A Rogue's Christmas Kiss (The Rogue Chronicles Book 9) Read online

  A Rogue’s Christmas Kiss

  Book 9 of

  A Regency Romance

  Lana Williams

  USA Today Bestselling Author

  A Rogue’s Christmas Kiss

  Book 9 of The Rogue Chronicles

  By Lana Williams

  Will a Christmas kiss give them a second chance for love?

  Mary Adams works as a seamstress, doing her best to forget the terror of her experience upon arriving in London a year and a half ago. A letter from home, advising of her mother’s illness and requesting she return home for Christmas, fills her with angst as she lacks the funds for the trip. But the arrival of an old flame from her village whose suit she rejected years ago upends her world.

  Arthur Reeves is stunned to see Mary Alice behind the counter at the dressmaker’s shop--the woman who broke his young heart. Now he’s known as the rogue solicitor with a successful career specializing in assisting clients with difficult tasks. He thought he put the past behind him--buried it with roguish behavior--and has no desire to rekindle their relationship, risking heartache again.

  When Mary finds the courage to ask if Arthur will help her make the long journey home, he reluctantly agrees. They soon realize they’ve both changed but not their feelings for one another. Mary can’t bring herself to tell Arthur what happened to her, certain he’ll turn away. But a snowstorm and some heated kisses might just be what they both need to heal old wounds.

  Will a rogue’s Christmas kiss give them a second chance for love or will the past emerge to keep them apart?

  Table of Contents

  Other Books in the Series

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Epilogue

  Other Books by the Author

  About the Author

  Copyright

  Other Books in The Rogue Chronicles Series

  ROMANCING THE ROGUE, Book 1

  A ROGUE’S REPUTATION, a Christmas Novella, Book 2

  A ROGUE NO MORE, Book 3

  A ROGUE TO THE RESCUE, Book 4

  A ROGUE AND SOME MISTLETOE, Book 5, a Christmas Novella

  TO DARE A ROGUE, Book 6

  A ROGUE MEETS HIS MATCH, Book 7

  THE ROGUE’S AUTUMN BRIDE, Book 8

  A ROGUE’S CHRISTMAS KISS, a Christmas Novella, Book 9

  More stories coming soon ~ to be the first to know about new releases and special promotions, sign up for my VIP Readers Newsletter.

  Chapter One

  London, December 1818

  Mary Adams lifted a length of periwinkle silk from a shelf at Madame Beaufort’s Dressmaker Shop where she worked as both seamstress and clerk. Unable to resist, she brushed a hand along the smooth fabric as she set it on the counter. “This particular shade would be very becoming.”

  “You have an excellent eye for color, Mary.” The Countess of Wynn, a lady whom Mary liked and admired, gave a nod of approval. The newly married countess was well known for her exquisite taste. “This will be perfect.”

  “I’m so pleased you like it.” Mary smiled, knowing quite well the countess had spoken loud enough to be certain Madame Beaufort heard her.

  Mary glanced up as the door chimed, signaling the entrance of another customer. The cold, damp winter air swept into the shop with the new arrival, a reminder that Christmas would soon be upon them.

  She tightened her shawl over her shoulders. The shop had been busy, which meant the door had been open enough to make it chilly inside. The day had been a long one, and the low of her back ached as did her feet. But it would be hours before she could rest. Several orders for gowns for the holiday had come in over the past few days, which meant all the seamstresses would be working longer hours.

  Mrs. Beatrice Walker, a friend of both the countess and Mary, sighed with longing as she studied the silk. “I wish I could wear that color.”

  “A deeper shade of it would suit you well,” Mary suggested. She would do anything for Beatrice. After all, Mary had her to thank for her very life. If not for the lady and her husband, Daniel Walker, Mary might still be locked in a brothel, too frightened to escape.

  “Do you think so?” Beatrice glanced at the silk before studying the other shades of fabric visible on the shelves behind Mary.

  “Absolutely,” Lady Wynn agreed.

  Most customers purchased fabric from the linen-drapers then came to the dressmaker to have their gown designed and sewn. But at Mary’s suggestion, the shop had begun to sell partially pre-sewn gowns. With the basics done, the gown could then be fitted and completed within days rather than weeks. Displaying the fabric that they intended to use on the shelves provided a place to store it while also tempting customers to make a purchase.

  The discussion over color choices continued, giving Mary a chance to look around the shop. Madame Beaufort followed a customer to the fitting room in the back, which meant making certain the rest of the customers in the front were helped was Mary’s responsibility.

  Noting a lady who looked as if she needed assistance, Mary turned to catch the gaze of Beth, one of her co-workers, and tipped her head toward the customer.

  Beth set aside her sewing and hurried to help the new arrival.

  When Mary had first started at Madame Beaufort’s, a position she gained a year and a half ago thanks to Lady Wynn, who’d been Margaret Gold at the time, she thought to only be a seamstress. But with each month that passed, she took on more responsibilities, even working on the accounts in the evenings. The opportunity to earn additional wages was welcome as she sent every penny she could spare home to her family.

