A Kiss for Christmas Read online

  He made a face and flicked away the question. No, it did not matter, except that he wanted to stay in Wells now… he did not want to be sent on his way… he wanted to see more of Clara Hampton and her sparkling eyes and her clever mouth…

  “Good God,” he breathed as realization hit him. Clara. Everyone in Wells still thought she was hoping to marry John Mortimer, and even though Thomas knew she was not—he was sure she was not—she shouldn’t be caught off guard by the news that Mortimer had eloped with another woman.

  “Send for a horse,” he told Mack, striding to the wardrobe and rifling inside for clothes. “I have to go out.”

  “Right, sir.” Mack ducked out and Thomas dressed quickly.

  He dodged Sir Eliot, who was still bellowing at his wife in the morning parlor, quietly lifted his coat from the back stairs, and took off for Hampton Close. If John Mortimer had left late last night, it was unlikely anyone there would have heard of it yet. That wouldn’t take long, though, the way Sir Eliot was carrying on; gossip seemed to travel faster than any horse in small towns.

  He rode up the winding drive of Hampton Close, the house so still and comfortable and… quiet. For the first time Thomas thought to check his watch.

  Good Lord. It was earlier than he’d thought. And it was Christmas morning, when the family might not welcome him barging in.

  And what would Miss Hampton think of him, rushing to tell her this? What if her feelings for John Mortimer were deeper than he thought? What if his coming to tell her the news was mortifying? Perhaps he ought to have sent a letter, so she could absorb the news in privacy and compose herself…

  He might have convinced himself to go back—it was rather cold out and he’d forgotten his gloves in his haste—if the door hadn’t opened a few minutes later, and the lady he’d wanted to see slipped out.

  “Mr. Weston?” she called quizzically. “Are you well?”

  With a start he jumped off the horse. “No. That is, yes, I’m perfectly well, but I’ve just realized it’s much too early to knock on the door—”

  “Fortunately for you, I saw you from the window.” She pulled a green shawl around her shoulders against the frigid air. She wore a dress of scarlet and yellow, and a smile so brilliant and warm it almost knocked him over. “What brought you here, so early you didn’t wish to knock?”

  He grimaced at his own stupidity. “I had news I wished to tell you, before anyone else could…” He hesitated, then knotted the horse’s reins and let him go. He offered her his arm.

  Clara took it, perplexed. He looked anxious and uneasy. When she’d spotted him through the window on the stairs, her heart had soared. Why could he possibly have come to see her, first thing on Christmas morning, but to declare himself? She had flung a shawl over herself and run outside to see, ignoring her sister’s calls to come to breakfast.

  But perhaps that had been wrong. Perhaps Mr. Weston had come to tell her he was leaving Wells. He’d told David Pitt he would, when his employment with Sir Eliot ended.

  “Is it good news or bad?” she asked before he could begin.

  He cut a worrisome glance at her. “I don’t know.”

  Clara pulled her shawl tighter around her. “Then I think you’d better just say it.”

  “Right.” He blew out his breath in a frosty puff. “Mr. John Mortimer has, it appears, left town.” He paused. “And he may possibly have eloped with a woman in Bath.”

  Clara pondered that. “I see what you mean,” she murmured. “Is that good, or bad? On the one hand, if he cares for her and she for him, it could be very happy. But on the other hand, eloping suggests there is something disreputable about the liaison. It could go either way, I’m afraid. Have you come seeking my opinion on the question? I’m as in the dark as you seem to be, I’m afraid.”

  He cleared his throat but it sounded like a laugh. “No. I wanted to be sure you knew before someone had a chance to spring it on you unawares.”

  “Ah, I see. You feared my heart would be broken.”

  His arm twitched under her hand, and he avoided her gaze. “I hoped it would not…”

  They had been walking slowly back and forth, for warmth as much as anything. Now Clara stopped and removed her hand from his arm. “Mr. Weston. Did you really think I was still dangling after Johnathan Mortimer? Did you really?”

  He tucked his hands under his elbows. “I didn’t know.”

  “Did you not guess?”

  He looked at her, a smile tugging at his lips. “I don’t want to presume. You never told me which way your heart was engaged…”

  “Nor did you ask.” She waited, raising her brows.

  He grinned sheepishly. “Miss Hampton, are you still enamored of that surly, childish scoundrel who’s not worthy of holding your shoe?”

  She laughed. “I am not, sir. And you’re to blame for that.”

  “I?” He reared back and clapped one bare hand to his chest. Where were his gloves? “How?”

  She gave a little shrug, trying not too shiver. It was cold out here, but she didn’t want to go inside just yet. “By being very good-natured about my brothers and sister teasing you. Mr. Mortimer never would have been so kind to them.”

  “So you like me because I was kind to your family?”

  Clara blushed at his incredulous question. “It helped! But… no. I like you for other reasons, too.”

  He began to grin. “Do go on.”

  “You’ve been rather charming and amusing.” She flipped one hand. “Wells is a small town, you know, society is limited.”

  “So I’m charming compared to the men of Wells?”

