The Duke and Miss Christmas Read online

  “Let me up,” she demanded, and started struggling again. “I must go to Sybil.”

  Crispin wasn’t ready to let his captive go. “She is halfway to Drakestone by now and you’ve no chance of catching up to her before she reaches help.”

  “How badly was she hurt?” the young lady asked, her breaths evening out as her body went slack beneath him again.

  “I don’t think her leg was broken anywhere, but it needs attention.”

  “Oh, she was not supposed to come searching for trimmings this morning and certainly not by herself.” She let out a frustrated sigh. “Sybil was told it was too early to decorate the house for the Christmas ball. She never listens to us.”

  Crispin heard distress mixed with annoyance in the young lady’s voice. It wasn’t difficult for him to believe Miss Sybil had disobeyed orders.

  He looked down at the beauty pinned beneath him and said, “Tell me your name.”

  She stiffened once again and in a stormy tone exclaimed, “I will not! I don’t know who you are or where you came from. You hold me against my will and won’t let me up so I can breathe properly. You won’t turn me loose so my hands won’t go numb.”

  Her strength and self-confidence were appealing. Her anger and pluck were inviting. “I think your name is Louisa.”

  A ghost of a smile twitched the corners of her beautiful mouth and he knew at once that wasn’t her name. Louisa was someone else.

  “All right,” he said. “If you insist on being stubborn and won’t tell me your name, I’ll call you Miss Christmas.”

  She scoffed and shoved against his strength. “And I shall call you Sir Ogre.”

  Crispin acknowledged her retort with a soft laugh. Lying on top of her as he was, he could easily become one. She might not be Louisa, but she was definitely Miss Sybil’s sister. They had the same color of hair and eyes and the same impertinent responses.

  Though her body remained coiled and rigid, her warmth heated him. He was mindful of every breath she took and was sensitive to every move she made. His fingers itched to reach up and remove the bits of trash from her sunset-colored tresses. Had not their initial meeting been so intense and misunderstood, he might have tried to coax a kiss from the bold miss.

  But then gazing into her vivacious face, with her lips parted and her rapid breaths, he thought maybe he would anyway. He hadn’t been dubbed one of the scoundrels of The Heirs’ Club for nothing.

  Besides, surely he deserved at least one little kiss for the burning scrape under his eye that he’d received via her hands.

  Chapter 2

  Gwen Prim’s stomach was quaking as they continued to stare at each other. Somehow, she knew without doubt he told the truth about helping Sybil. If Gwen had taken one moment to look at him, the cut and fabric of his cloak, his boots, the way he held himself, before she attacked him, she would have known he was a gentleman and not someone out to harm innocents.

  She was usually a sensible person, but she had quickly jumped to the wrong conclusion. She’d assaulted a man who was only trying to help Sybil. How was Gwen going to get out of this situation with some of her dignity intact?

  Merciful goose feathers!

  If she hadn’t been reading that dreadful novel last night about, of all things, a hunchbacked man who was stealing children from the streets of London for scientific experiments, she wouldn’t have jumped to conclusions about the handsome gentleman who had her pinned to the ground with his strong, hard, and unyielding body.

  She would never read another horrid novel in her life.

  Now that she understood what a terrible mistake she’d made, she wanted the earth to open and swallow her. But no such fate was likely to happen. Instead, she watched his smoky-amber-colored gaze stray leisurely over her face, causing a tautness low in her abdomen.

  And, as nature would have it, she found herself studying him, too. She guessed his age to be less than thirty. His broad brow, angular cheekbones, and a square chin gave him a handsomeness few gentlemen could match. His mouth and lips were wide, well-defined, and hovering so close to hers she feared they might accidently touch if she moved her head. Thick, unfashionably long hair the color of summer straw fell attractively across his forehead. The wind, and no doubt their scuffle, had tousled it, making her want to reach up and brush the locks back into place.

  Then without warning the man slowly let go of her wrists and she cautiously lowered her arms.

