Tempted at Christmas

by Kate Pearce

So it was to be like that between them again—friendly banter and nothing else.

  “I believe if I catch you under the mistletoe, kissing you would be considered quite in order.” He took an unsteady step away from her. “Thank you for last night.”

  “It was truly magical.” Her smile wobbled. “I will never forget you, Benjamin.”

  He bowed low, put on his coat and shoes, and tiptoed out of the room and down the backstairs to the floor below. There was no one around yet. Even the kitchens were quiet.

  Benjamin let himself into his room and sank down on the side of the bed. Henrietta was not immune to him. She was simply allowing her father’s past to color her future. He took a deep, shuddering breath. He needed to think things through and weigh the odds. His heart told him this was his last chance to change the course of his current existence and make things right. Henrietta might have won this round, but she obviously had no idea how determined the newly awakened Benjamin could be.

  He lifted his head and stared out of the window at the dark sea beyond. For the first time in his life, he was going to do what was best for him, and the rest of his family could go hang themselves.

  Chapter 5

  Henrietta waited until the door closed behind Benjamin, and sank down onto the bed, hands pressed to her eyes. She allowed herself to dissolve into a storm of unhelpful weeping. She’d managed to send him away even though her heart was breaking, and he’d let her… He’d kept his promise even though the look in his eyes when he’d left had almost shredded her resolve.

  After taking several deep, shuddering breaths, she managed to compose herself sufficiently to attempt to make the bed, which only served to remind her of the night she’d just shared with Benjamin. The letter flew up from the pillow and smacked her on the nose.

  “Stop it,” Henrietta warned whichever castle spirit was demanding her attention. “I’ll read it right now.”

  She broke the seal and sat on the side of the bed where the dawn light was now streaming through her window.

  Dear Miss Febland,

  Thank you for your recent letter. I appreciate your concern about the expense of a trip to London, but I assure you that your travels will not be in vain. I am honored to inform you that your recently deceased father, the Honorable Jonathan Febland-Mortimer, second son of the Earl of Febland was the beneficiary of several significant financial legacies from members of the Febland and Mortimer families. The family has been notified of your existence, and is looking forward to meeting you at my premises when you arrive in London.

  Please let me know your travel arrangements, and whether you require accommodation in London. My wife and I would be honored to have you as our guest.

  Yours sincerely.

  Alfred Pilcher. Esq.

  Henrietta read the letter through again and slowly closed her mouth. What on earth was going on? Her black sheep of a father had been the son of an earl? He’d left her money?

  She slowly shook her head and carefully folded the letter back up. If Mr. Pilcher was correct, she might have enough to live on without having to work for a living ever again. The idea was almost too overwhelming to accept. She hurried to pull on her woolen stockings and brush her hair into a respectable bun.

  If she was lucky, she might be able to speak to Benjamin before his valet went to help him dress.

  Benjamin was too restless to wait for his valet to arrive. He dressed in his warmest clothes and was halfway down the backstairs before he remembered he was supposed to be one of the guests now and wouldn’t be welcome in the kitchens. He reversed course and passed through the empty Great Hall where the remnants of the Yule log smoldered in the huge fireplace and the scent of Christmas spices from the punch perfumed the air.

  He needed to write to his parents, but first he’d have to go to Hollybrook Park and speak to his sister Cassy. She might be the only member of his family who would understand why he wanted to marry a woman who wasn’t from his class whose grandmother was the castle housekeeper. Even if she didn’t understand why, she would probably support his decision.

  “Benjamin! I mean, Lord Saxelby—wait!”

  He looked over his shoulder to see Henrietta running toward him and swung around to face her.

  “What’s wrong?”

  It took him a moment to notice she was smiling and had something in her hand.

  “I finally read my letter. My father was the son of an earl, and he left me an inheritance!”

  Benjamin blinked at her. “I beg your pardon?”

  “The solicitor said that my father’s family want to meet me in London.” She paused to study him, her smile dimming. “Why aren’t you happy about this?”

