All I Want for Christmas Is a Duke (12 page)

“Do not send me away and find out.”

He pulled back from his desk and turned away, giving her his broad back. A back so strong, so wide, she longed to trace her hands along its lines and discover the muscles beneath the layers of his expensive garments.

After several moments, he strode toward the fire and stared into the flames. “And if I let you stay?”

“Your Grace?” she prompted. She could not let herself hope. In all her years upon this earth, hope had laughed in her face. Except for her time here at Highburn Castle.

Here, though she’d spent very little time with him, under his employ she’d found happiness. He’d done kindness though he needn’t. The very dove-grey wool she wore, he’d gifted her last spring. He’d smiled, his gaze askance as he’d handed her the present. Their fingers had brushed ever so slightly, and he’d murmured that he’d noticed she needed a new gown. Before she could even reply, he’d turned away to give a larger pink-beribboned package to Georgiana.

There had been several such moments. Brief, marvelous moments. She’d never understood why he’d taken such care. The housekeeper, Mrs. MacTavish, had said it was simply his generous nature. Now she wondered. There had been other moments. A new piano for Georgiana, and yet he’d sat in reverent silence and listened to Adriana play Chopin, a skill she’d learned in the boarding school she’d spent three years in, as Georgiana played with a new doll from her father.

He raised a dark brow in challenge, breaking her reverie. “I have a proposition for you.” His face grew stony as if he were shoring up his emotions, the all-powerful duke, afraid of her response. “You may stay, but as something different.”

The room expanded about her, her senses sharpening. She felt drunk on his nearness, the lemony, leather scent of him so appealing she wished to walk up to him and bury her face in his strong neck. She blinked, forcing herself to focus on his words. He couldn’t possibly be about to say what she thought.

She slid her palms off his smooth desk and stood straight. “As what?”

“My mistress,” he said to the leaping flames. “I’ve wanted you since the moment I saw you. Then, I couldn’t have you—a lady, and my ward’s governess. But now, it’s different.”

Her lips parted, and it was on the tip of her tongue to adamantly refuse. She did desire him. Very much so. How she wished to lace her fingers through his black hair. To discover whether it was coarse or silky. To slip his linen shirt from his shoulders and explore the hills and valleys of his broad chest. Now was her chance.

And every action she’d taken in these last moments suggested she’d be pleased to climb in his bed, but if she did accept him, she’d be taking a path she’d thought she abandoned. A dangerous path where she’d have to wall her heart up and ensure she never gave even the slightest part of it to him.

She could not bear to be hurt again. Once, long ago, she’d made the mistake of giving herself to an unworthy man. She should refuse and try to stay in any other way possible. For Georgiana, she would scrub floors.

She held her breath before she dared to say, “May I continue to see Georgiana? I can’t bear to be parted from her.”

A long moment passed before he gave a single nod. “I couldn’t separate the two of you so suddenly. It would be cruel.”

She closed her eyes, briefly, out of sheer relief. She’d known he wasn’t a brutal man, but the confirmation of it warmed her in a way she hadn’t suspected.

Somehow, she’d known he wouldn’t toss her abruptly out into the night, even if she refused him, but if she wasn’t exceptionally careful, he wouldn’t give her a reference when he did let her go. After all, she was a liar and a fraud. And without a reference, a woman had few choices in this world except to earn her bread upon her back.

And there was another factor. She wanted this man. She wanted him as she had never wanted a man in her life. Could she throw away such a chance?

No. She knew what she wanted but, born unto a drunken artist and a woman who bitterly regretted the choice she had made, Adriana should have stayed in the gutter. If it weren’t for her mother’s closest friend, an actress, she’d have died there. The woman had scrimped and saved to send her to a girls’ school where she might learn the airs of a lady. To then ply those airs on unsuspecting men in the playhouse.

Having refused that particular life, her mother’s friend had cast her out as an ungrateful child. But Adriana had learned harsh lessons early.

A woman who gave herself up to a man right away risked being cast out as well. Her mother, in her own way, had proven that in running off with her drawing master without the permission of her family. Once a lady, the daughter of an earl, she’d sunk so low, she’d never been able to swallow her bitter unhappiness unless she drank it with gin.

So Adriana would play this game wisely. She wouldn’t go back to the streets of London where other women had to take any comer. Risking pox. Risking beatings. Risking starvation. No, here she’d stay. With a man who gave her fabric she’d never be able to afford and glances that promised pleasure. She could stay with Georgiana. And that would be enough. “I will be your mistress, Your Grace.”

