The Dance Before Christmas
Victoria Alexander
A fake fiancé and Christmas engagement are a recipe for trouble!Miss Anabel Snelling needs fiancé, and fast. If her father Sir Archibald has his way, she’ll be married in time for Christmas – to a man she doesn’t love. That’s why she and her aunt have concocted a brilliant plan to hire an American actor to play the role of her suitor.But the charming Wesley Grant is playing the part a little too well, and Anabel is in danger of falling for him. What Anabel doesn't know is Wesley is not the actor her aunt hired. Still, what kind of a gentleman would he be if he didn’t come to her rescue? He has a new plan of his own – win Annabel’s heart…for real.
A fake fiancé and a Christmas engagement are a recipe for trouble in this delightful holiday romp featuring New York Times bestselling author Victoria Alexander’s Lady Travelers Society
Miss Anabel Snelling needs a fiancé, and fast. If her father, Sir Archibald, has his way, she’ll be married in time for Christmas—to a man she doesn’t love. That’s why she and her aunt have concocted a brilliant plan to hire an American actor to play the role of her suitor. But the charming Wesley Grant is playing the part a little too well, and Anabel is in danger of falling for him. What Anabel doesn’t know is Wesley is not the actor her aunt hired. Still, what kind of a gentleman would he be if he didn’t come to her rescue? He has a new plan of his own—win Anabel’s heart...for real.
“Alexander is now the go-to author for historical romance readers in search of love and laughter.”
—Booklist
About the Author (#ua51e43d0-2950-5159-aba6-3a3304a6bb16)
#1 New York Times bestselling author of the Lady Travelers Society series, VICTORIA ALEXANDER was an award-winning television reporter until she discovered fiction was much more fun than real life. Since the publication of her first book in 1995, she’s written more than forty full-length novels that have been translated around the world. Victoria lives in Omaha, Nebraska, with a long-suffering husband she kills off in every book and two bearded collies in a house under constant renovation and never-ending chaos. She laughs a great deal—she has to. Check out her books at www.victoriaalexander.com (http://www.victoriaalexander.com), and chat with her on Facebook at www.Facebook.com/victoriaalexandersplace (http://www.Facebook.com/victoriaalexandersplace).
Also By Victoria Alexander (#ua51e43d0-2950-5159-aba6-3a3304a6bb16)
The Lady Travelers Guide to Scoundrels and Other Gentlemen
The Proper Way to Stop a Wedding in Seven Days or Less (novella)
The Lady Travelers Guide to Larceny with a Dashing Stranger
The Rise and Fall of Reginald Everheart (novella)
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
The Dance Before Christmas
Victoria Alexander
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ISBN: 978-1-474-09542-6
THE DANCE BEFORE CHRISTMAS
© 2018 Cheryl Griffin
Published in Great Britain 2018
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.
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www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Praise for Victoria Alexander’s Lady Travelers series
“Alexander celebrates the spirit of adventure, elevates dubious scheming with good intentions, and advocates for the yielding of judgment and practicality to hedonism and happiness. Readers will savor every page.”
—Publishers Weekly, starred review
“Readers will immediately find themselves thoroughly disarmed by Alexander’s deliciously droll wit and flair for clever characterization, both of which are on full display in this exceptional start to the author’s sparkling new Lady Travelers Society series.”
—Booklist
“A delightfully humorous romantic adventure. Alexander enhances the missing person’s mystery with wonderful descriptions of London and Paris, but best of all is her cast of characters.... Add to this several laugh-out-loud escapades and a surprising ending, and you have the fun read of the season!”
—RT Book Reviews
“For love, laughter, and lots of fun, read Victoria Alexander.”
