One Snowy Night with Lord Hauxton

  She cursed under her breath as the candle flickered out just as she opened the bedroom door.

  It was almost completely dark inside. She decided to make the best of things and felt her way into the room, closing the door behind her. After a minute her eyes began to adjust. Piece by piece she peeled her sodden clothing from her skin.

  Flipping back the corner of the bedcovers, she slipped in then rolled onto her side, barreling right into a warm body.

  She would have screamed if she wasn’t so shocked all the breath left her body in a silent puff. Her skin was touching someone warm and muscled and most definitely naked. She felt the stiffening of their body as they woke suddenly at the contact. Henrietta scrabbled backward so quickly she fell out of bed and onto the floor.

  Even in her shocked state she was aware of how ungracefully she was moving and sent up a silent prayer of thanks that the room was so dark it hid her nakedness completely.

  “What the devil are you doing?” a deep male voice asked from the darkness. It sounded vaguely familiar.

  Author Note

  I’m never sure which season is my favorite. I love summer, with the long days and promise of sunshine, and there’s something magical about spring, with the flowers blooming and the baby ducklings waddling through the village. That said, there’s something rather romantic about the time of year when autumn slips into winter, the days get shorter and there is a cold bite to the air. It might be because it was late autumn when I first started dating my husband, so when I think of that first flush of romance, I always picture cold walks wrapped in warm scarves and returning home to a cozy house.

  When I started writing One Snowy Night with Lord Hauxton, I wanted to evoke that romantic winter feel. I had in my mind snowy scenes and wintry walks and the all-important warming by the fire. I’d also always wanted to write a book where the hero and heroine were trapped together, cut off from everyone else by the snow. I’ve always fancied a few days of that sort of isolation myself—a few days of being with the one who matters the most with no distractions of the outside world. Henrietta and Thomas certainly have time with just the two of them trapped together in the snow. I hope you enjoy their story—perhaps by the fire with a warm drink while the snowflakes are falling outside.

  LAURA MARTIN

  One Snowy Night with Lord Hauxton

  Laura Martin writes historical romances with an adventurous undercurrent. When not writing, she spends her time working as a doctor in Cambridgeshire, UK, where she lives with her husband. In her spare moments Laura loves to lose herself in a book and has been known to read from cover to cover in a single day when the story is particularly gripping. She also loves to travel—especially to visit historical sites and far-flung shores.

  Books by Laura Martin

  Harlequin Historical

  The Pirate Hunter

  Secrets Behind Locked Doors

  Under a Desert Moon

  A Ring for the Pregnant Debutante

  An Unlikely Debutante

  An Earl to Save Her Reputation

  The Viscount’s Runaway Wife

  The Brooding Earl’s Proposition

  Her Best Friend, the Duke

  One Snowy Night with Lord Hauxton

  Scandalous Australian Bachelors

  Courting the Forbidden Debutante

  Reunited with His Long-Lost Cinderella

  Her Rags-to-Riches Christmas

  The Eastway Cousins

  An Earl in Want of a Wife

  Heiress on the Run

  Visit the Author Profile page

  at Harlequin.com for more titles.

  For Luke, Jack and George, there’s no one else I would rather be stuck inside with.

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Epilogue

  Excerpt from The Viscount’s Yuletide Bride by Carol Arens

  Chapter One

  ‘Ten more minutes,’ Thomas muttered to himself through gritted teeth as he forced his spine to straighten in the saddle. It was bitterly cold, with a thick blanket of snow on the ground and more beginning to fall in soft flurries from the clouds above. Even in the darkness he could see the weather was only going to get worse. There was a heavy quality to the sky and a relentless icy wind.

  Through his thick coat he could feel the muscles of his back begin to tense again and his shoulders start to hunch. It would be a relief to reach Hailsham Hall and divest himself of his wet clothes and warm his body by a roaring fire. He doubted his hosts had waited up for him—the snow had disrupted many travel plans and they would forgive him for his lateness. He was looking forward to a few days spent in their company, but he wouldn’t mind heading straight to bed tonight—it had been an arduous ride through the treacherous conditions and he was exhausted.

  Careful to hold his horse steady, he picked a path through the snow up the sweeping drive. It looked beautiful under the layer of pure white, the trees that lined the avenue glistening with frost and the gardens beyond seeming to stretch out for ever as the snow concealed hedges and walls.

  Like all large country estates, its approach seemed to take for ever, the drive stretching on for half a mile before Thomas finally was able to dismount in front of the house. It was completely dark, with not a single candle flickering in a window. Quickly he ran up the steps and knocked on the door, listening carefully for any sound of movement beyond.

  To his surprise the door was opened almost immediately by the elderly butler his friend Heydon had employed the whole time Thomas had known him. The man must be well into his seventh decade now, but didn’t give any sign of slowing down.