His broad shoulders straightened as if he dared not believe it.

She cocked her head to the side, a slight challenge now to her own stance. “But only if…”

A single dark brow rose at her audacity “Only if what?”

“You say you want me, and from the look in your eye, you want me rather badly.” She met his gaze and held it. Determined not to waver. For if she did, she’d lose any power she had in this dance. “But you cannot have me unless you can seduce me.”

He paused. “I beg your pardon.”

“You must prove to me that you are worth my becoming a mistress.”

“Seduce you?” he echoed belatedly.

“Oh, and I don’t mean a simple bedding. I know you’re a passionate man. Seduction comes in so many guises. Christmas is tomorrow and while you seduce me, you shall give me twelve days to convince you to let me stay. Here. With you and Georgiana.”

Even if it were only as his mistress, she would find a way to stay.

He stared at her. “You’re quite serious?” He hesitated for a moment. “You know that it is highly unlikely you shall convince me to remain connected to my ward?”

“I understand, but I shan’t give up just yet.”

The skepticism that filled his eyes burned.

For now, she had to focus on his passion, not her ultimate goal, which was to remain in the only home she’d ever known. “Am I not worth your seduction?”

His expression changed from cold calculation to one of intrigue. “Yes, Miss Flint. I do believe you are.”

And the clock began to chime, twelve tolls of its light, brass bell filling the room. Her breath caught in her throat before she managed to whisper, “Happy Christmas, Your Grace.”

“Happy Christmas, Miss Flint.” A devilish half smile played at his sensual lips. “May your seduction be bright.”

Chapter Two

On the Second Day of Christmas

My True Love Gave to Me

Glances Toward our Undoing

Alexander Hunt, Eighth Duke of Berresford, had no idea how the hell the woman before him had transformed so utterly in the passing of mere moments. Miss Grey… No, Miss Flint stood before him, blue eyes alight, touched by the flames of the fire, her golden hair almost silver.

Her appearance hadn’t changed, but everything else had. The way she held herself, the way she stood, the manner with which she boldly met his eyes with determination and suggestion, giving her a confidence that flamed his hunger for her from a small crackle to a mighty blaze. He angled his head, studying her. Weighing his next move. If this were a seduction, he had much to learn.

He knew everything and nothing about her. And he was not a man to launch into a bedding with no understanding of his companion. Stranger, he found himself desperately curious about her.

“Come with me,” he said, then without waiting to see if she’d follow, he turned from her and headed for the hallway.

Without looking back, he strode down the hall, his steps muffled by the boisterous sound of the piano and his drunken Christmas guests.

Despite his confidence that she would follow, his heart slammed in his chest, beating faster than it had in years. With something he hadn’t known in a decade.

Anticipation.

Would she truly lead him on this dance?

Alexander focused on the end of the hall, heading for the wide stairs that descended down to the marble arched foyer.

Anna Grey had been beautiful. Intriguing. Tempting. But ultimately he had forced himself to ignore his dangerous curiosity. Her beauty had stirred him, but he’d been unwilling to put his daughter’s governess at risk. One did not dally with a servant’s reputation, after all.

Adriana Flint, on the other hand? He fought the urge to glance back. To see if she followed. She was a dangerous siren, bidding him to his doom. But before the doom, the promise of sated hunger was there.

And satiation to the point of gluttony.

It had always been there, he realized. On the edges. It was why whenever she entered a room, he could feel her. Something had always rumbled inside him at her nearness. Now, he needn’t ignore it.

When he reached the bottom of the stairs; crossed the cavernous foyer; and stood at the towering, carved oaken door of his family castle, he paused and allowed himself to glance back.

She stood at the top of the stairs, her pale hands resting on the slightly swishing folds of her simple gown. The glow of soft candlelight touched her, more intimately than he ever had done, and he was jealous of the light. He longed to caress her skin as it so blatantly did, giving it warmth.

He clenched his jaw, holding still. Forcing himself to wait. How had she done this to him? To him? A man who’d never been controlled by desire, by emotion. But one offer from her lips, one promise of pleasure, and he’d thrown away all his strength.

For there was nothing else it could be. He should have sent her away. Now. Tonight. Far, far from his daughter and himself. Yet, he hadn’t.

