Her Christmas Earl (14 page)

“Philippa Hume, my dearest wife, I love you with every beat of my heart and every breath I take.” To her astonishment, his deep voice cracked with emotion. He sucked in an unsteady breath before he continued. “And to hear that you’re having my baby makes me the happiest man since time began. I bless the day you came into my life and I thank whatever grace allowed me to make you mine. You’re the center of my life and I worship the ground you walk on.”

Oh, dear… Be careful what you wish for.

This was almost too much. She wasn’t worthy. Moisture stung her eyes. It was her turn to be lost for words.

“There, I said it.” He smiled at her with breathtaking tenderness as his thumbs brushed the tears from her lashes. “Don’t you want to say something to me?”

Her laugh was husky. “How about, ‘Kiss me, Blair’?”

“How about ‘I love you too’ or something along those lines?” Her self-confident husband looked unsure. As ever when his feelings were strongly engaged, his brogue deepened. “I’ve just laid my soul at your feet. You could at least tell me whether you want it or not.”

She gulped, trying not to burst into tears. She was too happy to cry. But her silly eyes didn’t seem to agree. “I want it,” she forced out.

His eyes sharpened on her face. “And?”

She could tease him again. But the moment was too profound for games. She turned her face to place a kiss on his broad, capable palm. “And I love you. I think I loved you from the first, too. I definitely knew I loved you on our wedding night.”

“Oh, my darling…” He drew her into his arms and held her close to his thundering heart.

The tears she’d fought so long gushed out at last. “I’m crying all over you.”

“I forgive you,” he said, his voice rich with love, his embrace tightening.

“After everything, it seems too good to be true that I love you and you love me and we’re having a baby,” she muttered into his chest.

“Altogether a most satisfactory outcome,” he said gently and kissed her with more of that heart-shattering tenderness. She was dazed with wonder when he finally raised his head. “Let’s celebrate in bed.”

Her laugh was unsteady. She was still in the grip of poignant emotion. “You’re such a man.”

He laughed back at her. “I am indeed.”

He drew her up with him, his hands clasping hers with a firmness that she couldn’t doubt. It seemed the marriage that had started so chaotically turned into a match made in heaven. And if she knew the expression on her husband’s face—and she did—now a more physical form of heaven awaited. What a wonderful way to welcome the first Christmas Day of their married life.

Misty eyed, she watched him turn toward the door. Less misty eyed, she watched him tug uselessly at the doorknob. “Blair, don’t play the fool. I loved reliving our courtship, but my plans for tonight involve more space than we’ve got here.”

Instead of facing her, he slumped against the door, his shoulders shaking with laughter. “My darling lassie, history repeats itself. The door’s jammed. We’re stuck here until Mills comes to let us out.”

She stared at him, not quite as horrified as she should have been. “Truly?”

He drew himself up and faced her. “On my honor, truly. I’d have thought your uncle would get the lock fixed after last year’s fuss.”

“Perhaps he’s hoping to catch Caroline an earl, using the tactics that worked for me.”

Blair gave a huff of laughter. “God help the poor fellow, whoever he is. But what the devil are we to do now?”

She found herself smiling at her dark and dangerous husband as if he’d given her the best Christmas present in the world. After all, when he said he loved her, he had. “It seems, beloved, that you and I must find some way to occupy ourselves until Mills comes to the rescue.”

There’s one person above all who deserves thanks for the existence of HER CHRISTMAS EARL - blogger Danielle Gorman from Ramblings from This Chick (
http://ramblingsfromthischick.blogspot.com
). Dani runs a great romance site and hosts some of the most imaginative and enjoyable events in the blogosphere. Every year, I participate in her Christmas party where she invites writers to create a short scene on a theme she suggests related to the Holidays. In 2012, my prompt was a wardrobe malfunction on Christmas Eve. As a result, I wrote the first few pages of HER CHRISTMAS EARL where Erskine and Philippa are trapped in that closet with the threat of scandal hovering over their heads. I immediately fell in love with the characters and their dilemma and the rest is history, as they say in the classics.

ANNA CAMPBELL has written nine multi award-winning historical romances for Grand Central Publishing and Avon HarperCollins and her work is published in sixteen languages. Her next full-length release is book four in her Sons of Sin series, A SCOUNDREL BY MOONLIGHT, in May 2015. Anna lives on the beautiful east coast of Australia where she writes full-time. For more information on Anna and her books, please check out her website:
www.annacampbell.info

Anna loves to hear from her readers. You can find her at:

Website:
http://www.annacampbell.info

Facebook:
https://www.facebook.com/AnnaCampbellFans

Twitter:
@AnnaCampbellOz

GoodReads:
http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/296477.Anna_Campbell

Will a chance meeting on Christmas Eve…

Alicia Sinclair, Countess of Kinvarra, cannot believe that fate has been so cruel as to strand her on the snowy Yorkshire moors with her estranged husband as her only hope of rescue. During their rare encounters, the arrogant earl and his countess act like hostile strangers. Now that Alicia has fallen into Kinvarra's power, will he seek revenge for her desertion? Or does the dark, passionate man she once adored have entirely different plans for his headstrong wife?

