Jane Goodger

by A Christmas Waltz

At intermission, Boone was surrounded by the highest members of the ton, all of whom couldn’t wait to thank him for saving Lord Wallace’s life. Details of the accident had lost a few facts along the way, but no one would hear of Boone humbly saying he’d only done what any doctor would. Amelia stood by him, beaming up at the man that the entire world now knew was special. Spying Emily Eldridge in the crowd, Amelia pulled away and went over to the young woman.

  “Oh, it’s so exciting, isn’t it? I heard Lord Wallace’s arm had nearly been taken completely off and Dr. Kitteridge sewed it back on,” she gushed. “It’s so thrilling.”

  “I don’t think it was quite that dramatic,” Amelia said with a laugh, “but I am quite proud of him. He came home covered in blood. It was positively gruesome. I do hope Lord Wallace is doing well.”

  Amelia looked over at Boone, fearing he’d be uncomfortable with the attention. He stood, inches taller than the rest, looking solemn and handsome, a calm presence amidst the clamor. How different he was from Carson, whose smile and flamboyant mannerisms now seemed so superficial. He’d welcomed the hero-worship, encouraged it even, when he’d done nothing to deserve the accolades showered upon him. And there was Boone, a true hero, looking rather uncomfortable to be the recipient of such adulation. What a silly, stupid girl she’d been a year ago, she thought.

  Next to her, Emily sighed. “He is the most handsome man, Mrs. Kitteridge. You are the luckiest of women.”

  “And he’s very devoted,” Amelia said, pointedly.

  Emily gave Amelia a mock pout, then grinned as if she couldn’t even pretend to be grumpy. But her frown turned genuine when her older sister Beatrice joined them, acting as if she hadn’t insulted Amelia to the core the last time they’d met. “You must tell me all about it,” she said, smiling coolly just as the lights flickered, announcing the beginning of the second act of the play.

  Amelia gave a rueful look, as if she were sorry she wouldn’t have the chance to speak to Beatrice about the incident. “Perhaps we can talk tomorrow at the Rotherham Ball,” Amelia said, thinking to herself that she would avoid such a conversation if at all possible. She was not one to easily forgive.

  “Oh,” Beatrice said, flushing slightly. “We’ve decided not to attend.”

  “Because we weren’t invited,” Emily put in. Beatrice flashed her sister a look that would have frightened a meek girl, but Emily simply smiled.

  “I suppose you were right, Beatrice,” Amelia said.

  “Right?” the other woman asked, confused.

  “We are moving in different circles now. Perhaps I can visit you when we return.”

  Beatrice suddenly looked as if she’d eaten a lemon. “Yes. That would be lovely.”

  Emily gave Amelia an impish look, then left with her sister. Whoever said revenge wasn’t gratifying apparently hadn’t met Beatrice Turner.

  The Rotherhams had outdone themselves, creating a ballroom so filled with Christmas cheer it appeared a veritable forest of holly, mistletoe, and green boughs. Hanging from the ceiling were crystal snowflakes that glittered in the gaslight, sending tiny bits of light throughout the room, making it almost appear as if it were snowing.

  Entering the ballroom on Boone’s arm, Amelia looked up and felt a sharp melancholy tug in her heart.

  “Julia,” Boone said, softly.

  “I was thinking the same thing. It is lovely, though, isn’t it?”

  As they walked into the room, they were greeted warmly by some of the ton’s highest-ranking members, and Amelia knew it was because of Boone’s newfound popularity. All her fears that he would not be accepted were obviously unwarranted.

  “My goodness, what a crush already,” Amelia said, craning her head to see if she could spot anyone she knew. Her brother and sister-in-law had gotten swept away in the moving mass of ball-goers, and now she could not find them. She did spy the Duke and Duchess of Bellingham in one corner, looking incredibly regal standing together. The duchess looked as if she’d been born in the world of the aristocracy, even though she was an American. And Amelia had to admit, Boone, with his fine black formal suit and quiet confidence, could easily have been mistaken for a member of the ton.

  The tradition of putting up a Christmas tree only on Christmas Eve had been ignored. Each corner of the room was filled with a freshly cut tree, and the pine scent mingling with expensive perfumes and cologne was nearly overpowering.

