Chapter One
London, December, 1816.
Eleanor Law had not expected to kiss anyone at Lady Chessington’s annual Christmas ball, let alone a charming, anonymous scoundrel.
In retrospect, she could admit that she was partly to blame. For someone who prided herself on being observant, she’d been so busy watching her friend Daisy Hamilton dancing with a gentleman in an offensive yellow waistcoat that she’d failed to notice the yule bough hanging directly above her head. Nor had she paid much attention to the man who’d appeared silently at her side, until he spoke.
“Expecting a kiss?”
Ellie jumped and turned sharply. “I beg your pardon?”
The stranger was tall and brown haired, his skin a little bronzed, as if he’d recently returned from sunnier climes. His eyes were green? Or brown?—it was impossible to tell in the dim light—but it was his dimples that arrested her. The twin indents on either side of his mouth should have looked childish, ridiculous even, on a grown man, but instead they gave him a charming, piratical air that did something peculiar to her insides.
He sent a pointed glance upward, and Ellie followed the direction of his gaze, tilting her head back to see the ball of festive greenery attached to the alcove in which she stood. Blood rushed to her cheeks as she finally understood his inference.
“Oh, no—I—absolutely not! I hadn’t even noticed it until just now.”
His dark brows lifted in obvious amusement at her mortification, and the wicked sparkle in his eyes only added to her blush.
She cleared her throat. “For your information, sir, I am not some desperate spinster lingering under the mistletoe, praying for a kiss. My standing here is purely coincidental.”
His smile widened at her quelling tone. “There’s still one berry left.”
Ellie cursed silently. Tradition held that one berry was removed every time a couple kissed beneath it; when no berries remained, no more kisses could be stolen.
She opened her mouth, just as he said, “Only a fool would waste such a golden opportunity.”
He caught her hand and raised it to his lips with an elegant bow. Since neither of them was wearing gloves, his large fingers curled around hers, and her stomach somersaulted as his warm lips touched the back of her hand.
Flustered, she took a step back, deeper into the alcove, but instead of moving away, he stepped closer, angling his body so that his broad shoulders blocked her view of the room. Ellie’s lips parted on a startled gasp at how effortlessly he’d maneuvered her, but before she could berate him, he touched his fingers to the underside of her chin, tilted her face up—and kissed her.
A jolt of something like faint lightning crackled through her at the unexpected contact. Blood pounded in her ears, but before she could do more than register the extraordinary sensation of his mouth on hers, it was over.
Her mystery man pulled back with a roguish smile, and she sucked in a breath, inhaling the delicious scent of his cologne while trying to decide if she should be flattered, insulted, or both.
He reached up and plucked the last mistletoe berry from the sprig. “There. All done.”
Ellie blinked. Her lips still tingled.
Even though he’d only kissed her because she was conveniently beneath the mistletoe, she was still flustered. She was an unremarkable wallflower with neither a title nor a fortune to recommend her. He was clearly a shocking flirt who loved playing with fire.
Anyone could have seen them. There were over three hundred people here, all talking and dancing, some fewer than ten feet away. True, the kiss had been so brief, it could have been interpreted as him whispering in her ear, but even so, he’d been courting a scandal.
Ellie stared up into his face, certain she’d never seen him before in her life.
“Who are you?” she demanded hoarsely.
His eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled down at her as if the two of them were complicit in some marvelous secret.
“Apart from the man who just kissed you? I have many names.”
“You mean you possess a title?”
“Several. Although I rarely use most of them.”
She almost stamped her foot at his deliberate evasiveness. “What should I call you, then?”
“Your latest conquest? Your most ardent admirer?” He swept her another extravagant bow.
Ellie rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t help smiling too. There was something so playful about his outrageous flirtation that it was impossible to take him too seriously.
He turned to face the room again as if nothing had happened, and she took a steadying breath and tried to glean more clues about his identity.
The perfect cut of his dark jacket could only have come from one of the eye-wateringly expensive tailors on Bond Street, and a real diamond glittered on the gold bar brooch nestled in his white cravat. He clearly had money. And exquisite taste.
Copyright © 2024 by Kate Bateman.
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