Romancing a Christmas Past - Part 8

Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four
Part Five
Part Six

Part Seven

Louisa dashed down the corridor, the merry music from the ballroom hurting her head. Confusion swamped her, as well as a healthy dose of irritation. She didn’t know who to trust, who to believe.

Could it be true? Could Ambry really enjoy dallying with—

“Oh!” A hard, warm body collided with hers and she would’ve fallen to the ground if not for the strong, firm hands that gripped her about her upper arms. She lifted her gaze, her lips parting to offer her gratitude when she froze.

Lord Dernflook studied her, his warm brown gaze full of concern and something else. Something she’d never seen before. Warmth suffused her and she parted her lips but no sound came out.


“Why in such a hurry, my lady?”

“I—I’ve just received the most distressing news,” she blurted, then clamped her hand over her mouth. Oh, dear. Not that she could ever confess what that dreadful Comte told her.


Would Dernflook even believe her? He was good friends with Ambry. They’d been close for years, since they were children. If anyone knew what sort of man Ambry was about, it would be Dernflook.

“There, there.” He released his hold on her and turned so that he stood by her side, offering his arm. “Perhaps you’d like to inform me of this most distressing news while we find some refreshment?”

She contemplated him. He was a determined man, she knew this. With a calculating, intelligent mind and a sharp eye, he was admired by his peers and even the occasional lady though he rarely showed interest in any of them. Considering he was a bachelor of prime age with decent wealth and a title, she found that odd.

A new thought formed. He couldn’t…no, really. Could he? Was he the sort to dally with other men? Did he have some sort of relationship with Ambry?

No. It couldn’t be true.

“It’s silly,” she finally said with a beguiling smile, hoping she could steer him in another direction. If she were to mention any sort of ill rumor about Ambry, he would run and tell his friend in an instant. “Gossip and speculation, nothing more.”

“I adore gossip and speculation.” His velvety deep voice was sincere, as was the glint in his eyes and she stared at him a bit too long.

Hmm. She recognized that look in his gaze now. Was that—desire? And when did Dernflook become so dashed handsome?

Shaking herself from her thoughts, she smiled and waved a hand toward the open double doors that led to the ballroom. A lively waltz played and she could see the many happy dancers, the ladies’ colorful gowns twirling as their gentlemen partners led them around the floor.

She suddenly wanted to be one of those ladies out on the dance floor, in the arms of a man who looked at her as if he might find her attractive. “Dance with me, Dernflook,” she suddenly demanded.

His brows rose. “Really, my lady? You want to dance with me?”

She met his gaze, saw the mixture of shock and pleasure swirling there. Smiling, she nodded and gave his arm a squeeze. He was rather muscular, no padding at all beneath the fine cut of his jacket and she wondered why she never noticed before.

Noticed just how handsome Lord Dernflook was. God rest ye merry gentlemen, indeed…

“Yes, really, my lord.” She paused and smiled in invitation. “Well, Are you going to leave me standing here? Or shall we dance?”

He smiled, bright enough to light the entire ballroom. “I would be delighted to dance with you. Louisa.”

A tremor moved through her at the delicious way he said her name, at the rather commanding way he led her onto the dance floor.

And when he took her into his arms and held her scandalously close, all thoughts of Ambry and his dastardly betrayal earlier this evening left her completely.


Amelia wanted to stomp her foot in frustration. Where was that rat Thomas? She had the distinct feeling she was playing a part in too many plots—and she was the one in the role of the fool. Thomas, the poor Lady Smallwood, all of their intricate plans were muddling her brain and leaving her in a heaping mass of confusion.

And after sampling Lord Ambry’s kiss, well. She couldn’t stop thinking of it—of him. His soft lips, how he held her. The look of shock on his face when he realized he’d been well and truly caught.

Despite his recent distressing news of being a pauper, she found that she might not care about wealth any longer, or trying to destroy him completely to please the poor vengeful Lady Smallwood.

Not when she could have a man—a husband who looks at her with such desire in his gaze night after night.

“Would you care for some plum pudding?”

She turned on a gasp and found the very man haunting her thoughts standing in the shadows. He emerged from the darkness much like the devil himself, a smile curling his lips, a plate of—yes indeed, plum pudding gripped in his hands.