—Stephanie Laurens, New York Times bestselling author
Contents
Cover (#ud998c196-f142-5d18-9cb2-c7858eaab82d)
Back Cover Text (#u47be4b69-5b68-50e8-b127-84d0746cc183)
About the Author (#uf240a51d-16d8-576e-8a41-7153db8c976e)
Booklist (#u5af4fb3c-705d-5c64-9bb1-9d8a62b27307)
Title Page (#ue978c65c-6f0f-5523-ab61-4bd5ea2d0adc)
Copyright (#u8d8f86f0-3f9c-5926-8559-53a2512d468b)
Praise (#ua19cfef6-c4c5-5327-8262-712417e53b00)
CHAPTER ONE (#u2e34c1ec-23d0-54db-b2fd-3a84c9be2eb5)
CHAPTER TWO (#ub246c222-92ce-5cb8-be90-6cfe22936e5f)
CHAPTER THREE (#u5c4ebaae-8aae-5071-afc8-a15c131aa56f)
CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#ua51e43d0-2950-5159-aba6-3a3304a6bb16)
London 1875 Two weeks before Christmas
WESLEY GRANT STUDIED the wall of brass plaques engraved with the names of illustrious members of the Explorers Club who had perished through the years. The memorial wall greeted all who entered through the main door of the venerable club. It was an impressive display that was obviously designed to give new arrivals to the hallowed halls of the Explorers Club a not-too-subtle sense of the prestigious nature of the club’s membership, as well as honor those who had gone before. His father would have loved this.
“Good evening,” a female voice said beside him.
Wes turned. A pretty young woman, no taller than his shoulders, stared up at him. Dark curls pinned with pearls tumbled down her back. Her chin was slightly pointed, her lips decidedly lush and her green eyes fascinating, even if the expression they held was vaguely annoyed. He smiled down at her. “Good evening.”
“Good. I hoped it was you.” Relief rang in her voice. “I couldn’t be certain until I heard your accent. Aunt Lillian described you but she’s not good at that sort of thing and simply said you were tall, dark-haired and handsome.” Her gaze flicked over him in an assessing manner. “But then I suppose most actors are handsome, aren’t they?”
“I have no idea,” he said cautiously. What on earth was she talking about?
“It scarcely matters, I suppose.” She waved off his question. “You’re late, you know.”
“Am I?” As he was using his uncle’s invitation to the Explorers Club Christmas Ball, Uncle Nigel had suggested it would be best to arrive after the first onslaught of guests. He’d said those checking invitations were always a bit lax as the evening grew later.
She glanced around, as if to see if anyone was watching, then took Wes’s arm and steered him down the corridor. “I was afraid you might not be coming at all.”
“I think you have me confused—”
She pulled up short and stared at him. “She did pay you, didn’t she?”
“Pay me?” He frowned. “Who?”
“My aunt? Lady Farstead? The woman who hired you?”
“Ah yes, now I remember.” He didn’t, of course, but he was far too intrigued to stop now.
“If she didn’t pay you, we shall have to discuss payment, but it cannot be made until a later date. I hope you will agree to trust me in that regard. If not, I’m afraid you’ll have to leave. I have no funds with me tonight.” She grimaced. “But I do hope you’ll stay. I am rather desperate.”
There were all sorts of things Wes could have—and probably should have—said at this moment. Prime among them that she had made a mistake, he wasn’t who she thought he was and he had no idea what she was talking about. Still, she was very pretty and obviously distressed. What kind of a man would he be if he didn’t come to her rescue? Besides, she’d aroused his curiosity and he’d surely regret not finding out what she was up to. “Of course I trust you, Miss... I’m sorry, I don’t recall your name.”
“Knowing my aunt, she forgot to tell you.” She shook her head in exasperation and continued pulling him down the corridor. “My aunt is a lovely woman and is brilliant when it comes to any kind of scheme. She and I came up with this idea only a few days ago, and the planning has been rather rushed, but we really have no time to waste. Unfortunately, she pays no attention whatsoever to details she deems unnecessary. Although I would have thought my name was necessary.”
“She said something about maintaining anonymity,” he said smoothly.
“An excellent idea but that won’t be at all possible.” She paused in front of tall double doors, glanced up and down the corridor, and then pulled open a door and waved him in. “I’m Miss Snelling. Anabel Snelling.”
He nearly tripped stepping over the threshold. “Then your father is—”
“Sir Archibald Snelling,” she said and closed the doors behind them.
