Knight Before Christmas Quotes

It was Christmas night, the eve of the Boxing Day Meet. You must remember that this was in the old Merry England of Gramarye, when the rosy barons ate with their fingers, and had peacocks served before them with all their tail feathers streaming, or boars' heads with the tusks stuck in again—when there was no unemployment because there were too few people to be unemployed—when the forests rang with knights walloping each other on the helm, and the unicorns in the wintry moonlight stamped with their silver feet and snorted their noble breaths of blue upon the frozen air. Such marvels were great and comfortable ones. But in the Old England there was a greater marvel still. The weather behaved itself.

This morning, he had been doomed for a dismal eternity,but instead, standing before him was a woman giving him everything he had dreamed of but never thought he would possess.

You really are a beast." A low hum of a chuckle rumbled through Ranulf's chest. "I've been called a beast before,but not because I had bullied someone into letting me nurture them.

Until then,will you stay?" he asked, pulling off his shirt before lying back down. "Will you talk to me? My head hurts and your voice calms me.

Are you sure you want to marry him, Lily? Marriage is a serious vow and you really don't know the man." Lily rolled her eyes. "Who really knows anyone before they marry? And while his lordship may not be very handsome, he is exceptionally clever,don't you think? I mean,he did come up with the plan to save us all and let us stay.

So tell me about your eldest daughter. I assume you will say she is blond, blue-eyed,and beautiful beyond compare." "Ranulf,you are far too cynical." "You have said so before.So speak. Tell me of your temptresses and how their beauty can ensnare my men with a mere glimpse." "And for that last sarcastic remark, I shall describe them in detail,and maybe someday you,too,will have daughters and understand the fear that lurks in my aged heart.

Bronywyn jumped at the abrupt and very loud pounding at her door. She pushed herself up to a sitting position on her bed and glanced out the window.It was pitch-black outside, hours before dawn. Only one person would be causing a commotion at such an hour and be able to get away with it. Ranulf. She rubbed he eyes and tried to ignore the deafening banging, hoping he would get the hint.He did not. "Bronwyn,open this door or I swear on all the things you hold sacred,I will break it down.

A husband looking for the perfect present is like a knight of the Round Table on a quest for the Holy Grail. He can saddle up his trusty steed and head off gamely into the Christmas chaos - with courage as his trusty companion. But as soon as leaves the comforts of his castle, he will find that his old pal, doubt, has saddled up the mule of confusion and is clip-clopping along at his side. and before he even gets to the malls, that old traitor, conviction, will have turned and fled. Deep in his anxious heart, our knight will begin to wonder if the thing he is looking for really exists. Oh, he has heard rumours. There was a man once, who said he heard of a fellow, who told a story about a guy, who found the perfect present. But no doubt that is just a legend. One of those stories people tell to promote hope among the recklessly faithful. If you ever tracked him down, you'd probably find out the man who found the perfect present was just another poor sod alone in his bedroom on Christmas Eve, with a roll of wrapping paper, some Scotch tape, and a waffle iron.

But where are we going?" Glancing back at her,he smiled a wicked smile. "Westminster." "Westminster! Now? What about the Feast of the Circumcision of Our Lord? I'm the First Footer! I can't just leave." Ranulf came back in and gave her a comforting kiss on the forehead before placing a softer one on her lips. Unfortunately, that is one tradition we must break.So pack only what is necessary and don your warmest gown." Bronwyn's heart started pounding as she realized just who Ranulf intended to see and confront. "What are you planning to do to Luc?" But the question was issued to an empty corridor. Ranulf was gone, and the next time she was to see him,they would be riding out of Hunswick at a speed she wouldn't understand for another three days.

Have you decided upon my character, or do you need more time?" Ranulf challenged. Laon's misty blue gaze surveyed the rolling waves for several seconds before he turned to reply,this time his demeanor and expression solemn. "Your temperament is obvious for the world to see." He paused for a moment as if he were trying to decide whether he should refrain from further explanation or continue.The latter was chosen. "You are neither kind nor giving, and your manner can best be described as impersonal.WHen you do engage, you are rather gruff, although I wonder how much of that is habit or intentional. However,you are fair and respectful, even to those you know little or not at all," Laon finished, pointing at the young deckhand Ranulf had assisted earlier.