Curiosity and the pulsing want he’d felt for her over this last year had broken all reason. She was a mystery he desperately wished to unfold. He knew her troubled past. Knew the scandal that surrounded her mother, the daughter of an earl, running off to the hells of London to be with her lover. His investigators had uncovered it all. But simply knowing such facts was not enough for him. Not anymore.

How had such things shaped Adriana?

As she stared down upon him, the strangest, softest expression eased her features. It wasn’t a smile. It was something else.

It was knowing.

She knew how much he wanted her.

But she had no idea how far he’d go to protect what he loved. And so, first he had to find out how dark her soul was. Or was she merely lost, like he had often felt, desperate to find a place in this often chaotic world?

She had been correct. It would be cruel to Georgiana to sever such a close bond so abruptly. His daughter had known so few people who had shown her care. But as much as he longed to know Adriana, he could hardly countenance the possibility that he would let her stay.

If he kept her as his mistress he’d send her to London, where his very foolish heart could give her the protection she had clearly never known.

“Your Grace,” Smithers called. The butler emerged from the shadows, his brow furrowed as the older man snuck a quick look up toward Miss Flint.

Alexander leaned ever so slightly toward the older man and whispered, “Have blankets, hot wine, and grapes sent to the grove. Immediately.”

The butler blinked, his sharp eyes suddenly crisp and cold as the snow slipping down outside. “Of course, Your Grace,” he said as he bowed then turned and retreated.

With that, Alexander opened the door, the heavy bolt clanking as he swung the thick panel out to the dark night. “Are you coming?”

Her eyes flared. “Out there?”

He stepped onto the pavement under the portico, allowing the glow of the lamp hanging above to illuminate him. “Are you afraid?”

“Of you?”

He tilted his head ever so slightly in confirmation. “You should be.”

She shook her head, those golden coils of hair caressing her neck as they struggled to break free of her austere coiffure. “Not of you.”

The cold saturated his evening jacket, chilling his skin, sliding into his bones. Into his heart. He had to keep his heart cold. If he didn’t the price was high. The cost was too dear, and he was not a man who would pay the price of a foolish heart.

Perhaps if he’d been a better man, he would have left her on those steps, strode out into the frigid night, and walked until he formed the resolve to cut her from his thoughts.

But he wasn’t a better man and he wouldn’t let her go today. Because something deep within him was driving him. Driving to know every facet of this woman.

It was Christmas. And in his experience, Christmas was the time for strange gifts and magical happenings. For such a thing to happen on such a day, he wouldn’t throw this path away. No, it was unfolding for some veiled reason.

Slowly, he raised his hand, lifting his gaze and meeting hers.

She descended the steps with a surprising slowness, as though each step she took required a deepening of her resolve. Yet, at last, she crossed the foyer. Silent. Full of purpose. Raised her own hand and slipped her small, delicate fingers into his.

For one perfect moment, everything was outside his command. His heart. His soul. His reason. He stared down into her eyes, blue and deep as bottomless pools, and longed to meet his doom in them. If he just gave up to her, surrendered, he would know bliss in those eyes and the touch of her soft, cool hands.

But he was a man who could never completely surrender. Not when so much was at stake.

Not even on Christmas.

Chapter Three

On the Third Day of Christmas

My True Love Gave to Me

Kisses Most Exciting

A thrill of excitement raced through her as she followed the duke out under the portico into the night. The wool of her gown was bare protection from the penetrating night but still, she felt warm standing beside him.

Silently, his gaze fixed ahead as he strode forward out onto the drive.

Snow fell softly about them. A whispering sort of magic, as though some god above had torn open a giant mattress, its delicate feathers falling to wash the land’s untouched beauty.

The duke continued, changing direction and heading off of the drive toward a grove of oak trees as ancient as his family name.

Her boots crunched lightly and as they walked farther, each of her steps grew more laborious, the snow thickening.

But she didn’t mind, not even as the hem of her skirt frosted and beat against her ankles. There was such promise in the silence that she had no wish to break it with any thought or word.

He stopped in the center of the grove, the trees towering above them offering a sort of shelter with their long, bared arms fingering out, tracing through the night sky.

The silence was so thick Adriana felt its heaviness. Its purity. She stood beside him, wondering if he would speak. When he did not, she finally asked, “Why have you brought me here?”

He turned his muscled body toward her and gazed down. “Because in that house, I am master and you are servant. But here? Perhaps here we can speak as equals.”

She let out a slow breath at his astonishing words and the air bloomed white before her.

