Cecilia looked up at him, pulling her shawl closer over her shoulders, whether to guard off the cold or to ward off possible disappointment he didn’t know.
‘I love you,’ he said. ‘I know it’s madness, I know we’ve only known each other for a short time, but I love you.’
‘But earlier...’ she said.
‘Earlier I was a coward. I was too afraid to reach out and take what I wanted, I thought you deserved more than a man who has shut himself away this past year. I thought you deserved someone whole, someone with purpose and with a perfect life to offer you.’
She shook her head, her body swaying closer to his.
‘I started to walk back to Rose Cottage, but I couldn’t leave you behind. I knew I’d made the worst mistake of my life. Can you forgive me?’
‘You want to be with me?’ she asked as if she couldn’t quite believe what he was saying.
‘I want to be with you. I want to be with you for the rest of our lives.’
‘Do you mean...?’
‘Marry me, Cecilia. I love you and I can’t live without you. I know it’s too soon, I know we’ve barely spent any time together, but I love you.’
She threw herself into his arms, oblivious to their audience on the other side of the drawing-room doors. Joe found himself smiling as her body pressed against his—it was as if they were made for one another.
Cecilia tilted her chin up and almost imperceptibly nodded her head. He kissed her, brushing his lips against hers as she melted into his arms.
‘Is that a yes?’ he murmured after a minute.
‘It’s a yes.’
Chapter Eleven
Cecilia closed her eyes and lifted her feet so they were closer to the fire. In front of her Joe was working hard to build up the logs, warming up the little cottage after their few days at Hawthorn House. They’d spent a couple of hours being congratulated by the Crawleys and all their close friends and family, but after the hundredth person had expressed their surprise at the engagement Joe had whispered in her ear, asking her if she wanted to sneak away.
It had probably been foolhardy making the trip through the snow in the dark, but they’d done it all the same and, now they were back at the little cottage, Cecilia couldn’t regret it. She was alone with the man who would soon be her husband. The man she’d come to love in just a few short days.
He turned to her, the fire now blazing behind him, and pulled her to her feet.
‘Have you seen the time?’ he asked, motioning to the small clock on the mantelpiece. It was after midnight.
‘Christmas Day,’ Cecilia said.
‘Happy Birthday, my love,’ Joe murmured, kissing her until she forgot what he’d said. ‘You are now a free woman.’
For a moment Cecilia closed her eyes. For so long she’d been waiting for this moment. Waiting to be free of her guardian, a woman of independence. Never had she imagined that she would see in her twenty-first birthday engaged. She’d been so intent of having her freedom, of living life on her own terms, that she hadn’t stopped to consider what would happen when she met a man she cared for more than her plans.
‘And I am engaged to the wealthiest woman in England,’ he said, earning him a playful slap on the arm.
‘Smart move, Major Crawley,’ she said.
‘I think so. And here we are all alone with no one to protect your reputation. You’ll have to marry me now.’
‘We are alone,’ Cecilia said slowly. ‘And we are engaged...’
‘I’m scandalised,’ Joe said, unable to keep the smile from his lips. ‘But I like what you’re suggesting.
Slowly he kissed her and Cecilia shivered with anticipation as his hands traced a path over her shoulders. There was a fire building deep inside her and as he pulled her body close to his it sparked and flared. He was her man and tonight she would forget the rules and enjoy every moment.
In front of the flickering flames Joe undressed her, unbuttoning the fastenings of her dress and pushing it down over her hips until it pooled about her ankles. Cecilia felt herself grow hot under his gaze as his eyes raked over her and suddenly his lips were on her skin.
‘I’ve wanted to do this for so long,’ he said, his breath tickling her neck. Cecilia closed her eyes as he pulled off her chemise and petticoats. She stood naked in front of him, her body warmed by the fire and the touch of his hands across her skin.
Consumed by a desire so strong it frightened her, Cecilia pulled Joe towards her, fumbling with his belt and the fastening of his trousers as he slipped his shirt over his head. Only when he was naked did she stop for a moment, glancing down to take in all of the man she loved.
With a growl Joe picked her up and deposited her on the rug in front of the fire, his body pressing against hers and making Cecilia let out a little moan of excitement.
Unable to wait any longer their bodies came together, Cecilia stiffening for only a moment as Joe entered her, then something primal took over and her hips began rising to meet his in perfect unison. Over and over they came together, until Cecilia felt as though something was about to burst inside her. Then with a moan of pleasure she felt her whole body tense and for a long few seconds felt as though she were floating. Above her Joe stiffened before collapsing on top of her.
After a few moments he rolled to the side, pulling her into his arms as he did so.
‘Merry Christmas, my darling,’ he whispered in her ear.
And as Cecilia lay there in his arms, her body warmed by the fire, she felt a wave of contentment wash over her. This wasn’t how she’d imagined spending her twenty-first birthday, but it was so much better.