  “Did you think this would make you more acceptable in my eyes?” He was surprised at how calm he sounded considering he wanted to punch his fist through the wall. “Was it impossible for you to believe that I might love you just for yourself?”

  “I wasn’t thinking about that at all! I was merely delighted that I might have enough to live on without having to take up that position as a governess. I was going to ask your advice as to what I should do next!”

  They stared at each other, both breathing hard for a long moment before she half-turned away. “I thought you would be pleased for me.”

  “I am pleased, it’s just that none of that matters to me.”

  Her hands fisted at her sides. “It doesn’t matter that I might have some money of my own and a family who want to acknowledge me? I have never had those things that you take so easily for granted. Can you not understand that it might matter to me and be pleased?”

  An icy finger pressed against Benjamin’s lips, and he fought a shudder as an unseen being whispered in his ear. “Speak wisely, my friend, or thou wilt lose the fair maiden.”

  The ghost was right. Benjamin needed to slow down before he said something that would destroy the fragile hopes he couldn’t bear to extinguish. Was he arguing simply because he wanted to be the hero of the story and rescue his very own Cinderella? Perhaps she didn’t need rescuing after all. Hadn’t he learned anything?

  For the first time since he’d met Henrietta, he needed to be rational Saxelby instead of passionate Benjamin. There was too much at stake to ruin everything now.

  “May I see the letter?”

  She handed it over without comment, and he read it through.

  “Oh, dear God, no.” All thoughts of being rational abruptly deserted him. Benjamin breathed out through his nose, and read it again. “This can’t be possible.”

  “What is it?” Henrietta asked.

  He raised his horrified gaze to meet hers. “You’re a Febland-Mortimer.”

  Henrietta wrinkled her nose. “Am I?”

  “Deidre Febland-Mortimer is one of my mother’s closest friends.”

  “Is she nice?”

  “What’s that got to do with anything?” Benjamin asked hollowly.

  “If she is some kind of connection of mine, I might appreciate the insight.”

  “She’s… formidable.” He slowly exhaled. “Rather like you now that I think about it.”

  “Will l like her?”

  “If she and the rest of the family have decided to acknowledge you, I can guarantee she will support you through thick and thin.” Benjamin paused. “She’ll want to take you under her wing and bring you out in society, and—”

  Henrietta cleared her throat. “I think you are getting rather ahead of yourself, my lord.”

  “I know what that family are like,” Benjamin insisted. “You won’t have much choice in the matter.”

  “There are always choices, my lord.”

  He took her hand in his. “My name is Benjamin.”

  “And we are in public!” She looked around nervously and tried to pull away.

  “I had already decided I wanted to marry you before you came out with all this, you know,” Benjamin said. “I was going to speak to my sister and write to my parents before I asked you formally, but my mind was already made
up.”

  She went still and looked up into his eyes. For the first time ever she seemed bereft of speech, so he plowed on. He might as well make a complete fool of himself and get it over with.

  “I fell in love with you the moment I saw you standing at the kitchen door. I don’t give a damn whether anyone thinks that is ridiculous, because it is the truth.” He cupped her chin, his thumb tracing her jawline. “And, having gotten to know you over the past few days, my feelings have only grown. You are no longer just a goddess, but the woman I wish to spend the rest of my life with. I admire your courage, your honesty, and your ability to laugh at life. I hope those qualities of yours will rub off on me and make me less of an unemotional stick-in-the-mud.”

  Her choke of laughter warmed his soul. “Are you quite sure, Benjamin?”

  “I’d be surer if you told me how you feel in return.” He mock-frowned at her.

  It was her turn to sigh. “I cannot imagine not seeing you again, hearing you laugh, or being thoroughly kissed by you.” She pressed a hand to her bosom. “Giving you up, and doing the right thing, made my heart ache. Is that love?” She gazed up at him searchingly. “I have never been in love before.”

