November 1, 2016
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“Four sparkling, sensual, emotion-packed stories from four distinctive talents–it’s like diving into a box of Christmas candy.” – Julie Anne Long, USA Today bestselling author

The holidays are a time for family, celebration—and the Dukes of Ravenglass to fall in love. Spend the Christmas season with the Wynter family, as the Dukes of Ravenglass find their happily-ever-afters in this delightful, heartfelt collection that spans from the Regency era to the present day.

In A Price Above Rubies by Maggie Robinson, set in the Regency era, paid companion Helen Lowe doesn’t know the man she shares her first-ever dance—and first-ever kiss—is Gabriel Wynter, a reclusive, notorious duke. When Helen flees after being exposed, she leaves behind something of far greater value than a glass slipper. Can Gabriel find her, return it, and finally open his heart?

In the Victorian-era set, Never Have I Ever Fallen in Love with a Duke by Tiffany Clare, Alexander Wynter has a problem—his best friend’s younger sister grew up. When he agreed to help Emily MacCallon make her debut, he didn’t expect the beautiful, alluring woman before him—or for her to lead him on such a merry chase. Alexander knows one thing: the only man she’ll be kissing forever and ever is him.

In the World War II-set, Loving Lord Spy by J.K. Coi, Winnie Jenkins, a combat nurse, and Lord David Wynter, an injured British spy, fall in love at the worst possible time. Each of them owes a duty to their country and must go their separate ways. They promise that when the war is finally over, they’ll meet in Hyde Park on Christmas morning…but agree that if one of them doesn’t make it, the other won’t seek out the reason why. Can they keep their appointment? Or will secrets, lies, and the perils of war keep them apart?

A missed connection gets a second chance in the present-day contemporary romance, Saved by the Belle by Elyssa Patrick. Seven years ago, Kit Wynter met the woman of his dreams. Even after all this time, he’s never been able to forget the American girl who captured his heart. When Belle Sweeney answers his ad—for she, too, never forgot him—it feels like there’s something still there. Spending the holiday at Ravenglass Abbey is the perfect opportunity to figure out if this is love.

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Chapter One

1880, London

Alexander Carter Wynter, the eighth Duke of Ravenglass, stared out at the sea of guests crammed into the main dining room at the Langtry Hotel. They were here for the official start to the Christmastide season celebration, thrown annually at the hotel. Twisting the ruby crest ring around his pinky finger, he glanced up at the chandeliers that glinted above, festively illuminating the room in amber.

Guests’ chatter filled the room with a steady hum while the aroma of London’s finest chefs-at-work fragranced the air with tonight’s selection of hors d’oeuvres.

As a general rule, he avoided social functions of this magnitude. They were loud, required a modicum of fakery and interest from every attendee, and tonight, his oldest friend, Hart MacCallon—the owner of this establishment, and brother to the Earl of Blackmoore—had given him a very specific task he’d agreed to . . . under duress.

That duress being far too many glasses of brandy in celebration of said friend’s thirtieth year.

But a promise, unfortunately, was a promise. So he’d donned his tails, pomaded his hair and had his shoes shined for the dancing he would have to endure, if the mothers’ and chaperones’ glares were indicative of what his fate tonight held.

Had the MacCallon brothers forgiven him this debt, he would be in Cumbria right now tending to the seeding in his greenhouse. Instead, he was to make introductions for the MacCallons’ sister, Emily, to every possible suitor who might take her hand in marriage before she was set to go back to France in one week’s time.

Or as Hart had put it: Get her married while the hoyden was in Town and not sufficiently finding trouble on the Continent with her degenerate friends.

Alexander had known the MacCallon family his whole life, as their estates in Cumbria were in close proximity. Come to think of it, he hadn’t seen Emily since her brothers had sent her off to a boarding school in France after her father’s death. That had to be a dozen years ago now.

Alexander focused on Hart, whose gaze seemed to constantly search the crowd. “I thought your paragon brother would be here tonight?”

Hart’s blue eyes met Alexander’s. “Lachlan is in the process of collecting our sister. She is staying in the penthouse, and delaying her appearance. No surprise, really.”

“Does she know your intentions to see her married?” Why was he only asking this now?

“We have not necessarily made her privy to our decision. But the fact remains that she has not been home since she was a child, and likely knows we have something planned for her future.”

For the first time, Alexander wondered if she was reluctant to the idea of marriage. He would have to ask her directly. “Why is she not staying at your brother’s town house?”

