Lady Evangeline Pennyworth only had one wish for Christmas and that was, quite simply, not to be the Season’s absolutely most awkward and unwanted wallflower. Again. The unique state had been hers for three years now. The unpleasantness of it could not be stated in flowery enough terms. It might have been bearable if society noticed her in any way. But she had fallen into that hideous position of invisibility. She had gone the way of the elaborate furniture of many a ton home, there but unremarked upon. It had not been a surprising condition. Her own parents had ignored her for years. Still, she was no longer willing to accept it as her fate.

So, it was with great trepidation and a fortitude passed down from her grandmother, who’d escaped the terrors of the French Revolution, that she stood in the shadows of their library and made the boldest move of her rather short life.

She cleared her throat and stepped forward from the edge of the room.

The shockingly handsome man sipping mulled wine by the fire turned to the noise, without surprise, for it seemed a young lady popping out of the woodwork to seek him out was a normal occurrence in his existence. Then he smiled. An oh so terribly slow and delicious smile. A wolf’s smile.

It thrilled her to her slippered toes. But even as that feeling raced through her, reason did not abandon her. Anthony Basingstoke, brother of the Duchess of Hunt, looked that way at everyone.

Which was exactly why she had chosen him.

Even so, now that she’d so boldly headed into the firelight, her tongue twisted and she couldn’t speak. Perhaps it was years of believing no one thought she had anything worthwhile to say which was untrue. But now, the words she’d prepared froze in her throat.

His absolutely gorgeous mouth, a mouth which suggested it adored kissing and kissing well, only curved into a broader smile. “Looking for a spot of adventure?” he asked with remarkable kindness. There was nothing sinister or affected in his tone. He meant the very words he said and passed no judgement with them.

She blinked. That voice. Goodness. It rolled over her like heated honey and it was incredibly difficult not to let her brain go wandering. But she’d always been sensible and she wasn’t about to start gibbering now.

“Not exactly,” she replied, winding her fingers together. It was a terrible habit she’d had since childhood.

He cocked his head to the side, dark locks falling over his brow. “No? Pity.”

Pity? Surely, he didn’t mean that. She was. . . Well, she was not exactly the sort that men such as he had adventures with.

Here it was. The moment she’d prepared for. She couldn’t botch it now. Squaring her shoulders, she declared, “I need your help.”

At that, his brow furrowed with surprise. “Mine?”

“Yes,” she confirmed and gave a nod as if to add her determination.

His brow furrowed even deeper as he eyed her. He remained languid in his chair, completely at ease in their odd encounter. “Forgive me, are we acquainted?”

Her spirits sank. Indeed, they were. They’d been introduced. But it was the nature of her existence. To be forgotten. Just as she was about to reply, he leaned forward.

Recognition dawned on his strong features. “Lady Evangeline? Do forgive me.”

He knew her name. Or at least he’d had the good graces to recall it. Mentally, she battened down her relief, determined not to let such a little thing thrill her. How sad that such a little thing could.

She nodded.

“Come out of the drafts.” He lifted his glass then pointed to the wine warming over the fire. “Join me?”

That invitation, so kind and easy, stunned her. “Join you?”

“If you prefer standing over there, in the cold, do. I do not mean to be critical, but your house is rather cold.” He gave an exaggerated shiver.

Could he feel that the coldness was not just the lack of abundant fires but of the people inside the stones?

“Why not venture near,” he asked. “Especially if you’ve sought me out, as you’ve clearly done.”

“Right,” she said. Then crossed to him and somehow managed to sit in the chair opposite him. It occurred to her how abrupt she was being, how lacking in grace. But there was nothing to be done about it.

The beauty of his face. . . It was difficult to describe. He looked like the devil’s son. A man who adored mischief but had never been engaged in the sort of scandal that might cause anyone harm. He looked like the sort of fellow who’d lead a lady down a very windy but exceptionally exciting path.

