Harlequin Romance December 2020 Box Set

by Susan Meier, Sophie Pembroke, Jessica Gilmore

  No matter that the colleague probably thought it was a bit of festive fun. The Professors Hunter didn’t do fun—at least, not when it came to things that mattered, like history or archaeology, their respective specialist subjects.

  ‘Um, which part?’ Celeste asked, desperately.

  ‘You, arguing with some gameshow host about how Christmas trees came to be a British tradition.’

  Damon couldn’t hold in his laughter any more. The argument had been awkward to watch in filming, but through some genius editing the show that had aired two nights before had made it far more entertaining. The whole half-hour quiz show had basically dissolved into Theo and Celeste bickering about festive traditions, and it seemed that social media had lapped it up—in the usual, hypercritical way.

  ‘That link is everywhere, Mum,’ he said, earning himself a glare from his sister. ‘Have you seen what they’re saying about it on Twitter?’ He leaned across the table towards Celeste. ‘Did you really have a make-up lunch with Theo yesterday? The whole of social media is aflame, wondering what’s going on between you two.’ His favourite conspiracy theory was that Celeste and Theo had been secretly dating for months, and the show just happened to catch a lover’s tiff on film. While Damon knew for a fact that wasn’t the case, it amused him nonetheless to imagine poor Theo actually dating his sister.

  Celeste’s cheeks flared red, which was an unexpected bonus. He didn’t believe there was anything between his sister and the TV star. But the fact that the very idea embarrassed her, well, that suggested a lot of entertaining sibling teasing in his future.

  But Celeste rallied quickly. ‘Never mind my lunch. Did you really take Rachel for afternoon tea at the Ritz?’

  ‘It was for work!’ He needed to nip this one in the bud if he wanted to get out of Sunday lunch without a lecture from his big sister. ‘She’s helping out on my latest project.’

  Diana turned her frown on him instead, leaving Celeste smiling smugly. ‘Isn’t Rachel an English graduate? How is she going to help with your…what was it? Cinema project?’

  Of course the only achievement of Rachel’s that registered with his mother was her academic one, even though she’d graduated seven years ago. ‘The cinema project was two years ago,’ was all he said. ‘This is a new one.’ There was no point explaining to them about the Cressingham Arcade. It just wouldn’t register as important, being outside the academic world that mattered so much to them.

  Celeste, however, was biting her lower lip—a sure sign that she was thinking. Damon hated it when his sister started thinking; it usually got him into trouble.

  ‘Just…be careful with Rachel, please? I’d hate for you to, well, give her any ideas.’

  Like by, say, kissing her? He didn’t need Celeste to get him in trouble. He was doing fine by himself.

  ‘It’s work,’ he repeated, more for his own benefit than hers. ‘That’s all.’

  ‘Good. Because, to be honest, I think she’s always had a bit of a crush on you. I’d hate for you to lead her on, even accidentally.’

  A crush? On him? Damon had no idea where Celeste had got that impression from. Even after that night they’d spent hanging out together at university, Rachel had never treated him as anything but her best friend’s little brother, rolling her eyes at his escapades the same way Celeste did.

  But Celeste knew Rachel better than anyone. And if she was right…

  Memories of that kiss crashed through him again, this time with a little more hope than he’d allowed himself until now.

  ‘Just don’t break her heart, okay? I know what you’re like.’ Celeste’s words brought that hope plummeting down to the ground again. She was right; that was what he was like. Not intentionally, of course. But he wasn’t the committed sort—just look at his career, jumping from one thing to the next. His love life was even worse. He didn’t want to commit himself to anything, to give up the freedom to follow his whims and desires.

  Whereas Rachel…she wasn’t like him. She’d worked for the family business her whole life, until he came along and dragged her to Cressingham Arcade. She built perfect worlds inside her windows, with perfect mice families living perfect, normal lives.

  And that was something he couldn’t for a moment let her believe he was capable of giving. Wasn’t that why he’d kept away from her before now?

