by Kate Pearce
Emily couldn’t help but feel that this was the right thing to do. Some voice inside her was telling her, no, screaming at her to take the opportunity to go.
“Find a way to right this vehicle immediately!” Blechly was shouting about the wailing wind and driving snow.
Emily could see by the driver’s expression that it was a hopeless cause, but he nodded his compliance nonetheless.
“If you’ll step outside, my lord. We can’t do it with people inside.”
Without waiting for her stepfather to respond, Emily began to scramble toward the door of the carriage.
It was difficult with the wind and snow driving her back, and because the carriage was tipped alarmingly on its side, but she was determined to make her move.
Grabbing the driver’s outstretched hand, she allowed him to pull her from the carriage.
Her injured shoulder screamed in protest, but it didn’t matter. It was a small price to pay for potential freedom.
The driver set Emily on the ground, and her feet immediately sank into the icy snow.
Her boots were soaked within seconds, and she knew her heavy velvet skirts would be ruined.
Dear heavens but it was freezing!
Immediately, Emily began to panic.
She couldn’t run away in the middle of a blizzard! Where would she even go? She couldn’t go back in the direction from which they’d come, since that’s where the driver was trying to convince her parents to go.
She stood, heart and mind racing, unsure about what to do.
“My cousin will be wondering where we got to,” the viscount bellowed as he was dragged from the carriage. “We only have a bloody week to get him to propose.”
That was it.
That one sentence made up Emily’s mind. She clutched the reticule that contained all the money she possessed until she could get to Town, and a locket containing a miniature of her father, and while everyone was distracted by the commotion of the hysterical viscountess exiting the carriage, she ran.
Henry Roache flinched slightly at the raucous sound of merriment all around him.
Tomorrow was Christmas Day. He only knew because Frau Elke had insisted on filling every possible surface of Klaus Haus with greenery, holly, ivy, and anything else festive she could get her hands on.
In point of fact, right now the in room where Henry usually liked to have a quiet drink, or as quiet a drink as one could have in a brothel, the German madame had planted a giant bloody tree in the middle of it.
A Tannenbaum, she had told him excitedly when he’d questioned why the sudden interest in forestry. Especially indoor forestry.
It made no sense to him, but he hadn’t questioned her any further.
For one thing, Frau Elke did as she wanted, and arguing or questioning was useless, he knew.
For another, he was genuinely fond of the older woman. He had nothing but respect for her.
Henry had been a frequent visitor to Klaus Haus over the years.
When he’d left Warwickshire to settle in London and try to fill the family coffers, he’d been young, rakish, and downright troublesome.
Though he’d succeeded in making the baronetcy flush again, more so than ever before in fact, he’d managed to raise quite a bit of hell on his travels.
He’d first come across Klaus Haus when he’d visited a friend from Oxford, whose estate was in Canterbury.
Over the years, Henry had settled down significantly. He no longer frequented the establishment to bed women. But Madame and even some of the serving staff had become something akin to friends, and he came here now to escape the pressures of his many business ventures.
His father didn’t have long left, either, by Henry’s reckoning. And with his father’s death would come the responsibility of the baronetcy.
When he’d told Frau Elke, her reaction had been just what he knew it would be.
“Then you must find yourself a wife,” she had said stoutly, as though she were a Society matron and not a madame. “Someone to fill a nursery for you.”
“I’ll marry when you agree to marry me,” Henry had joked and Madame had flicked her blonde hair peppered now with grey over her shoulder. “Ha, a boy like you couldn’t handle a woman like me,” she winked before scurrying off to the kitchen.
Henry had arrived earlier in the evening, before the storm had become impassable.
He should have gone home, he knew. Should have been back at Warwickshire for Christmastide. But business had kept him in Town and then a restlessness he couldn’t put a name to had sent him from London.
Henry wasn’t usually given to anything fanciful, but he had felt a sudden but urgent desire to visit Klaus Haus and had come in just before the storm hit.
Now he was stuck here until the storm passed.
Madame had been thrilled that he’d been snowed in.
“You shouldn’t be alone at Christmas,” she’d scolded. “You will celebrate with us. We are going to have stories around the Tannenbaum.”
She’d said it like it wouldn’t be painful to sit there listening to strangers chatter all evening.
Henry was surprised at how bitter he was feeling.
He wasn’t usually such a cynic but lately…
Lately, he’d been feeling tired of the life he’d been living. Mistresses, drinking, and gambling were all well and good but he was…
Lonely. That was it. Surrounded by people, he was lonely.
And he missed the countryside. The sleepy hamlet that held the family seat.
He missed the simplicity of country life. The early hours. The quiet evenings in front of a fire.
And he wanted someone to share it with.
He thought back to the last time he’d spent any real time in the family home.
It had been at the funeral of Sir Amos, his father’s oldest friend.
And of course, when he thought of Amos, he thought of Emily.
