O Night Divine A Holiday Collection of Spirited Christmas Tales - Kathryn Le Veque Page 0,173

to stop at the next inn for the night.” Miss Comden peered into the darkness. “I do hope MacIntyre is all right.”

“Well, it seems I may be able to provide my damsels in distress with a knight in shining armor and complete your fairytale rescue.” Gus cringed inwardly at his bravado. “There is no inn nearby, but Bliss Manor is at your service. We can track your driver, and I’ll see the wheel is fixed on the morrow.”

“We couldn’t impose.”

A snowflake landed on her sooty lashes. He crooked his finger and gently flicked it off. “It’s better than a night in this carriage. My house is enormous, and it’s only myself and the staff. Mrs. Willoughby will make sure there are no improprieties.”

Miss Comden chewed her plump bottom lip. He couldn’t take his eyes off her white teeth scraping against the pink flesh.

“Sir?” asked Johns, still holding the large trunk. “Up or down?”

“She makes the best marmalade in the county. Are you hungry?” The oddity of their situation suddenly occurred to him. Two unmarried females with only a driver for an escort, traveling at night with no prearranged plans. It was almost as if they were—

“Yes, we will take advantage of your generous hospitality.”

Johns gave a sigh of relief as he hoisted the trunk onto the top of the carriage and retrieved the other bags. Gus helped the ladies into the brougham. He sat across from them, and they set off to find the driver, MacIntyre.

The Scot was trudging through the snow a few miles down the road. He eyed Gus suspiciously through chattering teeth but reassured his charges with a smile. “Are ye all right, Miss Etta? Miss Tia?” he asked gruffly. They assured him all was well, and he climbed up to sit next to Johns.

“How far is your estate, Dr. Wharren?” Miss Comden asked as they passed the damaged carriage again.

“Less than an hour. The roads will slow us down some.” He rummaged under the seat. “Would you like a blanket?”

They both nodded, and he shook out the plaid wool and spread it over their laps.

Miss Comden smiled gratefully and peered out the slats of the shade. “The wind is stronger. The snow is coming down harder.”

“We’ll be stranded here for weeks,” said Tia gleefully. “I love adventures.”

Her cheerfulness spread through the carriage. Miss Comden began to smile, a shy, endearing smile that made him want to take her hand and kiss her on the cheek like a giddy schoolboy. Gus couldn’t have wiped the grin off his face if someone pinched him. Hard. Why was he suddenly so ridiculously happy?

Chapter Four

Bliss Manor

Etta was mortified. Intrigued. Smitten. A dark handsome man swooped down from the wintery sky to save them. Oh, horse feathers! She sounded like one of Tia’s romance novels. She studied Dr. Wharren from beneath her lashes. Thick, raven hair, a square chin with a slight cleft in it, and deep green eyes. Like a pine forest, cool and dark, where she could wander and lose herself. An elbow jabbed her in the side, and she gritted her teeth. Even Tia noticed her prolonged gape.

“How long have you lived here?” Etta decided it would be best to avoid too many questions about their journey to Scotland. Mrs. Miller had told her a man’s favorite subject was himself.

“I’ve been coming here since I can remember. It’s my grandmother’s estate, and I’ve inherited it.” He nodded at the wrought iron bars as the carriage passed through the gate. “We spent most of our summers on these grounds.”

“So, you’ve returned to claim your inheritance?”

“Yes, I’m on a retreat of sorts.” His gaze raked over her face, then settled on her mouth.

The heat rose up her neck at the intimate look. Flustered, she struggled to find another question. “Do you practice in London?”

He nodded. “In fact, I delivered my first nephew just before I left.”

“The much-anticipated heir?” She smiled. “Your brother or sister’s?”

“Pardon me, I expect you are wondering what kind of company you are keeping. My brother is Lord Bramer. I am the fourth son of the late Earl of Bramer, hence my career in medicine.” He tipped his hat. “And you, madam?”

“Nothing so regal, I assure you. My father, Lord Comden, was a baron.”

“Was? I’m sorry to hear that.” The carriage stopped and Tia poked her head out. “Let’s get you inside. Mrs. Willoughby, my housekeeper, will be beside herself with two young ladies to fuss over.”

Beyond the window was a wide portico with steps that led