CHAPTER ONE
London, England
December 1820
Of all the bad luck.
Dahlia Farthingale forced a smile on her face as the guests at her sister’s party crowded around her and cheered because she’d found the pea in her slice of Twelfth Night cake.
“Queen Pea! Queen Pea!”
Ugh! They were all still chanting as they closed in around her and Captain Ronan Brayden, forcing them up against each other. He had the misfortune to find the bean in his slice of cake, which meant he was now her King Bean.
“King Bean! King Bean! Kiss your queen!”
Dahlia’s sister, Holly, had recently married Ronan’s brother, Joshua, and this reception was to welcome family and friends to their elegant new home in Mayfair. It was still early December, too soon in the season for the traditional Yuletide cake to be served. But a fire crackled in every hearth throughout the house, and the scent of spiced wine and roasted chestnuts filled the air, so their guests were quickly drawn into the festive spirit.
To add to the effect, light snow had fallen overnight, leaving London in a beautiful coat of white.
Despite the bitter temperature outside, the house was filled with warmth, and everyone was imbibing quite a bit of the freely flowing champagne, mulled wine, and nog. Oh, and there was tea since this was supposed to be a tea party, but she didn’t think anyone had actually bothered with that staid drink. This explained why they were all so raucously merry. But could they not have waited until Christmas to start these silly revels?
Ronan held out his hand to her. “Give me your pea, Dahlia.”
She handed it over, wondering why he wanted it. She took no offense at his familiar use of her name since they were among close friends and family.
He held up the pea along with his bean, cheerfully playing to his ridiculous title of King Bean and earning the adoration of these revelers, many of whom were in their cups. Of course, adoration was nothing new to him. Several women were already swooning as he stood there in his Royal Navy uniform, looking too exquisite for words.
“Ready?” He grinned wickedly and turned her to face him, his dark emerald eyes gleaming with mirth.
“Don’t you dare kiss me,” she said between clenched teeth, the forced smile still on her face.
He leaned closer and whispered in her ear. “If your face were any stiffer, it would crack. Breathe, Dahlia. I am only going to give you a light kiss on your cheek, not eat you.”
“It isn’t only that. We also have to open the dancing, and it’s to be a waltz. Oh, why did I have that slice of cake? Gerald won’t like this at all.”
“Gerald Wainscott?” Ronan’s gaze shot to her beau. “Don’t tell me you and that priggish lord are still an item? If he finds fault with this harmless bit of fun, then he’s a humorless clot, and you are better off without him. If you want my opinion–”
“Which I still don’t.”
“I’ll still give it anyway,” he said, tucking a finger under her chin to draw her gaze up to his and rousing more cheers from the crowd. He leaned forward to continue whispering in her ear, knowing only she would hear him because of the surrounding noise. “He’s a pompous, overstuffed peacock who cares more for outward appearances than for what is truly important in life. He’ll crush your spirit.”
“So, you like him then?” She cast Ronan an impish smirk, wanting to be irritated and take offense. But she could never be angry with him because he meant well and always looked out for her. Over the course of these past few months, he had assigned himself to be her guardian angel.
Only in small ways, of course.
Offering to dance with her if he ever saw her standing alone at an affair.
Suddenly appearing at her side if a gentleman he deemed unsuitable approached her.
Always finding a moment to sit beside her and ask about her day.
He was a typical Brayden. Ridiculously protective and forthright. Most of all, she always got an honest answer from him. Perhaps a little too honest, at times.
Being a typical Brayden also meant he was big and muscled. Built like a Roman gladiator. Handsome as sin in a rugged, manly way.
He laughed and put his arm around her waist to draw her closer. “I shall try to like him for your sake. Take another deep breath. Our kiss will be quite painless, I assure you. Close your eyes and tip your head to the side, just the littlest bit.”
“Why must I tip my head?” She did not understand why her thoughts were suddenly so muddled. Perhaps it was the champagne she had been served, an excellent vintage, and she’d taken two glasses already.
Or was it three?
Cake, champagne, and being held in Ronan’s arms were a heady combination.
“I need to get the correct angle to kiss you on the cheek. It may seem a simple matter, but it is actually a rather complex set of mathematical calculations required to–”
“Kiss your queen! Kiss your queen!”
“Ah, the crowd is getting restless,” he joked and brought his head down to kiss her before she was ready so that his lips landed on her mouth. Her open mouth. Her fault, really. She should not have turned and looked up at him to ask another question at this precise moment.
And now that she had...holy crumpets!
His warm lips pressed down on hers...and pressed some more...and...warmth flooded her body. Suddenly, everything tingled, and she became acutely aware of him. The sandalwood scent of him. The gentleness of his embrace despite the strength of his arms.
The perfection of his kiss.
Oh, my heavens.
He abruptly drew his mouth off hers and stared down at her in confusion. He was looking at her so oddly, she knew she must have done something terribly wrong and had to apologize at once. “I’m so sorry! You caught me unprepared. I had more questions to ask and did not see your lips coming at me until it was too late.”
She was not certain he heard any of her apology, for the enthusiastic crowd was cheering too loudly and now began to shove them in the direction of the music room to open the dance.
Ronan held her by the elbow to keep her from stumbling. This was always the Brayden way. If someone was in trouble, a Brayden rushed forward to help. Not that she was in any serious trouble, but she was not very big, and this crowd would have easily knocked her down in their enthusiasm.
Ronan was the size of an oak tree.
No one was going to push him over.
“Are you all right, Dahlia?” He appeared to be sincerely concerned, taking a moment to look her over as they stood alone on the dance floor.
“A little shaken up, I fear.” Everyone was staring at them, still cheering in anticipation of the musicians striking the first notes. The musicians were a quartet consisting of a pianist, several violinists, and a harpist.
Ronan’s arm went around her waist, and he placed the palm of his hand at the small of her back. With his other, he took her hand in his. “I’ve got you. You’ll be fine.”
She gave a stiff nod, just wanting this ordeal to end. First a kiss, and now a dance? She was still reeling over the touch of his mouth to hers. No man had ever kissed her before, certainly not like this. Gerald ought to have been the one to do it.
So why was she relieved Ronan had been the first? He wasn’t her beau. It troubled her that she was still tingling. And dreading that Gerald would notice and find yet another reason to disapprove of her behavior.