Sir Archibald Snelling was one of the men Wes had traveled to London to see. This was either the greatest stroke of luck imaginable or a disaster in the making. Probably the later. It usually was when a beautiful woman was involved, at least in his experience.
They were in a large room, apparently a library. Tables designed for work or study ran in precise rows. The walls were filled with shelves crammed with books. Flames flickered in the closest pair of gas sconces, but the rest of the room faded into the shadows. One had the strangest impression that this library stretched on into infinity.
“Your accent is excellent by the way.”
“Thank you.” He paused. “So is yours.”
“I don’t have an accent.” She huffed. “This is London and I am English. I speak precisely the same way everyone here does, so I am not the one with an accent.” Her brows drew together. “Are you really American?”
“I really am.”
“Well, then it’s much easier to pretend to be one, isn’t it?”
“Yes, as I’m not pretending.”
“Aunt Lillian said she knew of an actor who played American roles, but she wasn’t entirely sure if he—or rather you—was American or not.”
An actor? She thought he was an actor? He bit back a smile. This just got more and more interesting. “Your aunt, Lady Farfetched—”
“Lady Farstead.”
“Sorry. She wasn’t entirely clear on exactly what role I’m supposed to play.”
“To be expected, I suppose.” She heaved a frustrated sigh. “It’s really very simple. From now until the day after Christmas, you’re to play my suitor. The one I hope to marry.”
He stared. “Why?”
“Because I need to avoid marriage to someone else.” She wrinkled her nose. “I suppose I should tell you everything.”
“One does like to know all the nuances of a particular role if one hopes to be convincing.”
“That makes sense.” She wrung her hands together. “In a few months, I’ll be twenty-one years old. My father is convinced if I’m not wed by then, I’ll never marry.”
“I wouldn’t think you’d have any problem finding a husband.”
“If all I wanted in life was a husband, any old husband, I wouldn’t. I have had offers, but I want more.”
“So you don’t want to marry.”
“Don’t be absurd.” She scoffed. “Of course I want to marry. I have no idea what I would do with my life if I didn’t marry. But I have no intention of marrying simply for the sake of being wed. The world is full of possibilities for men but few for women. I want my life to be an adventure.” She met his gaze directly. “I firmly believe love is an adventure, and that’s what I want. Heart fluttering, birds singing, romantic novel love. I will settle for nothing less.”
He considered her thoughtfully. “And this man you wish to avoid marriage to, you don’t love him?”
“Not even the tiniest bit. Oh, I might have the kind of affection for him one feels for a brother. And I do like him. Douglas Reed is a very likable man. I’ve known him most of my life. His father and mine have always been good friends and they have always hoped for a match between their children. As I have failed to wed up to this point, Father has been pushing Douglas in my direction.” She paced absently in front of him. “Douglas is a fine man and I am fond of him, but I have no desire to spend the rest of my life with someone I am merely fond of.” She paused and looked at him. “Do you understand?”
He nodded. “You want mad, passionate love, not fond affection. You want adventure.”
“Exactly.” She resumed pacing. “Father’s efforts toward a match with Douglas have increased, as Douglas was recently offered a prestigious post in India. His position, as well as his future prospects, would be greatly enhanced if he was married. He is to leave for India the day after Christmas. I’m sure he intends to ask me to marry at any moment. I suspect he already has Father’s blessing. I’m fairly certain he wants to announce our betrothal at our Christmas Eve ball and possibly has plans for a Christmas day wedding.”
“Would your father really do that?”
“I don’t know, but I wouldn’t be at all surprised. I would much prefer not to take that chance.”
“I see.”
“Don’t misunderstand me, Mr—” Again she stopped. “I don’t know your name, although I suppose it really doesn’t matter, as I won’t be addressing you by your real name anyway.”
“Wesley Grant.” He nodded and gave a slight bow. “Delightful to meet you, Miss Snelling.”
“Anabel. You should call me Anabel if we are to be believed.” She frowned. “Where was I?”
“You didn’t want me to misunderstand something.”
“Ah yes.” She thought for a moment. “My father cares for me and would never want me to be unhappy. He simply feels the road to happiness for a woman lies with marriage. In that, I don’t entirely disagree, but...” She shrugged in an appealingly helpless way.