  “Decidedly.”

  “That is something,” he mused. “Go on.”

  “Well,” she replied, giving him an arch glance. “Handsome, too, now that I think about it.”

  “Please keep thinking about that,” he told her, and she laughed again.

  “The answer is that I have not been waiting for Mr. Mortimer for some weeks now,” she said. “I cannot tell whether it is good news or bad news that he’s run off with some woman from Bath—I suppose it will entertain the matrons of Wells for some time, though. And if the woman from Bath is a scandalous person, Lady Mortimer may not show her face for months, and Sir Eliot’s pride will likely be somewhat chastened. But if Mr. Mortimer truly cares for her, and she for him, I suppose it is a good thing, in the end.” She wiggled one hand as if weighing the options. “All in all, I think a marriage is better than bad news.”

  Mr. Weston put back his head and laughed. “Thank God!”

  Clara smiled. “Have I put your fears to rest?”

  “My fears, yes.” Still grinning broadly, he put out his hand again. “My hopes, on the other hand, are greatly revived.”

  “Mr. Weston,” she said in mock disappointment, “I begin to question your intelligence, if your hopes were in such uncertainty.” She put her hand in his.

  He glanced up at the sky, so dazzling blue he squinted against it. “I was beginning to question my own sanity. But here I am, on Christmas, and I’ve no gift for you.”

  “Well,” she said after the deliberation of a heartbeat, “you could give me a kiss.”

  Still squinting at the sky, he smiled. “Miss Hampton. I would like to give you a kiss every morning for the rest of my life.”

  “That’s impertinent,” she said.

  He glanced at her, his smile fading in surprise.

  “You’d have to marry me to do that,” she added. “I shan’t go around kissing men who are not my husband every morning for the rest of my life. That would be disgraceful.”

  “No,” he said, staring at her. “Would—would you marry me?”

  Clara raised her brows. “Just like that?”

  “No, no, of course not.” He smoothed one hand down his front and cleared his throat. “Miss Hampton, it is my heartfelt desire to call upon you with the most honorable intentions, in the hopes that you might look favorably upon my request, soon to be tendered, for your hand i
n marriage.”

  Clara laughed. “Much too pompous! No, you’ll have to come in now and have breakfast with my family, and tell my parents your expectations and all that.”

  “Right now?”

  “Yes,” she said at his startled expression. “Frightened off already?”

  He relaxed and laughed. “Never. And then?”

  “Then…. We shall see, hmm?” She smiled brightly at him even as she clutched her shawl tightly, half from cold and half from nerves. What had come over her, to talk to a gentleman this way? She’d all but told him to propose to her.

  “Yes, we shall,” he murmured, a slow smile spreading over his face again. “But that kiss…”

  “Yes,” she said breathlessly. “Please.”

  With a quick glance at the windows behind her, he grabbed her hand and pulled her with him to the shelter of the yew tree beside the house. “Clara,” he whispered, his hands on her face.

  “Thomas,” she said softly. “May I call you that?”

  His smile deepened. “Please do,” he murmured, and then he kissed her.

  Every morning.

  For the rest of their lives.

  What happened next?

  Clara and Thomas Weston go on to have three children: James, Abigail, and Penelope. Their stories are part of my Scandals series and can be read in:

  It Takes a Scandal (Abigail)

  Love in the Time of Scandal (Penelope)

  Six Degrees of Scandal (James)

  …and to all, a good read!

  If you enjoyed this story, please consider leaving a review online to help other readers. Thank you!

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  Also by Caroline Linden

  Desperately Seeking Duke

  About a Rogue

  The Wagers of Sin

  My Once and Future Duke

  An Earl Like You

  When the Marquess was Mine

  Scandals

  Love and Other Scandals

  It Takes a Scandal

  All’s Fair in Love and Scandal

  Love in the Time of Scandal

  A Study in Scandal

  Six Degrees of Scandal

  The Secret of My Seduction

  The Truth About the Duke

  I Love the Earl

  One Night in London

  Blame It on Bath

  The Way to a Duke’s Heart

  Reece Trilogy

  What a Gentleman Wants

  What a Rogue Desires

  A Rake’s Guide to Seduction

  * * *

  What a Woman Needs

  Novellas and Collections

  When I Met My Duchess in At the Duke’s Wedding

  Map of a Lady’s Heart in At the Christmas Wedding

  A Fashionable Affair in Dressed to Kiss

  Will You Be My Wi-Fi? in At the Billionaire’s Wedding

  Scandalous Liaisons (boxed set of four novellas)

  Short Stories

  Like None Other

  Written in My Heart

  About the Author

  Caroline Linden was born a reader, not a writer. She earned a math degree from Harvard University and wrote computer software before turning to writing fiction. Since then the Boston Red Sox have won the World Series four times, which is not related but still worth mentioning. Her books have been translated into seventeen languages, and have won the NEC Reader’s Choice Award, the Daphne du Maurier Award, and RWA’s RITA Award.

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  Visit www.CarolineLinden.com to join her newsletter, and get an exclusive free story just for members.