How the Dukes Stole Christmas

by Tessa Dare

  “I already know how it might be,” she said. “I’ve been dreaming of it since the day I used that door for the first time.”

  His heart filled with something unfamiliar, cracking open, running over with joy. “You came back for me.”

  She smiled. “Do you forgive me?”

  There was nothing to forgive. “Forgive you? I’m not sure how I will ever thank you,” he said, pulling her into his arms once more. “I will have to settle for loving you beyond reason.”

  She smiled. “I shall allow it.”

  “I told you the biscuits worked!” Aunt Jane crowed again, and Jack chuckled against him.

  He replied without looking away from his future wife. “We were already a love match,” he said. “Your poison biscuits weren’t necessary.”

  “Nonsense!” Aunt Jane waved his response away before adding to Lawton and Fergus, “Neither of you are leaving this house without the recipe.” The old woman led the reluctant and altogether too-polite gentlemen away, back to the kitchens, no doubt to fill them full of the awful stuff.

  “Better them than me,” Eben said against Jack’s laughing mouth, stealing it for another kiss.

  “I don’t know,” Jack gasped after a long while, as Eben trailed his lips across her jaw to linger at her ear. “Perhaps it was the biscuits, after all.”

  “It wasn’t,” he said, lifting her high in his arms and starting up the stairs to the sound of her laughter. “It was you. My brilliant, beautiful past. My miracle present.”

  He immediately set about giving her the future she deserved.

  Epilogue

  . . . And it snowed every Christmas thereafter.

  About Sarah MacLean

  New York Times, Washington Post, and USA Today bestseller SARAH MacLEAN is the author of historical romance novels that have been translated into more than twenty languages and winner of back-to-back RITA® Awards for best historical romance from the Romance Writers of America.

  A columnist for the Washington Post, Sarah is a leading advocate for the romance genre, speaking widely on its place at the nexus of gender and cultural studies. Her work in support of romance and the women who read it earned her a place on Jezebel.com’s Sheroes list and led Entertainment Weekly to name her “the elegantly fuming, utterly intoxicating queen of historical romance.” A graduate of Smith College and Harvard University, Sarah now lives in New York City with her husband and daughter.

  To receive updates on Sarah’s upcoming books and monthly recommendations of fabulous romance reads, please sign up for her newsletter at www.sarahmaclean.net.

  Discover great authors, exclusive offers, and more at hc.com.

  Heiress Alone

  Sophie Jordan

  Chapter One

  They left her.

  Annis Ballister took another turn about the house to be certain, her steps echoing in the silence. The drawing room, the parlor, every chamber—all empty. Even the ghostly ballroom that hadn’t seen use in decades and was in dire need of a good cleaning loomed vacant. Her younger sisters had liked to frolic over its stone floors, imagining they were debutantes at a grand ball in London. Anywhere other than here.

  However, they weren’t here now. The place was empty.

  “Hello?” Her voice rang off the rafters of the drafty old Scottish castle Papa had won in a game of whist.

  Her father had thought a holiday in Scotland’s Highlands the perfect lark. An escape from Town. He’d hunted stag to his heart’s content whilst Mama languished indoors, sipping her sherry, despairing of their exile to such a primitive location and rereading old scandal sheets.

  Annis did not mind the respite from Town. Hardly anyone was about in the winter months anyway. Although, truth be told, even in the height of the season, she would have rather been in the country. Not that she ever got her wish on that matter.

  She always felt judged and scrutinized and deemed lacking by good ton . . . Considering those were the only people Mama ever wanted to mingle with, life could be tedious.

  Truthfully, Annis found the stark beauty of the Highlands, even if snow shrouded and bitterly cold this time of year, soul stirring. A fortuitous circumstance since, apparently, her family had forgotten her. They had left her and returned to that gilded cage for which Mama mourned.

  She was well and truly alone. Abandoned.

  “Unbelievable,” she muttered as she lifted her skirts and made her way down to the kitchens. Yet she could not summon forth too much annoyance. As one of six children, she was rarely afforded solitude. A part of her relished the echoing silence. For however long it lasted. And it couldn’t last long. They would return once they realized they had left her.

