Christmas By Candlelight: Two Regency Holiday Novellas by Andrea Pickens

piercing gaze he had fixed upon her face. She squirmed slightly under the severe scrutiny, though it was impossible to break away from the glittering intensity of his hazel eyes. 
    No, she realized, they were not exactly hazel, for they had the most interesting flecks of molten gold—
    “Well, she appears to be conscious.” The stranger looked away, and Emma was vaguely aware of Charles hovering somewhere behind him. His gaze quickly shifted back to her and then to the massive tree trunk and the patch of ice in front of it.
    “Good Lord,” he muttered with ill-concealed disdain. “How could anyone be so cork-brained as to attempt such a stunt in these conditions?”
    She managed to prop herself up on one elbow. “I’ll have you know, sir, that I am accorded to be an excellent rider.”
    The stranger’s brow arched up. “It would appear that such praise is completely unwarranted.” There was a slight pause. “Thank God your horse wasn’t seriously injured.”
    Emma gasped, first at the rudeness of his words, and then at the fact that he started to run his hands down the length of her arms and then her legs. “How dare you— ouch !”
    The stranger leaned back on his haunches. “I don’t think any bones are broken,” he said to Charles. “But the ankle appears to be badly sprained. I suppose we shall have to move her to Hawthorne House for the present. Fetch her horse while I take her up.”
    “But—” began Emma. The protest was muffled in the folds of his coat as he lifted her into his arms with one easy motion. To her dismay, she saw that her cousin had jumped to obey the man’s curt command.
    “Put me down!” she snapped. “I do not wish for you to—”
    “Stop squirming,” he ordered. “Lest you wish to add to your collection of bruises by taking a second tumble to the ground.” His arms drew her closer to his chest. “Though perhaps another thump would knock some sense into that brainbox of yours.”
    She fell silent and ceased her struggling, taking care to avoid any further eye contact with the stranger. Harder to ignore was the corded strength of his shoulders or the heat emanating from his broad chest. From her precarious position, it was clear that he was at least several inches taller than her cousin and a good deal more muscular. Despite her own considerable height, he carried her through the orchard as if she weighed no more than a feather.
    “Odious man,” she whispered under her breath, thinking of his last rude comment. For an instant, Emma thought she detected a faint chuckle, but when she ventured a surreptitious peek at his face, the same hard expression was etched on his features.
    Leaning back, she closed her eyes. Awful though he was, the ordeal would be over in a trice, she reminded herself. Thank heavens one of her father’s carriages would soon be arriving to take her home.

Chapter 2
    N oel Trumbull , newly acceded to the title of Lord Kirtland, stared out the mullioned windows and let out a harried sigh. Of all the dratted luck! He had enough to worry about without being stuck dancing attendance on some spoiled heiress, no matter that she had hair like spun gold and eyes as blue as the Mediterranean Sea in summer.
    His lips compressed. Oh, yes, Lady Emma Pierson was attractive all right. And the wealthy heiress damn well knew it, be reminded himself. Even though he had only spent a week in London on his return from the Peninsula, he had heard Lady Emma’s name mentioned as being one of the brightest Diamonds of the Season. And then he had seen her from afar at Lady Hightower’s ball—and had felt the air squeezed from his lungs.
    She was, in a word, breathtaking. The perfect picture of loveliness, grace, and vitality.
    What a pity that her beauty appeared to be only skin-deep.
    Granted, he had been inclined to think ill of her before ever meeting her, as his good friend Augustus Taverhill had mentioned how Lady Emma had written a hurtful poem about his