ROMANCE: Holiday Romance: Her Christmas Surprise (Sweet Clean Holiday Romance) (Holiday Bride Book 1)

by Mercy Levy

  “Then close your eyes for me, sweet Emmaline.” Her heart raced as she closed her eyes and waited. The first brush of his lips was like silk sliding over her mouth, and she gasped with the pleasure. Taking his cue from her, he deepened the kiss and gently parted her lips with his. He teased her with his tongue, slipping it between her lips and holding her against him when she pulled back in surprise. She clutched at his arms and mingling her tongue with his until he pulled her bottom lip into his mouth and sucked it until she moaned. When he finally pulled away she made a small sound of disappointment and he chuckled.

  “Did I make a mistake?” She whispered. Her lips felt thick and heavy as she spoke, and her thighs ached with a need she did not understand. He watched as she pushed her hand down toward her maidenhead and his body reacted with almost violent need.

  “Oh, sweet girl, I am not finished with you yet.” He growled, reveling as she shuddered. “You taste like the sunrise, sweet and new and untouched. I do not know how I can teach you what you wish, without teaching you that which you did not ask for.” The look in his eyes made Emmaline feel weak, and she ached to touch his skin and to be held as she’d seen men touch the wonton women when she had peeked out of her carriage traveling through the city.

  “I want to learn everything you will teach me.” She declared, breathless and resolute. “I have never felt anything like I do when you look at me, and when you touch me I cannot tell if I am more alive, or dying from need.” She stood and touched his face, gently stroking it with her soft hands, the hands of a privileged lady. “I came here wishing I had fallen into my mother’s grave, because no one else cared if I lived. I cannot imagine not meeting you, although I hardly know you at all.”

  “It is because of that, I am unwilling to teach you too much, Emmaline. You are a lady, and I will treat you as such, even though I am in agony keeping my distance.” He leaned into her hand and she moved his face to hers. Her kiss was as chaste and pure as she herself, but it still stoked the fire of desire in him until he yanked her against him and forced the kiss deeper. He held her throat and bruised her lips with the intensity of his need, nipping her lips and delving deep into her mouth with his tongue until he was forced to stop for air. She wavered on her feet and he held her steady, thrilling at her glassy gaze and swollen pout.

  She smiled at him and reached up for another kiss as his hand brushed her breast arousing her even through the fabric. She was speechless and nodded her assent and he leaned in to kiss her back as his hand slid around her small breast and his fingers slid under the neckline of her dress. She gasped and her eyes flew wide as he squeezed her breast in one hand and pulled her so tightly against him she could feel the thick hard heat of his arousal even through her voluminous skirts.

  He glanced around for a place to lay her down, to loosen her stays and free her from the cursed clothing that stood between him and his prize. He half dragged her to the settee in the corner as she laughed in delight and as he lay her down, the door burst open again with a bang and Izzy called out to an unseen person.

  “Oh, here you are miss, I was afraid you had wandered off for a promenade. Let me show you to the parlor!” Izzy’s voice was unnaturally loud and cheerful, and belied the panicked look on her face. Immediately understanding the dire circumstance that he and Emma were now in, Stephen leapt away from the object of his desire and grabbed his satchel. Izzy pointed him toward the serving halls behind the library and he disappeared through the doorway with a quick grin and a wink to reassure Emma.

  “Tell her I will return for her.” He whispered to Izzy as he passed out of sight. She turned to her mistress, who was disheveled and confused on the settee.

  “Towers has returned and he is demanding to speak with you.” She whispered as she straightened the frightened girl’s hair and dress. Once she had returned Emma to a presentable state, she poured her a glass of brandy and cautioned her to sip it as she joined the others, holding the glass near her mouth until the puffy, just kissed look dissipated. Shocked and dismayed at her own lack of self-control, the contrite Emma did as she was asked without a word.

  She allowed Izzy to lead the way into the parlor, marveling at the slave’s bravery as she came face to face one more time with her cruel former master. Emma was terrified to meet him again, but took strength from her maid and held her head high as she entered, even giving Izzy her tumbler of brandy as she walked through the double doors. She saw her aunt and uncle almost cowering in a corner. Her aunt was tear-stained and sniffling into a handkerchief, and her uncle was pale and sweating, holding his arm as if he was in great pain.