...deliver a second chance at love?

Sebastian Sinclair, Earl of Kinvarra, has spent ten wretched years regretting the mistakes he made with his young bride, but after long separation, the barriers between them are insurmountable. Until an unexpected encounter one stormy night makes him wonder if the barriers of mistrust and thwarted desire are so insurmountable after all. When winter weather traps Sebastian and his proud, lovely wife in an isolated inn, could the earl and his headstrong countess have a Christmas miracle in store?

North Yorkshire, Christmas Eve, 1825

THE CRASH OF shattering wood and the terrified screams of horses pierced the frosty night like a knife.

Sebastian Sinclair, Earl of Kinvarra, swore, brought his restive mount under control, then spurred the animal around the turn in the snowy road. With icy clarity, the full moon lit the white landscape, starkly revealing the disaster before him.

A flashy black curricle lay on its side in a ditch, the hood up against the weather. One horse had broken free and wandered the roadway, harness dragging. The other plunged wildly in the traces, struggling to escape.

Swiftly Kinvarra dismounted, knowing his mare would await his signal, and ran to free the distressed horse. As he slid down the muddy ditch, a hatless man scrambled out of the smashed curricle.

“Are you hurt?” Kinvarra asked, casting a quick eye over him.

“No, I thank you, sir.” The effete blond fellow turned back to the carriage. “Come, darling. Let me assist you.”

A graceful black-gloved hand extended from inside and a cloaked woman emerged with more aplomb than Kinvarra would have believed possible in the circumstances. Indications were that neither traveler was injured, so he concentrated on the trapped horse. When he spoke soothingly to the terrified beast, it quieted to panting stillness, exhausted with thrashing. While Kinvarra checked its legs, murmuring calm assurances, the stranger helped the lady up to the roadside.

The horse shook itself and with a few ungainly jumps, ascended the bank to trot along the road toward its partner. Neither animal seemed to suffer worse than fright, a miracle considering that the curricle was beyond repair.

“Madam, are you injured?” Kinvarra asked as he climbed the ditch. He stuck his riding crop under his arm and brushed his gloved hands together to knock the clinging snow from them. It was a hellishly cold night. Christmas tomorrow would be a chilly affair. But then of course his Christmases had been chilly for years, no matter the weather.

The woman kept her head down. With shock? With shyness? For the sake of propriety? Perhaps he’d stumbled on some elopement or clandestine meeting.

“Madam?” he asked again, more sharply. Whatever her fear of scandal, he needed to know if she required medical assistance.

“Sweeting?” The yellow-haired fop bent to peer into the shadows cast by her hood. “Are you sure you’re unharmed? Speak, my dove. Your silence troubles my soul.”

While Kinvarra digested the man’s outlandish phrasing, the woman stiffened and drew away. “For heaven’s sake, Harold, you’re not giving a recitation at a musicale.” With an impatient gesture, she flung back her hood and glared straight at Kinvarra.

Even though he’d identified her the moment she spoke, he found himself staring dumbstruck into her face. A piquant, vivid, pointed face under an untidy tumble of luxuriant gold hair.

Furious and incredulous, he wheeled on the milksop. “What the devil are you doing with my wife?”

Alicia, Countess of Kinvarra, was bruised, angry, uncomfortable, and agonizingly embarrassed. Not to mention suffering the aftereffects of her choking terror when the toppling carriage had tossed her around like a pebble in a torrent.

Even so, her heart lurched into the wayward dance it always performed at the merest sight of Sebastian.

She’d been married for eleven miserable years. Their short interval living as man and wife had been wretched. She disliked her husband more than any other man in the world. But nothing prevented her gaze from clinging to every line of that narrow, intense face with its high cheekbones, long, arrogant nose and sharply angled jaw. He looked older than the last time she’d seen him, more cynical if that was possible. But still handsome, still compelling, still vital in a way nobody else she knew could match.

Damn him to Hades, he remained the most magnificent creature she’d ever seen.

Such a pity his soul was as black as his glittering eyes.

“After all this time, I’m flattered you recognize me, my lord,” she said silkily.

“Lord Kinvarra, this is a surprise,” Harold stammered, faltering back as if anticipating violence. “You must wonder why I accompany the lady—”

Oh, Harold, act the man, even if the hero is beyond your reach. You’re safe. Kinvarra doesn’t care enough about me to kill you.

Although even the most indifferent husband took it ill when his wife chose a lover. And Kinvarra had always suffered an overabundance of pride. There wasn’t the slightest hope that he’d mistake Alicia’s reasons for traveling on this isolated road in the middle of the night. She stifled a rogue pang of guilt.