Damn you to tell," she hissed. With each struggle, the wires of her wimple poked his chest, causing him a surprising amount of pain. He was about to yank the horrid thing off when she came to an abrupt halt at Father Morrell's rebuke. "I am shocked, my lady.You have always been a girl of common sense.To use such language, on Christmas, and in the chapel!" Bronwyn bit down hard on her bottom lip, her fury inflamed further. She forced herself to stand still and succumb to the proceedings. Ranulf may be keeping her here now,but that didn't mean she couldn't escape before night fell. "And you,Lord Anscombe," Father Morrell huffed, "this is most irregular. How am I to know this lady comes willingly to this marriage carried upon your shoulder?" "Father,you have one duty in front of you at this moment,and that is to wed me to this woman. The salvation of our souls can wait until tomorrow.

My God! You really like her,don't you? I knew you were attracted to the woman, but you really like her.I should have known. From the moment you returned to camp that night, grumbling about how the woman in this area were too damn pretty, I knew a female had finally burrowed underneath that hardened exterior. I just never dreamed you would also get to her." "I hope I'm around when a woman finally lays claim to your sanity. With your impetuous personality,your actions will be far more out of character than mine." Tyr clapped his mug on the table and threw his hands up in the air. "Not me. I swore an oath against women and commitments, and it is an oath I intend to keep.But you,my friend, are not me and do not have my reasons for rejecting happiness.Go to her, a woman like that would forgive a man, she might even find life in a stone. So much so,that she may even consider marrying him. Of course,he might have to grovel a little." Ranulf pushed himself up,wishing Tyr was correct.Unfortunately, Bronwyn wasn't about to marry a man like him, not before and certainly not now. "I'm going to take a walk.

And you pride keeps you from doing anything absurd,I suppose." Ranulf eyed Bronwyn suspiciously. Their banter was the equivalent of foreplay, except he seemed to be the only one suppressing excitement. His angel just sat unperturbed and serene...almost too composed. "It helps.Just as the meat you ate last night.I smelled it on your fingers." Bronwyn felt her teeth grind as she shifted her clenched jaw. "As Advent is only required on three days of the week, I guess I was fortunate that I was able to consume the last of the lamb before Twelfthtide." "Making me unfortunate. But what about the exemption of children,the elderly, and the infirm?" The man was acting smug and causing her to react defensively. Bronwyn leaved over to pour herself some hot cider and then settled back in the hearth chair, slowly sipping the sweet drink. She glanced at him and then licked her lips and asked, "Oh,are you infirm?" Without blinking,Ranulf purred, "It depends." Bronwyn succumed to a shiver and looked away. She was playing with fire and needed to stop. "I suppose we could hunt for some barnacle geese. That should suffice for meat and still make Father Morrell happy.

What the..." Ranulf barked behind her. "Where's the meat? The butter?" Bronwyn smiled. It was going to be a hard few days for everyone at Hunswick,suddenly observing Advent, but it might inspire the new residents to not just enjoy the fruits of everyone's labor,but appreciate and contribute. Turning around,Bronwyn pasted on what she hoped to be an incredulous look and said, "During Advent Fast?Now,my lord, you wouldn't want others to think you a heathen." Ranulf picked up the mug,sniffed the tea with disdain,and put it back down before flopping into one of the hearth chairs. "I know a hell of a lot more about the topic than you.And I could care less about the opinion of others." "I doubt that," Bronwyn murmured, just loud enough for him to hear, "on either point." Ranulf leaned forward and grabbed the plate of fish and potatoes. He took several bites and waved his fork around the platter. "The Church calls for their followers to celebrate the season of Advent the four weeks before Christmas, which is nonsense because I know of no one who rejoices in the idea of starvation and...abstinence." Bronwyn's heartbeat suddenly doubled its pace and she had to fight to remain looking relaxed and unaffected. "I believe humility is a large purpose behind the fast." "And control," Ranulf replied with a grunt. "If I kept such an absurd custom, I and my men would have starved many a year.