His shirt was open at the neck, a positively shocking thing, but it was late. Very late. In fact, she’d waited hours and hours, knowing that he’d taken to sitting in the library by the fire long after everyone else had gone to bed.

The fact that he’d chosen this room, her favorite, to hide away in had ultimately convinced her that he was approachable.

He frowned suddenly. “Your mother isn’t about to walk through the door, is she? I don’t mean to flatter myself. I’m not a remarkable catch but—”

She laughed brittlely. “No, sir. My mother has no idea I am here.”

How she longed to counter that he was a far greater catch than she could ever hope for. His lack of title could not challenge his immense wealth or proximity to one of the most powerful men in England, his brother-in-law, the Duke of Hunt.

“I think you’d make a terrible husband,” she replied immediately. Though as she said these words, the thought but what if I am wrong, blazed through her mind. The shocking thought what if he would make the perfect husband hummed through her in a succession of madness.

His eyes flared and then he chortled. “Smart young lady.”

Keeping her wayward line of thinking to herself, she replied, “I think so, if I do say so myself.”

“I’m glad.” He winked. “I can’t bear a silly piece.”

Goodness, how could he be so easy? It was something she’d never learned though longed for. “Silly, I am not.”

His gaze, that wicked gray gaze, traveled the length of her then returned to her face. “No.”

It irked only ever so slightly that he so readily agreed. But then again, she was never going to be a frothy miss. She knew. She’d tried. It had been horrifically unpleasant. Her mother still insisted on dressing her as if she were, as if by adorning her in the plumes of a colorful bird, she might somehow become one.

He cocked his head to the side. “You don’t strike me as someone able to undertake hours of inanities.”

She gaped. “Is it so obvious?”

He waggled his brows. “Yes.”

Turning to the fire and lifting the handle of the simmering pot, he poured a steaming glass of spiced wine.

The process and movement of his body, a body that was lithe and strong and hidden only by his linen shirt and a pair of tight breeches, caused her throat to tighten with an unfamiliar feeling.

As he held the glass out to her, he said, “This is incredibly inappropriate, you know.”

She nodded, biting on her lower lip as she dared to take the wine.

Their fingertips brushed and a wave of sensation traveled up her arm and took root in the vicinity of her breasts. She glanced to their fingertips, half-expecting to see that strange and scientific phenomenon, electricity.

He seemed completely unmoved as he settled back in the chair, as languid as a satisfied marmalade cat.

“Now, do tell me what has you throwing yourself into such a shocking meeting.”

“I need to get married,” she blurted.

“You assured me that I wasn’t about to be trapped, did you not?” he intoned with mock horror.

She grinned at his teasing and the fact that he had not run from the room. “I did. And it won’t be to you.”

“Glad to hear it. Go on.”

Drawing in a deep breath, she braced herself. “I’m unmarriageable.”

“Are you?” he asked, astonished.

“Yes.”

He shifted slightly in his chair, his absolute maleness seeming to fill up the space entirely. “I can’t see why. You’re young, unmarried, from a good family, with no doubt a good portion. You’re pleasant to look upon. Wherein lies the difficulty?”

“You find me pleasant to look upon?” she asked, stunned.

“Of course.” He took a long drink of wine, the ruby liquid staining his lips for a moment before he licked it away. It was an absolutely, transfixing gesture before he continued, “Don’t you?”

No words would come from her mouth, no matter how she tried. To her horror, tears stung her eyes and she gulped a large swallow of wine to hide them.

“Bastards,” he hissed.

“I beg your pardon?” she piped up, drinking deeper than she ever had in her life. Instantly, warmth pooled in her belly. She’d not eaten dinner and she suddenly felt delightfully light.

“Bastards,” he growled now, his sincerity deepening his voice. “Whoever clearly made you feel unattractive.”

“Ugly,” she said, her tongue loose. The word had escaped her so quickly, she could barely countenance she’d said it.

“Bastards,” he gritted again.

“Be careful,” she whispered conspiratorially, peering at him over her wine glass. “You’re besmirching an earl and a countess.”

