Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

W hat had he stumbled into? It was too good to be true. A beautiful woman had practically propositioned him. Just when Phineas thought his charm knew no bounds, she turned the conversation on its axis, and he was left to discern how to keep from tripping over his own tongue. He wasn't just Phineas Blackmore. He was Viscount Davies, and the glory of it all was that she saw him as the man he was, not the man he had to be. This ray of sunshine was not looking for a title. She was following desire. He couldn't resist her if he tried. Even if only to kiss her, he'd meet her in his coach and hope to God she wasn't torturing him with empty banter.

The headache plaguing him for days subsided. His great-aunts Vada and Nora meant well, but their task of finding him a bride before he met with some disaster at sea only made him wish to return to the churn of salt and water. There was a reason that ship captains rarely married.

But Phin had not anticipated a woman like Sunshine, with spunk and tenacity, to appear out of nowhere, showing up on Christmas Eve no less. The two doting older women still saw him as a boy who'd left home to fight a war. If he had any doubt of that, the women they invited to the rout were proof enough. Good breeding stock with plenty of years to ensure an heir. Some looked barely eighteen. His tastes did not run so young as to take a chance that he might meet a debutante who could hold his interest for more than ten idle seconds.

And then he spied her . Behind a potted plant, a hint of red lace peeking through the fronds had been enough for him to inspect. It could have been Christmas décor, but to his lovely surprise, it was a woman—a full-grown woman checking her bodice, which gave him ample time and a good excuse for a furtive glance.

Not for one minute did he believe her name was Sunshine, and he didn't give a damn because it looked as if she didn't know him at all. Not by sight, anyhow. Even the hint of his name didn't spark a note in her. Better for his luck. All he really wished to do was talk to her, to share more banter and innuendo. He hadn't truly expected her to meet him in his coach, but on the off chance she would show, he messaged his footman to retrieve his coach from its stall and park it at the end of the drive. He even asked him to throw in a heated brick and a blanket for good measure. The winter was colder than normal. All the more reason to sidle up next to someone who called herself Sunshine.

The color of her eyes remained a mystery, but he would notice that burst of copper hair anywhere. He was counting on it.

He hastened to the coach, leaving his coat behind for fear he'd bump into someone wishing for a word or a dance or a fainting couch.

"Thank you, Mr. Cowell," he said to the footman as he relieved him of his duty. Phin stood at the back of the coach, out of sight of the drive. The waxing moon gave up little light, but with the illumination coming from the windows of the manor house, one could detect a person if not see them completely.

He rubbed his brow with thumb and forefinger, considered removing his mask again, and then left it on. The game they played was still a mystery, and he didn't want to lose her because of his ambition to know her better.

"Mr. Blackmore," a woman whispered from the shadowed drive—her cloaked figure outlined by the halo of lights behind her and the illumination of her frosted breath.

"Miss Sunshine." He bowed. "Your carriage awaits." With a twist, he swept his arm toward the coach, mimicking a welcoming footman. The lady did show. Luck was on his side.

"Is it a pumpkin?" she asked, taking a step closer.

"Surely not. I plan to be here long after midnight."

He could see her reevaluating her decision. She took a deep breath, held her cloak together with one hand, and picked up her skirts with the other. Once she'd made up her mind, her movements, her fa?ade, shifted into a very provocative confidence that put even him on guard. He took her gloved hand and helped her take the steps, seeing her seated before he took the opposite gold velvet squab.

She tugged at one glove, finger by finger, pulling her hand free, then proceeded to spread out her fingers over the fine velvet seat beside her. While she examined the fabric, he examined her for signs of regret.

"Luxurious. You must be somebody to own such a fine vehicle," she said, raising her eyes to his.

"I believe we are all somebody." He concentrated on not holding his breath, waiting for the moment she would recognize him and hoping she didn't. Surprisingly, now they were seated and alone, he found himself interested in knowing her. He wanted her to discover who he was inside, before the unmasking when most people's opinions were formed into a mold proofed by someone else. "Daring to dress in red and without a companion nipping at your heels tells me you prefer to think for yourself."

"I would imagine that's true for everyone. I'm simply determined to live. Too much of life is stolen in the mundane tasks and idioms that guide our lives. We give too much credit to those who make up the rules, the quotes, and the idioms. Don't you think?"

"What I think is you're a beautiful cynic."

