by Anna Bennett
He shook his head, sending the white hair at his crown waving. “No, indeed—why don’t you have a look?”
The yellowed paper was folded several times over and tucked securely into the corner of the frame. Julie took care not to tear the brittle paper as she slid it out and opened it.
“It looks rather official,” she said, frowning. “Perhaps a note by the artist.” She was about to toss it aside to examine later when a signature at the bottom of the paper caught her eye. Currington.
Good heavens. She swayed a little, and Sam rushed to her side, wrapping a strong arm around her waist. “What is it?”
She swallowed as she handed the note to him. “It looks like a letter … from your brother.” Julie’s heart hammered. Even there, in the safety of Meg and Will’s home, Nigel had managed to intrude on their happiness.
“It’s not from Nigel,” Sam said slowly. “It’s a letter from my father. To your Aunt Elspeth.” As he scanned the paper, his face split into a smile. “It explains that he’s giving the house on Hart Street to his cousin Elspeth and her fine husband as a belated wedding gift. And that though the house shall fully and legally belong to them, he intends to continue paying the taxes on the property, as it brings him a measure of joy to support a couple who clearly love each other as much as he loved … my mother.”
Julie’s eyes welled. “How beautiful.”
“And generous,” Will added.
Sam nodded thoughtfully. “That’s the kind of man my father was.”
Julie pressed a palm to his chest and tilted her head to his. “That’s the kind of man you are too.”
“The deed is enclosed as well,” Sam said gruffly. “Signed, dated, and executed.”
Curious, Julie turned to Alistair. “You never knew?”
“Elspeth may have feared I’d be too proud to accept such a gift. I confess to being a bit stubborn,” he admitted, “particularly in my youth. But more recently I’ve learned to accept and appreciate the blessings life bestows on us. Some blessings come in the form of gifts, others as special people in our lives. Fate works in delirious ways,” he said sagely.
“I couldn’t agree more.” Sam’s words, so earnestly spoken, made Julie’s chest squeeze. “We’ll have a solicitor review the deed,” he said, “but it would appear that the house on Hart Street doesn’t belong to my brother after all. It’s Alistair’s.”
“You’re mistaken, Samuel,” the old man said. “The house isn’t mine—it’s ours. All of ours. And Elspeth made sure of it.”
* * *
Julie and her sisters could have celebrated Christmastide in any number of elegant households, from the Earl of Castleton’s stately townhouse to the Duke of Blackshire’s sprawling country estate.
But the Lacey sisters couldn’t imagine Christmas Eve anywhere besides the old house on Hart Street, where Julie and Sam—hopelessly besotted newlyweds—now lived with Uncle Alistair. The house wasn’t quite as ramshackle as it had once been, thanks to the renovations Julie had convinced her uncle to undertake, but it was still cozy.
And it was especially cozy tonight, because everyone had come home.
Meg and Will, their lively twins, Valerie and Diana, and their beautiful baby, born just two months ago, filled up the settee. The twins argued good-naturedly about whose turn it was to hold baby Daisy and who should have the next piggyback ride from their Uncle Alex.
Beth sat in the wobbly chair beside the sewing basket—which no one had touched in a year, but all agreed should not be disturbed since it lent the room a much-needed appearance of industriousness. Her eyes glowed with love as she watched her handsome husband entertaining the twins, and the secret smile she’d been wearing since returning from her honeymoon made Julie wonder if she would soon be an aunt again.
Alex’s grandmother, the dowager duchess, sat beside Beth in a marginally sturdier chair. And, unless Julie was mistaken, the duchess was batting her eyes at Uncle Alistair, who, of course, sat in his favorite armchair.
The house was dressed in festive, fragrant greenery—holly, laurel, and evergreens that Beth had brought from the country. A Yule log burned in the parlor’s fireplace, and mugs of potent wassail punch warmed their bellies.
All was as it should be—or, it would be, as soon as Sam returned home from work. His lips had lingered on hers as he’d said good-bye that morning. He’d tucked the sheets around her and promised to return before dinner … which was very soon.
