Mistletoe and Mayhem - Cheryl Bolen Page 0,176

a chance meeting with his friend Martin, Lord Hartstone, had convinced him to while away a few hours there.

It was a bit serendipitous, actually, since Martin's assistance was precisely what was needed in the upcoming holiday season.

"Are you still acting as a matchmaker?"

Desmond tried to make it sound as though he were teasing, masking his genuine reason for the question.

"I suppose I am," Martin answered with a chuckle. "Though too often it has been more inadvertent than intentional. My last attempt came perilously close to being a disaster. Fortunately, it all worked out in the end."

Desmond glanced around, as if perusing the wood-paneled room, but actually intent on determining if anyone were near enough to hear him. Fortunately, every member in attendance was seated at a distance, engaged in conversation with other gentlemen, or consumed with the newspapers they were reading.

Still, Desmond leaned closer before saying, "Perhaps I could enlist your services."

Martin's eyebrows flew upwards. "What need do you have of a matchmaker? By all accounts, your days and nights are filled with attentive females."

"I always suspected you were a fan of the scandal sheets—"

"They are certainly a fan of you," Martin snorted.

Desmond shrugged, his lips twitching. "It is time to give them someone else to speculate about for a change." He added casually, "It would also demonstrate you are not an accidental matchmaker. Assuming you are successful, of course."

"I am tempted to consider your proposition, just for the challenge it would provide."

"You would become the newest darling of the scandal sheets overnight. The Prince Regent himself will wish to seek out your services."

Martin cackled as he settled into the leather chair. "I have no interest in acclaim or the notoriety you are accustomed to. And Prinny's marital woes are well beyond my ability to resolve." His expression turned serious. "Is this newfound interest due to your father? That was a nasty spill he took recently."

"Of course it has nothing to do with him," Desmond fibbed. "He would run us both through if he thought we considered him frail, all because a horse got the best of him." He winked. "It would speed his recovery, though, if he believed I was finally heeding his advice about matters of the heart."

"My mother and aunts still talk about your parents' love story. It was quite the romance in their day. The stuff of legends, to hear them discuss it."

"One that is impossible to live up to, I am afraid."

In truth, Desmond had begun to wonder if his heart would ever be amenable to something as long-lasting as his parents' love for each other. He had relished his numerous lighthearted liaisons, none of them intended to last more than a few months, which suited him and his paramours perfectly. There were no tears or recriminations on anyone's part when it was time to move on to something else.

Still, his parents' undeniable devotion, especially after his father's recent accident, had Desmond wishing for something similar for himself.

Martin's eyes twinkled momentarily. His next words made Desmond think his friend had read his thoughts. "Perhaps my matchmaking prowess will lead you to a woman who steals your heart."

"That is yet to be determined. But even if my heart remains unattached, as is likely, a man knows when it is time to take up his responsibilities to the family lineage, leaving his frolicsome youth behind."

"Frolicsome? Now you are sounding like the white-haired gent in the corner who has not moved from that spot in twenty years." Martin gave Desmond a good looking-over, as if he was examining a pair of prime race horses at Tattersall's. "I wonder who I could possibly convince to attempt a match with a scoundrel such as you."

"I am breathless with anticipation." Desmond could not hold back a smile. "Though, from your previous difficulties, I understand it may require more than one attempt before success is declared."

Martin's eyes gleamed at the unspoken challenge. "Your situation merely requires something a bit different. I think you will enjoy what I have in mind…"

Desmond stood in the lavish ballroom at Hartstone Hall, wondering if he had completely lost his wits. It had been diverting while sitting in his London club, devising a plan to find a woman he could fall in love with at some point.

But now, several days later, standing beneath a cluster of mistletoe, clutching one half of a calling card, waiting for the woman who had the other half to appear…

Yes, he had clearly misplaced his wits. Not to mention his confidence in