Before she could reply, steps crunched behind her. She whipped toward the noise, her heart thundering in her chest. Who?

Frowning, she spied the tall footman laden down with blankets and a basket. Is that what the duke had whispered to his butler? A command for service?

She shouldn’t have been surprised and yet she was. Of course, someone of his class would think nothing of driving a young man out into the evening, shuffling through the snow to bring his master comforts.

“Put them there,” the duke said evenly, pointing to the base of one of the thick oaken trunks.

The footman nodded, his white wigged head bobbing. His gloved hands shook as he placed the items down where ordered. The boy’s shoulders hunched, fighting off the cold.

As soon as he’d finished arranging the items, he straightened. “Is that everything, Your Grace?”

The duke gave a terse nod, and the footman darted back toward the castle.

“That wasn’t particularly kind,” she said, then snapped her mouth shut. Had she truly just spoken such a thing?

He glanced down at her, his dark brows drawing together. “I beg your pardon?”

She hesitated. A more calculating woman would keep silent. Would praise him for thinking of pleasing her. But she couldn’t. Not now. Now, she had to speak her thoughts and not censor them as she had done for so long. “It was thoughtless to bring him out here for our comfort.”

“It’s his position,” the duke scoffed.

“Yes, it is. But that doesn’t mean that someone of your station need give no thought to someone who must seek their bread through service.”

“I have never demeaned those in my employ.”

“No,” she agreed. “But have you ever truly considered them?”

He opened his mouth, clearly ready to contradict her supposition, but then he stopped. “No. I have not.”

“Had you even truly considered me?”

After a long moment, he went to the heavy burgundy wool blankets and picked one up. As he unfolded it, he said, “No. Not truly. I observed you. I made note of your beauty, and I was intrigued. I desired you, but I never truly allowed myself to think on you.”

She shivered, the cold at last penetrating down to her bones. “And now?”

He strode forward, then stepped behind her. Oh so slowly, he draped the blanket over her shoulders. “Now, I think you have much to teach me.”

Those words were more touching than any others he might have spoken. An ode to her beauty would have rung false. Protestations of admiration would have felt manufactured. But this? This suggestion that she might have lessons for him was far headier than anything she had ever known.

She wet her lips and grasped the blankets, hugging them to her, even as the heat of his body warmed her back. “Is that truly what you think?”

He bent his head, his lips brushing ever so slightly against her hair. “Yes.”

It was so tempting, the urge to lean back into him. To give herself over to his strength, but that wasn’t the game she was playing. After all, it was she who must convince him that he needed her. Not the other way around. She would never lean upon him. She’d learned long ago that when one leaned, one fell. And she would never fall.

His strong hands adjusted the wool about her shoulders, lingering along her collarbone. Touching with the barest of touches. “Would you care for a cup of hot wine I so rudely asked for?”

A laugh rang from her throat, the snow absorbing the sound, mixing with the icicles dangling from the trees branches. “I would.”

Easily, he slipped away and knelt by the basket. He uncorked the wine and poured the steaming liquid out into two pewter mugs. The sweet, spicy aroma wafted through the bitter cold, and she felt a shiver of anticipation.

The duke rose, his long limbs unfolding until he stood as strong and powerful as the ancient trees around them. He extended the mug to her, waiting.

She eyed the steam drifting up from the mulled wine, wondering if she had made the wise choice. Perhaps she should have disappeared into the night, making herself a new life as she had done before.

But no. She loved Georgiana far too much to do that. She loved the life she had made. And she would never forgive herself for not allowing herself to know this enigmatic man standing, waiting for her to come to him. There was no way to go back to the simplicity of being a governess now. The road she walked was far more complicated. Many men kept their mistresses ensconced in their homes. Somehow, she’d make that happen. She had to.

She couldn’t explain the primal feeling deep in her heart that demanded she remain here at Highburn with this man and his daughter. But it hummed inside her, steeling her will.

Tilting her head to the side, she crossed to him and clasped the pewter. Her fingers brushed his and heat that had nothing to do with the warmth of the wine raced up her arm, down through her spine, and settled in her belly.

She had known the touch of a man before, but never like this. Never like him.

He held onto the mug for a moment longer than necessary, then let go. Cradling the cup in her hand, she savored the sensation of his touch. Even now, she could feel his fingertips against hers, and if such a simple gesture could make her feel so entirely alive, what would it feel like to have his hands upon her back, her breasts, her thighs?

Her breath caught in her throat. “You brought me here to converse with me?”