Ranulf stared blankly into the campfire, trying to ignore Lily. "White horses always look dirty," Lily told the young smitten soldier sitting beside her. "That's why I refuse to ride them.Brown ones may be just as filthy,but at least I cannot see the dirt. Black ones less so,but I have found that in general dark horses suit me better." "You just think you look better on them," Edythe protested before succumbing to several seconds of coughing. Bronwyn studied her redheaded sister for a moment.Tyr put another blanket around Edythe's shoulders and eventually the coughs quieted. Turning her attention to Ranulf,Bronwyn promised him softly, "You'll have to ignore them." Ranulf grimaced and sent a reproving look to his youngest sister-in-law. It,just like the others he had sent Lily throughout the day,changed nothing. "I just find it hard to reconcile the child I hear now with the woman who appeared after your death. With you gone,she had to grow up.Now that you are back..." Bronwyn snuggled up against his side with a sigh. "I admit I encourage it.Life will force Lily to grow up soon enough and I am glad it was not my death that thrust it upon her. In the meantime,you ignore her prattle and I'll just be amused it," she advised before planting a gentle kiss on his arm. Ranulf,with his free hand, raked his fingers through his short hair. How had he gotten into this predicament? But it took only one look at the huddled form next to him to remember exactly how. Bronwyn. He had wanted to make her happy. After thinking her lost to him forever, he would have promised her anything, even the moon.

Bronwyn is very much like myself, in both looks and temperament." "Then she likes to command and manipulate those around he," Ranulf interjected to prove he was listening. Laon sent him a slicing glance before answering. "Aye,and if you think me stubborn and relentless, you will rediscover the meaning if you and my eldest daughter ever disagree upon something.And prepare to lose,for even if you are right,she will wear you down until you find yourself acquiescing on the one point you swore never to concede," Laon cackled,obviously recalling one or two times in which she had bested him.Then his voice changed. "But I thank the Lord for her steadfastness and prudence. With my absence,I suspect all have been looking to her for guidance,and they were right to do so," he breathed softly. "Though no man would want her,she is strong in spirit and in mind and the only person I would trust to ensure her sisters are safe and well." "Which one is Eydthe?" "My middle child.She is small, but don't let that deceive you when you meet her.She inherited her Scottish grandmother's temper as well as her dark red hair.Of all of my daughters, her mind is the sharpest,but so is her tongue.It is my youngest,Lily,that I worry about the most when it comes to your men," Laon sighed. "She is the spitting image of her mother.Tall and slender with long dark raven hair and gray eyes,she snatches the soul of every man who looks upon her." And as if he could read Ranulf's mind,he added, "And her disposition is just as sweet.She sees only the good things in life and,as a consequence, brings joy wherever she goes." Ranulf conscientiously fought to refrain from showing his true reaction-nausea.

I say,she is sinfully attractive when she's angry.You may not claim to have a way with the ladies,but when you want to make one mad,you are indeed an expert." Ranulf clenched his teeth and said nothing, but sent Tyr a flash of warning. Tyr dismissed the look and pressed on,opting for a flank attack. "You know that dress she was wearing? She would wear that color more often, complements that odd color of blue in her eyes." Ranulf sank onto the bench across the table from Tyr and raked his hands through his hair. "Take my advice and avoid looking too long at them.They can confound a man.Make him believe in lies." "You might be right," Tyr agreed and moved to pour himself some more wine. "But when a man can't think straight,is it she who is telling the lies or is it he who is telling them to himself?" "If you are trying to make a point, don't." "No,no point." Tyr sighed and swirled his mug. "Just that she was looking pretty tonight. Did you not think so?" "No." "Well,I did.I especially liked the hair. Normally I do not like stuff being all free like that,gets in the way.I usually prefer a woman's hair to be pulled back and tidy,but hers...well,I just might have to change my mind." Nothing from Ranulf.Not even a twitch.Damn.The man was stubborn. Tyr swallowed the mug's contents for fortification.If he got out of this with his skin still intact,he would be lucky.He had maybe one more shot before Ranulf got up to leave,so it had to hit-and hard. Tyr rocked the bench back and hummed, "Looked like silk,wonder if it feels like silk.I once had a woman with hair-" "Damn you," Ranulf uttered through his teeth. "Be quiet or get out." "What do you care? You may not like her,but I do.And not just in the face.I'm actually looking forward to tomorrow and spending time with the ladt.And after her jumping onto the idea of coming hunting,I think she feels the same." "She does not like you." "I beg to disagree.She thinks I am charming. Said so herself.But then it wasn't I who said she was trying to seduce every man around her.