Alexander’s role in this had only come about because the MacCallon brothers had dirtied their hands in trade. Despite the eldest brother being an earl, respectable families tended to turn their nose up at such affiliations. Even though Alexander owned a large shipping empire, passed down through the generations, he had little to do with it as it more or less ran itself. Hell, he wasn’t so sure that his introducing her to affluent families would make a difference, but he had agreed to try . . . again, under duress.

“She and Lachlan had a disagreement this afternoon.” Amusement was clear in Hart’s answer to Alexander’s question. “Emily is not the agreeable young girl she once was.”

Alexander snorted at that. “From what I remember, agreeable is the last trait I would assign to your sister’s personality.”

Eight years her senior, Alexander recalled a time when Emily had been a constant thorn in all their sides. What younger sister wouldn’t be considered a nuisance to her five older brothers? While they—him included—tried to treat her like the delicate younger sister, she seemed to want nothing more than to be one of the boys.

“We should never have shipped her off to that boarding school,” Hart said as he set his champagne glass down on the table they occupied. “I regret now that none of us was up to snuff raising a child.”

Alexander understood that sentiment. An only child to the short-lived duchy and duke of Ravenglass the seventh, he’d taken on the seat at the age of sixteen after his parents’ ship had sunk off the coast of the Mediterranean. He couldn’t say he blamed the MacCallon brothers for sending her away, and would have probably made the same decision had she been his sister.

“I cannot force her to choose a husband.”

“We need only for her to meet the right kind of people.”

Alexander sighed. “If I could renege on my offer, I might.”

Hart gave him a friendly slap on the back and stood from his seat, buttoning up his tailcoat. Alexander did the same.

“I wouldn’t dare let you,” Hart said. “Besides, Lachlan rarely comes down from Edinburgh, and avoids rubbing shoulders with anyone. Can’t say much for my other brothers, considering they were invited to join Emily in London, but declined the offer. It’s Lachlan who insists we find her a husband, and considering our ties . . .”

“You mean trade and filthy riches?” Alexander chuckled at that. “I don’t see why you want her landing a title when the majority of lords remotely interested are not going to be able to support her as well as some of your better-appointed friends making healthy livings for themselves.”

“Father was clear in his will.”

“Your father is long in the grave.”

Hart shrugged his shoulders. “I was not the one to make those promises to my father. Lachlan did, and he is a man of his word and head of this family. He will see Emily married to an English title.”

Alexander felt his ire rising. He couldn’t say precisely why, just that he was irritated by the fact that the MacCallon brothers had treated their sister as an afterthought. “Then Lachlan should have ensured she had proper introductions into society when she was of age.”

Hart made a noise in the back of his throat and nodded his agreement. “If Emily were so easily corralled, we might have.”

Before he could comment on Hart’s disparaging words, Alexander’s eyes were drawn and glued to the beauty entering the room on Lachlan’s arm.

She was tall for a woman, maybe only a head shorter than her brother who was over six feet. Slender and elegant. Her red hair was twisted and braided up, exposing the delicate curve of her neck and the diamonds strung around her throat in a clear display of her wealth . . . and like a dangling carrot for every impoverished blue blood in the room.

Alexander sucked in a long breath through his lips.

This beauty was Emily?

Alexander tried to reconcile the goddess walking through the sea of guests with the young girl in pigtails and checked pinafore he remembered. But this striking woman, with no shortness of certainty, who was very aware of the effect she had on a crowd, could never be imprinted over.

He swallowed against the lump in his throat, noticing that heads turned in her direction, and the patrons of the hotel focused on the mysterious woman who now stood before him. They all wanted to know who she was, what her association was with the man on her arm and the Duke of Ravenglass. More than one mama trying to marry off their daughters glared at the newcomer with nothing short of loathing in their expressions.

Emily gave Alexander a passing glance before settling her azure gaze on Hart. Chin up, shoulders back, she stood before them, defiant to the world around her. Her determination drew a smile from Alexander. He admired her confidence.

Alexander took her hand and leaned forward to kiss the air above her knuckles, only that was not precisely how it worked out. Instead, his lips pressed against the soft blush velvet of her gloves as he held on to her delicate hand.

“Enchanté, monsieur.”

Husky and provocative, her voice was like liquid ambrosia, electrifying the blood in his veins. A most inappropriate reaction considering this was his oldest friend’s sister.

“How wicked of you to introduce me to so forward a man, Lachlan. Is he the one you want me to wed?”

Alexander cleared his throat, drawing her attention to him again.