  “Neither have I, but I know this is real and true.” He kissed her. “If you do decide to throw your lot in with the Febland-Mortimers, I will at least be able to court your properly.”

  “Court me?”

  He smiled down at her. “Indeed. I will take you driving in the park, fill up your dance card at balls to scandalize the dowagers, and kiss you soundly every time I get the opportunity.”

  “I have always wanted to dance at a ball…” Henrietta whispered. “I still cannot believe this is happening. It feels like a dream.”

  He smiled down at her. “You told me Castle Keyvnor was magical. Why are you surprised? By the way, if you are indeed a Febland-Mortimer heiress, you could probably marry a duke, you know.”

  “Why would I do that when I have you?” Henrietta murmured.

  Benjamin kissed her again, glad that she was obviously as besotted with him as he was with her.

  “Henrietta!”

  “Benjamin!”

  They both jumped apart as Mrs. Bray and Mr. Drake bore down upon them from opposite sides of the room, but with identical expressions of horror.

  “What on earth are you doing canoodling in the Great Hall on Christmas morning?” Mrs. Bray got in first.

  “And where have you been the last day or so, Benjamin?” Mr. Drake demanded.

  “Mr. Drake, you are mistaken. That’s Lord Saxelby.” Mrs. Bray gasped as Benjamin took Henrietta’s hand in his.

  “No, it’s—” Mr. Drake’s jaw went slack. “I do beg your pardon, my lord. You look remarkably like one of our staff members. I do apologize.”

  “It doesn’t matter who he is, Mr. Drake,” Mrs. Bray interrupted him. “He should have more sense than to be kissing my granddaughter in broad daylight. What will people think of her?”

  Benjamin bowed to the housekeeper and the steward. “I do beg your pardon for kissing Miss Henrietta in public, Mrs. Bray.” He turned to Henrietta, who was struggling not to laugh, kissed her hand, and winked at her.

  “I look forward to furthering my acquaintance with you in London, Miss Febland-Mortimer. It’s been a pleasure.”

  “Thank you, sir.” She offered him a mischievous smile. “I believe you have the means to find me now if you so desire.”

  “I do, indeed. Merry Christmas, ma’am.”

  Benjamin nodded at them all and walked toward the dining room. Even if Henrietta chose not to stay with the Febland-Mortimer family and decided to make her own way, he now knew how to find her. He was quite certain of that. Henrietta loved him and they would one day be together. He knew that in his soul.

  In the empty dining room, the fragrant smell of coffee and fried bacon drew him to the covered silver dishes on the sideboard. He also helped himself to a large slice of pigeon pie. It might be Christmas day and partridges might be more in keeping, but from now on, he’d always have a fondness for pigeons…

  Pigeons in a Hole

  Pick, draw, and wash four young pigeons, stick their legs into their belly as you do boiled pigeons. Season them with pepper, salt, and beaten mace, put into the belly of every pigeon a lump of butter the size of a walnut. Lay your pigeons in a pie dish, pour over them a batter made of three eggs, two spoonfuls of flour and a half a pint of good milk. Bake in a moderate oven and serve them to table in the same dish.”

  —The Experienced English Housekeeper, Elizabeth Raffald, 1769

  About Kate Pearce

  NYT and USA Today bestselling author Kate Pearce was born in England in the middle of a large family of girls and quickly found that her imagination was far more interesting than real life. After acquiring a degree in history and barely escaping from the British Civil Service alive, she moved to California and then to Hawaii with her kids and her husband and set about reinventing herself as a romance writer.

  She is known for both her unconventional heroes and her joy at subverting romance clichés. In her spare time she self publishes science fiction erotic romance, historical romance, and whatever else she can imagine.

  Connect With Kate

  www.katepearce.com

  His Mistletoe Miss

  Jane Charles

  Dedication

  Ava and Jerrica

  Thanks for the critiques, advice, friendship, and for the many projects we’ve shared

  Jane

  Chapter 1

  Blast! The bodice was, well, so uninspiring. No matter how she drew it, scooped or squared, Holly Prescott achieved the exact same result—dull. And the sleeves—redundant. There must be something that she could come up with that was new, inventive and would set society on its ear, but all of her creative talents had abandoned her this day.

