Christmas Eve. Amelia stood at the head of the stairs and surveyed the elegant crush of people swirling below. The viscount was never without a mob of well-wishers. Every face was animated, every mouth smiling. The ballroom might have been transported directly from the Sheffield estate. The kitchen had outdone itself. The orchestra had never sounded finer. The kissing balls were an unqualified success.
Yet she fought the most appalling urge to wring her white-gloved hands.
She couldn’t recall the last time she’d suffered from such an unlikely sensation as nerves. Why should she? Not when she managed everyone and everything she ever interacted with down to the minutest detail. Tonight’s gala was no exception. It was perhaps the most painstakingly orchestrated soirée of her entire career. And while she had no prior history of giving herself over to fun at such gatherings, they had never previously caused her neck to sweat and her stomach to twist . . . until today.
Viscount Sheffield’s seventy-fifth annual Christmas Eve ball had to be better than perfect. She needed to be better than perfect.
She was doing this for him.
A voice came from behind her. “My lady? A note has just arrived for you.”
She turned her back upon the whirling madness below to behold one of her footmen bearing a small silver tray with a single folded missive. Her fingers shook as she plucked it from the tray. She had absolutely no reason to fear such a small square of parchment, save for its very unexpectedness. This was not the regular post. The only exterior writing was a single word: Urgent.
With an incline of her head to dismiss the footman, she unfolded the missive and read the contents therein:
Boo.
She frowned. Boo?
Before she could call out to her footman to interrogate him on the missive’s origin, two strong arms encircled her from behind. She bit back a shriek. The missive tumbled from her fingers as her captor spun her to face him. Lord Sheffield. Her lips parted. He covered her mouth with his, searing her. Branding her. Leaving her breathless.
“Boo,” he whispered in her hair, then pointed a finger at the ball of holly overhead. “Did I surprise you?”
Growling, she pushed him on the shoulder. “You frightened the stuffing out of me!”
“So it can be done!” He grinned at her. “I win!”
She laughed. “Were we playing?”
“Were you not?” He swung her in circles and stole another quick kiss before setting her at a respectable distance. Perhaps semi-respectable. The twinkle in his eyes indicated he might kiss her again at any moment. “Thank you. The party is everything you said it would be and more than I ever dreamed.” He frowned. “My sole complaint is that you’re not dancing.”
“I mustn’t.” She gestured toward the crowd. “I’m working.”
“You’re not working! You’re standing on the stairs.” He linked her arm with his. “Wouldn’t dancing with me be a tiny bit more diverting?”
She leaned her head on his shoulder. “I can’t oversee the staff and monitor the guests’ comfort if I’m twirling about with you.”
“Precisely. When was the last time you let yourself do as you wished, without analyzing or managing? Never?”
She opened her mouth to agree with him (she could no more cease analyzing than she could stop breathing) when she realized it was no longer true.
“Once,” she said in wonder. She held herself perfectly still as she finally admitted the truth. The world hadn’t ended just because she’d ceased managing it. She peered up at him from beneath her lashes. “At the masquerade. With you.”
“Have you enjoyed your time with me?” he asked softly. The unwavering intensity in his eyes gave the impression he might be holding his breath.
She smiled up at him. “You know I have.”
“Then let’s dance.” He pulled her back into his arms, his face serious. “Enjoy the moment with me, my love. Not just today, but every day. I want you in my arms for the rest of my life.”
Her legs trembled. Once again, he’d managed to surprise her. As she twined her arms about his neck, she was struck with the sneaking suspicion that as much as she’d been guiding him into making the party decisions she’d already chosen for him, he’d been just as skillfully steering her down a path of his own.
“Have you maneuvered me into falling in love with you?” Her voice was teasing, but her eyes surely betrayed all the joy in her heart.
“It would be impractical for me to be the only one of us in love.” He affected an exaggerated leer. “My next step is to maneuver you right into the marriage bed.”
“And to think,” she said, rising on her toes to kiss him. “I’d been planning the very same thing.”
THE END
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