* * *
If you enjoyed these stories
you won’t want to miss these other
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Once Upon a Regency Christmas
by Louise Allen, Sophia James and Annie Burrows
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by Carla Kelly, Christine Merrill and Janice Preston
Convenient Christmas Brides
by Carla Kelly, Louise Allen and Laurie Benson
Keep reading for an excerpt from Miss Lottie’s Christmas Protector by Sophia James.
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Miss Lottie’s Christmas Protector
by Sophia James
Prologue
In the shadow of Westminster Abbey lay an area known as the Irish Rookery—a place of narrow streets, rundown buildings and hopelessness.
This area, once a sanctuary offered to debtors and criminals by the monks from the abbey, was by 1842 the haunt of the displaced Irish, who lived in a festering labyrinth of dark and impenetrable streets full of desperation and vice.
However, social philanthropy and charity-based movements were on the rise in Victorian England, as Christian duty encouraged acts to save the souls of those mired in poverty.
The Fairclough Foundation was one such organisation and it lay in Howick Place, just on the edge of Old Pye Street, the Perkins Rents, Great Peter’s Road and St Anne’s Street—home to some of the worst slums in all of London.
Chapter One
Late November 1842—Westminster, London
Gilbert Griffiths, a man who was scared of his
own shadow, had offered for her sister.
These words echoed through Lottie in sheer horror and growing apprehension. If Amelia accepted the overzealous and pedantic curate as a husband she would shrivel, piece by little piece, until nothing of joy and hope were left.
Charlotte Lilian Alexandra Fairclough could see the same guarded truth in Millie’s eyes and she shook her head hard, unleashing wild brown curls in the process.
‘You cannot love him, Millie? He is fussy and boring and impossible.’
Amelia smiled in the way that was purely her own, dutiful yet strained, a happy expression plastered steadfastly over conflict. ‘He has a modest income as well as a small property and would be able to keep the wolf from our door. Did you think of that?’
‘So you would sacrifice yourself for the greater good? Your life? Your for ever? There has to be a time when your selflessness has a limit, Millie. This is that time. I cannot let you do it. Not for me or for Mama.’
Her sister dug her heels in further. ‘You cannot stop me, Lottie, and if I wait much longer we will all be thrown out of our house into penury. If that happens, you would be begging for me to marry him.’
‘I never would. We can sell the furniture and go north. There must be enough to start elsewhere if we are frugal and besides we have...skills.’
‘What skills?’
‘I can sew. You can do bookkeeping and Mama can manage the rest. If we are lucky, someone far better might come along and offer for one of us and then...’ She petered out. No eligible suitor had presented themselves in years. It was a groundless hope.
‘And what of the vulnerable and desperate women in the Rookery who depend upon us here at the Fairclough Foundation? What would happen to them should I simply be selfish and refuse an offer of marriage that is not completely repulsive to me?’
‘If it isn’t, then it should be.’ Lottie backtracked when she saw her sister’s hurt and understood her worry about those they helped. ‘Well, at least promise me that you will wait until we have a letter from Silas, telling us of all the riches he has made in America.’
The mention of their brother’s absence brought a bruising sadness to Amelia’s green eyes.
‘He is lost, Lottie. I cannot feel him.’
As twins Amelia and Silas had always been close, so close that Lottie had felt the odd one out in the family, the twins’ sense of knowing where and how the other was was the bane of her early childhood. They had won every game of marbles, and hoop and stick, and hide-and-go-seek, the language they’d invented between them shutting her out. Often she had come across them whispering secrets and the feeling of being alone and unwanted had soon led her into trouble.
Charlotte Fairclough, the rebellious, opinionated and impulsive younger sister. The one who did not quite fit into the family structure of good deeds, fine thoughts and parsimonious self-sacrificing. Mama and Papa, Millie and Silas. In the pairings around her Lottie had had difficulty finding her place.
‘I think Silas is on his way home to England even as we speak. I think he wants to surprise us.’ She tried to place assurance into her words though at this moment she was feeling far from such faith.
‘I think you have an imagination that is over-fertile and impossibly optimistic, Lottie, but then I suppose you always did.’
Mama chose that moment to bundle into the room, her arms full of fabric and her dark wavy hair coming a little loose from the pins that held up the thickness of it. ‘I have just found this in one of the trunks your father brought from his family house years ago. I had forgotten about it completely, but it shall be perfect for us to make gowns with for Lady Alexandra’s party in a fortnight.’ Her eyes were wide with delight and Lottie thought for the thousandth time how beautiful her mother was even at the grand old age of forty-five.
But then Lottie’s heart fell. Lady Alexandra Malverly was her father’s cousin and both the daughter of a duke and the wife of a viscount. Many of the guests at the Christmas party would be well off and odious and they would also have a keen sense of the Fairclough family’s lower social standing.