“Lady Emily, it is a pleasure to be reacquainted. I’m afraid you mistake my forwardness for the joy I felt upon greeting an old friend.”

Her eyes narrowed, her mouth kicked up on one side in a too-knowing grin. Everything about her was sensual . . . and well timed.

She was playing him a fool.

She was playing all of them for fools.

“I recall your role in all this. Hart mentioned a duke would introduce me around since I have been absent from society for so long.” She leaned in closer, almost conspiratorial. “You understand it is no secret they want me married?”

Alexander’s brows drew together. From what little insight Hart had provided—he was not buying their late father’s will story—Alexander should have guessed her reluctance and that she might not be an active or willing participant in the process of tonight’s introductions.

“I see you do not remember me.” Taking her hand one more time, he refrained from kissing it, though it was hard to hold back.

If he could steal her away from the event without damage to her reputation, he would whisk her out of here without further ado. He would much rather spend the evening reacquainting himself with the girl he remembered and the woman who stood before him.

“Allow an old friend to be forward in introducing himself directly.” He bowed slightly. “The Duke of Ravenglass at your service.”

She tugged her hand loose of his. “I was ten when I was sent away, not a child without memories to hold onto.”

She appraised his form with a thorough inspection. The trail of her gaze could not be considered innocent, and had various parts of his anatomy nearly showing her just how interested he was before he tamped down on the urges her slow perusal stirred within him.

“You were no more than a young man when I left, Your Grace.” A smudge of red blushed her cheeks.

Lachlan cleared his throat, drawing all eyes to him. “Do keep her out of trouble, Ravenglass.”

Alexander looked between the brothers, gave them a nod, and held out an arm for Emily. She looked at him for a moment, and sighed. “I suppose we should get this over with.”

Alexander decided then and there that he had a lot of catching up to do with Lady Emily.

#
Emily gave her brothers one last glare before taking the duke’s arm and leading him away from their bad influence. She disliked this whole situation surrounding her return home. Her brothers hadn’t been subtle about what they expected of her, either. She needed to marry like she needed a blow to the head.

How could an independent woman allow herself to be strapped down by a man? What independent woman would dare allow a man take control of her life? She was her own person, had been looking after herself since she had completed her schooling, and would never have traded the freedom she had had over the years for aprons and squalling babies. Some of that might be because she had never met the right man she could consider a forever with, but that did not mean her brothers had the right to interfere.

“Tell me, Your Grace, who shall be the first unsuspecting target on your list?” She studied the duke from under a thick fan of lashes that she had colored with coal dust and jelly since they were fair. Red hair could be such a curse.

The duke used to be a scrawny, tall boy; more bones than muscle and without any facial hair to tell him apart from other youths. He had turned out rather dashing and she hated to admit it, but she was not immune to his fine form.

“There is no set list of suitors, Lady Emily. We are at a holiday gala and I plan to enjoy what time we have together this evening.”

Eyes narrowing, she studied the man at her side. “Do you deceive my brothers and their purpose?”

“Not at all.”

“And here I thought we could get into all sorts of trouble.”

“By trouble, I do hope you mean filling out your dance card and me having to stop you from twirling around the room more than twice with one gentleman.”

She snorted at the very idea of men being assigned to her. “I do not carry a dancing card.” Nor would she ever. What a ridiculous notion to be signed out like a book in a lending library!

Her comment drew his unusual and striking amber-brown gaze to hers.

“You do not wish to dance?” he asked, as though a woman dreamed only of her time on the dance floor with the lords who would spare her the luxury.

“Quite the contrary. I adore dancing. It is the idea that a woman should wait for men to sign their commitment down on a dance card that leaves a bad taste on my tongue.”

Emily looked around the room. There were members from the middleclass—merchants, traders and businessmen—to the upper echelon, which she could only identify by the number of precious jewels adorning their persons and the haughty way in which they carried themselves.

“I assure you, having a dance card is for the advantage of the ladies,” the duke said, his brows drawing tight and forming a crease on one side of his beautiful eyes.

Emily gave a half-hearted laugh. “It sounds as though you believe women are but an amusement. That women should be thankful for any attention men will lavish upon them. Your Grace, that is the most asinine thing anyone has ever said in my presence.”

Her brash words stunned him into momentary silence, and his brows drew tighter together, as though he was redrawing the pretty, docile picture he’d painted of her in his mind.

“You make a valid point. Though for me, my name on a dance card ensures that I do not dominate the time of a young lady who might be missing out on a more suitable match,” the duke said.

