Holiday for Two (a duet of Christmas novellas) Read Free

while I’m in the States. Do you have another of those things for glasses?” His had fogged up again in the luxurious warmth of his luxurious car. Carrie got another wipe out of her coat pocket.
    “I’ll use it after you. How long are you staying?”
    “It depends.” He polished his lenses and gave her back the wipe. “Where to, Miss Moore?”
    Well, he remembered her name—that was something. And he was depending on her to save the day, or night, as it were. It was pretty damn dark already. Edna’s red taillights were barely visible as she fishtailed out of the parking lot.
    “There’s a B and B on the corner of Ferry Road and Route 1.” Carrie peered through the windshield in the inn’s general direction with her cleaned glasses but realized she saw no glowing windows or festive decorations. Not even the spotlight that usually illuminated the sign was lit. The power wasn’t out here as well—the terminal parking lot was bright and the shuttered business had security lights on. “Damn,” she muttered. “We may have to break in.”
    “I beg your pardon?”
    Carrie’s spine shivered, and not from cold. Those four words were uttered in such haughty disbelief, she immediately thought of Mr. Darcy. Ultimate umbrage.
    She’d always been a sucker for Mr. Darcy, the Colin Firth version, preferably.
    “Um, don’t get your knickers in a twist,” she tried to joke, but Lord Archer was having none of it. The overhead light had not extinguished yet and his look of horror was evident. Was it because she proposed they committing a felony—or was it a misdemeanor?—or because she’d mentioned underwear. Hey, he’d used the word condom first!
    “What I mean is, let’s drive across the road and see what’s what. We can’t stay in your car all night—we’ll get carbon monoxide poisoning if the engine’s running or freeze to death if it’s not. At least we won’t starve. I’ve got olives and wine and some munchies in the bag.” Carrie would not mention the turkey—it couldn’t be cooked over a running engine, could it? She read somewhere you could do fish that way in an aluminum foil packet. It was very odd what you wound up knowing as a personal assistant, but she really should know where penguins lived.
    “How close is it to the next town or village or whatever one calls it here?”
    “Over ten miles, and you should not be driving in this weather. The road winds around like crazy and it will be super-dangerous. You could slide right into the ocean.” An exaggeration. You could probably slide onto someone’s lawn though, and if you were very unlucky, hit their barn, and then go in the water.
    Lord Archer pulled off his orange cap and attempted to smooth his fair hair down. He still looked electrocuted. The interior light powered down and they were left in a thick blanket of sideways snow. “This car handles beautifully in all kinds of conditions. It’s won awards.”
    “I’m sure it’s great. I’m a big fan of English cars.” And English men . There was Harry, Colin and a host of others on Masterpiece Theatre . Jeez, she was just like a character out of Austenland . “But I’d rather be safe than sorry.”
    “And I’d rather not spend time in jail! Damn—er—drat that ferry woman. She might have helped us make some arrangements.” He pulled out a cellphone, punched at it viciously and tossed it on the dashboard in disgust.
    “Reception’s iffy even in good weather. Some people move here for the privacy and poor reception,” Carrie said. “Writers. Recluses. Millionaires.”
    “They won’t stay millionaires for long if they cannot contact their brokers.”
    “I wouldn’t know,” Carrie said lightly. And really wouldn’t want to know. Her experience with the rich and famous so far made her grateful for her middle-class parents. There had been lots of rules and limits, annoying at the time. But from her current vantage point at the ripe old age of twenty-eight, she was rooted in