by Carla Kelly
She made a helpless gesture as longing of her own filled her. He could not mean this. He had not thought it through. He was being too kind. ‘You have done so much for us already—’
‘I need you, Cassie. My life was an empty shell until these past few days. I thought work was enough, but it isn’t. You made me see that.’
Her heart felt too large for her chest. ‘Adam, I—’
He closed his eyes, moved away to gaze down into the fire. He shook his head slowly as if coming to a decision. ‘It’s all right, Cassie. Having misled you, I know I don’t deserve your trust.’ His voice thickened. ‘I also know how much you value your independence, so I won’t push you into something you do not want. I do insist you and the girls remain here at Thornton until I find you a decent place to live. You will allow me to help you.’
‘Why did you lie about who you are?’ she asked.
He turned back to face her, his expression set, his eyes bleak. ‘I often travel incognito. With the title comes obligations. Doing the pretty. After Marion died—’ He shrugged. ‘I didn’t have the heart for it. And later, when I got to know you, I wanted to tell you, but worried I’d cease to be a man to you and become nothing more than my title. I feared we’d lose what we had. The easy companionship. I’m sorry for ever believing such a thing of you.’ He squared his shoulders. ‘And now you will accept my aid.’
Diana was staring at him, her little nose wrinkled up. ‘Are you going to cry, Mr Royston?’
‘No,’ Cassie said. ‘Lord Graystone is simply being manly and honourable and giving us what he thinks we want.’
‘I don’t like Lord Graystone,’ Diana said. ‘I want Mr Royston.’
‘And you shall have him, darling,’ Cassie said. ‘If he still wants us.’
Adam expression changed to careful neutrality, but hope shone in the emerald depths of his eyes. ‘Cassie. Only if it is what you truly want.’
She went to him, put her arms around him. ‘Oh, Adam, how could you even doubt it? I love you, you lovely man.’
‘I love you so much I don’t have the words—’ He hugged her tight with one arm, put his other arm out to the girls and enclosed them within the circle of his embrace.
‘Welcome home,’ he said softly.
Christmas Day
Adam stood beside his mother in Portmaine’s great hall, watching the rest of the family gather around the enormous Christmas tree that was a tradition started by his great-grandmother, who had come as a young bride from Prussia. While his father, still an imposing man despite the way he’d grown portly and lost most of his hair these past few years, chatted with Cassie, the two little girls played at their feet with the dolls his mother had found in the attic when they had arrived tired and overwhelmed on Christmas Eve.
‘I thought never to see you wed again, Adam,’ his diminutive but stately mother said, her green eyes a shade lighter than his own intent upon his face. To anyone else she would have appeared her usual calm self, but he felt her concern.
‘Nor I,’ he said cautiously. He wasn’t exactly sure she approved his choice of a bride or the manner in which he had announced it upon his arrival. His father, though, had seemed more than pleased.
‘She is not the woman I would have chosen for you.’ Her gaze drifted from Cassie’s statuesque blonde lushness to the slender dark beauty making sheep’s eyes at his younger brother, Rad, who was sorting through music at the piano. A young woman very much like his first wife in appearance.
‘My tastes have changed.’
‘Matured,’ his mother agreed. ‘I am so very happy for you.’
He relaxed. ‘Thank you.’ He grimaced. ‘I hope you don’t mind if we don’t do the whole St George’s church thing. Neither of us wants a lot of fuss.’
His mother’s eyes twinkled. ‘Yet another departure from the past.’ Her lips curved in a knowing smile. ‘And I am sure you have no wish to wait for weeks while the banns are called.’
He grinned. ‘You are a wicked woman, Mama. And I love you for it.’ He gave her shoulders a quick squeeze.
‘Really, Adam. Remember my dignity.’ But her eyes glowed with quiet joy. ‘All I want is for my children to be happy.’ She wandered off to stand behind Rad, putting one hand on his shoulder. Rad looked up at her and gave her his devil-may-care grin. Adam’s oldest sister, Mary, joined them. Soon all the family would gather to sing carols as they had done all of Adam’s life.
He strolled over to collect his betrothed and his soon-to-be daughters. ‘Father, it is time for carols.’
‘Then it is time to make sure our glasses are full.’ The earl bustled off.
Diana rose to her feet and slipped a warm little hand inside his palm. ‘May we sing, too?’ she asked, looking up.
‘Of course. You are part of my family now.’ He picked her up and set her on his hip.