  “There you are, you sneaky girl.” Towers stood from his seat and advanced, shaking a finger at her. “You’re a sympathizer, just like your highbrow Yankee mother. I demand to know where you took the property you stole from me!” His voice rose as he spoke, until he was shouting, and some of the spittle flying from his lips landed on Emma’s arm. She cringed back and stared at her aunt and uncle in frightened confusion.

  “I already told you, Harold,” her uncle shouted in exasperation, “my niece arrived a full day after your slaves escaped. Maybe if you weren’t such a goddamned sadist, you wouldn’t have to spend so much on new slaves and bounty hunters.” Mister Towers spun and took one angry stride toward her uncle and Emma made an involuntary noise of anger and fear.

  “Mister Towers!” She exclaimed, praying that she could talk sense into the man before he hurt her uncle, “Uncle Dennis is correct. I was not anywhere near Charleston when your slaves escaped. If I came across them, I might have felt sympathy for them, but I was in the care of my carriage man from the train to Shamballa.” She gasped as he pivoted and she saw the stark evil burning in his eyes. “Please don’t take out your anger on my family. We have done nothing to harm you.” She added softly, opening her hands palm up, in a gesture of peace.

  He nodded and continued to pace the room then shook his head and stared out the window.

  “I understand that you did not arrive until after the slaves escaped,” he admitted as he stared out the window. “But, I also know you spoke to the driver of your carriage and money exchanged hands when you arrived. Money, he said when questioned, given to him to spirit my slaves over the state line to aid them in making their way north.” As he spoke, Taggert stepped into the room, dragging a broken, bloodied man by the neck. His face was so damaged; Emma could hardly tell it was the man who had driven her hired carriage the day she had arrived.

  “I’m sorry,” the man mumbled, casting his one open eye upon her. “I tried to tell them it wasn’t so, but they wouldn’t believe me.”

  “I did no such thing.” Emma declared, hot rage at the sight of the poor old man bleeding in her aunt’s parlor burned away her fear until she felt reckless and indignant. “I gave him money because my father taught me to treat those who provided me with good service well. I absolutely would have helped any slave to escape you, was I given the chance, because you are evil,” she spat at him, shaking and white with anger. “But I would never have endangered this kind old man or put him in your path to do so.” She tried to step toward her uncle, but he motioned her to stay back with his good hand.

  “What have you done to my family? They are your neighbors, good people who have never done you wrong.” She gasped as his hand appeared out of nowhere and struck her across the face hard. She tumbled to the floor and stayed there for a long moment, waiting for the room to stop spinning before she looked up at his sneering face. “I wish I was a man today, Mister Towers, so I had the right to beat you as you beat the old man,” she snarled, shaking her head to clear the cobwebs forming at the very edge of her peripheral vision.

  She glanced up at Taggert, who was holding up the carriage driver and staring into the room with disgust.

  “You are a monster, Mister Taggert,” she hissed.

  “I did not do this,” he replied. “Everything you see here is courtesy of a bottle of cheap whiskey and your fat friend over there.” He looped
the old man’s arm over his shoulder wincing as the other man gasped in pain. He led him to a couch and set him down. “This is not what I was hired to do, or what I wish to be known for. I believe it is time for me to escort you home, Harold.” The pudgy, mealy man curled his thick fingers into a fist and shook it at Emma.

  “I’m not done here.” He growled. He took two steps toward Emma and she closed her eyes and flinched back from the fist that was bearing down on her. Instead of a fist against her skull, she felt air whoosh past her face and looked up in alarm to see Stephen grappling with Towers, as Taggert rushed to her side. He helped her to her feet and led her from the room as the men fought. Emma tried to break his hold on her arm to go back to Stephen and her family, but Taggert held fast and didn’t let go until she was well away from the house, hidden among the dismal little building the field slaves called home.

  “I must go back. You can’t make me stay here!” She lashed out at the bounty hunter.

