One Candlelit Christmas Read online

  Acclaim for the authors of

  ONE CANDLELIT CHRISTMAS

  Julia Justiss

  The Untamed Heiress

  “Justiss rivals Georgette Heyer in the beloved The Grand Sophy by creating a riveting young woman of character and good humor…. The horrific nature of Helena’s childhood adds complexity and depth to this historical romance, and unexpected plot twists and layers also increase the reader’s enjoyment.”

  —Booklist

  My Lady’s Honor

  “Julia Justiss has a knack for conveying emotional intensity and longing.”

  —All About Romance

  Annie Burrows

  “Annie Burrows is an exceptional writer of historical romance who sprinkles her stories with unforgettable characters, terrific period detail, and wicked repartee.”

  —CataRomance

  Terri Brisbin

  Surrender to the Highlander

  “Rich in historical detail, laced with the perfect amount of passion, Ms. Brisbin continually delivers highly satisfying romances. Don’t miss it.”

  —Romance Reviews Today

  The Duchess’s Next Husband

  “Brisbin offers a novel of manners with high sexual tension and just the right Regency flavor.”

  —Romantic Times BOOKreviews

  JULIA JUSTISS

  wrote her first plot ideas for a Nancy Drew novel in the back of her third-grade spiral and has been writing ever since. After such journalistic adventures as publishing poetry, composing the wording on the envelope enclosing the death benefit check for an insurance company and editing an American embassy newsletter, she returned to her first love, writing fiction. Her Regency historical novels have been winners or finalists in the Romance Writers of America’s Golden Heart™, Romantic Times BOOKreviews magazine’s Best Historical Fiction, Golden Quill, National Readers’ Choice and Daphne du Maurier contests. She lives with her husband, three children and two dogs in rural east Texas, where she also teaches high school French. For current news and contests, please visit her Web site, www.juliajustiss.com.

  ANNIE BURROWS

  has been making up stories for her own amusement since she first went to school. As soon as she got the hang of using a pencil she began to write them down. Her love of books meant she had to do a degree in English literature. And her love of writing meant she could never take on a job where she didn’t have time to jot down notes when inspiration for a new plot struck her. She still wants the heroines of her stories to wear beautiful floaty dresses, and triumph over all that life can throw at them. But when she got married she discovered that finding a hero is an essential ingredient to arriving at “happy ever after.” Please visit her Web site at www.annie-burrows.co.uk.

  TERRI BRISBIN

  is wife to one, mother of three and dental hygienist to hundreds when not living the life of a glamorous romance author. She was born, raised and is still living in the southern New Jersey suburbs. Terri’s love of history led her to write time-travel romances and historicals set in Scotland and England. Readers are invited to visit her Web site for more information at www.terribrisbin.com, or contact her at P.O. Box 41, Berlin, NJ 08009-0041.

  JULIA JUSTISS

  ANNIE BURROWS

  TERRI BRISBIN

  ONE CANDLELIT Christmas

  TORONTO • NEW YORK • LONDON

  AMSTERDAM • PARIS • SYDNEY • HAMBURG

  STOCKHOLM • ATHENS • TOKYO • MILAN • MADRID

  PRAGUE • WARSAW • BUDAPEST • AUCKLAND

  CONTENTS

  CHRISTMAS WEDDING WISH

  Julia Justiss

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  THE RAKE’S SECRET SON

  Annie Burrows

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  BLAME IT ON THE MISTLETOE

  Terri Brisbin

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  CHRISTMAS WEDDING WISH

  Julia Justiss

  Dear Reader,

  Christmas is by far my favorite holiday, and for me the heart of it is family. Especially now as my children have grown and gone off to college and jobs, having everyone home together to share meals and fun and laughter is the highlight of the season. So when I began to craft a Christmas story, my thoughts immediately returned to the Wellingfords, the family about whom I have written off and on since my very first book, The Wedding Gamble.

  After her older sister Sarah’s marriage, second-eldest sister Meredyth took over Sarah’s role as chatelaine and protector of the Wellingford estate and family. When her beloved fiancé was killed in India, she resigned herself to spending the rest of her life as competent manager, devoted sister and doting aunt.

  As the story opens, while joyously welcoming her sisters and their children to a Christmas celebration at Wellingford, she cannot suppress a secret, bitter envy that they have husbands to love and children of their own. Then her brother Colton returns from Oxford with his best friend Thomas—accompanied by Thomas’s elder brother Allen. Though two years younger than she, the mesmerizing Allen Mansfell begins to make Meredyth doubt whether her heart and her senses have been entombed forever. But could this fascinating younger man truly be interested in her?

  I hope you will enjoy watching Meredyth’s awakening to all the possibilities of love and joy inherent in the Christmas season.

  Julia

  To my family, Ronnie, Mark, Catherine and Matt,

  who bring me joy at Christmas and always

  Chapter One

  ‘Merry! Merry, they’re here! Come quickly!’

  From the dining room, where she was supervising the footmen placing another leaf in the long table, Meredyth Wellingford heard her younger sister’s urgent voice summoning her to the entrance hall. ‘Coming, Faith!’ she called.

