A Marquess for Christmas

DEDICATION

This book is dedicated
to Kara and Lisa for their endless guidance, support, and unconditional love.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

This book would not have been possible without the prodding of Eden
Bradley, who convinced me that I needed to write a Christmas book.

Thank you to my editor, Lorena Streeter, and the people who beta read
this book for me: KB Alan, Marie Hall,
Suzanna
Medeiros
, and
Lia
Sebastian.

To the ladies at Romance Divas, thank you for your support, advice, chat
challenges, and the wonderful friendships I’ve made. I am also grateful to
everyone at Write Chat. You were there with me as I wrote most of this book.

Jax
Cassidy, you are always there for me and I am so thankful to
call you my friend.

Thank you to Linda H. and Sofia Harper, who read my many emails and are
always willing to give me input on blurbs, excerpts, and cover drafts. We’ve
grown so close this year and I am glad to share this journey with you.

A special thanks goes to
Gemma
Halliday
and Amanda Brice who have generously shared their
knowledge of indie publishing with me and many others.

Thank you to all the fans of
Lady
Northam’s
Wicked Surrender
; you’ve inspired me and
reminded me why I write.

Lastly, I want to thank Elizabeth Lowell and Beverly Jenkins. Reading
your books made me want to touch people in the same way that your words touched
me. It was so nice to meet you at RWA conference and I will be forever grateful
to you for all that you have given to the romance community.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Excerpts

Lady
Northam’s
Wicked Surrender by
Vivienne Westlake

How to Woo…A Reluctant Bride by
Lyndi
Lamont

Loving the Marquess by Suzanna Medeiros

About the Author

Chapter One

England, November, 1815

A
fist nearly rammed the side of his face, but Daniel, Marquess of
Kittrick
, managed to give it the slip with a swift turn of
his torso. He could see the fraying strands of cotton from the strips of cloth
taped around Freddy’s hand. An inch or two closer and he’d have a black eye.
Kit shifted to resume his fighting stance, bracing his legs apart and raising
his fists, watching for a tell-tale sign of his opponent’s next move. Freddy
merely stared back, his blue eyes betraying nothing.

They
were covered in perspiration, both shirtless to the waist, despite the drafty
room and ominous clouds outside. Kit would’ve been happy to fight out in the
cold, but Freddy had said he didn’t want to box in the rain. Not that there’d
been a single drop as far as he could tell. But the duke insisted on fighting
indoors.

Freddy
had blamed foul weather, but Kit knew the truth. The duke was hiding from his
wife, not the storm.

“I
could tell Isabella about this afternoon’s excursion,” Kit warned. She’d given
them leave so they could go riding and pursue their sports, but Bella would
scream if she caught them boxing again. Though she’d find out sooner or later
given the red patches forming on Freddy’s light skin. He’d be purple and blue
tomorrow.

“I
should think the duchess would applaud me. You deserve a good thrashing. And
you know she’s been wanting to give you one ever since you were a babe.”

He
grimaced. Of course she had. His sister couldn’t bear the thought of him
thinking for himself—
or worse,
ruining the family name
—so
she’d taken every possible opportunity to correct him, which inevitably meant
torturing him until he gave in to her demands.

“She
may have good reason, but you surely do not.”

Freddy’s
eyebrows waggled. “Are you sure?” He kept moving them until Kit couldn’t help
but laugh, and then he threw a cross punch. Kit’s cheek stung with the burn of
a hundred needles, but he shook it off. He should’ve seen that coming.

“So
what is your grievance against me?”

“Do
I need one to defend my wife?” He flexed his shoulders and rolled his head from
side to side, but kept his fists at the ready. They hadn’t fought in six
months, but obviously Freddy had been practicing.

“Bella
is the one haranguing me. What have I done to offend Her Grace?”

The
grin his brother-in-law gave would have convinced a nun to run off to Gretna
Green. It made Kit want to jab him. “You insulted Miss Hargrove. And you made
improper suggestions to Miss Glenworth.”

Freddy
could care less if Kit insulted half the debutantes in town. This was merely an
excuse to box him and avoid his wife’s punishment.

“I
told you both yesterday that I wouldn’t marry Miss Hargrove if she had diamonds
coming out of her
arse
.” The woman was a petite blond
shrew with striking
elven
features who seduced men
with her looks, then skewered them with her sharp tongue. If he took her to
wife, Miss Hargrove would send him to Bedlam in a fortnight.

Behind
his muffled hands, the duke’s grin widened. “If I was not married to your
sister, I’d jump at the chance to marry a chit with diamonds coming out of her
arse
.”