The man was impossible. To her every retort,he had a counter. "A beak you may want to avoid for I will use it." His dimples turned into craters. "Aye, my lady,that you most certainly are not afraid of using. I think I actually see the small scars along your wrists and hands from where you missed your intended target and clipped yourself." Edythe opened her mouth,ready to send out another assualt, when the sparkle in his hazel eyes captured her attention. Tyr was not making fun of her. Rather,he was truly enjoying their conversation, and if she was being honest, so was she. Inclining her head in agreement, she curled her lips mischievously and said, "Inflictions all finches must learn to endure." "Indeed they must," Tyr replied with a bow. "You,Lady Finch,are a genuine surprise. These past few days,your elder sister has been gracious, kind, and all things a lady should be when welcoming a guest, but it seems that only my friend Ranulf can turn her into a fiery tempest. And each time she does, it pulls him farther in.I see now why he is susceptible to such treatment." Edythe briefly closed her eyes and gave a quick shake to her head. "You enjoy being insulted?" "You have not insulted me, you couldn't. You don't know me well enough.Nor I you. We just merely sparred and I am finding that I like wit in a woman, a most uncommon trait where I have been. If I were not so decided in my ways,you,dear Finch, would be in trouble." "Well,then I thank the Lord you are decided, for I am not easily swayed by a pretty face and you have a ways to go before you seem even moderately charming. And before you try to convince me otherwise,I must go see to Lily for she is looking overly animated and all too often the results of such excitement negatively affect me.Excuse me,sir." Tyr bowed and stared as Edythe left his side and headed toward her younger sister. He had not lied. She was probably the most intriguing woman he had ever encountered.But it changed nothing.Marriage was not for him. Still,a pretty redhead with a cunning mind and a sharp tongue would be fun to pass the time with until he had to leave.

If you know so much,then tell me of Lily or are you too swayed by her beauty?" "Aye,she's beautiful, but also complicated and young.She is an....an opportunist,but not necessarily a selfish one." "Ha.She can be. Lily's world revolves only around her." Tyr chuckled and the sound sent ripples of awareness down her arms. "I'd rather talk about you, Lady Edythe." "I'd rather not." "Lady Edythe," Tyr repeated, drawing out her name. His forehead wrinkled. "No. Don't like it. A girl like you needs a nickname." She hadn't been a "girl" for several years,and Edythe was irked that he saw her as such. "That's one thing I'll never want." "That's a shame.Everyone should have a nickname." "Really,then what's yours?" Tyr licked his lips and in a low voice, lied, "Bachelor." "Fitting," Edythe retorted. "I doubt with your type of self-serving charm, too many women vie to change that status." Tyr clucked his tongue, completely unfazed by her ridiculous barb. "Ed,I think.Little and sweet...just like you." "Thoin," Edythe hissed and moved to walk away,not dreaming for a second that he would know Gaelic and understand what she meant. "Bauchle," Tyr chirped back in retaliation. Edythe spun around, her jaw open, but before she could retort, he added, this time with a Scottish brogue, "Ed,even if I didn't know my own language, certain words are known far and wide, and "ass" is certainly one of them." Straightening, she puffed out her chest and poked him in the ribs. "I may be many things,but untidy, fat, and your wife isn't one of them." Tyr gulped.It had been a long time since he'd spoken his native tongue to a woman who knew Gaelic and he plucked the wrong insult from memory.He had just remembered it being about a woman and knew it wasn't flattering. "You're right. My apologies.But you,my pretty lady, are in desperate need of a nickname. How about one that is more fitting?" "I don't want a nickname," she gritted out. And certainly not one from you, she hissed to herself. Why did he have to call her pretty? And why did she care? "Well,Ruadh,you got one." "Red? Lord,you are the most unimaginative-" "Hmm,when you put it that way...Red...Ed. Quite memorable and easy to say.I like it!" "You would.That nickname-if you can call it that-wouldn't suit a kitchen rat." Tyr shook his head. "I disagree,and just remember that it was you and not I who compared yourself to such a repulsive creature.I would have said...a finch.Yes...small,loud and with a sharp beak.

Jaclyn held the bag over her shoulder as she ran through the tall grass in the field, avoiding the knights’ tents just over the rise. She rushed into the forest, not breaking her pace. She had come this way so many times that she could do it in her sleep. She easily leaped over a fallen tree and skirted some bushes. Dappled moonlight washed over the leaves on the floor, shining through the trees from above. Jaclyn hurried forward. She hoped Paul would remember to bring his horse, Nilly, so they could practice the joust. When she broke into the clearing she could see the pond glistening beneath the stars above. She put the bag on the ground and spun, searching for Paul. The mistletoe glen was empty. Chills of apprehension shivered up her spine. It is all right, she told herself. It’s early yet. He still has time. She sat on the ground. Where was he? She tried to concentrate on something else. The feast this eve had gone well. There had been no fighting. But she guessed all the men were on their best behavior before the joust. When the joust began and there were official losers, then she guessed she would see more unchivalrous behavior. She looked over her shoulder. Where was Paul? Suddenly, she heard footsteps. She stood, her heart thundering with joy. Alexander exploded into the clearing. He looked around the clearing. “Where’s Paul?” Her happiness vanished. What was he doing here? Following her again? She scowled. “He’s not here yet.” He marched straight for her. “You came here to practice?” “Well,” Jaclyn stammered,”when Paul gets here.” “D’Sayre is coming.” “What?” “He followed you.” Alexander kicked the bag behind the tree. “Why is he following me? Why are you following me?” He grabbed her arm. “D’Sayre is trying to learn your secrets. Me? I just want a kiss.” He pulled her into his embrace and pressed his lips to hers.