  “No. I must go back, and you must stay here. I will tell your man where to find you once we get Towers out of the house and into a jail cell to sleep off his whiskey.” She backed away and nodded once.

  “Run.” She commanded, and Taggert bowed and obeyed without a word. Minutes passed and Emma paced the dirt floor of the hut, nauseated and scared. She nearly screamed when the door opened and Izzy poked her head into the hut, then dragged her into her arms and hugged her tight.

  “I’m all right, Miss Emma, and your aunt and uncle are too.” She reassured her mistress, who broke down in ragged sobs of relief.

  “And Mister Du Morney, is he hurt?” Emma choked out the words as she struggled to control her weeping.

  “I am well, Dearest Emmaline.” Stephen stepped into the darkness of the hovel and swept her into his arms. “Your uncle is fine, as is your aunt. Do not fear, Edwin sent the house boy running into town to fetch the constable, and they said he didn’t stop running the whole way. He nearly collapsed and had to be carried back. Towers is likely going to spend a couple of days in a cell, while the rest of us enjoy the Thanksgiving celebration without him.”

  “Good riddance to bad rubbish.” Emma replied tartly, relaxing a little when Stephen laughed. “I am glad you are not hurt,” she sighed, her eyes searching for any sign of pain or injury. He kissed her gently on the top of her head and reminded her that she needed to return to the big house to start receiving guests that were expected to arrive any minute.

  “I left the North expecting to be afraid and alone forever,” she admitted as he took her arm and escorted her back to the big plantation house. She looked up at the lanterns being lit as the servants readied the house for the beginning of the festivities and sighed. She felt the warmth of her mother’s hand on her shoulder as she walked, and happiness flooded through her.

  Stephen led her to the library, where her aunt and uncle rested. She looked from the man she desired to the family she had realized were her new home. She was at peace, grateful to her father for sending her away to a place where she could love and be loved. She embraced her family and reintroduced Stephen as her beau, noting wryly the satisfaction on her aunt’s face.

  Her uncle gave him permission to continue courting Emma, and Izzy was commanded to chaperone the young couple as they walked the grounds and attempted to leave the ugliness behind them. They walked in silence for a bit, arm in arm, as Izzy trailed far behind them.

  “There is much I still need to learn, Mister Du Morney,” Emma reminded him coyly as they rounded the lake behind the estate by the light of the moon. “The feast of Thanksgiving is a very good time to adjust one’s view and renew one’s life, don’t you think?” She let her voice trail off as he stopped and turned her to face him.

  “I am grateful for the opportunity to celebrate this American tradition with you, dearest Emmaline,” he replied, leaning in to kiss her softly. “I will endeavor to teach you everything I know, and embrace the culture of the colonies with all my strength.” His hand slid to her waist and she trembled in anticipation.

  “Thanksgiving is all about gratitude for what we have been given, Mister Du Morney. If you are willing to teach me, I will do my best to show that gratitude by learning quickly and being a most enthusiastic student.” Her audacity startled a laugh from the handsome man.

  “Then I must show my gratitude to Mr. Taggert for alerting me to your plight, and young Isabella for keeping you safe for me. I am not a great man, Sweet Emmaline. But, for you, I think I will try to be a good man.” He held her close and kissed her forehead, then her cheek, and her lips. “I will teach you everything a man can give a woman he desires, and if you let me, I will teach you all that a man can do when he is in love.”

  “I do not believe in love at first sight, Mister Du Morney,” she began, turning her back to him. “And because of that, I am so very, very grateful that you came back a second time.” She rested her back against his chest and felt the steady beat of his heart.

  She had arrived a bird fallen from her nest, bruised and unable to fly. The plantation was healing her, pushing air under her wings and lifting her up to fly. That was a thing to be grateful for indeed, and in the once unbroken blackness of mourning, Emmaline found the light of hope as she watched the lights of the plantation spark to life and welcome all travelers to the feast of feasts, on the day of Thanksgiving.

  THE END

  Rose’s New Year Surprise

  Chapter 1

  News

  “Why?” Rose Watson asked her mother. Sitting in a warm and cozy reading room in St. Louis cushioned with a stone fireplace holding a roaring fire, she suddenly felt cold.