  A lilt in her step, Meredyth smiled as she walked to the front hall. How she loved the Christmas holidays! The scent of greenery adorning stairs and mantels mingling with the spicy tang of simmering wassail and the mouthwatering smell of roasting meat; mistletoe kissing balls and sharp-edged holly; carols sung around the hearth before the blazing Yule log. But especially she loved having her family at home—the siblings gathered once again under the Wellingford roof, as they had been for all their years growing up.

  The first to arrive should be her younger brother Colton, returning from Oxford with his best friend Thomas Mansfell. Since Wellingford was on the way from university to his friend’s home farther north, Thomas was a frequent visitor, normally spending a few days with them each time the boys made their way to and from college.

  Just as Meredyth met her sister in the entrance hall they heard boots tramping up the front steps, followed by a sharp rap at the wide front door that Twilling, their old butler, hastened to throw open.

  ‘Faith! Merry!’ Colton cried, sweeping them into a hug as they ran to greet him. ‘How good it is to be home!’

  ‘How good it is to have you,’ Merry replied, an ache in her heart as she stepped back to inspect the youngest member of the Wellingford cl
an. With their mother having never really recovered after his birth, Meredyth and her older sister Sarah had tutored and cared for Colton all his life before he left for school. In place of the smiling, eager boy she’d sent away to Eton now stood a young man taller than she was, his burnished brown locks highlighted with gold, his blue eyes glowing. Her little brother was becoming a handsome young man, Meredyth realised with a shock.

  ‘The hall certainly looks festive,’ another masculine voice said, pulling her from her contemplation of Colton.

  ‘Thank you, Thomas, and welcome,’ she said, turning her attention to her brother’s friend. ‘You are planning to stay for a few days before journeying home, I hope? I’ve had your usual room prepared.’

  ‘Oh, yes—do say you’ll be staying!’ Faith interposed. ‘It is so agreeable to see you again.’

  ‘Good to see you too, brat,’ Thomas replied, giving one of Faith’s gold curls a careless tug before turning back to Meredyth. ‘I should love to rest here for a few days before returning to the rigours of Christmas at the Grange. And I hope you don’t mind, but I took the liberty of telling my brother Allen that he could stay here as well. He arrived from London to join us on the trip north just as Colton and I were leaving Oxford.’

  ‘Of course he’s welcome,’ Merydth replied. ‘You’ve spoken of him so often, although we’ve never met, that I feel I know him already.’ Indeed, over the years Thomas had frequently recounted the exploits of the older brother he admired—his prowess at riding and fencing, his service as a dashing young subaltern carrying messages for Wellington during the Waterloo campaign, the expertise with which he’d taken over the management of the family estates.

  Thomas grinned. ‘I’m glad! It would have been most embarrassing to have to send him on his way alone! He stopped to see about the horses—but here he is now.’ He gestured to the tall, dark-haired gentleman, whom Twilling was just admitting into the hallway.

  ‘Ladies, may I present my brother Allen? Allen, here are Merry and Faith Wellingford—two of Colton’s sisters.’

  ‘Miss Faith, Miss Wellingford—a pleasure!’ the newcomer said, bowing over their hands in turn. Addressing Meredyth, he added, ‘I’ve heard so much about Wellingford from Thomas. I’m delighted to visit at last—if you are certain, as he insisted, that having an extra guest foisted upon you without notice won’t be an inconvenience.’

  As the gentleman straightened, Meredyth barely suppressed a gasp. Unlike her fledgling brother, Allen Mansfell was a man already fully mature—and a strikingly handsome one. Though Meredyth was tall for a lady, the visitor towered over her. Sable brown locks brushed the forehead of his square-jawed, slightly smiling face, while eyes of an arresting green captured her gaze, making her feel for an instant as if the two of them were the only occupants of the hall.

  A little disconcerted, she dropped her eyes, letting her appreciative gaze travel from his broad shoulders down a trim torso to muscled thighs, well displayed by his chamois riding breeches. When, cheeks pinkening, she forced her eyes back up to his, a tingle of attraction sizzled through her, stronger than anything she’d felt since the death of her fiancé James, a heartbreak ago.

  Shaking her head, she tried to regather her wits. ‘If you’ve listened to what Thomas says about me, I’m surprised you dared venture to the house.’

  He laughed, that disturbing, shiver-inducing stare still fixed on her. ‘I assure you, everything he recounted was most complimentary.’

  ‘I hope you left us some decorating to do,’ Colton said, glancing around the garland-hung hall. ‘After being cooped up with musty old books for a term, Thomas and I are keen to ride about the countryside.’

  ‘Faith and I began with the hall, but we haven’t progressed much further. We shall have need of you gentlemen to fetch more pine, holly and mistletoe. I thought we’d leave some of the gathering until Sarah, Elizabeth and Clare arrive with their clans. Riding out with you should amuse the children.’

  Colton grinned at her. ‘That’s Merry—already managing everyone and half the group aren’t even here yet.’