"Perhaps I have good reason." She folded her hands in her lap. "Did I come here to make a point or to learn something about the mysterious rogue who dared to invite me for a rendezvous?" She slid the other glove from her fingers, while presenting him with a daring bend to her lovely lips.

He folded his arms and then undid them in the same way she undid him. "You're not like any woman I've ever met." He squinted, leaning forward a bit to examine her eyes. "Blue. No, hazel. Your eyes." He pointed to his own so she would understand his meaning.

"My father used to say they were as blue as the sky. I'm afraid he saw what he wished, though. My mother had hazel, green-rimmed with blue gray. I believe mine are the same. In some light, they appear blue. I applaud your interest in the detail, however."

"I can't imagine it any other way. Ignoring detail can get a man killed on the sea."

"And your eyes are brown. I noticed that readily. Easy enough, except in the dark, they appear black. You could affect something sinister if you tried, and maybe even if you didn't."

"I'm not dangerous, Miss Sunshine, if that's what you're getting at."

"Then you underestimate yourself, and I have a feeling you've never done that. Another misnomer, perhaps?"

"Me?" he asked with a gust of a chuckle, putting a hand to his chest. "I suppose it would be a lie to say my curiosity isn't piqued enough to contemplate leading you astray. Though, I imagine you're not easily led anywhere."

"I came here, didn't I?"

"And how long did you stand behind that plant shuffling between the wisdom of coming at all?"

"No more than a minute or two." She flipped open her red ostrich feather fan, fluttering it under her nose and watching him through the holes of the scorching red half mask. "My shuffling wisdom, as you say, took twenty minutes of honest contemplation in my room as I dared the sage on my shoulder with the adventure." She lowered her fan, her cheeks dimpled.

"I shall not disappoint your trust." He rubbed his hands together, changing the subject and the relentless whisper of the devil on his own shoulder. "Champagne?"

She almost looked relieved. "Please tell me you aren't teasing."

"I wouldn't dare try." He pushed himself up from the seat and slipped through the door, returning with a bottle and two glasses. "I plucked these from a pail of snow. Chilled. No better way to enjoy bubbly wine." He jealously watched as her tongue swept her plump lips, and his mouth watered for a taste.

"The sage is warning me that you're plying me with spirits. How unfair," she said, taking the glass without a hint of trepidation.

"Unfair of me or the sage?" He lifted his glass toward her, and she met it with a tiny clink. "To a merry Christmas, Miss Sunshine."

"To silencing the sage and making a memory, Phineas Blackmore."

He felt a surge of lustful joy spread through him as warm as the alcohol spreading from his chest through his limbs. A kiss, he kept chanting to himself. Nothing more. Just a kiss. "Shall I put the bottle back outside to keep it cold?"

"And risk someone seeing? Or worse, stealing it? I think not. Better safe than sorry. Just a bit of proverbial wisdom for you. Besides, I rather think we'll drink it before it gets warm." She fought with the ribbon-tied fan at her wrist again while balancing the champagne. Phin took the drink from her grasp so she could finish her task. She set the fan aside, making certain the spokes were closed. "Thank you," she said, reaching across the seats and retrieving her drink. So much of her seemed sophisticated until she fought that silly fan. That was the woman who truly intrigued him.

"Is it too forward to admit there is a warm brick and blanket if it gets uncomfortably cold?"

"I award you the blanket since I was smart enough to retrieve a cloak. I see you were busy with other things. Did you bribe the footman at the front of the drive?"

"My entire savings was worth every shilling to meet you."

"I can only hope you're not shy of funds then because I've no wish to bankrupt anyone."

"I would guess you've bankrupted many youthful hearts and continue to do so."

She bent her head, but not before he saw the soulful change in her eyes. Something about it tweaked his conscience. Perhaps it was the word youthful. Thankfully, the subtle change in her didn't last. She returned his gaze with a forced smile. "More champagne if you please. It's a rare treat that I should drink more than one glass." She handed over the empty flute, then undid the frog at her throat, freeing her shoulders of the gray wool. "What shall we do about the masks? I understand midnight is the unmasking hour, but I am not opposed to leaving them on."

Like him, was she looking for anonymity as well? He handed her back the wine and then checked his watch. "We have an hour to contemplate the wisdom of shedding too much light on such a remarkable evening. Not that I wouldn't wish to see your face. I can only imagine how beautiful you are since everything else seems to be well-placed."

"Don't bother. The champagne is working, so there's no need for added compliments."

