She flashed him a wicked grin from beneath her eyelashes, and Reid knew in that very moment—surrounded by noise, laughter and the smells of Christmas—that she was the only woman for him.
*~~*~~*
His welcome might have been quite acceptable, but his eyes were saying something else entirely. She knew instantly that instead of finding her a seat, what he really meant was more along the lines of “let me take you somewhere private, strip those clothes from your body and have my way with you. For hours on end.”
The smile she gave him told him she knew and the answer would have been yes. There wassomethingabout him. Something real, genuine and honest.
When she’d mentioned to Brent that she doubted she’d ever meet a man with no alternative motives, or desire for power, or greed, or any of the things that she found so unappealing, he’d paused for the longest moment. Then he’d grinned.
“I know one. Other than me, that is.”
She’d scoffed at his assertion, but he’d been quite serious about it, and told her of Reid Chillendale, his childhood friend. Given that it was Brent telling her stories of their exploits, she took half of what he said and added a hefty pinch of salt. But the other half…that was where the intriguing possibilities lay. The notion that this Reid person might indeed be the paragon Brent made him out to be.
She’d known and loved her cousin ever since he picked her up and tended to her skinned knee after she’d fallen. She was four and he was seven. They’d formed a bond that had lasted—through her ill-fated marriage, through his ascendancy to the position of Viscount upon the death of his father—to now, this moment when he proudly presented her to the one man he avowed would meet all her requirements.
It was one of those unique relationships where they simply loved and trusted each other, she mused. There had never been any kind of romantic attachment there. They were as close as brother and sister, and had been that way from the start. Which was an excellent thing, since each had needed that kind of support throughout their lives up to this point.
As Reid led her through the Little Chillendale church hall, she wondered if perhaps this was the man who would change her mind about many things. Or if he would just be the man who made her pulses race just by smiling at her. Perhaps it would just be a mutually satisfactory affair. Only time would tell.
“Lady Eldridge, I’d like to present my parents, Sir Rodney and Lady Jocelyn Chillendale.” Reid had stopped in front of an elderly couple. “Papa, Mama…this is Brent’s cousin, Lady Eldridge.”
His mother smiled. “How nice to meet you, Lady Eldridge. And how lovely of you to attend such a simple gathering.”
“It’s my pleasure, Ma’am.” Prudence curtseyed gracefully. “This is a treat for me. Brent told me of the Fête and I am thrilled to attend.” She turned to Reid’s father. “And Sir Rodney…Brent tells me your ale is the finest in the country. I must beg a taste if at all possible…”
Used to dealing with elderly gentlemen, she was pleased to see she hadn’t lost her touch as Sir Rodney blushed, huffed and blustered, then took her arm and led her away, talking animatedly.
“Here we are, my dear. I think you’ll find it to your liking, although whether it’s the finest in the land, well…that might be a bit of Brent’s exaggeration.” He filled a small mug from the cask resting atop a festive table. “There. Try that.”
She accepted the mug and raised it, sniffing appreciatively. Although not overly enamored with ales in general, this one had a richness to it that she found pleasant. So she sipped. And then smiled.
“Oh, yes. I do believe Brent was correct, Sir. This is undoubtedly the finest ale in the country.” She sipped again, enjoying Sir Rodney’s delight and pride.
“Well?” Reid’s voice sounded behind her. “Have you been converted into a Chillendale supporter?”
She laughed. “How could I not? This is an excellent ale, Mr. Chillendale. And I’m very sure I’m far from the first person this evening to tell you that.”
“I’m pleased you like it. M’father and I strive to make sure it’s the best possible combination of ingredients.”
Sir Rodney nodded. “Family effort, you know. Always has been, and with luck always will be.” Then his eyebrows drew together. “That’s if we can solve this damnable mess with the Mistletoe Marquess.”
“Oh?” She glanced at Reid, eyebrows raised in question. “A problem?”
Reid sighed. “Never mind. That’s not something we’re going to worry about this evening.”
As if in answer to some silent prayer of his, there was a short blast from a trumpet and everyone’s head turned toward the area left clear of chairs.
“If I may have your attention, please, ladies and gentlemen?” A small, white haired lady stood erect in the center of the makeshift stage. She leaned on a cane but her voice was sharp and clear.
“Ah.” Sir Rodney moved away from the table. “That’s Miss Wellworthy, the schoolteacher. Best do as she says. She remembers everyone here. And some of us not too fondly.”
Prudence noticed Reid grinning as his father slunk off to his seat beside Lady Jocelyn. “She taught your father?”
Reid nodded. “And it wasn’t an easy relationship, I understand.”
Prudence smiled. “Perhaps you should find me a seat and then join them?”
“Not at all. We shall sit together and enjoy the performance.” He led her to a couple of seats off to one side.
