Under The Kissing Bough: 15 Romantic Holiday Novellas

by Kathryn Le Veque

  An hour later, Christina could barely keep her eyes open. With her legs curved up, she sat idly by on the sofa as Barrett read. Fella whimpered in his sleep, no doubt chasing rabbits or such.

  Warmth came over her when Barrett pulled her against him and kissed her temple. “You’re tired. We should go to bed. Don’t worry, Christina. Nothing has to happen between us tonight.”

  She remained silent, enjoying the solid feel of his body next to hers. Intuitively, she placed her arm around his stomach. This was her husband. He belonged to her as much as she did to him. For the rest of their lives, they would depend on each other for much more than either expected.

  “You are my husband now, Barrett. I am proud of it. I can honestly say I am very happy right now.”

  He let out a long breath. “I believe it will be a long time before I come to fully believe you accepted marrying me.”

  Christina looked up at him. “Why?”

  Instead of a reply, his mouth covered hers. This was not a tentative kiss like the one when they were pronounced husband and wife, but one filled with want and passion.

  As his mouth moved over hers, his hand cupped her jawline, moving down her throat and back up again.

  Waves of heat rushed through every inch of her body, pooling in her center as Christina gave in to him. Her lips parted and Barrett continued to kiss her, his breathing becoming labored.

  Christina wrapped her arms around his shoulders, pressing against him as much as she could since they continued sitting next to each other. His lips trailed slowly, each inch delicious as he moved to near her ear.

  “Let’s go to bed, Christina.”

  She stood on wobbly knees and waited for him to stand. Together, they walked to the bedroom leaving Fella alone with his dreams and the warm fire.

  Once in the bedroom, Christina removed her clothing while not looking to Barrett. She didn’t want to know if he watched while at the same time wishing he did. Once in her chemise, she sat and removed her stockings before slipping between the blankets.

  Barrett moved to the opposite side. He stood uncertainly for a moment as if waiting for something. Finally, turning so his injured side was away from her, he pulled his shirt up over his head. With tentative moves, he sat on the bed and bent down to remove his prosthesis and his pants.

  This was not a time to look away. Christina knew he waited for a reaction to his scarring. She could see several that inched around his right side, but had not yet been able to see the front. Her attention, however, was more captured by his well-muscled torso and the bunching and softening of his biceps as he went about undressing.

  Finally, he lay down, his left side to her. His eyes fixed on the ceiling. “Rest well.”

  Christina cupped his jaw and turned his face to her. “Alexander. Let me see you.”

  For a scant moment, his eyes widened. He’d expected her not to want to consummate their union. Of course, he was an honorable man and would give her time to become accustomed to his injuries. However, she agreed with Olive, who’d said, “The sooner you become true husband and wife, the easier it will be. Don’t let him put it off.”

  She waited for him to turn and push the blankets down. Angry gashes slashed from his right side down to his hip. The blanket was not down low enough for her to see where his leg ended, but that didn’t matter for the time being. She knew it was below his knee.

  A giggle escaped, as she could not keep from looking at his manhood. The scars disappeared once she noticed how it pointed toward her.

  He moved his hand to cover it, but his lips twitched in an attempt to keep from smiling. “Sorry. I’m aroused from kissing you.”

  Christina reached out and slid her finger over the scars. “This and the rest that make you are just as I expected. The scarring will always remind me of your valor.”

  Barrett released a harsh breath. His eyes searched her face as if ensuring she was being truthful.

  With a wide smile, she leaned forward. “I rather enjoy kissing.”

  When he finally came over her, she let out a sigh of relief. This night, she would become one with him. She would join with the man who was to be her husband forever.

  Sensations clashed as they made love. Everything Olive said vacated and Christina abandoned herself into Barrett. She allowed him to show her the wonders of what her body was meant for, how beautiful it was to discover each other until the point of losing all control.