“No, thank you.” She tipped her chin up, nose in the air, desperate for a dignified air. She couldn’t be tempted by a sweet treat. She wasn’t that weak.

“Oh, come now, Amelia. There’s no need for the façade any longer.” His voice was pitched low, dark and foreboding and a shiver stole over her. Was he finally on to her ruse?

“I haven’t the faintest idea what you speak of.” She turned her back on him, heard him settle the china plate on a nearby table with a soft clank. His heavy footsteps as he drew closer before he settled warm, firm hands upon her shoulders.

“You know exactly what I speak of, Amelia,” he murmured close to her ear, his warm breath tickling her skin. “Your trickery is most distressing.”

She held her breath, waiting for him to say something else but he remained silent. “I didn’t mean to trick you,” she finally whispered. “I had no choice.”

He squeezed her shoulders and she felt his touch to the very depth of her soul. “I don’t believe you.”

“Why would I lie to you now, my lord? I have nothing to gain by it. Not any longer.”

“Of course, you don’t. I’m good and well trapped, aren’t I? He whirled her around so that she faced him. Saw all the dark rage reflected in his gaze, on his face. Fear filled her and she struggled within his grip but he wouldn’t be deterred.

“Let me go,” she demanded but he laughed, the insufferable rogue.

“Not a chance, my lovely Amelia. I believe I’m going to take advantage of my husbandly rights.”

“Wha—” she started to shriek but he cut her off.

With a firm press of his sensuous mouth.


The lovely Susan Edwards will wrap up the story on December 20th so be sure to return to find out what happens!


And don't forget: Each post will contain the name of a Christmas carol. As readers, you're asked to follow the blog and then post a comment on each entry naming that carol. The person with the most correct answers will win a bundle of SEVEN fabulous Carina historical novels to keep them entertained over the festive period, and beyond.

Romancing a Christmas Past - Part 5

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Louisa spun around to meet the wickedest green eyes she had ever seen in her life. Angled like a cat's, they glittered madly in the candlelight, and suddenly Louisa, despite the solidity of the wall at her back, plus the fact that the ball continued in full swing and that they were in view of everyone-- felt decidedly unsafe.

She attempted to move past the man, but he sidestepped, so she was unable to avoid him. She felt herself blushing--stupid, how old was she?--so she lifted her chin and glared, cutting him with contempt, before attempting to pass again. With a smile he simply sidestepped and was in front of her again. Really, it was altogether too galling.

She cast her eye across to the nearest group, who were too busy watching the dancing to notice her discomfort. Why hadn't anyone seen she was trapped like this? If she had been Amelia, she thought with chagrin, a handful of men no doubt would step to her rescue, but then Amelia was a wealthy pretty--minx--not a widow. Widows were considered able to look after themselves, and certainly a match for an unwanted advance.

"Sir," she said, filling her voice with venom. "Let me pass."

"Mais, mademoiselle..."

She'd heard voices like his before. Émigrés with one thought on their mind, to marry wealthily to make up for all they had lost in France. Lazy foreigners, all of them, every man jack of them.

"Madame," she snapped. "We have not been introduced, sir. Such proprieties are no doubt unimportant in Paris these days, but here in England we are made of better things."

The infuriating man had the gall to smile again. "You mistake me...madame" he said with an over-exaggerated bow. "Your virtue is safe with me, which is rather the point of my private discourse."

"Hardly private!" The words were out of her mouth before she could stop herself.

"I can assure you, ma chére, we have more privacy--and are regarded with far less suspicion-- here than we would be if we attempted to find a more secluded place to talk."

"I have nothing to say to you. Let me pass."

"But I have something to say to you. I am sure a lady of your discernment, your experience saw through the little Slockholme's trap. I know that you and the distingue milor' Ambry are good friends, but I'm afraid that is all you two will ever be."

"He's already made that clear," she said, turning away and looking blindly out at the dancers. Mutton. It stung her more than she had thought it ever could.

"Oh, don't envy Miss Slockholme; all Ambry wants is a wife to cover his real attachment..."Louisa found herself listening despite herself. She refused to give the man the benefit of a response and kept quiet. 

