Bound By The Christmastide Moon: Regency Novella
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Silas waved off the man’s attempt at pleasantries. “Did you hide Lady Hettie’s needlepoint again?” When Slade’s chest puffed as if offended at the accusation, Silas continued, “Put flour in Sybil’s face powder?”
“Of course not, dear brother, I learned my lesson well where Sybil is concerned.”
“Then what has you breathing hard and fleeing as if the Devil is on your tail?” Mallory questioned.
“The Devil,” Slade mused, rubbing at his chin. “Yes, I think we can all agree the Devil has arrived at Ditchley Hall.”
“What in the blazes does that mean?” Silas’s voice thundered, and the windowpanes quaked in response, yet Slade seemed unaffected by his elder brother’s demand.
“By the way, the Devil goes by the moniker Earl of Bristol.” Slade’s voice dropped to a whisper as if saying the name would conjure the man. “I must be going before he finds me here and demands my soul!”
Mallory couldn’t help but find the irony in Slade’s proclamation. It had never crossed her mind to think of her brother, Adam, as the Devil; however, Slade’s words held merit. “Come now, my brother would not dare cause injury while staying as a guest at Ditchley Hall. Besides, any outstanding debt owed to my brother has been discussed and satisfied.”
Unease prickled at the nape of Mallory’s neck when Slade turned his focus to the ground at his feet.
“Slade,” Silas growled. “What are you not telling us?”
“Well”—he cleared his throat before bringing his eyes back to Mallory and Silas—“it appears I have incurred another debt with Bristol, and he means to collect it—or a pound of flesh, as it goes.”
“Another debt—“ Exasperation laced Silas’s words.
“Tell us that is not so.” Mallory sighed, fearing Adam’s need for justice.
“’Fraid so. Must be going before he stumbles upon me again.” Slade winked at Mallory as he slipped past and ducked low as he moved toward the rear of the atrium and the safety of the expansive gardens beyond.
“I did warn you about the precocious girl and scoundrel of a brother, did I not?” Silas mumbled.
“Well, I suppose it is only fair we both claim our unconventional families.” Mallory paused, turning into Silas’s embrace and staring into his intense, cerulean eyes. “However, no matter their strangeness, it does not change how I feel about you.”
His brow arched high. “Tell me, Lady Mallory, how do you feel about me?”
Did she dare say the word?
Perhaps Silas thought it too soon—or too ambitious for this connection at this point.
Yet, there was no denying it was there…a love that bound them together.
“Silas, I love you. That is the only word sufficient to express my feelings for you.” She didn’t dare look away or break eye contact, for she wished to know where his heart lay.
The smile that spread across his face brightened even the darkest corner of the atrium, though late-morning light pierced the windowpanes on all three sides.
Mallory held her breath, and waited; though Silas did not let her wait long.
“I believe that is the only term I can use, as well.” He brought his hands to cup her cheeks, and suddenly, she was standing in the middle of Castle Keyvnor’s gardens again, the cold December night sending a chill through her and banishing the humid air of the atrium. “I love you, Mallory.”
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About the Author
USA TODAY Bestselling Author Christina McKnight writes emotional and intricate Regency Romance with strong women and maverick heroes.
Her books combine romance and mystery, exploring themes of redemption and forgiveness. When not writing she enjoys trying new coffeehouses, visiting wine bars, traveling the world, and watching television.
www.christinamcknight.com
Christina@christinamcknight.com