  “You are glowing, dear.” Olive leaned into Christina and smiled. “Is it safe to presume you had no troubles with the wedding night?”

  Rose Withers frowned at them from across the table at the church hall. “I don’t believe that is an acceptable conversation for Christmas Eve.”

  Christina attempted to keep from smiling, however, across the room, Barrett looked at her and their gazes met. Immediately, heat rushed to her cheeks as she attempted not to grin like a mad woman.

  “Well, I’m very happy for you both.” Olive patted her arm.

  A day of food and fellowship after the church service was planned. Although Christina could barely wait to be alone with her husband, she was glad for the day and the reminder of how much her life had changed since arriving in Blanchard Creek.

  From a life of servitude and abuse, to marriage and good friends, she still had a hard time believing how much things had changed.

  There was bustling at the door as a group entered. Men in overcoats dusted with new fallen snow and two women entered. The younger woman seemed scared and confused as she searched the room.

  Fella, who lay next to her feet, lifted his head and gave a halfhearted bark in welcome before settling back into his blanket.

  “I believe a stagecoach has arrived,” Mrs. Wilkes announced and stood. “Let me go get that poor child before she faints from nerves.” She hustled to the younger woman, who seemed to melt with relief when Mrs. Wilkes approached.

  Minutes later, Mrs. Wilkes, with the young woman in tow, returned to the table. “This is Charlene from Boston.”

  Charlene, a pretty blonde, bobbed her head and settled next to Rose Withers. “I beg your pardon. I haven’t had a chance to freshen up.” Her rounded eyes moved to each of their faces. “I came here with my aunt and uncle.” She looked over to where an older couple sat next to the large hearth. The man looking around the room had a wide grin while his wife sat with a dour expression. “They are here to start a new life. My uncle’s idea anyway.”

  “Your aunt doesn’t look very happy to be here,” Olive pointed out. “Is something wrong?”

  “I don’t believe my aunt is as enthusiastic about leaving city life.”

  “What about you, dear?” Mrs. Wilkes asked. “What do you plan to do?”

  Immediately, Charlene blushed and rubbed her hands together. “I hope to find a husband. My parents sent me with them so that I can get married. You see, back in Boston, I was set to marry. But it didn’t come to be.”

  She didn’t have to elaborate. Christina knew full well how fickle society was. No doubt, whatever had happened meant the man could continue with not a worry, while the woman was scorned and dishonored by society.

  A fiddler began playing a happy tune and the conversations became louder, more animated.

  And for many hours, Blanchard Creek celebrated Christmas.

  Snuggled against her husband, Christina bid her farewells. She and Barrett would only return to town weekly at the most now and then less once winter set in completely.

  Rose Withers took her hand and pulled her down so to whisper in her ear. “Don’t forget the kissing bough. When you feel the moment is right, pass it along.” Her gaze went to Charlene. “You will know.”

  That night, as she lay next to a slumbering husband, Christina snuggled closer and thought about the kissing bough.

  She studied Barrett’s face in the moonlight and her lips curved. He’d not been hesitant this night. They’d rushed to bed as soon as the horse was settled.

  The kissing bough would be pas
sed. She would do as Mrs. Withers asked. Not because it was magical, for she didn’t believe in magic, but because it was romantic. And a romantic she was.

  Christina pressed her lips onto her husband’s and whispered, “Good night, my love. I love you.”

  He let out a sleepy breath and mumbled. “I love you, too.”

  The End.

  ABOUT HILDIE MCQUEEN

  Hello, dear reader. Writing is my dream come true. There is nothing I love more than bringing my characters and stories to life and sharing them with you.

  I live in a small town in Georgia with my husband and two unruly Chihuahuas.

  I had fun writing this story. If you enjoyed Christina, A Bride for Christmas, please recommend it to your friends and family. It will be release in February along with two other Brides books. Also, I would sincerely appreciate a review.

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  Keep reading and live many wonderful romantic adventures!