He nodded. “But you want more.”
“I do.” She set her chin in a stubborn manner. “In spite of my age, I will settle for nothing less. Nor will I allow my younger sisters to do so. What kind of an example would I be if I married just because of age to a man I merely liked?” She met his gaze firmly. “I assure you, Mr. Grant, I do want to marry, but no woman should be made to marry if she doesn’t wish to.”
“I see.” He chose his words carefully. “But when Reed proposes, why don’t you just say no?”
“Because I’m the worst sort of coward.” She heaved a heartfelt sigh. “I would much prefer to avoid any unpleasantness. And I have no desire to hurt Douglas. I fear he likes me far more than I like him. But even if all he feels for me is the same sort of friendly affection I feel for him, I would think it would be most disheartening to offer for someone’s hand only to have that offer rejected. You’re a man. What do you think?”
“I’ve never been in that situation, but I think you’re probably right.”
“Then you can see why I wish to avoid that altogether by having an acceptable new suitor who is clearly as head over heels for me as I am for him. At least until after Christmas,” she added quickly.
“And that suitor would be me.” There were obviously any number of things that could go wrong with this plan, but it wasn’t his plan. He was merely to play a role. He wasn’t entirely sure when he had decided to go along with her scheme, but if Wesley Grant couldn’t manage a meeting with Sir Archibald, then perhaps his daughter’s suitor could. Besides, any woman who was smart enough to come up with a scheme like this, and brave enough to carry it through, was worth further acquaintance. Anabel Snelling was definitely as clever as she was pretty, if a bit devious. He liked that.
“Yes, well, not exactly you. Father would never approve of an actor calling on me.” She studied him for a moment. “When you were perusing the names of fallen Explorers Club members, did you notice one for Reginald Everheart?”
“Not that I recall.”
“He was a very famous American explorer. No doubt you’ve heard of him.”
“I’m afraid not.” Surely she was mistaken as to this Everheart’s fame. His father had known everything there was to know about modern explorers and adventurers, and had passed that interest on to his son. Wes had always suspected his father had secretly desired to join their ranks. While Wes too admired those men who sallied forth into the unknown, he’d never had any such longing. His passion lay in the excitement of innovation and development, as well as in puzzles of the mind. But his fondness for endeavors of exploration and his passion for progress and new inventions were exactly what had led him to England.
She stared in disbelief. “Goodness, Mr. Grant, everyone here knows the name of Reginald Everheart.”
“You know how the theater is. We do tend to live in our own fictional world.” No, he was sure he had never heard of Reginald Everheart before. He would certainly remember that name.
“It can’t be helped, I suppose.” She shrugged. “As I said, Reginald Everheart was a well-known and highly respected American explorer. My father was quite looking forward to meeting him when he was last in London some years ago. Unfortunately, Mr. Everheart met with an untimely end while in England.” She shook her head mournfully. “According to Father, his mortal remains were swept out to sea and never seen again. He was reputed to be handsome and dashing.” Her assessing gaze slid over him once again and she nodded. “In that respect, you will certainly do.”
He stared. “You want me to play the part of Reginald Everheart?”
“Weren’t you listening to me?” She huffed. “I said he’s dead. Body swept out to sea and all that.”
“Then what role am I to play?” He wasn’t sure he wished to hear the answer.
“You are to be Mr. Everheart’s son.” She beamed in triumph. “Earnest Everheart.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Is that a real person?”
“Not to my knowledge.”
“Do you even know if this Everheart had sons?”
“No, nor does it matter.” Her brows drew together. “Everheart was American and his visits to England were rare. I doubt anyone you might encounter between now and Christmas will question whether or not you are legitimately his son.”
“I suppose,” he said slowly, “but have you considered all the possible ramifications of this little plot of yours? All the things that could go wrong?”
“Nonsense.” Anabel ticked the points off on her fingers. “For one thing, few people here have ever even met Reginald Everheart. Father hadn’t and he knows everyone. Two—the man, and presumably his family, were American. Who knows how many sons or daughters, for that matter, he might have. And three—the chance of anyone from America who might know the Everheart family randomly appearing in London at the Christmas festivities we’ll be attending is very nearly nonexistent.” She cast him a triumphant smile. “I really don’t see what could possibly go wrong.”