Papa suggested you had some options to put before me. What have you to offer besides this lunatic proposal that I should join myself to a man who is not much given to vice and not at all given to stealing kisses?” Now he was watching her mouth. “The only other option I see, Louisa Windham, is for you to marry me.” He braced himself for her to whip away, to laugh, to pucker up with the presumption of it. “Say something, Louisa. I mean you no insult, I hope you know that.” “You think I’d take insult because you raise swine and I am a duke’s daughter?” She still had not moved away, and a distracting olfactory tickle of clove and citrus wended its way into Joseph’s awareness. “There is that salient reality, but it’s also the case that I must have children, Louisa, there being the matter of that da—deuced title. I could not offer you the cordial union you might seek.” “By cordial, you mean unconsummated.” He managed another nod. Merely standing near her, her arm twined with his, their fingers linked—when had that happened?—was wreaking havoc with his composure. She stared past him into the fire, her brows knit. “I like children. They’re honest. They might lie about whether they stole the pie, but they don’t deceive themselves about enjoying every bite. Children love a good story. They don’t twitch their noses at a lively tale because it does not ‘improve the mind.’ Eve and Jenny adore children.” What was she saying? “Louisa, I am offering a marriage in truth, though I am not the better bargain.” This

What do you know of Lord Lionel Honiton?” She lobbed the question at him in retaliation for his peremptory tone, also because he’d give her an honest answer. “I know he’s vain as a peacock, but other than that, probably no more given to vice than most of his confreres.” This was said with such studied detachment, Louisa’s curiosity was piqued. “Many young men are vain. Lionel is an attractive man.” “Perhaps, but you are equally attractive, Louisa Windham, more attractive because you neither drape yourself in jewels nor flaunt your attributes with cosmetics, and I don’t see you lording it over the ladies less endowed than you are.” He was presuming to scold her, and yet Louisa couldn’t help feeling a backhanded sort of pleasure at the implied compliment. “Beauty fades,” Louisa said. “All beauty. If Lord Lionel is vain, time will see him disabused of his beauty soon enough.” Unbidden, the memory of Sir Joseph reciting Shakespeare came to Louisa’s mind: “That time of year thou mayst in me behold, when yellow leaves, or none, or few do hang on boughs which shake against the cold…” “So it will.” Sir Joseph held back a branch for Louisa to pass. “While yours will never desert you.” “Are you attempting flattery before breakfast, Sir Joseph?” His lips quirked up at her question, a fleeting, blink-and-she’d-miss-it suggestion of humor. “I am constitutionally incapable of flattery. You are honest, Louisa Windham, loyal to your family, and possessed of sufficient courage to endure many more social Seasons than I’ve weathered. To a man who understands what matters most, those attributes grow not less attractive over time, but more.

Joseph tipped his face up and saw a sprig of mistletoe some wag had hung over a signboard. On the square, a seasonal street chorus launched into a jaunty version of Handel’s “Hallelujah Chorus.” And that gladdened his heart yet more. Before common sense or some other overrated commodity could stop him, Joseph brushed his lips to Louisa’s cheek, treating himself to a goodly dose of cinnamon, cloves, and female warmth. “Happy Christmas, Louisa Windham.” He stole that Christmas kiss for himself—he’d been an exceedingly good fellow in the previous year—though he expected at least a scolding for his troubles. “Rascal.” Louisa ducked her face and led him off down the street, not the least daunted, bless her. “I’m out of practice. When my brothers were underfoot, no one was safe from their infernal kisses this time of year. They will soon be visiting and I can assure you by the New Year, you’ll have to be much quicker to catch me under the mistletoe.” As

