The Christmas Carrolls Read Online Free PDF

just improve that pasty complexion of yours.”
    Oliver grew paler yet under the face paint that was hiding miscellaneous cuts and bruises, some from the horse’s neck bones where he’d been clinging, some from the ground when he hadn’t clung hard enough, and one from a certain gentleman’s fist. At least his nose wasn’t a huge purple beet between his eyes like the Frenchman’s, who was also claiming a riding mishap. “We’re not going riding, are we?”
    “No, things are at sixes and sevens at the stables right now. Shorthanded, don’t you know. In fact, we’ll have to carry the targets and the guns ourselves. Come along now.”
    When they reached the designated shooting area and the wooden frames had been covered with paper targets, Oliver found himself matched for the competition with the three men he was least wishing to address: Dubournet, Comfort, and his cousin Carroll. The earl apologized again for making them all work so hard at their own entertainment. “Had to let some of the grooms go, don’t you know.” He shook his silver-haired head. “I say that if you can’t count on a chap’s loyalty, you shouldn’t be paying his salary.”
    The earl was loading his pistol while he spoke, eyeing the target and the other shooters. “All I asked was that they look after my animals and my family. Dastards didn’t do their jobs. Can you imagine a bloke jeopardising his whole future for a few extra coins?” He took aim at the paper circles. “Of course, I can still protect what’s mine.”
    Bull’s-eye.
    Oliver’s hand was shaking so badly his shot didn’t even hit the target. The Frenchman fared slightly better, hitting the outer ring. Only Comfort’s shot came close to the earl’s, whose turn it was again. This time he hardly studied the distance before firing. “And I can still see what’s going on around me.”
    Bull’s-eye.
    “See that, lads? I’m not in my dotage yet. Remember it.”
    Remember? Oliver couldn’t remember how to load his pistol. The earl took the gun out of his shaking fingers and spoke softly, for Oliver’s ears only. “I have a few more good years, Ollie, so don’t go taking out any post-obits on me. Don’t go spending my blunt before it’s in your pocket, either. If I have anything to say about it, you won’t get a farthing. You sure as Hades won’t get my daughter.”
    Bull’s-eye.                             
    * * * *
    Joia decided to be herself, instead of a femme fatale. She’d always had enough admirers, without all the unwanted advances. A bit of lace here, a nosegay of flowers there, filled in the necklines. She left the trailing ringlets in her hair, liking the softer look and deciding that dressing to please herself didn’t mean she had to look like an antidote. And acting to please herself did not mean she couldn’t be polite to her parents’ guests or enjoy the preparations for the annual ball. Her decision was made simpler by the count’s hasty removal from Winterpark and Oliver’s hasty removal from any room she entered. She’d even managed to cry pax with Viscount Comfort after his handsome apology. At least he sounded sincere, unlike Cousin Oliver, who muttered through begging her pardon in order to get back into Papa’s good graces, if such a thing was possible.
    Comfort was also being more pleasant. He was nearly finished selecting the mares for breeding, he said, so he had more time to be sociable. Joia thought that he was merely favoring the sisters’ company in an effort to avoid Aubergine’s. The buxom young widow had focused her sights more closely on the viscount, now that her other prey had made good his escape. None of the remaining male guests was as wealthy, wellborn, and unwed as Craighton Ellingsworth, Lord Comfort. Aubergine had done well for herself, rising from barrister’s daughter to rich widow. Now she craved the respectability and social acceptance she’d never find as an unfettered