WHAT ON EARTH was taking them so long?
Anabel paced in front of the door to Father’s library. She had hoped to catch Wesley before he met with her father. God knew what the man might say if he were not properly prepared. Last night had made clear to her just how many unexpected details were involved in a venture like this. But the American had been annoyingly prompt and, in spite of her best efforts, she’d been a few minutes late. She’d arrived just as the butler was closing the library doors behind Wesley.
“Have we missed him?” Her sister Caroline said from the stairs, her youngest sister Martha on the step above her.
“Missed who?” Anabel mustered her most innocent tone.
“Why, the dashing Mr. Everheart, of course.” Martha grinned.
Anabel narrowed her eyes. “How do you—”
“Emma Wilson called on me this morning and told me all about last night, but I suspect everyone is gossiping about it. She says he’s quite handsome, danced with no one other than you and looks at you as if you were the sun and the moon.” An approving smile curved Caroline’s lips. She too was concerned about Anabel’s steady progress toward spinsterhood. Caroline was the middle sister, just turned nineteen. “Remind me not to avoid the Explorers Club Christmas Ball next year.”
“You said it was dreadfully dull and had no one who wasn’t ancient in attendance.” At seventeen, Martha was the youngest of the Snelling girls.
“It usually is.” Caroline smirked. “Apparently not last night. So, he’s talking to father, is he?”
“Yes. But it’s not really important,” Anabel said quickly. “They’re just becoming acquainted. Now—” she fluttered her fingers at her sisters “—go away.”
“But we’d like to be acquainted with the wonderful Mr. Everheart.” Martha heaved an overly dramatic sigh.
“Another time perhaps. Right now, you need to go. The last thing I want is the two of you here.” She drew a deep breath and shifted her gaze from one sister to the other. “Please?”
Caroline studied her curiously and then nodded. “Very well. There are things we need to attend to elsewhere.”
“Where?” Martha frowned
“I don’t know.” Caroline shrugged. “Somewhere other than here. Come along.”
“I daresay it won’t be as interesting as waiting to meet Mr. Everheart,” Martha muttered.
“No, but one day it will be our turn.” Caroline smiled at her older sister. Martha snorted in disbelief and the two girls started back upstairs.
“Thank you,” Anabel called after them and breathed a sigh of relief.
She’d spent a restless night and had begun to wonder if her plan was as brilliant as she had originally thought. She really would like to discuss it all with Aunt Lillian, but this morning she’d received yet another note from her aunt, apologizing for last night, although it wasn’t clear exactly what the apology was for. The note also carried her aunt’s assurances that all would proceed as planned, although unfortunately she had to leave London at once to attend to a problem at her estate in the country but would return as soon as possible.
Oh, the plan was progressing smoothly enough without her—that wasn’t the problem. The problem was Mr. Wesley Grant. Even though Anabel had spent only a short time in his presence, she couldn’t get the man out of her head. He was either the best actor in the world—and she doubted that—or there was something unexpected between them. Some sort of...spark was not the right word, or perhaps it was. There was certainly an unforeseen sense of awareness when he kissed her hand or held her in his arms. The man made her, well, tingle. She’d never tingled before.
Anabel was not a complete innocent. Certainly she’d never had an intimate relationship with a man, nor would she until she was married, but she’d been kissed more than once. And she had danced with any number of men. None of them had lingered in her mind the way Wesley did. Nor had any of them invaded her dreams, where a simple kiss on the hand had led to something much more exciting. And a dance had wrapped her in magic and promises of forever. And no one had ever made her tingle. It was probably due to nothing more than the ruse they were engaged in. One did want it to be believable after all. Still the very thought of him did something quite remarkable to her insides and even possibly her heart.
Anabel considered herself entirely too sensible to believe in anything as absurd as love at first sight, even if she was romantic enough to embrace the idea of soul mates. Nor could she discount the possibility of fate. Surely fate would not be so fickle as to put this entirely unsuitable man, this actor, this American in her path. Unless, of course, they were meant to be.
She shoved the idea from her mind. Wesley Grant was neither her destiny nor her soul mate. He was playing a part and so was she. Anything beyond that simply did not exist.
After what seemed like an eternity, the door to the library opened and Anabel stopped short. Father and Wesley stepped into the hall, chuckling in the congenial way men who have found some sort of common ground tended to have. She’d wanted Father to approve of him of course, but liking him too much would only cause additional problems when they went their separate ways.