Louisa considered pleading a headache, but withdrawing from the table would only fuel gossip, and perhaps reflect poorly on Sir Joseph, who did not deserve such censure. She could retreat into silence, though, and so she did. Something warm covered the hands she’d linked in her lap. Looking down, she saw Sir Joseph’s scarred fingers stroking slowly over her knuckles, once, twice. He was unobtrusive about it. The person sitting opposite him and even on his other side would not know he’d made such an overture. Louisa turned her hand palm up, and for an instant, Sir Joseph linked his fingers with hers and squeezed gently. “Fortran et haec olim meminisse…” “Juvabit.” Louisa finished the half-whispered quote. Aeneas, trying to instill fortitude in his men, suggesting that some day it might cause a smile to recall even moments such as this. Sir Joseph squeezed her fingers again, the shock of it warring with pleasure. Nobody attempted to offer Louisa comfort or reassurance after one of her social missteps. Her family would rally in their way, but to cover up her mistakes, not to console her for them. Joseph Carrington, without a single word, offered consolation and understanding. Before Louisa could acknowledge his kindness, the moment was over, his hand gone, and the lovely warmth easing through Louisa’s middle her only proof the exchange had occurred.

This is not what I had planned for dessert, Louisa Windham.” Sir Joseph murmured the words near Louisa’s ear, though she was too enchanted with the feel of his weight above her to argue. “I’ve never wrestled with a grown man before.” “You had the element of surprise to aid you. When you are my wife, I will not be so easily subdued as to end up on my own hearth rug, regardless of the astonishing pleasures to be found there.” Louisa concluded she’d subdued him thoroughly, for he did not move off her where she lay on that rug. “Joseph, did you just use your tongue—?” “I’m tasting you, seeing if you savor of the Christmassy scent you’ve teased my nose with on so many occasions.” His voice had taken on a purring quality, the sound of it curling straight down beneath Louisa’s belly to places low and sweet. “I believe I will enjoy being married to you, sir.” “Hush.” He traced the curve of her ear with his nose, which made her shiver wonderfully. “I’m wrestling with my conscience—and, madam, I intend to emerge victorious from at least one struggle this evening—though be assured you shall enjoy certain parts of being married to me a great deal.” “One hoped that would be the—oh, Joseph…” He’d shifted, wedged his body more tightly into hers so she could feel his arousal. “The lady falls silent. Surely, the season of miracles is upon us.” Louisa

Your Grace, need I remind you that dueling is illegal?” Joseph kept his voice down, though Grattingly had yet to arrive, and the corner of Hyde Park the Duke of Moreland had found his way to was very secluded. “Illegal, is it? What a pity. The pleasures of leaving one’s duchess and one’s cozy bed in the dark of night and freezing one’s parts off aren’t to be missed. You look passably rested, Carrington.” “I am.” Joseph climbed off his horse, gratified to feel not a twinge of stiffness in his leg, even in the chill of a wintry dawn. If he survived the morning, he’d make it a point to linger half naked with his lady on hearth rugs before roaring fires often and at length. “Listen,

I must be honest with you too, Husband.” “I would prefer it.” “I am not in a position to consummate our vows tonight.” He felt surprise and disappointment, and for an instant considered that for all her affection and pragmatism, all her passion on his hearth rug several nights past, Louisa was consigning them to a white marriage. Except… her passion had been honest. Her rejoicing in his coming through the duel unscathed had been honest. The smiles she’d sent him across the hordes of wedding guests in the Moreland ballroom had been blazingly honest. “Why can’t you consummate our vows, Louisa?” Now she withdrew her hands from his leg, his no-longer-throbbing leg. The horses slowed to a walk. “Louisa?” She mashed her face against his throat, and against his skin, her cheek felt unnaturally hot. “…Dratted… Blighted… female… Next week.” Joseph blinked in the darkness. He had been married before. For several long, unhappy years, in fact, but in that odd moment with Louisa tucked close to him in the darkness, those years of marriage enabled him to decipher her meaning and her problem. He gathered her close and kissed her cheek, when what he wanted to do was laugh—at fate, at his worst imaginings, even a little at his wife’s muttered indignation over nature’s timing. “Next week is not so very far away, Louisa Carrington, and I promise to make the wait worth your while.” She lifted her head, a challenge glinting in her green eyes. “And yours too, Sir Joseph. I promise you that.” And then they did laugh—together. ***

