All I Want for Christmas Is a Duke (17 page)

Chapter Eleven

On the Eleventh Day of Christmas

My True Love Gave to Me

The Greatest Gift of All

Alexander didn’t know how to stop the chain of events unfolding around him. For a duke, it was a most peculiar and deeply unpleasant feeling.

His guests once again sat at the table, making merry, drinking their wine from Bordeaux, sniping over who shot the most birds in the last twelve days and who had the most inspired gowns.

The banality of it sickened him. Couldn’t they all see his world was crashing around him? No, of course they couldn’t because Alexander always portrayed himself as a man in control. It was incredibly tempting to stand up and start hurtling objects and shock the bloody lot of them.

Nothing could compare with the sensation that his heart was unraveling apace. Adriana sat not ten feet away from him, halfway down the mahogany table, making polite conversation with Lady Jane, but she might as well have been halfway around the world, she was so far beyond his reach.

She was leaving. Him. Georgiana. His life. Suddenly, he wished he were a feudal duke from some five hundred years ago. Then he would have just been able to throw her in a tower. Propriety would be trumped by might and wasn’t he one of the mightiest in the land?

He took a long drink of his wine, ignoring the prattle of one of the ladies to his right.

Lowering his glass slowly, he focused on Adriana. Perhaps… Perhaps he didn’t have to let her go. She loved him. Loved him. And what was the good of being a duke if he couldn’t use his power now and again? He raised his glass ready to propose a toast that would stun England.

The doors banged open at the end of the room and Rothby strode in. The man’s cloak was caked with ice and two rough men followed him, their heavy black traveling cloaks hiding most of their appearance.

His guests fell to a deafening silence.

Alexander stood and eyed the idiotic young lord with an air of boredom, even as his guts demanded he shake the pup. “Come to call me out?”

Rothby sketched a surprising bow. “No, Your Grace. I have come to aid you.”

Every single perfectly coifed head turned in Rothby’s direction.

Alexander stared the young lord down. What the hell could have incited the man to act so rashly? “I made it clear you were not welcome here.”

Rothby bowed again, his light brown hair damp and gleaming in the candles’ glow. “I beg your indulgence.” He gestured behind him. “These men are from Bow Street and when I tell you what I’ve learned, I think we will settle our differences.”

Adriana shot him a panicked glance.

It couldn’t be. Rothby couldn’t have made such a lucky discovery so quickly.

Lucky discovery.

The words repeated in Alexander’s head again and again. He squared his jaw. He prayed luck was on his side this last night of Christmas. “Since you insist on making a spectacle, go on.”

Rothby’s hand shot out and he pointed a gloved finger at Adriana. “That woman is a fraud.” The lord’s shoulders puffed up, his eyes burning with triumph. “Her true name is Adri—”

“Adriana Flint,” Alexander drawled. “Yes. I know.”

Rothby gaped, the bluster going out of him.

Alexander snorted. “Do close your mouth. Codfish are rather unappealing.”

“But she’s an authoress,” Rothby sputtered. “Born—”

“In the East End,” Alexander finished for him again. “Yes. Yes. Her last novel was entitled The Lady Lies, of all things.”

All his guests were now replicas of little fish, gaping, their mouths open, eyes wide as they swung their gazes from Adriana to Rothby to Alexander.

Alexander couldn’t fight the sudden smile that turned his lips. Sometimes the spirit of Christmas was a power to be reckoned with. For it could be nothing else that had given him this rare chance. He backed away from the table and strode slowly to Adriana. “This lady is a successful and very talented authoress. She is also the granddaughter of the Earl of Marlowe.”

Shock met his words and Rothby looked as if he’d swallowed something particularly sour.

“I’ve written to her grandmother, the dowager countess, and she confirms Adriana is her granddaughter and that she is an important member of the family. Even if she has lived apart from them for so long.”

He hated giving the news in such a way. He’d planned on telling Adriana this evening that her grandmother had contacted him. The letter had only arrived this afternoon, but the old lady wished to see her.

Adriana’s eyes were round with shock and a hint of fear.

But he wasn’t finished with shocking declarations so he barged on. “She has been in my employ for some time. I am aware of what she does and who she is. She is good, kind, and the best lady of my acquaintance, which is why I have asked her to be my wife.”