  The double doors to the dining room swung open and his father appeared, the white of his Roman-style toga back-lit by the hallway bulbs against the dim candlelight on the table. In his arms was a large platter with what looked like an entire pig on it, apple in mouth and all, surrounded by jellies with apple slices and spices inside.

  ‘Dinner is served!’ Jacob announced, holding the platter high, a smug smile on his face.

  Damon sank back in his chair and tried not to think about Rachel.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  ‘WHERE ARE WE GOING?’ Rachel asked as she hurried to keep up with Damon’s long-legged stride along the busy London street.

  ‘Research trip,’ he answered, shortly. Which told her next to nothing at all.

  They were miles away from the Cressingham Arcade—in fact, all the way down in South Kensington. As lovely as their arcade was, she couldn’t really imagine that the shops there would suddenly start echoing the style—or the prices—of South Ken. So why were they there?

  Unless…

  One last turn and Damon came to a halt at the V&A in front of a large sign advertising its Victorian Christmas events. Suddenly things started to make sense.

  ‘You want us to put on a Victorian-style Christmas at the Cressingham Arcade?’ Rachel could just imagine all the historical inaccuracies Celeste would probably pick up on if they tried.

  Damon shrugged. ‘It was just an idea. I thought it might give you some inspiration for the window displays.’

  He was right. Already, ideas were starting to swirl around in her brain. And who but Celeste really cared if window displays weren’t one hundred per cent historically accurate? People knew what a classic Victorian Christmas looked like in their imagination, and that was what she needed to tap into. As long as it looked suitably vintage, that was enough. It was the perfect theme to tie all the windows of the arcade together, and link up to the building’s Victorian origins.

  She grabbed Damon’s arm and dragged him towards the entrance. ‘Come on. I want to see!’

  The Victoria and Albert Museum had graced South Kensington’s Cromwell Road since 1857, back when it was just the South Kensington Museum. Its name had been changed in 1899, when Queen Victoria herself had officially laid the foundation stone for the new building, in what turned out to be her last official public appearance. Not only was the museum named after the Queen and her Prince Consort, but it dated firmly from their era too. So it was, Rachel decided after reading all this in the information leaflet outside the museum, only right that it should host its own pop-up Victorian Christmas events over the festive season.

  They stepped through the gracefully arched doorway into the entrance hall where they were immediately greeted by two women in Victorian period dress. Bonnets, bustles, gloves and all. One carried a basket filled with what looked like Christmas cards. Rachel took one, and opened it to find it full of festive facts of the sort she was sure her best friend would either enjoy or argue with.

  ‘Huh. Did you know that the first Christmas card was sent by the founding director of the V&A, Henry Cole, in 1843?’ she asked, reading from the card.

  Damon smirked. ‘I did not. And I imagine Theo didn’t either, until Celeste argued with him about it on screen last week.’

  Rachel groaned at the memory of the filming. ‘Did you know she had lunch with him on Saturday?’

  ‘Did she tell you that or did you see it on social media?’ Damon asked.

  ‘Both.’ She’d had a long, weird phone call with her best friend that evening, trying to unra
vel the confusion of Celeste’s sudden acquaintance with Theo—and Rachel’s with Damon. She wasn’t sure either of them was making much more sense just yet.

  But then they turned to enter the John Madejski garden, a rectangular outdoor space in the centre of the museum, with a small lake in the middle, and Rachel forgot all about Celeste, mesmerised by the sight in front of her instead.

  The whole quadrangle had been sent back in time, transformed into a Victorian London Christmas market. There were wooden stalls, chestnuts roasting, mulled wine sellers—all in period costume, of course—and vintage entertainment for the kids at the far end. The stalls were selling everything from wooden toys to Christmas crackers.

  ‘The department store of its day?’ Damon murmured, as she stared around her, wide eyed.

  ‘I think they might have had department stores already back then,’ she whispered back. ‘But I like this more.’

