All I Want for Christmas...is you (2 page)

He had thought back when she was that younger
age, perhaps eighteen or so that time on Bond Street, that her time
on the marriage mart would be short, for she had something unique
in both her appearance and her apparent composure, that certainly
drew his attention no matter how many new blue eyed blonds and
wisps of feminine perfection were hailed year by year. He repeated
that thought time again, those men were indeed fools, for never a
hint nor sign of male interest showed itself.

It was a habit for him to notice if she
danced or if a male approached her, other than the Viscount, whom
he had seen reach her side on occasion and speak to her, apparently
in jest. For her attempts to resist smiling where another of those
attractive things he’d filed in his brain. That slight upward pull
of her dark peach lips, or the time she would bite the fuller lower
one before hiding her mouth with her fan.

Her half brother had no such problem with
popularity he had heard. The handsome and golden haired,
golden-eyed viscount was quite the ladies man and treated as some
sort of delightful rogue by the ton in general. Though Jerome had
said the man took it all in stride, apparently was of more
substance but knew well the games and maneuvering of the ton, and
let them think what they would.

The brother was nowhere about. Lucas searched
and found in memory that the old duchess was some distant kin, the
one who had formally introduced her to society. She lived in her
brother’s mansion, a few down from his own, and the only reason
Lucas did not know more about her was that he realized at least six
years ago, at thirty, that he was not on the track with those who
were suited to a woman her age. He had long since concluded that
his time had come and gone, and he’d not noticed it when it had
been happening.

Some aged gent came amid their group and
spoke to her, then leaned down to exchange what looked like a loud
conversation with the duchess. Even had the music and talk not been
loud, the duchess’s hearing was less than perfect, so apparently
was the elder males. Lucas saw Miss Shyer move her hand from the
chair and lean down to speak to them, before she straightened and
stepped away. She walked to a spot by the window, and one of her
gloved hands lifted, smoothing up her nape, as if the heat and
crowd or else the stillness of her required pose had made her
tense.

He had another feeling all together observing
that movement. It seemed rather sensual to him, as well as her next
when she closed her eyes rolled her head back for a second and then
lifted her lashes, looking around as if making sure no one had
observed her show of strain. It was well known, all those silly
rules that dictated poise and gestures, even in a crush this thick.
Moreover, he gotten the idea observing her at other times that she
found the strictures tiresome.

Those movements weren’t the first time Lucas
has equated sensuality to a woman who had an average handsome face,
yet vivid eyes and hair, softly molded mouth and a slim nose. Her
height was around five feet and five inches, her body fuller than
fashion, but the way she moved and carried herself and the tops of
her breasts displayed in low cut, fashionable gowns, it certainly
captured his attention.

There had been a time at the theater he had
seen her in the Viscount’s box, again dressed simple and yet
elegant in black silk. A time when she’d closed her eyes like that
during a stirring piece and her chest had rose and fell, as if she
were feeling the passion of it. Another still, when he had been
riding his stallion in the park on a hot summer evening, and went
off the path among the trees to speak with Jerome, and she’d came
cantering up with a party and halted whilst they talked with
another.

That time he had seen her obviously not
engaged in the others conversation. After she’d looked around idly,
she had taken a hanky from her sleeve and pat her nape with it
before wiping round the front of her habit between the lapels. It
had been a slow series of movements that were nothing and
everything, since he’d imagined her dew moistened skin, imagined
his mouth gliding over her nape and down between her breasts,
before his friend’s nudge had brought him back to the present.

Lucas looked away now, over the crowd and
mentally shook himself even while he observed more arrivals
crowding in and gliding down the entry stairs. Already the numbers
were in the hundreds and it was yet early. He should find the card
room while there was a foot of space to navigate in any direction.
Yet his violet gaze moved back to the woman he would prefer to look
at, rather than the hundreds of her sex in attendance.

He was so used to observing her, unobserved,
so used to having his private thoughts for years about her, that
when he realized she was looking across the way at him—he almost
thought he was imagining it.

