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    All She Wants for Christmas
    All She Wants for Christmas
    All She Wants for Christmas
    Ebook96 pages1 hour

    All She Wants for Christmas

    By Amy Rose Bennett

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    About this ebook

    A frosty bluestocking and a hot-blooded rake. A stolen kiss and a Yuletide wedding. Sparks fly, but will hearts melt this Christmas?

    When confirmed bluestocking, Tessa Penrose, is thoroughly compromised at a Yuletide ball by Jasper, the Earl of Arlington, she is none too pleased to have to marry him. But not only her reputation is at stake. Can Tessa trust this disreputable rogue with a secret she will do anything to hide?

    One thing is certain: she dare not trust her husband with her heart.

    Author's note: This novella originally appeared in the Bluestocking Belles' Mistletoe, Marriage, and Mayhem box set.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherAmy Rose Bennett
    Release dateMay 8, 2016
    ISBN9780994335388
    All She Wants for Christmas
    Author

    Amy Rose Bennett

    Amy Rose Bennett is an Australian author who has a passion for penning emotion-packed historical romances. Of course, her strong-willed heroines and rakish heroes always find their happily ever after. A former speech pathologist, Amy is happily married to her very own romantic hero and has two lovely, very accomplished adult daughters. When she’s not creating stories, Amy loves to cook up a storm in the kitchen, lose herself in a good book or a witty rom-com, and when she can afford it, travel to all the places she writes about.

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    Reviews for All She Wants for Christmas

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    • 3/5
      I've just reread this. It's a very pleasant story, not very complicated. It's got a decent plot with decent characters. Unfortunately, novellas are a very tricky business - the bite size novel has to encompass everything , maybe a few pages more would have given this one the needed push from good to Wow.

      Recommended : ? - why not?

      1 person found this helpful

    Book preview

    All She Wants for Christmas - Amy Rose Bennett

    Chapter 1

    3rd December 1816, Penrose House, Berkeley Square, London

    Not for the first time during this seemingly interminable evening, Jasper Hargreaves, the fifth Earl of Arlington, questioned his soundness of mind. Skulking in the shadows of a velvet swathed alcove immediately adjacent to the overcrowded, glittering ballroom of Penrose House, he wondered what on earth had possessed him to agree to attend what was ostensibly a trial ‘come out’ ball for Miss Emma Penrose, the youngest sister of his good friend Christopher, Viscount Trevilian.

    Trevilian—who was presently preoccupied with playing the part of magnanimous host to a gaggling party of young women and their mamas on the other side of the ballroom—needn’t have bothered warning him off pursuing the chit. As Miss Penrose flitted by on the arm of a very green-looking swain—her current partner in a decidedly mundane country dance—he conceded she was pretty enough in her snow-white muslin gown. Indeed, with her peaches and cream complexion, glossy black hair, and laughing blue eyes, she was as fresh as the first day of spring. And definitely not the type of girl who would suit his present needs. Not that he could tell Trevilian that. Not without risking a blow or two to his person.

    He grimaced and retreated farther into the darkness. No, lonely widows and brandy—or any other strong liqueur he could lay his hands on—were exactly what he needed at present. Ever since The Battle of Waterloo. He closed his eyes and took an overly large swig of his drink in a vain attempt to dull the ever-present pain of loss and what might have been.

    But the brandy wasn’t enough. He really should engage another mistress.

    Heavens. What are you doing hiding back there, Lord Arlington?

    Jasper knew that husky voice. If his memory served him correctly, it belonged to a voluptuous and very accommodating widow. Plastering a devil-may-care smile on his face, he opened his eyes. Ah, Lady Montagu, he said with a bow. Perhaps this evening wouldn’t be as dull as he’d thought.

    She laughed, a sensual, throaty sound. It seems like forever since we last crossed paths, my lord. Indeed, since I espied you chatting to our host earlier this evening, I’ve been secretly hoping you might ask me to dance.