Louisa watched her husband shave. He was careful, methodical, and efficient as he scraped dark whiskers from his face. He kept a mug—not a cup—of tea at his elbow throughout this masculine ritual, shaving around his mouth first so he might sip at his tea. “You missed a spot on your jaw, Husband.” Husband. Her very own husband. He turned, flecks of lather dotting his visage, and held his razor out to her. Not quite a challenge, but something more than an invitation. The moment called for a shaving sonnet. Louisa set her tea aside—tea Joseph had prepared for her—and climbed off the bed. She took the razor from him and eyed his jaw. “Were you trying to spare my sensibilities last night?” “You were indisposed.” They both fell silent while Louisa scraped the last of the whiskers from Joseph’s cheek. She appropriated the towel he’d draped over his shoulder and wiped his face clean. “I know I was indisposed, but you blew out all the candles before you undressed. I’ve seen naked men before.” She’d never slept with one wrapped around her, though. Such an arrangement was… cozy, and inclined one toward loquaciousness. “You’ve seen naked men?” There was something too casual in Joseph’s question. Louisa set the razor down and stepped back. “Growing up, there was always a brother or two to spy on, and I think they didn’t mind being spied on so very much, or they wouldn’t have been quite as loud when they went swimming. I attend every exhibition the Royal Society puts on, and the Moreland library is quite well stocked.” He kissed her, and by virtue of his mouth on hers, Louisa understood that her husband was smiling at her pronouncements. He gave her a deucedly businesslike kiss though, over in a moment. As Louisa lingered in her husband’s arms, sneaking a whiff of the lavender soap scent of his skin, she wondered if married kisses were different from the courting kind. “I have married a fearlessly naughty woman,” Joseph said, stroking a hand down her braid. “And to think I was concerned that I was imposing by asking you to share my bed last night.” “You needn’t be gallant. I talked your ears off.” And he’d listened. He hadn’t fallen asleep, hadn’t patted her arm and rolled over, hadn’t let her know in unsubtle ways that the day had been quite long enough, thank you very much.

If you stay in there any longer, the water will be cold, and so will you, Husband. I am not inclined to share a bed with a block of ice.” He remained leaning back against the rim, eyes closed. “Maybe cold water is a good idea, Louisa. Next week isn’t here yet.” “Next week…?” She paused in the middle of folding his clothes into a tidy pile. “What does next week…? Oh.” He rose from the water, climbed out, and stood dripping on the bricks before the hearth. “Next week, when I swive you until we’re neither of us able to walk.” He faced the fire, so Louisa had a marvelous opportunity to admire the wet musculature of his back, legs, and yes, of his taut male fundament. She would not be able to walk? “Surely, you exaggerate.” Or did he? He glanced over his shoulder, as if to make sure he had her attention, then turned to face her. He had not exaggerated. With firelight limning his wet skin in rosy gold, Joseph stood six feet away from Louisa in a condition clearly conducive to procreation. She’d read about this, but nothing in any language could have prepared her for the sudden galloping of her heart at the sight of her unclad, aroused husband. “You need to see what you married, Louisa. The flesh is willing but far from perfect.” He

You would like a large family, Louisa? You want lots of babies of me? They’ll grow up, you know, and turn into shrieking, banister-sliding, pony-grubbing little people, all of whom must have shoes and books and puppies. They’ll eat like a regiment and have no thought for their clothes—which they’ll grow out of before the maids can turn the first hem. They’ll skin their knees, break their collarbones, and lose their dolls. Do you know what a trauma ensues when a six-year-old female loses her doll? I have a spare version of Missus Whatever-Hampton Her Damned Name Is, but Amanda found her and said a spare would never do, because the perishing thing didn’t smell right—you find this amusing?” “I find you endearing.” His brows came down. “I will never understand the female mind.” “I

Before Joseph’s eyes, Louisa’s confidence crumbled. Defending her husband’s decisions in Spain, she’d been magnificent, assured, and unfaltering. One mention of her literary talent, and she wilted like a tender plant in a frost. And that, Sir Joseph would not permit. “A devoted knight offers to his lady the most beautiful verse he can find,” Joseph said. “‘How do I learn the number of kisses needed to satisfy my longing for you?’” Louisa’s head came up. Shock registered in her gorgeous green eyes. “Joseph? You know?” He wanted to declaim the entire poem, the entire volume of poetry, but settled for one more line: “‘So many kisses that no intruding eye could count them, nor any gossiping tongue accurately fix their total, much less their precious worth to me.’” “Joseph, you know? You knew?