  ‘Good evening, my lord,’ he said, making a proper little bow before peering out into the darkness beyond. ‘Did you ride in this weather?’

  ‘I did.’

  ‘And your carriage? Your luggage?’

  ‘I would imagine it will arrive in the morning.’ He’d set off at the same time as the carriage with his valet and luggage before the snow had started coming down, but on the icy roads it had been much easier to make progress on horseback than in an unwieldy carriage. Emmerson, the capable man who drove the carriage and cared for the horses, was sensible and no doubt would have stopped somewhere along the way by now to await better conditions in the morning.

  ‘Very good, my lord.’ As the butler spoke he efficiently helped Thomas divest himself of his sodden coat and gloves. ‘The forest suite is prepared and ready for you. Lord and Lady Heydon unfortunately have been detained by the weather in Hampshire, but they sent word to expect you and apologise for the delay.’

  ‘I’ve heard the snow has been worse in Hampshire and to the west.’

  ‘Indeed, my lord. I shall show you up to your room in just a moment, if you would just excuse me first so I can get someone to see to your horse.’

 
‘Of course.’

  The butler was only gone for a minute, barely enough time for Thomas to start to feel the warmth of the house seep through his clothes and start to permeate his skin. He hoped there was a roaring fire in the grate in his bedroom.

  ‘Would you like me to arrange for some hot water to be sent up? Or perhaps a change of clothes?’ Perkins enquired as they started upstairs.

  ‘No need to wake the rest of the household,’ Thomas said. The house really was quiet, most likely the servants taking the opportunity for an early night while their master and mistress were away. A hot bath would be heavenly, but not if it meant waking up some poor housemaid to run the water up and down the stairs when it was well past eleven o’clock. A bath could wait until the morning.

  ‘Very good, my lord.’

  Thomas had stayed at Hailsham Hall a number of times over the last couple of years. Although he’d known Heydon much longer, the Duke had only made Hailsham Hall his main residence after marrying Caroline, his Duchess, three years earlier. It was a grand property, although certainly not the largest Heydon owned, but Thomas could see why they chose to make it their home. Despite its size it had a cosy, homely feel to it. It was solidly built without draughts or rattling windows and sat in a beautiful part of the Kentish countryside only twenty miles from the centre of London.

  Perkins opened the door to the forest suite and allowed Thomas to step inside.

  ‘Would you like me to help you undress, my lord?’

  ‘No need.’

  ‘Very good. If you will just allow me a moment to start a fire, the room will be warmed in no time.’

  The butler might have been elderly and the most senior member of Heydon’s household, but he didn’t hesitate in kneeling down in front of the grate and expertly coaxing the kindling so within a minute a fire was roaring.

  ‘Thank you.’

  With a little bow the butler retreated, closing the door to the bedroom behind him.

  The bed looked tempting, soft and luxurious with piles of blankets and enough pillows to envelop Thomas on every side. Quickly he began to peel off his wet clothing, hanging each layer over the back of a chair. He knew the clothes would be gone by the time he woke in the morning, replaced with a clean set he would borrow until his luggage turned up. Heydon’s household was efficient and conscientious, always ensuring any guest was well looked after.

  Every single layer of his clothing was soaked so he stripped naked, standing in front of the fire for a minute, allowing the heat to warm his skin. He wouldn’t normally sleep with a fire burning in the grate, but tonight he would make an exception. Carefully he prodded it with the poker, rearranging the wood so it would soon die down to a warm glow, then he slipped under the blankets and felt his body sink into the mattress. It was heavenly.

  * * *

  Gripping hold of the reins, Henrietta slowed her horse even more and then with a grimace slid from the saddle. It was too unsafe to ride with the snow obscuring the driveway and already Meribel had slipped and almost lost her footing twice. A third time the horse might not be so lucky.

  ‘Almost there,’ Henrietta said soothingly, reaching up and taking Meribel’s bridle to lead her along the drive.

  As they walked Henrietta felt the fresh sting of tears in her eyes and tried to blink them away. She’d always been rash, always acted before thinking, but this was possibly the most foolish thing she’d done. It had been snowing when she’d left London this morning and although there had been a respite in the middle of the day it had begun to come down in earnest the past two hours.

  ‘You couldn’t stay at home,’ she murmured to herself. It was true—even if there had been a tornado or a hurricane raging outside her front door she still couldn’t have stayed at home, not after...

  She felt the coldness as her tears reached her cheeks and used the back of her gloved hand to swipe them away. Swallowing hard, she tried to force her mind away from the argument she’d had with her mother and the awful moment the painting Henrietta had been working on for the past year had been destroyed. All that work, all those hours, all that heartache as she’d poured her soul into the painting, destroyed in a moment. No, she couldn’t stay at home, she might not be able to ever go home again. Her anger at her mother was all-consuming and she couldn’t imagine ever wanting to see her again.

