Once Upon a Christmas Wedding

by Scarlett Scott

  George was looking into his tankard with a slight concerned face. “You know, I think there is something swimming in my ale.”

  Edmund could hardly hear them, his pulse was thundering so loudly in his ears. “Do you not have anything useful to say?” he hissed.

  Luke chuckled. “This is your battle, brother, and I wish you luck with it. I certainly would not wish to become entrapped by a lady, however pretty she may be.”

  Edmund swallowed. Molly was just standing there, a tray in her hands, as though she had seen a ghost. He had to act, and he had to act now.

  He rose from the table, knocking into it slightly and feeling crimson burn his cheeks as Luke laughed. Molly’s eyes narrowed and before he could take another step, she turned away from him.

  It was what Edmund needed to spur him on. His strides grew longer, his pace quickened, and before he himself almost realised it, he was standing before her.

  “Molly,” he said.

  She looked up at him and glared. “I am sorry, do I know you? I do not believe I do.”

  She turned away from him again but Edmund would not allow this – he could not let her leave him as he himself, coward and fool as he had been, had attempted to leave her.

  Ignoring her protests and the raised eyebrows of those around them, Edmund grabbed Molly’s arm and pulled her towards the door.

  “Let go of me!” Molly did not attempt to keep her voice low, but that did not stop Edmund.

  He did not stop until he had pulled her through the doorway of the King’s Head, before he had pushed her up against its brick wall and covered her protesting mouth with a passionate kiss.

  She fought him off initially but quickly melted into his arms. Edmund almost cried out in her mouth as her hands rested on his chest, her tongue eagerly meeting his own. There was no one else in the world like Molly, and he did not need the rest of the world. Just her.

  And then she pushed him away and stared at him angrily. “Do not do that!”

  “Why?” Edmund spoke calmly, quietly in the crisp winter evening air. “Because you are angry with me, or because you do not want me to kiss you?”

  He watched her hesitate, watched the two options fly around her mind as her pinned hair loosened slightly. Her breasts were heaving in her tightly pinned gown, and he felt parts of him stir as a natural reaction to her, but Edmund tried to keep himself calm.

  He needed to focus. There was not going to be a more important moment than this moment, this moment between them.

  Edmund smiled.

  Molly sighed as she kept her gaze on his knees. “I lied to you.”

  Swallowing down the bitterness that rose immediately as a reaction to her words, Edmund shook his head. “No, you kept the truth from me. If I am honest with myself, and that happens quite rarely, I think…I know that I would have done the same in your position.”

  It was then that Molly finally looked at him, her dark eyes vibrant with passion. “Honestly?”

  Edmund nodded. The freezing air was starting to chill him but there was naught in the world more important than having this conversation, and there was nowhere else to have it.

  Much as he wanted to just carry her to his lodgings and ravish her until she begged him to stop.

  “Being kidnapped by your own brothers could not have been fun,” Edmund said with a wry smile. “And at Christmas, too, the brigands.”

  Molly’s eyes sparkled. “You made it a little more enjoyable than I thought it would be, I will give you that.”

  Edmund’s mouth was dry once more, fool that he was. Would he ever be able to speak with Molly without wanting to drop to the ground and worship her? Was there a woman better suited for him, for what he wanted from life?

  But he knew what he was about to say would be difficult. He had so little to offer, after all.

  “How about,” he said quietly, “I attempt to make the rest of your life more enjoyable?”

  Confusion filled Molly’s face. “What do you – oh!”

  Her gasp was mirrored by Edmund’s own movement; to bended knee.

  “Molly Kimble,” Edmund said with a smile, “I cannot promise you very much. You know all my faults, I think, though there may be a few more to find over time. You know that I have little to offer you in the way of wealth, power, prestige, or good company. But I would very much like to make every Christmas from now on for the rest of your life far better than the one I subjected you to this year.”

  “I do not know,” said Molly slowly, and Edmund’s heart sank before she continued with a wicked smile, “there were parts of this year’s Christmas that I greatly enjoyed.”

  Hope rushed through Edmund’s heart. “Does – does that mean you will marry me?”

  Molly reached out and pulled Edmund to his feet before pulling him into her arms and kissing him passionately.

  Edmund lost himself in their embrace: his arms around her, the smell of her hair filling his nostrils, his mouth worshipping her.

  After a lifetime, they broke apart.

  “Yes,” said Molly with a laugh, “in case I was not entirely clear!”

  Edmund kissed her. “I cannot wait to change your name from Kimble to Northmere.”

  She smiled and his heart lurched. Would he ever become accustomed to being a part of this wonderful woman’s life?

  Molly laughed again. “Who could have predicted that being kidnapped with a knight would lead to the most perfect present – his heart.”

  Epilogue

  Edmund slammed down his cards and cried triumphantly, “And I win!”

  Molly smiled at her ridiculous husband with a gentle shake of the head. Placing her hand of cards upon her rather large and heavy stomach, she smiled at him benevolently.

  “I think you will find that we have won.”

