Unlaced At Christmas: The Christmas Duchess / Russian Winter Nights / A Shocking Proposition

She hurried to deny the fact, then noticed his smile and relaxed at the shared joke. ‘Very well, Your Grace. I thank you for your concern.’

‘I have another plan that might suit you better,’ he said, trying not to sound as cryptic as he felt. ‘I do not wish to speak of it as yet. But if I could repair your reputation in some other way, one that would give your broken heart time to heal and not trap you in a marriage not of your choosing, would you accept my help?’

Her shoulders sagged as well-disguised tension was released from them. ‘If such a thing was possible, I would accept it gladly, Your Grace.’

He rose and offered her his hand. She rose as well, and he escorted her to the door. ‘Then I shall endeavour to do my best for you.’ He glanced up to see the mistletoe that he had hung only a few minutes ago. ‘And now, you must indulge an old man, if only for luck.’ He laid a finger to direct her and she went up on tiptoe to kiss him, a brief, daughterly peck on the cheek.

He responded with a fatherly kiss on the top of her head. ‘Merry Christmas, my dear. Do not worry, I will make all right.’

She all but scampered as she left him, and he reached thoughtfully up to pluck one of the berries and toss it into the fire.

* * *

Seven, eight, nine...

Generva stared suspiciously up at the mistletoe, counting the berries there. She was sure there had been ten when she had left the room earlier in the day. She held her breath as she peered around at her feet to make sure the berry had not dropped off and rolled away. There was no sign of it on the floor.

She resisted the urge to move the furniture just to make sure. It was a roundabout solution to a perfectly simple problem. If she wished to know if a kiss had occurred after the meeting between the duke and her daughter, she had but to go and ask Gwen.

Strangely, she did not want to. She had left them alone together so that the matter of the proposal could be properly settled. But she had trusted that he would behave as a gentleman, especially if the answer was no. If he had pressed his advantage, as he had when Generva had been alone with him, she could not ignore it. She would explain to her daughter that what might have been a simple Christmas game last season might now be seen as permission to take even greater liberties. If she had agreed to a marriage, then it must occur tomorrow as scheduled.

If not? Then Generva would inform the duke that he must offer again and allow no second refusal. The girl would likely pout and sulk. But in the end she would have a husband who was both rich and powerful, and good-humoured, as well. He had a friendly, almost playful nature, and an excellent singing voice. Smiles came easily to her when he was around, and she was not normally given to such frivolity.

She was waxing on his virtues again. It netted her nothing. If she must speak of them at all, it would be to Gwen. After his marriage to her daughter, she could brag of the match to the jealous mothers of less-fortunate girls.

Perhaps Gwen would not have the grand passion she hoped for. But it was well past the time for romance. If she married the duke, she would have kindness and security, and never feel the desolation of the soul that came with knowing one was alone. The women of the Marsh household, both of them, must stop behaving like silly, love-struck maidens and face facts.

‘Are you looking for something?’

She jumped at the sound of his voice, placing her hand over her suddenly heaving bosom.

The duke was glancing down at the floor, just as she had as she searched for the berry. ‘I am sorry to startle you. But it seemed, just now, that you were searching for something. May I be of assistance?’

Darling, it has been a long time...

A sudden image flashed into her head of John, returned from sea. He would smile and coax her to the bedroom, claiming he needed help removing his boots. She would smile and follow, and they would close the door, even if it was the middle of the afternoon....

Why, of all times, must she think of such a thing? And why, in the presence of this particular man? The answer was obvious. But she was sure, somewhere on the other side of the veil, her husband was laughing at her.

She caught her breath and swallowed. ‘The room needs sweeping. It was foolish to decorate before giving it a good cleaning.’ She looked up into his face, which was very near hers, and leaned back into the door frame to keep from falling.

‘I shall bring the broom from the kitchen, if you promise not to strike me again.’ He was smiling, as though they shared a secret joke.

Her heart was beating so loud and fast she feared he must hear it from where he stood. She braced her shoulders against the woodwork, leaning back into the solidness of the house. ‘That will not be necessary. It has been a most confusing week,’ she added, hoping this would explain her behaviour.

