Free The Christmas Spirit by Patricia Wynn Page B

A rippling giggle behind him made him hope Grace would not become so loud as to distract the members.
    In the private dining room, a long board had been set for numerous courses. By this late hour--one Matthew had chosen for a particular effect--the covers had all been removed and various bottles had been scattered around. The gentlemen seated about the table, stiff in their evening garb, had pushed back their chairs and unfastened their bottom waistcoat buttons the better to discuss business over their port.
    Sir Joseph Banks, President of the Royal Society and founder of this immediate body, sat at the head of the assembly. He was himself an explorer who had traveled with Captain Cook, and on the strength of his contributions to science, he had been made a baronet and received the Order of the Bath. As Matthew heard the first astonished mumblings from those who had remarked his entrance, it was to Sir Joseph that he looked. Whatever feelings the president displayed upon seeing him would prevail with the members, no matter what their personal opinions might be.
    Wariness lit the venerable gentleman's eye before he stood, followed by the others. Matthew heard a muttered oath, then a curse.
    "Dunstone?" Sir Joseph's utterance of his name seemed a challenge rather than a greeting. Matthew felt the muscles in his stomach knot. Hostility raised the hairs on the back of his neck.
    "Sir Joseph." He did his best to keep an even tone.
    Then, out of the corner of his eye, Matthew saw Sir Julian Speck, and his jaw tightened, making it impossible for him to speak. Hostility raised the hairs on the back of his neck.
    Matthew stared at his well-dressed rival. The tips of Speck's starched shirt points reached as high as his wine-flushed ears. A waistcoat in rich ivory brocade covered the unmistakable beginnings of a paunch. The fury that had been accumulating in Matthew for these past many painful months emerged from the ash where it had been banked. Matthew held his fire in check, but felt it burning in his eyes.
    Speck's glance wavered, but he hid his discomfort behind a twitching sneer.
    A tense silence hovered in the room, waiting only for someone to break it. Much as he knew that person had to be himself, Matthew felt chagrin freezing his mouth and anger blocking his speech. In his wealth of emotions, he had almost forgotten the dainty creature at his side when Faye threw back the hood of her pelisse, and the gentlemen gasped.
    With a grin suddenly tickling at his lips, Matthew released his adversary's gaze. Instead of the paralysis he had known just moments ago, he experienced a boyish rush of triumph. With one look at Faye's beautiful, sprite-like face, these gentlemen, who had wished to hang Matthew in effigy if not in earnest, seemed at once to have forgotten all their animosity.
    "Sir Joseph," Matthew said, breaking in on their trance, "allow me to present Miss Faye Meriwether to your members. Miss Meriwether has come with a plea she believes will appeal to their generosity of spirit."
    Ignoring the wryness in Matthew's tone, Sir Joseph stepped forward to lead her to his place at the head of the table, giving Matthew the luxury to reflect. If he had attempted to foist anyone else upon the group, either he or she would have been suspect from the outset. But no one raised a word of protest about the beauty who had invaded their proceedings. The members all stared at Faye, their eyes nearly bulging from their heads. Matthew would have stepped back, the better to enjoy the effect of her particular magic, but a determined grip of her fingers on his arm kept him near her side.
    "Gentlemen . . ."
    At Faye's first word, Matthew felt the air about him shiver with delight. So mesmerized were the men,  they forgot to offer her a seat but, instead, stood frozen in place while she told them of her charity.
    Watching her now and feeling the power of the spell she wove, Matthew could not help but recall Ahmad's remark. It was no wonder his