“Anabel, my dear,” Father said in a jovial voice but his gaze was sharp. “I expected to find you with your ear pressed against the door.”
“Don’t be silly, Father.” She forced a light tone to her voice and smiled pleasantly. “The cupboard in the corridor to the kitchen provides much clearer sound from the library.”
Wesley laughed. Good Lord, was the man this tall last night? Were his lips this tempting, his eyes this blue, his laugh this warm?
What on earth was happening to her?
“This one will be a problem,” Father said to Wesley.
Wesley’s gaze met hers. “Every adventure has a few problems. Where would be the fun otherwise?”
Her heart caught.
“Quite right.” Father chuckled. “Something your father used to say?”
What was wrong with her? Why couldn’t she tear her gaze from his?
“Yes,” he said and cleared his throat. The tiniest hint of a bemused smile quirked one corner of his lips as if he was as affected by their odd moment as Anabel was. He turned his gaze to her father. “He also said that nothing of any note was worth doing if it wasn’t a challenge.”
“Wise man.” Father nodded and then addressed his daughter. “Mr. Everheart would like a word with you.”
“Just the two of us, Father? Alone?” She adopted a teasing tone. “Why, Mr. Everheart, you must have made an excellent impression.”
Wesley smiled modestly.
“He did at that, Anabel.” Father cast him an approving look. Anabel stared. Surely her eyes were deceiving her. Approval of someone other than Douglas? From Father? “Why don’t you show him the conservatory. You can speak privately and yet—” Father smiled in that smug way he had “—it’s made almost entirely of glass.”
“Excellent idea, Father.” Anabel’s smile mirrored her Father’s, and his satisfied smirk faded a bit. As well it should. He deserved a moment of doubt for thinking even for a second that she would allow any man to take liberties without her permission.
“Wesley.” She fluttered her lashes in her most flirtatious manner and took his arm. “I daresay you’ll love the conservatory. It’s filled with ferns and palms and all sorts of delightful plants.”
“I have always been fond of ferns and palms,” he said in a serious tone that she didn’t believe for a moment.
“There’s quite a nice selection of orchids, as well. Mother loved orchids and father has insisted on their continuation.”
He nodded. “My mother likes orchids, as well.”
Once they reached the conservatory door, she motioned him in and then closed the door behind them. “You mother liked orchids. I’m fairly certain Reginald Everheart was a widower.”
He winced. “Sorry.”
“It’s my fault.” She waved off his apology. “I realized last night there are numerous details we should have discussed.”
He glanced around. “This really is made almost entirely of glass.”
“Aside from where it connects to the house, it is. It’s a dodecahedron.” She glanced at him. “Twelve sided?”
“Yes, I know what a dodecahedron is.”
“Most people don’t.” She led him around the huge, circular waist-high planter in the middle of the conservatory. Here, a trio of palms reached for the ceiling, their lower trucks hidden by a profusion of dense, semitropical plants. When on the other side of the planter, those same plants provided an effective screen against anyone who happened to look from the house. She and Wesley could be seen through the glass walls overlooking the gardens, but there was no one outside to worry about at this time of year.
She stopped and turned to him. “What did you say to my father?”
“We had a nice chat.” He smiled in an altogether too noncommittal way.
“About?” Impatience rang in her voice.
“The sorts of things one talks about with another man.” He shrugged. “The state of the world. The idiocy of whatever party is currently in power in his country or mine. Progress and the newest innovations. That sort of thing.”
She studied him for a long moment. “I don’t believe you.”
“I didn’t say that was all we talked about. There were other topics.” He leaned over to inspect white blossoms blooming against blueish-green leaves. His tone was entirely too casual and she wanted nothing more than to smack him. Hard. “What is this?”
She huffed impatiently. “It’s a Jerusalem cherry. Those flowers precede berries that are quite attractive and extremely poisonous. Now, stop changing the subject.”
“I didn’t realize I was,” he murmured and moved to examine the glossy leaves of a bushy jasmine plant. “We talked about you of course.”
“I assumed as much.” She forced a lighter note to her voice, as if this was far less important than it was. “What exactly was said?”
“He asked if I was aware you had another suitor and I said I wasn’t concerned.”
