Christmas By Candlelight: Two Regency Holiday Novellas by Andrea Pickens Page A

bit of color back to her face. “You show a very pretty ankle, Lady Anna,” he murmured, as he laced his gloves beneath her boot.
    “Lord Killingworth, my leg is presently covered by something resembling a small furry animal.”
    “Yes, but were it not, I’m sure it would be a most delightful sight.”
    “How very improper of you to say so.”
    Her burble of amusement encouraged him to go on. “Yes, well, considering our present predicament, I think we can safely say that propriety has long since flown out the window. Let us hope our necks have not gone with it.”
    He meant it as a joke, but the smile froze on her face. “If you are worried that you are going to find yourself ensnared by the circumstances, don’t be. I promised that you would suffer no consequences because of this journey. Your reputation shall remain unsullied.” If anything, her voice turned colder. “And your leg unshackled, if that is what is bothering you.”
    Hell’s teeth. What perfidious fairy dust had been mixed in with the snow? In the past, he had always maintained a rigid correctness in any conversation with a lady. But Anna had made him feel at ease. As if he might be himself.
    Ha. And pigs might fly.
    “That was not what I meant at all,” replied Nicholas. “I was merely. . .” Frustrated, he kicked at the snow. “To the devil with reputations and rules! Would that I could shake off all the dratted chains of convention.”
    A powdering of flakes shot up, sparkling like jewels in the peekaboo sunlight. So, too, did the first notes of laughter lighten the air. The sound grew richer, and more brilliant as it caught in the breeze.
    “Why, sir! If you raised your voice an octave, you would sound exactly like me! However, as you wear boots and breeches instead of silks and satins, it is termed ‘letting off steam’ rather than ‘falling in a fit of vapors.’ But call it what you will, would you like the loan of my vinaigrette?” Anna gave a small shake of her reticule. “I am sure it is in here somewhere.”
    His shoulders stiffened, and then he caught a glint of the merriment in her eyes. “Minx! Are you. . .”
    “Teasing you?” Her peal of laughter rang delightfully musical to his ear. “Yes, I suppose I am. I have never dared do so with a gentleman before, but when you let yourself unbend, you are. . . different. So do not turn too starchy, Lord Killingworth.”
    “Do not turn too saucy, Lady Anna.”
    She stuck out her tongue. “What is good for the goose is good for the gander.”
    Grinning, he made a last check of the luggage and took up the reins. Different. It was a start in the right direction. Though where it would lead, he could not hazard a guess.
    “Let us hope we do not end up burned to a crisp, ” he murmured.
    They set off through the windblown snow, and for a time both of them seemed content to let their thoughts drift, like the swirl of flakes kicked up by the horses. As he trudged through the knee-deep powder, Nicholas found himself simply enjoying the soft sounds of a winter’s morning. The muffled swoosh of his steps. . . the stirring of the snow-coated pine boughs. . . the musical tinkle of the brass harness fittings, which sounded a little like faraway church bells. It was peaceful. It was. . .
    It was Christmas! Or nearly so.
    “Good Lord!” His exclamation formed a whispery cloud around his lips. “Tonight is Christmas Eve. The holiday festivities will have to go on without us, for it goes without saying that we will never make it to Town in time for our engagements.”
    He angled a look over his shoulder. “I hope that is not too bitter a disappointment.”
    Anna’s eyes were downcast. “In truth, I did not feel much like celebrating.”
    “Come, if you were in Spain, your eyes would be all aglitter on this eve as you wrapped sweetmeats in gold foil.” Wishing to lighten the look on her face, he said the first fanciful thing that popped into his head. “It is a tradition that all