  ‘She is an excellent manager,’ Thomas pointed out. ‘Viewing Wellingford now, Allen, you cannot imagine what it looked like when I first visited here! The manor in disrepair, cottages falling into ruin, fields lying fallow. Merry’s done a wonderful job of refurbishing the house and farms and seeing the land brought back under cultivation.’

  Were Thomas not almost as close to her as a sibling, Meredyth might have been embarrassed by his bald description of the sorry condition of Wellingford at the time of their father’s death. As it was, knowing that via Thomas his brother Allen would be fully aware of how badly their gamester father had neglected Colton’s inheritance, she felt no need to explain or apologise. ‘Time, a competent estate agent and an influx of funds can accomplish a great deal,’ she replied.

  ‘Having wrestled with the upkeep of my own papa’s properties, Miss Wellingford, I am well aware that it takes much more than those to keep a property in good heart,’ Allan said. ‘The land and farms we rode through looked exemplary, and this house is lovely. Your hard work is quite evident.’

  ‘Oh, indeed!’ Colton interposed. ‘Merry is so excellent a manager I believe I shall keep her on when I marry and return to Wellingford for good.’

  ‘I doubt your bride would care for such an arrangement,’ Meredyth replied tartly, feeling her face heat. She knew that Colton, with the blunt insensitivity of a young man didn’t realise he’d just branded her as his spinster sister, well and truly on the shelf. Which, of course, she was—but it was not a fact she appreciated his pointing out in front of the very attractive Mr Mansfell.

  Though some eight years senior to the seventeen-year-old Thomas, Allen Mansfell was still two years younger than she. Her discomfort intensified by that lowering thought, Meredyth told herself sternly that she must get over the unseemly sensual response he’d sparked in her.

  Noting from her expression that her sister was piqued at being left out of the conversation—and conscious of a sudden need to escape Allen Mansfell’s too-compelling presence—Meredyth said, ‘Faith, why don’t you take our guests into the front parlour? I’ll have Twilling bring in some spiced wine while I see about preparing a room.’

  Turning to Mr Mansfell, she added, ‘I’ll have your chamber ready shortly. If there is anything I can do to make your stay at Wellingford more comfortable, please don’t hesitate to ask.’

  To her surprise, Allen took her hand and bowed over it. ‘I’m sure you will make me comfortable indeed,’ he murmured, the warmth of his voice and the heat of his gloved hand sending another little shock through her.

  Hastily withdrawing her tingling fingers, Meredyth curtseyed and turned away, acutely conscious of his gaze upon her back as she ascended the stairs.

  Escaping from his view down the hall, Meredyth proceeded to the guest wing to inspect the room she meant to assign Allen, wishing to determine if anything more than fresh linens would be needed. As her gaze lingered on the large high bed, she recalled Mr Mansfell’s velvet-voiced remark about how comfortable she would make him. A surprisingly intense flush of heat suffused her body.

  She was being ridiculous, attributing to his idle remark an innuendo a gentleman would never direct towards a gently born spinster. It was bad enough that she’d blushed like a schoolgirl under his gaze. She’d best get hold of herself around him before she did something that alerted him to the effect he had upon her. The thought of him realising it and reacting with distaste—or, even worse, pity—was too humiliating to contemplate.

  Fortunately he would only be at Wellingford for a few days. With the rest of the family arriving at any time now, she’d be too busy overseeing meals, lodgings and entertainment for her sisters, their spouses and their children to reflect on the mesmerising effect of a pair of vivid green eyes, or the quivering in her belly produced by a handsome face and a virile physique.

  It wasn’t as if she’d encountered no attractive men in
the years since her engagement had ended. What was it about Allen Mansfell that sparked her body to a sensual awareness she’d thought submerged for good after James’s death?

  The dull ache that had replaced the first searing pain of losing her fiancé throbbed in her chest. Swallowing hard, she drifted to the window, staring sightlessly down at the winter garden as the memories overtook her.

  How in love they’d been! How vividly she recalled the excitement of kissing him—the way she’d felt as if she were melting from the inside out when his tongue caressed hers and his strong hands fondled her breasts. Not for the first time she regretted the sense of honour and responsibility that had made them curtail those thrilling explorations short of complete fulfilment.

  They’d have all the time in the world to enjoy each other when he returned from his posting in India, James had promised as he gently pushed her away. Drawing a finger over her kiss-swollen lips, he’d pledged to pleasure every inch of her once she was his bride, when they need no longer fear that their joining might create a child.

  That last night before he’d left she’d been tempted—oh, so tempted—to draw him back into her embrace, to rub her breasts against his chest, fit her body around the hardness in his breeches and coax his lips open, touching and teasing until his control broke and he took her then and there down the path to ecstasy. Only the knowledge that conceiving his child would mean disaster had stopped her.

  Faced now with the probability that she’d never bear a child of her own, she wasn’t so sure she’d made the right choice.

  It wasn’t that she’d set her face against marriage. Of course for the first year or so after losing James she’d not thought it possible she would ever wish to wed anyone else, but time had worn away that certainty as it had muted her grief. In the intervening years the necessity of remaining at Wellingford to tend her dying mother, followed by a succession of other needs and duties, had kept her here, far from the ballrooms of London where she might have found another love.