Evangeline did not swoon. Swooning was not something she was capable of but just the soft meeting of their mouths did something to her that she could not reckon. It was meant to be but a token. A beginning to their quest. A show of her commitment to her escape from her home.

But as their mouths met, her hands softened on his arms, her eyes fluttered shut and it was like. . . Coming home. Home to a place she’d never even known could exist.

It had been her intention to pull back immediately. She found she could not and his hands slid to her waist, pulling her close, lifting her higher onto her toes, until she felt she barely touched the ground at all.

The kiss deepened, his mouth teasing over hers until, much to her astonishment, her lips opened of their own accord.

Breath for breath and kiss for kiss, he held her until, at last, she felt the touch of his tongue.

She gasped against him and stepped back.

His eyes, his startling dark eyes, studied her as if she were a wild thing come into his chamber. To her shock there was a hint of amazement in his eyes as if he, too, could not fully understand what had just transpired.

Slowly, he lowered his hands to his side. “I think. . . I think it is likely you will be married before the New Year, Lady Evangeline.”

Her heart thudded loudly in her breast as it hit her that the only man she wished to wed was the one standing before her. And that, she knew, would never happen. Not for Christmas. Not for New Year. Not for anything. For Anthony Basingstoke was the sort of man who would never marry a miss such as she. No matter how she might suddenly wish for it. Even at Christmastide, such a miracle would never occur.

* * *

“I know you’re not mad, but have you taken leave of your wits?”

Anthony Basingstoke did wonder. However, he wasn’t about to admit such a thing. “She’s desperate. Surely, you recall that state. You traversed on a continent, alone, because of it.”

His beautiful and sharp sister gaped at him. “Anthony, I know it well. As do you. But. . .” She sighed then grinned ruefully. “We do seem to be drawn to odd characters, do we not?”

“Our whole family,” he agreed.

“My new family, too.”

“That is an understatement of grand proportions,” he drawled, his voice traveling down the long salon.

She laughed. Her husband, the Duke of Hunt, and his family could be described as nothing but mad-capped. Notorious was the wrong word to describe them, but their reputation for their outrageousness was known throughout Europe.

“Lady Evangeline is the sweetest creature,” she said. “I have seen her from afar, sitting amongst the wallflowers but I have never spoken with her. She seems to eschew company.”

He cringed. “Sweet is not the word I’d use.”

Surprise softened his sister’s face. “No?”

“I believe she is held captive by her frills.”

“Ah.” Understanding, instant understanding, darkened Cordelia’s eyes. She arched a brow, surveying him. “And you hope to free her?”

“Not like that,” he boomed.

“Are you certain? You’ve not always been sweet yourself.”

A substantial degree of outrage overtook him. “I do not debauch innocents.”

She shook her head and tsked. “Some say there is a first time for everything and you do seem to grow bored of your lot.”

He scowled. He was bored. He should have left London some months ago, but he loved his sister and her young children. The siren call of history did beckon, though, as it always did.

Their father had been an adventurer. Their mother, too. While Cordy had longed for stability, he had thrived in chaos. Perhaps not in the witnessing of their parents’ turbulent marriage but, at least, in the climes which they had spent their childhood.

“She needs your help,” he said softly. “She’s miserable. So miserable she sought me out.”

Cordelia nodded, taking up the mantle of a new cause. “I can’t fault her taste even if I fault her sense.”

“I do not think she likes me,” he supplied. “Not that way.”

She rolled her eyes. “What lady does not?”

“Quite a few.”

She grinned again. “She seeks a husband?"

“She does. I. . .” He frowned, really quite amazed at the turn of events. “I agreed to help her.”

“As her matchmaker?” Cordelia guffawed.

He winced. “No. That is what you are for.”

“I’m glad to know my position in this debacle,” she said lightly. “How did you know I would comply with your scheme?”

“Because of your heart.” To others it might sound a cliché, but Cordelia was a strong woman drawn to those in need.

She groaned. “Dear brother, this is a right mess.”

“It is not,” he argued. “I do not make messes. I sort them.”

“While I’d agree with that usually, this—”

“If you had seen her,” he broke in, needing her to see as he had seen. “If you had felt her clear unhappiness, you, too, would have swooped in to do something, anything to assist her.”

“Anything?” she challenged, her arms folding over her elegant day gown.

He held his hands up. “Within the bounds of propriety.”

“And all is proper?” she challenged, serious now. “Nothing has occurred between you?”

He hesitated. He wasn’t a liar. He never had been.

“Anthony!” she exclaimed, throwing her own hands up.

“It was only a kiss,” he protested. “The smallest of kisses.”

She narrowed her gaze and pointed at him before she accused, “You liked it.”

“How do you know?” he asked, shocked that she could see it.

She pointed her finger into his chest. “I know.”

“It matters not,” he brushed off, capturing her hand and pulling her into a hug. “She doesn’t want me. I don’t want her. But I do. . . Like her. She is. . . She is. . .”

Cordelia groaned. “Oh, Anthony, I’ve never seen you like this.”