  “If I were an ogre, Miss Christmas, I might be tempted to do something like this.”

  He reached up and touched her hair. Instinct caused her to grab hold of his wrist to stop him. He slowly lowered his hand and she saw he held a twig between his finger and thumb. She let go of him and he tossed the small piece of wood aside. Uncertainty caused her to remain still, though her heart thudded wildly in her chest.

  “Or perhaps I might do something like this.”

  His fingers caressed down her cheek and across her bottom lip. Even though he wore tight-fitting leather gloves, his touch sent a tingling warmth throughout her body.

  “Or I could do something even more scandalous, like this.” He leaned in and lightly brushed his lips across the corner of her mouth. The contact was brief, delicately warm to her cold cheek, feathery soft, and more enticing than she could ever have imagined. A shivery awareness stole over her, tightening her breasts, leaving her bereft that he failed to place his lips squarely over hers for a real kiss.

  “So what do you say, Miss Christmas? Am I behaving as the ogre you think I am?”

  His voice was husky and beguiling, causing her skin to pebble deliciously. Now that she no longer feared him, the weight of his strong body bearing down on hers wasn’t offensive. It was pleasing. She was falling under the spell of a very seductive man and was fast losing the will to push him away. And she suspected he knew exactly how he was making her feel. His eyes, his voice, and his lips were telling her he was enjoying every moment of the seduction.

  Why was she attracted to someone she knew nothing about? Someone who held her prisoner. Perhaps the cold had frozen her brain. She certainly wasn’t acting like her usual prudent self.

  Somehow, she had to find a way to fortify herself against her sudden attraction to this stranger. She wouldn’t let him frustrate or intimidate her, but most of all she couldn’t allow him to stir up more of her womanly senses. The best way to do that was to remind herself of her disastrous attraction to the handsome rogue Mr. Standish and how that had turned out.

  At the moment, the only thing she could think to say to this man was, “That scratch beneath your eye looks raw. Does it hurt very much?”

  He put his gloved fingertip to it and winced. “Only when I touch it.”

  An amused smile lifted the corners of his lips and Gwen’s heart felt as if it tripped in her chest. She wanted to smile at his humor, too, but managed to hold herself in check and remain stoic lest he think she was encouraging him.

  “You swing a powerful basket, Miss Christmas.”

  “I’m surprised you can be so cavalier about it.”

  He shrugged and said, “Years of practice. Tell me, are you always so suspicious of strangers?”

  “No, of course not,” she denied, her cheeks heating despite the chilling air. She couldn’t tell him that she’d been reading a horrid novel last night and her imagination had gotten the best of her when she heard Sybil scream.

  “Perhaps your actions were somewhat justified since you didn’t know what was happening, but have no fear that Miss Sybil will ever be accosted if you are anywhere nearby.”

  “I’m not sure you meant that as a compliment, sir, but I suppose I should apologize for hitting you.”

  That glint of amusement around his mouth again. He was enjoying every moment of her humiliation at having conked him over the head and injured his face.

  “That would be nice, yes.”

  “I should have asked what you were doing before striking you,” she said, not knowing why but feeling the n
eed to explain herself. “I knew I’d never have a chance to save Sybil and get her away from you if I didn’t catch you unaware.”

  A slow, easy smile lifted his mouth again. He said, “You had no chance to get away from me either way, Miss Christmas, but I do admire your courage for trying.”

  His words caused another delicious and captivating warmth to cover her. What he said was probably true, she admitted grudgingly to herself, letting her attention drift back to his mouth.

  “I’m sorry for striking you,” she said softly.

  “It’s an unusual way to say hello to someone,” he said. “But, you know, there is a way you could make it up to me.”

  She grimaced. “How?”

  “Now that we’ve been introduced, you could give me a proper kiss.”

  Gwen huffed and pushed at his shoulders, which didn’t move an inch. “We haven’t been introduced.”

