Free A Pirate for Christmas: A Regency Novella by Anna Campbell

believe it, but she always behaves perfectly when she’s in the nativity play. Well, apart from two years ago when she ate Mrs. Pickering’s new bonnet. And a couple of years before that when she butted the Bishop of Durham. But nobody likes him so that was almost a public service.”
    Channing laughed while Daisy’s long ears flickered as if she followed each word of the discussion. Perhaps she did. After riding her in ten processions, Bess had developed a healthy respect for the donkey’s intelligence, as well as will to mischief. Although as she’d told Channing, Daisy usually cooperated for the Christmas celebrations. She liked the music.
    “I could put you on Sparta, my horse.”
    Despite her confused and disturbing feelings, Bess gave a short laugh. “That black monster in the next stall? He’s three times Daisy’s size.”
    “And ten times better behaved.”
    “Mary didn’t ride into Bethlehem on a thoroughbred horse. If she had, I’m sure the innkeeper would have made room for her—even if he had to boot out a guest with less aristocratic transport.”
    Channing eyed her with curiosity. “I’m convinced you’re a revolutionary, Miss Farrar.”
    Sighing, she gave up any attempt to save the ribbons. “Me?”
    “Aye. You have devilish little respect for rank. I’ve even seen you push an earl around.”
    Oh, no. She was right to worry. He really did think she was too managing. No wonder he hadn’t kissed her again. “I’m sorry, my lord.”
    He looked startled. “I’m only teasing. No need to poker up.”
    Channing spoke lightly, but that didn’t mean his criticism wasn’t sincere. She lowered her head and answered with uncharacteristic meekness. “How you must curse me. I’ve done nothing but lay down the law. I mean well, but I’m so used to being in charge that I forget other people might have plans of their own.”
    “I do.”
    “Forget other people have their own ideas?”
    He smiled and opened the gate. “No, I have plans. Lots of them. Now come and have something to eat. Overwork is turning you maudlin.”
    Bess dredged up an answering smile, although his kindness only reminded her how much she liked him. She didn’t want Lord Channing deciding she was unpleasantly bumptious. She wanted him still to think she was the prettiest girl in the village, silly and shallow as that made her. “At least you must appreciate the cook I found you. Mrs. Hallam is a treasure.”
    He regarded her searchingly as he stood back to let her out. “I appreciate everything you’ve done. You and the villagers have made Penton Abbey into a home a man can be proud of. And you’ve all worked yourselves to the bone to achieve it.”
    After latching the gate, he patted Daisy in farewell. The donkey’s eyes closed in bliss. For Channing, she almost behaved like a civilized creature. Everybody liked the new earl.
    Including Bess.
    “You’re paying them.”
    He shrugged. “They’ve done this for more than wages. They’ve done it for love. And so have you.”
    Heat stung Bess’s cheeks. Oh, Lord. Was she so transparent? How vilely humiliating. Was that why he hadn’t kissed her? Because he saw how utterly gooey-eyed she was over him? “We want you to feel welcome,” she said awkwardly.
    “I do. I’m even starting to love the old place the way you obviously do.”
    Such powerful relief flooded her that her head swam. He was talking about her love for the house, not her barely controlled penchant for him. “I’m glad.”
    Channing took her arm the way he usually did. At first she’d wondered if this was a sign of special favor. But as he never went beyond a polite escort, she’d since realized it meant nothing more than a friendly gesture. But that didn’t stop her foolish heart turning somersaults at the touch of his hand.
    “I’ve never really had a home before.”
    Deliberately Bess slowed to a stop. She was agonizingly curious about his life before he arrived at Penton Wyck. “Not even as