Page 26 of His Wicked Little Christmas
Literary Wisdom
If I could but know his heart,
everything would become easy.
~Marianne Dashwood,Sense and Sensibility
Chapter One
Where Our Heroine Becomes an Accidental Governess
A Warm Parlor in a Cold Country
Limehouse, December 1823
Of all the salons in London, he had to walk into hers.
Although he didn’t notice her.
Which wasn’t a surprise as she wasn’t noticeable.
Francine Shaw recorded Lord Remington’s brazen entrance, recognition rolling through her like a wave off the ocean she’d crossed to get to this grit-choked city. During her time in England, almost six months now, he was the only man who had sparked her interest.
A fascination that ticked upward each time she’d seen him.
A notorious libertine who didn’t even know her name.
While Franny’s job, according to her father, was to attract a destitute nobleman, not a rake, and unite centuries of English nobility with her family’s common-yet-prosperous lineage.
Two unremarkable people in an unremarkable world.
An unremarkable marriage but a solid business venture.
Franny grimaced behind her gloved hand, recognizing the irony. Shewasexactlyas expected. A covetous American in want of a title. While William Allerton, fourth or fifth Viscount Remington, she couldn’t recall without consultingDebrett’s, was exactly as expected as well. A handsome scoundrel fighting to retain his masculine liberties while protecting a legacy he feasibly hadn’t wanted in the first place. She’d heard the story numerous times batted about society parlors like a ball. No one in London seemed to have the funds to maintain the burdens they’d inherited.
In America, most inherited nothing and fought foreverything.
As the viscount crossed the room, Franny tucked herself tighter into the recessed alcove, her back butting the chilled windowpanes overlooking the Thames. She peeked around the velvet drape, perfectly content to hide during this exchange.Damn and blast, she vowed, her heart giving a hard kick. Lord Remington looked as delectable as ever. Stylish but not flawless. Sturdily rumpled. Dark hair in relaxed disarray. Tall and trim, with an athletic grace few men in society could claim.
She sighed softly, giving her hands a tremulous clench. Thankfully, the echoes of ships banging the dock and the shouts of stevedores unloading crates funneled inside her nook, hiding any sound she might make. Interestingly enough, at least to Franny, Mrs. Hildegard Streeter, recently married to Mr. Tobias Streeter, rogue king of the Limehouse docks or so the scandal sheets claimed, occasionally chose to conduct business from her husband’s rookery warehouse.
Today that business was with Franny. In a vibrant, vile neighborhood her father would faint upon learning she’d agreed to visit.
This morning had been the most exhilarating Franny had experienced in months. Which said much about her state of boredomandher predisposition for trouble.
“You’ve got to help me,” Lord Remington said, his first words spoken, the casualness of the statement detailing a startlingly close relationship with Mrs. Streeter. The viscount didn’t stop until he practically bumped the desk Hildy sat behind with his lean hip, casting a twisted grin her way, charm he was renowned for.
He was taller than Franny had realized, a shade too thin perhaps. But with broad shoulders and chiseled features one didn’t easily forget. Something apart from his physical gifts, however, captured her attention.Lurking beneath his careless smile was serious intent. Even, possibly, a hint of vulnerability.
Franny wasn’t the only woman enthralled. He’d been known to dance not a set, yet leave the ballroom with the most beautiful woman in attendance.
Hildy, perhaps the most stunning creature in England, calmly placed her quill beside her folio, her brow winging high. Daughter of an earl who had married a smuggler-cum-architect for an improbable love the likes of which London had never seen, she had it all. Had what Frannywanted. Aspirations considered silly on this side of the ocean, and the one she claimed across the way.
For once, England and America were in agreement.
Wishing to be someone’s once-in-a-lifetime anything was pointless—when marriage was a business. She’d been raised by a father who believed in nothingbutbusiness.
Love had never factored into the equation, not once.