“A show of confidence is probably a good idea.” She nodded. “What else?”
“He asked if my intentions were honorable and I said yes.”
“You said that last night.”
“Apparently your father can’t hear it often enough.”
While she hadn’t been especially thrilled with his comments last night, upon further reflection, if their deception was going to work, it was exactly the right thing to say. Father would never stop pushing Douglas’s suit if he thought Wesley wasn’t serious. “Go on.”
“And he wanted to know if those honorable intentions included marriage and I said yes.”
She shrugged off his comment. “Again, something said last night.”
“And then I asked for your hand and he—”
She sucked in a short breath. “You what?”
“I asked for your hand in marriage,” he said nonchalantly, as if he was speaking of something no more significant than requesting to accompany her on a stroll in the park. “It seemed a good idea at the time.”
“A good idea?” She could barely get out the words. “It’s a dreadful idea. I had considered that it might come to that, but only in the direst of circumstances. Your first meeting with my father is not the direst of circumstances. Why would you do such a thing?”
“As I said, I thought it was a good idea.”
“It wasn’t!”
“On the contrary, Anabel.” He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the center planter. “It occurred to me that a serious rival for your affections might well encourage Mr. Reed to propose immediately. But if you are already spoken for...”
“Good Lord, I hadn’t thought of that.” Yet another example of how ill-advised her plan really was. Fortunately, Wesley was indeed far smarter than she had expected. She drew a calming breath. “That’s really rather brilliant of you.”
He grinned. “I thought so.”
“You needn’t be so smug about it.”
“Oh, but I am smug. And I have every right to be.” His blue eyes twinkled. “It struck me that a man who was indeed madly, passionately in love wouldn’t hesitate to forego silly rules as to how long he should know the love of his life before wanting to make her his wife.”
“That makes a certain amount of sense, I suppose.” She hesitated. “Have you had any other thoughts about the nature of a man madly, passionately in love?”
“One or two things have occurred to me.”
“Have you ever been madly, passionately in love?” She wasn’t entirely certain she wanted to hear the answer.
“I’m not sure.”
A vague enough answer but oddly nice to know.
“Have you?”
“We’re not talking about me,” she said primly and then sighed. “No, I haven’t, and unlike you, I am quite certain of that. I would surely notice if I had been in love, either mildly or madly and passionately. Goodness, I can’t imagine you’d miss something of that nature.” She scoffed. “Not sure indeed.”
He laughed.
“This is not amusing.”
“It’s extremely amusing.” He grinned and those little dimples at the corners of his mouth appeared. She ignored them. Or tried to anyway.
“Then your thoughts on the matter are not based on experience but rather speculation?”
“On the contrary. There are any number of examples of the power of mad, passionate love in the theater. Romeo and Juliet, Antony and Cleopatra, Kate and Petruchio.”
“Might I remind you that two of those did not end well. As for Kate and Petruchio...” She shrugged. “That was not love.”
“Not in the beginning.” His gaze met hers.
“Yes, well...” She wrenched her gaze from his and glanced out the glass panes overlooking the garden as if there were something of great interest outside on this cold, dreary December day and not because of the searching intensity in his eyes. It was always quite pleasant in the conservatory on a day like this, although right now it did feel uncommonly warm. Surely that was the cause of the heat that flushed her face. “Beginnings are often like that.”
“Indeed they are.” His voice resonated with a deeper meaning, although she was no doubt hearing things that weren’t there. Even so, something tentative and fraught with possibility curled somewhere deep inside her. This was absurd. He was an actor playing a role. He was simply very good at it. His skill at his profession was probably why her heart was fluttering in her chest. That too was no more significant than the heat that did seem to be increasing in the conservatory.
“Those things that have occurred to you, about the nature of a man in love.” Even as she said the words, she knew they were probably a mistake. “What are they?”
“For one thing, I think he’d want to spend as much time as possible with the woman he loved.” He pulled out a pocket watch and checked the time. “Therefore in about twenty minutes, Lady Blodgett will arrive to accompany us on a drive in the park.”
“It’s awfully cold for...” She drew her brows together. “Why would Lady Blodgett be accompanying us?”
“We do want things done properly and you do need a chaperone, don’t you?”
