Annabel's Christmas Rake

by Jillian Eaton

  ANNABEL’S

  CHRISTMAS

  Rake

  {Swan Sisters, Holiday Novella}

  JILLIAN EATON

  The Innocent and the Rake…

  “Hello,” she said softly. “My name is Annabel Blackbourne.”

  “Lucas O’Brian,” he managed hoarsely.

  She blinked. Now that they were face to face, he could see her eyes were a bright, brilliant green framed by thick black lashes. She was light as a feather, although if the breasts he felt against his chest were any indication there were plenty of curves hiding beneath her layers of clothing.

  In the mess and the mayhem she’d lost her hat, and her golden curls spilled around her flushed cheeks and slender, swan-like neck in a curtain of silk Lucas’ fingers itched to touch.

  The lass may have been an innocent, but there was no denying she was also a ravishing beauty. Surely in this one instance he could make an exception to his no-virgin rule, if only for the few moments it would take for her companions to reach them and reclaim their fallen comrade.

  “Thank you for saving my life, Mr. O’Brian,” she said seriously, pale eyebrows drawing together over the bridge of her nose.

  A nose, Lucas noted with no shortage of roguish delight, that was covered in tiny, delectable little freckles. “You are quite welcome.” Amused by her formality despite the pounding his temple and the aching of his ribs, he was all rakish charm as he grinned up at Annabel – a fetching name for a fetching lass – and said in a husky whisper, “But why not thank me with a kiss?”

  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.

  © 2015 by Jillian Eaton

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  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form is forbidden without the written permission of the author.

  SELECTED PRAISE FOR JILLIAN EATON

  “Romance lovers, [The Duke of St. Giles] is a book you’ll definitely want to read.” – Imagine A World

  “Fall in love, embrace the ride, and enjoy the thrill.” – Book Freak

  “[The Runaway Duchess] is fast paced and filled with chemistry. A must read for any historical romance readers who love a good romp through England.” – My Book Addiction and More

  “Enjoyable, sexy novella.” – Rogues Under the Covers

  “Jillian Eaton finds the perfect balance between intense emotions, sizzling chemistry, and light-hearted humor.” – Swept Away by Romance

  “Once I got started I couldn’t put it down.” – Bitten By Romance

  “[The Runaway Duchess] will sweep readers off their feet and into a whirlwind of romance and intrigue.” – Night Owl Review Top Pick

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  SWAN SISTERS SERIES

  Taming Temperance

  CHAPTER ONE

  “Do you think it is going to snow soon?” Peering out her bedroom window, Lady Annabel Blackbourne frowned up at the wall of clouds stretching across the London sky in one long, endless line of gray. They looked like smoke. Dark, dingy, dirty smoke. Beneath the clouds tree branches waved in the breeze, their skeletal limbs clacking together as the last leaves of autumn spiraled down towards the frozen ground.

  “Do you want it to snow?” Draping a heavy blanket around her shoulders, Delilah Swan shivered as she stepped up beside Annabel and looked down at the street below. Her golden brown hair – several shades darker than Annabel’s pale tresses – trailed down her back in a tangle of curls and her round cheeks were flushed from the cold seeping in through the thin glass. A fire crackled merrily in the hearth as it did in every bedroom, but it was all but impossible to keep all of the drafts at bay in such a large, palatial townhouse.

  Tucked away in the middle of Grosvenor Square, one of London’s most elite housing districts, the townhouse belonged to Annabel’s brother, Nathaniel Blackbourne, Viscount of Townsend. A handsome rake with a reputation she wasn’t supposed to know anything about, he had recently married Delilah’s eldest sister Lynette which was how the two families had come to be living under one roof. It was a rather unusual living situation, but then Nathaniel and Lynette’s courtship had been rather unusual from the start. They’d met by pure coincidence and after only a few days had become engaged to be wed.

  To call their relationship strained when they were first married would have been a grand understatement. Put quite bluntly, her brother and Lynette had loathed one another and it had taken some time - and a trial separation - before they’d been able to admit their true feelings. Since then Annabel had never seen a couple more in love. With the exception of her own parents, of course.

  Bucking tradition, Lord Townsend and Lady Townsend were openly fond of one another. They even shared the same bedroom, something else which Annabel wasn’t supposed to know anything about but could not help noticing especially when she visited her friends and observed the cold way their parents often acted around one another, as though they were strangers instead of eternal partners in life.

  Being married to someone but not loving them was a peculiar idiosyncrasy of the ton that she simply did not understand. Then again, there were many things about the ton that baffled her, including - but certainly not limited to - having an entire season specifically devoted to trapping a husband.

  Whatever happened to letting love occur naturally? Some of the greatest romances ever written told of a love so pure and true it was strong enough to slay dragons, yet now it was used as a contrivance to make a suitable match between a lord and lady who had no more affection for one another than a bird had for a fish.