Cassie smiled at him and slipped her arm through his, while gesturing to Lucy to join them. ‘You, too, young lady.’
The four of them joined the rest of the family.
‘Happy, my love?’ he asked in a murmur in Cassie’s ear as Rad played the opening notes of ‘Deck the Halls’.
‘More than I ever could have believed,’ she whispered back. ‘But only with you, my dear sweet man.’
He kissed her cheek. ‘Likewise, heart of my heart,’ he murmured.
* * * * *
We hope you enjoyed this Harlequin Historical.
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ISBN-13: 9781460387696
It Happened One Christmas
Copyright © 2015 by Harlequin Books S.A.
The publisher acknowledges the copyright holders of the individual works as follows:
Christmas Eve Proposal
Copyright © 2015 by Carla Kelly
The Viscount’s Christmas Kiss
Copyright © 2015 by Georgie Reinstein
Wallflower, Widow...Wife!
Copyright © 2015 by Michèle Ann Young
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
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’Tis the season for mischief!
Accidentally colliding with Tess Ellery on the icy streets of Ghent is definitely not how resolute bachelor Alexander Tempest, Viscount Weybourn,
intended to start the festive period. He may have mistaken her for a nun, but there’s nothing innocent about his reaction to Tess’s delicious curves...
When Tess is left stranded, Alex is honor-bound to take her home...as his housekeeper! And despite his long-held rule of spending Christmas alone, Tess’s vivacity soon has this brooding lord determined to make all her Christmas wishes come true!
Lords of Disgrace
Bachelors for life!
Friends since school,
brothers in arms, bachelors for life!
At least that’s what “The Four Disgraces”—Alex Tempest, Grant Rivers, Cris de Feaux and Gabriel Stone—believe. But when they meet four feisty women, who are more than matches for their wild ways, these lords are tempted to renounce bachelordom for good.
Don’t miss this dazzling new quartet by
Louise Allen
Read Alex Tempest’s story in
His Housekeeper’s Christmas Wish
And Grant Rivers’s story in
His Christmas Countess
Look for Cris’s and Gabriel’s stories, coming soon!
Author Note
Enter the world of four close friends, aristocrats known in their university days as The Four Disgraces, now very much grown up—and considerably more dangerous! This is the story of the first of them, Alex Tempest, Viscount Weybourn, a man hiding a wounded heart behind a cynical facade. Alex would never describe himself as a knight errant, but when he rescues Tess Ellery from her personal dragons, he finds his self-sufficiency is no protection against a woman determined to heal those wounds—and determined to make him love Christmas while she turns his life upside down. As for his heart... Well, you will have to read the book to find out!
Next month will bring His Christmas Countess, the story of the second friend, Grant Rivers, who acquires a title and a new family, all in the course of one very dark Christmas. And still to come, the stories of the other two—cool, reserved Cris de Feaux, Marquess of Avenmore, a man who has no intention of allowing any woman anywhere near his broken heart, and rake, gambler and walking scandal Gabriel Stone, Earl of Edenbridge, who would deny he even had a heart to be broken.
I hope you enjoy discovering how my four heroes discover the loves of their lives as much as I enjoyed writing their stories.
Louise Allen
His Housekeeper’s
Christmas Wish
Louise Allen loves immersing herself in history. She finds landscapes and places evoke the past powerfully. Venice, Burgundy and the Greek islands are favorite destinations. Louise lives on the Norfolk coast and spends her spare time gardening, researching family history or traveling in search of inspiration. Visit her at louiseallenregency.co.uk, @louiseregency and janeaustenslondon.com.
Books by Louise Allen
Harlequin Historical
Lords of Disgrace
His Housekeeper’s Christmas Wish
Brides of Waterloo
A Rose for Major Flint
Danger & Desire
Ravished by the Rake
Seduced by the Scoundrel
Married to a Stranger
The Transformation of the Shelley Sisters
Practical Widow to Passionate Mistress
Vicar’s Daughter to Viscount’s Lady
Innocent Courtesan to Adventurer’s Bride
Stand-Alone Novels
From Ruin to Riches
Unlacing Lady Thea
Scandal’s Virgin
Beguiled by Her Betrayer
Harlequin Historical Undone! ebooks
Disrobed and Dishonored
Auctioned Virgin to Seduced Bride
Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com for more titles.
