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

library surrounded by books. A cozy bloody scene.

Wolfstan’s lip curled.

Had he been a stranger staring down at the drawings, he’d have thought it some sort of memoir of a loving couple’s life. There was just one picture that did not fit the mold, one of a woman—Rebecca?—standing over a man outside a tavern while pointing a finger at him.

An envelope slid from between the pages.

Wolfstan’s brows drew together as he reached to collect the letter from the floor. Rebecca’s name was scrawled in a bold, unquestionably male hand. Sealed, he noted.

Wolfstan tore the last sketch, a half-finished drawing, from the book and pocketed both items. He had snooped enough, though curiosity blazed anew. Who was writing to Rebecca? Not Langley, for he would have recognized his cousin’s hand. Another man. A suitor?

He snorted, striding to the drawing room. A sense of renewed purpose ignited his belly. The poor sot, whoever he was, would have to get in line.

He wanted to be the one in that damn sketchbook, and even if he did not stand a chance, even if she ultimately rebuked his efforts, Wolfstan would be damned if he lost this fight without giving it his all.

He joined the trio in the drawing room, his gaze flicking over Rebecca’s stony features. She refused to look at him.

“There you are,” Caroline exclaimed when he entered. “We were beginning to wonder where you had roamed off to.”

Wolfstan forced a smile and lowered onto the sofa beside Langley. “My apologies,” he said, settling in. “Do not stop the conversation on my account.”

“I was informing Langley the two of you must stay the night. The evening chill has already set in. I would hate for you to catch a cold.”

“You are too kind, Lady Caroline,” Langley said.

So much for hauling Langley back to the castle.

“That reminds me.” Wolfstan fished into his pocket and lifted the journal. “I found a book full of sketches.”

Rebecca’s gaze whipped to him.

Caroline’s brows puckered. “Rebecca, is that not your sketchbook?”

“Yes,” she bit out and held out her hand.

“Quite the artist,” Wolfstan drawled. “I am sure you would agree, cousin. You have an eye for talent.”

Langley nodded. “If you permit me, Lady Rebecca, I’ll have a—”

“No!” Rebecca cried and launched from the chair to yank the book from Wolfstan’s fingers. He pulled away just in time, rising to his feet.

“Are you sure you do not want Langley to have a look at your work? Your sketches are quite brilliant.”

She narrowed her eyes on him. “Hand me back my sketchbook, Wicke.”

A shiver raced down his spine. She only ever used his title, and only ever partially, when she was annoyed with him.

“Enlighten us as to what inspired such picturesque settings for your drawings?” The question slipped past his lips like a bloody thief. And when her eyes widened, Wolfstan knew he would regret the slip. Possibly forever. Her face turned purple.

“You blackguard! I cannot believe you invaded my privacy!”

“You should take better care of your belongings if you do not wish others to pry.”

“Give it back, Wicke.” She glowered at him. “Now!”

Langley coughed behind his hand.

Had he gone too far? Wolfstan had never pursued a woman before, and teasing her to the point of simmering anger had probably not been the stellar choice. Had he been a vase, he’d have been shattered against the wall.

Langley rose and snatched the book from him, and for a hair-raising moment, both Wolfstan and Rebecca froze. Tension clung to the air as Langley stared at the book for a heartbeat before he grinned, and offered it back to Rebecca.

“Thank you,” she murmured, clutching the book to her front. “If you will excuse me, the day has been quite tiring. I believe I shall rest for a while.”

She sent Wolfstan a nasty look and stomped from the room.

“I am no genius, cousin, but I do not think Lady Rebecca appreciated your teasing.”

Caroline cleared her throat. “Well, I’m certain she will be right as rain in an hour or so.”

Wolfstan sighed. He was no expert on the subject of women either, but he was sure it was not as simple as that. He had blundered. Colossally. And that wasn’t even the start of it.

TEARS OF ANGER MOISTENED the corners of Rebecca’s eyes as she slammed the door to her chamber shut. She wiped at them furiously. That cur! She could not believe Wolfstan had acted like such a horrid beast. He had kissed her, stolen the moment she had saved for Langley. Had invaded her privacy, and then he had the nerve to mock her.

In the presence of Langley.

Humiliation settled like a ton of bricks in the center of her chest. How dare the beast treat her so!

What do you have to lose?

Of course he could ask her that. He lost nothing, Rebecca fumed. She, on the other hand, had lost her first kiss. And that, in her books, meant something. She could never get it back. She could never give it to Langley. Damn Wolfstan. Damn his wolfish hide.

She fell onto her bed with a plonk and wiped at her eyes. However was she going to look Langley in the eyes again? To think if he had seen those sketches. . . . Private drawings that spoke of all the settings Rebecca had daydreamed about their kiss. In her mind he was a hero. The heart of a man every woman aspired to catch.

The perfect gentleman.

Unlike a certain beast.

Rebecca might never marry but she at least could experience the perfect kiss from the perfect man. And Wolfstan had ruined that for her. Rebecca grimaced. Well, not completely ruined, as his kiss had stolen her breath, a little, urgh, a lot, but that was not the point!

She opened her book and leafed through the pages, her throat hitching as she perused through the drawings of her and Langley, manifestations of her childhood fantasies.

Has he ever shown you any favor?

Rebecca shut her eyes.

Wolfstan’s cruel question was poised to haunt her future dreams. How was she to