A mysterious stranger at Christmas.
Spirited Anthea Bryars already has enough problems to deal with when a few days before Christmas, she stumbles across an unconscious stranger in the woods. She and her half-sisters will be homeless after New Year, now that Lord Denton has inherited Yardley Hall and given the family their marching orders. The last thing Anthea needs is a handsome, smart-mouthed distraction who makes her long for forbidden pleasures.
Secrets and passion…
After rakish Christopher Trant, Earl of Denton, tumbles from his horse in a snowstorm, his rescuer is the loveliest woman he’s ever seen. But waking up the next morning, he’s horrified to discover that at Yardley Hall, he’s universally hated as Wicked Cousin Christopher. He’d left London assuming the remote manor house was empty, but it turns out it’s occupied by three unknown cousins and an alluring lady called Anthea. To play for time, he pretends that his injuries have stolen his memory. But one small lie leads to others, until he’s so tangled in desire and deception, he doesn’t know where to turn.
A season of goodwill?
Will the revelation of Christopher’s identity destroy all his chances to win Anthea? Or might the magic of Christmas unite these two unlikely lovers and conjure up a bright new future for the whole family? Could four Christmas kisses mean goodbye or happy forever after?
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Anthea Bryars is in a tizz about the handsome stranger she discovered injured in the snow a few days ago. Because he’s lost his memory, the family has started to call him Lancelot. Too disturbed to sleep, she sneaks out of her bedroom late one night...
Yardley Hall, Shropshire, 23rd December, 1818
Anthea descended the staircase to the hall, where most of the Christmas greenery had ended up. The fresh scent of pine teased her nostrils.
She checked the library. It was empty. So was the rarely used dining room. Most of the time, she and the girls ate in the kitchen. The last room on this floor was the drawing room, where Lancelot had asked to kiss her yesterday afternoon.
When she’d denied him for fear of betraying her attraction to their audience. Edwina and Merry were too young to notice that Anthea couldn’t play at kissing their guest. But Winifred watched her like a hawk, and Harriet was old enough to guess what was going on.
Anthea hovered in the doorway. Her gaze made a quick tour of the space. The fire glowed at the far end, but the room appeared to be empty.
Disappointment made her stagger. Lancelot wasn’t here. Could he have gone down to the kitchen? He’d be warmer there. She was just about to turn away, not even pretending anymore that she wasn’t looking for trouble, when a shadow moved in one of the big upholstered chairs in front of the fire.
Lancelot rose. He was dressed in his own clothes. “Anthea?”
Dear heaven, she’d gone looking for trouble, and she’d found it.
She stepped forward, her hand shaking so badly now that the candle sent flickering light dancing across the oak paneling. “You weren’t in your room,” she said in a low voice, then blushed at how much her remark revealed.
Did he think that she’d sneaked out of her bedroom in search of him? The awful truth was that she had, however much she might deny it. She braced for him to pick up on her admission, perhaps mock her. She couldn’t bear any mockery. Not when she risked so much.
But he merely strode forward. “Here, give me that, before you drop it and burn the house down.”
With a gentleness that made her asinine heart melt, he took the candle and set it on a small table near the door. He caught her hand and drew her into the room. Her shaking fingers curled around his, as if she feared falling. She did. Her knees wobbled, and she had trouble catching a complete breath.
Cold tinged the air, despite the fire. His touch was warm. Irresistibly so.
“Shall I close the door?” she murmured.
“Yes.”
With reluctance, she released his hand and turned to shut the door. She knew it signaled her willingness to allow liberties. But he was a clever man. He must have known that from the moment she’d admitted that she sought him.
He took possession of her hand again. “Do we need mistletoe?”
The tender amusement in his voice reminded her how much she liked him. He’d made her smile so often, during these days when she’d been sure that all she’d think about was the family’s departure from Yardley. Those touches of happiness were precious.
He was precious.
“No.”
“You know I’m going to kiss you?”
What was the point of playing coy? “Yes.”
“You wouldn’t kiss me before.”
“I was afraid that I might reveal…” With her free hand, she gestured to indicate everything that she was too shy to put into words.
“That you want me?”
“Yes.”
“I want you.”
“I…know.”
“Of course you do. It’s been hell keeping my hands off you.”
It wasn’t a surprise. She’d always known. But hearing him say the words aloud stirred a ripple of not-unpleasant trepidation. Her fingers tightened around his. “I don’t mean…”
The fire’s faint light revealed a smile of unusual sweetness on his lips. She was used to his ironic amusement, but now he looked as if she fulfilled all his dreams.
Be careful, Anthea. Don’t turn this into anything more than a chance to find out what his kisses are like. Talking about dreams and forever only invites heartbreak.
“You’ve come for a few kisses,” he said.
The tension eased from her shoulders. He understood. “That’s risky enough.”
“I swear you’re safe.”
She was sure that young men with mischief on their minds had made promises like that since the origins of humanity. Yet she believed him. She hoped to heaven that she wasn’t mistaken.
“I trust you.”
A troubled expression crossed his face. “Anthea, there’s something we have to talk about first.”
“No.” She’d come so far, she couldn’t brook any delay. “All we’ve done is talk. That’s not why I’m here.”
He frowned. “But…”
She lifted the hand she held and kissed his knuckles without breaking eye contact. “We’ll talk later.”
He exhaled on a long hiss and reached out to thread his fingers through the hair above her ear. “You’re pure temptation.”
“Then let me tempt you.” She was in such a fever of anticipation, she hardly knew what she said. If he didn’t kiss her in the next five minutes, she feared she’d explode.
His hand drifted down to the thick single braid confining her hair. He gave the long tail a gentle tug to bring her closer. She released his hand and with a tentative movement that belied her bold announcement, she placed her hand on his shoulder. He was warm, and she felt the strength of bone and sinew.
Since he’d arrived at Yardley, she’d touched him so often. It turned out that there was a universe of difference between caring for him as a patient and touching him now to invite his kiss.
“Kiss me, Anthea,” he whispered and bent his head.
With a sigh, she lifted her face. Every cell of her body hungered for him. As she closed her eyes, time hung suspended for seconds that felt like an eon.
His mouth, like his voice, was soft as it brushed hers. The fleeting contact slammed through her like thunder. How could such a brief kiss shift the world off its axis? Yet it did.
She staggered as her knees turned to water, and her grip on his shoulder firmed to save her from falling. Or melting. Because that was what this felt like. Bones that had always been solid and reliable threatened to dissolve into honey.
A faint murmur of yearning escaped her. His lips descended, and this time he lingered. Torrents of heat rushed through her, and her mind began to whirl. She sagged and through the pounding in her blood, she felt him gather her up in his arms and bring her closer.