The Mammoth Book of Regency Romance Read Online Free PDF

line of her jaw. “Deeply and completely. What fools we have been, eh? Each of us secretly pining after the other. We must name our first child after Hartwell for hatching the scheme that finally brought us together.”
    She smiled at the implication of his words, and was tilting her mouth up for another kiss when a shriek from the shrubbery interrupted them.
    “Lydia! What on earth are you about?”
    Dear God, it was her mother. She looked anxiously at Geoffrey, who kissed her hand and rose from the bench.
    “Not to worry, Mrs Bettridge. Miss Lydia and I have come to an understanding. I trust you will forgive us for behaving improperly, but we were too excited and happy to resist a kiss or two.”
    “Well.” Her mother frowned, but she did not fool Lydia. She was surely thrilled beyond measure. “I suppose one must forgive high spirits at such a time. You will, naturally, call upon Mr Bettridge tomorrow.”
    “You may tell him to expect me.”
    “Good. In the meantime, Lydia, come with me. You must not been seen coming out of the garden with Mr Danforth, regardless of his intentions. People will talk, you know. Come along now.”
    Her mother linked arms with her and walked towards the house. Lydia cast one last, longing look at Geoffrey before following her mother out of the garden and up the terrace steps.
    “Well, my dear.” Her mother gave her arm a fond squeeze. “What an interesting evening you have had. Aren’t you glad Philip Hartwell didn’t show up for that first set?”
    “I have never been so glad of anything in all my life.”
    And she would thank him for it — for staying inside on a rainy day, for explaining the male psyche, for concocting a most excellent plan and for giving up his role in it. But mostly, for helping her to achieve her heart’s desire. At long last.

Upon a Midnight Clear
Anna Campbell
    North Yorkshire — December 1826
    The crash of shattering wood and the terrified screams of horses sliced through the frosty night like a knife.
    Sebastian Sinclair, Earl of Kinvarra, swore, brought his restive mount under control, then spurred the nervous animal around the turn in the snowy road. With cold clarity, the full moon shone on the white landscape, and starkly revealed the disaster before him.
    A flashy black curricle lay on its side in a ditch, the hood up against the weather. One horse had broken free and wandered along the roadway, its harness dragging. The other plunged in the traces, struggling to escape.
    Swiftly Kinvarra dismounted — knowing his mare would await his signal — and dashed to free the distressed horse. As he slid down the icy ditch, a hatless man scrambled out of the smashed curricle.
    “Are you hurt?” Kinvarra asked, casting a quick eye over him.
    “No, I thank you, sir.” The effete blond fellow turned to the carriage. “Come, darling. Let me assist you.”
    A graceful black-gloved hand extended from inside and a cloaked woman emerged with more aplomb than Kinvarra would have thought possible in the circumstances. Indications were that neither traveller was injured, so he concentrated on the trapped horse. When he spoke soothingly to the animal, the terrified beast quieted to panting stillness, exhausted from its thrashing. While Kinvarra checked the horse, murmuring calm assurances throughout, the stranger helped the lady up to the roadside.
    With a shrill whinny, the horse shook itself and jumped up to trot along the road towards its partner. Neither beast seemed to suffer worse than fright, a miracle considering that the curricle was beyond repair.
    “Madam, are you injured?” Kinvarra asked as he climbed up the ditch. He stuck his riding crop under his arm and brushed his gloved hands together to knock the clinging snow from them. It was a hellishly cold night.
    The woman kept her head down. From shock? From shyness? For the sake of propriety? Perhaps he’d stumbled on some elopement or clandestine meeting.
    “Madam?” he asked again, more