  “Oh, look, Boone, we’ve got four berries,” Amelia said, looking down at the sprig of mistletoe each married couple had been given as they entered the ballroom. With each sprig came instructions that they should only give one kiss per berry. As each kiss was made, a berry was removed.

  Amelia was looking down at the little sprig smiling, and when she looked up, Boone gave her a quick kiss.

  “Boone, you’ve wasted a berry,” Amelia said, laughing.

  “I don’t think sneaking a kiss from my wife is a waste,” he said, and tried for another.

  Giggling, Amelia turned, only to run into her brother.

  “How many berries do you have?” she asked Edward.

  “We had two, but they’re gone already,” Maggie said with exasperation. “I’m sending Edward for another.”

  “I’m afraid that’s cheating, and I’ll have to report you to Lady Rotherham,” Amelia said with mock sternness.

  Just then, the orchestra struck up the “Grand March,” and en masse, the ballroom floor cleared, revealing the Rotherhams’ stunning starburst mosaic medallion in the center of the floor.

  “We didn’t have this at our ball,” Amelia whispered to Boone, who watched, puzzled, as couples promenaded around the ballroom floor. “As guests of honor, we would have been first in line.”

  “I’m forever grateful,” he said, using a rather bad English accent. Amelia giggled and lost another berry when he kissed her cheek. “I just can’t help myself. You’re so beautiful tonight.”

  Amelia blushed. She adored the dress she was wearing, a deep red velvet that revealed creamy shoulders and dipped low enough to show a hint of her breasts. It was the simplest of designs, but the most elegant of anything she owned.

  “Now we only have two left and hours and hours to go before the ball is over.”

  After the “Grand March,” the crowd applauded, their claps muffled by the gloves each wore. If there was one thing Boone detested about formal wear it was these silly white gloves he was forced to wear. When he’d complained to Amelia, she explained that his sweaty, manly hands would ruin the ladies’ gowns, so it was better to sweat inside his gloves.

  “But my hands wouldn’t be sweating if I didn’t have the dang things on,” he’d pointed out logically.

  “How many men are on that dance card of yours?” he asked now.

  She hid it from view. “It’s full,” she said, watching as the first dancers took up a lively reel.

  “Then why aren’t you dancing?”

  “Because it’s full,” she said again, holding up the elaborately decorated little book. “It’s the only polite way a lady can decline a gentlemen’s request to dance.”

  “I want you to dance,” Boone said.

  “The last time I did, you were a jealous boor,” Amelia cheerfully pointed out.

  “That was before.”

  “Before what?”

  She was looking at up him, her eyes sparkling, and he just couldn’t help himself. He wasted another berry. “Before I realized how much you love me,” he whispered in her ear.

  The Duke of Bellingham strode up to her at that moment and bowed gracefully. “I wonder if you would honor me with a dance, Mrs. Kitteridge. If that is acceptable, Dr. Kitteridge,” he said with a small bow.

  Amelia pretended to look at her completely empty dance card. “Of course, Your Grace, I would be honored.” She held out a gloved hand and gave Boone a secret smile, and Boone watched her dance off in the arms of another man.

  It didn’t bother him at all, for he trusted their love completely. But watching her
dance, her graceful turns, her smiling face looking up at the duke, he wanted to feel her in his arms, even if it meant humiliating himself on the dance floor. Suddenly, he was glad of those gloves, for he could feel his hands begin to sweat. It wasn’t lost on him that he could stem the flow of a spurting artery with more calm than he could dance with the woman he loved.

  Amelia didn’t dance every dance, and he didn’t stand on the side scowling at her dance partners, either. He was frequently pulled away from his spot to talk with men who wanted to hear in detail how Lord Wallace was faring. The man would recover, though he was still weak from blood loss. For the first time in his life, he felt confident and comfortable in his own skin, talking with men on all matter of subjects.

  As the night wore on, his anxiety grew about the last waltz—“The Blue Danube.” As compositions went, it was one of his favorites. He just prayed he wouldn’t make a complete ass of himself. Whenever a waltz came up, he studied how the other men held themselves, the steps they took, the confidence in their demeanor.