Already pale, Adriana whitened. She turned toward him in her chair, her gown twisting about her legs.

Lady Jane clapped her hands together in delight. “Congratulations,” she cried.

Alexander held up a hand as a general din of questions and halfhearted congratulations came his way. “She has yet to agree.”

Half afraid she was about to be bold, Alexander seized her hand and pulled her to her feet. “Well, sweetheart? Now that everyone knows, there is no reason not to stay. Will you marry me?”

Tears slipped down Adriana’s pale face, but the tears couldn’t mask the uncontainable joy shining in her eyes. “Yes,” she veritably shouted for all to hear. “I will.”

He lifted her hand and kissed the fingertips, well aware that his guests were likely already shocked beyond any measure of recovering. Soon, all of England would know he was making a marriage of scandal, and he couldn’t wait.

At least, he would have love and a family to love.

“Rothby?” he demanded, unable to look away from Adriana’s beautiful face.

“Y-Your G-Grace?” the young lord quavered.

“Why are you still here?”

Lady Jane began to applaud. Slowly, faintly, his other guests joined in their applause. The clock on the mantel began to chime midnight. The last moments of Twelfth Night.

The most magical night of the year.

“Thank you,” he said to the woman who had changed his world.

“For what?” she breathed, her cheeks bright with happiness. “You’ve given me everything. You’ve given me a family.”

“Yes, but you have given me you, the perfect present,” he whispered. With that he forgot to give a damn about his guest’s sensibilities and in the last moments of the Christmas season, he kissed her.

And as their lips met, he knew the seduction had only truly just begun.

Epilogue

On the Twelfth Day of Christmas

My True Love Gave to Me

A Gift Never Ending

Alexander leaned over Georgiana and lightly brushed a hand across his daughter’s forehead.

She blinked her sleepy eyes and smiled up at him. “Hello, Your Grace.”

Alexander swallowed, his throat full of emotion, but Adriana was beside him, her palm resting gently on his shoulder. Supporting him. Giving him strength.

Fear was not an emotion he was accustomed to, but at this moment, he felt it tremor down his spine. What he was about to say was so necessary. Adriana had urged him, and it felt right, but… “Little one, I need to tell you something.”

Georgiana wiggled up onto her elbows, squinting at him. “Yes?”

Alexander drew in a long breath. “Little one, I’m your papa.”

Georgiana smiled then giggled. “I know, Your Grace.”

“How?” he asked abruptly. Stunned.

She pursed her lips thoughtfully. Her young face slightly impatient. “You have my eyes.”

A laugh belted from him. Deep and sweet. “And you don’t mind that I’m your papa?”

Georgiana looked at him as if he’d called the moon cheese. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, little one,” he said, his voice nearly breaking.

“And Miss Grey, she’s to be my mama. Isn’t she?”

Adriana knelt beside the bed, her beautiful face softer and gentler than it had ever been. “Yes, my love, I am.”

Georgiana snuggled back down into her bed. “This was a very good Christmas, wasn’t it?”

Alexander gazed down at the two women who were his heart and said quite simply, “The very best.”

Acknowledgments

Must say, Liz and Robin and the entire Entangled team have been a dream. I am so grateful for this opportunity to work with such savvy publisher.

About the Author

2011 Golden Heart Winner Máire Claremont first fell in love with Mr. Rochester, not Mr. Darcy. Drawn to his dark snark, she longed to find a tortured hero of her own. Until she understood the ramifications of Mr. Rochester locking up his first wife. Realizing the error of her ways, Máire now looks for a real-life Darcy and creates deliciously dark heroes on the page.

Read on for an exclusive excerpt fromMáire Claremont’s enthralling Victorian romance…

The Dark Lady: A Novel of Mad Passions

Coming from Signet Eclipse in February 2013, available wherever books and ebooks are sold!

Someone had come for her.

Ian. Ian had come for her.

The black room wrapped her up in its crushing embrace as she allowed her gaze to adjust to the shapes and shadows. But this night she clung to a sliver of hope. More than half of her was certain her medicine had made her believe Ian had come.

Yet it couldn’t be her imaginings. For he had not been the Ian of her childhood. The Ian she had once loved. The Ian who had told her he wasn’t coming back. Nor was it the Ian who had stood pale and distant on her wedding day, promising that he would bring Hamilton back.