That poor girl. She’d been devastated by the death of her beloved father, and her mercenary mother hadn’t given a damn. Too busy sinking her claws into Viscount Blechly.
The last he’d heard, Lady Harriet had married Blechly and dragged Emily off to live with the viscount.
She’d been a sweet, quiet little thing the last time Henry had seen her.
He’d known then that she would grow into a beauty, with a sweet temperament.
She would be eaten alive by the likes of Blechly and the crowd he ran with.
Henry’s gut clenched as he imagined the slip of a girl in the clutches of such men.
Henry might drink, might gamble, might frequent Frau Elke’s establishment but it was reputable, for what it was, and the girls were treated well.
Madame was extremely picky when it came to whom she allowed through the door.
Blechly wasn’t the type that would be allow near the place. And Emily had been sent to live with the blackguard.
Henry pinched the bridge of his nose.
Why on earth was he thinking of Emily Harris all of a sudden?
A sound in the hallway signalled the arrival of yet another traveller, no doubt forced to stop because of the storm.
People had been arriving all night, and still the storm worsened.
Who would be mad enough to be out in that now?
The singing was growing more and more raucous, and Henry watched as Madame flitted from guest to guest, the feathers on her extravagant turban fluttering wildly from side to side.
He smiled in spite of himself. Ever the hostess.
“You look particularly gloomy this evening.”
Henry turned his head to see Marissa, one of Frau Elke’s girls smiling up at him.
Marissa was as flirtatious as she was beautiful.
“Not gloomy,” Henry answered. “Just…pensive.”
“But now is not the time to be pensive,” she smiled mischievously. “It is a party! Come, sit by the Tannenbaum. We are storytelling.”
Henry smiled as Marissa snaked an arm through his elbow.
He’d never been one of her clients, and he couldn’t help but think that insulted her a little. He was quite sure Marissa had never had a gentleman be uninterested.
But Henry had always preferred blondes…
The door went again and Frau Klaus rushed to answer it, since the servants were all busy.
“Storytelling doesn’t particularly interest me, my dear,” he said, removing her arm from his own, only to have her wrap that, and the other, around his neck.
“What would interest you then,” she asked seductively.
She was tenacious, if nothing else.
Henry darted a glance around the room, searching for a polite way to reject the beauty hanging off his neck.
His green gaze alighted on a sodden, shivering, slip of a girl who was being escorted into the room by Frau Klaus.
Good God! What was a young lady doing in a storm all by herself?
And a lady she was.
Henry swept his gaze from her sodden green skirts to the tip of her matching green bonnet.
He couldn’t see her face, but there was no mistaking the fact that she was quality. It was evident in the material of her clothes, ruined as they were. It was evident in her posture.
A sudden, unexpected warmth flooded Henry as he watched the young woman shuffle from side to side. He had a mad and inexplicable desire to go over there and wrap her in his arms. Keep her safe. Protect her.
And on the heels of that came a slam of desire so strong he almost staggered.
She had turned toward a servant girl and untied her bonnet so that her soaking, golden curls were freed.
When she removed her cloak, he had to swallow past a lump in his throat.
Her dress was modest enough but couldn’t hide the smooth curves of her body.
How had such a creature come to be here, of all places? And on Christmas Eve?
If Marissa was still talking, Henry couldn’t hear her.
In fact, he was so focused on the woman with her back to him that he didn’t even notice Marissa’s hands still wrapped round his neck.
If the stranger’s face was as beautiful as he suspected, Henry was sure he’d be lost for good.
She began to turn toward him, and his heart picked up speed.
This was truly bizarre.
The stranger looked up suddenly, her hazel gaze clashing with his own, and his racing heart stopped dead.
What the hell?
Standing in front of him, as though his thoughts had somehow conjured her, was Emily Harris.
Chapter 3
A riot of emotions coursed through Emily as she took in the scene before her.
There he was. Henry Roache. The man she had dreamed about, idolised, and missed desperately for the past five years.
And he had the arms of another woman wrapped around his neck.
A cup of something warm was thrust into Emily’s freezing hands, and she took it automatically, her eyes never leaving Henry’s.
She knew it was him straight away. Of course she did. She had committed his face to memory, though she realised that her memory hadn’t done him justice.
He had grown from boyish good looks to pure, masculine handsomeness.
His jaw was strong, his shoulders broad and his eyes, eyes she’d positively swooned over as a girl, were just as she remembered; clear and sparkling like the brightest emeralds.
Never in Emily’s wildest imaginings did she think she’d end up in a place such as this on Christmas Eve. Freezing, alone, and face-to-face with Henry Roache.
She’d been stumbling through the blizzard for hours, panicking about how she’d survive. She’d known that she needed to get indoors.
When she’d come to the edge of a town she’d have wept with relief if her tears wouldn’t have frozen clean on her face.
Though visibility had been nigh on impossible, Emily had managed to make out a great, looming shape in the distance, and she realised with a start that she must be in Canterbury.