  Edmund stared at her straight flush and at his own three of a kind, and laughed. “Well, ‘tis two against one, after all – how am I supposed to compete with that?”

  They laughed together as Molly shifted slightly in her discomfort. The drawing room was filled with late summer sunshine and although the sofa was comfortable enough, carrying a baby had brought a toll on her health that she could not have predicted.

  “We must remember to thank Luke,” she said quietly.

  Edmund’s laughter subsided, but he did not frown – an achievement, Molly thought privately. Those brothers of his; they could not be as bad as her own brothers, that was for sure, but there was something incredibly delicate in a gentleman’s feeling of self-worth that could not be measured in shillings and pence.

  It had been a difficult conversation, as she had known it would be. Luke, George, Edmund, and the other two Northmere brothers had sat around a table, without liquor – that had been her stipulation, as the only spouse of the party – and discussed everything.

  Hours later, an agreement had been met. One of the smaller London properties had been signed over to Edmund, along with an income of two thousand pounds a year.

  It was more than she could have ever dreamed of. It was a pittance compared to the income he had lost.

  Compromise. One of the tenets of marriage, and how she was enjoying hers.

  “Another hand?”

  Edmund’s words brought Molly back to the present, and she handed over her cards and stroked her belly.

  “You know,” she said quietly as the sun played with long shadows in the dying afternoon, “it will not be too long now before this little one comes out, and will become the future Sir Edmund Northmere.”

  Edmund’s smile disappeared for a moment, the guilt he felt quite evident on his face. “You…you do not mind, then, that he will not be the future Duke of Northmere?”

  Molly stared at him in genuine bemusement. “Mind? Mind that he is the son of a kind, caring, and moreover wonderful gentleman? Mind that he will have a title, and one he has earned through bravery and not allowing injustice? No, Edmund, I do not mind at all, and I do not think he will, either.”

  Relief was
hed over Edmund’s features and his smile returned.

  “Besides,” Molly said with a grin, “as long as I does not kidnap any of his younger sisters, then I will be happy.”

  Edmund grinned back at her. “It could be a girl, you know.”

  He was shuffling his cards and Molly felt a twinge of movement as her dearest one shifted inside of her.

  “No,” she declared with certainty. “This is a boy, I can tell. Never doubt a mother.”

  “I would never dare disagree with you!” Edmund threw up his hands in mock surrender. “Now come here, wife.”

  He leaned across the small card table between them and kissed her passionately on the lips.

  Molly moaned and Edmund broke the connection, laughing. “My word, I did not realise that my kisses were that impressive!”

  But his laughter died as soon as he saw the expression on Molly’s face. “Molls?”

  “I think,” Molly said through the sharp jagged pain that was suddenly radiating across her stomach. “I think this baby is just as eager to meet us as we are to meet it!”

  Edmund stared at her for a moment, uncomprehending.

  Molly laughed despite the waves of pain. “I think this baby is coming now, Edmund!”

  “No, it cannot be coming now.” Her husband spoke almost automatically, as though by saying the words he could stop the inevitable. “Molly, are you sure?”

  She opened her mouth to speak but the rush of pain was starting to overwhelm her. Nothing could have prepared her for this, nothing, and she had no mother, and no friends to call upon.

  “Molly?”

  “Well I do not know, do I?” Molly said with a laugh of exasperation at her concerned husband. “This is my first baby but I do believe this is what they call la – ohhh!”

  Her words collapsed into a sigh as something rushed between her legs onto the sofa and the floor.

  Edmund looked at her in horror. “The first thing we do is not panic.”

  “The first thing?”

  “I had better rustle up a midwife then,” Edmund said distractedly, rising to his feet. “No, wait, the first thing is to clean up.” He moved to ring the bell and then hesitated. “No, the first thing is to move you to a more comfortable – ”

  “Anyone would think you were the one having the baby!” Molly laughed, though the pain was coming in stronger waves now. “You know full well, Edmund, that Mrs Reid is upstairs. You were the one that wanted her living with us as I went into my confinement!”

  “Yes, Mrs Reid,” Edmund said hurriedly, and his smile returned. “At least we are keeping things interesting. After being kidnapped with a knight, I did not want you to think our marriage was dull.”

  Molly smiled up at the man she loved: a man with faults, to be sure, but with such wonderful qualities too that she wondered it was possible she had been the first to notice them.

  Sir Edmund Northmere: a knight because he loved justice, her husband because he could look past someone’s history.

  Now the father to their child.

  “Do not worry,” she said with a grimace. “I think life is quite interesting enough. This Christmas you will certainly not be bored!”

  About Emily Murdoch

  Emily loves to read and write sweet and steamy historical romance. If you love falling in love you've come to the right place.

  Enjoy her sweet romances written as Emily Murdoch, and her steamy romances as Emily E K Murdoch, ranging from England 1050 to Texas 1848.

  Emily is an historian and writer, with a varied career to date: from examining medieval manuscripts to designing museum exhibitions, to working as a researcher for the BBC, to working for the National Trust.

  She can't wait for you to fall in love with her heroes and heroines.