No, this Ian’s face was lined with hardship. With pain. And his body . . . he was so large and strong. He could break her in a moment, but he had held her so gently. As if he knew that she might run at the first touch.

He had come back. Against all hope, he’d come back to her. But now it was too late.

“Who was it?” Mary’s innocently rich voice penetrated the dark.

“Pardon?”

“It was all over the yard.” Mary shifted on the bed, rolling onto her side. “Beth saw a man enter the house. You saw him. Didn’t you?”

Eva swallowed. She was afraid to speak of it aloud. If she spoke of it, it might make it not true. At last she confessed softly, “Yes.”

“What did he want? Did he hurt you?”

“No.” He had touched her with such kindness. Then again, he couldn’t possibly know why she was here. He could not know that she alone was responsible for . . . She shook her head furiously, fighting back the memories.

No. If he had, he would have hurled her to the ground. And left her here.

Instead, he’d promised to take her from this place.

For the first time in years, her heart swelled with something besides dread. His eyes had been so green. The green of limes and malachite.

“You’re going to leave me, aren’t you?” Mary’s voice was dead.

Eva closed her eyes, the pain licking back into her heart. “I don’t ever want to leave you.”

“But you will,” Mary said flatly as she rolled onto her back. “I am glad of it.”

Tears stung Eva’s eyes. The thought of leaving her only friend penetrated the haze that drifted about her. “Oh, Mary. I’ll find you. I’ll—”

“Shh!”

The clink, clink, clink of keys echoed down the hall, accompanied by the steady thud of boots. Matthew’s.

Eva’s eyes snapped wide against the blackness. Praying that Matthew would pass their door, she stared at the flat panel. She willed it to stay shut.

Mary’s hand flew across the small space between their beds, grabbing at her fingers.

The lantern light stopped right in front of their cell. There was a muttered curse as Matthew fumbled as he always did with his keys. The yellow-gold beams slid through the cracks and threw bright lines on the dark floor.

No. It wasn’t fair. Ian had promised to take her away. Now she was here, unable to escape. Unable to escape the beating that was about to come. Defending Mary. Defending herself.

A key slipped into their lock, tumbling the mechanism.

Eva slipped her feet over the side of the bed, not caring that the floor was frigid against her bare skin. She sucked in several slow breaths, ready to receive a beating like no other. But she would not let Matthew touch Mary. Not tonight, when hope was on the horizon.

Mary’s fingers slipped away and she reached under her mattress. Her small hand clasped something, then pulled. It was a long piece of iron. A rusty old blade that looked as if it had been pried off a door. “Leave him to me.”

“No.” Eva stood and faced the door. “We’ll do this together.”

And the door creaked open.

…

“I am removing Lady Carin this evening.” Already, night had fallen, the gaslights sputtering in the small office. With every passing shade of night, Ian grew more furious. The damn woman was prevaricating.

Mrs. Palmer glared at him as though he was the one who was mad. “I cannot just release her to you, my lord.” Calmly, she poured tea in a steady stream. Steam wafted about her delicate fingers as the liquid filled the blue-and-white china. “You committed her for a reason.”

“Yes,” he clipped. And though he longed to smash the cup, he took the delicate bone china in his large hand. “And I paid you for upkeep these months and now I will take her with me.”

“But—” Her eyes darted about the room as she clearly realized she was about to lose a great deal of money. She drew herself up, cold and determined. “She is not cured.”

He held his cup, frozen in the air. Cured? The only thing a soul might be cured of here was sanity. “It matters not to me. Not anymore.”

“But you cannot possibly oversee her well-being,” she scoffed. She slammed down her own teacup. The little silver spoon jumped on the saucer. She drew in a quick breath, then righted the spoon, angling it so it sat delicately along the saucer. “She must be guarded. Controlled.”

It took every ounce of control he had to remain seated. Ian had agreed to be civil and drink tea. If he’d had his way, he would have brewed it out of a bottle of laudanum so the woman might live and die in the same torturous dreams she delivered to her wards. He had seen the effects of laudanum over a prolonged period of time. They were neither attractive or kind. “I am sure I shall cope and I certainly have the means to hire private keepers.”