So, her family had been closer to civilisation that they’d thought.
The town was quiet. Not a soul about.
Nobody but her, it seemed, was mad enough to be out in such weather.
She wandered down the empty street, shoulders hunched against the driving snow and icy wind.
Should she pick a door and bang on it, begging for help?
But if she did that, would they even let her in?
And then, she’d heard it. The distant sound of singing.
Emily stumbled toward the sound.
She’d freeze to death if she stayed out in this for much longer, she knew.
The sound grew louder, and then she saw it. A house. Mercifully lit up.
It looked so warm, so inviting. She was saved!
Rushing as much as the storm would allow, Emily had pounded on the doorway paying no mind to anything except the need to get inside.
Nobody answered, and she banged again.
After an age the door opened, and she was pulled into the embrace of a tall, fading beauty.
Emily had only seconds to take in the strange, dramatic attire of the woman in front of her. Green turban bedecked in jewels and feathers, clear and kind blue eyes, and arms strong enough to squeeze the breath from her.
The lady had introduced herself as Frau Elke in perfect, though accented English.
Before she had a chance to respond though, she’d been ushered into a warm room, filled with people singing and chattering, dominated by a giant, decorated fir tree.
What on earth have I walked into? Emily had thought whilst a servant came forward and began relieving her of her ruined cloak, bonnet, and gloves.
She had turned to take it all in again.
And that’s when she saw him.
So here she stood, like a fool, unable to drag her eyes away, even though it pained her to see him with such a beautiful woman in his arms.
“Emily.”
The sound of his voice from across the room did funny things to her insides and suddenly, far from being cold, she began to feel unbearably hot.
She watched, frozen to the spot, as he moved to step toward her.
She watched him frown, almost in confusion, as his actions were hampered by the woman who appeared to be glued to him.
She watched as he removed the arms snaked around him, say something to the beauty by his side, whose surprised chocolate-brown gaze snapped to Emily, and march purposefully toward her.
What would he say?
What would she say?
How could she explain that she’d run from a broken down carriage in the middle of the night?
Would he force her to return to her odious stepfather? To a life that would make her miserable?
No, Emily reasoned frantically as he drew to a stop in front of her.
Lord, but he was big.
She’d forgotten how big he was.
And how good he smelt.
But that was neither here nor there.
Henry had always treated her with the utmost kindness. He’d always been gentle with her, and sweet.
So if she just explained –
Her thoughts crashed to a halt when she realised he was glaring at her.
He looked angry.
Perhaps because she’d been sending mooneyes at him across the room in front of the woman who was staring at them with blatant curiosity.
Oh, dear.
Had she painfully embarrassed herself? But she hadn’t seen him in so very long. And when she’d been so scared, so worried about the future, seeing a friendly face, seeing his face, had been more welcome than she could say.
“Mr. Roache.” Emily dipped a curtsy as though they were meeting in each other in a London ballroom and not a — What was this place, in any case? “How nice to see you again. I trust you are well?”
Henry glared at her in silence for a moment.
And then, he wasn’t silent.
“You trust I’m well?” he hissed. “What the hell are you doing here, Emil
y Harris? And why the hell are you by yourself?”
Sir Amos gazed down worriedly.
“It doesn’t seem to be going too well.” He frowned. “He’s not being very nice to her, is he?”
The angel beside him smiled that enigmatic smile.
“Oh, Amos,” she said. “If I’ve learned anything about humans after thousands of years of observing them, it’s that their outward behaviour hardly ever reflects their inner feelings.”
Amos frowned again, this time in utter confusion.
“Meaning?” he asked.
“Meaning,” the angel continued, “that I believe your instincts were correct, and Henry is acting in a way that doesn’t surprise me in the least.”
Amos continued to study them, took in the body language, observed that which he’d never been able to see when he was alive.
“Ah.” He smiled, beginning to understand. “I see it.”
The angel nodded.
“Hopefully they will see it, too, before long.”
Chapter 4
Stop bloody shouting at her, Henry told himself as Emily stared up at him with eyes that were making his heart beat far quicker than it should.
But he needed answers.
When her gaze had reached his and he’d realised who it was, Henry had been shocked to the core.
He’d been salivating over Emily Harris. The girl from his youth.
Only…
She wasn’t a girl any longer. That much was clear.
And she was in trouble.
That was also clear.
That sobering thought had served to drive any inappropriate fantasies from his mind. If not completely, then enough for him to focus on the problem at hand.
“Emily,” he repeated, his tone calmer now by sheer force of will. “What is going on? How did you end up here? Why are you alone? Where’s your mother?”
“I—“ she began speaking, and he realised then that her teeth were chattering. And her lips, lips he’d been trying not to look at too closely, were a worrying shade of blue.
Muttering an oath, he stripped off his jacket to place around her shoulders.
“M-mister Roache,” she gasped. “You c-can’t take off your jacket in c-company.”