Letters at Christmas

By Amber Lin

London, 1815

Three London Seasons. Three Christmases come and gone. Jilted Sidony Harbeck is done waiting for the inconstant Captain Hale Martin to return. Despite their whispered adolescent promises, he never wrote her a single letter. Now the scoundrel has returned, professing his love and a thoughtless bet to woo her, but she only wants him to suffer.

After three years at sea, Hale finally has the means to marry his best friend's sister and the love of his life. But he only has three days to convince her of his devotion because he stupidly proposes a wager - he'll convince Sidony to marry him by Christmas or he'll leave her alone forever.

When Hale sets out to seduce her, the stakes are raised by a passion so intense that Sidony must risk her heart no matter the odds.

Previously published in A Very Scandalous Holiday Anthology

• Language: English
• Publisher: Macmillan Publishers
• Release date: Jul 7, 2014
• ISBN: 9781622667437

Amber Lin

Amber Lin is an author of edgy and emotional erotic romance. RT Book Reviews gave her debut, Giving It Up, 4.5 stars and called it "truly extraordinary."Website: http://authoramberlin.com/Twitter: https://twitter.com/authoramberlinFacebook: http://www.facebook.com/authoramberlin

Book preview

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He wagers everything to win her heart - but she has no intention of letting it go...

England, 1815

Three London Seasons. Three Christmases come and gone. Jilted Sidony Harbeck is done waiting for the inconstant Captain Hale Martin to return. Despite their whispered adolescent promises, he never wrote her a single letter. Now the scoundrel has returned, professing his love and a thoughtless bet to woo her, but she only wants to make him suffer.

After three years at sea, Hale finally has the means to marry his best friend’s sister and the love of his life. But he only has three days to convince her of his devotion because he stupidly proposes a wager—he’ll convince Sidony to marry him by Christmas or he’ll leave her alone forever.

When Hale sets out to seduce her, the stakes are raised by a passion so intense that even Sidony must risk her heart no matter the odds.

Letters at Christmas was previously published in A Very Scandalous Holiday Anthology.

Letters at

Christmas

a Men of Fortune novella

Amber Lin

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Copyright © 2013 by Amber Shah. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.

Entangled Publishing, LLC

2614 South Timberline Road

Suite 109

Fort Collins, CO 80525

Visit our website at www.entangledpublishing.com.

Scandalous is an imprint of Entangled Publishing, LLC.

Edited by Nina Bruhns

Cover design by Heidi Stryker

ISBN 978-1-62266-743-7

Manufactured in the United States of America

First Edition October 2013

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

About the Author

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For D, with happy Christmas wishes.

Chapter One

Your absence arrives most strongly at night, conjured by dreams and a gentle sway, with only a cold sweat and a canvas blanket for company.

Harbeck Hall, Lancashire, England

1815

The more Miss Sidony Harbeck of Harbeck Hall tried to avoid trouble, the more tightly it always seemed to ensnare her.

Sidony had plenty of time to lament this paradox as she sat stranded in the boughs of a frost-brittle tree. Spindly branches snagged on the thin wool of her dress. Her throat felt raw from shouting against the wind. No one came to her rescue.

The servants would be bustling inside, unaware that she was outside at all. Her brother had gone out hunting last night—the excuse he always gave when he visited his lover, a widow the next estate over. Never mind that he always came back freshly starched without having shot anything. At least Poppet was here for company.

The gray cat mewed plaintively from her lap.

And whose fault is this? Sidony muttered. Really, you just decided to go for a stroll. Twenty feet off the ground.

The thick, rippled windows had distorted her view of the high road and the long drive leading to the hall. So she’d opened them, and while she’d been sitting on the bench, staring out, Poppet must have slipped past her. She might not have noticed, her attention firmly fixed on the horizon, but he’d started crying at the top of his little lungs.

Disconcerted and distracted, Sidony had reached for him. She’d used a branch for leverage and snap—they’d both fallen. Now she was sitting on a sturdier branch, but too far off the ground to jump and too far below the window to climb back inside. It appeared neither she nor Poppet was injured. Her bottom had ached at first, but the cold had quickly numbed her.

Across the sugar-white fields, a smudge of black suddenly appeared. It moved along the familiar road, becoming larger and smudgier.

She scowled in mortification. No. He would not find her like this. She wouldn’t let him. With a surge of determination, she clutched Poppet against her side and scooted closer to the tree trunk. She would jump, that was all. If she broke her leg, well, at least she’d be out of the tree.

She whispered a small prayer under her breath. Poppet chose that moment to dig her claws into her breast. She shrieked and lost her balance. The cat fell. Sidony did too. With a desperate lurch, she tumbled sideways and firmly enmeshed the folds of her skirt into the surrounding branches, clinging to the trunk.

Poppet landed on his feet in the snow below her. He paused and licked his foreleg—as if washing off the human scent. Then he walked demurely around the back of the house, where the cook would probably give him a bowl of warm milk.

Sidony really hated cats.

She tried to straighten, but this new position was even more precarious than the last. Burning cold beneath her legs gave the troubling implication that her skirt had ridden up in the back. Drat it all. She batted branches away from her hair until the neat upsweep drooped heavily to one side. If given the chance, she desperately promised the fickle gods of Fate, she would go inside and never, ever, think of him again.

Really.

Truly.

Except, that would be impossible, as he’d be here