  ‘Me too.’ He flashed her a quick grin. ‘Come on. Let’s go and explore.’

  Maybe it was the period surroundings, but it felt perfectly natural to take Damon’s arm when he offered it. As if she were some kind of Victorian gentlewoman, with hat and fur stole, taking a turn around the quad with her beau—rather than the truth: that she was a scruffy, single twenty-something, with a bobble hat pulled down over her curls and wearing mittens that unbuttoned into fingerless gloves. Her jeans, boots and festive sweater were hardly anything a Victorian lady would be caught dead in, and she’d been meaning to replace her duffle coat for the past two winters, but every time she tried on new coats her stepsisters decided to help so she always abandoned the idea.

  But if she didn’t really fit into this world, she couldn’t help but see Damon as part of it. Sure, he wasn’t wearing a hat or carrying a cane or whatever it was Victorian gentlemen would have done. And his hair was probably a little longer than would have been acceptable, just starting to curl over the tops of his ears, and waving over his forehead. But his smart black woollen coat and grey scarf, the suit underneath it, the shoes that somehow still looked polished despite the muck and mush of London’s streets after half an inch of snow the night before, they all screamed gentleman.

  Rachel had no idea what he was doing here with her.

  Well, except for his job, of course. This wasn’t about her, it was about the Cressingham Arcade, and how they were going to put it on the map. She had to focus on that.

  Celeste had said as much when they’d spoken over the weekend. Rachel had been burbling on about the Cressingham Arcade and what Damon was trying to do there and how she was going to be involved and, even though she’d tried to keep her conversation work focused, there must have been something in her voice. Maybe she had said Damon’s name too many times, or in a too specific way. A not work way. Because Celeste had heard everything she wasn’t saying, no matter how hard she had worked at not saying it.

  ‘Rach…you know what my brother’s like, right? I mean, I think it’s great you’ve found something to be excited about, something more interesting than your stepmother’s shop. Just be careful, yeah? Make sure it’s the work you’re excited about, not Damon.’

  Because Damon would never be interested in anyone like her. She knew that, better than anyone. She’d laughed off her friend’s concerns, reassured her that she knew exactly what Damon was like, and she wasn’t stupid enough to even fantasise about getting involved with someone like that, thanks.

  She wasn’t sure Celeste had believed her. She wasn’t sure she believed herself.

  Not after that kiss. Or the mice and the butterflies and that moment on the balcony…

  She shook her head, and tried to refocus on the Victorian market as they paused in front of a small group of carol singers, looking like the image from the front of a Christmas card.

  Both of those occasions had happened in the dark, at night. Maybe that was what made the difference. Anything seemed possible in the darkness, didn’t it?

  It was daytime now, and she was seeing clearly again.

  Time to focus, Rachel.

  She turned back to the carollers and thought about window displays—and definitely not about Damon’s lips on hers.

  * * *

  Rachel was totally engrossed by the carol singers. Damon smiled as he watched her focussed stare, her slight frown enough to put one of the choristers in the front row off her line, not that Rachel had noticed. He almost hated to disturb her focus.

  He wondered what she was thinking as she listened. Or what she was visualising. A new window display, perhaps? One with carol singers? That could work. Or maybe he should see if he could hire these guys to sing at the reopening. That would definitely go down well with Lady Cressingham, at least. She was a big music fan, he’d learned, although he suspected their tastes differed somewhat. He’d dated an opera singer once, but that was about as close as he’d got to a love of classical music.

  Damon touched Rachel’s elbow lightly and, when she looked up at him, gestured towards the stall next to them, which was selling hot chocolates and other treats. Her eyes lit up and she nodded so he left her to enjoy the music and joined the queue for drinks instead.

  He wasn’t entirely sure what had prompted him to invite Rachel to join him on this expedition today. In truth, she wasn’t joining him at all. There was pretty much no chance he’d have come here in the first place if it weren’t for her. And it wasn’t as if he didn’t have a mountain of other work to do that wasn’t going to magically happen through the power of hot chocolate.