  He watched, smiling, as Lord Hollings danced a polka with Amelia, brother and sister laughing as they threw themselves wholeheartedly into the steps. A hand touched his arm.

  “You’ll do fine,” Lady Hollings said, looking up at him. “You know the steps. In fact, you’re a finer dancer than many of the men out there, including the earl. You were a much better student than I.”

  Boone knew he did not look like a man about to dance with his beloved wife. Likely he looked more like a man about to face an executioner. He’d step on her toes. He’d hit someone else. As the polka wound down, he took a shaky breath.

  “You look like you’re about to be ill, Dr. Kitteridge,” Maggie said, a smile in her voice.

  “You’d make a fine doctor,” he said grimly.

  As brother and sister approached, Boone stepped forward and bowed slightly in front of his wife.

  “May I have the honor of your hand for this dance?” he asked solemnly.

  Amelia looked at him, tears glittering in her eyes, all the love she felt for him clearly showing for everyone to see. “Oh, Boone, you don’t have to,” she said.

  “Yes. I do.” He held up a gloved hand and she took it, gazing at her husband as if he were allowing her to walk on water.

  The first strains of the waltz began and she braced herself, her heart breaking for this man she loved so much, who’d put himself at such risk for her. And then, the most amazing thing happened.

  He was wonderful. Not just adequate, but wonderful. He led her around the dance floor like a man who’d been taught by the finest of dance tutors, and she narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Dr. Boone Kitteridge,” she said, “you know how to dance, don’t you?”

  He smiled down at her. “Only the waltz,” he said, twirling her about with newfound confidence. “And only with you.”

  And then Dr. Boone Kitteridge did something that would be talked about for years. He stopped dancing and used up their last mistletoe berry, right there on the dance floor, right there for all to see. It seemed as if the entire room let out a collective sigh, for few had ever witnessed anything more shockingly romantic than Dr. Kitteridge kissing his wife in the middle of that Christmas waltz.

  Did you miss Jane’s

  other books in the series?

  Go back and read those as well!

  MARRY CHRISTMAS

  A Christmas wedding to the Duke of Bellingham. Any other socialite in Newport, Rhode Island, would be overjoyed at the prospect, but Elizabeth Cummings finds her mother’s announcement as appealing as a prison sentence. Elizabeth has not the slightest desire to meet Randall Blackmore, let alone be bartered for an English title. Her heart belongs to another, and the duke’s prestige, arrogance, and rugged charm will make no difference to her plans of elopement.

  Against his expectations and desires, Randall Blackmore has inherited a dukedom and a vast estate that only marriage to an heiress can save. Selling his title to the highest bidder is a wretched obligation, but to Randall’s surprise his intended bride is pretty, courageous, delightfully impertinent—and completely uninterested in becoming a duchess. Yet suddenly, no other woman will do, and a marriage in name only will never be enough for a husband determined to win his wife in body, heart, and soul…

  A CHRISTMAS SCANDAL

  Dashing, debonair, and completely irresistible, Edward Hollings has all of Newport buzzing—and to Maggie Pierce’s surprise, she alone has caught his eye. But when the handsome earl returns to England without proposing, a devastated Maggie knows she must forget him. Life only gets worse for Maggie, as all her dreams of happiness and love come crashing down around her. When Maggie receives an invitation to go to England for the Christmas birth of her dear friend’s baby, she accepts—vowing to keep her devastating lies and shameful secrets from the one man she has ever loved.

  Edward vowed he’d never marry, but he came dangerously close with Maggie. She’s beautiful, witty, indescribably desirable—and Edward can’t forget her. When Maggie visits mutual friends for Christmas, Edward can’t stay away. In fact, he finds himself more attracted to her than ever—a desire fueled even more by Maggie’s repeated snubs. With the love he never thought he’d find slipping away, Edward is determined to make Maggie his own, no matter what the cost…

  ZEBRA BOOKS are published by

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  119 West 40th Street

  New York, NY 10018

  Copyright © 2010 by Jane Goodger

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

  Zebra and the Z logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

  ISBN: 978-1-4201-2012-7