“And what of all the young ladies who never receive requests? The wallflowers that have attended balls very much like this year after year with no headway in finding a husband, their sole worth placed on that inability.”

“You are astute, my lady. I appreciate your honesty and opinion on the matter. I agree that there is a great flaw in the system of matchmaking, but it is how things are done.”

“One dance is not enough to formulate an opinion that is lifelong.”

“I never suggested it was,” he said defensively.

“Touché.”

“Though there is something to be said about first impressions. What better way to cross off potential spouses than at a gala such as this?”

“You also make a good point, Your Grace.”

The duke smiled, but looked away and schooled his expression before turning back to her. “Why do you suppose your brothers desire you find a husband when you were never formally introduced into society?”

“That is a story better told without so many ears listening.”

And perhaps never told to anyone who might judge her when in her eyes, she was merely helping a friend. Hart had caught her in a somewhat compromising position. She’d been posing for her dearest friend, Henry, one of the finest painters of their age. His preferred subject was women en déshabillé. She hadn’t been naked—not precisely. But what Hart walked in on had made him cross enough that he had told the rest of her brothers about her faux pas and decided then and there they needed to make a proper woman out of her.

And now here she was, attending a ball she wanted no part of. Meeting men she had no desire to know more about . . . except, perhaps, the man on her arm.

“Just think of the whispering we could start . . .” she said, focusing on the topic at hand.

The duke laughed, the sound genuine and loud enough to draw the attention of those around them. The duke cleared his throat and composed his features quickly. “You intrigue me, Lady Emily.”

“Do I?” She turned away from those beautiful eyes of his. What was she doing flirting with the duke? He was a family friend, not an amusement. “I should warn you, Your Grace, that I have no intention of marrying anyone you introduce me to.”

“Some might say your stubbornness—or as I would name it, your spirit—needs only to be tamed.”

She arched one eyebrow and assessed the outspoken duke. Her brothers spoke to her like she was a woman who knew nothing of the greater world around her, like they might offend her if they were too direct or said an offending word. Little did they know, she likely knew more curse words than some of her friends who were writers and poets. She also knew more about the human body than a well-practiced courtesan, which should be no surprise considering she spent the majority of her time in her small studio painting portraits.

“Tamed like a wild horse,” she amusedly noted. “I am not a piece of property to be controlled; not by anyone and certainly not by a man.”

“You mistake my meaning.”

“Do I? You make me out to be a challenge to be conquered. Men think all women can be painted with the same brush stroke. Men believe themselves to be the superior sex, when in fact, they would be lost without a woman’s guidance and influence.”

The duke paused, his arm rigid under hers. Why did he have to be so handsome? And—so far—understanding of her position, considering he hadn’t berated her for her sharp tongue.

“You do not prefer the company of men?” the duke asked carefully.

She bit back a smile. “Quite the contrary. I merely have enough of the overbearing kind of men in my life that I do not require another voice added to their judgments and commands.”

“So you do not object completely to the idea of marriage?”

“I never did envision motherhood as part of my life. At least not now.”

“Perhaps you have never met the right kind of suitor.”

She had had one suitor in her twenty-four years, and once upon a time, she thought he would propose. Much to her disappointment, they had too many artistic differences that made them better friends than companions.

“You are one of a kind, Lady Emily.”

“I am only here to appease my brothers. And you will likely note that they didn’t all assemble for my arrival.” Her brothers had visited her enough in France, just never at the same time. There must have been some sort of falling out after their father died, but she’d been sent away and as time passed, it seemed strange to ask how they all got on together.

“Since you haven’t a dance card, I will be the first to give you a spin around the dance floor. I will enjoy making the rest of the gentlemen envious.” The duke took her by surprise as he whisked her into the middle of the dance floor and started the steps to a quick-paced mazurka. She laughed, delighted by the duke’s daring. The duke proved to be quick on his feet, and she had to hold tight to his well-muscled arms so she didn’t bump into another couple as they cut a path of their own across the dance floor.

She looked into the duke’s amber eyes, and studied the curl of dark brown hair that fell over his brow in a dashing manner. “Now it is I who am intrigued. How bold you are, enjoying me all to yourself, Duke.”

“I am only pretending to be well behaved,” he said as his hand tightened around her hip and pulled her close enough that their thighs brushed with every step.

Emily’s cheeks flamed, and her heart sputtered out of control. This was the kind of rush she lived for. Craved, even.
This was living in the moment.

And she loved every second of it.