‘It has indeed,’ he replied. ‘And I suppose you are wondering the results of my conversation with your daughter just now.’

‘I...’ What was the answer to this? Courtesy suggested that she deny curiosity, but her duty as a mother was just the opposite. She swallowed and attempted another breath. ‘Yes, I am.’

‘While she is a lovely girl, I fear our first hope was in vain. She has little interest in wedding me and I would not persuade her against her will. She is still quite young, and full of romantic illusions, as we all were at that age.’

‘She will outgrow them in time,’ Generva said firmly, thinking of how far her own life had veered from young romance.

‘Perhaps. Or perhaps not. She deserves a chance at a love match, does she not? And a man who can prove that all of us are not such bounders as my nephew proved to be.’

‘But how will that be possible? Tomorrow people will be talking of nothing else but her jilting.’

His finger was on her lips now, resting gently to silence them. ‘I will make sure the blame falls where it belongs, with my erstwhile heir. And—’ he gave her a smile that was both reassuring and secretive ‘—I have another plan in mind. Something that will occupy the gossips for weeks to come.’

‘But...’ If she had forgotten the finger resting against her lips, this attempt at speech made her immediately aware of it. The movement of her mouth dragged across the skin of it, and she had a sudden, totally irrational desire to touch it with her tongue, to take it into her mouth and suck.

Perhaps he had a similar thought. For though his smile did not falter, his already dark eyes seemed to grow darker. ‘Do you trust me?’

She should not. She should ask him about the missing berry. But she gave the barest of nods. And again, the friction of her lips on his hand made her mind wander.

‘Then you must not fear,’ he said. His hand dropped away from her face to rest upon her shoulder. ‘And you must not take everything upon yourself.’

‘Who else has there been to help me?’ she said, unable not to rail, just a little, at the unfairness of widowhood.

‘No one yesterday,’ he agreed. ‘But today you must remember that you are no longer alone.’

She wanted to argue that of course she was still alone. John had been captain at sea, but she had always been the captain of her own little ship right here in Reddington. While it might seem that she deferred to him, he would soon be gone. Today or tomorrow, St Stephen’s Day at the latest, he would be on his horse, riding south, and she would be alone again.

His hand tightened upon her shoulder ever so gently, the thumb settling in the hollow of her collarbone and stroking. ‘You knew the old song I was singing before, did you not?’

She nodded again, barely able to breathe.

‘It was a man’s song. The man is the holly. The woman is the ivy, who clings to him for support.’

She did not need to, she reminded herself. But it would be pleasant, for a time, to cling to anyone.

‘That song is rather unfair to poor ivy, for she is standing outside the door with cold fingers. But do you know the chorus?’ he asked softly.

At the moment, she was not sure she knew anything, other than that the duke had the beginning of a beard shadow, just under the curve of his full lower lip. Her eyes dropped to the ground again, so she would not have to stare at his mouth.

‘“Let Holly have the mastery, as the manner is.”’ The words were barely a breath against her hair. ‘That is what you must do for me, Generva. Let me help you.’ His thumb travelled up her shoulder until it rested under her chin, and tipped her face towards his.

She should not be doing this.

She allowed herself one token protest before putting it aside and closing the last inch between them to accept his kiss. His mouth was warm and wonderful, and the nearness of his body as comforting as a blanket on a winter night. She leaned into him and felt his hand on the small of her back, supporting her as he opened her mouth, capturing her tongue with a lazy possessiveness, drawing it back into him so that she might kiss him as he was kissing her.

He tasted of mulled wine and mischief, and she gave herself over to it, wrapping her arms around his neck so that their hips touched. She felt his body stir against her belly, growing hard. He wanted her in that way?

Her heart and mind warred for a moment, trying to decide whether to be offended or flattered. If she was not careful, she would have a reputation more damaged than her daughter’s. The world would think she was one of those too-gracious widows, willing to let a man warm her bed for favours.