Kit
laughed and while his brother-in-law chuckled, he jabbed and cross punched him
in the ribs. Unfortunately, the cross punch opened up Kit’s guard and Freddy
undercut him in the side, beneath his armpits.

“Damn
it, Freddy.”

The
Golden Duke shrugged. “You are slacking today. I have not seen you this piss
poor since that day against the ugly Flemish kid back at Eton.”

“I
would be doing much better if I hadn’t lost a thousand pounds to you at hazard.”
Though it was his own fault for drinking Scotch and throwing dice. Kit knew
better, but he could only spend so much time with his sister before he was
downing whiskey like a parched man in the desert.

“Do
not play what you can’t afford to lose, brother.”

Of
course Freddy would throw that back in his face. Kit had said that to him often
enough, when the duke got too deep in his cups and gambled a little too freely.
Since when had they switched roles?

“Tomorrow,
it’s
picquet
and I’ll double the bet.”

“Then
I shall be two thousand richer. Maybe I’ll buy Bella a new coach and a team of
horses.”

Kit
never took his eyes from his opponent, waiting for him to drop his hand or
narrow his stance. Freddy could be quite chatty, especially when he thought he
had the upper hand.

“I
think Bella would be happier if you bought me a new wife. Perhaps she should
start offering a dowry for me instead of the other way around.”

“Ha!
What should we sell you for? I do not think there is a high market for battered
and bruised
marquesses
who care more about games of
hazard—and breaking other men’s noses—than they do about Court and
the manners of good society. What do you think? Five hundred? A thousand?”

Kit
raised his chin, throwing his nose in the air. “Do you not mean a handsome, rich
blueblood with five estates and a good bedside disposition?” He grinned. “What
woman could resist that? You should ask for ten thousand.”

Freddy
laughed and took a swing. Kit dodged him this time, ducking low. They squared
off a moment, each getting in a good punch, before they clinched arms around
one another—preventing either from getting a good blow in.

Freddy
loosened his hold and they resumed their fighting stances.

“You
know that you will end up giving in to Bella. So why do you resist? Pick a pretty
marchioness, stick her in the country and be done with it.”

They’d
been over this countless times. Kit had no desire to marry. At least not now.
He didn’t want some innocent, proper miss without the sense of a sow and he
certainly didn’t want a nagging harpy like his sister.

He
would never consider dropping his bride off in Essex or Dover and seeing her
twice a year, when duty required him to. He’d seen the damage that could do.
His aunt had spent her last years lonely and embittered because she’d loved a
man who only cared enough for her to send a letter at Christmas and Easter. The
infernal reprobate had not even visited her when she was on her deathbed.

To
hell with a frosty, vacant marriage. He did not need the money and he could
care less about gaining political connections. “No. I like my life as it is.”

He
had his companions. Courtesans and actresses for the most part—or the
occasional widow. His women never expected more than a few months of frolic and
fun. When it was over, they kept their baubles and he kept his freedom.

“If
you wait too long, you’ll be so scarred and unsightly no decent woman will have
you. By then your prick will be limp and stale and incapable of siring an
heir.”

He
might as well be talking to Bella. “If you had not used the word ‘prick’, I’d
swear that you were my sister in disguise.”

Freddy
raised his eyebrows. “But we are right. You are thirty-three for Christ’s sake.
How long are you going to keep throwing your face in front of any fist that
will have you?”

Kit
got the opening he wanted. “You
wish
you were me.” He punched Freddy in the jaw so hard that the duke staggered
back, blood running down his lip.

Do
not feel guilty. He begged you to fight him.
Kit said nothing, but grabbed
a cloth from a table and handed it to Freddy. As he cleaned up, Kit went to the
wooden bench, where their clothes were still strewn about, and sat down.

“No,
Kittrick
. I wish no such thing.”

When
Kit gave him a pointed look, his brother said, “You think marriage is such a
trial and your sister the biggest trial of all. But I love Bella. Faults and
everything.” Freddy sat down at the table. “Your problem is that you have
little care for anyone but yourself.”

“Now
hold on!”

A
warm hand rested on Kit’s shoulder and Freddy shook his head. “I don’t doubt
that you love me and Bella in your own way. But the first person on your mind
is always you, Daniel. When was the last time you went out of your way for
someone else?”

It
was not true. Had he not come to Oakfield Manor to spend the winter with his
family? Because he could think of a hell of a lot more interesting things to do
than spending six weeks in the country with Bella and Freddy. But Bella always
had a hard time with the holidays. It reminded her too much of the death of
their parents.