The Viscount's Christmas Temptation Read Free

possible. Once it fairly ran itself, she would set about providing heirs, who would doubtlessly offer a lifetime’s worth of situations to be managed. Just think of all the strange new problems she’d be likely to face! Absolutely brilliant.
    “That’s not a catalog.” Her brother set aside his empty glass and plate to peer across the maplewood table. “Why the devil are you reading Debrett’s Peerage ?”
    “It most certainly is a catalog, and the most expedient one at my disposal. I’ve decided to take a husband. His name must be within these pages.”
    “You can’t husband-hunt in a book!”
    “Perhaps you cannot. I intend to make a sensible match. How do you feel about the Duke of Lambley? Relations of his are diplomats somewhere in China. I can’t think of anything more practical than a marital alliance with ties to the Silk Road.”
    “Lambley?” Ravenwood exploded. “I forbid you from even considering an unrepentant rake such as—What am I saying? Do not suck me into your stratagems, Machiavelli. I will not be involved.”
    “Machiavelli was a narrow-minded egoist, and I’ll thank you not to compare us a second time. I should be shocked to discover ‘self-centered’ among the words that best describe me.”
    “Don’t fly into one of your starts, I was just quizzing you. If you were at all self-centered, it wouldn’t have taken you thirty years to come up with the idea of getting married.”
    “Twenty-nine, puppy!”
    “Nonetheless, while I recognize that I cannot fathom by what means you realize your various plans, I cannot think that one’s life love is to be found within the pages of a book.”
    She snorted. “ You might be susceptible to poetry and long walks in the garden. Falling in love is for people who don’t know how to plan. But if you insist I apply my efforts toward men I already know, I shall choose from among your friends. The Earl of Carlisle might do. I hear his estate is an absolute nightmare.”
    “You stay away from the dukes of war!” he thundered. “I would not have any one of them toss their handkerchief at my sister.”
    Dukes of war, indeed. Trust Ravenwood to coin such a flowery phrase—and use it so disparagingly. “I thought they were your closest friends?”
    His eyes shuttered. “They were.”
    “Ease your mind. I’m not a debutante whose head is turned by a pretty face and smart regimentals. I’m looking for someone less . . . elemental.” She held up the Peerage . “I obviously won’t know which of these fine gentlemen is to be my future husband for at least another week, but you cannot deny it is an excellent resource for trimming the names down to a manageable list.”
    “And then what? Gad about knocking on doors?”
    “Of course not! First impressions are key. Which means an elaborate gown, an intricate hairstyle, and dim ballroom lighting.”
    Ravenwoord leaned back in his chair. “Are you saying you’ll contrive to get all these paragons of eligible bachelorhood under one roof?”
    “That unparalleled efficiency has already been done for me. In twelve days, everyone in this book will be at the Sheffields’ seventy-fifth annual Christmas Eve ball.” She set down the Peerage in order to flip through the tallest stack of correspondence. She frowned when she could not easily find what she sought. “The invitation must be in here somewhere . . . Viscount Sheffield always sends them out by the first of December, and today is the twelfth.”
    “Well, you’re half right. Today is the twelfth. But there’s not going to be a seventy-fifth annual Christmas Eve ball this year.”
    “What do you mean, ‘this year’? This is the only year he can have a seventy-fifth annual ball. Next year would be the seventy-sixth, which won’t count a button if he skips years willy-nilly in-between.”
    Ravenwood shook his head. “Not willy-nilly. Canceling wasn’t his choice.”
    “Oh, stuff. He’s only the viscount, and the sole master of his affairs.