  Annabel was not a great romantic who swooned at the thought of a dashing knight in shining armor coming to rescue her on a charging white steed, but she did believe in true love. Unfortunately for her, young ladies were not expected to marry for love. Stability and wealth, yes. To secure one’s place in the social hierarchy, of course. But to marry for tenderness and devotion? Suggest such an idea to any young woman of the peerage and they looked at you as though you were crazed.

  Current company excluded.

  “I would like it to snow a little bit,” she admitted as she turned away from the window and flounced over to her queen-sized bed with its fanciful canopy and tall mahogany posts.

  Filled with an endless amount of energy, Annabel rarely walked anywhere. She flounced. She bounced. She pranced. When her mother wasn’t looking she even skipped from time to time. To her mind life was far too short to get from one place to another at the pace of a snail. After all, why would God want you to walk if He had given you two perfectly good legs for running?

  “I just want summer to return.” Delilah’s nose wrinkled as she perched on the edge of the window sill and drew her blanket more tightly around her shoulders. “All of this cold is not for me. Why, there were icicles hanging off my balcony this morning. Icicles, Annabel! Mr. Humphrey does not like the cold either,” she said, referring to her beloved pet terrier. “He is still buried under my covers. I tried to bribe him out with a bit of sweet sausage, but I think he may stay there all day and I must say, he has the right idea. I cannot fathom why you
enjoy winter so much.”

  Flopping onto her mattress, Annabel absently combed her fingers through her long, silky hair as she gazed up at the heavy silk fabric draped over the top of her bed. “Because I love sleighing. And sledding. And skating.” She sat up on her elbows. “Have you ever noticed how all the best winter activities begin with an ‘S’?”

  Delilah’s wide blue eyes opened and closed in a quick blink. “Now that you mention it, that is quite unusual.”

  “And Christmas. I love Christmas.” She loved the joyful sound of carolers. The mouth-watering scent of turkey slowly roasting. The delighted screams of children as they ran through the snow. The jingle of sleigh bells and the smell of evergreen. At the mere thought of it all Annabel’s mouth curved into a contented smile.

  For as long as she could remember, Christmas had always been her favorite holiday. She adored the tradition of doing the same thing year after year. Lighting the yule log on Christmas Eve. Traipsing to church on Christmas morning and returning home to a massive feast of boar’s head (which was really a pig, as the poor wild boars had gone extinct over five hundred years ago). Watching her mother and father dance across the parlor after they’d indulged in a bit too much wine and poking Nathaniel in the ribs when he fell asleep in front of the fire. Sneaking a few extra pieces of candy up to her bedroom before falling asleep with cheeks that ached from so much laughter and a belly that was filled to the brim.

  When she was a little girl her absolute favorite part of Christmas had been opening presents, but now that she was a fully grown woman of nineteen there was nothing she loved more than Boxing Day, the day after Christmas when every member of the household staff was given a gift to commemorate their hard work and dedicated service. Usually her mother was the one who picked out all of the presents and made certain they were distributed, but this year Annabel had put herself in charge of the task.

  It was something she was very much looking forward to.

  “Christmas is nice, I suppose,” Delilah said hesitantly, causing Annabel to abruptly sit up.

  “Nice?” she repeated, one golden brow lifting. “What do you mean, nice?”

  Delilah drew on her bottom lip. “Well, last Christmas—”

  “Last Christmas we were not sisters,” Annabel interrupted as she guessed the reason behind Delilah’s sudden misgivings. Foolish, she chided herself as she drew her legs up to her chest and hugged them tight. You should really learn to better watch your tongue, Annabel Louise!

  It was a little-known secret amidst the ton that the Swan sisters had fallen on incredibly hard times after their parent’s sudden and unexpected passing. Matters certainly hadn’t been helped by the fact that Lynette’s reputation had been ruined by a scandal years before. A scandal caused by none other than Adam Blackbourne, Annabel’s very own brother…and Nathaniel’s identical twin.

  Annabel still did not know exactly what had happened – although she was determined to find out – but when all was said and done Nathaniel saved Lynette (and by turn her two sisters) from financial ruin and Lynette saved Nathaniel from a life without love.

  To see how they acted around each other now one would never guess they’d once been at each other’s throats but that was love for you, Annabel supposed. Having never experienced it herself, she found it a rather strange sort of emotion. One unlike any other, for what else but love could cause you to loathe someone and still want to be with them all at the same time?

  The closest she’d ever come had been with her last suitor, an earl of something or rather who had been quite handsome to look at but tediously boring to talk to. At great length he’d gone on (and on and on) about his collection of antique buttons, several of which dated back to the Colonial War.

  If he had been capable of a moment’s silence Annabel would have been very content to merely sit and stare at him, but the blasted man had insisted on telling her about each and every button in his four hundred and twenty-seven button collection.

  Four hundred and twenty-seven.

  She still cringed to think of it.

