American ballet sensation, Miss Serendipity Shaw, has traveled to England at the invitation of the Duchess of Abernathy and her husband, Mr. Lewis Duffield. She came to perform and experience an English Christmastide, but when she meets the dashing and brooding Earl of Dayton, everything changes.
Wesley Jackson, Earl of Dayton, has never been a fan of the Christmas season. When his close friend Lord Luvington urges him to attend a Christmas house party, he accepts the invitation despite his reservations. Little does he know there will be an irresistible American beauty in residence—one whose sweet smile threatens all of his well-constructed defenses.
Determined to bring the magic of Christmas into the earl’s life, Serendipity takes every opportunity to do so. The more time she spends with him, the farther in love, she falls. She never planned to give Wesley her heart. But now that she has, she means to have his in return.
Can she thaw his frozen heart before Christmas passes, and she must return to America?
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London England, 1824
Wesley Jackson, Earl of Dayton, could not look away. He knew he should not be staring so blatantly at the woman performing. It was rude to ogle, after all. And his actions were even more grievous when one considered the woman captivating him was under his host and hostess’s protection. Even worse, when one considered the aforementioned to be friends.
Still, he could not look away.
Maybe it did not signify. The woman was performing. Perhaps Her Grace and Mr. Lewis Duffield had hired the chit? She would still be under their protection, but not completely out of his reach.
His gaze followed her every step as she danced across the duchesses parlor, her body swooping and twirling in the most delicious ways. His gaze followed the lines of her trim body, pausing at the gentle swell of her breasts, then again at the curve of her hips. She was a spritely chit, short and thin but not at all lacking in feminine attributes.
Leastwise, not in his estimation.
She pirouetted, her knees parting as she swept out her arms and bowed her head. The golden curls collected at the top of her crown shone in the candlelight as if her hair was spun from gold. Wesley’s fingers itched to touch it.
“Who is she?” He asked, his voice low and raspy. Even as he asked, his gaze remained locked on the woman. It was as if through her dance, she had cast a spell on him—each fluid movement captivating him further.
“She is not what you think,” his long-time friend, Richard, The Duke of Goldstone, answered. “In fact, you would do well to put her out of your mind immediately, for she is the daughter of my aunt’s dear friends.”
“An American then?”
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French
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Already translated.
Translated by Elodie Demogue
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German
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Already translated.
Translated by Barbara Henze
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Italian
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Already translated.
Translated by Sara Minervini
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Portuguese
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Already translated.
Translated by Evelyn T M Martins
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