"Surely," he said, "you've noticed his partiality? Non? You surprise me. He isn't only susceptible to the fair sex, my dear. He dotes on the quite unfair sex aussi." Louisa frowned, baffled, and he gave a small laugh as if amused by her naïveté. "Ah, oui. How can I put it more delicately? Cherchez le homme."

"No," Louisa breathed. "No. It's not true. Richard...Richard and I..."

"Oh, he's very clever--and didn't you know, ma chére, that some men like both the grape and the grain? He will play the Hervey - surely you remember the stories of him? A leg in each camp, as they say. Smile, you've gone quite pale, you don't want people asking questions. Not now, do you?"

"I don't believe you," she said.

"Oh, it's quite true. Why do you think Richard was in the garden?" He produced the note that Amelia had dropped in the snow. "I saw him cast this aside when he was confronted. As you can see, it's most definitely addressed to him. And who is this Thomas? A pretty mystery, is it not?

Her hand shook as she read the note. It was a masculine hand. "What if I were to bring this to Ambry's notice? Ask him of this? I could denounce you..."

"I don't think you'd do that, Lady Carmichael. And believe me, if you were to do so, it would bring you no joy. To the world, you would be enmeshed in a most sordid complication… even if it were not true. Forget about him, Lady Louisa. Find yourself a man who can give you what you want." He touched her face gently, then swaggered off towards the conservatory.

After the man had gone, leaving her more breathless than she liked, she leaned against the moulded wall for a moment or two, thinking about what the man had said. Richard? No. It couldn't be. It was not to be countenanced, surely! They'd been lovers...surely to goodness it would be obvious? I am no ingenue, she thought, blood rushing to her head, making her cheeks glow with warmth. I know a man's touch, a man who wants me. I would...

But then she remembered the scandals around the ton over the past decade. Some she had been too young to understand until recently. Men who went abroad, leaving their wives behind, taking their devoted male friends or their secretaries. Conversations in drawing rooms with groups of dowagers which stilled the moment a certain fop or dandy entered the room, arm in arm with a close friend. Lord Hervey--a good many years before, but still the scandal lingered. He had been married, he had had children--and had kept a...friend (Louisa's mind shunned any word more coarse) for years.

His poor wife. That was what everyone said.

Well, I will not be an object of pity, she thought with savage decision. But I must know who...who was the man? She hurried towards the conservatory herself to catch up with the count and question him. Stepping into the huge glass space, she could hear voices. There were no lights here, only the light of the moon pouring in the windows, giving the huge tropical plants a monstrous appearance.

A male voice sounded loud in the echoing space. She couldn't quite make out the words, so she crept nearer. It wasn't a French voice, she could tell that much. "Yes. Kiss me again. Quickly. I can't be away long. You are sure it will work?"

What woman would be risking her reputation like this? Other than me, she added to herself. The question was answered for her as the very recognisable tones of the Comte followed.

"I guarantee it," the Comte's voice sounded muffled, as if pressed against...Louisa felt faint. There was a compunction to step forward. To see. But she resisted it with all her will and continued to listen. The men were quiet for half a minute and then the Comte continued. 

"The note dropped made it even easier. It was the work of a minute to append Ambry's name to it. Now the path is free for the fair Amelia. Lord Ambry might have tried to protect himself against Amelia's accusations by using Lady Louisa Carmichael as a shield, but that door will now be firmly closed to him. Lady Carmichael will not sully her name further than she has to take a risk on a suspected sodomite, and she will, I'm sure, discreetly pass the information to any other eligible ladies. And once our dear little Amelia is ensconced as Lady Ambry--and realises just how she got there, and how easily we could tear her down again--we can begin to reap the benefits, both financial and otherwise. Amelia's pillow talk is famous--we'll have secrets pouring into our laps."

"You've done well," the other man said. Louisa didn't recognise the voice. "You'll find that the French government will not be ungenerous."

"As long as I get my pardon," the comte said, "and a ... small consideration."

"My dear Thomas, won't this do on account?" There was a rustle of clothing and Louisa took the opportunity to back away before she fainted dead away on the floor.

Richard. Oh, no. What on earth was she to do?

Romancing a Christmas Past - Part 1

The Duchess of Claverham’s annual Winter Ball was the most anticipated event of the Christmas Season. Half of Surrey had descended on the Claverham’s country estate and Amelia Slockholme was one of the fortunate few to have been provided with a guest suite for the weekend. The rest were being accommodated at neighbouring estates as far as ten miles away and worse.

