Free Christmas By Candlelight: Two Regency Holiday Novellas by Andrea Pickens Page A

icholas sent the coachman to fetch the horses, so he would have a chance to speak to Anna alone. As he slipped through the entrance to the abbey, he noted that the letter was still in her hand.
    “There’s been a slight change in plans—I hope you don’t mind.” He could feel that his smile was slightly lopsided. So were his nerves. The beating of his heart had knocked them all to flinders. “I found I could not bear the idea of leaving you alone on Christmas.” His feet shuffled in the snow. “Or on any day, for that matter. That is to say, the idea of a future with you. . . and me. . . together. . .”
    He cleared his throat. “Dash it all, for a diplomat supposedly skilled in the nuances of language, I am making a real hash of this.”
    Anna let out her breath. “I think you are doing just fine.” She smiled “Please go on.”
    Encouraged, he pulled her into his arms. “Then I shall stop beating around the bush. I love you, Anna. More dearly than words can ever express.” He feathered a gossamer kiss to her brow, her cheek, and then possessed her moth in a far more through one.
    It was several minutes before he spoke again. “Will you marry me, sweeting? You have hinted that your guardian has other plans for you. And as a matter of fact, my father wishes for me to— well, never mind. It doesn’t matter now.” His arms tightened around her. “To the Devil with the expectations of others. We have been given a great gift in finding each other, one too precious to let be taken from our grasp.”
    Tears, like ice jewels, sparkled on her cheek. “I love you, Nicholas. I wish with all my heart to be your wife.” Her chin took on the defiant little tilt he had come to adore. “And if my guardian seeks to make an international incident—”
    “Leave the negotiations to me, my dear, said Nicholas firmly. “I will take care that our two countries do not come to blows.”

Chapter 6
    “ Y ou are late .”
    “Yes, well, I ran into a spot of difficulty.” Biting back a more acid comment to his father, Nicholas settled for a retort that was only mildly sarcastic. “Next time you wish to summon me during the depths of December, kindly negotiate a truce with the weather gods so they don’t interfere with your plans.”
    “Hmmph.” Without looking up, the Earl of Royster opened another portfolio and fanned the contents across his blotter. “Was that, perchance, meant as a criticism?”
    “With all due respect, sir. . .”
    His father shuffled a sheaf of documents into order.
    “Yes,” replied Nicholas loudly. “It bloody well was.”
    The earl put down his pen. And let out a chuckle. “That was not the most diplomatic of replies.”
    “I was not speaking as a diplomat.” Nicholas did, however, moderate his tone to something less than a shout. “Sir.”
    Leaning back in his chair, Royster quirked a silvery brow and fixed his son with The Stare. It was a look the earl had perfected over the years, using it with ruthless regularity to reduce friend and foe alike to quaking in their boots.
    Unmoved for once, Nicholas simply stared back.
    “Well, well, well. It appears you have a bit of fire in your belly after all.” Steepling his fingers, the earl tapped them against his chin. “I was beginning to wonder whether there was any sort of spark there, or merely a lump of ice.”
    “I was under the impression that you considered cold reason to be the cornerstone of duty and diplomacy.”
    “So I do.” The corners of his father’s mouth twitched ever so slightly. “But that is not to say one must always be a Stoic. There is nothing wrong with showing a bit of passion from time to time.”
    “I am very glad to hear you say so sir.” Like his Christmas journey, the conversation was taking all sorts of unexpected twists and turns, but Nicholas refused to be sidetracked. “For that surely means you can have no objection to my telling you I’ve decided not to pay court to some stranger.”
    The humor