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

it is,” she said. “It’s a crib!” She turned to Emma. “Right, Aunt Em?”
    “Of course,” Emma confirmed, pursing her lips.
    Jonathon pouted. “Well, our crèche is always empty,” he said. “So why bother?”
    Emma patted his head. “But that’s really up to you, isn’t it?”
    He shrugged.
    “Anyway,” she continued, “you recall le petit Jésus was born in a stable, right?” All three children nodded, and she glanced up to find her brother and his wife nodding as well. Her smile deepened at the amusing sight they all presented. Trying not to ponder what it might have been like in her own home—if she’d had one—with children of her own—she bent forward, lending with her voice all the reverence she felt for the tale. “Well, in France they believe, and quite vehemently, that on the eve before Christmas...”
    She glanced up suddenly, only to lose her good humor and her place in the story. At the sight the duke standing in the doorway, her heart vaulted into her throat and she momentarily forgot whatever it was that she was saying.
    He was leaning much too idly against the door frame, watching her intently, and the way that he watched... well, it unnerved her completely.
    How long had he been standing there?
    He smiled arrogantly, and her heart tumbled.
    She cast a frowning glance at her brother. He’d not even bothered to tell her that the duke would be remaining at Newgale. At this late hour she would have presumed the fiend long departed—eager to go, in fact.
    God plague his rotten soul!
    Well, it didn’t matter, she assured herself. He would be gone soon enough.
    And good riddance!
    “What happens then, Aunt Em?” Samantha asked, impatient to hear the rest of the story.
    Then?Then her life would return to order!
    Forcing her attention to the children, she gathered her composure and continued, though completely unnerved. “Then... the children build a special crèche...”
    Jonathon frowned.
    “You already said that, Aunt Em,” Lettie reminded.
    “Yes, well...” Emma forced herself to ignore Lucien’s presence, although it was an utterly impossible task, for he filled the room as surely as he stood there scrutinizing her so rudely. “Very well… in that crèche... every night—” She peered up and seeing that he remained precisely where he stood, she quickly averted her gaze.
    Botheration.
    “Aunt Em!” Samantha complained.
    “Why is your face all red?” Jonathon inquired. “Are you angry?”
    Emma blinked the image of Lucien out of her head and continued, ignoring Jonathon’s question, “No. I’m not angry,” she said, but her tone belied her. “Every night… the children all place a single wisp of straw as a token for each good deed and prayer they accomplished during the day....”
    “You sound angry, and daddy’s face always gets red when he’s angry, too,” Jonathon persisted.
    Despite himself, Lucien found himself smiling.
    She was, indeed, blushing—a lovely shade of pink that gave a wash of color to her otherwise gray appearance—she was still wearing that god-awful dress, he noticed.
    For the first time in his life, he found himself the recipient of the cut direct.
    And still he stood there, listening to her read, for despite her obvious dislike of him, she had a way of speaking that enthralled even the most jaded.
    His mother had been that way, he recalled. She’d had a musical voice that made everything she’d ever said sound like a song.
    At least in the beginning.
    Watching Emma now, he could well understand her anger over his untimely intrusion. The scene before him was unsullied... except for his presence.
    A lively fire crackled in the hearth, and the scent of beeswax filled his nostrils, drifting like invisible ribbons from candles that flickered gaily throughout the room. Deep burgundy bows, threaded with golden tinsel hung alongside bells that tinkled softly as though by an imperceptible breeze. It was wholly unlike any of his Christmases