Three Kisses Before Christmas, Wilde, Tanya [ebooks that read to you TXT] 📗

Anger.

He bit down on his jaw. He hadn’t meant to eavesdrop.

Liar.

He had meant to do exactly that. Had spotted her heading for the stairwell and had known by the set of her shoulders, the determined jut of her jaw, she was in search of Lonsdale. So Wolfstan had followed. He had shamelessly pressed his ear up against the door and eavesdropped.

He stared at Lonsdale.

They had been friends ever since he could remember. And ever since he could remember, they’d had each other’s backs. He understood, in a way, that Lonsdale only wanted what was best for his sister. His methods, on the other hand, lacked finesse. His friend had crossed the line.

“You should have told me,” Wolfstan said.

“I did not believe you would appreciate my candor.”

“Because I never expressed my feelings for your sister?”

“Amongst other things.”

“I had my reasons,” Wolfstan said. “But I suspect you theorized as much since you used my cousin to manipulate me. Superbly done, Lonsdale.”

Lonsdale sighed. “I blundered, I admit. But dammit, you are supposed to court a woman and then ask for her hand.”

“Let us not talk about how things are supposed to be done,” Wolfstan drawled with annoyance. He might have mucked about less had he not been so unbelievably panicked. Deuced desperate. For that, he wanted to throttle Lonsdale.

However, Wolfstan could not deny Lonsdale had done him a mighty favor. He had prompted Wolfstan into action.

“Well?” Lonsdale spoke up, crossing his hands across his chest.

“Well, what?”

“Do you not have something to ask me?”

“Nothing comes to mind, no.”

Lonsdale arched a brow. “You haven’t formally asked for my permission to court my sister.”

“Since you have made your sister more wary than she’d already been, I am not in the mood to formally ask you for anything.”

“I suppose I deserve that,” Lonsdale muttered.

“Do not give up,” Caroline echoed. “Rebecca will come around. Give her time to process your proposal.”

Wolfstan was not so sure that Rebecca would ever come around. Truth be told, he was not sure of anything anymore.

It would be like wedding my brother.

Her words had been teeth-grinding, but not because she thought of him as her brother. Wolfstan suddenly did not believe that any more than he believed the sky green. Neither did she, he was sure. He had not mistaken the underlining note in her statement—one he couldn’t quite decipher—but a note that held no supreme conviction.

The revelation did not give as much hope as it gave him pause. Could it be that her reservations were about something else? Langley? Just how deep did her infatuation run?

“Caroline is right, Wicke. Give Rebecca time. She feels betrayed at present. Let her sleep on it.”

“Forgive me if I do not share your optimism.”

But as he was unsure how to proceed, and loathe as he was to take Lonsdale’s advice after what his friend had done, giving Rebecca space seemed the best course of action for the time being.

She had refused him outright, yes, but she’d been in shock. She had also fled. Not promising. Stepping back and allowing her room to breathe was the last thing he wanted to do. His instinct was to crowd her, not allow for one minute where she might dwell on Langley.

But that had been his problem since he arrived at Westbridge Park. He had not acted intentionally. He’d reacted. It occurred to him that he might do with some space as well. Rethink his actions. Adjust his efforts.

Wolfstan sighed, his glance sweeping over Lonsdale and Caroline. They stared at him expectantly.

Right.

“I will leave you to your . . . your . . . reunion.”

Chapter 8

Rebecca paced the length of her chamber for what seemed to be the hundredth time. She hadn’t left her room, too afraid she might run into Wicke. Another missive had arrived from Alexander Lance. This letter had expressed his deep ire at her lack of response to his first letter, the one still nestled between the pages of her sketchbook. Apparently, Mr. Lance had an urgent matter to discuss with her. A matter that could not wait.

What on earth had happened at Knightley’s that Mr. Lance could not handle on his own? Rebecca could not think about the troubles of unruly club members at a time like this. Her brother had shamefully meddled in her life. Wicke had proposed. A spark had lit in her belly.

Lawd, she could not believe Mason’s nerve.

Wicke and his untimely, shockingly inappropriate behavior she had considered at length. He insisted he had a clear head. He wanted to marry her since forever.

What was she to make of that? She couldn’t say, though she had arrived at four conclusions.

She could no longer use the word brother and Wicke in the same sentence.

The beast had kissed her. And she had found it entirely repulsive breathtaking.

He wanted to marry her. Her heart skipped a beat every time she thought of it.

She could not marry Wicke.

How best to preserve their friendship, then? She cared for Wicke. She did not wish to lose him as a friend. But she could simply not wed him. There was Knightley’s to consider after all. And Wicke held one of the most prestigious titles in England.

Rebecca refused to give up Knightley’s.

And she refused to bring shame to any gentleman, especially Wicke, which left her more confused than ever. Why arrive at these conclusions at all? She hadn’t considered marriage, not since she had scraped all her savings and a portion of her inheritance to procure Knightley’s two years prior. Not until Wicke had blurted out his shocking proposal. She hadn’t thought of kissing beyond her first kiss until he had set his lips on hers.

Perhaps she should talk to Wicke. If nothing else but to clear the air between them and settle their conflicting emotions. As long as Wicke did not kiss her again, or blurt out lavish suggestions, they ought to be fine. Rebecca had to remain objective to protect them both. She still found the sudden