“It’s been my experience that the moment anyone questions what could go wrong is the very moment everything does. And I can think of any number of problems with this plan.”
She waved off his comment. “Oh, I think my aunt and I have thought of everything.”
“Have you?” What about the unexpected appearance of the actor her aunt had actually hired? Or her aunt seeing Wes and calling him out as an imposter? “Speaking of your aunt, will she be here tonight?”
“Unfortunately, no. She had intended to be, but I received a note from her late this afternoon. Apparently she had another engagement she had forgotten about. Not unusual for Aunt Lillian.”
Wes knew this plan of Anabel’s and her aunt’s was a bad idea, but specific reasons why eluded him at the moment. What concerns would a real actor have? “Have you thought about me? Aren’t you afraid someone will recognize me? From my many stage performances?”
“Goodness, you are arrogant, aren’t you?”
“I prefer confident to arrogant.”
“Self-delusion is always comforting.” She cast him a decidedly pitying smile. “My aunt said you would be amenable to this endeavor because you are not especially successful.”
“Today maybe, but tomorrow...” He smirked.
She raised a brow. “Dreams of stardom, Mr. Grant?”
“We all have dreams of stardom, Miss Snelling. What would be the point otherwise?”
“There is such a thing as overconfidence.”
“When one is about to go onstage, in front of hundreds of people, and try to convince them he’s someone he’s not, there is no such thing as overconfidence. And for this particular role, I don’t think you want someone who isn’t completely sure of himself.”
“You may be right there.” She paused. “Are you ready to meet my father?”
“Not quite yet. There are a few more things we need to discuss.”
“Your fee, of course.” She nodded. “I’ll speak with my aunt and arrange for that immediately.”
“It’s not that—I’m in no hurry. I’m not quite as struggling as your aunt may think.” He shrugged aside her offer. “No, it’s about Earnest.”
She frowned. “What about him?”
“I don’t like the name,” he said loftily. “Earnest Everheart? It has no ring to it. No...drama.”
“My aunt suggested it. It’s a perfectly fine name.”
“It’s the name of someone who can’t achieve his goals or attain his desires. It’s an awful name for the kind of dashing, attentive suitor you’re looking for.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “I assume you do wish for dashing and attentive?”
“This would be pointless otherwise,” she said sharply.
Obviously Miss Anabel Snelling was used to getting her own way. He bit back a grin.
“Earnest.” He shook his head. “I’m not an Earnest.”
“But you are an actor.”
“What you expect of me goes far beyond a few hours on a stage. Furthermore, there are no written lines. Nothing to memorize and certainly nothing to rehearse. I shall have to make my lines up spontaneously.” He shook his head. “It will not be easy.”
“You are being paid for it.”
“Regardless, given the unique aspects of this particular performance, I think we need to do all we can to minimize the possibility of mistakes. While the important part of the man’s name is Everheart—which I assumed you picked to impress your father.”
She nodded.
“The first name is not significant.”
Her brows drew together in annoyance. “I suppose not.”
“Then I suggest we dispense with Earnest in favor of another name.”
“And what might that be?” she asked wryly.
“I suggest Wesley. It’s a good, strong name. The sort of name an explorer would give his son.”
She stared. “It’s your name.”
“Therefore easy to remember.”
“Very well.”
“No man of adventure would name his son Earnest.”
“I said very well.” Her cool tone belied the flicker of amusement in her eyes. “You’re not exactly what I expected, Mr. Grant.”
He met her gaze and smiled into those enchanting green eyes. “I hate being expected, Miss Snelling.”
“Apparently we have more in common than I would have thought.” She smiled albeit reluctantly. “If there’s nothing else, it’s time for you to meet my father and pretend to be madly in love with me.”
“It will be my very great honor.” He opened the doors. “As well as my pleasure.”
“It will be your role.” She swept through the open doors. “A paying role, I might add, and nothing more than that.”