Sighing happily, she said, “Uncle Alistair, you must tell everyone your news.”
The dowager duchess perked up. “Oh? I confess I am intrigued, Alistair.”
He waved a self-deprecating hand. “I’m taking up the cause of a group of fishermen, petitioning Parliament to restrict the dumping of waste in the Thames.”
The duchess pursed her lips, impressed. “How very avant-garde.”
“He’s too humble to mention it, but his research makes a compelling case,” Julie said proudly. “And because of Uncle Alistair’s efforts, perhaps the Thames’s waters will improve sufficiently so that our children may enjoy it.”
“Did you say children?” Beth teased. “Have you an announcement you’d like to make, Julie?”
“I was speaking only of hypothetical children,” she retorted. “Have you anything you’d like to announce?”
Beth blushed furiously. “No … that is … perhaps … soon.” In an obvious attempt to change the subject, she turned to Uncle Alistair and said, “We couldn’t be prouder of you, Uncle. Do you still intend to request membership in the Royal Society?”
“I promised Julie I would, and so I shall. But the Society selects only fifteen members a year. While it would be an honor to be named a fellow, I’d derive more satisfaction from a cleaner river, demonstrated in measurable results.”
“Spoken like a true scientist,” the duchess drawled. “However, I know several of the Society’s fellows. I feel confident they shall be duly impressed with your research and cast their votes accordingly.”
The duchess was accustomed to having her wishes granted—and she clearly wished to help Uncle Alistair. If she employed even a modicum of her influence, his acceptance among the ton’s elite was all but ensured.
Julie’s chest squeezed at the thought of it.
Her uncle had seemed happier lately. And though he still talked to Aunt Elspeth occasionally, he wasn’t anxious or upset—rather, he spoke to her as if he were reminiscing with a dear, old friend.
“Girls,” Meg said to the twins, “why don’t you play the song I taught you on the pianoforte?” The suggestion was barely out of her mouth before Diana and Valerie scrambled to the bench, their blond curls bobbing. “Must everything be a race?” Meg asked rhetorically.
“No, but it’s more fun that way,” Valerie announced, matter of fact.
The girls climbed onto the seat and launched into song with exuberance reserved for seven-year-olds, giggling over each missed note. They were in the middle of the rousing chorus when a chilly gust swept into the parlor.
“Uncle Sam is home!” cried Diana.
Julie’s knees went a little weak at the sight of him. A few snowflakes frosted his hair and the shoulders of his greatcoat, and his smile warmed the entire room. He carried a large wicker basket covered with a tartan blanket.
“What is that?” asked Valerie, bounding off the pianoforte bench.
“It’s a gift for your Aunt Julie,” he replied. “And she may open it now.”
“Now?” Julie had assumed they’d exchange gifts later, in private. “Are you certain?”
“This present won’t wait.” Sam set the basket in front of the fireplace, and she knelt beside it.
“I can’t imagine what it could be.” It seemed she already had everything she ever wanted—respectability for Uncle Alistair, happy marriages for her sisters, and her own fairytale romance.
She lifted the corner of the plaid blanket and felt something cold and wet against her palm. Two furry black and white paws
rested on the edge of the basket, and an adorably shaggy puppy peeked out.
A puppy that looked remarkably like … a mop.
Through sheer will, the curious creature hoisted herself out of the basket and landed squarely in Julie’s lap.
Sam chuckled and scratched the pup between her floppy ears. “She certainly seems fond of you. What do you think of her?”
Her throat thick with emotion, Julie managed, “She’s perfect.” Her eyes welled as she nestled the puppy’s warm, soft body to her chest. Pressing a kiss to her furry head, Julie murmured, “Welcome to the family, Moppet.”
* * *
Hours later, after the guests had left and Uncle Alistair was sound asleep, Julie and Sam escaped to their bedchamber. The moment the door closed behind them, he hauled her body against his and pressed his lips to her neck. “I’ve been waiting all damned night to do this,” he murmured, skimming his warm hands over her bare shoulders and down her back. His wicked fingers already tugged at the laces of her gown.