  Looking up, she felt relief blossoming as she saw the darkened outline of Hailsham Hall a few hundred yards away. When she’d fled from the house with only the clothes she wore and a little money in her reticule, there had been no question in her mind where she would come. Her cousin Caroline would welcome her and shelter her and allow her to grieve over the loss of the painting that had become her life these past few months and also the loss of her relationship with her mother. It would be her sanctuary, her refuge.

  She’d left a hurried note at home before she’d fled—even in her distress she wasn’t so cruel as to disappear from home without telling her parents where she was—but even so she didn’t think her mother would seek her out so far from London.

  ‘Wait here, Meribel,’ she whispered soothingly to the horse as she climbed the steps. The house was silent, even the grounds were silent, the snow muffling any rustles or scurries of wildlife. Softly Henrietta knocked on the door, listening for the sound of footsteps within.

  Nothing. Not even the hint of someone stirring.

  She knocked a little louder, not wanting to wake the entire household, but hoping someone would hear her, otherwise it would be a night in the stables.

  Still nothing. Henrietta knew from previous visits one of the footmen had his bedroom downstairs in the basement rather than upstairs with most of the other servants so he could be alerted if there were any late-night or early morning visitors, but the house was huge and she was not expected so it was unlikely she would wake even him.

  One last time she raised her fist and this time hammered on the door, sending up a silent apology if she ended up waking the entire household. For a few moments she held her breath, listening intently, then almost gave out a cry of relief as she heard movement inside.

  It took a minute for the door to be unlocked and the bolts to be drawn back, and Henrietta had to restrain herself from embracing the half-asleep footman who opened it.

  ‘Miss Harvey,’ he said, blinking with surprise. For a moment he just stood there and then hurriedly remembered himself and opened the door to usher her in.

  ‘I’m so sorry for the late hour,’ she said, feeling the warmth of the house envelop her. ‘And the unexpected arrival.’

  ‘Let me take your coat, miss. Do you have any luggage?’

  Henrietta grimaced. ‘No.’ Caroline would lend her some clothes and everything else she could need would be easily found in the house.

  ‘Lord and Lady Heydon...’

  ‘Oh, please don’t think about waking them. I’ll explain everything in the morning.’

  The footman blinked at her and then shook his head. ‘They’re not here, miss. They sent word they were detained by the snow in Hampshire.’

  Henrietta chewed her lip. ‘Never mind,’ she said after a few seconds. ‘I’m sure Caroline won’t mind me staying here a few days in her absence.’

  The footman brightened. ‘Of course, miss. Lady Heydon even sent word to ready the forest suite.’

  ‘To ready...?’ Henrietta frowned as she trailed off. There was no way Caroline could know she was coming. Instead of arguing she smiled brightly. ‘Then that is where I will rest tonight.’ It wasn’t the room she normally occupied when staying with Caroline and James, but any room with a soft bed and warm blankets would be welcome on a night like tonight.

  ‘Shall I show you upstairs, miss?’

  ‘No need. I know the way. If you would be so kind as to see my horse around to the stables?’

  ‘Of course, miss.’ The footman handed her his candle and p
eered out into the freezing night. ‘Perhaps I’ll fetch my coat first. Sleep well, miss.’

  Henrietta felt the weight of her sodden skirts dragging as she climbed the stairs. In her haste to flee from the London town house she had left in the clothes she had been wearing, a rather unsuitable dress designed for entertaining indoors rather than riding twenty miles in the snow. Her cloak was thicker and warmer, but still not ideal for riding in any weather, let alone the blizzard that had slowed her for the last couple of miles. It would be a relief to slip out of her clothes and climb under the blankets.

  Upstairs she made her way quickly to the forest suite, cursing under her breath as the candle flickered out just as she opened the door. It was almost completely dark inside, but she was pleasantly surprised to see some glowing embers in the grate. It wasn’t enough to see by, but gave the room a wonderful warmth.

  Henrietta hesitated. She could go back downstairs and ask for another candle, but that would delay the moment she could collapse into bed and all of a sudden she felt overcome with weariness. Or she could try to light the candle with the glowing embers in the grate, but risked burning her fingers in the darkness. Instead she decided to make the best of things and felt her way into the room, closing the door behind her. After a minute her eyes began to adjust and she could see the outline of furniture.

  Carefully she picked her way over to one of the high-backed chairs and steadied herself as she started to remove her boots. Piece by piece she peeled her sodden clothing from her skin, hesitating as she reached her shift and petticoats. Running her hands over the damp material, she pulled them up by the hem—it was silly to go uncomfortable for the sake of modesty. In a moment she would be beneath the covers and in the morning she could ask one of the maids to bring her clean clothes.

  It felt strange to be standing completely naked in the darkness and quickly she felt her way over to the bed. Flipping back the corner of the covers, she slipped in and rolled on to her side, barrelling right into a warm body.