Christmas Brides (Three Regency Novellas) Read Online Free

to her waist. “And I shouldn't at all wish to wed a man who would take the fortune my grandfather built and wager it away at Newcastle and White's.”
    “You assume I would beg to marry you—which, Miss Pemberton , I have no intention of doing!”
    His words were like a slap in the face. She had been prepared for him to reject her proposal, but she was unprepared for the vehemence of his objection. Tears stung her eyes once more. “I assure you, I have no intention of marrying a debauched man such as you.”
    She pounced to her feet, and the muff that had been in her lap fell to the Aubusson carpet. Lord de Vere stooped to pick it up. As he offered it to her, he asked, “Then why have you come?”
    “Because I was prepared to sacrifice myself in order to grant my father his last Christmas wish.”
    His eyes flared with anger. “You, Miss Pemberton, are singular in the opinion that marrying me would be a sacrifice.”
    “Why, of all the arrogant men I have ever known, I do believe you go to the head of the queue.” She shoved her hands in the muff, flipped the Kashmir muffler about her neck, and stormed to the door. “I cannot understand how my father could be so blinded to your multitude of faults!”
    * * *
    How could he let that sanctimonious spinster get him so riled? It was only by the greatest restraint he prevented himself from trailing in her stormy wake like some dumbstruck lad begging his governess's forgiveness. He had done nothing for which he needed to apologize! It was she who had impugned his character, she who asserted her abhorrence of marriage to him.
    Shaking with anger, he went to his library, slammed the heavy door behind him, and poured himself a tall glass of brandy. Damn, but this room was cold! He rang for Majors.
    Anticipating his master's needs, the butler eased open the door. “I perceive your lordship would like a fire built in the library.”
    “Why in the devil is this house so blasted cold?”
    “Because your lordship suggested that to reduce the expense for coal we eliminate fires in the public rooms, since you never receive callers. Except for today.”
    “I'm sure it seemed like a very good idea at the time, but since I shall not brave the elements on this beastly day, I will require warmth in this chamber.”
    Before he completed his sentence, the char woman came waddling into the library and set about starting the fire.
    “It appears, Majors, you've anticipated my request before I made it.”
    Majors bowed his head. “Will there be anything else, my lord?”
    De Vere's eye skipped to the empty decanter on the silver tray. “Yes. Fetch me another bottle of brandy!”
    Once the fire was going strong, de Vere began to pace the chamber, mumbling angrily to himself over the annoying Pemberton chit. After the passage of an hour and the consumption of three glasses of brandy, his anger toward his guardian's daughter subsided.
    But it was replaced by something much worse.
    Raw sorrow as painful as acid began to eat at him. Even though he was a mature man of thirty, he felt the need to turn to his former guardian in both good times and bad. The constancy of Robert Pemberton had given a certain solidity to his otherwise vagrant ways. Deep down, he'd always known that were he truly in need—whether that need be for a sympathetic ear or a timely financial rescue—he could always count on Mr. Pemberton. In many ways he'd been closer to him than he'd been to his own erratic, devil-may-care father.
    He was reminded of Pemberton's words that very afternoon when he'd said de Vere had more in common with him than he had with his father. It was true. Except that by his fiftieth year, Pemberton replaced his wild ways with the affection and fidelity of a good father—something his own father had never managed.
    Deep down, de Vere had always hoped to turn out in the same way as his guardian. For Robert Pemberton had become a man who was widely admired.
    Most of all by William Addison,