    Jasper raked her with an appreciative gaze. Lady Montagu had changed little in the eighteen months since they’d last ‘crossed paths’. Attired in a well-cut gown of emerald satin that showed off her lush curves and ample bust to perfection, she was still as tempting as sin; and definitely an agreeable salve to help assuage his ennui, if not his deeper wounds. He grasped the baroness’s gloved hand, drawing her closer. Her heavy perfume teased his nostrils and his blood heated to a few degrees warmer than ice-cold. I’m afraid I’m not up to dancing, m’dear, he drawled. But I can assure you, your delightful company is most desired. If you have any other pursuits in mind, I believe I can be easily persuaded to join you.

    Hmm. Lady Montagu slipped her hand from his and tapped her chin with her finger in apparent contemplation. Even in the shadowed alcove, he could detect a gleam of excitement in her green eyes, for all her outward nonchalance. I believe there may be something upstairs you might help me with, if you are... up for something else, my lord. I’ve recently heard Lord Trevilian’s sister is developing a reputation as an artist of some renown—shocking I know—but I’m actually thinking of commissioning her to paint my portrait. She stepped forward and pushed one of her breasts against his superfine clad bicep. A tendril of her flaming red hair tickled his cheek as she leaned closer to murmur into his ear. Some of her artworks are on display along the second floor hallway. I’d value your—her fingertips fluttered over the fall front of his black silk evening breeches—considered opinion on the matter.

    Jasper’s smile grew wider. "Well, I am always happy to share my considered opinion with a lady as lovely as you, my dear Lady Montagu. If you are amenable, what say we meet on the second floor landing in ten minutes?"

    Tessa Penrose attempted, but failed to stifle a yawn behind her ivory silk gloved hand. Sequestered in a relatively quiet corner of the supper room, she trusted the chattering crowd milling about the main buffet table hadn’t observed her social faux pas. But of course, her gimlet-eyed Aunt Beatrice who sat at the table opposite her certainly had.

    I know you are bored to tears, my dearest Tessa, she remarked as she carefully put the gilt-edged, rose-patterned, Spode china teacup on its matching saucer (Aunt Beatrice had insisted that only the best china should be used during her youngest niece’s unofficial debut ball), "but I must insist you at least try to feign a modicum of interest, if not enjoyment. We—your brother, Emma and I—are all counting on you to play your part. Now and until the festive season begins, and when the Season proper commences next year."

    My part. The part of the dutiful oldest sister. The pleasant but unassuming spinster. But heaven forbid anyone should ever suspect that Miss Tessa Penrose is a bluestocking. Tessa sighed. Yes, she was well-practiced at being inconspicuous on occasions such as this. As was her usual habit, she clasped her gloved hands in her lap and dredged up a suitable smile for the sake of appearances. Aunt Beatrice, you must know that I would never willingly spoil Emma’s chances at finding a suitable match. Despite her own discomfiture, she would make more of an effort. For Emma.

    The expression in Aunt Beatrice’s pale blue eyes immediately grew softer. "My dear child, I do know how difficult these situations are for you. I wish..."

    Her aunt suddenly reached out one gnarled hand toward her, but then drew it back; whether it was because Tessa’s own hands were still hidden in her lap, or her aunt had thought better of making an overt display of affection in such a public place, Tessa couldn’t be certain.

    Regardless of the reason, she suddenly yearned for her aunt’s comforting touch. You wish things were different, she murmured, unable to hide the trace of sadness in her voice as she completed her aunt’s thought. "But I, do not. I am who I am, Aunt Beatrice. And I made up my mind long ago that the life of a ton wife would not be for me."

    You mean your father made his mind up about that. Her aunt sat up a little straighter and looked her in the eye. Well, my brother was wrong, Tessa, God rest his foolish, belligerent soul. It doesn’t have to be this way. You are only five and twenty, and equally attractive as your sister. If you wanted—

    But that is the entire crux of the matter, Tessa interrupted. "I don’t want to be like Emma." I can never be like Emma. Pretty and perfect and agreeable. The hot sting of unexpected tears made her blink and she hastily cast her gaze downward to the empty space on the linen covered table before her. Oh, what she wouldn’t do for some peace and quiet, and her own cup of tea right

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