Lifting his cup of wine to his lips, he paused, closed his eyes, and seemed to breathe in the scent of the spiced wine. Pure pleasure softened his face, and it amazed her that something so simple could please him. A duke.

“Well?” she asked.

He opened his eyes, dark, polished stones in the blue night. “Away from my guests, away from all the rules of our society, perhaps I might learn one true thing about you.”

She took a sip of wine; the heat of it burst in her mouth, slipping over her tongue, caressing it with cloves; nutmeg; and the sweet, tart hint of oranges. She needed that sweetness, for it was not easy to speak of her life. “You know many true things about me.”

“I have read many true things about you. That’s certain. But that doesn’t allow me to know you.”

Another sip burned down her throat, filling her with its pleasant comfort. “Was knowing me part of our arrangement?”

“Adriana Flint, do you take me for a lecher?”

She kept her face straight. “Yes.”

He snorted. “Then you don’t know me.”

“I have heard the gossip.”

“I’m sure you have, but I do not bed women I don’t know. I do not…fuck.”

The word shocked her, quaking her down to her toes. She could scarcely believe he dared say such a thing, considering his upbringing. She’d thought only hard street men used such language. “What do you do, then?” She lifted her mug in mock salute. “Do not tell me you make love.”

“Love? I have. Once. But no. Love is not something I give easily or often. But I give pleasure, enjoyment, and experience. Mindlessness is not something I seek, and if you do… Then we should go no further in this.”

Pain lanced her heart. Sudden and sharp. Wincing, she closed her eyes. “Mindless?” she whispered. “No, that is not what I wish.”

She bit her lip to the point of pain, willing the memories away.

There was a long silence, then he spoke. “I’ve caused you suffering.”

“Your Grace, I know all about mindlessness and at one time, I was envious of it.”

“Tell me, then,” he said gently. “Tell me who was mindless and why you suffer from it now.”

She opened her eyes only to roll them. “You ask a great deal.”

“I ask very little,” he countered. “I ask only for you to speak a few words. To let me in.”

“That is little?” She tutted. “Isn’t that everything?”

Those dark eyes of his gazed at her, unyielding yet open. “Perhaps I don’t know how to ask for anything less.”

If he’d looked at her with judgment, she would have clamped her mouth shut, but everything about him suggested a wish to truly hear what she had to say. “My parents.” The words nearly strangled in her throat.

“Your parents?” he prompted, lifting a hand to caress her jaw.

“My parents were mindless.” She looked away, unable to meet his eyes as the past threatened to bubble up. “They escaped in any way they knew how.”

His thumb stroked her cheek. “That must have been very difficult. Your mother never tried to go back? To her father?”

Adriana gasped. But of course he knew. He likely had a thick file noting her life now. She shook her head. “Too proud. She refused to beg for his help, and he never offered as far as I know. It nearly broke her, the pain of it, and my father never quite forgave her for being so disappointed in him. They… They didn’t know how to accept their lives except by losing themselves in drink and loud company.” She forced a quick smile to her lips. “But many children—”

“No,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

He tilted her face to the side, his gaze wandering over her countenance as if he could see deep within her. “Don’t hide behind a painful smile. I am strong enough to bear whatever you might have to say. So are you.”

Her throat tightened. No one had ever spoken to her thusly. “I don’t like to think about it.”

“So you write about it instead?”

Damn the man. If it had been hard to summon words, it was now impossible. She swallowed, focusing on the feel of his palm cupping her face. “This is a strange sort of seduction.”

“What was it that you had in mind?”

That gave her pause. “I don’t know.”

“Do I strike you as a flowers and chocolates sort of man?”

At that, she laughed, then allowed herself to press into his soft touch, suddenly wishing he would draw him to her. “No, Your Grace.”

“Alexander,” he said, his voice a rough purr.

Her breath hitched before she whispered, “Alexander.”

The passage of his name over her lips felt forbidden—a caress almost more intimate than any physical one. She’d never heard his first name aloud. Never dared dream that she might call him by it.

“Adriana, I have but one chance to know you, to know all of you, and that is a chance I will not miss.”

And with that, her heart did a most dangerous thing—it cracked. Just a small hint of a crack in the tall wall she’d built up around it, but a crack nonetheless.

She would not be able to play this game as she’d intended. For she was no longer the jaded girl she’d once been. Here at Highburn, in the duke’s home, she’d begun to feel the most fatal of all feelings. Hope.