He chuckled. If Anabel Snelling wanted an actor, he’d give her one. And if, in the process, he advanced his own purpose as well, then so much the better. He’d wondered if this trip to London was a waste of time, especially since it meant missing Christmas with his family. That was still to be determined. But right now, he was fairly certain it was going to be a great deal of fun.
CHAPTER TWO (#ua51e43d0-2950-5159-aba6-3a3304a6bb16)
THE MOMENT THEY stepped into the ballroom festooned with swags of evergreens, ivy and holly accented with red ribbons and model ships, maps and globes, Mr. Grant—Wesley—swept her onto the dance floor. It was an excellent way to show the world how fascinating they found each other without being too obvious about it. The way he gazed into her eyes and led her flawlessly around the floor, it was almost hard for her to believe they were not smitten with one another.
It was absurd of course, as they had only just met and he was an actor. He was simply pretending and so was she. Besides, the very idea that she could develop feelings for an actor was ridiculous. She was not destined to be the wife of an actor, nor was she as enamored of the theater as some of her friends were. She was not the sort of female to swoon over a handsome man spouting well-written verse on a stage. Father would never approve, and as much as they differed on any number of topics, in this she would have to agree with him.
But good Lord, Wesley Grant was perfect. Absolutely perfect. Devilishly handsome and just a touch disheveled. As if he had been slightly mussed getting out of a carriage and was not nearly so vain as to worry about it.
“Are you staring at me, Anabel?”
“I am gazing adoringly at you.”
His gaze slipped from her eyes to her lips and back. “You’re making an excellent job of it.”
Was it her imagination or was his voice a shade deeper than before? More intense perhaps? Silly idea, of course.
“You dance quite well, Mr. Grant.”
“I believe that’s Mr. Everheart to you, or rather Wesley.” He grinned down at her. “You sound surprised.”
“Not at all. I would expect you to be well trained in all manner of stagecraft.”
“You should see me in a sword fight.” He led her effortlessly through a complicated turn.
With his broad shoulders and his firm hand clasping hers, she had no doubt Wesley Grant did a great many things well.
“I would think that would be far more dangerous than dancing.”
“Not if you know what you’re doing.” His blue eyes brimmed with amusement. “But dancing can be just as dangerous.”
“Oh?” She gazed up at him. Aunt Lillian had certainly not exaggerated the man’s appearance. His dark hair, deep blue eyes and strong jaw made him look very much as if he had stepped straight from one of her romantic novels. “Do tell, Mr. Everheart—Wesley, how can dancing be dangerous?”
He laughed. “I suspect you already know the answer to that.”
“Pretend I don’t.”
“Do you really want an answer or are you just making idle conversation?”
“Both.” Although she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to hear his answer. A voice in the back of her head warned that the deception she was engaging in might be far more complicated than she had previously imagined. Even a bit dangerous. A tiny frisson of excitement skated up her spine. Anabel had never been confronted with danger, but she had never backed away from anything in her life before either. Handling Wesley Grant might well be a greater challenge than she had anticipated.
“Very well.” He pulled her closer—not enough to be truly improper but a significant distance to anyone watching. He really was a fine figure of a man. “When a man holds a woman in his arms and moves in concert with the music filling the air—filling their souls—it’s entirely possible to forget the rest of the world. To ignore everything except the feeling of moving as one, in perfect harmony, one body with another.” His gaze locked with hers. “It is at that moment that the idea of where a single dance could lead might occur to both parties. Is it no more than a pleasant interlude? Or is it a beginning? A promise perhaps of something new and wonderful and possibly forever.”
“What utter nonsense.” She stared up at him, her voice annoyingly breathless, no doubt due to the exertions of the waltz and not the look in his eyes or the faint spicy scent of him or the nearness of his body. “Is that from a play?”
“No, simply my own thoughts.” He chuckled. “I do have them, you know. Not everything I say is written by someone else.”
Heat flushed up her face. “My apologies, I didn’t mean to imply—”
“That I didn’t have a brain in my head?”
“No, that was not my intention,” she said weakly.