Amelia lifted her champagne glass high to avoid an elbow and made a slow path through the festive crush. An arm suddenly linked into hers, and when she saw it belonged to her dearest friend, Lady Louisa Carmichael, she smiled and leaned in closer. “I heard you’ve had to secure a room at the Roasted Pheasant for the night.”

“Where on earth do you dig up your information?”

“So, it’s not true.”

The young widow threw her head back on a laugh. “I didn’t say that.”

“Then you’re sharing my room tonight,” Amelia decided.

“Thank you for the offer, darling, but that’s bound to ruin all my fun. Speaking of which…” She slanted her gaze in the direction of the dance floor as the music trailed off. “I’ve promised the next dance to Lord Ambry.” She slid her arm free and spun about, directly into an approaching footman. A silver tray went flying one way and a folded note went the other. “Oh, dear!”

“We’re terribly sorry,” said Amelia, watching a stout grey-haired man walk over the note. It stuck to the sole of his shoe and went with him.

“Forgive me, m’lady,” muttered the footman, his head bent as he stooped to retrieve the tray. “I have a message for you.” He came back up, his gaze still on the ground. “Where did it go?”

“I believe it went to the dining buffet,” Amelia told him. A puzzled look crossed his face and she quickly added, “Not to worry, I’ll go after it.”

At that moment, Lord Ambry intercepted them with a shallow bow. Dark hair curled untamed around his cravat and eyes, a deep, deep blue, skipped right over Amelia to linger on Louisa. “Shall we?”

Amidst the flurry of Louisa sauntering off with the dashing Lord Ambry and Amelia striding toward the buffet table that had been set up along the ballroom wall, the footman was left to stand, staring after her.

Luck was on her side and Amelia found the note partly showing from beneath the creamy linen cloth that draped over the buffet table to the floor. The paper was thoroughly scuffed, but only a little sticky. She’d withdrawn to a shadowed area by the curved staircase before she thought to question whether the footman had been delivering the message to her or Louisa.

All doubt disappeared as she started reading and immediately recognised Thomas’s handwriting. As far as she was aware, Louisa had never even met him. No, this letter was clearly meant for her. She and Thomas had practically grown up together, but she hadn’t seen him since he’d left on his Grand Tour almost three years ago. Every three or four months, he'd sent her a letter detailing his travels and she'd cherished every single one of them.

We need to talk.

I’m at the Summer Lodge by the lake. Please hurry, it’s urgent. I’ll wait here until you come.

Thomas Brunes.

Amelia rushed up the staircase and down the passage to her room. She kicked her slippers off and rummaged through the wardrobe for a pair of sturdy walking boots and her thick, velvet coat. She grabbed the matching velvet hat, plumped it directly on her curls and tugged it down low enough to cover her ears.

Oh, how she’d missed Thomas. She hadn’t appreciated him nearly enough until he was no longer there to make her laugh, to tempt her into his outrageous schemes—to tease her! She hadn’t forgotten about that. But I still missed you like the devil would miss his fire if ever it were taken from him.

The second her boots were on, she hurried out, pulling her coat on as she went. To avoid the ballroom, she used a secondary staircase leading directly to the west wing. This part of the house was quiet and she saw no one as she passed through the library to the French doors that led outside. A thick blanket of snow covered the landscaped gardens and beyond as far as she could see. Moonlight glittered off the frozen lake and the row of tall elms beyond looked like giant white skeletons.

Amelia was halfway to the lake before she slowed her step, sucked in a frosty breath and gave proper thought to Thomas’s note. Why hadn’t he attended the ball if he was home? Why couldn’t he have come to see her up at the house? What could possibly be so urgent as to send her outside, alone, in the middle of this deathly cold, darkly silent night?

The lovely Wendy Soliman will be picking up the story on the 6th, so be sure to stop by to see where our story goes from here.

And don't forget: Each post will contain the name of a Christmas carol. As readers, you're asked to follow the blog and then post a comment on each entry naming that carol. The person with the most correct answers will win a bundle of SEVEN fabulous Carina historical novels to keep them entertained over the festive period, and beyond.

Click HERE to read Part 2...