For the Hartland Quay-istas
—Linda, Jenny, Lesley, Catherine and Janet—
with love
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Epilogue
Chapter One
Alex Tempest did not normally trample nuns underfoot, nor anyone else, come to that. Alexander James Vernon Tempest, Viscount Weybourn, prized control, elegance, grace and athleticism—under all normal circumstances.
Skidding round corners on the ice-slick cobblestones of Ghent, however, was not normal, not in the gloomy light of the late-November afternoon with his mind occupied by thoughts of warm fires, good friends and rum punch.
The convent wall was high and unyielding when he cannoned into it. Alex found himself rebounding off the wall and into a nun, dressed all in black and grey, and blending perfectly with the cobbles. She was certainly yielding as she gave a small shriek of alarm and went flying, her black portmanteau bouncing away to land on the threshold of the convent’s closed gates.
Alex got his feet under control. ‘Ma soeur, je suis désolé. Permettez-moi.’ He held out his hand as she levered herself into a sitting position with one black mitten–covered hand. Her bonnet, plain dark grey with a black ribbon, had tipped forward over her nose, and she pushed it back to look up at him.
‘I am not—’
‘Hurt? Excellent.’ He could only make out the oval of her face in the shadow of the bonnet’s brim. She seemed to be young by her voice. ‘But you are English?’ He extended the other hand. Presumably there were English nuns.
‘Yes. But—’
‘Let’s get you up off that cold ground, Sister.’ Her cloak, which seemed none too thick given the weather, was black. Under it there was the hem of a dark grey robe and the toes of sensible black boots. ‘Take my hands.’ Probably nuns were not supposed to touch men, but he could hardly get excommunicated for adding that small sin to the far greater offence of flattening her to the ground.
With what sounded like a sigh of resignation she put her hands in his and allowed him to pull her upright. ‘Ow!’ She hopped on one foot, swayed dangerously and the next moment she was cradled in his arms. After all, one did not allow a lady to fall, even if she was a nun. ‘Oh!’
Alex braced his feet well apart on the slippery cobbles and looked down at as much as he could see of his armful, which wasn’t a great deal, what with her billowing cloak and ferocious hat brim. But even if he couldn’t see any detail, there was plenty for his body to read. She was young. And slender. And curved. He dipped his head and inhaled the scent of her. Plain soap, wet wool and warm, rapidly chilling, woman. Rapidly chilling nun. Pull yourself together, man. Nuns are most definitely on the forbidden list. Pity...
‘I’ll ring the bell, shall I?’ he offered with a jerk of his head towards the rusty iron chain hanging by the door. It looked like the sort of thing desperate criminals clung to when claiming sanctuary, although, judging by the small barred peephole set into the massive planks, the sanctuary on offer might be rather less welcoming than a prison cell. ‘It seems as though you have twisted your ankle.’
Mentioning parts of the anatomy was probably another sin, but she made no attempt to smite him with a rosary, although the body
that was already stiff in his arms became rigid. ‘No. Absolutely not. Thank—’
‘I really think I should get someone to come out.’
‘—you. I am due down at the canal basin. Sister Clare is expecting me.’ Crisp, polite and obviously furious with him, but constrained through charity or good manners from saying so, he concluded. An educated, refined voice masking some strain or perhaps sadness. He was used to listening to voices, hearing what was behind the actual words; anyone was who did much negotiating. What are you hiding, little nun?
But the polite irritation was what was on the surface. That was fair enough. He’d knocked her down; the least he could do was to take her where she wanted to go and not to where, from the way her body arched away from the door, she did not want to be. ‘But you should see a doctor. What if there is a bone broken?’ Alex bent, juggled his armful of cross woman as best he could, caught the handles of the portmanteau in his fingers and straightened up. ‘Which canal, Sister?’
‘I am going to Ostend early tomorrow morning. Sister Clare runs a small hostel for travellers down at the port here and I will spend the night with her. But I am not—’
‘This way, then.’ Alex began to walk downhill. ‘It just so happens I can take you to a doctor on the way.’
‘I do not wish to be any trouble, but—’
‘You cannot walk and all the cabs have vanished as they always do when one most needs one. It is not out of my way.’
And they were not actually going to see a doctor, although Grant had virtually completed his medical education at Edinburgh when he’d been forced to give it up.
‘Yes, but I—’
‘Have no money?’ Nuns were supposed to be penniless, he seemed to recall. ‘Don’t concern yourself about that, it is my fault you were injured and he’s a friend. What is your name? I’m Viscount Weybourn.’ He didn’t normally lead with his rank, but he supposed a title might reassure her.