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  The Russian Prince’s Bride

  by Mariah Stone

  Author’s Note

  Lovely reader,

  Thank you so much for reading my story.

  Please note that the title “prince” in Russia has an almost identical meaning to “duke.” So when you read “prince” and “princess,” think “duke” and “duchess” and NOT “king or queen’s son or daughter.”

  Thank you so much, and I hope you enjoy The Russian Prince’s Bride!

  Mariah

  Prologue

  Grandhall Park, Dorset, England

  7tn July, 1802

  “Alexander, give the pearls back to me,” Prince Roman Lipov said.

  His younger brother studied the black-pearl necklace by the brightly lit window of the sitting room. Wonder lit his handsome face, but after a quick glance at Roman, he forced his expression into boredom.

  “I am positively astonished that you find this gift beautiful,” Alex said.

  Roman clenched his jaw. He was a grown man at eighteen, and chasing his brother to retrieve the necklace would be childish.

  “The pearls are ashen. They look as though they were burned,” Alex continued with a smirk. “No woman would like anything burned for a gift. Are you not supposed to know this as the older brother?”

  Roman barely restrained himself from lunging at Alex. They were guests here at Grandhall Park. He knew better than to bring shame upon the family of the Russian ambassador in the British Empire by making a scene.

  “You speak nonsense,” Roman said. “Do you know how rare these pearls are? The only place on earth where they occur is Polynesia.”

  Alex raised his brows and took another look at them. “Indeed?”

  Producing a Cossack dagger that Roman had brought him as a gift from the Caucasus, he put the necklace on the sharp, ornamented blade. Roman’s heart stopped.

  He held out his hand. “Alexander, for the last time. Give. Them. Back.”

  “Why?”

  “You know why. The necklace is a gift for Kitty Kovrova.”

  Alexander cringed. “Kovrova? A ballet dancer?”

  Roman clenched his jaw. “Yes. A ballet dancer.”

  Alexander looked Roman up and down. “My responsible older brother seems to have one or two blemishes on his shiny surface.”

  “Alex, if you please.”

  Alex walked towards Roman, the necklace swinging on the edge of the dagger.

  “This little necklace could probably buy her an estate.” His eyes shone. “Or it could buy many, many nights of grand entertainment for a bored young man in London. Do you want her to become your lover that much?”

  “Not lover.”

  Alex gasped. “Your wife?” Alex almost choked on the word. “A ballet dancer, the wife of a prince? You lucky bastard. And I must marry Lilly.”

  Lilly was the oldest daughter of Duke and Duchess Herbert, the owners of Grandhall Park.

  “You are the oldest one, you should marry for duty,” Alex said almost whining.

  “Is she not agreeable to you?” Roman asked.

  “She is,” Alex said, moving the dagger so that the pearls rolled up and down slightly. Roman grimaced. Pearls were very fragile gemstones; a careless knock might leave a scratch or even chip it. “I also like many, many other young ladies. I am only fifteen, Roman, and I have been engaged to her since I was thirteen. You cannot expect me to experience one woman. I need to live a little before we marry.”

  “So live a little. Just give the necklace back to me.”

  “So that you can waste it on a dancer? Please. I am younger than you and yet you are the naive one. Let me tell you what shall happen. You will give her the pearls and ask her hand, she will agree, and Mother and Father will never give you their blessing.”

  Alex raised his golden eyebrows, and Roman gritted his teeth. Alex was right, and they both knew it.

  Seeing his victory, Alex continued. “You are the oldest son of the Russia
n ambassador in England. You are you. Incapable of dishonoring the noblest and richest family in the Russian Empire. It would be worse than death to you. You are not me. You shall never run away with her, even if you would secretly love nothing more—something I would do gladly.”

  Roman felt the blood drain from his face. Alex had not even met Kitty. It was impossible that he would run away with her. Alex had been born in England and lived here for most of his life. Roman, on the other hand, stayed in St. Petersburg to get the right law education and to serve the government. He only came to England to visit his family every July, although he would have preferred to live wherever his family was. Before Mother and Father had sent Roman back to Russia, the brothers had been close.

  Now, Roman was a stranger to Alex. Alex was much closer with the Herbert girls and with the quiet orphan niece being raised with them—Helen.

  Alex guffawed. “You are wasting this exotic treasure on her.”

  “That is not for you to decide.” Roman took a step towards Alex who respectively stepped back.

  “Let me take it,” Alex said. “I shall give it as a gift to Lilly, my future princess, so that she closes her eyes just in case some rumors tell her how naughty her betrothed really is.”

  Roman took another step. “No.”

  “You can find a more appropriate gift for a dancer, Roman.”

  “I do not want to encourage the behavior you are about to indulge in. Give me back the necklace, it is mine.”

  “It is me who does not want to encourage your behavior with Kitty Kovrova. If you love her, make her your mistress. Not your wife.”

  Another step forward. Roman’s face started to burn. “This does not concern you.”

  “No. Kitty does not concern you. If you need to buy her affection with this, she must really hate you.”

  Something snapped in him. “Give it to me!”