Mischief & Mistletoe (A Christmas Novella) Read Online Free PDF Page A

interest in the likes of the Duke of Willyngham—a rebellious second son who was drawn toward insurrection. A challenge perhaps?
    She held up the little green volume she’d seized from the library earlier. Truth to tell, she had no notion why she’d done so, only at that moment standing before that infuriating man, she had felt more than a little flustered. The last thing she’d wished was for Lucien to believe she’d come to the library solely to see him—although she had, of course. The fact that she carried the ring was proof enough of that.
    “This is one of my favorites,” she said, thrusting aside the image of Lucien Morgen, looking far more handsome than a man had any right to.
    She peered at each of her brother’s children in turn: Jonathon, the youngest at seven, his hair as golden as his mother’s, his sweet little face just beginning to lose its baby roundness. And sober Lettie, who was nine now, her hair only slightly darker than Jon’s. Missing tooth and freckled nose aside, Emma was certain Lettie would grow to be as lovely as her spirit. And then Samantha, the prankish eldest at thirteen. Her hair the same color as Emma’s strawberry blond, she’d inherited her mother’s stunning blue eyes along with her father’s uncanny sense of mischief. The three of them sat primly, their eyes twinkling in anticipation of the story to come.
    “Care to hear it?” Emma teased, knowing the answer already. This particular tale was a yearly favorite, and she and Andrew both seemed to vie for the chance to tell it. Thus she had spied it upon Andrew’s shelf—nearly hidden behind a dog-eared copy of Gulliver’s Travels by Johnathon Swift. Of course, the book was not the true reason she’d ventured toward the library, though it made for a wonderful excuse nevertheless, and now she had the volume in hand, and Andrew did not.
    Emma loved retelling this particular story because from the minute of its reading, all three kids were suddenly on their best behavior, each vying to do the best of deeds.
    All three together shouted an emphatic, “Oh, yes, please!”
    Thinking her brother’s children were, indeed, a great boon to her, Emma tried not to consider her own loss. The possibility that she might never have children of her own rent at her heart.
    There was certain to be a scandal when their broken betrothal was announced publicly, and what would be said?
    It didn’t matter, she told herself as she waited patiently while the children gathered nearer—away from their father, who winked at her conspiratorially, conceding the book, and the story with his usual good nature.
    Emma sighed, taking comfort in their familiarity.
    At Newgale, their traditions had always been rather simple but festive. Their mother had been a bit of a student of knowledge, and they had made it a point to incorporate traditions from her father’s travels. So in a sense, their holidays were a glorious amalgamation of both her parents’ lives.
    She waved opened the book, smiling, and asked the children, “Have I told you about the Christmas crèche?”
    “Only last year!” Jonathon replied, and Emma suppressed a giggle at his response.
    “Well, pretend that you haven’t heard it,” she told him. “In France,” she began.
    “Papa doesn’t like the French.” Lettie announced. She turned to ask him over her shoulder, “Do you, Papa?”
    Andrew took the pipe out of his mouth. “Well, now...”
    “Shush, Andrew,” Cecile demanded, though not unkindly. She placed her sewing into her lap to listen along with the children.
    Emma flashed a look toward her brother’s wife and Cecile winked in return.
    “In France,” Emma continued. “Every year, the children build themselves a crèche to place before a warm hearth…”
    “What’s a crèche?” Jonathon broke in, despite that Emma knew very well he knew the answer. He cast a mischievous glance toward his eldest sister.
    Samantha’s brows drew together. “You already know what