In the end, her body won out over reason. Her knees weakened, pressing her hips ever so slightly in welcome towards the budding erection.

‘What are you doing?’ Ben was sitting on the stairs in the hall, watching the whole scandalous moment.

She broke quickly from his kiss, straightening her skirts and touching her hair. Then she cursed herself for the fussiness. It made her look even more guilty than she felt.

The duke was given to no such sudden movements. He was still staring down at her, eyes pools of blackness, a slight satisfied smile upon his lips. ‘I am kissing your mother,’ he said to the boy, as if it was the most natural thing in the world to be caught in an embrace in the middle of the day.

‘Oh,’ Ben responded. Perhaps that was just the way to handle such a thing, for her son did not seem the least bit surprised. His tone said that such carrying on was not nearly as interesting as catching wrens in the woods.

‘Like you kissed my sister before?’

Generva pushed away so fast that her head hit the door frame. ‘Your Grace.’ There was much more that she wanted to say, and none of it was appropriate for little ears. For now, two words would have to be enough to tell him what she truly thought of the sort of man that would do such a terrible thing. Then she gave him another push for good measure and fled past her son, up the stairs to her room.

Chapter Eight

Montford stood in the doorway, lips still warm and body still alert from the effects of her kiss. It had been a promising beginning. But the conclusion had been both unexpected and unfortunate. He turned to look at the boy on the stairs. ‘No, actually, kissing your mother was quite different from kissing your sister.’

‘Oh.’ The boy seemed no more interested than he had been without the explanation. He took a pair of conkers from his pocket, tapping them together then holding one out to the duke. The smack of nut against nut punctuated the silence.

Montford sighed and walked to the stairs to sit at the boy’s side, taking one of the strings. ‘When I kissed your sister, it was out of kindness, as a father would have.’

‘You are not her father,’ Ben pointed out, taking a few tentative swings at his opponent’s nut. ‘Papa is dead.’

‘That is true,’ the duke agreed. ‘You are the man of the house now.’

The sound of the nuts stopped suddenly.

‘It is an awful lot of work, watching out for the two of them, is it not?’ the duke suggested, swinging his conker back to tap the boy’s.

There was more silence from the boy, as though he was only just realising that he might be the watcher, and not the one to be watched over. Then, slowly, he nodded. ‘They do not listen to me,’ he whispered.

‘Even when you are right, as you were when you did not like my nephew,’ the duke agreed. ‘But you are still the man of the house, when all is said and done. That is why I must come to you now.’

The boy gave him a wide-eyed, blank look.

‘What you just saw, when your mother and I were under the mistletoe, was not quite proper of me. You were right to stop us.’

The boy gave a confused look over his shoulder, towards the place his mother had retreated. Then he turned back and cracked his conker hard against the one the duke was holding.

‘She will thank you. And she will forgive me eventually, I am sure.’ At least he hoped she would. There was much more to be discussed before the matter could be settled between them. ‘But for now, if we are to do this properly, you must ask my intentions.’

The boy gave him another confused look, the nut hanging still on the string before him.

The duke began again. ‘When I kissed your sister, it was as a friend. It was very innocent. But she is unmarried, as am I, and some people might wonder.’

‘But you are old,’ the boy said, as though this explained everything.

‘Not so old as all that,’ the duke said, trying not to growl. Then he added, ‘If you see such things in the future, and you are not sure they are proper, you have but to clear your throat and give a disapproving look. It will stop things before there is trouble.’ He demonstrated and the boy shrank back in alarm.

He smiled again. ‘Or you can just be a damned little nuisance. It works almost as well at breaking up liaisons, and you are very good at it.’

The boy smiled back, swinging the nut back and forth in a low arc, quite pleased with his own cleverness.

‘But if you were to see something as you just saw between myself and your mother?’ The duke gave a gentle smile. ‘That was somewhat more serious. As such, you had a right to ask what I was doing.’

‘I did that,’ the boy pointed out.

‘And I told you,’ the duke said. ‘But honour also requires me to tell you of the esteem in which I hold your mother. And to request your permission to court her.’