  “But we have. I know your name and you know mine.”

  His self-confidence, his arrogance, amazed her. “My name is not Christmas and you are not an ogre. I can tell you are a gentleman even though you are trying your best not to be one. You are trying to seduce me, and I will not let that happen.”

  “So, then you have never been kissed,” he said.

  “You must know I have. Can any young lady make it through her first Season in London without a handsome young rake such as you seducing at least one or two kisses from her?”

  For a moment she thought she saw surprise flash across his face. “Probably not,” he answered. “Did you enjoy his kisses?”

  “At the time,” she admitted honestly, but why she did was a mystery to her. She shouldn’t be telling him anything about herself.

  “And today?” he asked.

  “Today I wouldn’t let him kiss me if he was the last man on this earth. Nor will I let you. Now would you mind getting off me?” She shoved the palms of her hands against his hard chest again. “Not only are you heavy; I need to follow Sybil and make sure she is safely home.”

  He seemed to consider Gwen’s plea, and for a moment she thought he was going to deny her yet again; then all at once he rolled away from her and hopped up. He reached down for her hand.

  With him standing above her, Gwen could see how tall and strapping he was. His long, powerful legs were covered with camel-colored trousers and black knee boots. His black cloak fit seamlessly across his straight shoulders and broad chest. Gwen knew she’d never seen such a dashing and commanding figure.

  She laid her ungloved hand in his and he helped her rise.

  Without conscious effort, she looked down and saw that her pale gray day dress and black cape were covered in bits of dead grass, leaves, and small bits of rock. The stranger’s cloak was covered in smudges and fragments of trash from the ground, too.

  “Since I didn’t have the pleasure of walking Miss Sybil home, I insist on doing the honor for you, Miss Christmas, but first, I promised her I would come back for her mistletoe and holly.”

  He walked over and picked up the wicker basket. Gwen cringed when she saw the handle was broken and the rim was bent. He peeked over at her and her cheeks heated. She thought she saw a hint of a smile before he knelt down and started gathering Sybil’s small childish clippings that would have never made a dent in decorating the massive ballroom at Drakestone. But Gwen’s heart went out to Sybil for wanting to do it so badly she’d ended up hurting herself.

  Dusting off her clothing as she went, she hurried over to help the man pick up the ivy, holly berries, and mistletoe and tumble them into the hamper. They both reached for the last piece of holly at the same time.

  Their hands touched.

  Their eyes met.

  Her heart started fluttering.

  Gwen slowly pulled her hand away from his and rose. No doubt about it. There was something infinitely compelling about the man.

  Oh my!

  She was definitely attracted to him but didn’t want to be. Was she destined to be always attracted only to handsome young rogues like this rake and not kind, gentle men like her father had been and Mr. Tweedy was?

  Gwen summoned an inner strength. No. She wasn’t going to be fooled by another handsome whipster. What happened at the end of last Season was not an experience she wanted to revisit. Her romantic involvement with Mr. Standish had left her heartbroken but much wiser and more cautious by the time it had ended. It was a hard lesson to learn. Now she knew that just because a gentleman wanted to hold her close and kiss her, it didn’t mean he had developed affection for her and wanted to marry her.

  Several months had passed since then and now she was considering the attentions of Mr. Russell Tweedy. He was a handsome enough man, the nephew of a viscount, and he had a kind, gentle nature. The only thing that bothered her about him was that he was given to too much talking. It was almost as if silence bothered him and he had to always be saying something whether or not conversation was necessary.

  He’d been a guest at Drakestone several times over the summer and autumn and he was always considerate, bringing her gifts of flowers and sweets. They had taken walks together during the day and in the evenings they had danced. On two or three occasions they had been alone for a short time and not once had he tried to kiss her.