  IF YOU LOVED ME

  A FARTHINGALE NOVELLA

  MEARA PLATT

  IF YOU LOVED ME

  CHAPTER ONE

  Yorkshire, England

  December 1819

  Desmond Cameron, Marquis of Blackfell, made three mistakes on this cold and blustery winter afternoon while traveling in his spacious carriage from the thriving market town of Durham to the bustling city of York. His first mistake was asking his driver to divert from the main road onto a lesser known path that cut across a desolate stretch of moor in order to shorten his journey.

  His second mistake was ordering his driver to chase after the careening carriage that had blown past them a few moments ago and now lay tipped on its side just beyond the ruins of Rievaulx Abbey. The abbey was only a short distance from the village of Helmsley, known for the excellent inn that was to be his destination for this evening. The weak sun had already faded into a pale pink horizon so he couldn’t very well leave these travelers, some of whom might be injured, stranded on the frigid road as darkness fell.

  His third mistake was in stopping to help. “Is anyone hurt?” he asked, his heart pounding as he flung open the door of his carriage and jumped down the moment his driver brought his team of matched bays to a halt. He meant to assess the damage and then invite these travelers to ride along with him, for it was a short distance to the Dragon Sail Inn where they would all find rooms for the evening and obtain a nourishing hot meal, perhaps a compress and some bandages for the aches and bruises suffered.

  He hoped there was nothing more serious.

  “Blackfell! You’re a sight for sore eyes.” Rupert Farthingale struggled out from the broken carriage, flashing a toothy grin beneath his thick black moustache. But he winced as his feet hit firm ground and he began to rub his shoulder. He must have been slammed hard against sturdy carriage frame as it began to tip over. The conveyance was now leaning precariously to the right, needing no more than a gust of wind to knock it completely over on its side. “Help me, won’t you?”

  “Of course, Rupert,” he said with concern, for the man was fortunate to be in one piece. “What happened? And what brings you to this part of England?”

  “Carrying a precious cargo back to London,” he said, turning back to his carriage and attempting to reach into it. “Bloody blazes!” He winced again, drawing back in obvious pain from the shoulder he’d just been rubbing. “You’ll have to help her out. I can’t manage it.”

  “Her?” Desmond hopped onto the carriage wheel to raise himself sufficiently to peer inside.

  “In here,” a delicate female voice called out. “I’m unharmed, just a little shaken. One of the carriage wheels must have struck a rut and twisted off. I don’t know what we would have done if you hadn’t come along to rescue us, sir.”

  Desmond reached inside to assist the young woman, surprised when a pleasurable heat shot up his arms the moment he took hold of her hands. He had yet to manage a good look at her in the dim light, but he was already intrigued, for her voice was sweet as honey and gently melodic as it reached his ears.

  “Wrap your arms around my neck while I help you down,” he commanded, silently chiding himself for his eagerness to take her into his arms and not liking the effect she was having on his composure.

  No, not liking it one bit.

  She circled her arms around his neck, then suddenly gasped and clung tightly to him when the carriage groaned and began to teeter. “I have you,” he assured, securing his hold on her slender body and speaking into her silky hair. How he had managed to speak at all was a mystery, for his heart was pounding a hole through his chest and his breaths were coming in fits and starts, those startling responses caused by the exquisite sensation of her body molded to his. “You needn’t fear.”

  Though she said nothing, he felt her shudders as she continued to cling to him like a barnacle to a ship while he carefully made his way off the wheel.

  Hell’s bells. Who is she?

  The girl felt surprisingly good against him. Yet, he blamed the racing of his heart on the tottering carriage and not on the graze of her lips against his throat or the feel of her soft body pressed to his.

  Hell’s bells again.

  What was wrong with him? Once his feet were on firm ground, he made certain she was steady on her feet and then released her, eager to have a good look at this girl who was rousing sensations within him that she had no business rousing.

