Christmas at Mulberry Hall
Carole Mortimer
Acclaim for the author of Christmas at Mulberry Hall
CAROLE MORTIMER
Lady Arabella’s Scandalous Marriage
“Mortimer excels at producing strong, independent heroines, and Arabella, the pampered youngest sister of three older brothers, fits the bill when she comes up against London’s most notorious rake.”
—RT Book Reviews
Snowbound with the Billionaire
“Carole Mortimer’s intensely passionate romances …have been enchanting and enthralling readers for more than thirty years. [This] novella …is an excellent example of this international bestselling author’s storytelling prowess!”
—Cataromance
USA TODAY international bestselling author CAROLE MORTIMER was born in England, the youngest of three children. She began writing in 1978, and has now written over one hundred and fifty books for Harlequin Mills & Boon. Carole has six sons: Matthew, Joshua, Timothy, Michael, David and Peter. She says, “I’m happily married to Peter senior; we’re best friends as well as lovers, which is probably the best recipe for a successful relationship. We live in a lovely part of England.”
Christmas is always a magical time of year for me, a time for family and friends, and writing a Christmas story set in Regency England was especially enjoyable. I could almost feel the coldness of the snow and smell the mistletoe and holly!
I have given Lord Gideon Grayson—Gray, a minor character in several books in the THE NOTORIOUS ST CLAIRES quartet—his own story, as he meets and falls in love with the woman destined only for him. You will also have a chance to catch a glimpse of the St Claire family as Gray and the woman he loves join the family at ducal Mulberry Hall for the Christmas holiday.
I hope you enjoy reading Gray’s story as much as I enjoyed writing about him!
A happy and peaceful Christmas to you all,
Carole
To all those readers who have come along with me on this wonderful journey as the members of the St Claire family and their friends find true love and happiness.
This one is for YOU.
Table of Contents
Praise
About the Authors
Dear Reader
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
December, 1817. Steadley Manor, Bedfordshire.
‘As I am holding a pistol, sir, and it is pointed directly at your heart, I advise you to stop exactly where you are! ‘
Gray stopped. But not because he was in the least daunted by the threat of having a pistol pointed at him. The cavernous entrance hall in which he was standing was in darkness, and the ghostly white figure at the top of the wide staircase was shadowy at best. Ergo, if Gray could not see the woman with any degree of clarity—a youngish woman by the youthful sound of her voice—then he very much doubted she could see him, either—let alone have a pistol pointed directly at his heart, as she claimed so dramatically. Which was not to say the chit was not in possession of a pistol, only that her aim, if she should choose to pull the trigger, would be far from accurate.
Having spent all day in his curricle, travelling from London to Steadley Manor, his estate in Bedfordshire—something he had realised, as it had begun snowing several hours ago, had not been the wisest of decisions for mid-December!—night had completely drawn in by the time Gray finally arrived. He had been less than pleased at being unable to find either groom or stableboy to attend to his weary horses. Nor, having seen to the stabling of his horses himself, a butler or footman to greet him once he had ascended the dozen steps up to the oak door fronting the house. Neither had he found candle and tinder on the table just inside that door once he had let himself in, leaving him no choice but to try to find his way in the semi-darkness.
Travelling to his estate in Bedfordshire had been something that Gray had been avoiding since he had come into its inheritance on the death of his older brother Perry some two and a half years ago, but to now arrive and find himself held at pistol-point—an event far too reminiscent of one that had occurred several weeks earlier, and in which a man had died—was beyond irritating. It was infuriating!
Too infuriating, after such a long and unpleasant day of travelling, to be borne a moment longer!
‘I told you to stop, sir!’ Amelia warned desperately, as after the briefest of pauses the man below began to stride purposefully—ominously!—across the hallway and began ascending the staircase towards her. ‘I will be forced to shoot you if you do not stop, sir.’ Her voice rose as the man did not so much as hesitate but continued to take the stairs two at a time. Each step bringing him ever closer to where Amelia stood at the top of that wide staircase.
White teeth gleamed up at her in the darkness in a parody of a grin. ‘A word of advice, sweeting—never threaten a man with a loaded pistol unless you fully intend to pull the trigger!’
This man was actually mocking her!
He had broken into the house, no doubt with robbery or worse in mind, and now he had the unmitigated gall to laugh at Amelia’s efforts to defend herself.
Amelia had come to live at Steadley Manor some three years ago, on the marriage of her mother to Lord Perry Grayson. Only to have her mother die only months after the marriage, followed several months later by the death of her stepfather. Their deaths had left Amelia to the guardianship of her stepfather’s younger brother, Lord Gideon Grayson. A man who had not troubled himself to visit her once during the past two and a half years. Being left to live here alone, apart from a paid companion, had been unbearable, but to now find herself the source of amusement for a burglar was intolerable!
Too much so for Amelia to allow that amusement