  Annis took the winding stone steps carefully, minding where she placed her feet and shivering as the cold intensified. She pulled her shawl tighter about her shoulders and stepped down onto the damp stone floor of the kitchen, greeted by Fenella’s humming. A sound she knew well as she had spent a good amount of time in the kitchens, enjoying the housekeeper’s company. Fenella was an interesting person, full of colorful stories almost too far-fetched to be believed.

  So—not totally alone then. Thankfully. Fenella stood with her back to Annis, working at something on the table before her.

  “Hello,” Annis greeted, her voice echoing off the walls of the cavernous kitchen.

  Fenella screeched, flinging a mound of dough in the air. She spun to face Annis, one gnarled hand pressing against her thin chest. “Lass! Ye gave me a fright!”

  “I’m sorry.”

  The housekeeper shook her head. “Wot are ye doing here? Ye should have left this morning with the rest of ’em.”

  Confirmation then. They had in fact departed whilst she slept. Improbable as it seemed, her family had forgotten her. She supposed it could be understood. They were a large family with numerous staff, and they had apparently left in some haste. It was not even noon yet. Her sisters were notoriously late risers. The hand of God Himself would have had to drag them from bed. If she had not stayed awake so late reading by candlelight, she would have risen at her usual early hour.

  “I did not realize we were departing today.” They had planned to stay until tomorrow. Much to Mama’s displeasure, Papa had secured her promise to stay here a fortnight and he would not be swayed to leave sooner. He’d wanted ample opportunity to hunt and he claimed they would have time aplenty to reach London by Christmas. He’d been resolute on the matter. Annis could not imagine what changed his mind and precipitated such an early departure.

  Fenella waved an arm. “Did ye no’ hear the commotion?”

  Annis resisted pointing out that she occupied the farthest removed chamber on the third floor. That had been no random occurrence, either. She had selected the room for its very remoteness from everyone else, craving the rare privacy for herself.

  Fenella continued. “Angus woke the house early this morn. Snow was rising high in the pass, and the rate it be falling, ye all risked being trapped here.”

  Ah. Annis nodded. Mama could not have borne being trapped here one day longer than necessary. She could well imagine the frenzied exodus of her family and their staff.

  “Well, then. I imagine Papa will send one of the coaches back to fetch me once they realize I’ve been left behind.” She smiled. She would have something to hold over her parents. Perhaps she could use it as leverage to bow out of the next ball or fete Mama attempted to force on her.

  Just then the door leading outside from the kitchens opened, sending a gale of cold wind gusting into the room. Angus, the groundskeeper and Fenella’s brother, shook the snow from his bent shoulders and removed his cap, slapping it on his trousers, pausing midmotion when his gaze landed on Annis. He straightened his wiry frame. “Och! What ye be doing here, lass?”

  “They forgot ’er!” Fenella exclaimed, outrage high in her voice as she pointed a damning finger at Annis.

  His wide eyes passed back and forth between Annis and Fenella before resting on his sister. “Well
, what now? What we tae dae with ’er?” This he directed at Fenella.

  “I am sure Papa will send a carriage to fetch me,” Annis repeated for the benefit of Angus.

  They stared at her.

  She angled her head expectantly, awaiting their relief. Really, she saw no reason for such excitement.

  “Nae,” Angus returned, shaking his head slowly, his tone solemn. “There be nae getting through the pass. Yer stuck here until the snow melts.”

  “Melts?” she echoed, her stomach knotting. It couldn’t be as bad as it sounded. “And when will that be?”

  He shrugged and exchanged a dark look with the housekeeper. “Mayhap . . . March.”

  * * *

  Annis moved her things into one of the larger chambers.

  The room her parents had occupied touted a fireplace of gigantic proportions and the castle could be a bit drafty. She was quite certain she would want to be warm during the months ahead.

