Free A Christmas Bride by Jo Ann Ferguson

not fritter away your ladylike airs on me. Save them for Grandfather.”
    â€œTimothy, what is wrong?” she asked, tightening her hold on his arm to keep him from walking away. “Did something happen while I was resting?”
    â€œYes, my grandfather swallowed the whole of this clanker.”
    She dampened her lips, then whispered, “If you want to have that brangle now that will put an end to the betrothal, you need only say so.”
    â€œAnd what would you do then? You have not recalled anything of where you have been living, I assume.”
    â€œNothing.”
    His hand curved along her cheek as he smiled sadly. “It seems we both are captives of our own machinations.” His hand dropped away. “Shall we?”
    â€œYes.” She hesitated, then said, “Timothy, I do not mind if you blame any mistakes I make on my uneven memory after the accident.”
    â€œI would prefer not to make your misfortune my good fortune.”
    â€œWe shall need all the good luck we can find.”
    He put his hand over hers on his arm. “Sweetheart, for once we are in utter agreement.”
    As before, the endearment sent a warm flush through her. Telling herself not to be ridiculous, for she realized he had spoken thusly because they were within earshot of those within the parlor ahead of them, she could not keep from imagining how wondrous it would be to have a handsome man like Timothy Crawford addressing her like that with complete sincerity.
    Serenity had no time to do more than form that thought, because Timothy drew her into the room, which was decorated with oak throughout. Pottery that she recognized as being from the Far East, although she had no idea how she knew that, was scattered over every surface. Blue and white mixed with jade, each fanciful figure capturing and holding the light from the brass chandelier that hung from a medallion in the very center of the ceiling.
    â€œHow beautiful!” she said with a gasp. “That female temple lion is exquisitely carved.”
    Lord Brookindale came forward with a glass of wine, which he offered her. As she took it, he asked, “Do you assume that the sculpture is female because of the filigree of curls in the mane?”
    â€œNo,” she said, releasing Timothy’s arm and squatting to point at the small creature beneath the lion’s raised paw. “See the cub there? That means the statue is meant to depict a female. A male usually has an orb beneath his claws.”
    â€œYou did not tell me, Timothy,” the earl said with a smile, “that Miss Adams was so expert in Chinese art.”
    â€œMayhap not, but I did mention, I assume, that I have found her to be a constant surprise.” He held his hand out to her.
    Serenity hoped she had not spoken foolishly. Letting Timothy bring her back to her feet, she started to whisper that question to him. He warned her to silence with the slightest shake of his head.
    â€œI don’t know,” she murmured when, as his grandfather turned away to go into the elegant dining room she could see through the arched door, Timothy asked her how she had known about the lions. “These tantalizing bits of memory appear, but nothing that will help me know the truth about—” She clamped her lips closed as a familiar laugh sounded from just behind her.
    â€œGood evening, Timothy, Serenity.” Felix bowed his head toward each of them.
    â€œGood evening,” she replied, but glanced at the woman beside him, her hand possessively gripping his arm. She was tall and slender, with lush curls that were only a shade darker than Timothy’s blond hair. Although her nose might be a bit too long for the dictates of society, she was an elegant woman in her gown of flawless white.
    â€œSerenity,” Timothy said quietly, “allow me to introduce Miss Melanda Hayes.”
    Before Serenity could react to the name that had brought a grimace from the