Likely sensing the disenchantment in her daughters, her mother carried on.
‘I know you are not as thrilled about the invitation as I am, but it is important for us to make an effort, for who knows which handsome unmarried man might make an appearance this year? We could definitely do with the hope of it.’
Millie blushed and Lottie frowned.
‘I know you do not particularly enjoy venturing to see Alexandra, but she has always been kind to me and I like her company. Besides, it is only for a few weeks and the celebration of the Christmas season will lighten things up.’
Privately Lottie thought it would also mean Lady Alexandra would drink more, but for Mama’s sake she rallied. Papa had been dead for almost ten years and her mother still talked about him as if he had died only yesterday. A love match. A perfect union. Two halves of a whole. Exactly the thing that Millie would never be allowed to experience should she marry the son of the local vicar, Mr Gilbert Griffiths.
Yet as she stood there a new thought began to form. A startlingly dangerous plan that made her heart race. Could she risk it? Would it work? The ghost of her father sat there, too, in the room beside her. Henry Fairclough, the fourth son of an earl, would never have allowed his older daughter to make such a compromise. No, Papa would have fought for something shining and wonderful, Lottie knew this completely.
Well, she would, too, but in her own manner. The last time she could remember her sister being excited in the company of a man was eight years ago after a ball in which Amelia had been asked to dance by the mysterious Mr Jasper King. Lottie remembered seeing him through the banisters from the upstairs landing when he had come to pay his regards to her sister the day after. Although Lottie had only been very young at the time, she’d nevertheless understood that she was in the company of a man who had presence. He was tall and dark headed and more than handsome, but it was his certainty and his confidence that she had been struck by the most.
When he had looked up and caught her eyes he’d smiled. To her eternal shame, Lottie had lived off that particular moment for years afterwards. A Prince Charming who had come to rescue them with love and who looked just as she had imagined one would.
But Millie failed to persist with him and Mr King had disappeared from their lives, vague references coming only from Silas, who revered the ground the older engineer stood on. Her brother had worked for the Kings as an apprentice in London for a time before being seconded to their main office in Liverpool, so the ties between Jasper and her family had pretty much been broken, then.
Lottie did know Jasper had a sister who lived on the other side of the city and she had heard a rumour that he would attend a charity Christmas event in London with her in just over a week’s time. Even though she knew Amelia was the one who deserved him, she hadn’t broken the habit of listening for snippets of information about the man.
The strands of the chance of happiness for her family had begun to unravel and disconnect and just when all seemed to be lost she saw a way of threading them back together again. Could she find Mr Jasper King and lead him in the direction of her sister?
The daring of the escapade worried her a little bit, but Nanny Beth had always said great deeds were usually wrought at great risk. Lottie couldn’t remember why Nanny would have had reason to say this, but she had certainly shared it with Lottie many a time before she had passed away at the age of sixty-eight.
Just the thought of such sage advice made her feel better about her whole idea.
‘You look like the cat who has the cream, Lottie.’ Her mother made this observation and Millie glanced over and frowned.
‘What new crazy scheme are you dreaming up now, Lottie? Remember how the last one turned out when you decided to help Mrs Wilson claim her right to be the main character in last year’s Christmas pagean
t at the Foundation?’
‘Well, how was I to know she would suffer such dreadful stage fright and nearly put the whole show in jeopardy?’
‘It was lucky Mama knew all the words and that there was a second plan in place that we could revert to.’
A second plan? Well, that was a thought. If by chance she should fail in her intention of dangling the charms of her sister under the nose of Mr Jasper King, she could at least plead she was there to ask if he had any news of her brother.
The day brightened considerably.
‘This is your colour, Lottie, for it will bring out the gold in your eyes.’ Her mother held the tawny silk before her and Lottie stood still. Unlike Millie, she had never been that interested in fashion and had no true opinion as to what suited her and what didn’t. ‘I will use the same pattern I found last year with the high neck and wide sleeves. A new dress for each of us will take no time at all and will be so good for one’s confidence.’
Lottie looked up at that. She would need confidence to pull this plan off and if this dress gave her an added edge then she was all for it.
‘I will help you cut the fabric, Mama. Let me just find my glasses and my pins.’
Copyright © 2019 by Harlequin Books S.A.
ISBN-13: 9781488047602
Snowbound Surrender
Copyright © 2019 by Harlequin Books S.A.
The publisher acknowledges the copyright holders of the individual works as follows:
Their Mistletoe Reunion © 2019 by Christine Merrill
Snowed in with the Rake © 2019 by Melanie Hilton
Christmas with the Major © 2019 by Laura Martin
All rights reserved. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this ebook on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 22 Adelaide St. West, 40th Floor, Toronto, Ontario M5H 4E3, Canada.
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