“Yes, but—”
“Lady Blodgett and her friends—Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore and Mrs. Higginbotham—have kindly offered to act as chaperones for this little farce of ours. I met them last night. We had a little chat about—” he cleared his throat “—my father. They were great friends with Reginald Everheart and now want to assist his son. Besides, they agree that no woman should marry a man she doesn’t wish to marry.”
She stared in disbelief. “You told them what we’re doing?”
“I didn’t intend to tell them, but one thing led to another, and what with them knowing Everheart...” His brow furrowed. “I swear, they may look like harmless, innocent elderly ladies but they’re extremely clever and wickedly cunning.” He shuddered. “I would not want to be on their bad side.”
“But they are going to help us?”
“They are.” He nodded and smiled. “I think they’re quite looking forward to it.”
“That’s something, at any rate.” And good news really. Who knew when Aunt Lillian would reappear. And chaperones, even as annoying as she had always found them in the past, really were advisable. “Is there anything else you’ve thought of about a man madly, passionately in love?”
“He shouldn’t appear too well rested, as he has a difficult time sleeping. She is always in his thoughts, you see.” His gaze locked on hers and her breath caught. “He can’t get her out of his mind. Even when he does manage to sleep, she’s there.”
Anabel swallowed hard and forced a light note to her voice. “Is she?”
“She’s relentless.” His eyes darkened with intensity. “The touch of her hand, the curve of her neck, the feel of her body against his as they dance alone in a crowd, the look in her eye...”
“The look in her eye?” Her voice was somewhat higher than usual, but it was difficult to speak at all.
He nodded. “A look of both challenge and invitation.”
She forced an odd sort of squeaky laugh. “Challenge and invitation? Surely not.”
“He’s madly in love but she’s not entirely sure of her feelings. If she should be firm and practical, or if she should surrender to what she’s begun to suspect is inevitable. Fate, if you will.”
“Fate?” she said weakly.
He moved closer. “Do you believe in fate, Anabel Snelling?”
“No.” She stared into his blue eyes and a look there that made it almost impossible not to believe. “Yes. Maybe. I don’t know.” Was this still an act? “We should return to the house.”
“Ah, but I haven’t asked you to marry me yet.”
“Nor need you.” Of course it was an act. What else could it possibly be? “We can just say you did.”
“Yes, but if I don’t actually ask you, our stories might not agree when we tell skeptics how I proposed. Surely we want to sound as legitimate as possible?”
“Yes, well, you have a point.” Still, this was becoming terribly real, as if he were indeed asking her to wed. Her heart thudded in her chest, apparently not realizing he was only playing a part. “There’s really nothing to say other than you asked me to marry you in the conservatory and I said yes.”
“You’re right. But that sounds entirely too ordinary. For a love such as ours, that is.” He shook his head. “It’s not the least bit romantic. After all, you have swept me off my feet.”
“Regardless, it’s fine.” A grand romantic proposal on his part would only muddy her feelings, and they were surely confused enough already.
“Fine will not do.” He glanced around the conservatory, then grabbed her hand and pulled her to the door leading into the garden.
“What are you doing?”
“Giving us a story about my proposal, should anyone ask, or perhaps something to tell our grandchildren.”
“We’re not going to have grandchildren, Wesley. This is only pretend.”
“Then pretend we’re on a stage, acting in a play. I’m much better at plays than stories.
“Well, you are an actor.”
“Exactly.” He nodded. “In our play, you’re the leading lady and I’m the leading man. The setting is a conservatory on a cold winter day. She’s brought him in to show him...”
“Orchids?”
“Yes, orchids.” He nodded. “But that was only an excuse. What she really wanted was a moment alone.”
She stared. “Why?”
“They only met in the last act, but already she’s feeling something special between them. She doesn’t believe in absurd notions like love at first sight—”
“She never has before,” she murmurs.
“Even so, she can’t deny there is indeed something wonderful happening and she very much wants to find out exactly what it is. And whether he feels the same.”
“Does she?”
“Absolutely. But she can’t seem to find the right words and doesn’t know where to begin. She glances out the window—” he looked out the window in an exaggerated way “—and gasps.” He gave her a pointed look.
“This is ridiculous.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m not going to do that.”
He raised a brow.
“Very well.” She heaved a long-suffering sigh and then gasped.
“She has just seen her beloved terrier dash across the garden after the neighbor’s large, wicked cat, who will surely tear him to sheds.”
This time her gasp was real.
