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Let It Snow...: The Prince who Stole Christmas
Leslie Kelly
JENNIFER LABRECQUE
The Prince Who Stole Christmas by Leslie KellyWhen charming Prince Philip decides he wants to find true love rather than being married for his crown, he heads for the magical land of New York City. There, during the holiday season, he meets and woos Claire Hoffman, the perfect girl for him…who might or might not think he's crazy when he reveals who he really is, and where he comes from! My True Love Gave to Me… by Jennifer LaBrecqueGertrude ‘Gertie’ Brown had been in love with Knox Whitaker for what feels like her entire life. She’d wanted a life with Knox. But when he suffers the loss of his grandmother he becomes someone she doesn’t recognise. Gertie tries to forget him and move on with her life yet she always feels as if there’s a piece missing…
About the Authors
LESLIE KELLY has written dozens of books and novellas for Mills & Boon
Blaze
. Known for her sparkling dialogue, fun characters and depth of emotion, her books have been honored with numerous awards, including a National Readers’ Choice Award, an RT Book Reviews Award, and three nominations for the highest recognition in romance, the RWA RITA
Award. Leslie lives in Maryland with her own romantic hero, Bruce, and their three daughters. Visit her online at www.lesliekelly.com or at her blog, www.plotmonkeys.com.
After a varied career path that included barbecue-joint waitress, corporate numbers cruncher, and bug business maven, JENNIFER LABRECQUE has found her true calling writing contemporary romance. Named 2001 Notable New Author of the Year and 2002 winner of the prestigious Maggie Award for Excellence, she is also a two-time RITA
Award finalist. Jennifer lives in suburban Atlanta with a Chihuahua who runs the whole show.
Let It Snow…
The Prince Who Stole Christmas
Leslie Kelly
My True Love Gave To Me…
Jennifer LaBrecque
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
The Prince Who Stole Christmas
Leslie Kelly
To Bruce. Thanks for being my prince
and for giving me my happily ever after.
Prologue
ONCE UPON A TIME, in a faraway land, in a world called Elatyria, there lived a handsome prince who believed in true love.
This prince had been raised by parents who adored each other. Their lives were filled with love, joy and happiness. He had always looked forward to the day when he would meet his own soul mate, with whom he could share his life and his kingdom.
Unfortunately, though he tried and tried, the prince could not find a bride who loved him for himself. All the eligible maidens he met proved to be more interested in his crown, his palaces and his lands than in his person.
Growing discouraged, he began to cast off his royal duties and go out into the world to meet as many women as he could, looking for his one-and-only, forever love—and finding along the way a lot of one-of-many, for today lovers.
With his parents aging, and his kingdom needing an heir, the prince realized the time had come to settle down and do his duty. Relenting to family pressure, he agreed to make one last foray into the wide world in search of his soul mate. If she was not to be found, he promised to marry a girl his parents chose for him.
With time running out, the prince had one last hope, and one final place to go to try to find the woman of his dreams….
A magical city called New York.
1
“IF I DON’T COME UP WITH the money, I’m in big trouble.”
Claire Hoffman had been trying to ignore her brother, Freddy, who had burst into the kitchen of her candy shop, ranting about his latest financial emergency. It was under four weeks until Christmas; she had a ton of work to do, and no time to deal with his histrionics.
But unlike usual Freddy’s tone, he didn’t sound cajoling and playful now. He sounded serious. Very serious.
Her hand shook, ever so slightly, but enough to sabotage the delicate lacework icing she’d been applying to a tray of tiny petits fours. She lowered the icing bag. “What are you talking about?”
Ignoring her for a moment, Freddy grabbed a café con leche truffle—one of her specialties—and stuffed it into his mouth.
“Freddy?” she snapped.
“I’m starving. I don’t even have money to feed myself.”
She didn’t ask why. Freddy made a fair wage ushering at one of the theaters on Broadway, but whatever he made was never enough to keep him solvent between paychecks. Which was why she hadn’t immediately panicked when he’d burst in a few minutes ago, looking for cash. She was used to slipping him a twenty she could hardly spare, knowing the money was worth avoiding the nagging.
But she suspected a twenty wasn’t going to cut it this time.
“What have you done?”
He finished chewing, then looked down at his feet, scuffing them on the floor. It might have been cute when he was ten and, five years older, Claire was practically raising him, since their delicate, prima ballerina mother was so often ill. But it wasn’t cute now that he was twenty-one, and a lazy, often unemployed college dropout who seemed happy to coast through life.
After he’d spent his share of their mom’s life insurance policy, he’d started bumming from Claire’s. Now that she had invested every penny in updating the ancient building her uncle had left her, and starting her shop, I Want Candy, she could no longer serve as Freddy’s ATM. “What. Have. You. Done?”
“It shoulda been a sure thing. I mean, that race…”
“Jesus, Freddy!”
A flush rose up his neck, mottling his cheeks.
“How much did you lose?”
“Well, it wasn’t so much the race….”
She reached for a truffle and bit into it, then grabbed another one. She needed to busy her hands so she wouldn’t strangle him, and busy her mouth so she wouldn’t scream.
“See, when I realized how deep I was in, I went to leverage what I had left on last weekend’s NFL games.”
He snagged a petit four. She snatched it back. “How much?”
He mumbled a reply, so softly she couldn’t be sure she’d heard right. Oh, God, please let me not have heard right. “What?”
“Um… ten large.”
“Tell me you mean ten oversize one-dollar bills.”
He shook his head, looking miserable. “Ten grand.”
The truffles threatened to come back up. For a moment Claire couldn’t think. As if on autopilot, she reached for a nearby bottle of Grand Marnier she’d used in the truffles, twisted off the top and swallowed several mouthfuls. The liqueur burned a fiery path down her throat, snapping her out of her lethargy.
