The Christmas Heiress

"Oh, look," Charlotte whispered in a breathy tone.
"You have found the mistletoe. We are standing beneath it."

He gazed skyward for the briefest instant. "So we
are." He laughed. The deep, rich baritone of mirth
sent a shiver of anticipation down Charlotte's spine.

"That means you must kiss me," she demanded.

"And so I shall."

He spun her behind the large oak tree. Charlotte's
back met the rough solid tree trunk the same
moment Lord Edward's lips descended upon hers.

Warmth invaded every fiber of her being. At first
he kissed her with playful bites and nips. She tried
to imitate his actions and then his hands adjusted
the angle of her head, holding her in place. The
pressure of his mouth increased as the tip of his
tongue played with hers.

Charlotte struggled to control her breathing. His
lips were hot and restless, a temptation she was
powerless to resist. Her knees began to weaken, yet
she kissed him back, willingly allowing the wondrous sensations to wash over her.

The next kiss was a passionate caress of lips and
tongue that filled Charlotte with unfamiliar pulsing
heat and need. Something primal within her
stirred and her entire body tingled... .

HIS WICKED EMBRACE

HIS NOBLE PROMISE

TO WED A VISCOUNT

TO PROTECT AN HEIRESS

TO TEMPT A ROGUE

THE WEDDING DECEPTION

THE CHRISTMAS HEIRESS

Published by Zebra Books

Adrienne Basso

With grateful thanks to the many wonderful family
members, good friends and faithful readers
who have supported me throughout the years.

"May the warmth and joy of the holiday season
fill your hearts and homes with happiness. "

Farmington Manor, Ludlow, England

December 1848

A light knock sounded on the bedchamber door.
Lord Reginald Aldridge stepped quietly into the
room and closed the door, shutting out the musical
sounds from the four-piece string quartet that drifted
up from below stairs. "I assumed you would be late,
so I thought I would wait and escort you downstairs.
Are you ready to make your grand entrance?"

"Almost." Lord Reginald's seventeen-year-old
granddaughter, Charlotte, shifted impatiently as her
maid fussed over the cascading array of honeybrown curls that trailed down the side of her long,
graceful neck. 'Jones got it all wrong and had to
reset my hair, but I believe it is at last acceptable."

"It looks splendid to me," Lord Reginald said.

Charlotte turned, and managed a slight smile as
her grandfather walked toward her. Though nearing
sixty, he looked and acted like a much younger man.
Tonight he wore a black velvet-collared frockcoat and stylish black trousers. A stark white cravat
topped a silver-flecked waistcoat that nicely complemented the blue of his eyes and brought out the
streaks of silver in his hair.

As he drew beside her, Charlotte noticed he carried a small tray containing two crystal goblets.

"Champagne!" Eagerly, she reached for a glass
and after raising it high in a hasty toast, Charlotte
gulped down half the contents. "It's wonderful. I
love how the bubbles tickle my nose. I must be sure
to commend the earl on the quality of his wine
cellar when I see him tonight."

Lord Reginald turned an indulgent smile on his
only grandchild. "'Tis probably better if you refrain
from mentioning the champagne. Worthington
and his countess can occasionally be a bit over-thetop when it comes to propriety."

"Hmmm." Charlotte sipped the remaining cold,
bubbly liquid in her goblet and considered her
grandfather's words. Though she had known the
earl and countess of Worthington for most of her
life, she had had very limited interaction with
them. Until now.

She briefly wondered what else they might find
offensive, besides a young woman drinking champagne, but pushed the notion from her mind. If
things got out of hand, she knew she could rely on
Grandpapa to protect her from the worst of any
scandalous gossip.

In Charlotte's opinion, the rules that governed a
young woman of society's life were vastly restrictive,
monstrously unfair and highly tedious. While growing up, she had been lucky and allowed far more freedom than most aristocratic girls. Her natural curiosity and daring spirit had rarely been harnessed.

However, now she had reached the age of maturity and everything had changed. The scrutiny was
far more intense, the expectations high. Fortunately, she was aware, and very capable, of following the rules. If it suited her purpose.

"I suppose we had best join the party or else we shall
arrive unfashionably and inappropriately late," Charlotte decided. "I merely need to put on my jewelry."

At the mention of jewelry, Jones, Charlotte's maid,
scurried about the room, retrieving both the jewel
case and key. With a sly smile, Charlotte unlocked
the black lacquer box and rummaged impatiently
though the pieces nestled on the blue velvet lining.
Pushing the garnet, sapphire and emerald gemstones out of the way, Charlotte finally discovered
what she sought and extracted a square, flat box.

She flipped open the lid and could not contain
the gasp of delight as she beheld the contents.
Crafted of the finest gold, silver and diamonds, the
necklace was reputed to be the most expensive and
coveted piece of jewelry made in England in the
past fifty years. It had been commissioned by her
father and given to her mother on their wedding
day, yet for Charlotte, it represented a connection
to the parents she barely remembered. They had
both suddenly and tragically died in a carriage accident when she was five years old.

Charlotte swallowed. Her fingers trembled slightly
as she lifted out the magnificent necklace. It felt heavy
in her hands. She placed it carefully around her throat
and fastened the clasp. Then she stood up and turned
to face her grandfather.

"How do I look?"

"Exquisite," Lord Reginald replied automatically,
but then his smile broke and he cleared his throat
loudly. "But are you sure about the necklace, sweetheart? Matrons are the ones usually draped in diamonds. Girls your age wear pearls. I'm sure you
have several lovely strands in your jewel box, along
with matching earbobs."