He chuckled and led her through a perfect turn. She wasn’t sure she’d ever danced with anyone for the first time quite so effortlessly. As if they had danced together always. It was rather disconcerting.
“I will, however, confess that the sentiment about the dangerous nature of dance is not mine alone. Didn’t your Jane Austen write that to be fond of dancing was a certain step toward falling in love?”
“I don’t recall,” she said in a lofty manner. “You read Jane Austen?”
“I read many things.” He paused. “Needless to say, I’m particularly fond of Shakespeare, but I enjoy Austen, as well as Mr. Dickens and Monsieur Dumas and—should I go on?”
“No, that’s quite enough. And I like Mr. Dickens and Monsieur Dumas as well, but I adore Monsieur Verne.”
“Do you?”
“You sound surprised.”
“I am.” He chuckled. “My sisters are much fonder of romantic novels than they are stories of adventure.”
“I like romantic novels, as well,” she said coolly. “Enjoying one does not mean you can’t enjoy the other.”
“But Verne is rather, oh, intense, I would say. Especially for the fairer sex.”
She stared at him and then laughed. “Goodness, Wesley, do you think women are so easily led they are inclined to jump into a balloon at any minute to travel the globe because they’ve just read Around the World in Eighty Days?”
He had the good grace to look chagrined. “No, of course not.” He smiled ruefully. “My apologies, Anabel. That might have been one of the stupidest things I’ve ever said.”
“I do like a man who admits when he’s being stupid.”
He laughed.
Wesley Grant was going to be far more enjoyable than she had expected. And he didn’t really seem like an actor. At least not the ones she had encountered, which admittedly were no more than a handful. The few professional actors she had met were far more interested in themselves than in anyone else. Wesley really hadn’t said much about himself at all and he did seem to be genuinely interested in what she had to say. He was more intelligent than she had anticipated as well, which wasn’t at all fair of her. His profession did not preclude intelligence.
She drew a deep breath and smiled up at him. “I do hope you can forgive me if I implied you were less than—”
“There’s nothing to forgive.” He smiled down at her, tiny dimples bracketing his lips. “Misunderstandings are bound to happen between lovers—”
She sucked in a hard breath. “Good God, Wesley, we are not—” her voice dropped to whisper “—lovers. Nor do I want anyone to think we are! Why, I would be ruined. My reputation...”
The expression on his face was nothing less than angelic, overly innocent and entirely too smug. His eyes, however, danced with laughter.
She narrowed her eyes. “You should know right now, I do not like to be teased.”
“And yet I find teasing you to be most enjoyable.”
“Well, I don’t like it.”
“And does your perfect suitor do everything you want? Has he no mind of his own?”
“He doesn’t do things to annoy me.” She summoned a pleasant smile. It wouldn’t do to have anyone think they were having anything less than a romantic moment.
“Does Mr. Reed?”
“Douglas?” She scoffed. “No, of course not.”
“I see.”
“I daresay, you don’t see anything at all. And I would appreciate you keeping in mind that I am paying you for your services and therefore—”
“There is no therefore, Anabel. I shall play this role as I see fit,” he said firmly, “and I have no doubt you’ll be delighted with the result.”
It was all she could do to keep her jaw from dropping open. The nerve of the man! Who did he think he was? For the first time in her nearly twenty-one years, Anabel had no idea what to say.
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.
What on earth was going on? Who was this man? He was certainly not who he said he was. Effie was not about to let some fortune hunter charm his way into the affections of Archie’s eldest daughter. Something would have to be done. And done at once, even if it meant revealing secrets she had agreed never to reveal. But if it came to that, then so be it.
Effie and her two dearest friends were the only ones in the world who could unmask this American’s deception and save poor Anabel from marrying a man whose intentions were obviously not the least bit honorable. One might say it was their responsibility to rescue Anabel. Gwen and Poppy would certainly agree with her. It would involve a bit of thought on their part, and perhaps something of a devious nature, but it couldn’t be helped. The truth—as awkward as it might be—was on their side. This imposter had to be unmasked. He could not possibly be the son of Reginald Everheart.
Reginald Everheart did not now, nor had he ever, actually existed.
