All I Want for Christmas is Blue
By Shana Galen
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About this ebook
The thrilling follow-up to Shana Galen’s popular Lord and Lady Spy novella The Spy Wore Blue!
This Christmas, retired spy Blue and his wife, Helena, have more to worry about than a holiday ball with his frosty parents. Months ago Blue promised Helena to put her first in his life and retire from spying. But when operatives from his past suddenly reappear, Blue will have to choose between the love of his life and the mission that could prove too enticing to refuse.
Shana Galen
Shana Galen is three-time Rita award nominee and the bestselling author of passionate Regency romps, including the RT Reviewers' Choice The Making of a Gentleman. Kirkus says of her books, "The road to happily-ever-after is intense, conflicted, suspenseful and fun," and RT Bookreviews calls her books “lighthearted yet poignant, humorous yet touching." She taught English at the middle and high school level off and on for eleven years. Most of those years were spent working in Houston's inner city. Now she writes full time. She's happily married and has a daughter who is most definitely a romance heroine in the making.
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All I Want for Christmas is Blue - Shana Galen
Copyright © 2014 by Shana Galen
Cover Design by Kim Killion, Hot Damn Designs
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the publisher, except where permitted by law.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
For Susan Gorman, because she convinced me Blue’s story was not complete.
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Excerpt from Earls Just Want to Have Fun
More from Shana Galen
One
Blue adored Covent Garden, and not simply because an excursion to the theater allowed him to don his evergreen coat with velvet trim, his violet waistcoat, and his finest linen shirt, complete with lace sleeves. Though, it must be said, Blue adored lace sleeves almost as much as Covent Garden.
When Blue stepped into Covent Garden, he always had the sense of coming home—the smell of lemon polish on the seats mingled with the scents of sawdust and paint from the creation of the elaborate settings. The operas were almost always superb, and when he attended—very nearly every night—he often preferred standing outside his box, closing his eyes, and listening to the singers’ voices drift through the walls of the theater.
And the applause. Even if it was not for him, Blue could appreciate heartfelt applause.
Mostly, however, Blue came for the opera singers. They were a notoriously loose lot of women and men and Blue found them infinitely amusing. The men preened and the women strutted. The show backstage was as dramatic as that to which the audience was privy.
Having lent his applause to that of the rest of the audience’s at the end of the performance, Blue anticipated the backstage performance now as he made his way into the bowels of the theater to where the singers shed their costumes and their stage characters. Blue’s blood thrummed in his veins with anticipation. He had his eye on one opera singer in particular. If he were fortunate, he’d take her home tonight. How he’d enjoy waking up in the morning to the spill of her brown-red hair on his pillow, her lovely dark eyes full of lazy pleasure.
As he passed the costume room, several chorus singers in various states of undress waved at him.
Ladies.
He tipped his hat.
Lord Ernest, do come and say hello,
one topless wench pled.
Why do you run off?
another in little more than a chemise called after him.
My lord! We don’t bite,
a third said.
Too bad,
Blue murmured to himself, walking on without a backward glance.
He had no interest in chorus girls, especially those who only sought his attentions because he was the son of a duke. He was the sixth son of the Duke and Duchess of Ely, the tenth of eleven children. The country was positively infested with progeny of his ducal father. Blue could scarce keep up with his siblings’ comings and goings. And they took no more interest in him than the chorus singers, who called him Lord Ernest, when anyone who knew him understood immediately that he preferred to be called Blue.
Helena liked to remind him that Blue was his codename, not his Christian name. One did not choose one’s Christian name, however, and he had chosen—or at least sanctioned—his codename, which had been conferred in honor of the startling blue of his eyes.
He rounded the corner, entering a hallway teeming with gentlemen, armed with Christmas roses and kissing boughs. Fighting his way through the throng, he shouldered past two dressing rooms and tumbled to a stop before the third. Entry into the room was not an option as men spilled from it like ducklings from a nest. Men similarly overflowed from the other two rooms—that of the other female lead and the last, currently housing the male lead.
Blue did not begrudge those performers their admirers. Helena, however, was his.
Putting his hands to his mouth, Blue called, Look over there! Is that Princess Charlotte?
He made a flourishing bow. Your Royal Highness.
The next moment, Blue was all but run down by men scampering to have a look at the daughter of the Prince Regent and Caroline of Brunswick.
She went that way!
As one, the men turned and followed his pointed finger.
Blue straightened his cravat. Opera singers are not the only ones who can act.
Opera singers act?
a light, melodic voice asked. High praise indeed.
Blue swept into Helena’s dressing room, closing the door firmly behind him. She raised a brow and turned back to the mirror of her dressing table, where she was seated.
I do try to flatter,
he said, leaning against the door and admiring the slope of her neck, visible where the silk robe she wore dipped in back. Did I succeed?
Admirably.
She wiped the last of the stage makeup from her lips,