“What better way to earn her affection than by rescuing her pet?” He slid open the lock, grabbed the door handle and pulled. Nothing happened.
“The door sticks in the cold,” she said helpfully.
He tugged again.
She motioned toward the handle. “If you pull and twist, it usually—”
He yanked hard and the door jerked open. Cold air rushed into the conservatory.
“Wesley! This isn’t a stage or a play and it’s cold!” She shivered.
“Entirely too cold but that’s part of the plot. Indeed, the only reason to go after the dog in the first place was to open the door.”
She shook her head in confusion. “Why?”
“Because it gives the leading man an excuse to take off his coat—” he matched his actions to his words “—and wrap it around his leading lady, pulling her close in the process.”
“It was a ploy, was it?”
“And quite clever too, as she was now in his arms.”
She stared up at him. The right thing, the proper thing, the smart thing would be to move out of his embrace immediately. But with the warmth of his coat around her, his intoxicating scent filling her senses, his arms holding her close, what she should do flew in the face of what she realized she longed to do.
“And then?” She could barely get the words out.
“And then he stares into her eyes and promises never to let her want for warmth or joy or laughter ever again.” His gaze bored into hers. “He promises to love her for the rest of his days if she’d do him the very great honor of becoming his wife. If she would dance with him for now and forever.”
“What does she do?” she whispered.
“What can she do? She’s at once stunned and excited and uncertain.”
“But surely she does something? Says something?”
“She does.” He paused. “She says it’s too soon for feelings like this. They can’t possibly be real. It’s nothing more than the game they were playing.”
“They were playing a game?”
“All part of the first act.” He nodded. “It was a minor game of deception. But he says he stopped playing the moment they danced together as if they were fated to dance together always. And he says dancing is the first step toward falling in love.”
“I’ve heard that.” She swallowed hard. “Is there more?”
“Now comes what the audience has been waiting for. He says he can’t imagine a better way to spend the rest of his life than by dancing always...” He lowered his head and his lips brushed against hers. “With the woman he loves.”
“And what does she say?” she murmured against his lips.
“Nothing.”
“That doesn’t sound right to me.”
“There are times, my dear leading lady, when words are no longer necessary.” His lips met hers, warm and inviting and every bit as wonderful as they’d been in her dreams. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed close to him, ignoring the cold air, reveling in the feel of the heat of his body against hers. And from her lips to her toes, she tingled.
At last she pulled back and gazed up at him. “What happened to the dog?”
“It ran in right past them. They never noticed.”
“This might well work on a stage, but as a story about your proposal, it will never do.” She bit back a grin. “I don’t have a dog. We should think of something else.”
“Very well.” He gazed into her eyes. “What if we simply say the moment he kissed her, she knew this was right and true and forever? And she knew with a certainty she’d never felt before that this man, this near stranger, was the man she’d been waiting for all of her life.”
Anabel stared. “I’m not sure she wishes to say all that.” Especially if it were true.
“She doesn’t have to say it. It’s there in the look in her eyes. In the way she hesitates to step out of his embrace. The audience will see it, feel it with her.”
“The audience, of course.” She stepped back, ignoring the heavy weight that settled in the pit of her stomach like a poorly cooked plum pudding. “It’s only a play. Or rather a story to tell people. It’s just pretend.”
“Is it?” His gaze trapped hers.
“Yes, of course.” She shrugged and moved away, reluctant, or maybe afraid, to look at him. She had begun to think, to wonder...
No. Without thinking, Anabel raised her chin. This was a farce; there was nothing more to it than that. It was absurd for her to think—even for so much as a moment—that there was more here than that. Wesley Grant was not her destiny. He was a man being paid to save her from a marriage she didn’t want. Fate had not thrown them together. And love at first sight was as great a delusion as the charade that had brought them together. For God’s sake, the man was an actor. Apparently a very good one. Anything beyond that was no doubt due to the American’s charms and perhaps the magic of the season. She was entirely too practical to accept anything else.
“Lady Blodgett will be here any minute. We should probably wait for her inside.” She started toward the conservatory door.
“All right,” he said pleasantly, closed the door to the garden and trailed behind her.
Wesley Grant was a means to an end. He had a part to play and so did she. Believing anything other than that would surely lead to heartbreak.
And a shattered heart was the last thing she wanted for Christmas.