He was not.

For some suspended moments, that faded the
music and noise of the ballroom back into oblivion, Lucas did not
have to be closer to see those golden eyes he’d seen up close on
Bond Street that day, the lashes darkened as was fashion and
rimming the tawny color so that they seemed shimmering and feline.
Though he kept his posture relaxed, in truth his whole frame was
tight. His heart slammed harder and blood seemed to move under his
skin like a quickening.

While some part of his brain reminded him
that he was thirty and six and there were a hundred plus handsome
and wealthy prime males anywhere one looked within a foot of him,
some other part was saying that he wouldn’t look the fool if he put
effort and hope in that direction, that part of him that did not
feel that number of years, and the part of him that was attracted
to her the way any lover would be to the opposite sex.

He thought he could approach her, make her
acquaintance, and take it from there, without anyone thinking a
thing of it. He also thought that his ego could not take it if she
rejected him. Because he had carried some fantasy type of thoughts
about her, without acknowledging it even to himself that he did.
Why else would he always look for her, watch her? Yes, young men
were bloody fools.

On the chance that she would soon look away,
and on the off chance she was not looking at him at all and he was
imagining it. Lucas nodded slightly, scarcely breathing whilst he
waited to see if she truly was looking right at him.

Her head dipped gingerly in return, before
she looked away. Somewhere in his mind he groaned, as he released
that held breath, wondering now if she had only just noticed him,
or if perhaps she had before, wondering, while he straightened and
relaxed again, hands clasped lightly behind his back, if had enough
aside from the title and wealth to attract a woman that age?

Since her allure had stretched for him over
so many years, he wasn’t just attracted the way he may have been in
only a sexual way. He was curious, intrigued, and somewhat
fascinated by her. Though to be honest, he could not recall even a
sexual liaison where he felt such instant and intense
magnetism.

Lucas did not see himself as a man who had
years and opportunities left for a serious relationship ahead of
him. In addition, since he did not feel that way about any other
female, not for so long a time. It was no small thing, should he
take that chance and finally speak to her.

He looked around and took his time doing so,
because now he was aware she knew he’d been looking at her. He
wanted to gradually bring his gaze back to her, and see what
happened. Therefore, he scanned, scarcely seeing outward while the
moments ticked off. Then turned, to look at her again, finding that
she was gazing at him too, and did so until her brother came to her
side and they spoke. Then the two slipped out the nearest door,
likely to escape the stuffy heat and noise a few moments.

Lucas unclasped his hands and began making
his way through the crush at a pace hardly called a stride, since
he was either jostled or hailed by someone, and made as if to
appear he was simply mingling. He was muttering curses in his mind
by the time he made it to a spot by the open side doors. But then,
the crisp air wafted and was tempting, considering the stifling
heat and perfume was a bit overpowering. He took those steps that
carried him outside, not surprised to find two dozen guests outside
too, even if it was lightly snowing.

Lighting a cheroot, he stood slightly by the
lantern and a few feet from the awning placed over the side
courtyard. Many of the guests were smoking or had taken up seating
on the heavy benches, which normally graced that area in all
seasons. The orchestra was playing Handel’s Messiah, and Miss
Shyer’s back was to him. Lucas eyed those two long skeins of hair
softly curling down past her shoulder blade, from the rest, which
was done in a complicated twist held by topaz combs.

He released a stream of smoke, noting that
the back of her gown was also V cut at the top, dipping down to
show through some sparkling webbing a well-shaped upper back. There
was a clasp at the deepest part, a fan shape drape of train flowed
from it, over the main skirt of the dress, inches longer and
settling in ripples on the flagged stone courtyard.

He had the cheroot to his mouth, having
looked over the others, nodded to some, in a manner that relayed he
was not out here to chitchat, simply to enjoy his smoke, when Miss
Shyer looked over her shoulder at him. Their eyes met. Lucas made
himself release the smoke in his lungs, so he could draw another
breath, while she leaned toward her brother and whispered something
in his ear.

