Free An Affair Before Christmas by Eloisa James Page A

and—alas—no blood lines.
    Finchley turned around and Villiers realized he had forgotten to answer. The odd thing was that Finchley’s face looked exactly like his old nanny’s. In fact, for a moment, he saw her broad disapproving face superimposed over Finchley’s long-jawed one. He watched in fascination as Finchley and Nanny’s nose wavered and seemed to come together.
    “Your Grace?”
    “Finchley, do you have any relatives in Somerset?” Villiers said, narrowing his eyes again to try to bring Finchley’s noses down to one. Which—he was fairly certain—was the right number of noses for a face like Finchley’s.
    “None whatsoever, Your Grace. Why do you ask?”
    “You share a great deal with my childhood nanny,” Villiers muttered, not wanting to admit that what Finchley shared was a nose.
    Finchley didn’t like the idea of sharing anything with a nanny; Villiers could see that. His back became even more erect, and his chin went further into the air. In short, he looked even more ducal, barring the fact that he still had two noses.
    “I’d forgotten Nanny’s nose had that wart on it,” Villiers said, almost dreamily. “I loved her anyway, you know. Perhaps that’s why I’ve never married…do you think it was because I’ve not found a woman with a wart on her nose, Finchley? Do you suppose that’s the reason? If you, Finchley, were a lady with a wart on your nose, do you suppose I would marry you?”
    Finchley’s mouth fell open for a heartbeat and then he said: “Your Grace, I shall summon the surgeon.”
    “I would get that nose removed, if I were you,” Villiers said, squinting at him. “After all, you had a fine nose before. A ducal nose, really.”
    “Yes, Your Grace. If Your Grace will excuse me.” He moved toward the door.
    “Not yet,” Villiers said. “I’d like a glass, Finchley.”
    “Your Grace?”
    “A glass! Bring me that small mirror. I need to see how many noses I have.” That seemed to get Finchley moving. He plumped a small mirror into Villiers’s hand and left the room as if the bats of hell were after him. In fact, Finchley looked rather like a gargoyle, not a bat. It was the two noses.
    For a moment Villiers was almost afraid to look in the mirror. Would he too have grown an extra nose?
    But no. There he was…big nose and all. He felt it cautiously. There was only one. He still didn’t look like a duke. Dukes had pale complexions and long delicate features, like a superior kind of hunting dog. Or they were remarkably beautiful, like his old friend Elijah. But he’d grown practiced over the past few years at not thinking about Elijah, otherwise known as the Duke of Beaumont, and so he dropped that thought immediately.
    In contrast, Villiers looked like a docksman. His hair was jet black—except where there were streaks of pure white. His hair would probably turn all white now. The shoulder didn’t seem to be burning quite as much. In fact, he felt a floating sensation, which was a pleasant change.
    At least his eyebrows were still black. A woman had told him once that he had the eyes of a snake. By closing one eye, Villiers discovered that he could almost see what she meant. The one open eye was black as midnight. Peculiar, really.
    He only had one nose, but he was a damned ugly specimen, anyway.
    The door burst open as that hopeless fool of a surgeon, Banderspit, charged in, followed by Finchley. Finchley had lost a nose and looked entirely normal. Banderspit, on the other hand, was sprouting red feathers from the back of his head. It looked most peculiar.
    “Your Grace,” Banderspit said, moving over to the bed and pawing at Villiers’s forehead in a distasteful way, “a fever is come upon you. We shall have to bleed you.”
    “Too late,” Villiers said, laughing. “I was already bled. Fought a duel, didn’t I? And lost. Damn it!” He sat up. “I have to get to Beaumont House. It’s time for our next move!”
    A few seconds later he found that