All I Want for Christmas...is you

by Gayle Eden

  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.”

  “I should hope I’m at least tolerable.” Lucas flickered his gaze to the Viscount with a grin that was genuine, though he was thinking, good God, society has decided I am sort of arrogant icon. “I have a few flaws I’ll confess to after a glass of brandy or two.”

  The younger man snorted and returned his grin then looked around. “Speaking of brandy, I saw a servant somewhere out here serving it with coffee. Can I get some for you also, Lucas?”

  “Yes. Thank you, Bram. If your sister doesn’t mind keeping my company whilst I smoke?”

  “Verena doesn’t mind. Tried one herself once.” Her brother teased and turned away, heading off to find that server.

  Lucas’s long tawny fingers withdrew a cheroot from his breast pocket and lit it, teasingly offering her a pull.

  She took the gesture as he had hoped and laughed saying, “I’m leaving them to men, Bennigton. My curiosity led to a rather unpleasant bout of unladylike coughing and eye watering. Not to mention a dizzy head which Bram crowed over for a good hour.”

  Lucas smiled lazily, thinking that speaking to her was better, so much more than he hoped. She had a way about her…. “I take it he was some partner in your curiosity of cheroots?”

  “More than that.” She clasp her hand to her wrist, fan dangling from her right one. “He has always been somewhat too game for anything whereby I may lose what he calls my unnatural poise and too proper composure.”

  “You are his half sister?”

  “Yes. We had the same father. Unfortunately, we both lost our mother’s young. Bram is a mix between overly protective and conspirator.” She added, “He and I were raised deep in the North Country where I’m afraid our guardians were a bit indulgent. The duchess’s widower son and a set of servants, is whom we fell to. She is our father’s aunt. He too passed on some four years ago.”

  “My condolences.”

  She nodded. “My brother and I are close, friends as well as siblings, so it has been interesting to say the least, these years and formal seasons.”

  “I noticed that,” Lucas murmured exhaling smoke, “your poise and composure. It is rather an admirable fete for any young woman entering the society, from deep in the country. They do so love to keep the younger set in awe of them.”

  Her brow arched. “That is interesting and flattering…that you noticed, my lord, considering you are among those whom even a woman of my stern nerves finds herself bracing to meet.”

  His gaze skimmed her face before coming to meet her eyes again. “Had I been aware of it, Miss Shyer, I would have put such unnecessary anxiety to rest years ago where you are concerned.” Lucas was aware he was flirting, nearing another territory indeed as new as he was to such things, when he added, “I regret we were not introduced before tonight.”

  She was surprised obviously, but covered it in glancing away, somewhere over his shoulder and murmuring, “You are very kind, my lord.” Her gaze touched his again. “Such social skills that make a woman feel flattered and at ease, is an admirable trait.”

  Lucas saw her brother heading toward them and said, “Not at all, my dear. I assure you I have considered approaching you many times over the years.” He caught her startled blink just before he turned to the viscount and thanked him for the warm brew. Then put out his cheroot and took a sip. Flickering his gaze to her as her brother handed her a glass of some steaming wassail.

  “I am to the card room, Rena.” Her brother bussed her cheek and muttered, “Lady Manning has spotted me and chased me damn near across the room with that giggling chit of hers. Sorry to abandon you, but his lordship will escort you in, if you don’t mind, Lucas?”

  “Not at all.” Lucas laughed at his grimace. “Duck and run while you can, old boy. I believe I heard that her ladyship has been chatting about on blond and gold eyed grandchildren.”

  While the man choked on a sip of his drink and slipped off, Lucas’s lingering chuckle sounded and blended with his sisters.

  “Poor Bram,” she said finally shaking her head. “He was born with much too much handsomeness. I fear his ease with the female sex, as they make his roguish life too easy for him, makes him all the more attractive to those hopeful debs. Their Mama’s see it as a challenge, I think, to snare the unattainable.”

  “Yes. Radcliff suffers the same affliction. Though I suspect he is a bit more cynical than your brother.”

  “Jaded, yes.” She met his gaze. “But I like him. When he does visit at my brother’s home, he has no pretenses.”

  Lucas tried to discern if she was testing to see if his own interaction with her held such. He forgot somewhere, probably when he crossed into flirting, that males of Jerome and Bram’s age were more suited to a woman her age.