Mrs. Palmer’s composed features tightened, her lips pursing. “This is most irregular. When patients come here—”

“They don’t leave?” he challenged. He leaned forward and very slowly placed his cup down upon her desk. “Your premises are obviously questionable, madam. Do you even employ a physician?”

Her silence hung in the air and, for one brief moment, Ian could have sworn there was a thread of regret in the woman. Finally, she lifted her teacup to her lips. “It is a waste of funds,” she said, her voice hard and uncompromising. Final.

Anger throttled through him. He’d seen this attitude with more frequency than he cared to admit. Generals, fellow colonels, and Hamilton had all believed that certain people were expendable. “They are not even human to you, are they?” His fingers curled, hungry to strangle the woman so piously sitting across from him. “They are but numbers in your ledger and coins in your purse.”

“It is important to remain detached from them.” She took a delicate swallow, then lifted her eyes, completely unmoved in the face of his anger. Only sheer confidence glittered in her gaze. “I shall release Lady Carin. But only on one condition: one hundred guineas.”

There it was. Exactly what he’d expected and at present what he wanted. “Is that your standard fee?”

“My lord, my husband taught me well the value of commerce. Do not abase me.”

He inclined his head. “I bow to your business acumen.”

“Thank you.”

“Best be wary, though. Someone might report you to the authorities based on such corruptions.”

She laughed. A brittle, amused laugh. The lace at her throat shook slightly, causing her cameo brooch to wink in the light. “Oh, my lord, do you think they care for the fate of these women?” Wiping her eyes, she looked up at him. Harsh reality replaced her amusement. “Men do not bring women here because they are mad.” She shoved back her chair, her wine-colored skirts whooshing against the floor. “They bring women here to silence them. If you wish me to keep your secret, I will not do so gratis.” She planted her palms on her desk and leveled him with an unyielding stare. “My customers pay or I send a letter to the authorities intimating their business.”

Ian folded his arms across his chest, fascination for this cold jailor mixed with his disgust. It galled him that her words rang true. “Is that so?”

“It is the good fortune of having some very powerful friends with wives and daughters who even now live under my roof. I do think they would protect me from such threats as you have posited. Don’t you?”

The muscles in his jaw tightened with contempt. Contempt for the inhuman thing before him profiting off her fellow women’s heartache and loathing for the men who had the power to send a woman here without question. “Yes. They would. Your services are in high demand, no doubt.”

She smiled as if they had just agreed on the sale of a splendid horse. “One hundred guineas and you can take your lady anywhere you please.”

Ian grated his teeth for a moment. “Certainly.” He reached into his cloak.

Slowly, she eased her position, standing fully. “And if this clears you of ready cash, we have a remarkably resourceful bank in the village. Give them my name and they shall certainly extend credit in your honor.”

“My thanks.” He pulled the heavy leather purse from his coat and tossed it with a clunk onto her desk. It sat between them. To him, it was nothing. A small pile of his many piles of coins stacked in some bank somewhere. To the women in this establishment, such gold was either salvation or the metal that kept them imprisoned. “Have her made ready. We leave in a quarter of an hour.”

“Out of the question. The girls are sleeping and Matthew and the other keepers are—”

Screams echoed overhead. Heartrending battle screams.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Mrs. Palmer yanked open her desk drawer. The wood shrieked at the harsh treatment. She dug into the drawer and pulled out a pistol. “Matthew!” she shouted, marching for the door.

Ian darted after her and locked his hand onto her wrist. In one swift motion, he twisted the pistol from her fingers. “I don’t think so.”

Her eyes flared in alarm. “I will have order,” she hissed.

“I won’t give you a chance to shoot one of them.” He slipped the weapon into his belt and strode to the door. “Lock yourself in if you are so afraid.”

He ran out into the dim hall.

Screams ricocheted off the walls. He darted forward and immediately tripped on the long chain draped down the hall. He plunged forward in darkness and his knee cracked on the wood floor. Pain spiked up his thigh.

He ignored it. Didn’t care about it. He shoved himself to his feet and charged down the hall and to the winding stair drenched in darkness. “Eva!” he shouted.

He tore up the stairs, then turned down the loudest hall. One door stood open. The faint glow of a lantern filled the empty space. On the floor, a long pool of black liquid fingered its way over the wood.

Blood.

Oh, God. Eva.