“Wait,” she said, breathlessly. “I have gifts for you.”
“This sounds promising, temptress.”
Reluctantly, she broke off the kiss and retrieved two small packages from her armoire. “Here you are,” she said, handing both to him. “Merry Christmas, Sam.”
His expression quizzical, he tore the paper off the first box, removed the lid, and stared as though he couldn’t believe his eyes. “My father’s watch,” he said with awe. “How did you…”
“It wasn’t difficult to track down. You should never have given it up—it’s far too precious.”
“But not nearly as precious to me as you are.” He brushed his lips over hers as he slipped the watch into his pocket, where it belonged. “Thank you.”
“Now you must open the other gift,” she instructed.
“As you wish, tigress.” He unwrapped the other package and unfurled a long piece of snowy white linen. “A neckcloth?”
“Yes,” she said saucily. “A cravat. So you shall never again have to rely on an embroidery cloth.”
Sam slipped the cloth around her waist and tugged until their hips collided, making her heartbeat gallop in response.
“I like this gift,” he growled, winding one end of the cravat loosely around her wrist. “I’m already imagining a number of other creative uses. Let’s go to bed, siren.” He scooped her up in his arms, stalked across the room, and drew up short at the sight of a black and white ball of fur sleeping in the dead center of their mattress.
“Don’t disturb Moppet,” Julie pleaded. “She’s exhausted after carousing with the twins.”
Sam gazed at the bedposts regretfully but carried her to the thick rug in front of the fire. “Fine. We’ll save the cravat for another night.”
“We’ve no shortage of nights,” she assured him.
“Thank God for that.” He laid her back and stretched out beside her. Tracing lazy circles across the swells of her breasts, he said, “Merry Christmas, Juliette. I love you.”
“I love you too.” Her heart so full it could burst, she curled an arm around his neck. “But I have a confession.”
He arched a brow. “Something wicked, I hope?”
“Quite. I confess I miss the cravatless rogue who first appeared on my doorstep. Is there any chance he might make an appearance tonight?”
Sam slid his hand beneath the hem of her dress and up the inside of her leg. “There is a one hundred percent chance,” he confirmed. “In fact, I think he’s here now.”
“Yes,” she sighed blissfully. The hitch of her breath and the tingling of her skin confirmed it was true.
Her rogue was back—to stay.
Thank you so much for reading The Rogue Is Back in Town—
I hope you enjoyed Julie and Sam’s story!
• If you’d like to learn more about the Wayward Wallflowers books, please visit my website (http://annabennettauthor.com) and sign up for my newsletter (http://eepurl.com/bTInsb).
• I can usually be found procrastinating on social media and would love some company! Join me on Facebook (https://www.facebook.com/AnnaBennettAuthor) or Twitter (https://twitter.com/_AnnaBennett) where I share pictures of pretty ball gowns, historic tidbits, fun book quotes, and other writing inspiration.
• Lastly, reviews are a great way to spread the word about books. I’m always grateful for honest feedback from readers—even a quick rating or review on your favorite bookseller’s site is incredibly helpful.
Thanks again for spending time with me and the Lacey sisters.
Until next time, happy reading!
—Anna
Read on for a teaser of the book that started it all
MY BROWN-EYED EARL
And don’t miss out on the second Wayward Wallflowers novel
I DARED THE DUKE
Available from St. Martin’s Paperbacks
Meg bristled. “I am quite capable of making the journey to my bedchamber without assistance.”
“You almost swooned earlier,” Will said.
“How gallant of you to remind me.”
He shrugged. “And then you drank claret at dinner. Therefore, I will escort you to your room.”
Feeling her blood heat, she crossed her arms. “I feel that I should have some say in this matter.”
“I feel that I should be allowed to play the part of a gentleman. After all, you’ve already emasculated me once today.”