He stared blankly then asked, “Your parents?”

She lifted her glass in mock salute. “Yes.”

He winced and gazed at the fire. “Some people aren’t fit to raise dogs, let alone children.”

She choked on a sip of wine.

“You be careful now. You don’t want to explain a wine stain to your maid. Not having received it at this late hour.”

“You are far more familiar with such things than I.”

“I won’t deny it.” He groaned. “Oh, God. That’s why you’re here.”

“It is,” she agreed, suddenly feeling buoyant.

“I won’t deny my experience,” he sighed. “But it’s not with young, untouched ladies.”

A grin pulled at her lips. When had she last felt so light? Was it simply his presence? “All the better.”

“Is it, by God?” he asked, his brows shooting up.

She cleared her throat. “I need to know how to be appealing.”

Once again, he stared at her.

She felt the hot blush even though, to her surprise, she did not feel truly embarrassed. “You must think me mad.”

Silence stretched between them as he took her in again. “Not mad. Desperate.”

Desperate. She closed her eyes. What was she doing? Dear God. That lightness she felt leached out of her in one sudden heave, leaving in its wake an appalling feeling of self-reproach. “Forgive me. I shouldn’t be here.”

She lurched to her feet, glass in hand and started for the door.

He grabbed her hand and held her still. “It was not an insult. I’ve been desperate in my life.”

“You?” She twisted toward him, taking in his carefree frame. “But you seem so. . . Happy.”

“I am.” He shrugged. “Now.”

“Can you teach me?”

“Happiness?”

The feel of his hand wrapped around hers was. . . Well, it was like being shown heaven but being barred at the gate.

“Tell me what you really wish to learn. It’s not happiness,” he said softly. “Desirability isn’t happiness. I can tell you that now and save you a great deal of trouble.”

Slowly, she took her courage in hand. She had to make him understand. “I want to find a husband. A good husband. But I cannot make a man notice me. No matter what I do. I. . . I am entirely forgettable.”

“Though I struggle to believe it, I do see how you feel.”

“You strike me as the sort of man who knows about desirable women.”

“I shan’t argue. And you wish me to teach you?”

She nodded.

In slow degrees, he pulled her back to stand before him near the fire.

The hem of her plain gown brushed his boots.

Gazing down at her through half-hooded lids, he said, “I can’t teach you to be happy.”

She gave a curt nod. “I understand. Very foolish of me.”

Starting for the door again, she was stunned to find he had not and would not let go of her hand.

He held it firmly, gently, with purpose.

“I can teach you tricks. I can teach you how to tease. I can teach you how to play a man’s emotions. But that won’t make you happy.”

“At least, I will leave this place,” she said softly.

“Ah. So you don’t wish to marry. You wish to escape. That is a different thing altogether.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You feel your only option is to marry,” he stated.

“Isn’t it?”

He sighed. “Quite possibly. It’s deuced hard to be a woman.”

“I have never heard a man say such a thing.”

He scowled. “I don’t think you’ve been mingling with the right men.”

“I cannot bear it here,” she proclaimed. “Not another Season. Not another year.”

The intensity of her words seemed to strike him. “Then, of course, I will help you.”

“You will?” The words tumbled out of her. Hope was in her sights now.

“I’ve been lost. In pain,” he admitted. “I’m honored you’d ask.”

“When can we begin?” she asked breathlessly, barely daring to hope.

“Now,” he said, his voice a subtle purr.

“How?” she asked. “Should I fetch paper? To take notes?”

“You won’t need paper.” He cocked his head back, his gray eyes piercing. “You must trust me.”

“I—”

“I promise not to hurt you,” he said, his eyes blazing with purpose.

“I trust you can help me.”

Those lips of his. Those devilish lips of his curved wickedly. Slowly, he stood, his hand still wound about hers. “Lesson one then.”

“Yes?” she prompted, eager to begin.

“Kiss me.”