“There is no this,” he protested vehemently. “She is a young lady of intelligence who has been shunted to the shadows of her family and she knows so little of men that they will shackle her to the worst sort of boor. The only sort who might take a wallflower of such proportions.”

“You truly wish me to find her a husband?” she clarified.

“Yes.”

“Good God.”

“Surely it won’t be difficult,” he said, hugging her tightly to affirm his admiration of her abilities. “You know everyone.”

She leaned back. “I am not in the habit of arranging marriages.”

“This once?”

She stared at him as if he’d lost his last wit. “If it means so much to you, of course, I will help. I loathe the fact that any young lady be in such a position. So many are. But if I can help. . .”

He swept her around, her skirts belling out. “I knew you would.”

“Put me down. Put me down.”

He did as asked, but teased, “The dignified duchess now, eh?”

“Ha,” she retorted. “The Hunts clan is anything but dignified. Grand? Yes. Dignified? No.”

“She’ll be here this afternoon.”

“You invited her to the house party?” Cordelia exclaimed.

He really had blazed away at his determination to assist her. He was quite lucky to know Cordelia and her generosity so well. “I have.”

“How?” she demanded, though not angry.

He gave her a guilty smile. “I maneuvered the truth a bit.”

“A bit?” she scoffed, her blonde curls bouncing at her neck.

“A great deal,” he confessed. “But I couldn’t leave her to face that lot this season. You know what a misery Christmas can be in a difficult family.”

Instead of answering, she reached up and touched his face.

That soft touch of understanding was almost too much, so he took her hand and squeezed it.

“Well, it’s too late to say no,” she said at last. “We will welcome her to our merrymaking.”

“Thank you.”

“No more dark rooms,” she warned.

“I had nothing to do with that,” he reminded.

Cordelia gave him that stare she possessed that put a fellow right in the place he belonged. “You let her stay.”

So he had. Though risky to confess all to his sister, he’d felt it imperative to make plain the circumstances in which Lady Evangeline had sought him out.

“I will do nothing to impede her marriageability,” he declared firmly. And he wouldn’t. He wanted Evangeline to achieve her wish.

She arched a brow. “That’s rather vague but it will do. I think it best you let me take care of this now. You’ve done enough.”

He winked.

“You are a devil, Brother.”

“You adore it.”

“I do.” She gave him a playful hit to the shoulder. “Luckily for you. Come then, let us have a glass of champagne.”

“Now?” he asked, looking out to the late winter sunshine spilling through the tall windows.

“As my mother-in-law would say, is there ever a better time?”

He laughed again, something that happened a great deal whenever Cordelia was present. Her mother-in-law was famous throughout England as a woman who loved life. Cordelia had become one, too.

“I could think of nothing better,” he replied.

“Wonderful. And then you can go out and do whatever it is gentlemen do before dinner.”

“Whatever you command.”

“I should say so,” she teased before ringing the bell.

* * *

The coach raced up the icy drive, rattling along the raked gravel and Evangeline could not help but peer at the massive country home sprawling before her.

Her companion, Miss Treadwell, sat across from her, chattering away.

The two had been friends since childhood, but Miss Treadwell had always been in that dubious position of paid employee. A companion for Evangeline since she had so few. Miss Treadwell had made the long, painful years bearable.

She had barely heard a word of her friend’s excitement as they crossed the boundary of the Hunt Dukedom’s vast estate. They’d been on the duke’s land for the better part of a day and, finally, the house became clear after a long drive through a copse of oak trees.

It was not just the house, grand by even the standards of her father, that had her shaken.

Him. She would be seeing him again. Her kid-gloved fingers curled in anticipation.

As soon as the coach rolled to a stop, she found her heart had leaped into her mouth. Speech barely felt possible. The coach door opened and she took the footman’s offered hand.

Charlotte followed her down and they both took a moment to take in the opposing edifice of the house before mounting the steps.

The oppressive weight that had pressed down on her for so long lifted as something deep within her whispered that it was in this house, at this Christmas party, that she was about to find her freedom.

The smile that turned her lips nearly hurt her cheeks.

They hurried into the foyer and it was all she could do to keep from spinning about with glee.

A voice called from an arched door, “Lady Evangeline.”

That spinning sensation came to sudden halt. That voice raced over her, calling to her. Calling her home. But that was absurd.

Anthony Basingstoke was not, and never would be, her home.

Still, there he stood, his dark hair disheveled. Today, he was dressed to perfection. His ruby cravat only seemed to exaggerate the devilish look of his strong face. He smiled that slow, wolfish smile.

Once again, she reminded herself it wasn't particular to her. She knew that. It was a smile she’d seen many times over many parties. Yet, she couldn’t help but feel exceedingly pleasant to feel its force upon her.

“My sister should like to meet you,” he said simply.

She blinked. All of it suddenly came to her that this was truly happening. Just as he had promised. Her absolutely shocking action had actually worked!

She nodded and passed her cloak to the waiting footman. Charlotte stood transfixed by Basingstoke and his proclamation.

“And your companion, of course,” he added, his smile turning to the other young woman.

