Marry Christmas. Jane Goodger

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      “HAVE YOU BEEN KISSED?”

      His question seemed to startle her. “I don’t know how you mean.”

      “Tonight. Have you been kissed?” he ground out.

      “Henry would never take such liberties. He is a gentleman,” she said, lifting her head imperiously.

      The relief he felt was staggering, and extremely disconcerting. “I’m very glad to hear it,” he said.

      With one quick motion, he pulled her to him, giving her perhaps two seconds to scream her protest before pressing his lips against hers.

      MARRYCHRISTMAS

      JANE GOODGER

      ZEBRA BOOKS

       Kensington Publishing Corp.

       www.kensingtonbooks.com

      Contents

      Chapter 1

      Chapter 2

      Chapter 3

      Chapter 4

      Chapter 5

      Chapter 6

      Chapter 7

      Chapter 8

      Chapter 9

      Chapter 10

      Chapter 11

      Chapter 12

      Chapter 13

      Chapter 14

      Chapter 15

      Chapter 16

      Chapter 17

      Chapter 18

      Chapter 19

      Chapter 20

      Chapter 21

      Chapter 22

      Chapter 23

      Chapter 24

      Chapter 25

      Epilogue

      Chapter 1

      Newport, Rhode Island, 1892

      “I was thinking of a Christmas wedding,” her mother said, as casually as if she were ordering consommé for luncheon from cook.

      Elizabeth suppressed a gasp. Her mother detested any show of defiance, but she simply could not allow this. “I haven’t even met him, Mother.” Remarkable how calm she could be when she wanted to scream.

      Alva Cummings pursed her lips and placed her correspondence to the side, a sign of her extreme displeasure. Each morning, Elizabeth had to suffer an audience with her mother, a tedious and cutting recounting of her performance the previous day. And today, it seemed, they were again talking about Elizabeth’s marriage to the ninth Duke of Bellingham. “As you know, whether you have met His Grace or not is of little consequence. Instead of arguing with me, you should be thanking me. You will be a duchess. Think of it. A duchess.”

      But all Elizabeth could think of was Henry, the only man she would ever love. Something in her face must have betrayed her thoughts, for her mother turned her full attention to her nineteen-year-old daughter.

      “Sit up straight, Elizabeth. Must you always slouch?”

      Elizabeth pulled her body impossibly tighter.

      “As a duchess you will be looked upon by everyone as setting the standard for behavior. Despite your average looks,” she said cruelly, “the duke has agreed to visit us in Newport where I expect he will propose. And you will agree. I cannot fathom your complete selfishness in this regard. You know your father would benefit immensely and yet you continue to resist this and all other attempts we have made to raise your position in society.”

      Elizabeth stared at her mother. “My position?” she asked, so angry she told herself she didn’t care if she raised her mother’s ire. But of course she did, and when her mother’s eyes hardened to crystal, her entire body was shot with fear.

      “You ungrateful little girl. Yes. Your position. This match is coveted by every mother—and daughter—here and in England. It is what we have worked on, hoped for, prayed for. And you can sit there and whine to me because your childish heart has been foolishly given to a fortune hunter. It’s disgusting and beneath you, Elizabeth.”

      “He is a good man,” she said softly.

      “He is a scoundrel. He has had numerous affairs with several married women and it is common knowledge that he has been on the hunt for an heiress for years. And there is rumor of madness in the family. A second cousin or such. And I won’t have any mad grandchildren.”

      Elizabeth shut her mother out, knowing it was all lies. The best thing for her to do now was pretend to be an obedient daughter, even though her heart sang with a rebellion so strong she could hardly contain it. “I don’t wish to talk about this any longer,” Elizabeth said.

      “Nor do I. Then it is settled.” Her mother glared at her as if she could somehow see the secrets in her heart.

      “It is,” Elizabeth said, knowing she was not lying. For in her heart, her life was settled, though it wasn’t the life her mother was envisioning. Henry was the only man she would marry, and if the Duke of Bellingham came to Newport and asked to marry her she would simply decline. For now, though, it would be better to appease her mother, to keep her secret safe in her heart. She would marry Henry, for he had asked and she had agreed.

      They had been bike riding in New York on Riverside Drive with her two best friends and their mothers, as well as Henry and two other young men. Already her mother had suspected Henry’s interest in her and tried to discourage it, but it was far too late. Two weeks before, Elizabeth and Henry rode ahead, hearts racing, faces alight with mischievousness as they left the others behind, ignoring her mother’s shrill voice urging them to slow down.

      They’d stopped, out of breath and laughing. “Marry me, Elizabeth. We’ll elope before your mother can protest. Don’t say a word to anyone. We’ll manage it somehow. Say yes, my love.”

      Elizabeth wanted to throw her arms around Henry and dance about with him, but her mother was coming near, her face red with the exertion of trying to catch up with the two. They spoke in hurried whispers, for the Cummings were leaving for Newport the very next day.

      “Yes. Yes, I will. Oh, Henry, I’m so happy.”

      “Nothing could keep me away from you. I’ll follow you to Newport in one week,” he’d said, his handsome face shining with happiness. He’d cut such a dashing figure that day with his Panama hat and white suit. Elizabeth didn’t know a woman, other than her mother, whose heart didn’t pick up a beat at the mere sight of him.

      When her mother arrived, they tried to stop smiling, but they were both so happy, Elizabeth knew her mother suspected something, if not the whole truth. And that likely explained the painful meeting she’d just had with her.

      They’d been in Newport two weeks now. Elizabeth hated it here, had been a virtual prisoner with her mother as the uncompromising warden. She’d not been allowed to accept a single invitation to a ball or picnic, and instead sweltered in her room that didn’t even have a view of the Atlantic Ocean. Her windows were so high, they let in light but little else. But despite every thing, once she was away from her mother and back in her room, she could smile again, she could think of Henry, remember how he looked, how she could tell he’d wanted to kiss her when they’d made their plans. Everything would be fine. Once the wedding was done, her mother would have to forgive her. And if she didn’t that would be fine, too.

      Elizabeth