Victoria Alexander - The Dance Before Christmas

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.”

“Father, I really don’t think—”

Father held up a hand to stop her. “That’s what I told him.” He heaved a resigned sigh. Was it at all possible that Father had at last understood she had no desire to marry Douglas? “I told him he could call on you.” Apparently not.

“I would be delighted to accompany Miss Snelling home,” Wesley said gallantly.

“Would you?” Father’s eyes narrowed slightly. “What are your intentions toward my daughter, Mr. Everheart?”

“Father,” Anabel said sharply. “This is not the appropriate place for such a discussion.”

“I assure you my intentions are completely honorable,” Wesley said with just the right touch of sincerity.

She discretely squeezed his arm. It sounded very much as if he was going to ask for her hand. Here and now. That was not part of the plan. She hadn’t thought to make that clear to him, but then she hadn’t thought it would come up. A feigned engagement was to be nothing more than a last resort. A card to be played only under the direst of circumstances.

“Completely honorable?” Father’s brow rose. “Then are you speaking of marriage?”

“Father!” She should have expected something like this. No man was as eager to get his oldest daughter married off as Sir Archibald. As if she would turn into an unmarriageable toad promptly on her twenty-first birthday.

“I did not intend to speak of it upon our first meeting but yes, sir, I am,” Wesley said without hesitation.

She stifled a groan. She wasn’t entirely sure if this was going very well or horribly wrong. Still, there was a lot to be said for a long engagement. At least until after Christmas, when Douglas would be safely on his way to India.

“My daughter is right, Mr. Everheart, this is neither the time nor the place to discuss such matters.” Father smiled. “I shall expect you to call on me tomorrow afternoon and we can continue this discussion. Say around three?”

“I shall be delighted, sir,” Wesley said.

Anabel bit her lip. Protesting would only cause suspicion, but the last thing she wanted was her father meeting with Wesley alone.

“Anabel.” Father glanced at her. “Shall we take our leave?”

She nodded with relief. “Yes, of course.”

“I shall see you tomorrow then, Mr. Everheart.”

“I look forward to it, sir.” Wesley smiled and then turned to Anabel and took her hand, lifting it to his lips, gazing into her eyes. The man was exceptionally good at this sort of thing. Why, he made her fairly shiver with excitement even though she knew this was nothing more than an act. “I shall count the hours, Miss Snelling.”

She summoned her brightest smile. “As will I, Mr. Everheart.”

“Shall we, my dear?” Father offered his arm. “Good evening, Mr. Everheart.”

“Good evening, sir.” Wesley nodded and then gave her a decidedly smug smile, although what on earth he had to be smug about was beyond her.

Still, the disquieting thought occurred to her that Wesley Grant might prove to be a problem far greater than either Douglas or Father’s desire to see her wed.

* * *

THE SON OF Reginald Everheart?

Ophelia Higginbotham—Effie to her friends—couldn’t help overhearing the conversation between her old friend, his daughter and the American. Well, she could have helped it, but the moment she heard the name Everheart , there was no question she had to listen in.