  He said, “It’s an effect that people sometimes adopt to appear something they are not. Jerome is as he is, and that is why he makes friends with men such as your brother and myself. We too value that rare intimacy where one may be oneself and not ones title or some rep society has built around us.”

  Her gaze held his for another string of heartbeats before she murmured, “It is interesting then, my lord, and enlightening to discover that even those we think may be of one character are more than pillars of polished ivory.”

  He let her take a sip of wassail before he returned, “You’re an attractive woman, Miss Shyer. Even seasoned males are human enough to not be presumptuous of your interest in welcoming something other than a proper and polite notice.”

  She swallowed and he saw a pulse just at her throat speed just a hint, and then he felt a current, a spark of mutual attraction that he cautioned himself to nurture and test, rather than pounce on.

  “The rules that govern a woman’s conduct in society places rather stringent limits on what a female may show or not show, my lord. Particularly ones of certain age who looks rather foolish affecting the coy tricks that debs do. Assuredly, if the female never learned them to begin with. And more so, should any male who wishes to presume, is reputed to be by rumor and is by appearance, rather intimidating.”

  Lucas shook his head looking down at the half-filled cup and then back up and slightly through his lashes. He was being enlightened as to the ton’s view of him, and damned if it did not replace his preoccupation of the age discrepancy, with a hope that he retained or even had that something which the female standing before him may find attractive.

  “I am a mere mortal, Miss Shyer. I promise you there is more here than a reputation and title.”

  Chapter Two

  Verena Shyer’s fingers tightened on her glass as she held her outward composure by a thread. She also held that violet gaze of Lucas Bennington, Earl of Moncrief with faux nerve that had nearly fled a dozen times since she had noticed him across the room.

  Rena, as her brother oft called her, had noticed too many years ago to count that the peer was not only darkly handsome, with a mixture of the aristocratic high cheekbones and a tall, lean muscled frame, that stood out amid the florid and fair. But those eyes, ever since that day on Bond street when they had pierced hers, between thick black lashes, held things that she had to tell herself many times were only her wishful thinking.

  As images floated through her head of him, many filed away in her secret thoughts, she also knew that every time she had sensed him looking at her, at some assembly or ball, even the theater, she’d spend hours rehearsing what she’d say should he approach her, and he never had.

  It had been rather daring, somewhat desperate of her, to call her brother’s attention to him and force an introduction. His voice, which she had heard and could now pick out of a crowd, as she had listened to it before, was warm and deep, putting little chills on her spine and nape. Whilst she had heard from the first, that he was a man somewhat aloof and cool, not known for his intimacy with his peers, she had in some part of her mind, separated the fantasy of speaking with him, with the real
ity over time—that he was indeed daunting and distant, though God knew, she saw something else, something sensual and sexual in his dusky peach mouth and violet eyes.

  Rena had told herself that this too was her imagination, her own personal and private fantasy. Nevertheless, from the moment she had come to London and had her debut, she could have cared less about the males her age whom she was supposed to vie for and attract, according to the duchess. She did not share the woman’s constant bemoaning of her ascent into old maidship, and place on the shelf.

  There were many beautiful and sought after females older than herself, who had swarms of admirers and swan’s writing odes to them and fighting over a spot on their dance cards. Rena did not feel any attraction or allure to those young men. She had always been utterly fascinated and completely preoccupied with her feelings whenever Moncrief was around.

  She had heard her brother say offhand once, when she had mentioned him in conversation, “By the time a man of his rank and wealth reach that age unwed, he has decided to remain a bachelor. If he were on the market for bride and heirs, he would have done won his pick, for Mama’s of the ton would give their eye teeth to have him as a son-in-law.”

  While she saw that it was apparently true, it did not seem to help her own reaction to him. Just now, standing out in the crisp air, seeing the ocher lantern had cast light and shadow over the bones and hollows of his face, aware, too aware, of his frame too in snug trousers and formal black and stark white, that seemed to enhance the warm colors of his skin, she kept telling herself it had finally happened, that introduction.

  Rena kept saying in her head, that he actually had said what she thought he did, and there was an intimacy in his words, and it played hell on her composure and poise. Because he was no green boy or feckless young lord, but a seasoned male who reeked masculine appeal in every way.