They both hurried forward, aware how rare and wonderful it was to be summoned by a duchess.

As her traveling boots padded over the marble floor, she drew in a slow breath. It struck her that she was traversing into an unknown encounter. What had he said? What did the duchess know?

Once she reached the arched door, she brushed past him and she did not miss the way the folds of her gown brushed his leg. It nearly made her heart stop. Such a simple thing. A thing which, with anyone else, would have given her no pause.

Yet, at that moment, she suddenly felt herself standing alone with him before the fire, his arms wrapped about her waist.

Heat immediately suffused her features and she barely looked at him, lest she lose her composure.

Upon entrance into the long hall decorated in various shades of blue, she couldn’t help but feel that this house, which should feel cold what with its enormous proportions. . . Did not.

If anything, it felt entirely the opposite.

Unlike her own residence, this grand house effused warmth and welcome.

Holly and greenery had been decked upon every surface, giving the room the most delicious of aromas. As if one was walking through the forest.

Christmas was in a mere few days, but one would have thought from the festive ribbons and colors that it was here. Her parents did little to decorate. A Yule log and mistletoe on Christmas Eve. Perhaps a little mulled wine. But they did not have merry hearts.

The moment she laid eyes upon the Duchess of Hunt, Cordelia, she knew the woman must have a merry heart, indeed. For she was smiling kindly, a strange twinkle in her eye.

Blonde curls danced playfully about her face. And her gown was a deep red; the bodice accentuated with a gold braid just beneath her breasts.

“So, you are Lady Evangeline,” the duchess greeted with unreserved welcome. “My brother is quite taken with you.”

A strange note trumpeted from Anthony Basingstoke.

What had been said? Evangeline longed to know.

“Indeed?” she managed as she curtsied.

“Oh yes.” The duchess held out her hand, a ruby ring winking. “He said I could not go another day without you for a companion. So, here you are. We are drinking champagne and, now, so shall you.”

She gestured to the footman who had quietly followed them in and, before Evangeline could make reply, crystal flutes filled with the bubbling honey-colored wine were passed into her and Charlotte’s hands.

Basingstoke reclaimed his glass from the ornate fireplace mantel and they all raised their glasses.

Just as Evangeline took a sip, the duchess declared, “You are in want of a husband.”

She sputtered, barely managing not to make a fool of herself. Her eyes burned ever so slightly as she swallowed the delicious wine. “What lady is not?”

The duchess laughed. “I have known a few that had to be veritably hauled to the altar. But you’re correct. Most ladies do see it as their lot in life.”

Basingstoke gave his sister a playful hug. “Sister, you make marriage sound like a noose.”

“And if you disagree, why are you not married?” she sallied.

“Too true,” he replied while laughing.

As the two exchanged words and filial affection, Evangeline’s heart ached. She had never known such an interchange. It was magnificent to behold, their clear love for each other.

“If you must know,” the duchess began, unwitting to the effect her relationship with her brother had, “which you will in any case quite soon, I adore marriage. If everyone could have a marriage such as mine, I should wish everyone to go through this life two by two.”

To her astonishment, Evangeline blurted, “And if not?”

“Then if they have the funds, they’d best stay single,” the duchess said as if proclaiming from the gospel. “Especially a woman.”

Anthony Basingstoke again let out a barely suppressed, strange noise.

“Do you think so?” asked Charlotte.

The duchess smiled. “Forgive me, you are?”

“Miss Charlotte Treadwell. What terrible manners I have,” Evangeline exclaimed.

“Not at all,” the duchess assured. “These are most unusual circumstances. And yes, Miss Treadwell, I do think so. Now, we shall have no secrets. A secret is well and good when it’s a present. But when it comes to the heart, secrets are odious things.”

Evangeline’s eyes widened, feeling as if she’d fallen into a wild but most exciting storm. “Oh?”

“Yes.” The duchess turned to Charlotte. “Is Miss Treadwell your friend or your companion?”

“Both, I hope,” piped up Charlotte with surprising force, her red hair glinting in the light.

The duchess nodded. “One always hopes it to be the case, but I do know quite a few young women with spies lurking about them. Are you a spy, Miss Treadwell?”

Charlotte’s mouth dropped open. “I do not know if I should be offended or pleased that you think me capable of artistry.”

“It is merely the way of things,” the duchess said.

“She is my friend,” Evangeline defended quickly. “Perhaps, my only friend.”

“That is most definitely not the case,” the duchess said firmly. “Not now. For I am your friend, as is my brother.”

And there, in that one declaration, Evangeline felt her world change. Friends. She now had friends.

This time, tears of gratitude stung her eyes and she had to blink quickly lest they be seen.

“Anthony, will you see that Miss Treadwell finds her room? I must have a moment with your young friend.”

Wordlessly, he bowed and took Miss Treadwell’s hand.

Just as Evangeline was sure he was going to behave as if nothing at all had transpired between them, he gave her a subtle wink.

Inexplicably, she felt a rush of relief. He wasn’t done with her. He wasn’t merely handing her off to his sister.

They were, indeed, friends.