Alone with a Rogue
on Christmas Eve with Sherry Thomas
on Christmas Eve with Sherry Thomas
About the Author:
Sherry Thomas is one of the most acclaimed romance authors working today. Her books regularly receive starred reviews from trade publications and are frequently found on best-of-the-year lists. She is also a two-time winner of Romance Writers of America's prestigious RITA® Award. English is Sherry's second language—she has come a long way from the days when she made her laborious way through Rosemary Roger's SWEET SAVAGE LOVE with an English-Chinese dictionary. She enjoys digging down to the emotional core of stories. And when she is not writing, she thinks about the zen and zaniness of her profession, plays computer games with her sons, and reads as many fabulous books as she can find.
Sherry’s next book, The Burning Sky, volume one of her young adult fantasy trilogy, will be available fall 2013.
Alone with a Rogue on Christmas Eve
The cigarette burned slowly, with infinite patience.
Georgina watched as the shredded tobacco turned to a delicate gray ash. She tapped a finger against the cigarette. The ash, knocked loose, fell onto the fresh snow upon the balustrade. To either side of the balustrade, garlands of pine and holly had been hung, in recognition of the season, decked with snow and frosted with moonlight.
Georgina had never developed into a proper smoker. Occasionally she took a puff, holding the smoke for a moment in her mouth—not her lungs. But most of the time she lit a cigarette out of habit and affection, just to watch it in burn down—and to smell the familiar pungency of Elliot’s special blend.
“Lady Georgina.”
She turned around with a smile. “Why hullo, Beresford. When did you get here?”
Beresford was a man women smiled at, sometimes because they had ulterior motives, sometimes because they couldn’t help it. Georgina fell into the latter category—she felt very affectionate toward him. And it certainly didn’t hurt that he was wonderfully easy on the eyes, a spare, elegant build and a face one’d find on the Parthenon.
“I arrived half an hour ago. You know I never miss your mother’s birthday.”
Her mother was born on Christmas eve. And her birthday was always an occasion for gathering family and friends from far and wide. “No, indeed, we can always count on her favorite scoundrel to delight her.”
Beresford approached the balustrade, his gait leisurely, fluid. “My goodness, a man gambles a little, drinks a little, and carouses a little, and suddenly he is a scoundrel. Do we no longer require dishonesty or actual criminality before we label a man so?”
His tone was light and teasing. So she teased right back. “Not when we like said scoundrel.”
“Do we?”
Was it her imagination or had his voice turned huskier? “We do,” she answered brightly. “Why, at tea, my friends were all wondering why you wouldn’t sleep with them.”
Her language was blunt. But then she’d known Beresford for almost a decade. Moreover, he had been her husband’s best friend. Surely, one was allowed to be more direct before a chum of such long standing?
Beresford extracted a cigarette case from his pocket. “I’ve slept with one of your friends.”
“Mrs. Liddell is an acquaintance, not an intimate.”
He cast her a somewhat incredulous and slightly scandalized glance. “You want me to sleep with your intimates?”
She laughed. “I never said that, only that they are curious why you haven’t.”
“Well, let’s see.” He tapped a cigarette on the ivory-inlay case. “Mrs. Claughton is too much of a romantic—she’ll want me to write sonnets for her. Lady Piercy isn’t interested in a lover—she just wants to make her husband rush back to her side. And Mrs. Fulford, she would be a rollicking good time, I’ve no doubt, but I’m not sure I want Society to know all the particulars of my lovemaking and she rather lives to broadcast those details.”
He lit his cigarette, took a long drag, and expelled a stream of smoke into the night air, the biting scent heart-tuggingly familiar. For some reason it always came as a surprise for Georgina to remember that Elliott’s special blend had actually been—and was still—Lord Beresford’s.
“And as for you,” said Beresford, pausing to take another puff on his cigarette.
She blinked. She was never part of that conversation. She’d only giggled at her friends’ not terribly serious schemes to get into his trousers.
“As for you,” he repeated himself, turning to look at her fully in the eye. “I don’t sleep with you because your husband was my best friend and his widow is off limits to me.”
Her heart thudded. What did he mean? That had her late husband been anyone else, he would now be actively in pursuit of her favors?
She didn’t reply—she was not one to randomly reach for words when she didn’t know what to say. Her silence seemed very prominent on the terrace, louder than the stiff breeze. Louder than the sound of merriment spilling from the house.
He took a few more drags on his cigarette, stubbed it out, and inclined his head—this time, without quite meeting her eyes. “I will leave you to enjoy your solitude some more, my lady.”
And then he was gone. A few minutes later, across a bank of French doors , he reappeared inside the house, , one festive silhouette among many.
~*~*~*~
Available Now:
Helena Fitzhugh understands perfectly well that she would be ruined should her secret love affair be discovered. So when a rendezvous goes wrong and she is about to be caught in the act, it is with the greatest reluctance that she accepts help from David Hillsborough, Viscount Hastings, and elopes with him to save her reputation. Helena has despised David since they were children—the notorious rake has tormented her all her life. David, on the other hand, has always loved Helena, but his pride will never let him admit the secrets of his heart.
A carriage accident the day after their elopement, however, robs Helena of her memory—the slate is wiped clean. At last David dares to reveal his love, and she finds him both fascinating and desirable. But what will happen when her memory returns and she realizes she has fallen for a man she has sworn never to trust?
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Etiketler A Historical Christmas Eve, A Historical Christmas Eve Event, Sherry Thomas