The Viscount turned toward him, his long
golden hair not formally confined though he had on the required
black and white. Taking his sisters arm, he stepped closer to Lucas
and bowed, “My Lord. We have not been introduced, though we share a
mutual acquaintance, Jerome Radcliff. I am Bram Shyer, Viscount
Brydon…”

Lucas dropped the cheroot and crushed it,
stepping up and offering his hand, well aware that she was standing
inches next to her brother.

“Of course, I am Lucas Bennigton, The Earl of
Moncrief, but let’s dispense with titles.” He shook the man’s hand.
“Call me Lucas, or Bennington. Sometimes I forget to put myself out
and introduce myself to everyone.” Lucas chuckled. “By the time one
goes through the receiving line at these things, ones head is
generally spinning.”

The Viscount grinned. He had a good grip that
of sporting man despite his rep as nothing more than rake and
gambler. “Yes, I tend to sprint through myself, or find some
discreet side door to slip through.”

He stepped aside and gestured to the woman
who had been watching them. “Allow me to present my sister, Miss
Verena Shyer.”

As she was about to curtsy, Lucas stopped her
and took her hand, bowing over it, and touching his lips to the
perfume scented silk glove covering her hand. It held the subtle
aroma of warm citrus as if her delicate ware was tucked in drawers
with sachets that produced the merest hint of fragrance. So much
more alluring than the strong gardenia and others in the ballroom,
and making his mouth water a bit out in the wintry air.

“Miss Shyer, it is a pleasure indeed.” He
straightened meeting her gaze. “I have noticed you since you graced
the ton ballrooms with your presence.”

“How flattering of your to say so, my lord.”
Her smile was just a teasing one, though her eyes were twinkling a
bit. “They are such crowded places; it is difficult to see a foot
beyond one at even given time.”

“Ah, well,” He let his white grin bloom. “As
I am sure your brother knows, a man can always spot a gem among the
pebbles. It shines, you see, stands out amid the crowd.”

Her cheekbones colored a splash, though she
did not lose that smile as he released her hand. She glanced at her
brother and murmured in a voice that held a hint of husk, “You
could learn a bit about flattery from his lordship, Bram, instead
of taking your cue’s from Radcliff when chasing skirts.”

The blond man laughed and shook his head. “Oh
no, Rena, even the earl will tell you that men such as Jerome and
myself would find ourselves chased by the Mama hounds, were we to
do more than flirt.”

“True,” Lucas murmured.

The viscount added as his sister turned to
look at Lucas again, “Besides, his lordship is hardly known for
useless flattery and women such as yourself would believe any
compliment coming from his sort, rather than those of our rep.”

“Um, living with a rakehell, my lord, gives
one startling insight into the mind of London’s bachelors. I am
sure you know from Radcliff that they practice their words
carefully. Bram here is adept at saying just the right thing to
gain enough attention to stroke his ego, whilst avoiding anything
that might get him leg shackled.”

“A true hit, Rena. You are in fine form
tonight.” Her brother crowed and looked at Lucas. “You will have to
excuse us, my lord. We forget ourselves and tease each other
unmercifully.”

Lucas rather enjoyed what he saw as a relaxed
closeness between them and shook his head. “Not at all. I find that
most people tend to think they must affect distant politeness
around me. Rather like, they do some dragon dowager or stuffy old
lord. It is quite refreshing and rare to meet anyone in these
crowds who can relax and be themselves.”

“It is perhaps your rep, my lord,” Miss Shyer
said easily, “that intimidates the rest of us into politeness.”

His brow arched. “Never say so, Miss Shyer.
“

She was holding his gaze still as her brother
said beside her, “Relieved myself to find Radcliff is right, in
insisting you were not the rigid and aloof sort society claims,
Lucas. There is enough starch and pomp to go around in the ton
where titles are concerned, makes it duced scarce to find a
gentleman one can tolerate above a few moments.”