Learning a Secret...with Sherry Thomas and Giveaway

Learning a Secret on Christmas Eve - Sherry Thomas

Sherry Thomas writes both historical romance and young adult fantasy.

On the romance side, she is one of the most acclaimed authors working in the genre today, her books regularly receiving starred reviews and best-of-the-year honors from trade publications. She is also a two-time winner of Romance Writers of America’s prestigious RITA® Award.

On the young adult fantasy side, her debut book, The Burning Sky, received a Publishers Weekly starred review and is an Indie Next Book Pick.

Sherry writes in her second language. She learned English by reading romance and science fiction—every word Isaac Asimov ever wrote, in fact. She is proud to say that her son is her biggest fanboy—for the YA fantasy, not the romances. At least, not yet…

Places to find Sherry:

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It is super fun to create little specials for the holidays, but sometimes hard to figure out what exactly to write about. My inspiration came when I reread the scene I did last year, for the “Along with a rogue on Christmas Eve” theme, and decided to continue that story. So please read that scene first.
(Click HERE to read)

***

“Your turn, Lady Georgina,” said Mr. Wenlock.

Georgina started. “Yes, of course.”

She scanned her cards and set down a jack of spades.

“You have been quite distracted tonight, my dear,” said Lady Wintersea, Georgina’s mother, with a raised brow.

Georgina shook her head. What had come over her? It had been at least an hour, but she might as well still be on the terrace, standing next to Beresford, realizing for the first time that he did not simply see her as his best friend’s widow.

Gentlemen liked to try their chances with young widows--in the three years since Elliot’s passing, she had become rather good at pretending to not notice the hints dropped her way. So it wasn’t Beresford’s awareness of her as a woman that kept pulling her attention from the card game, but her own reaction: She was unable to carry on as usual.

Ever since she came back into the house, she had been scanning the gathering for him. But he seemed to have disappeared, his absence a strange restlessness within her.

“You know how it is, Mother,” she said. “It’s hard to concentrate when there is so much else going on.”

The drawing room was full of conversation and laughter, with the piano almost constantly in use and frequently accompanied by belted-out verses of the latest popular songs.

Lady Wintersea gave Georgina a look, as if to say, You have never had such troubles before.

“There he is,” piped up Mrs. Claughton, the fourth person at the card table. “Beresford, where have you been?

“In the billiard room,” he answered, from behind Georgina.

He was separated from her by distance of several feet, a very respectable several feet, yet heat skittered across her nape, as if his fingers had brushed her skin.

“Oh, I thought you were off writing letters,” said Mrs. Claughton.

“No point writing letters when the post office does not open tomorrow,” answered Beresford. “Or on Boxing Day.”

“But some letters can be delivered by hand,” said Mr. Wenlock, with a wink at Georgina. “And some letters require days of drafting and redrafting.”

“Now why are you winking at my darling Lady Georgina?” Mrs. Claughton demanded. She turned to Georgina. “Have you been receiving love letters?”

“My goodness, no. The last love letter I received dates from before my engagement to Mr. Coventry.”

When Georgina had teased Elliot about the cessation of his love letters the moment they became engaged, he had answered frankly that they were difficult for him and that he would be happy to prove his love to her in other ways. And he had—he had always been the most attentive of husbands. But she would not have minded if he had continued to write eloquent, impassioned letters like those from the days of their courtship.

Mr. Wenlock’s expression was one of mischief. “Ah, and you never wondered why Mr. Coventry no longer wrote love letters after your engagement, Lady Georgina?”

“Wenlock,” said Beresford, a hint of menace in his voice.

“What?” said Mr. Wenlock innocently.

“Indeed, what?” demanded Mrs. Claughton. “What are you gentlemen communicating in secret?”

“Absolutely nothing,” declared Mr. Wenlock.

“I see Lady Piercy is in need of my service,” said Beresford. “If you will excuse me.”

Mrs. Claughton huffed a little. “I demand to know what that was all about.”

Mr. Wenlock merely grinned.

“He is playing with you, Mary,” said Georgina, “making you think something is there when there is, as he himself said, ‘absolutely nothing.’”

“Young men and their need to taunt young ladies,” Lady Wintersea chimed in. “I remember when my brothers rigged just such a game, exchanging looks at the dinner table until my sister and I were wild to know what was going on—when the only thing going on was their desire to make us think we had been excluded from something mysterious and exciting.”

Mrs. Claughton huffed some more about the irresponsibility of such action, but the card game continued and Georgina did her best not to glance more than once every minute toward Beresford, seated next to Lady Piercy, whispering into her ear.

***

“So what was that about, between you and Wenlock?” Georgina asked.

Coffee and biscuits had been brought around, signaling it was almost time for the ladies to retire. And Georgina had at last secured a bit of privacy for Beresford and herself, on a window seat where they could not be overheard.

“And don’t tell me it was nothing,” she continued.

He gazed at her. “Then I won’t tell you it was nothing.”

It was a disconcerting gaze—nothing remotely disrespectful or lascivious, yet she almost could not hold it, now that she knew he wanted her. “Does that mean you won’t tell me anything?”

“That is correct, Lady Georgina.”

She had always thought of him as affable—popular gentlemen usually were. But as polite as his refusal was, it was also steely. The subject was closed.
She thought for a moment. “Can you promise not to lie to me for the next five minutes?”

“Why?”

“Just promise me that.”

A shadow crossed his face. “All right, I promise,” he said.

He surprised her—she had been almost certain he would not agree to it.

Now she must voice her suspicions in the open.

She bit the inside of her cheek. “Wenlock was at Cambridge with you and Elliot. What he said tonight—did he mean to imply that Elliot did not write his own love letters?”

Beresford said nothing.

“Correct me if I’m wrong.”

Still he said nothing. She was not wrong then.

“Did you write those letters for him?”

Again no response on his part, except a tightening of his jaw.

Her fingers knotted together. Her life with Elliot had not been based on those love letters. But still, Elliot should have told her.

As if Beresford had heard her, he said, “Elliot would have told you. He meant to, as soon as you accepted his suit. But I did not want it to be known that I helped him draft those letters and he acceded to my wishes.”

“But why not? We would have all had a good laugh about it.”

Beresford shrugged, his expression inscrutable.

It was no laughing matter to him, she suddenly thought.

He rose. “I wish you a good night, Lady Georgina.”

She watched as he found his way to a cluster of friends, who welcomed him with open cheers. Her mother laid a hand on her sleeve. “Shall we go up, my love?”

“Yes, of course, Mother.”

At the door, she glanced back at Beresford, who was speaking to Lord Vere. Beresford, as if feeling the weight of her gaze, looked in her direction.
She hurried away, her chest at once tight and hot.

Felix Rivendale, the Marquess of Wrenworth, is The Ideal Gentleman, a man all men want to be and all women want to possess. Felix knows very well his golden image is a hoax. But no one else suspects the truth, until Miss Louisa Cantwell comes along.

From their first meeting, Louisa has mistrusted his outward perfection. But even she could not have imagined that The Ideal Gentleman would propose—to make her his mistress.

Yet she cannot ignore the pleasure his touch ignites. Nor can she deny the pull Lord Wrenworth exerts upon her. But dare she get any closer to a man full of dark secrets, any one of which could devastate her?

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