Dressed for supper, Arthur Roderick Compton, Viscount Belgrave, descended the grand staircase that curled around the central hall and headed toward the green parlor where the rest of the party gathered.

“I wish we were able to use the themed salons while we’re here,” Lady Laura was saying as he made his entrance. She stood with Lady Duncaster, closest to the door, while the Oaklands, Lady Emily and Lady Fiona, along with Chadwick, Lamont, and Montsmouth gathered in clusters behind them, filling the space with their chatter.

“So do I, my dear,” Lady Duncaster told her. She glanced in Arthur’s direction, acknowledging his arrival with a smile. “But heating all of this space for so few guests would be rather impractical. Just think of all the wood we’d require!”

“And to be fair,” Arthur said, coming to a halt before them, “this room with its vibrant carpets decorating the floors and sofas dressed in rich burgundy velvet, the glow of candlelight warming the walls and the faint crackle of wood burning in the fireplace lends a degree of intimacy I very much do favor.”

“What a remarkable compliment,” Lady Duncaster said. A twinkle lit her eyes. “And in case we do experience a particularly chilly evening and the fire isn’t enough, I have ensured there are enough blankets in here for everyone to cozy up with.”

“But the salons,” Lady Laura insisted. “They are so unique and…”

Whatever she said next was lost on Arthur as his attention was drawn to a movement off to one side. Instinctively, he shifted his gaze to see Lady Rachel step into the room. Her gown was plain as usual – a fawn muslin creation that seemed too bland for her complexion. But she’d done something different with her hair, he noted. There were curls in it tonight, soft and alluring. Two framed the sides of her face in a way that accentuated her beauty. And she was beautiful, even though she’d been doing her best to hide it.

Not now though. Something had changed. Whatever it was, it had made her slightly more daring and perhaps even eager to draw favorable attention. Arthur could only hope he might have been the cause of her transformation. It was the damnedest thing really, because he’d scarcely noticed her during the summer, perhaps because his attentions had been elsewhere. But now, with so few people present, he’d had the opportunity to become better acquainted with Lady Rachel and was stunned to discover how attractive he found her. She was so sharp and bold, unlike any other lady he’d ever encountered, and he very much wanted to cultivate whatever connection that flourished between them.

“If you’ll excuse me,” he murmured, politely taking his leave of his two companions before moving toward the woman who’d caught his interest.

“My lady.” He kept his voice deliberately low as he came to a halt before her. She stared at him with big round eyes, like a rabbit caught in a snare. Touched by her wariness, he offered his arm. A pause followed, and he could practically hear her mind warring with uncertainty. Eventually, to his relief, she accepted his escort, and he slowly guided her further into the room. Dipping his head ever so slightly, he whispered for her ears alone, “I feel compelled to compliment you on your beauty this evening. Indeed, I believe you have managed to outshine your sisters.”

Her breath hitched and she tugged on her arm, but he refused to yield to her fears and kept her snug against him instead. Eventually, he felt the tension within her subside, and she surrendered to his desire for continued closeness. “There is no need for you to fill my head with false compliments, my lord. Telling me you’re aware of my increased effort to style my hair in a more flattering manner would have sufficed.”

He couldn’t help but smile in response to her stubbornness – her refusal to see herself as the gem she truly was. The compulsion to show her precisely how lovely he considered her assailed him in a flash. His stomach tightened with the sudden awareness of it, of her, and… Dear God, he was not a scoundrel or a libertine. He was a gentleman – good, honorable, kind. And yet, there was something about Lady Rachel’s prim attire contrasted with her pretty coiffure that made him dream about tearing her clothes off with his teeth, of running his fingers through her hair until she looked wild and wanton, her eyes aglow with desire while…

“My lord?” She was staring up at him with a quizzical expression.

“Hmm?”

She frowned. “Should we not join the others?”

Confused by her question, he glanced around, surprised to discover they were alone. What the devil? “Where did everyone go?”

“To the dining room, I suspect. Supper was called a minute ago. Did you not hear?”

“No.” He’d been in a daze. One he’d rather not tell her about at present. “My apologies, Lady Rachel. Allow me to lead you on through.”

Joining the rest of the guests, they claimed the last remaining chairs. He helped her sit before lowering himself into the seat beside her. Wine was poured, and a lively discussion soon began at the head of the table as Lady Duncaster and Lord Oakland spoke of the late duke and Lord Oakland’s parents. They had clearly been close friends, and with Lady Duncaster one of the last surviving members of that generation, Arthur could tell she provided the earl with a sentimental link to a time he was more than eager to revisit. It made Arthur think of his own parents – of how dearly he still missed his father after all of these years and how difficult it had to be for his mother to go on without him.

Intent on disrupting the maudlin mood enveloping him, he addressed Lady Rachel while plates filled with some sort of fish topped with lemon and dill were set before them. Arthur stared at it before quietly saying, “I wonder if I can get away with eating only the lemon.”

“What?” Lady Rachel sounded confused.

Lowering his voice, he whispered, “I’ve never been overly fond of scaly creatures.”

The barest hint of a smile touched her lips. “You would rather eat an animal that’s soft and gentle with innocent eyes and a trusting nature?” She stuck a piece of fish in her mouth without the barest hint of liking it or not.