Dear God. He was never going to let the incident go.
“Besides,” he continued, “I won’t have you tumbling down the stairs, creating yet another mess for Gibson to clean up.” Ouch. He stepped closer, much closer than was proper, and offered his arm. “Indulge me this once … Meg.”
Her name was a whisper on his lips. Soft. Seductive. Meanwhile, his eyes gleamed mischievously, daring her to say yes.
Though she knew she shouldn’t, she slipped her hand in the crook of his arm and let him slowly lead her from the room and down the corridor.
They made their way up the staircase in companionable silence, but she was much too aware of his long legs brushing her skirts and his powerful thighs flexing as he took each step. Swallowing, she averted her gaze.
Thankfully, this sweet torture was almost over. When at last they reached the landing, she whirled toward him, intending to bid him goodnight. Mistaking her sudden movement for tipsiness, he gasped and steadied her, his large hands encircling her waist.
They stared at each other for several seconds, and Meg noticed he was breathing almost as hard as she was.
“You weren’t about to fall just then, were you?”
“No. I am generally able to manage a staircase without catastrophe.” Although she’d tried for a breezy tone, it sounded more breathy.
He frowned at his hands, still firmly settled just above her hips, as though they’d betrayed him. “Well then, this is embarrassing.”
Embarrassing, yes, but also exhilarating.
“There has been no shortage of humiliation today,” she agreed.
His brow wrinkled. “But today wasn’t all bad, was it?”
“I suppose not—if you discount Diana’s near trampling and me breaking your crystal glass and kneeing you in the—” She threw up her hands and leaned her forehead against his chest. “It’s been a horrid day,” she mumbled into his waistcoat.
He chuckled, but Meg didn’t care. It felt so good to stop sparring with him, to let down her defenses for a moment and simply absorb his strength. She was tired of fighting him and perhaps, more specifically, the attraction she felt toward him.
As though he understood, he wrapped an arm around her and pulled her flush against him. “Everyone is safe,” he reminded her. “Diana, you, and even me.” He held her there at the top of the stairs and lightly caressed her back and neck till she was certain her knees had turned to jelly.
“Come,” he said softly in her ear, “sit down next to me.”
He helped her sit right there, on the top step
, settled himself beside her, and slipped an arm around her shoulders. “It’s not a bad view from up here.”
Meg had to agree. Moonlight streamed through the transom above the door in the foyer, making the polished marble floors glisten below them like a river. The chandelier’s teardrop crystals twinkled above them like stars. And the stairs, covered in a plush runner, rose up to meet them like a grassy hill in the countryside.
In was easy to imagine that they were miles away from London, and that only the two of them existed. “It’s lovely.”
“Do you want to know my opinion about today?” he asked.
“Please.”
“As far as days go, I’d say today was a very good one.”
She shot him an incredulous look. “I fear your standards are rather low.”
“I don’t think so. First, it must be noted that in spite of the near misses, all serious injuries were averted. Almost as remarkable, you and I reached a truce. But for me, the best part of today was dining with you and, well … right now.” He reached for her hand and gave it a squeeze, which she felt somewhere in the vicinity of her chest.
She swallowed, then asked the question she simply had to know. “Why is now the best part?”
“I suppose I like having someone to share the view with.”
Odd. He sounded almost lonely.
“And because,” he continued, “while I do enjoy our little battles of wits, I also like to see you smile. Your smile is…” He rubbed the stubble on his chin as he searched for the words. “Bright, fleeting, rare. Like a comet shooting through the midnight sky.”
She blinked slowly, letting his words sink into her skin and thrum throughout her body. Dumbfounded, she stared at the chiseled perfection of his face. “That’s … beautiful. But my smiles are not so rare.”
“No? The ones directed at me are rare.” Cupping her face in his palm, he lightly brushed his thumb across her cheek. “I suspect you’ll make me wait seven years to see it again.”
She smiled at that, because it was ridiculous and sweet and because she couldn’t stop herself if she tried.