Christmas
Bliss
By: A.S. Fenichel
Releasing November 29, 2014
Ellora’s Cave
Emma is running from a tyrannous uncle bent on killing
her young brother, just to gain his fortune. John, the Earl of Compton, is
looking for something to change his unfulfilling life. When they meet on a dark
street, nothing can change their fate.
John is so instantly smitten and socially inept, he
proposes in less than twenty-four hours. Emma’s plight to save her brother has
her so shaken, she agrees to the hasty Christmas wedding.
The threats to Emma’s life, and John’s fierce defense
of her, demonstrate to both that the match might be more than just a convenient
arrangement. If only they can thwart her uncle’s devious assault and live to
enjoy each other.
Blush
sensuality level: This is a sweet romance (kisses only, no sexual content).
A
Blush® romance from Ellora’s Cave
A.S. Fenichel gave up a successful career in New York City
to follow her husband to Texas and pursue her lifelong dream of being a
professional writer. She’s never looked back.
A.S. adores writing stories filled with love, passion,
desire, magic and maybe a little mayhem tossed in for good measure. Books have
always been her perfect escape and she still relishes diving into one and
staying up all night to finish a good story.
Multi-published in erotic paranormal, contemporary and
historical romance, A.S. is the author of the Mayan Destiny series, Christmas
Bliss and many more. With several books currently contracted to multiple
publishers, A.S. will be bringing you her brand of romance for many years to
come.
Originally from New York, she grew up in New Jersey, and now
lives in the East Texas with her real life hero, her wonderful husband. When
not reading or writing she enjoys cooking, travel, history, and puttering in
her garden.
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Chapter One
John Scarborough was just beginning
to feel as though he was himself again. The troubles of politics had left him
in a bad temper, but the walk in the cold of December brought him back to
civility. He could almost imagine his troubles falling away with each step that
drew him closer to home. He no longer wished to wring the neck of a certain
political opponent.
Yes, the man was an idiot, but he
felt he could return to his seat without committing murder.
At least that was a relief. He
laughed at his own sarcastic thought.
Most men of his wealth and position
would have taken their carriage home, but a brisk walk always made John feel
better after a long day of arguing in the House of Lords. His carriage was
generally only a few minutes behind him, since the footman and driver refused
to leave him completely alone at night on the streets of London.
A shadow could easily be seen
crouching beneath the hedge that fronted his home in the West End of London.
Pickpockets and thieves often skulked around in the finer residential areas,
hoping to earn a nights work. Often these villains beat their prey and left
them for dead.
John took a better hold of his
walking stick, prepared to fend off the trespasser if necessary.
“You there, what is your business?”
He heard a woman gasp. When she
stood up from her hiding place, the light of the full moon gave enough
illumination for him to see she was well dressed in a fashionable walking
costume.
His eyes narrowed. “Were you going
to accost me as I entered my home, wench?”
“Certainly not.” Her tone was crisp,
as if she was offended. It reminded him of when he was a boy and had insulted
his nanny.
She turned back to the hedge,
crouched down and lifted something out of the bushes.
John raised his staff. “I am not
above striking a woman. Whatever nefarious plan you have, I advise you to
desist.”
When she turned, the bundle she’d
picked up and held to her shoulder turned out to be a small child of five or
six.
John was rarely surprised by people.
In fact, he found most people quite predictable.
Everything about this girl had
caught him by surprise. Exhaustion must have gotten the better of his senses.
He lowered his arm and weapon and gaped at the girl.
Her voice was educated and cultured.
“I’m sorry we frightened you, Lord Compton. We shall be on our way now.”
“You know me?” He didn’t know why
that should bother him. Quite a lot of people knew him on sight and he was
standing in front of his own home.
“Of course.”
He could hear the smile in her
voice, though the night did not permit him to see her face clearly enough to
verify if the sound translated to her lips.
Embarrassment washed through him.
His neck felt hot, reminding him of when he’d been at school, and was unsure of
an answer demanded by the instructor. “Why are you hiding in my shrubbery?” he
demanded.
She lifted the sleeping child
higher. It was a boy from the look of his clothes. It was past nine and the
child slung his arms about her neck and rested his head on her shoulder. He
looked as if he was a very heavy sack of potatoes.
“That is a very long story, my lord.
I apologize again for our intrusion. We shall move along.”
“Wait,” he commanded.
