The Dance Before Christmas. Victoria Alexander

      “Self-delusion is always comforting.” She cast him a decidedly pitying smile. “My aunt said you would be amenable to this endeavor because you are not especially successful.”

      “Today maybe, but tomorrow...” He smirked.

      She raised a brow. “Dreams of stardom, Mr. Grant?”

      “We all have dreams of stardom, Miss Snelling. What would be the point otherwise?”

      “There is such a thing as overconfidence.”

      “When one is about to go onstage, in front of hundreds of people, and try to convince them he’s someone he’s not, there is no such thing as overconfidence. And for this particular role, I don’t think you want someone who isn’t completely sure of himself.”

      “You may be right there.” She paused. “Are you ready to meet my father?”

      “Not quite yet. There are a few more things we need to discuss.”

      “Your fee, of course.” She nodded. “I’ll speak with my aunt and arrange for that immediately.”

      “It’s not that—I’m in no hurry. I’m not quite as struggling as your aunt may think.” He shrugged aside her offer. “No, it’s about Earnest.”

      She frowned. “What about him?”

      “I don’t like the name,” he said loftily. “Earnest Everheart? It has no ring to it. No...drama.”

      “My aunt suggested it. It’s a perfectly fine name.”

      “It’s the name of someone who can’t achieve his goals or attain his desires. It’s an awful name for the kind of dashing, attentive suitor you’re looking for.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “I assume you do wish for dashing and attentive?”

      “This would be pointless otherwise,” she said sharply.

      Obviously Miss Anabel Snelling was used to getting her own way. He bit back a grin.

      “Earnest.” He shook his head. “I’m not an Earnest.”

      “But you are an actor.”

      “What you expect of me goes far beyond a few hours on a stage. Furthermore, there are no written lines. Nothing to memorize and certainly nothing to rehearse. I shall have to make my lines up spontaneously.” He shook his head. “It will not be easy.”

      “You are being paid for it.”

      “Regardless, given the unique aspects of this particular performance, I think we need to do all we can to minimize the possibility of mistakes. While the important part of the man’s name is Everheart—which I assumed you picked to impress your father.”

      She nodded.

      “The first name is not significant.”

      Her brows drew together in annoyance. “I suppose not.”

      “Then I suggest we dispense with Earnest in favor of another name.”

      “And what might that be?” she asked wryly.

      “I suggest Wesley. It’s a good, strong name. The sort of name an explorer would give his son.”

      She stared. “It’s your name.”

      “Therefore easy to remember.”

      “Very well.”

      “No man of adventure would name his son Earnest.”

      “I said very well.” Her cool tone belied the flicker of amusement in her eyes. “You’re not exactly what I expected, Mr. Grant.”

      He met her gaze and smiled into those enchanting green eyes. “I hate being expected, Miss Snelling.”

      “Apparently we have more in common than I would have thought.” She smiled albeit reluctantly. “If there’s nothing else, it’s time for you to meet my father and pretend to be madly in love with me.”

      “It will be my very great honor.” He opened the doors. “As well as my pleasure.”

      “It will be your role.” She swept through the open doors. “A paying role, I might add, and nothing more than that.”

      He chuckled. If Anabel Snelling wanted an actor, he’d give her one. And if, in the process, he advanced his own purpose as well, then so much the better. He’d wondered if this trip to London was a waste of time, especially since it meant missing Christmas with his family. That was still to be determined. But right now, he was fairly certain it was going to be a great deal of fun.

       CHAPTER TWO

      THE MOMENT THEY stepped into the ballroom festooned with swags of evergreens, ivy and holly accented with red ribbons and model ships, maps and globes, Mr. Grant—Wesley—swept her onto the dance floor. It was an excellent way to show the world how fascinating they found each other without being too obvious about it. The way he gazed into her eyes and led her flawlessly around the floor, it was almost hard for her to believe they were not smitten with one another.

      It was absurd of course, as they had only just met and he was an actor. He was simply pretending and so was she. Besides, the very idea that she could develop feelings for an actor was ridiculous. She was not destined to be the wife of an actor, nor was she as enamored of the theater as some of her friends were. She was not the sort of female to swoon over a handsome man spouting well-written verse on a stage. Father would never approve, and as much as they differed on any number of topics, in this she would have to agree with him.

      But good Lord, Wesley Grant was perfect. Absolutely perfect. Devilishly handsome and just a touch disheveled. As if he had been slightly mussed getting out of a carriage and was not nearly so vain as to worry about it.

      “Are you staring at me, Anabel?”

      “I am gazing adoringly at you.”

      His gaze slipped from her eyes to her lips and back. “You’re making an excellent job of it.”

      Was it her imagination or was his voice a shade deeper than before? More intense perhaps? Silly idea, of course.

      “You dance quite well, Mr. Grant.”

      “I believe that’s Mr. Everheart to you, or rather Wesley.” He grinned down at her. “You sound surprised.”

      “Not at all. I would expect you to be well trained in all manner of stagecraft.”

      “You should see me in a sword fight.” He led her effortlessly through a complicated turn.

      With his broad shoulders and his firm hand clasping hers, she had no doubt Wesley Grant did a great many things well.

      “I would think that would be far more dangerous than dancing.”

      “Not if you know what you’re doing.” His blue eyes brimmed with amusement. “But dancing can be just as dangerous.”

      “Oh?” She gazed up at him. Aunt Lillian had certainly not exaggerated the man’s appearance. His dark hair, deep blue eyes and strong jaw made him look very much as if he had stepped straight from one of her romantic novels. “Do tell, Mr. Everheart—Wesley, how can dancing be dangerous?”

      He laughed. “I suspect you already know the answer to that.”

      “Pretend I don’t.”

      “Do you really want an answer or are you just making idle conversation?”

      “Both.” Although she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to hear his answer. A voice in the back of her head warned that the deception she was engaging in might be far more complicated than she had previously imagined. Even a bit dangerous. A tiny frisson of excitement skated up her spine. Anabel had never been confronted