Christmas at the Castle. Marion Lennox

      CHAPTER THREE

      ‘I KNEW IT.’ The first reaction—of course—didn’t come from Holly. It came from Maggie, hissing behind her. ‘Didn’t I tell you? Talk about a fairy tale. Slam the door in his face, Holly. He’s not having his wicked way with you.’

      Holly turned and looked at Maggie and then looked at the wine glass in her grandmother’s hand. She gently removed it and set it on the hall table.

      ‘Wicked way?’

      ‘He’s an Earl.’ Maggie glowered.

      Holly turned back and looked at Angus in astonishment. He looked embarrassed, she thought. And more. ‘He looks cold,’ she told her gran.

      ‘Slam the door, Holly,’ Maggie demanded again.

      ‘I can’t do that. Even if he is crazy, he looks freezing.’

      ‘Holly...’

      ‘He gave me hot chocolate,’ Holly said reasonably. ‘And enough money to buy us coal. He might be out of his mind but I’m not turfing him out into the night.’ She tried to peer through the snow and failed. ‘Unless your car’s here.’

      ‘I walked,’ Angus said. ‘It’s snowing too hard to trust the road and I needed to walk. I needed to think.’

      ‘So you’ve given us no choice but to invite you in and warm you up,’ Holly said. ‘Which we’ll do as long as you don’t make any more ridiculous propositions. Gran and I have had a bottle and a half of very nice wine and maybe you have, too.’

      ‘I’m sensible,’ he said stubbornly and Holly gazed up at him and thought he looked anything but sensible.

      Gorgeous was the adjective Maggie had used. Every generation there’s scandal in that castle because some silly girl thinks the Earl is gorgeous.

      But still...

      He was wearing the most fabulous man’s coat she’d ever seen—thick grey cashmere, tailored to fit. A gorgeous black scarf. Long black boots, moulded to calves that... Okay, don’t go there. His after-five shadow was dark, his hair was darker still, and his eyes... They gleamed with what she thought suddenly looked like dangerous mischief and she thought... Maybe Maggie’s right. Maybe I should slam the door.

      But this man had been good to her. This man was saving her Christmas. Maybe a small bit of eccentricity was allowable.

      So she ushered him into the living room and she left Maggie in charge in case he needed a straitjacket and she made them all hot chocolate—no more alcohol for anyone tonight!—while Maggie glowered in the background and Angus filled her tiny living room with his presence.

      And with his personality. He was trying to charm Maggie, trying to make her smile while Holly made the chocolate. She watched them through the kitchen door. He wasn’t succeeding. Maggie was growing more and more suspicious.

      Enough. She took the chocolate in, settled on the edge of a fireside stool—she decided it might be wise not to make herself comfortable—and fixed him with a look that said: Don’t mess with me.