  Setting her pencils aside, Holly rubbed her cold hands together then blew into the palms to warm them as she glanced out the window and into the gardens below. Alarm rioted through her body. “Oh, this will never do,” A young woman, with whom she was not yet acquainted, was gazing up at Ethan, the Duke of Westbury, as if every word he spoke dripped of gold. Why were the two even in the gardens? It was December and nothing was in bloom, though Holly had no doubt that in the spring and summer the gardens at Castle Keyvnor were nothing short of glorious and an inspiration to any artist’s eye.

  Was the chit actually fluttering her eyelashes at Ethan? Holly stood to get a closer look, and the sketchpad slid from her lap, thudding against the muted blue and cream rug, followed by her pencils that rolled in every direction, but she couldn’t worry about them now. Not when a miss was giggling up at Ethan. Or at least Holly assumed the miss giggled since she delicately covered her mouth with a gloved hand.

  Holly adored Ethan, she truly did, and would be forever grateful that he’d taken her in six years ago upon the death of her brother, but in short, His Grace was far from humorous. Stodgy, stern, strict, and caring, but not amusing. Further, he was a fool.

  Goodness! Was the miss now blushing? It must be the cooler temperatures causing the misses’ cheeks to color because Holly couldn’t imagine Ethan ever saying anything that would cause anyone to blush. In fact, she couldn’t recall ever hearing him curse, let alone say anything inappropriate. Had he not been heir to a dukedom, Ethan would have done quite well as a vicar. Not that he was overly religious, but he shared the same drab temperament as any minister Holly had ever known.

  Despite any lack of personality, it wasn’t any wonder so many misses sought Ethan out. He was the Duke of Westbury after all and any single lady whom Ethan had encountered only saw the title, without a care for the man. They were really no different from Ethan’s youngest sister, Lady Ivy, who also sought a duke of her own instead of love.

  Foolish! A title was cold comfort if one was not happy in a marriage.

  Holly had already lost count of the number of times she’d stepped in and saved Ethan from being trappe
d since she’d made her coming out three years ago, and if Holly had one goal, it was to see Ethan married well and happy. Just because he was a duke, and must marry and produce an heir and spare, did not mean he shouldn’t find love as well. If anyone deserved happiness, it was Ethan. Certainly there was a lady who would appreciate him, tedious though he may be, more than they desired the title.

  “What will never do?” Oliver Dallimore asked from behind and Holly spun around. Oliver was her dearest friend, as well as Ethan’s cousin.

  “And why of all places are you in here? This room is as cold as what I imagine a dip in the Thames would be this time of year.” Then he looked at the large fire in the fireplace and frowned.

  Large and bright as it may be, the flames had done little to bring warmth to the room. “This is the quietest public room in the castle and I wished for a place to sketch in peace. My chambers face north and are rather dark without any direct sunlight.” She glanced around and shrugged. “The cold is probably because of the ghosts.” Holly assumed that was the reason for the chill because half a dozen spirits had been gathered when she walked into the parlor, not that she minded of course. It wasn’t as if they were harmful. They’d been somewhat surprised, or at least she assumed that was the expression on their nearly transparent faces when she acknowledged them with a mere nod. But, she couldn’t be bothered with ghosts right now, even if she was intruding on their gathering.

  “Not you too?” He rolled his eyes as he picked the sketchbook from the floor. “Just because something probably happened that others cannot explain, a hysteria has developed so that now anyone who steps into this blasted castle is convinced they’ve encountered a being from another realm. It’s nonsense, I assure you.”

  Holly glanced at the four she could still see and smirked. The little boy, who probably wasn’t any older than five, ducked his head. Holly didn’t mind seeing ghosts that were older since they’d lived a full life, but her heart ached to see one so young and taken far too soon.