  Months. She would be here for months. There would be no Christmas in Mayfair with her boisterous family. She had mixed feelings on this matter. She loved the trappings of Christmas in Town. Carolers. Boughs of holly. The fat goose on Christmas Eve. But her family was overwhelming. She welcomed the peace of a respite. Time to read uninterrupted. No one taking her ribbons or clothes. No terrible rows requiring mediation.

  Sighing, she pulled back the coverlet and slipped beneath its heavy weight. She was tired, even though she had done little else than sit and stare out the window at the rising snow, waiting for a glimpse of her father as though Angus had been mistaken. As though Papa would miraculously appear to rescue her.

  The keep did boast an impressive library, so she would have books to occupy her during her stay here. And she did have Fenella and Angus, so she was not utterly alone. Little comfort, however, when she thought about how worried Papa would be. He called Annis his most reasonable child, meaning she was not given to histrionics as were her sisters and mother. At least Papa would be comforted by the fact that she was not completely alone here. Mama, in her own fashion, would fret, too.

  Snow-laden winds howled outside the keep and beat against the shutters of the chamber’s single window. She leaned over and blew out the candle on the side table. Only the light cast by the fire saved the room from utter darkness.

  Closing her eyes, she settled back into the big bed and waited for sleep.

  Chapter Two

  Annis woke with a sudden jolt, sitting up in bed with a strangled gasp. Shivering, she pulled the bedcovers up to her chin. Heavens, it was cold.

  She blinked into the darkness, struggling through the fog of her mind. It did not feel like her room in Mayfair. For starters, it was never this frightfully cold. Usually if she woke in the middle of the night it was because one of her sisters had invaded her room for one reason or another. The twins shared a bedchamber and when they came to blows, which happened frequently and at all hours, one of them would invade Annis’s domain to escape the other—never mind that it meant shattering Annis’s peace.

  But neither Cordelia nor Deidra was around. She blinked into the gloom of her room. She was alone.

  A distant shout carried from below, and her hands knotted in the thick coverlet. She swung her legs around, the balls of her feet brushing the ancient rug and it all came back to her in a rush.

  She was in Scotland. Snowed in. Left behind with only Fenella and Angus for company.

  Another shout carried from somewhere deep in the bowels of the keep. Concerned that either Fenella or Angus might have taken a fall or be otherwise in distress, she snatched up her dressing gown and slipped it on as she hurried from her chamber and down the curving stairs, hoping her imagination was getting the best of her.

  Her bare feet padded down the faded runner of the corridor, her robe swishing at her ankles. At the second-floor landing, she peered over the railing down into the foyer below.

  Clad in a heavy wool nightgown, Fenella conversed with a towering cloaked figure. Snow dusted his hat and the shoulders of his greatcoat. It was clear the man wasn’t Angus. The groundskeeper looked frail and diminutive in comparison to this stranger.

  Annis frowned and leaned forward, curious about a visitor who would arrive so late at night—in the midst of a snowstorm, no less.

  She couldn’t hear their words, but she gave a small start as Fenella suddenly threw back her head and shouted for Angus.

  Annis called down, “Fenella? Is something amiss?” As her father’s daughter and the sole member of her family present, she was the mistress of the house. It was a responsibility she should not take lightly.

  Both heads snapped up to meet her gaze, but she only had eyes for the stranger.

  Her breath caught in her chest, a great bubble locked inside her as the man’s bright stare fixed on her. Except he wasn’t a stranger. Unfortunately, she knew him.

  Indeed, she remembered him well. The dark eyes. The handsome face. Oh yes. She knew this man. She’d know him anywhere. Mortification flooded her as she recalled his frosty gaze skimming her like she was a bit of vermin dragged in by the cat.

  She pulled back her shoulders and lifted her chin. This was her home. He was the interloper here. She had no cause for embarrassment. Not this time.

  She had never expected to see him again—especially not when she was in such a discomposed state. Her hair was unraveling from the plait she’d created hours ago and her nose was so cold she was certain it was berry red. And then there were her bare feet peeping out at the hem.