"Except they are all true." He was happy to leave the masks on. Why tempt fate? Besides, it didn't matter because her fa?ade was falling one revealing sentence at a time.

"I have to confess I am rather embarrassed about the potted plant. I was afraid of the butler's ringing introduction into a room full of strangers, so I entered the ballroom through the outside terrace."

"Funny, you don't strike me as someone who's afraid of anything."

"Everyone is afraid of something. I'm afraid of being alone, I suppose, and there is nothing lonelier than a crowd of people you do not know."

He filed that information away. "True. But then, even in a crowd, we can be anyone we wish wearing such frippery." He wiggled his mask.

Her masked gaze swept over him from head to toe. Not so much a caress, but he felt it, nonetheless. His heart skipped, and so did his libido when her gaze drifted over his groin. Her gaze didn't linger, so he took it for a simple look, but his simple brain took it for more. Could his aunts have mistakenly invited a courtesan? Part of him wished it so, and another wanted to believe her interest was real. When she met his eyes, his mouth stitched up into a half smile.

"I believe you're right about the masks. Do your eyes crinkle when you smile? You look like the devil himself." Her head tilted.

"Do I look old enough for lines at my eyes?"

"Frankly, yes."

He feigned a gasp. "I thought we weren't speaking truth. Should we remove the frippery?"

"No," she said quickly.

One more bullet dodged. He began to relax. She didn't know him. And she wanted to remain anonymous. Affairs often started this way, which he would have to admit enticed him. But there was something about her more interesting than a liaison. A playful energy surrounded her and he wanted to be a part of it. "Am I allowed to play the guessing game?"

Careful to keep hold of her glass, she folded her arms, which accentuated her breasts. Not her intent, but who was he to question good fortune. The view made his mind wander. "Do your best, Mr. Blackmore."

"It's safe to say you are not a debutante or even a London belle."

Her cocked brow nudged her mask high on her smiling cheek.

"I only point out that if you were a known debutante, certainly I would recognize your name and you mine."

"Unless we both lied."

"I am many things, but I am not a liar."

"A thief of hearts then?" Her cheeks dimpled, and her eyes shone with champagne-induced mischief.

"Why? Have I stolen yours?"

"Mine is not available, I'm afraid. It's well guarded against blackguards and men with lethally loaded smiles."

He rested his arm on his elbow and tapped his chin with his wineglass, enjoying the heady mist of bubbles tickling his sinuses. He hardly knew what to say to her. Could it be that he'd been away too long? It had only been a year since he'd been home. "Tell me, why did you answer my invitation for a rendezvous?"

"Because, according to you, meeting in the library was too cliché, and the potted plant created an indecent exhibition for a stolen kiss, which I suspect is something we both want."

A cough threw him from his leisurely pose, sloshing a drop of champagne on his neckcloth.

"If this is to be an adventure, what's next, Mr. Blackmore?"

"My name, for one." He took her glass with his, setting them both on the floor near the side of the cabin in case they were inclined to tip. "Phineas. Or Phin, if you please," he said, bent to his task.

"Or captain?" The sound of infectious, relaxed laughter filled his ears, reminding him how infrequently he'd heard the genuine sound of joy, especially from a woman, in the last several years.

"Not landlocked, no."

"Well, Phin, I'm no Miss. Just Sunshine."

"You are every bit your name."

Her head tilted, and she watched her hands in her lap, a genteel shyness from a woman who had a moment ago proposed a kiss.

"Am I being played, Sunshine? And to what end?" he asked with a teasing tone. He only wished to draw her out again.

She cleared her throat. "I promise you that I've forgotten how to play that game. It's been awhile."

He sobered a little. There were tiny moments he wished to memorize about her that made him want to ask more. First whimsy, coyness, teasing, and then this shyness he couldn't explain. "I believe you're telling the truth."

She shrugged, unable to look at him anymore.

"More champagne?"

"I don't think so. It's possible I'm not thinking clearly." She still did not look at him.

"Would you care for me to escort you back?" There was no situation on the planet in which he wished to share a rendezvous with a woman who didn't agree. He almost held his breath because this woman held his particular interest. Perhaps it was the mask. Or simply who she was behind it.

A breath shook in and out of her that he suspected had little to do with the temperature outside and everything to do with the heat building between them. "Not yet." She squared her shoulders. "I came here for a kiss, Phin. I'm not leaving without one."