The boy stared at him in thoughtful silence. The conker swung back and forth like a pendulum.

For a moment, Montford wondered what he might do should the boy refuse. Clout the little beggar on the ear, perhaps. He was owed at least one good whack for the boot he’d delivered in the parlour.

‘You want to court my mother,’ the boy said, making a small face. ‘That is well and good for you. But what does that mean to me?’

It was a legitimate question. ‘I suppose, should we marry, I would be your stepfather.’

‘I can manage without one,’ Benjamin answered solemnly.

‘Right enough.’ The boy was a surprisingly hard bargainer. ‘But at least, with me, you are being consulted. At some point, your mother might choose one for you and give you no say in the matter.’

‘True, that,’ the boy agreed.

‘If you were to agree to me, I could take your troublesome sister off your hands, as well. I will find her a proper husband.’ He thought for a moment. ‘One that does not kick dogs.’

‘At least then she would stop crying over the last one,’ Ben agreed. ‘What else?’

What else? He could offer a large house, a proper education, a possible knighthood and a solid career in anything that might interest the child. But he doubted any of those would tempt. ‘I have a manor in Sussex with a very nice piece of land attached to it. There are woods with trees fit for climbing.’ He looked over at the boy. ‘I climbed them myself, when I was your age. Also a pond, with as many frogs as you might want, and a stream for fishing.’

‘I have never been fishing,’ the boy admitted. ‘When Papa was home, there was never time.’ Was that wistfulness he heard in the child’s tone?

‘Your father was the captain of a ship, was he not?’

The boy nodded.

‘He was a very busy man. I am but a duke and—’ other than running the country, and keeping my tenants housed and hundreds of servants fed and clothed ‘—I have more than enough time to fish. In summer, when the weather is good, we will live in the country and I will teach you.’

The boy brightened.

‘Do I have your blessing?’ the duke prompted.

‘Yes, sir.’

‘You must call me Your Grace,’ he reminded the boy. ‘At least until we can settle on something more fitting that your mother will agree to.’

‘Yes, My Grace,’ the boy said with a slanted smile meant to annoy. Then he delivered a solid whack with his conker and split the duke’s nut in two.

‘Hot cockles,’ the duke said, and slapped him lightly on the back of the head. ‘Now I must go and try to mend the damage you did to your mother’s heart by making her think I loved your sister better than her. Keep your mouth shut on this for a day or two and you shall be gutting your own trout by May.’

The boy made a gesture of a key turning on his locked lips, grabbed the conkers and ran for the kitchen.

* * *

Christmas Eve dinner was less formal and more tense than the one on the previous evening. Mrs Marsh remained locked in her room, leaving Mrs Jordan to see to the children and the meal. It seemed the housekeeper had also been instructed to prevent further misbehaviour by Montford, for she was present in the dining room more than she was absent, adding and removing plates and sides as diligently as a footman.

She should, at least, have been appreciative of the meal he had provided for them. He had ordered a fully cooked goose from the village baker to make up for the roast that had been served to him the night before. She had smiled and thanked him when it had been delivered to the kitchen, along with a hamper that contained oranges, chestnuts and an iced Christmas cake.

But then Generva had announced her megrim and the whole house had turned against him. Not the whole house, perhaps. Gwendolyn and Mrs Jordan might look on him with suspicion. But Ben still seemed to enjoy his company, as did the spaniel.

After the meal, they retired to the parlour for cards and games. Mrs Jordan stationed herself in the corner with a bag of knitting like a tricoteuse beneath the guillotine, enjoying his suffering.

Was it not punishment enough that Generva refused to speak with him? He had delivered apologies and explanations through her bedroom door, well aware of the scene he was creating by lingering in the upper hallway. Her only response was to whisper that he was making things worse and demand that he please go away.

He suspected she meant to hide from him until he quit the house. He had no intention of doing so. If he remained until Christmas morning, she would have to come down for church. She would not permit her children to avoid the service, nor would she send Gwendolyn alone to face the gossips. When she opened the door, he would be there for her. All things would be settled at once.

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