A Grosvernor Square Christmas

by Vanessa Kelly

  “Can you see another solution?” she asked sweetly.

  “Yes,” he said with a snap of his straight white teeth. “I can leave you to freeze. Not that you’d notice. Your blood has always been colder than Satan’s icehouse.”

  Her pride insisted that she send him on his way with a flea in his ear. The weather—and what common sense remained under the urge to wound that always flared in Kinvarra’s vicinity—prompted her to sound more conciliatory.

  It was late. She and Harold hadn’t passed anyone on this country road. Bleak, snowy moors extended for miles around them. The grim truth was that if Kinvarra didn’t help, they were stranded until morning. And while she was dressed in good thick wool, she wasn’t prepared to endure a night in the open. The chill of the ground seeped through her fur-lined boots and she shifted again, trying to revive feeling in her frozen feet.

  “My lord…” During the year they’d lived together, she’d called him Sebastian. During their few meetings since, she’d clung to formality to keep him at a distance. “My lord, there’s no point in quarreling. Basic charity compels your assistance. I would consider myself in your debt if you fetch aid as quickly as possible.”

  He arched one black eyebrow in an imperious fashion that made her want to clout him. Not a new sensation. “Now that’s something I’d like to see.”

  “What?”

  “Gratitude.”

  He knew he had her at a disadvantage and he wasn’t likely to rise above that fact. She ground her teeth and battled to retain her manners. “It’s all I can offer.”

  The smile that curved his lips was pure devilry. A shiver with no connection to the cold ran through her.

  “Your imagination fails you, my dear countess.”

  Her throat closed with nerves—and that reluctant physical reaction she couldn’t ignore. He hadn’t shifted, yet suddenly she felt threatened. Which was ludicrous. During all their years apart, he’d given no indication he wanted anything from her except her absence. One chance meeting wasn’t likely to turn him into a robber baron ready to spirit her away to his lonely tower where he could have his way with her.

  Having his way with her was the last thing Kinvarra wanted, as she was humiliatingly aware.

  Nonetheless, she had to fight the urge to retreat. She knew from dispiriting experience that her only chance of handling Kinvarra was to feign control. “What do you want?”

  This time he did lean closer, until his great height overshadowed her. Close enough for her to think that if she stretched out one hand, she’d touch that powerful chest, those wide shoulders. “I want—”

  There was a piercing whinny and a sudden pounding of hooves on the snow. Appalled, disbelieving, Alicia turned to see Harold galloping off on one of the carriage horses, legs flailing as he struggled for purchase without stirrups.

  “Harold?”

  Her voice faded to nothing in the night. Her beau didn’t slow down. In fact, he kicked his mount’s sides to encourage greater speed. She’d been so engrossed in her battle with Kinvarra, she hadn’t even noticed that Harold had caught one of the stray horses.

  Kinvarra’s low laugh mocked her. “Oh, my dear. Commiserations. Your swain proves a sad disappointment. I wonder if he’s fleeing my temper or yours. You really have no luck in love, have you?”

  She was too astonished to be upset at Harold’s departure. Instead she focused on Kinvarra. Her voice turned hard. “No luck in husbands, at any rate.”

  For more information on THE WINTER WIFE, click here: http://annacampbell.info/winterwife.html

  Excerpt from Sapphires Are an Earl’s Best Friend

  Coming in March 2014 from Shana Galen

  Lily sucked in a breath. She didn’t have to wonder anymore. Darlington was in residence. He was standing before her looking more handsome than he had any right to look, considering she detested him. Why did he have to be gifted with broad shoulders and slim hips and those long legs? The man would turn heads in sackcloth, but when he wore an expensive wool coat, an emerald-green waistcoat, and those terribly distracting tight breeches, he stole her breath.

  “What are you doing here?”

  She held up the needle and thread she’d borrowed. “My lace was torn.”

