her chaperone duties. From what Gwen said, there was definitely something simmering between Anabel and Wesley, although Anabel did seem unusually reserved. Tonight, Poppy would accompany them to the Winter Exhibition at the Dudley Gallery and walk the fine line between discretely leaving the couple alone and trying to find out as much as possible as to what the two were thinking about each other.

  “How is the colonel?” He handed her a glass and then settled himself on the other end of the sofa.

  “Oh, he’s off in Africa somewhere with Sir Charles and Mr. Fitzhew-Wellmore. None of them are especially good at correspondence. But I do think any day I don’t get word of his death is a good one.” She raised her glass to her old friend and then took a sip.

  Archie chuckled.

  “I’m quite serious about that.” She, Gwen and Poppy had long ago come to terms with the fact that they had each married men who pursued adventure under the guise of knowledge. Sir Charles and Malcomb Fitzhew-Wellmore had spent their lives wandering the far-flung unexplored corners of the world. William had been an officer in the service of Her Majesty until a few years ago, when he too began joining expeditions to who knew where. This was the second time all three men had set off together, and all three had privately said to their wives that this might well be their last exploit. Effie and her friends weren’t quite sure if they were delighted or apprehensive. After all, they’d spent most of their lives rather independently, without a husband in residence.

  “William says he’s going to give up his adventures and stay at home soon. I’m delighted of course.” She took another sip. “Although I do hope I can stand it.”

  “I suspect that will be a challenge for the both of you.”

  “If you summoned me here for some sort of favor, insults are not the way to achieve that.”

  “It was meant as a compliment.”

  She raised a skeptical brow.

  “I do need your help.” He paused. “If I’m not mistaken, you knew Reginald Everheart.”

  “Indeed, I did.” She took another sip. “Rather well really.”

  “Did you meet his son at the Explorers Club the other night?”

  So this was what Archie’s summons was about. “I did.”

  Archie leaned forward in his chair and pinned her with a steely look. “Is Wesley Everheart his son?”

  She ignored it. “Why do you ask?”

  “Anabel is quite taken with him.” He shook his head. “I had hoped she’d marry Douglas Reed. I’d planned to announce it at our Christmas Eve ball. Fine man, Reed.”

  “No doubt.” She swirled the amber liquid in her glass. “Dare I assume she does not wish to marry Mr. Reed?”

  “She says no woman should be forced to marry a man she doesn’t wish to marry,” he muttered.

  “She’s right.”

  “But she’s almost twenty-one. Douglas might be her last chance.”

  “Oh, I doubt that.”

  “She’s known Douglas most of her life and I know she likes him.”

  “Perhaps she wants more than to merely like the man she marries.” She paused. It might not be entirely fair to bring his late wife into the conversation, but she would have been the first to approve. “Perhaps she wants what you and Evangeline had.”

  “Evangeline and I were both sensible and married who we were expected to marry,” he said staunchly.

  “And had fallen in love with each other long before you wed.”

  “That’s beside the point.”

  “It’s entirely the point.”

  “I can’t force her to marry, although I suppose I can threaten to cut her off. Anabel would not take well to poverty. But in a few months, she’ll be twenty-one and will receive a tidy fortune from her mother’s family. She’ll be financially independent.” He sighed. “As much as I worry about her future, I won’t force her to marry against her will.” He sighed again. “Douglas really is an excellent match.”

  “Not if Anabel doesn’t think so.”

  “I fear she has her eye on Mr. Everheart. He’s an extremely likable young man. In fact, I like him quite a
lot.” His expression darkened. “But I don’t know anything about him.” He pinned her with a determined look. “Is he or is he not the son of Reginald Everheart?”

  She met his gaze directly. “I really couldn’t say.”

  “But you knew Everheart.”

  “We’ve established that,” she said coolly. “However, as the man resided in America, I never met his family. I understand he did have a number of children.” Effie sent a silent request for forgiveness heavenward, but surely a few minor lies about a fictional creation would be forgiven in pursuit of a noble cause.

  “I need a rather important favor.”

  “Oh good, I was hoping you did.”

  He drew a deep breath. “I want you to investigate Mr. Everheart.”

  “Me?” Effie resisted the urge to chortle with delight. “Why don’t you do it?”

  He shook his head. “Because Anabel would never forgive me if she learned I was looking into the man she may well have fallen in love with.”

  “But why me?”

  “Because I trust you. Because you have Anabel’s best interests at heart. Because she hardly knows you and would never suspect you of investigating her suitor. Because you’re the only one I know who actually knew Reginald Everheart, and if this man isn’t his son, who better to discover that—to defend his reputation against an imposter—than his friend.”

  “Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore knew him far better than I.” It did seem necessary to protest a little.

  “Good, then she can help you, and your friend Lady Blodgett can assist you, as well.” He narrowed his eyes. “You know people, Effie, and those you don’t, your friends probably do. I suspect you can find out the truth about Mr. Everheart with very little effort.”

  “I have much better things to do than be your errand boy.” She sniffed in feigned indignation. “I have dozens of things to attend to. Christmas is right around the corner, you know.”

  “I am well aware of that.” He stood and crossed the room to refill his glass. “I’m usually an excellent judge of character, but the future of my eldest daughter is at stake. I need something more than my own sense of a man’s nature before I can approve this match.” He returned to his seat with the decanter and topped off her glass. “Did I mention he has asked for her hand?”