Page 61 of The Mistletoe Dare

“Well, I suppose you don’t look too disgusting,” Jules said as he stood looking down at them, giving Vivien a critical once over. “Your nose is rather red, though.”

“Jules. A pleasure as always,” Vivien said, narrowing her eyes at him.

Jules returned a beatific grin. “August, may I introduce this dreadful creature, Miss Vivien Anson. Have a care, she bites. Viv, this gentleman is a friend and a jolly good fellow. Try not to upset him.”

August gave Jules an uncertain glance, but smiled politely and bowed. “Miss Anson, a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“I’m sure it must be, after such an introduction,” Vivien remarked acidly.

“You must ignore Blackwood, Mr Lane-Fox,” Georgie said with haste. “He is only funning, I assure you. He’s rather—well, you’ve met him,” she added apologetically.

“Ouch,” Jules replied as August laughed.

“I take all of Blackwood’s comments with a large pinch of salt, Lady Georgina, fear not, and anyone who can refer to Miss Anson as not looking too disgusting clearly needs urgent medical attention, if not a straitjacket,” August said with an admiring smile.

“Thank you, Mr Lane-Fox,” Vivien said, smirking at Jules. “There, you see, Jules? That is how a gentleman acts. It seems you need the instruction.”

“You say that, but I wasn’t the one who caused havoc at that balloon ascension at Green Park the year before last. Was I, August, old man? I believe they read the riot act?”

Jules smirked as August shifted uncomfortably and rubbed the back of his neck. “Ah,” he said, grimacing. “Well, yes, but that was—”

“Bainbridge and Roxborough,” Evie said, saving the poor man’s blushes. “Arabella told Florence about it, and she told me. Mr Lane-Fox was likely just an innocent bystander.”

Georgie noticed Viv watching August intently as he looked increasingly ill at ease. “Well, to be truthful, I may have played a part, but I can assure you, those days are behind me. Now Bainbridge and Dare have settled down, I hope my own life can follow suit. It is one thing for a young man to get up to mischief and into scrapes, but it looks rather undignified when your thirtieth year is almost behind you.”

“Oh dear. You will not become a bore, will you, Mr Lane-Fox?” Vivien asked softly.

Georgie bit back a grin as Viv looked up at him from under thick, black lashes. It was a look that could turn a sensible chap into a blithering idiot. Georgie had seen her wield it before now and it appeared Mr Lane-Fox was not immune.

“I—er,” he mumbled. “That is, no, I hope not. Only I intend to keep out of the print-shop windows from now on.”

“Whatever for?” she asked, looking genuinely perplexed.

“Well, it’s the sort of thing that puts the ladies off, you see,” he explained.

“Oh. Are you looking for a wife, then?” she said, gazing up at him.

August cleared his throat. “I am,” he said, a little too forcefully. There was the faintest touch of colour at his cheeks, but considering the way Viv was looking at him and her clearly flirtatious line of questioning, he was doing quite well, in Georgie’s opinion. Some men could do nothing but stammer when Viv turned the full power of her dazzling attention directly upon them—which was rare.

Vivien’s mouth curved in a slow smile. “How interesting,” she said.

Once their guests had gone, Georgie surveyed what remained of the cakes, deciding which she would like. Only Jules, Rochford, Evie, and Louis César were in the parlour now, chatting amiably.

A footman was clearing away all the empty cups and saucers and Evie stood, approaching him. She was carrying a beautiful bouquet of pink hyacinths, the scent of which filled the room.

“Davies, would you see these are put in water and sent to my room, please?”

“Of course, Miss Knight,” the footman said, placing the bouquet carefully on the tray.

“They’re beautiful flowers, and such a glorious perfume. I think your Mr Hadley-Smythe is rather smitten,” Georgie said.

Evie returned a pleased smile. “Yes, I think he is too.”

“I notice he did not take part in our conversation about the French realist movement,” Jules said mildly. “What was it you were chatting about?”

Evie scowled. “His new litter of pups, as you well know. Stop picking on him.”

“I’m not picking on him. I am merely suggesting you might grow bored with a fellow who is not your intellectual equal.”