Page 4 of The Mistletoe Dare

A woman like that might marry him for his title, or his money, but she’d need a bloody strong stomach to endure it.

Chapter 2

August,

For the love of God, leave your witless female relations to cause havoc by themselves if they must. They don’t want you interfering and tying yourself in knots over their dreadful scrapes. Keeping them out of trouble will only give you a nervous collapse. It’s your darling mama’s responsibility to keep them in line and, bearing in mind she’s the worst of the lot, you ought to do yourself a favour and wash your hands of them. They’ll all be happier, and you’ll likely live longer.

Come and stay with me for a bit. I want to show off my wife. If you’ve a lick of sense, you’ll find one for yourself and settle down. I highly recommend it.

―Excerpt of a letter from The Most Hon’ble Lawrence Grenville, The Marquess of Bainbridge to The Right Hon’ble August Lane Fox.

7th December 1840, Beverwyck, London.

Evie laughed as she looked down at the note, slipped under her door.

Evie, you little twit. I would never lie to you. Surely you know that.

Meet me in the library at midnight tonight with the monstrous dress. For God’s sake, make sure no one sees you.

Really, Louis César was foolish if he thought he could make her believe she was a great beauty. She had enough examples of feminine perfection among her friends and family to know what men considered beautiful. Even gorgeous Georgie did not meet the ton’s exacting requirements, simply because she was too tall, whereas Evie was too short, and plain, and plump.

Evie had to admit she had improved a great deal over the past months, but she had a weakness for sweet things, and she did not have the stature to carry off the extra pounds that seemed to accumulate with startling ease. The fact had never much bothered her before, though. She had always been at ease in her own skin. Until recently. Though Evie made light of it, the words of the sought-after modiste, Madame Blanchet’s, about her weight had undermined her confidence and made her unhappy. So much so that she’d even taken the wretched woman’s advice and begun following the lowering diet she had recommended. According to Madame, if she stuck to it, the weight would fall off her in no time. What she didn’t say was that the diet would make feel Evie wretched and light-headed, but she had lost eight pounds so far, so perhaps it was worth it. She wondered if Louis César would notice the change in her.

It had been months since she’d seen him, and then only once or twice during the summer, and she worried he was avoiding her. They corresponded regularly, at least twice a week, but she had noticed his letters changing. They were always amusing and full of news and gossip, but he did not confide in her as much as he once had, and that troubled her. He had no close friends that she knew of and, since his brother had married, he spent more time alone than was good for him. It had been a tremendous relief to her when he had finally given in and accepted the duchess’s invitation to come for Christmas, for Evie could not bear the thought of him spending the festive season all by himself. Well, whatever the problem was, she would discover it over the coming weeks. Somehow, she had to find what made poor, dear Louis so unhappy, and fix it.

“Evie!” Georgie squealed with delight at the sight of her friend and ran down the last few steps to haul her into an embrace

“Georgie!” Evie’s muffled voice exclaimed from Georgie’s generous bosom. “Can’t breathe!”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Georgie let her go, and returned a sheepish grin.

Evie laughed, a little breathless, and then hugged Georgie again. “It’s lovely to see you. My, but you look well, so….”

“Big?” Georgie suggested sourly. She ought to be used to towering over all the other delicate young ladies by now, but though she loved all her friends dearly, they made her feel like an Amazon. They were all so petite and ladylike, and she… wasn’t.

“I was going to say beautiful,” Evie scolded, and then gave a wistful sigh. “And I’d happily steal a couple of extra inches from you, so don’t go lamenting them on my account.”

“You, my lovely Evie, are small and perfectly formed,” Georgie said firmly. Evie might not have been a classical beauty, but her goodness shone from her, and she had the most startling green eyes, thickly lashed and so expressive. Evie gave her usual snort of amusement, her response to any kind of compliment about her appearance, and Georgie shook her head. “You are, you know. Any man would be lucky to have you.”

Evie shrugged and took her arm. “Yes, but would I be lucky to have them? That’s the trouble. Oh, Georgie, I know it’s dreadful of me to say so, but it’s so hard to find anyone of interest. It’s not like I’m short of offers, but I know most of them are in love with my enormous dowry, not with me. They just seem so false, and you know I cannot abide people who say one thing and mean another.”

Georgie nodded, understanding the problem all too well. “It’s impossible to get to know any man when you cannot spend any proper time with them. At the parties they are all on their best behaviour and perfectly charming. What are they like when they wake up with a head cold and find the cat’s been sick in their slippers, though? That’s the real test.”

Evie spluttered with amusement, her eyes glittering. “Oh, we should arrange something of the sort, like those fairy tales where the hero has to complete five tasks to win the princess’s hand in marriage.”

“Oh, yes. What else should we ask of them?” Georgie asked, enjoying herself thoroughly now she was with her friend again.

“Umm. Oh, I know. How they react if a beautiful woman goes past and gives them a come-hither look.”

“Oh, yes, because if they go hither, they are definitely out,” Georgie said, nodding.

“Exactly.” Evie grinned.

Georgie looked up to see the duchess gesturing to her from the other side of the hall. “Come along. Everyone is waiting in the drawing room. We’re dreadfully late.”

They hurried to where everyone waited, drinks in hand, smiling and greeting each other with familiar warmth. Georgie saw the glowering duke she had run into so disastrously earlier. He was standing silently, somehow apart from everyone, even though he stood with Jules, the Marquess of Blackstone. Jules lifted his hand to wave at her and Georgie smiled at him, refusing to catch the duke’s eyes, and then her breath caught, and she almost stumbled as another man appeared in the door.

“Mercy,” she whispered, stopping in her tracks, unable to do anything less than gape in astonishment. Whoever he was, he was utterly gorgeous. Tall and lithe with broad shoulders and thick dark hair, his blue eyes were the colour of an exotic sea. He was effortlessly stylish, his evening clothes moulded to his impressive physique and showing long, long legs. Turning towards them, his sensuous mouth tilted up at the corners and his blue eyes sparkled with warmth.