CHAPTER THREE (#ua51e43d0-2950-5159-aba6-3a3304a6bb16)
WES WATCHED ANABEL and her father leave the ballroom and resisted the urge to grin with satisfaction. A ruse with the fascinating Miss Snelling was not at all what he had planned, but it might well prove beneficial nonetheless. His purpose tonight had simply been to make the acquaintance of some of the gentlemen on the board of the Explorers Club—Sir Archibald in particular, as he was the board’s chairman—and then request a meeting to acquaint them with Wes’s new design for a chronometer for expeditionary use and rugged travel.
Wes’s grandfather had started life as a watchmaker and had gone on to establish the Grant Watch and Clock Company. It was now one of the largest such companies in America, thanks to his father’s business skills. When Father died three years ago, the running of the company, with its multiple manufacturing sites, fell to twenty-five-year-old Wes, who proved to be more than up to the task. And while the company continued to prosper, Wes’s true passion was in the development of new instruments. But the budget for development was not nearly what was necessary, and he could not continue putting his own money into his projects. He had a mother, three sisters and a younger brother to support after all. His board of directors had admitted that progress was important, but felt producing a chronometer for a small, specialized market was not especially profitable. The gentlemen on the board did acknowledge Wes’s argument that the endorsement of a prestigious organization that sponsored exploration would expand the potential market from scientific endeavors to leisure travelers, casual adventurers and anyone eager to acquire some of the prestige of true explorers by owning the same instruments they did. The board agreed that if Wes could procure such an endorsement, they would allocate additional funding.
Three months ago he had written to the Explorers Club and had received a response that anyone else would have accepted as a dismissal. But Wes had taken to heart the closing lines of the organization’s secretary’s letter, inviting him to further discuss the matter should he ever be in London as an opening. Two days later he was on his way to England. Even Uncle Nigel’s warning that the club rarely endorsed anything of a commercial nature failed to dissuade him.
Still, while Wesley Grant might not be able to convince the Explorers Club of the benefits of his new chronometer, Wesley Everheart just might.
Wes finished his glass of champagne, handed it to a waiter and made his way out of the ballroom. Now that he was supposed to be Everheart, it made no sense to stay.
“Goodness, don’t tell me you’re leaving so soon?” An older lady smiled and hooked her arm through his. “Why, we haven’t had a moment to chat.”
“And we would be devastated, simply devastated if we allowed this opportunity to pass.” Another older woman took his other arm and, before he could protest, propelled him down the hallway. “We’ve waited far too long to meet you.”
“To meet me?” Was he once again being mistaken for someone else?
“Oh my, yes,” the shorter lady on his left said. “We would never forgive ourselves if we failed to make the acquaintance of the son of Reginald Everheart.”
Wes bit back a groan. He couldn’t very well deny he was Everheart now.
They stopped in front of the library doors, which opened at once, and practically pushed him into the room. Apparently the library was the hub of clandestine meetings at an Explorers Club social event. Another older lady awaited them.
“Good evening, Mr. Everheart,” she said and waved at a chair that was facing the door. “Do sit down.”
One look at the determined faces confronting him, and he knew any protest would be futile. Still... “I was just about to leave. Perhaps another time.”
“Oh, there’s no time like the present,” the lady who had first approached him said. “And I think you’ll want to hear what we have to say.”
“As we very much want to hear what you have to say,” his second escort added.
“All right.” He cautiously took his seat. “May I ask what this is about?”
“Of course you may, but first allow me to introduce myself and my friends.” The third lady smiled pleasantly as if she and her friends had not just essentially abducted him. “I am Lady Guinevere Blodgett, the wife of Sir Charles Blodgett, currently on expedition in Africa, along with the husbands of these ladies.” She nodded at the shorter woman. “This is Mrs. Persephone Fitzhew-Wellmore. Her husband is Malcomb Fitzhew-Wellmore. And this—” she gestured at his first kidnapper “—is the wife of Colonel William Higginbotham, Mrs. Ophelia Higginbotham.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, ladies,” he said as politely as he could manage.
The women looked to be somewhere in their sixties, but that was nothing more than a guess. They were all trim and...well-preserved
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