  He gave her an odd look, which she supposed was reasonable. The housekeeper had given her much the same look when she’d requested the items after unpacking her gowns. She supposed Anna had her needle and thread somewhere, but Lily could not find them, and she did not want to trouble the girl. She could repair her own lace and give Anna a few hours’ rest.

  “I thought you would be with the others.” He sneered when he said it, and Lily took a moment to wonder whom exactly the duke had invited to this house party.

  “And I thought you would be in London, but we do not always have our fondest wishes granted.” She turned to the housekeeper, whose mouth was agape at the two of them. “Thank you, Mrs. Hemmings, for the needle and thread. I shall have my maid, Anna, return them.”

  “Of course, madam.”

  Lily started for the stairs. Behind her, she heard the housekeeper ask, “May I be of assistance, my lord?”

  “Yes—er, no. One moment.”

  Footfalls sounded behind her, and she almost swore. Why was he coming after her? She had been clear she wanted nothing to do with him after he’d had her abducted and almost killed not even a fortnight ago.

  “Countess!” he called.

  She continued up the stairs. He was quickly gaining, and Lily cursed her cumbersome skirts. She reached the landing, and he grabbed her elbow, pulling her aside so a footman carrying a tureen could pass. Darlington opened the door and ducked into a storeroom filled with tablecloths, candlesticks, and serving trays. He tugged her in, closing the door and leaning on it. “What do you want?” she asked. “I thought I was clear on the occasion of our last conversation. I want nothing to do with you. Move aside.”

  “That is a wish I can grant,” he said. He was still holding her elbow, and she found his touch disconcerting. It was one thing to hate him from a distance, quite another to hate him when his warm hand wrapped around her arm and his deep brown eyes gazed down at her. “You do not need to worry about me. I will stay out of your way.”

  “Will you also refrain from hiring thugs to abduct me and attempt to rape and ransom me?”

  “That was never my plan,” he said. “And I did come to your rescue.”

  “I suppose I should be grateful. Forgive me if I am not.” She pulled away from him. “Now, if you will excuse me.” When he did not move, she had to quell the urge to stomp her foot. “Step away from the door.”

  “Is it the title?” he asked. “Is that the attraction?”

  Oh, would he never allow her to pass? “It does not concern you.”

  “My father is smitten with you. That concerns me.”

  “Then address the matter with him.”

  “Is it money?”

  “Perhaps it is love. Maybe I’m in love with him.” She crossed her arms.

  He snorted. “You courtesans don’t fall in love.”

  She raised her brows. “Juliette fell in love.”

  His face darkened. He was still in love with her, stupid ass. He was always going to be in love with Juliette. And, Lily reminded herself, she did not care. She detested him now.

  “If it’s money, remember I will pay you to go away.”

  Lily shook her head. “Do you insult everyone again and again in this manner, or am I especially privileged?”

  “I am not trying to insult you. I am trying to understand.”

  “You are trying to be rid of me! And, I assure you, sir, I want what you want. Please remove yourself from the door.”

  “On one condition.”

  Lily gritted her teeth and attempted to remain patient. “You cannot keep me here forever.”

  “You may go, but I want your promise first.”

  “What good is the word of a courtesan?” she asked. “We are all liars and schemer
s, are we not?”

  “Let me worry about that. I want your promise that if my father asks you to marry him, you will refuse.”

  Lily sighed. She had no intention of marrying his father, but she could not tell Darlington as much. She did not think Ravenscroft had much intention of marrying her either. But she might have to resort to that tactic to give herself more time to investigate and keep him out of her bedchamber. It had worked for Anne Boleyn, hadn’t it?

  “Your claim to the title is not in jeopardy,” she said. “Even if your father married again and produced more children, you are still the heir.”

  Darlington turned slightly green. “So you are not against marrying him.”

  “He has not asked, so there is no point in discussing—”

  He grabbed her arms, cutting her off. “You cannot possibly think of tying yourself to him. Allowing him to paw you, leer at you, rut with you nightly.”

  “So that is what marriage involves! Thank you for enlightening me. Well, in that case, I will return home immediately. Move aside.” She gave him a little push.

