Today's Reading
THE RULES OF A GENTLEMAN SCOUNDREL
Rule #1: Never steal something from a man that he can not afford to buy back.
Rule #2: Never rob an honest man.
Rule #3: Never go anywhere without a weapon.
Rule #4: Never mix theft with seduction.
Rule #5: Women, jobs, and duels—one at a time.
Rule #6: Always talk to the servants.
Rule #7: If it looks too good to be true, it probably is.
Rule #8: What you take, you sell. What you're given, you keep.
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.
...
