The Scoundrel’s Christmas Challenge by Aubrey Wynne

Author:Aubrey Wynne
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Plato Publishing

CHAPTER 9

Midnight in the library

Lucius waited, leaning against the hearth of the library, listening to the crackle of the fire. His toe tapped a light thump in the thick wool of the Axminster carpet. He studied the miniatures on the mantel. Christiana’s parents, her grandparents, saw the resemblance between the women. He yanked on the bottle-green waistcoat that matched his coat, tugged at his cravat, then brushed an imaginary speck off his white trousers. He paced before the floor-length windows, their heavy draperies like hulking guards, blocking the cold from the frosted panes, then perused the selection of old tomes on the bookshelves.

The score so far was tied between Lord Bentson, Christiana, and himself. He led the midnight challenge one to zero. Since today’s challenge had been one of wit, he would do the same. A challenge of their minds. He smiled, knowing this point would probably go to her.

“Good evening, Lord Page.”

Her sultry voice swirled around him, tugging at his heart, warming his soul. Lucius knew she was interested, tempted, but he didn’t know if she was ready to marry him. And that must be the end result. The only logical conclusion for the two of them. He understood her hesitation. Edward had lured her, laying his trap carefully.

Lucius hadn’t realized how malicious his friend truly was until then. Their confrontation before the wedding had been ugly, and the men had never spoken to each other again. It had broken Lucius’s heart to know Christiana would be held under the man’s thumb, never pampered and adored as she deserved, only used as a tool of vengeance. How had he not seen Edward’s hatred earlier? It had burned so brightly after university, smoldering during their friendship until the flames of opportunity set the torch on fire.

He rose and offered his arm, which she took. “You didn’t tell me how it went today? Are your tenants well? Did they enjoy the boxes you delivered?”

Christiana nodded. She was lovely in a simple muslin gown of pale blue, the same color as her eyes. Her honey-blonde hair was twisted in the back and fell in long curls to fall across her shoulders. He wanted to trace the cord on the side of her long, slender neck with a finger and follow that with his lips.

“Everyone is healthy and grateful for the gifts.” She beamed. “It’s one of my favorite days of the year. A few hours when I can join the villagers, sit with them, and talk of crops and babies and the coming spring. I often feel as if I have more in common with my tenants than I do those I left behind in London.”

“You probably do. Honesty, integrity… traits that the common man cherishes and many of the peers value only when it suits them.” He poured them both a glass of madeira, and they settled before the cheerful fire, its flickering light casting long shadows across the room. The wingback chairs were made of a buttery-soft leather, and he tipped his head back with a sigh.

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