  Betty Watson reached out and took a piece of peppermint from a crystal candy bowl sitting on a reading table next to the green sitting chair she was sitting in. How she wished her daughter would contain her dramatic shock to a minimal level. After all, she thought putting the peppermint into her mouth, her daughter was a lovely young woman whose was engaged to the son of a wealthy banker. “Dear, push your bangs from your eyes.”

  Rose raise her soft hand and pushed a set of deep black bangs from her eyes. Her delicate, beautiful, face glowed with sadness and confusion. Feeling stuffy wearing an eloquent blue evening gown her mother had insisted she wear for a private gathering which was to take place later in the evening, she began to dream of wide open, warm, fields. “Mother, why are you telling me this now?”

  Betty watched her daughter stand up from a white sitting chair and ease toward the front window in the reading room. “Your...father...insist that I make you aware of him,” Betty replied in a sour tone. Brushing a wrinkle out of the dark gray dress she was wearing and then checking her curly gray hair, she waited for Rose to reply. When Rose simply walked to the window and drew quiet, Betty spoke: “You are not obligated to associate with this man, Rose.”

  “He is my...daddy,” Rose whispered as she listened to early winter winds howl outside. It would start snowing soon, she thought.

  “Your father...not daddy,” Betty corrected Rose. “Honestly dear, you must speak properly at all times. Howard has also corrected you on your...errors...if I'm not mistaken.”

  Rose didn't care much for Howard Derryton. She had only agreed to marriage because of her mother's insistence that marrying such a man would secure her future financially. What Rose wanted—desired in her heart—was real love with a man who held an honest heart. “What is his name?”

  Betty didn't like the sound of Rose's voice. It was clear that Rose was interested in knowing her daddy and ignoring the wishes her mother. “I can see now that I'm the one in error. I should not have broached this subject with you. I'm afraid I must insist that we erase this matter from our memories.”

  “Why is daddy insisting you tell me about him...after all these years?” Rose asked, ignoring her mother's request.

  Betty sighed miserably. Chewing the peppermint in her mouth, she thought back to the letter she had received from her attorney. Under the legal law, Rose's daddy had ever right
to know his daughter and gave Betty a choice: Tell his daughter of him and allow her to make up her own mind or he would come to St. Louis and personally make himself known. Betty had until the New Year to send a response to her attorney. “Rose, dear, this man is a thorn is my side. Yes, perhaps, there was a time when I felt that...love...was possible. I was gravely mistaken.”

  Rose could sense that her mother desired a reaction of bitterness and rejection from her daughter. Rose could not give such a reaction. Instead, she felt sadness and hurt swelling up in her chest as tears began to stream from her soft blue eyes. “What is my daddy's name, mother...please?” she asked as she began to wipe her tears away.

  “No,” Betty snapped. Standing up, she began pacing around the reading room. Stopping at bookshelf lined with inviting books, she stared into her memory. “This man has brought a horrible burden on you at such a wonderful period in your life. Your wedding is two weeks away. I will not allow him to ruin--”

  “His name!” Rose demanded. Spinning around, she looked at her mother with hurt and determined eyes. “Mother, I want a name…please.”

  Shocked at the sudden abruptness of her daughter, Betty ran from the reading room. Rose began to give chase, but Andrew, an old black butler that Rose was very fond of, appeared. He put a finger to his lips and quietly closed the door to the reading room. “Ms. Betty burned them letters sent to her from your daddy,” he whispered to Rose.

  Rose stared at Andrew. The old man was wearing his normal butler uniform yet appeared wise and wealthy in wisdom; a treasure money could not buy. “Over here,” Rose whispered back. Grabbing Andrew's hand, she pulled him over to the fireplace.

  Andrew slowly warmed his hands, soaking in the warmth from the fire like a cloud soaking in a gentle spring rain. “I didn't think it was right, that's all,” he told Rose. “After Ms. Betty burned them letters, I hurried in here. All I saw, Ms. Rose, was an address.”