  She had always enjoyed sewing while growing up in Cropton, a small village in northern England, not far from the seaside town of Scarborough. Her mother was a basket weaver and her father a stonemason.

  When her father fell and broke his leg, preventing him from working, Mary had decided to seek employment in London as there were only limited opportunities in Cropton. She’d set off for the city with high hopes of finding a good position that would allow her to send money to her family.

  However, upon her arrival, events had gone terribly wrong, changing her forever. Every day, she reminded herself how lucky she was that she’d escaped life as a prostitute after less than two weeks. But those days had been terrifying. Thus far, she’d been able to keep that dark secret from her family and most others.

  “Miss?” A customer frowned with irritation as she gestured toward a length of blue wool. “Is there someone who can assist me?”

  Mary glanced apologetically at Lady Wynn and Beatrice, who both nodded. “Please excuse me for a moment.”

  After assisting the lady with an order for a gown, Mary returned to them. “My apologies.”

  “Think nothing of it,” Lady Wynn said. “We are having difficulty deciding on a second gown.”

  “Indeed, we are,” Beatrice agreed. “Which one should I select?”

  Mary completed their orders quickly, a simple process as their measurements were already on file. Madame Beaufort came from the back in time to thank them for their business and bid them goodbye.

  Mary’s bright smile faded as the two ladies walked out the door, going home to their families. A pang of longing struck her as that would never be something she’d have. Not given her time in the brothel. She was ruined, regardless of whether many knew the truth, and at five and twenty, on her way to spinsterhood.

&n
bsp; She gave herself a mental shake. It was this time of year, with Christmas just around the corner, that made her melancholy and a bit lonelier than normal.

  “Mary, I don’t know what I would do without you,” Madame Beaufort said with a smile. “Not only do you bring us customers, but your organizational skills are outstanding as is your eye for fashion.”

  “Thank you, Madame. I enjoy it.” Mary truly did like the work. Though longing for the life she’d once imagined, including a family of her own, occasionally struck her, it eventually faded. The young woman who’d held hope for a different future was gone and could never return. It was enough that she was able to help her family.

  Mary no longer thought of the future and what it might hold. She lived one day at a time with the goal of earning as much as possible. Her father had recovered and was back to work, but Mary had yet to return to Cropton for a visit.

  How could she after what had happened? She wanted to keep those two weeks forever buried in the past. When she wrote to her family, she pretended it hadn’t happened. Instead, she described how wonderful London was, and how much she liked it.

  Thanks to Mr. Walker, Mary had sent a significant amount of money home. He’d taken it from the brothel the night he’d rescued her and given her a portion of it to set her on her feet. She couldn’t bring herself to keep any of it—not when it felt so dirty, a terrible reminder of what she’d endured. Her family needed it more than she did as her two younger sisters were still home.

  The remainder of the day passed quickly and a glance outside showed daylight fading. People bundled in warm wool clothing hurried past, most likely going home where a warm fire and a hot meal waited.

  It would soon be time to lock the doors of the nearly empty shop, and Mary would step outside to walk upstairs to the small room she rented from Madame Beaufort. On cold days like this, she was glad it was small as it took little to heat the space.

  “Oh, Mary,” Madame Beaufort said as she reached behind the counter. “A letter arrived for you earlier. I nearly forgot.”

  Mary’s chest tightened as she glanced at her sister’s familiar script. Jane’s last letter had shared that their mother was feeling poorly. Mary hoped this one contained better news.

  “Another letter from home, eh?” Madame Beaufort asked with a smile. “They write you often.”

  “Yes, madame. Would you like me to lock up this evening?”

  “I would appreciate that.” The dressmaker glanced out the window and quickly gathered her things, calling to the seamstresses that it was closing time. Soon they were all bidding her good night and walking out of the shop.

  As the last girl shut the door behind her, Mary moved into the back to retrieve her cloak but paused to pull the letter from her pocket and open it, eager for news of home. Yet as she perused the words, her heart sank.

  Dear Mary Alice,

  I hope this finds you well. Unfortunately, Mother is still ailing. If anything, her cough seems to have worsened. I am worried about her. Can you please come home for Christmas? It would mean the world to her as she misses you terribly. We all do.

  Mary blinked back tears at both the news and the request. The idea of her strong mother anything but hale and hearty was impossible. Equally impossible was the request for Mary to come home.

  Not only did it fill her with dread as she feared they would immediately discover her secret, but she had no money to do so. Anything extra had been sent home already.

  The door chimed before Mary could read more, reminding her that she hadn’t locked up. She sighed at the sound. With her luck, a difficult customer had arrived and would keep her in the shop for another hour.

  She tucked the letter into a pocket, hoping to hurry the person along, and moved to the front of the shop behind the long wooden counter.

  Her heart thudded dully at the sight of a tall, broad-shouldered gentleman wearing a fine black wool greatcoat looking about the shop. Men made her very uncomfortable since her time in the brothel. Thank goodness she rarely had to deal with them.

  She was careful to keep the counter between them, wishing she would’ve locked the door. A glance beneath the counter revealed a pair of shears. She put her hand on them as she greeted the customer, just in case. “May I help you?”

