Holiday for Two (a duet of Christmas novellas) Read Online Free PDF Page A

he couldn’t help but laugh. “All right. We’re both fish out of water, to use another aphorism. I suppose we should make the best of it.”
    “Stiff upper lip and all that.”
    When she looked at him with that mischievous expression, he decided she was rather cute. Not a haughty beauty like Alice, who had been born to land on the Frontispiece page of Country Life . And had, when their engagement had been announced.
    “I shall do my best to salvage the reputation of the United Kingdom, Miss Moore. I’ve been a bit of a prat, haven’t I?”
    “I’m not sure what a prat is,” Miss Moore said, “but it sounds about right. And you should call me Carrie. If you don’t mind, I don’t think I can Lord Archer you all night, either. Is it okay if I call you Griffin? I won’t get beheaded for my lack of etiquette?”
    “Alas, my sword is in my other suitcase.” Griffin had not brought much with him—he was supposed to drive back to Boston the day after Christmas, much to Aunt Rosemary’s dismay. He hadn’t wanted to come up at all, feeling as unfestive as he did.
    “As long as you have your knife and don’t decide to use it on me, just the pate and cheese.”
    Griffin’s stomach rumbled. “All right. Let’s get this party started.”
    He left Miss Moore—Carrie—to organize the food and fought his way to his car in the driveway. The snow had drifted halfway up the doors, and it was a struggle to open the boot and get his beat-up leather weekend bag. He might have time to go over the Boylston Street reno contracts tonight, and he’d have a change of clothing for tomorrow. Fingers crossed they would just be able to slip across the road—not literally, he hoped—get on the morning ferry and put this wretched incident behind them before the authorities pounced.
    Griffin supposed he’d try to sleep later in the clothes he was wearing. It would be awkward to don pajamas in front of a perfect stranger, not that he had any with him. He usually slept in the buff and had counted on the privacy his aunt’s summer home was to afford him. With all those bedrooms and en suite bathrooms, he would be unlikely to be disturbed in his natural state.
    Where would he sleep? The plaid blanket on hard concrete was not at all appealing. Maybe Carrie had a point—the car might be his only chance at getting any rest.
    Griffin stamped his feet and shook the snow from his hair upon entering the carriage house. This time he’d taken the precaution of folding his glasses and leaving them behind on the windowsill. When he put them on, he saw paper plates were set at opposite ends of the blanket, with a small but choice variety of food items in the center. One might consider the whole scenario romantic, if one had any romantic bones unbroken in one’s body.
    “What’s in your bag? I don’t have dessert.”
    Griffin sat down Indian-fashion, unzipping his coat at last. “Sorry to disappoint. Oh, wait. I sent the major presents ahead, but I do have a box of fancy chocolates from Burdick’s for my aunt.”
    “I’m sure she won’t mind if we eat them. Needs must and all that.”
    “Then you don’t know the woman at all. She’s mad for chocolate.”
    “I think she’s found a substitute.” Carrie leaned forward, looking terribly earnest all of a sudden. “I’m really worried about her. I don’t want to rat her out, but you’re family. Maybe you can do something. Talk to her.”
    His aunt’s last PA had tried to convince him that his aunt was losing her memory when they stayed at Archer Hall last year. It had all been a scheme to get power of attorney for Aunt Rosemary’s feckless third husband, the blighter.
    What was this one up to? Aunt Rosemary had singularly bad luck with PAs and husbands.
    Griffin reached for a misshapen roll. “Heavens. It’s not cocaine again, is it?”
    Carrie’s mouth dropped open. She wasn’t wearing any lipstick, but her lips were pink enough. “Mrs. Stephens took cocaine ? I don’t