Setting the bottle down, she stretched her hands out and strode toward her brother, ready to choke him.
“Hey,” he cried, shuffling backward. “What are you doing?”
“Strangling you. Your life insurance is paid up, right?”
“That’s not funny.”
“You think I’m joking? I am mad enough to kill you, Freddy!”
“I’m sorry,” he squealed.
Her fury seeped out of her. “How could you do this?” she mumbled, collapsing onto a stool in front of the counter.
Of all people, Freddy should know better. But the fact that their gambler father had lost all his money and died of a stroke at fifty apparently hadn’t taught him anything.
“I didn’t mean to. Claire, you gotta help me. If I don’t make good, the Rat King is gonna send the Nutcracker after me.”
She gaped at her brother. “The who is going to send the what?”
“The Rat King’s a bookie. The Nutcracker is his enforcer.”
Torn between wanting to burst into hysterical laughter or scream, she stared at her imbecilic sibling. “The Nutcracker?”
“Yeah. He got his name because if you don’t pay, he, uh…”
Claire waved a hand. “I think I can figure it out.” Considering she’d often thought her brother needed to grow a pair, she wasn’t sure the collector would be cracking much.
“I can’t help you,” she stated calmly.
Freddy’s eyes rounded into saucers. “What?”
“I have barely enough to cover my expenses for the rest of the month. I’m counting on a big holiday season to make this place pay. My lines of credit are totally tapped out.”
“You could rent the upstairs apartments….”
“No.” The argument was a familiar one. “They’re one step up from needing to be condemned.”
“Come on, it’s Midtown. People would pay five grand a month for the location alone. Screw the peeling paint on the walls!”
It wasn’t just peeling paint. Her great-uncle Harry had left her the run-down property, but no cash. Her mother’s life insurance had given her enough money to get the first-floor shop renovated, along with the apartment behind it, where Claire now lived, but nothing else. The upstairs units—two on each level, going up three floors—were uninhabitable. Squatters living up there had had the good sense to move out, driven away by the frigid air that poured through the cracked windows. Then there were the holes in the walls, the mildewed bathrooms and the drooping wallpaper. Not a pretty picture. Someday, when the shop was thriving, she’d have enough money to continue the renovations and make the whole building a lucrative investment. But not now.
The only way she could get any money out of this place would be if she agreed to sell it to the investor who’d been coming around a lot in the last month. Yet the idea of giving up her chance to build a future for herself made her heart clench. Especially if she had to do it to bail out her idiot brother.
Claire got so tired of taking care of him… of everyone. When their mother had gotten sick, Claire had been the one to nurse her. When her father had lost his money, she’d started working to help support the family. When they were both gone and it was just her and Freddy, she’d become a mother to a teenager, when she wasn’t much past her own teenage years.
She was tired. So damn tired of being the caretaker. It had been such a long time since anyone had taken care of her, she honestly didn’t remember what it felt like.
“Freddy, even if I would consider renting them, I couldn’t get the permits. Everything above this floor is a ruin.” Seeing him about to speak again, she threw a hand up. “And no, I’m not renting under the table. Legal trouble is the last thing I need.”
“So what am I supposed to do?” he asked, sounding petulant.
She bit her tongue to prevent herself from suggesting that he grow the hell up, be a man and deal with his own problems.
“What about a payment plan?” she asked. “You could promise to give him a certain amount of your paycheck every week….”
Her brother rolled his eyes. “Bookies don’t finance.”
“You’ve got no other options. You have to at least ask.”
If the “Rat King” said no, then she’d go into full panic mode and start considering selling organs on the black market. She could think of a few of Freddy’s that could be spared, like his useless brain.
Otherwise… was she prepared to give up everything she’d worked so hard for to save her brother’s bacon? Again?
Oh, God, she hoped it wouldn’t come to that. She just had to pray that in this magical season of giving, the rat discovered he had a heart, and the nutcracker went on vacation.
But she wasn’t counting on it. This might be the time for miracles, but Claire had stopped believing in those long ago. She’d never been the type to fantasize about some rich Prince Charming galloping in on his white steed to take care of all her problems. And she sure didn’t expect one now.
“MY PRINCE, please reconsider. We can’t possibly live here.”
Philip Nadir, crowned prince of the Kingdom of Selandria of the Dry Lands, heard the dismay in the voice of his loyal but fastidious companion, Shelby, and smiled. “Of course we can, and we shall. This will do quite well,” he said as he watched his bodyguard, Phateen—also called Teeny—enter, muscling a mattress through the doorway. “Perhaps we should leave that until Shelby clears away the debris on the floor?” he suggested, remembering the condition of the small sleeping chamber, which he’d seen on a tour of the building yesterday.
“Until who clears away the debris?” the man squealed.
“Are you saying I should do it?”
“Of course not, my prince. But I can’t be expected to…”
Quirking a brow, Philip stared at Shelby, who was almost as spoiled as Philip was accused of being, and harder to please. A cousin, Shelby had come to visit when they were children, and had never left. Most looked upon him as a servant; Philip called him friend. But he could be—how did they say it?—high maintenance.
“Do you want to go back to Elatyria?”
A rueful frown pulled at the other man’s face. He had been adamant that he be allowed to come along on this quest—Philip’s last chance to find a woman he could love, who would love him for himself—but so far he wasn’t acting very happy about it.
“No, Your Highness. But surely a scullery wench…”
“We’re supposed to be poor, struggling students. Poor people can’t afford to hire, uh, I believe the term is cleaning ladies.”
Shelby huffed. Never having been to this world before, he was having difficulty adjusting, daunted by the tall buildings, the crowds, the frantic pace and the lack of subservience.
Philip, on the other hand, was having the time of his life.