  He stifled a groan. She must have been an angel in an earlier life, for Desmond had never met a prettier girl than the one standing before him now. She wasn’t traditionally beautiful, but there was something appealing about her that made his breath catch. “Are you certain you’re not hurt?”

  She was of average height and nicely shaped from what he could tell when he’d held her, and that assessment was confirmed whenever the wind gusted and whipped her cloak against her slender curves. Perhaps she was a little on the thin side, but it was hard to tell amid the angled shadows of the fading light. She’d felt perfect when pressed up against him.

  Her hair was a fiery mix of chestnut and gold, and her eyes were an exquisite sapphire blue. Her mouth was a touch too broad and had a slight downward tilt at the corners that gave it a sensual quality.

  She nodded. “I think Uncle Rupert took the worst of it.”

  “Just a few bruises. Nothing more,” Rupert assured when her expression turned fretful and she began to nibble her fleshy lower lip.

  Desmond cleared his throat. “Well, hop in. I’m sure the local farrier will have that wheel fixed by tomorrow and then you can be on your way again. Are you certain you’re all right, Rupert?” He swung open his door and motioned for both of them to climb in.

  Rupert shook his head and frowned. “A few bumps and bruises, that’s all. But I must have the wheel fixed this evening. Tomorrow won’t do. My coachman and I will tend to it as soon as we reach Helmsley. You see, I have a meeting in Coventry on Wednesday that I can’t miss. Then it’s on to London for us.”

  Desmond nodded. “I’m bound for York, then on to London as well. My grandfather and Evie will have me drawn and quartered if I miss any of the Yuletide celebrations they have planned.”

  “Same here. But I must make that stop in Coventry first.” He climbed in slowly and eased back against the squabs with a lengthy moan and a heavy exhale of air.

  Desmond assisted the young woman Rupert had earlier referred to as his precious cargo into his sleek carriage. Inexplicably, his heart once again began to pound like storm waves against a rocky shore, for her hesitant smile stir
red a tempest within him, evoking a physical response that could only be described as lust.

  He climbed in after her and settled opposite the pair. “Who are you?” he asked more brusquely than intended, not at all liking the effect she was having on him. She’d referred to Rupert as her uncle, but it was not uncommon for a sweet young thing traveling alone with an unrelated older man to refer to him as such in order to lend respectability to an arrangement that was anything but respectable.

  Rupert made hasty apologies. “Lord Blackfell, may I present Miss Adelaide Farthingale? She’s the daughter of my cousin, Hugh. His only child.”

  Of course, Rupert was all business and not the sort to bring along a companion on his travels. In any event, Desmond ought to have realized she was a Farthingale from the first, for she had those beautiful Farthingale blue eyes as well as a refreshing innocence about her. That his body’s response was base and primal was of no moment. He was entirely to blame for that.

  Adelaide cast him another hesitant smile.

  His body turned molten.

  No!

  His response was a momentary lapse, that’s all. He’d been too busy dashing from one end of England to the other on business these past few months and had little time to think of the more pleasurable comforts. Adelaide was merely a reminder of the needs he’d neglected lately.

  Desmond recovered a thread of control and nodded in response, his expression revealing none of the turmoil brewing within. “A pleasure, Miss Farthingale.”

  She sat upright on the padded, black leather bench across from him, dimples forming in her cheeks as her lovely smile broadened. “Indeed, my lord. I’ve heard so much about you from my cousins.”

  “None of it good, I assume.” He tried not to fix his gaze on her beautifully shaped lips. Of course, he failed miserably, for they were perfect lips that were meant to be kissed often and thoroughly.

  But not by him!

  She shook her head and laughed gently. “Perhaps they did not think highly of you at first, but for the longest time now they’ve written only the nicest things about you. The impression I have from their letters is that you’re awfully serious for a man in your position. Too serious, truth be told... and a bit of a curmudgeon.”