Arise, Knight,” she said, beaming down at her husband, “lest thy riding breeches get soaked and thy wife take thee to task before these good people.” “Can’t have that,” St. Just said, boosting Joseph to his feet. “Happy wife, happy life.” “Esther, I swear I never told the boy such a thing,” the duke began, but he was smiling and so was the duchess. “No, Percy, that advice came from me.” The

Life – and love – are much like a storm. The clouds, the wind, the rain may make it impossible for you to see a clear path to your fated destination, but with time and a lot of faith, you will find the correct path once more – or a better path, one that could not be seen before the storm made it visible.

Kiss under the kissing bough and a lady is guaranteed to be wed before the following Christmastide.

At the knock on the door, Bronwyn sucked in her breath and steadied herself before exhaling.

Blast it, what are those idiots doing to the poor girl?” “What’s that?” Silverton asked. “Amelia is clearly feeling the heat,” he growled, “and yet those bounders clustered around her are barely giving her room to breathe. Broadmore still hasn’t fetched the poor girl a cool drink, either.” “Hmm, she does look rather overcome, doesn’t she?” Silverton cut him a sideways glance. “You should do something about it. It’ll give you the perfect opportunity to play knight in shining armor.” “Dash to the rescue again,” Nigel retorted. “How very predictable of me.” His friend unleashed a taunting grin. “But you do it so well, old man.” “Bugger you,” Nigel tossed over his shoulder before pushing his way through the crowd. Silverton’s mocking laugh followed him. Even

IT WAS CHRISTMAS night, the eve of the Boxing Day Meet. You must remember that this was in the old Merry England of Gramarye, when the rosy barons ate with their fingers, and had peacocks served before them with all their tail feathers streaming, or boars’ heads with the tusks stuck in again—when there was no unemployment because there were too few people to be unemployed—when the forests rang with knights walloping each other on the helm, and the unicorns in the wintry moonlight stamped with their silver feet and snorted their noble breaths of blue upon the frozen air. Such marvels were great and comfortable ones. But in the Old England there was a greater marvel still. The weather behaved itself. In the spring, the little flowers came out obediently in the meads, and the dew sparkled, and the birds sang. In the summer it was beautifully hot for no less than four months, and, if it did rain just enough for agricultural purposes, they managed to arrange it so that it rained while you were in bed. In the autumn the leaves flamed and rattled before the west winds, tempering their sad adieu with glory. And in the winter, which was confined by statute to two months, the snow lay evenly, three feet thick, but never turned into slush.

bowl. Add dry ingredients and combine on low mixer speed just until blended. Turn mixer to high speed for about 3 minutes. Fold in optional walnuts and/or raisins by hand. Pour batter into pans and bake. Plan on about 30–35 minutes for 9-inch layers and a bit longer for 8-inch layers; 50 to 60 minutes for a rectangular pan. A toothpick or tip of a sharp knife inserted into the center of the cake should come out clean. When the cake is cool, frost with maple frosting or cream-cheese frosting. MAPLE FROSTING 4 tablespoons butter (preferably unsalted) ¼ to cup pure maple syrup 1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract 2½ cups confectioner’s sugar 2 to 3 tablespoons milk (preferably whole) Blend together butter, syrup, vanilla and about a third of the sugar. Alternate milk and sugar. Use as much milk as needed for consistency. If necessary, refrigerate cake before serving to set frosting. CREAM CHEESE FROSTING 8 oz. cream cheese, softened (preferably full fat)

4 tablespoons unsalted butter, softened 2½ to 3 cups confectioner’s sugar 1 teaspoon vanilla (or a bit more to taste) Blend together cream cheese and butter with enough confectioner’s sugar for good spreading consistency. Stir in vanilla. Refrigerate frosted cake before serving.

The tiny cottage, far out on the highway from any town, was a cheap place to live. In the little plot of land about it, Fadden grew a stock of vegetables. He had a flock of chickens, several ducks, and a goose “fattening for Christmas”. This last was their largest and most lasting joke. Some years before, Fadden had traded a dozen early hen eggs for one tiny gosling. Carefully, he had raised it, boasting about what a fine plump bird it would be by Christmas time. It had become just that – marvellous and plump. And a few days before the holiday of holidays, Fadden had taken his hatchet, and he had sat indoors a long time, regarding it. Finally his wife, understanding, had looked up patiently. “Dan,” she said. “I just don’t think I’d favour goose this year. If you did a chicken instead – and—” “Aye, Dally,” Fadden had said. “It would be a tarrible waste – one big goose for just the two on us. Now a chicken would be just right—” And so the goose was spared.