Claiming His Christmas Bride. Кэрол Мортимер

she already knew that, Molly acknowledged with a sigh as she turned to look out of the car window at the Yorkshire Moors.

      How she wished today were already over. Then she could get on with enjoying Christmas with Crys, Sam and baby Peter James. Her parents were leaving tomorrow on an extended cruise to somewhere warmer than England—which was probably just about anywhere in December—and so wouldn’t be here for the holidays, which was why they were having the christening today, before the parents’ departure for warmer climes.

      After all, what was it? Molly reasoned with herself. One day. Not even that, really. Just a few hours. And then Gideon Webber would depart and the four of them could get on with anticipating Christmas.

      But those next few hours, spent in Gideon Webber’s acerbic company, could feel like a lifetime if he continued with the insults!

      ‘Glass of champagne?’

      Molly turned frowningly towards the sound of that voice, her frown dissipating as she recognised David Strong, an actor who starred in a television series written by her stepbrother, Sam. David was Peter’s other godfather.

      Tall, dark and ruggedly handsome, aged in his early forties, David brought his own brand of charm to the television series Bailey. But he had been widowed several months ago, when his wife had been killed in a car accident, and the sadness in his eyes and the lines beside his mouth, despite the warmth of his smile, were testament to his recent grief.

      ‘Thanks.’ Molly accepted the glass he held out to her. Having met David socially several times before, she was perfectly relaxed in his company.

      Though she couldn’t repress her furtive glance around the room to check whether or not Gideon Webber was watching her accept the glass of champagne, and she frowned her irritation as he raised his own glass of what appeared to be sparkling water to her across Crys and Sam’s crowded sitting-room.

      Molly turned quickly away from the easily discernible mocking humour in those dark blue eyes, the unbecoming colour once again flooding her freckle-covered cheeks. Damn the man. What was he? A one-man vigilante on the consumption of alcohol? Or was it just her consumption…?

      Probably, she accepted heavily, wishing once again it had been anyone else but him who had seen her condition on that morning just over three years ago.

      Although the world of acting was very often awash with the stuff, Molly very rarely drank alcohol herself—had found that it didn’t mix with early set calls or late-night theatre appearances. Which was probably why the downing of that bottle of wine just over three years ago had completely knocked her off her feet!

      But there had been good reason for that, she reminded herself defensively. Knowing yourself in love with a married man—a married man who assured you he had every intention of remaining that way—would induce any sane woman to turn to the bottle. Besides, it had only been one measly bottle of white wine—not the whole crateful Gideon Webber seemed to be implying!

      Did wine come in a crate? she wondered illogically, or—?

      Get a grip, Barton, she instructed herself severely, determinedly turning her attention to David Strong. After all, he was almost as good-looking as Gideon Webber—and much nicer to boot!

      ‘It’s good to see you again, David,’ she told him warmly.

      ‘And you.’ He nodded, brown eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiled. ‘Although from what I hear we should be seeing a lot more of each other in the near future…?’ He raised dark brows questioningly.

      Ah. Obviously someone had told him. Possibly Sam, as a courtesy to the leading man in his award-winning television series? Or had the secret leaked out in some other way? Probably the latter, she accepted ruefully; the supposed secrecy of the acting world had more holes in it than a sieve!

      She gave David a quizzical smile. ‘Do you mind?’

      ‘Not at all,’ he answered easily, giving her the famous grin that had made him such a hit with female television viewers. ‘I think it’s past time Bailey had a more permanent love-interest in his life,’ he added reassuringly.

      That wasn’t quite what Molly had meant by her question. It was one thing having the writer of a television series pop up in the studio whenever he felt like it—as Sam often did—it was quite another to have that writer’s stepsister appearing in the series with you. As the main character’s permanent but definitely whacky girlfriend!

      Molly had been working mainly in American theatre the last few years, with the occasional television role thrown in, and until recently had had every intention of remaining out there. But a couple of months ago Sam had sent her the first script he had written for the new Bailey series, due to begin filming in the New Year, along with a cryptic message. ‘As I wrote the Daisy role based on you, only you could possible play her! Come home. I need you.’ Enough to evoke anyone’s curiosity.

      Although Molly hadn’t been quite so sure after reading the script of that one episode!

      The character of Daisy was an outgoing, dangerously inquisitive private detective, endearingly naive when it came to the vagaries of human nature, and most of all accident-prone—to the point where objects—usually bodies—seemed literally to throw themselves in her path for her to fall over.

      Based on her? she had wondered, slightly dazed. She was outgoing, yes, and could be slightly eccentric, yes. But she wasn’t too sure that any of the other character traits fitted her, no matter what Sam might think to the contrary…

      But the director of the programme had seemed happy enough with her audition when she’d returned to England a couple of weeks ago, and hadn’t hesitated about offering her a contract to cover the next Bailey series.

      She had thought that particular snippet of information hadn’t yet been leaked, but obviously she was wrong; it was one of those well-guarded secrets that everyone knew about!

      ‘I actually meant, do you mind that I’m going to appear in the Bailey series with you?’ Molly corrected ruefully.

      David raised dark brows. ‘The director assures me you were brilliant at your audition; why should I mind?’

      She gave an awkward shrug. ‘Well…Sam is my brother.’ She pointed out the obvious. ‘And I wouldn’t like you to think—some people might think that had something to do with my getting the part.’ She grimaced.

      ‘The word you’re looking for is nepotism,’ drawled an insulting voice.

      Gideon Webber’s voice. Of course. He seemed to lose no opportunity to insult her.

      Was it acceptable for the godmother to hit one of the godfathers at a christening party? Molly wondered angrily.

      Probably not.

      Pity.

      ‘Gideon!’ David greeted the other man warmly—giving Molly the necessary time to clasp her hands tightly together in order not to give in to her initial impulse, after all. ‘It’s really good to see you again,’ the actor added smilingly.

      Again? Molly wondered frowningly. Since when did television actors’ and interior designers’ paths ever cross? Never, or so she had hoped when she had decided on this move back to England. Although it now appeared she might have been wrong about that…

      ‘You can forget nepotism,’ David added with a grin. ‘From all accounts, this little lady can act her socks off.’

      ‘And any other part of her clothing. Or so I’m led to believe,’ Gideon Webber returned dryly.

      Molly’s gasp of indignation was lost in David’s roar of laughter. Obviously he thought the other man was just joking. Molly knew better.

      She looked up at Gideon Webber with narrowed eyes. His expression was openly scathing, and the colour slowly crept up into her cheeks. Exactly what had he meant by that remark?

      ‘How did you know she has to take her clothes off