  The man removed his hat, revealing a handsome face with dark hair clipped short, his green eyes taking in the shop.

  Mary’s knees nearly buckled at the sight of his familiar features even if they were more mature, more chiseled, and grimmer than she remembered.

  Arthur Reeves. It couldn’t be. She studied the changes, hardly able to believe her eyes. The young man from her village who’d left to make his fortune in London and taken her heart with him stood before her.

  ~*~

  Arthur Reeves cleared his throat, wishing he were already home by the fire with a glass of brandy in hand. His day had not gone according to plan. He was cold and tired and running behind schedule. So behind that he’d been relieved to find the dressmaker shop still open despite the late hour, which would allow him to cross one more task from his list. The sooner he put the awkward situation behind him, the better.

  Errands such as this weren’t normal for most solicitors. However, Arthur wasn’t a normal solicitor. He’d earned a reputation for handling difficult tasks with discretion, allowing him to charge ridiculous fees for jobs with which other gentlemen didn’t want to dirty their hands.

  Closing an account at a dressmaker’s that a certain marquess’s mistress had opened and run up a significant sum, as well as giving the order to not allow said mistress to make further purchases, was his last task for the day.

  He had never stepped foot inside a dressmaker’s shop before, and he looked about with curiosity. The colorful fabric shelved along one wall caught his notice, as did several gowns on mannequins in various states of completion.

  A long wooden counter lined two walls, where a clerk now stood after emerging from the back. The shop was empty of customers, suggesting it was indeed closing time.

  He glanced at the lone feminine figure behind the counter, noting the simple brown gown that nearly blended in with the wooden shelves behind her. A white cap hid most of her hair and her hands now gripped the edge of the counter.

  He loosened his cashmere scarf as he drew closer to deliver his bad news, only to stop short.

  “Mary Alice?” Her name slipped out before he could halt it. Only too late, he realized he should’ve pretended he didn’t recognize her. That would’ve been best for them both.

  “Arthur.” From her tight, breathless tone, he imagined she wasn’t any more pleased to see him than he was to see her.

  Yet he drank in her neat and tidy appearance, noting every small detail. She’d lost weight since he last saw her, lending a hollowness to her cheeks rather than the roundness of youth. Wariness rested in her brown eyes—the deep color had always reminded him of melted chocolate.

  The long sweep of her lashes lowered briefly to hide those wide, startled eyes. Black brows arched delicately above them. Her dark brown hair that used to reach the middle of her back was tautly pulled into a roll at the base of her neck just visible beneath the cap.

  Upon closer inspection, he could see how well her woolen gown fit her frame, little tucks along the bodice and cuffs adding elegance to what he’d first thought was plain. She had always liked to sew and was obviously skilled in her trade.

  “It has been a long time since we last spoke.” He clenched his teeth at his inane remark. Why had he mentioned their last conversation? The one where she’d spurned his offer? That had been eight years ago. A lifetime had passed since then.

  “Yes. Yes, it has.” Her poise was surprising as was her reserved demeanor. She wasn’t anything like the vivid and joyful Mary Alice he remembered from his youth. Twin spots of color filled her cheeks, making him realize how long he’d stared.

  “I didn’t realize you had come to London.” When he’d last seen her, she’d planned on staying in
Cropton but insisted he was meant for a better life than he would ever find there with her. She’d told him he deserved someone better than her, a stonemason’s daughter, but he knew that had been a gentle way of saying she didn’t care for him the way he cared for her.

  “Father fell and broke his leg a year and a half ago, so I came to the city to seek employment.”

  “I hope he recovered?” Arthur remembered Mr. Adams as a bull of a man. He wouldn’t have welcomed such an injury that would keep him from working for months.

  “Yes, thank you.” Her smile was polite, yet he couldn’t help but notice the whiteness of her knuckles where she continued to hold the counter, suggesting she wasn’t as unaffected by their reunion as he thought. “I hope London has treated you well?”

  “Well enough.” He wouldn’t tell her of the long, lonely years he’d spent studying law or “eating his dinners” in order to become a barrister or solicitor. After attending university, a candidate had to work with a barrister for three years—seven if he hadn’t studied law at university—spending every possible moment, including eating meals with them. Hence the term “eating his dinners.”

  Arthur had chosen to become a solicitor rather than a barrister and so dealt directly with clients instead of spending the majority of his time presenting cases to judges.

  “I’m pleased to hear that.” She paused, worrying her lower lip in a way that reminded him of the young girl he’d known.

  Something inside him eased at the familiar gesture.

  As the second son of a baron, he’d believed himself in love with Mary Alice for as long as he could remember. But when he finally worked up the courage to tell her of his feelings, she’d shaken her head, eyes filled with regret.

  “You are meant for more than the likes of me, Arthur. You should dream bigger. Go to London and find your path.”

  Her rejection had hurt. He hadn’t wanted to leave their quaint village. Or her and all else familiar. Yet how could he remain when that meant seeing her often, knowing she didn’t return his feelings?