  But then, she had to admit, she hadn’t exactly been eager for him to. Yet, anyway. After her brutish encounter with the handsome stranger this morning, it would be refreshing to be with Mr. Tweedy again. Even if he did talk incessantly. She wanted to once again be in the company of a true gentleman, a man who treated her like a lady. Mr. Tweedy would have never held her on the ground against her will if she’d hit him. And, luckily for her, he was coming to dinner tonight.

  At the sound of horses’ hooves on hard-packed ground, she turned to see her brother-in-law, the Duke of Drakestone, and a couple of other riders racing toward them. One of the men was leading the stranger’s horse.

  “It looks as if your help has arrived,” the stranger said.

  “Finally,” she answered.

  “How is Sybil?” Gwen asked, rushing up to her brother-in-law as he jumped down from his horse.

  “She’s being seen to,” he said, taking in Gwen’s smudged clothing and tangled hair. “She said you attacked someone. Are you all right?” He quickly cut his gaze to the gentleman and saw that his clothing looked no better than hers and he had a welting and angry-looking scratch beneath his eye.

  Bray’s demeanor instantly changed. His brow furrowed. His hand went out in front of her in a protective way as he took a menacing step toward the man. “Did you touch her?”

  “No, no, he didn’t,” Gwen quickly said, coming to stand between the two. “I’m fine, Bray. Really. He didn’t do anything.”

  Gwen knew Bray was remembering that time during the Season when she’d foolishly taken a walk in the garden with Mr. Standish and he’d wanted more than a few kisses from her. She’d never known for sure, but she suspected that Bray was the reason the young man had left London so quickly.

  Gwen glanced at the stranger. An icy wind blew a strand of hair across her face. He would have been completely justified to have spoken up and implicated her as the one who had assaulted him, but he remained silent. “I thought he was— I mean I was trying to—”

  “It’s a long, complicated story, Your Grace,” the gentleman said to take the pressure off her as he gave the required bow to the Duke of Drakestone. “There’s no cause for alarm. Everything is fine.”

  Bray seemed to study on what was said before he unexpectedly bowed in return and said, “Your Grace. I’m glad to hear that.”

  Your Grace?

  A chill skittered up Gwen’s back and she shivered. Feeling cold and hot at the same time, she whirled toward the gentleman and exclaimed, “You’re a duke?”

  A hint of a smile curved one corner of his lips in a most attractive way. “When not Sir Ogre.”

  Indignation flashed through Gwen like lightning on a hot summer day. She advanced on him and said, “How
dare you not tell me you are a duke?”

  He backed up a step. “I had very little time to share that information with you, if you’ll remember.”

  “How long does it take to say, ‘I’m a duke’?” she exclaimed, incredulous at this news.

  “Obviously longer than I had.”

  “That’s not the point,” she insisted, realizing her earlier anger with the man—the duke—had returned. “You should have immediately told me who you are. There was plenty of time when you were, when we were … anyway.” She stopped and huffed loudly. “You shouldn’t have let me continue to think you were a … a—”

  “An ogre? A lecher?”

  She glared at him and her cheeks heated in the cold air for the third time. Her hands closed into fists. “At the very least a beast!”

  “I doubt anything I could have said at the time would have swayed you from your quick assessment of my character.”

  “You could have given it a try,” she ground out, so exasperated by the duke she could hardly speak.

  The amusement twitching on his lips and the glowing in his eyes continued. He gave her such an appealing grin, her sudden burst of anger melted like snow in a sizzling-hot pan. And that made her angry all over again. She didn’t want to be attracted to his smile, to his presence, to him.

  Now that she’d taken the time to look him over carefully, she could see he was no ordinary gentleman. He wore all the commanding self-confidence of a wealthy, privileged, and titled gentleman. No wonder he was so determined to get his way and hold her to the ground until he decided to grant her freedom.

  And she had hit him!

  Unable to stop herself, she took another step toward him. “Just when I was beginning to believe that you’re not a rogue of the highest order after all, I find that you withheld from me that you are a duke.”

  “I did ask your name and you refused to tell me, but had you, I would have revealed mine.”