  The earl’s predecessors had not fared much better. Exhaustively boring, each and every one of them. Not that she could really blame them. After all, how could they be anything but boring when the most exciting thing they’d ever done was graduate from University?

  They were all the same, each and every one. Oh, they may have had different names and different titles, but they’d all been born into wealth, raised as prodigal sons, and set out into the world to find a suitable wife who would be able to carry on their legacy.

  Rather like shopping for just the right pair of shoes, Annabel imagined.

  She wasn’t naïve. She knew she would have to marry someone. Especially since she did want to have a family and a home all her own. But why did that someone have to be a stodgy earl with a button collection or a ponderous viscount with a lisp and a fear of horses?

  She couldn’t marry someone who was afraid of horses. Who else would accompany her on her daily morning rides if not her husband?

  “What are you thinking about?” Delilah said suddenly. Wandering across the bedroom, she picked up a glass ornament Annabel kept on her dresser. It had been a Christmas gift from her brother Adam, and she left it out year round as a reminder that he had once been kind and good instead of a wretched despoiler of innocents.

  “Marriage,” she admitted with a gusty sigh. “I am thinking about marriage.”

  Light reflected off the ornament as Delilah held it up, dark blonde hair sweeping across her cheek as her head canted to one side. “Do you have anyone particular in mind? I saw Lord Cuthridge was here yesterday.”

  The button man.

  “Yes.” Loathe to spread gossip and speak ill of others – even to her closest friend – Annabel chose her words very carefully. “I do not believe we are going to suit, however. We do not seem to have very much in common.”

  “Did he bring his buttons with him again?”

  Annabel blinked. “How did you know about that?”

  With the tiniest of frowns, Delilah set the ornament down. “People are always asking me how I know things. It is quite obvious, is it not? I watch,” she said simply when Annabel shook her head. “And I listen. You can learn a great many things from watching and listening.”

  “You mean you eavesdrop,” Annabel corrected as her frown stretched into a grin.

  “I certainly do not.”

  “Then what would you call listening to someone who does not know you are there?”

  “Oh.” Fair brow creasing, Delilah tapped a finger against her bottom lip, drawing it down to reveal a row of slightly uneven incisors. “I suppose you are technically correct, although I do not go out of my way to hide. Half of the time I am in plain sight! It is hardly my fault if people choose not to see me.”

  “An excellent point.” Annabel stood up, arms lifting high above her head as she stretched out her muscles. “And one I am definitely going to use the next time I am caught eavesdropping.”

  “But people notice you,” Delilah pointed out.

  “Yes.” The corners of Annabel’s mouth tightened. “I suppose they do.” She did not mean to be loud and boisterous, but as the only daughter born into a family of two very large and commanding brothers, it had been the only way she’d been able to get attention when they had been growing up. By the time they’d left to attend Oxford, leaving her behind to play the part of an only child, her clamorous nature had been too ingrained to change.

  Annabel like to think she had become more graceful and refined over the past year or so, but the truth of it was she still had a very large rebellious streak tucked away beneath her demure smile and batting eyelashes. A rebellious streak that cringed at the thought of becoming a dutiful, obedient wife to a man who collected buttons.

  Maybe it was fanciful, but when she married she wanted it to be for love and a passion so searing in its intensity that it stole the very breath from her lungs. She wanted a man who could sweep her off
her feet…both literally and figuratively. The men who had come calling thus far had been unable to carry their own coats, let alone a woman full grown! Which was why she wanted a man who knew what it meant to struggle. A man who wasn’t afraid to get a bit of dirt under his fingernails. A man who wasn’t afraid to live…and break a few rules in the process.

  Annabel did love a good rule-breaker.

  Unfortunately, the type of husband she desired couldn’t exactly be found in a ballroom or at a social luncheon. Rogues and rakes may have been dashing in theory, but their presence amidst well-bred young ladies was rather frowned upon by over protective mothers, Annabel’s included. But she wasn’t discouraged. If her husband-to-be could not come to her, then she was determined to devise a plan that allowed her to go to him.

  She simply needed to figure out who ‘he’ was.

  A quiet knock on the door turned both Annabel and Delilah’s head.

  “Come in,” Annabel called.

  The door opened to reveal a slender brunette already dressed in a pale green morning frock that complimented her warm brown eyes. Lynette Swan – now Lady Lynette Blackbourne – was a striking English beauty with a roses and cream complexion and soft, classic features. One glance at her and it was easy to see why Annabel’s brother had fallen in love at first sight, although he’d never admit as much out loud. Lynette’s sisters shared her attractiveness, albeit in slightly different ways.

  Delilah, with her tangled blonde hair and large, doe-eyes resembled a lost fairy while Temperance, with her short tresses and bold stare, was more warrior princess than refined lady. Annabel considered herself very fortunate to be able to call all three of them her family, and even though they’d only known each other for a short amount of time she couldn’t imagine what her life would be like without Delilah, Temperance, and Lynette in it.