  And yet. Here he was.

  He’d spotted an article about the event online while catching up on the business news that morning, and just like that he’d abandoned his whole schedule for the day. Luckily, the schedule had been pretty light in the first place, and didn’t involve moving any actual meetings—just a phone call that his virtual assistant had pushed back a few hours. But still.

  Damon knew he had a reputation for being spontaneous, for acting on whims and not getting tied down to one project, one person, one future. And that reputation was well earned, he wouldn’t even try to deny it. But he also knew he wouldn’t have been so successful in his career if he couldn’t stick with a project through to the end, if he didn’t honour his business commitments, show up on time, and prove himself reliable within the context of his work. His family might not see it, his fleeting girlfriends might not appreciate it, but his business was one thing he was committed to.

  And he’d blown it off to take Rachel Charles to a Victorian Christmas market.

  Shuffling forward one more place in the queue, he tried to cut himself a break. Technically, this was work. He was working with a colleague to find the best way to promote Cressingham Arcade, exactly as he was contracted to do. Nobody, not even Lady Cressingham, could find a way to object to that, surely?

  Except, when he’d seen Lady Cressingham at the arcade that morning, just arriving as he left the small office, she’d raised her eyebrows and given him a knowing look when he’d confessed where he’d be spending the afternoon. And of course he didn’t need to be here. He could have just told Rachel the event was happening and let her attend on her own.

  Damon glanced back over at where Rachel was watching the carol singers, her dark curls escaping from underneath her cream bobble hat, her arms wrapped around herself, wearing that adorable green duffle coat. She probably didn’t care if he was here or not. But that wasn’t the point.

  The point was, he’d wanted to bring her.

  He’d wanted to see her eyes light up as she spotted the market, wanted to hear her waffle on about the first ever Christmas card, and where the tradition of Christmas trees really came from. The exact same information he’d automatically tune out if Celeste were imparting it, he happily absorbed and discussed with Rachel. Why?

  ‘Sir? Hot chocolate?’ Damon blinked, and realised he’d reached the front of the queue. The girl behind the counte
r had an edge in her voice that suggested it wasn’t the first time she’d asked.

  ‘Yes, please. Two. With marshmallows. And cream. And, well, everything, please.’ He handed over a twenty-pound note with his patented charming smile and watched as the server’s hostility melted away.

  If only it were as easy with Rachel.

  Oh, it wasn’t that she was actively hostile to him—she never had been, not even when he knew she was disapproving of his antics when he had visited them in university. Rachel wasn’t really the hostile sort. She just…faded into the background, and let the world happen around her instead. Had he ever realised that before? He wasn’t sure. It seemed to him that throughout their whole acquaintance, Rachel had just sort of been there, never drawing attention to herself, never making a fuss, never speaking up, not when Celeste or her family or even Damon himself was there to do it for her.

  He’d never really paid her much attention, except as his sister’s best friend. Apart from that one night when they talked until the sun came up.

  And that was why, he admitted to himself. That was why he’d pushed her to the sidelines of his mind the same way she kept to the sidelines at parties. Because it was too easy to open up to Rachel, too easy to let her in. Too easy to fall for her.

  So he’d kept away. Until now.

  What had changed? The obvious answer was that he’d kissed her, Damon supposed. Except he’d kissed a hell of a lot of women, and never once had it compelled him to take them to a Victorian Christmas market before. Or show them all his favourite secret places at Cressingham Arcade under the cover of darkness.

  And anyway, he knew it hadn’t started with that kiss. It had started hours before that. With a dress, a window and a mouse.

  He could pinpoint precisely the moment he stopped forcing himself to see Rachel as nothing more than a quiet extension of his sister. It wasn’t when he had realised her stepsisters were trying to humiliate her, so he’d bought her the dress. It wasn’t even when he had seen her in that dress and thought how bloody gorgeous she was. It was in between.