  “Lily…”

  “Andrew. I told you the matter did not concern you. Let me pass.”

  Light footfalls sounded, and he turned to listen.

  “Someone is coming,” she chided him. “The servants must need this room. We should go.”

  He nodded his assent, and then his eyes narrowed. “Not so quickly. I rather like being in here with you.”

  For more information on Shana’s books, visit her at www.shanagalen.com.

  Excerpt From Secrets for Seducing a Royal Bodyguard

  Book One in The Renegade Royals Series

  Vanessa Kelly

  October, 1814

  Smuggling tunnels near the Kentish Coast

  Aden St. George managed to avoid having to kill the guard stationed outside his quarry’s crypt-like cell, although the thug outside the caves hadn’t been so lucky. Still, that bastard had tried to knife him in the gut so Aden could hardly be faulted for returning the favor. And knowing what he did about the men who’d kidnapped Lady Vivien Shaw, he wouldn’t waste his fitful conscience on that brutal but necessary act. Killing was not a favorite pastime, but only rarely did it disturb his sleep.

  Tonight’s rescue mission carried no inconvenient opportunities for remorse since a woman’s life and innocence hung in the balance. True, the gossips whispered that Lady Vivien’s innocence was an open question, but what would happen to her if Aden failed wasn’t. Without his intervention she would disappear into a nightmarish life, forever beyond the protection of her family and friends.

  Even if she’d simply been the victim of a kidnapping for ransom, as her wealthy brother suspected, her reputation at the very least was at stake—especially if rumors of her disappearance started to circulate throughout the ton. More importantly, Aden hoped he wasn’t already too late to ensure she continued her easy, privileged life, and that her brutish guards hadn’t already used her as their plaything.

  As he eased the guard’s beefy, foul-smelling form to the floor, Aden cast a swift glance down the dimly lit corridor. All was silent, as it should be if he’d done his job correctly. He normally felt little pride in his abilities, but he could at least acknowledge a grim satisfaction that his last disastrous mission in France hadn’t affected his instincts or his lethally-honed skills.

  Shrugging away any residual tension, he extracted his pick locks from the inner pocket of his coat and went to work on the sturdy oak door separating him from his objective. Although no sound emanated from behind the rough-hewn panels, he was certain Lady Vivien was there. Three other tunnels ran up from the coast into the smuggler’s lair, but only this corridor boasted a table, lamp, and chair for the guard by the door. An assessing glance down the other tunnels had convinced him the majority of the gang was elsewhere, probably in a room with a fireplace and more creature comforts than those in this dank corner. But clearly the bastards thought one of the rooms obviously used for storing contraband was quite good enough for a gently-bred lady.

  Aden forced down the flare of rage that a woman like Lady Vivien—or any woman—would be stowed like a cask of brandy in a moldering hole carved from dirt and rock. But he could hardly spare to indulge in that kind of emotion. Emotion was an insidious enemy that clouded the judgement, as it had only a few weeks ago in Paris. He couldn’t afford it, not when the lady’s life was at stake.

  The lock snicked and the tumblers slid open. Aden slipped quietly past the door, ignoring the choking miasma of mold and dust that assailed his nostrils. It took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust to the murky depths of the room, illuminated by a single candle standing on a crate, burned down to a nub. Ghosting forward, he made out a pallet shoved against the sloping, roughly carved wall of the room.

  A slight form lay motionless under a dark cloak.

  Silent, he gazed down at Lady Vivien, sister to the Earl of Blake and one of the most acclaimed young women of the ton though she was a dab little thing to be the recipient of so much admiration and gossip. But even in the dim light cast by the candle, though disheveled and dirty, her beauty shone clear to Aden in the cast of her elegant features. Hair the color of golden honey wound down from her ruined coiffure and tumbled around her shoulders. Her velvet evening cloak, woefully inadequate to ward off the chill from the room’s moisture-slicked walls, had slipped from her shoulders to puddle about her waist, revealing creamy skin and gently sloping breasts that rose and fell in the rapid, shallow breathing of her disturbed sleep. A ridiculously delicate dress, all white lace and yellow silk, had silly little sleeves that exposed most of her arms and shoulders, and her pale breasts gently swelled from the wispy bodice of her gown.