“I enjoy the flavor, though I’d rather not think of where the meat came from. Attending a dinner where the whole pig is laid out on the table is not to my taste either, but…” He stared down at his plate for a second before looking at her again. “When I was a lad, my parents and I travelled to visit my uncle. We stopped at a tavern along the way for a meal, and since it was near a seaside village, fish was ordered. I got a bone stuck in my throat – took forever to get the thing out.”

“So you swore never to eat fish again.”

“I did.” Recalling the prickly feel of the bone still made him shudder.

“Well,” she remarked, “I suppose that’s logical. Cause and effect, and so forth.”

“Have you always been so frank in your statements?”

She shrugged, and another piece of fish went into her mouth. “I think so, though my memory only stretches back to the age of three, so I honestly can’t be sure.”

That made him laugh. She didn’t even bat an eyelash, however, which prompted him to wonder if she was aware of her dry sense of humor. He chose not to question it, determined, rather, to learn more about her. “Tell me, for I am curious.” He started cutting his food. Not because he would eat any of it, but because simply sitting there with his hands in his lap seemed wrong. “How will you create this electrical lamp you plan on inventing?”

A frown appeared upon her brow, and for a long moment, she remained completely silent. Then, as if in a trance, she turned her head to face him. “What is your ulterior motive, my lord?”

He almost choked on the bit of wine he’d been sipping. “Ulterior motive?”

“You seek me out, make conversation, flatter me with compliments that common sense prevents me from believing though my vanity would certainly like to.” She stared at him as though she was trying to pick him apart. “Nobody has ever wanted to know my scientific mind, not even my own family.”

“Lady Rachel—”

“So. What is it you’re truly after?”

Christ! If the woman was so intent on being suspicious, he’d have to find a different way to connect with her. “You,” he told her simply. He allowed her to gape at him for a full ten seconds before saying, “If you do not wish to discuss your work, then by all means, let us talk about the weather or agriculture. Horses and fashion are equally riveting, of course. I’ll let you choose. And if you ever decide you’re willing to trust me a little, I’ll listen to your theories and ideas with enthusiasm. Until then, please know I find you delightfully unique, and I intend to pursue you with every intention of seeking marriage.”

What the hell was that he just said?

Something about marriage, if his memory served and her shocked expression was anything to go by. Oh yes, he was in deep now, deeper than he’d ever been before, and yet he didn’t regret a single word he’d uttered, however spontaneous he’d been. Because the fact was, he needed a wife – he was more than ready for a wife – and Lady Rachel… Her genius promised him a lifetime of fascination filled with thought-provoking conversation. What sensible man would walk away from that?

“Why?” She appeared adorably flummoxed, her wide eyes displaying every nuance of brown that had ever existed.

“Because I like you,” he admitted, “and because I would be a fool to hesitate and allow another man to claim you.”

Her lips suddenly trembled, and then she laughed, bright and beautiful in the confines of the room, a sound so unusual everyone else fell silent while they paused to listen. She glanced about at the puzzled expressions on everyone’s faces. But her smile didn’t falter. It remained on her lips as she shook her head with an uncharacteristic girlishness that made Arthur’s heart swell.

“Are you all right?” Lady Oakland inquired of her daughter.

Lady Rachel nodded. “Oh yes, Mama. Quite.” To Arthur, she discreetly whispered, “Though I do believe you must be cracked in the head.”

He snorted in protest while doing his best not to laugh as well.

“I can’t recall ever seeing you laugh with such abandon before,” Lady Emily said. She turned a curious gaze on Arthur. “If this is your doing, my lord, then I am pleased indeed.”

“As am I,” Lady Fiona put in.

“Hear, hear,” Lord Oakland added, raising his glass in salute.

Arthur raised his as well and waited for the rest of the guests to follow suit. “To spending Christmas with friends,” he said. His toast was echoed and everyone drank. The fish was removed and replaced with venison, accompanied by roasted potatoes, vegetables, and gravy.

“We shall need a yule log soon,” Lady Duncaster remarked, after making plans to continue with the Christmas decorations the following day. Enough had been made to fill the parlor, the garlands providing a pretty border of green along the edges of the ceiling, but more had yet to be crafted for the dining room.

“Perhaps Lady Rachel and I can manage the task tomorrow.” Ignoring Lady Rachel’s whispered, “No,” he looked directly at Lord Oakland. “With your permission, of course.”

“I have no objection,” the earl said. “Not as long as you take a chaperone with you.”

Arthur nodded. “Naturally.”

“Have I no say in the matter?” Lady Rachel asked in a quiet voice intended only for Arthur. She sounded as though his company was the last thing on earth she might consider seeking.

And yet, he sensed she was not as immune to him as she was letting on. Discreetly, he moved his leg – enough to allow for their knees to touch. He felt her flinch, but she remained where she was, refusing to move away. A distinct flush began to rise up her neck, and he could tell her breathing had slowed. So he leaned slightly sideways, intent on disrupting her even further by saying, “Why deny yourself what you secretly crave?”

“I…I…”

“Surrender, my lady, and I can assure you that you will be pleased you did so.”

She made a strangled sort of sound when he leaned back, adding distance. Purposefully, he returned his attention to his meal, aware he’d lit a dangerous fuse and that there was no telling when an explosion might follow.