  As embarrassing as her state of dishabille was, it couldn’t be any more embarrassing than the first time the Duke of Sinclair laid eyes on her. She’d never live that memory down.

  * * *

  Nine days ago . . .

  Annis stepped from the carriage and paused to inspect Glencrainn, the grand castle stretching to the skies in front of her. The pale gray structure was several shades lighter than the stormy winter sky above it. It made the castle Papa had won look like a modest manor house.

  “Quit dawdling, Annis. We want down, too.” A sharp jab in the back propelled her forward and sent her flying to the snow-packed ground. It was impossible to say which one of her sisters shoved her. Now that Imogen had secured a fiancé with a baronetcy, all the other remaining Ballister sisters were hungrier than ever to win a match. As though a gauntlet had been tossed. No manner of cutthroat behavior was above them. It was every heiress for herself.

  Annis’s hands saved her face from the worst of the impact. Her elbows, however, smarted from where they struck the ground. Her dignity was not spared, either.

  Her sisters spilled out behind her, practically stepping on her in their haste. They pushed and shoved at each other, sniping like a quarreling nest of vipers.

  “Really, Annis,” Regan proclaimed in hot accusing tones. Her second-youngest sister was largely considered the most beautiful of the Ballister girls. “Must you be so clumsy?”

  Clumsy? No. She usually wasn’t. Odd duck out? Yes. Almost always.

  Annis blew at the snow flecking her lips. She looked up, freezing as she locked eyes on a pair of well-worn boots directly in her line of vision. She pushed up on her stinging elbows, following the path of boots over snug, well-worn breeches and up the long body to the humorless deep-set eyes staring down at her. Flat stare. Unsmiling lips. His square jaw was locked tight. He needed to shave. Bristle dusted his jaw, but even that did not detract from his handsomeness.

  The man made no move to help her.

  “You there,” Papa announced, eyeing the stoic-faced man as he descended the carriage steps. “Fetch your master and see to our carriage.” Papa started as he spotted Annis on the ground. “Daughter? What are you doing down there?”

  Stifling an eye roll, Annis pushed up to her knees.

  “This place is monstrous!” Cordelia tittered, rotating in a small circle in the courtyard, her mouth wide. “Can you imagine being mistress of such a grand place? It might make up for living so far from London.”<
br />
  “Yes, yes, I can imagine it perfectly.” Deidra gave a toss of her curls. “You, however, should not bother stretching your imagination for you shall never be mistress of this place. The Duke of Sinclair would never want to marry a pinch-faced ninny like you.”

  “Stop saying that! We’re twins!” Cordelia shrieked. “Identical!”

  “Hardly. I’m the prettier. Everyone knows it,” Deidra returned, squawking as Cordelia lunged for her with raised fists. Regan, unfortunately, stood in her path and caught a set of knuckles on the chin that launched her into an unceasing wail.

  “Girls! Girls!” Papa wearily exclaimed.

  “Papa!” Penelope, Annis’s youngest sister of fifteen years, stomped her foot. “They’re embarrassing. What if the duke sees?”

  Papa rubbed a gloved hand over his face, no doubt regretting bringing his horde of unattached daughters along on this call. Not that Mama had given him a choice. In her mind, the only good thing about Papa dragging them to this far corner of the earth was that a duke happened to live in the area. Even if he was a Scot, a duke was a duke and Mama wanted each of her daughters to marry a title.

  The rude man finally spoke. “The Sinclair is no’ accepting callers.”

  As Annis made it to her feet and brushed off her clothing, it struck her as oddly irreverent for a servant to refer to his master so casually, but what did she know? Perhaps it was a Scottish convention?

  Papa pulled his shoulders back in affront. He hadn’t amassed a fortune without gaining a fair amount of arrogance. He wouldn’t tolerate being turned away so abruptly by a servant.

  Papa flicked his fingers toward the house. “Be a good fellow and let the duke know that his new neighbor, Evered Ballister, is paying him call.”

  Her sisters seemed to calm, as though they sensed they might not be getting their way. They stared expectantly at the servant, ready to fall into a pout or tantrum, whatever was in order.