  Aden crouched beside her pallet, noting the dirt smudges on her pale arms and shoulders, and grimy marks of filthy hands streaking mud across the bodice of her gown. She’d clearly been manhandled, and anger again lanced through his gut like a poison-tipped blade. He feared he was too late to save her from a lifetime of remembered horror and degradation, just as he’d been too late to save John Williamson from a pointless death in a French inn not two weeks ago.

  He throttled back his frustration, because he could at least save her from death or more abuse. For now, that was all he had. Any personal vengeance he chose to exact against her captors would come later, when he had extracted Lady Vivien from danger. The unconscious guard outside her room wouldn’t stay down forever, and other members of the gang could wander along at any time, either to relieve the guard or check on the other man, now crumpled dead in the bushes outside the entrance to the tunnels.

  Leaning over, Aden inhaled, taking in her sickly-sweet, heavily scented breath along with the pallor of her winsome features. She’d been drugged, likely a blessing given what had happened to her in this disgusting hole.

  He flicked the cloak up over her chest and gently slid his arms under her slender body. As he started to lift, she suddenly came to life in his arms, thrashing madly. Startled, he instinctively tightened his grip. But preoccupied with keeping a hold on her twisting body, he failed to notice her arm snake out from under the cloak until her fist smashed into his cheekbone.

  Shock more than pain lanced through him as she wrenched herself free. She landed on the pallet with a startled oof and then exploded up again, her slender body a furious tangle of kicking, thrusting limbs. Her eyes blazed with rage, wide and full of desperation. She fought with the instinct and fear-generated strength of a cornered animal, one who preferred death to submission.

  Recovering from his momentary paralysis, Aden pressed her back down onto the pallet, capturing her flailing arms and legs beneath him. She sucked in a sobbing, terrified breath but surprised him again when she lunged up, trying to smash the top of her head into his face. He jerked back just in time, then whipped a hand up, grasped the back of her skull and held it firmly against the scratchy burlap cloth beneath her.

  For a few infernally long seconds they glared at each other, the
ir rasping breaths shattering the clammy closeness of the room. She shook beneath him, her body slim and lithe beneath the fragile silk of her ball gown. A heated tendril of scent reached his nostrils, an elusive whisper of roses and summer warmth. Her chest rose and fell in a pattern of fractured breaths, plumping the fullness of her breasts over the top of her low-cut bodice.

  The candle on the crate beside them sputtered and flared, throwing light on her face. A hectic flush rose in her cheeks, driving a wash of pink across her pale skin. Her lips, plush and bow shaped, trembled open in a travesty of invitation, and for one demented instant Aden fought the urgent need to taste them, to plumb the sweet temptation they offered.

  And then she drew in a breath, preparing to scream. He whipped up a hand and covered her mouth, disgusted with his lapse in discipline and what it must have revealed to her. She might be the kind of spoiled beauty he disdained, but he’d consign himself to the darkest hell before he frightened her or harmed a hair on her head.

  “Hush, Lady Vivien.” He lifted slightly, giving her more room although he kept his hand clamped over her mouth. “Sir Dominic Hunter sent me. I’m going to get you out of here, but you can’t scream or keep fighting or your captors will hear.”

  Her gaze darted to the door and the corridor beyond, then flashed back to his face.

  “The guards won’t trouble us,” he murmured in response to her unspoken question. The terror that glazed her eyes dimmed a notch. She blinked rapidly as if to chase away her drug-induced confusion.

  He held her gaze, willing her to trust him. “If I take my hand away, you must not cry out. You will endanger us both if you do. Understand?”

  She stared up at him, eyes rounded with fear. He could practically hear the turning of the cogs and wheels in her brain and feel her body go still as she weighed her decision.