Mistletoe Wishes: A Regency Christmas Collection

If only she wasn’t so sure that Lord Channing had his own agenda, and that agenda included more kisses at the very least.

“No.”

When sly satisfaction flashed in his eyes, the clamor of misgivings swelled to a shriek. “Excellent. After breakfast, then?”

Chapter 4

Rory didn’t sleep well. The memory of holding Bess in his arms wasn’t so much a torment as a promise of more to come. He felt as excited and on edge as an inexperienced midshipman facing his first battle at sea.

Bess, too, had been inexperienced. Whatever scoundrel had kissed her had made a rum job of it. She must be in her mid-twenties, but she’d kissed like a sweet young girl, all closed lips and caution. Her innocence had touched him, bolstered his wavering resolution not to take her

too far.

Although any man of principle would say he’d already taken everything too far, stealing that chaste kiss. She was a virtuous lady, a vicar’s daughter, no less. And they’d only just met.

But he couldn’t let her go without one small taste. And that taste had been glorious.

If fate was kind, he wouldn’t wait long to taste her again.

The next morning, his lecherous plans hit a snag. When he emerged from his bedroom—he’d slept later than usual after his restless night—people of all ages milled about in the great hall below. The villagers, he assumed, under the command of the woman he intended to marry.

Ned White joined him at the top of the stairs. “You didn’t tell me it was all hands on deck this morning, Rory.”

Rory shot his friend an amused glance. “I surrendered to a superior force, laddie.”

Ned’s attention settled on Bess, all business in her plain gray dress and sensible apron. An impression undercut by the color in her cheeks and the flyaway strands of golden hair. “A fine-looking woman, Miss Farrar.”

“Aye.”

“An ideal wife for a new earl with local ways to learn and ties to build with his neighbors.”

Damn it, Ned knew him too well. That was what came of sailing together for the last twenty years. “She’s a lassie with her own ideas. Anyone who took her on would say goodbye to a quiet life and any hope of a meek wee wife to smooth his brow and jump to his orders.”

“Yes, well, some might say after a man has crossed the world’s oceans, a meek wee wife would seem dull in comparison.”

“Aye, some might.”

“Your tenants appear to have a lot of respect for her.”

It was true. Rory had served with enough captains, good and bad, to mark the notice they paid Bess. Not to mention the affection. Hard to match this capable leader with the bedazzled girl he’d kissed in the snow.

Rory changed the subject. “Did you know there’s a rumor abroad that I’m a pirate?”

Ned snorted with laughter. “You?”

“Aye.”

“Well, shiver my timbers. When you’re not ravaging the Spanish Main, will you hoist the Jolly Roger on the Abbey’s flagpole to tell the world the master’s home from marauding?”

“You’re not funny,” Rory said, trying not to smile.

“I think I am.”

“You always do.” He paused. “How in Hades do daft tales like this start?”

Ned shrugged. “Someone’s cousin heard something from someone else’s cousin, who heard something from someone passing through on the London coach. You know how these things work.”

“Should I say something? Or will that just add fuel to the fire?”