All I Want for Christmas Is a Duke (15 page)

But as she glanced around the table, she only saw agreement and the expectation that all their own views would be expressed upon his lips.

Sickness twisted her insides. No matter how much her heart had begun to light for Alexander, these were his people. These were the vanguards she would have to meet over and over again if she were to find a place with him and his heart.

“Miss Grey?” Rothby challenged. “Are you listening?”

“To you, my lord?” she mocked. “How could I not?”

Not hearing the insult, the pompous young lord continued. “It’s a matter of two pieces. You see, there is the simple element in breeding. There perhaps Miss Georgiana is fortunate. Likely half her parentage is superior in every way, but the other half?” The lord tsked, shaking his head.

That sick feeling built inside her. Harder and faster, as did her stillness. How could he have the audacity to say such things at his host’s table? Oh, yes, how could she forget? The entitlement of his birth dared him.

“The other half is likely contaminated, and though sometimes the superior breeding stock will win out, there is the point of morality.”

“I beg your pardon?” Adriana asked.

The other guests sat rapt, and suddenly she realized the entire table had fallen silent. All twenty souls. Including His Grace.

Did Rothby realize he had such an audience? But then she realized he didn’t, and his arrogance was so palpable that even if he did, he didn’t care, as he was so certain of his own point of view. She’d met men like him, who would denigrate anyone they felt superiority over. And it would never occur to someone like him that others might think he was in the wrong because he felt so righteous.

“Everyone knows Miss Georgiana comes of questionable parentage. It was exceptionally kind of His Grace to take the child in, truly Christian and an example to us all. But her condition is simply more proof that when a child is born in a particularly immoral state, God inflicts punishment upon the child in the form of a defect. Thusly, all the world may see His displeasure at its birth—”

Adriana stood suddenly, knocking back her chair. “Sir, you are insulting, and I will not hear another word.”

“Queen of Christmas, you may be, but”—Rothby’s watery blue gaze narrowed—“have you forgotten your station?”

She lifted her chin. “I have not, but you have clearly forgotten you are a gentleman.”

A gasp went up around her, but she remained firm, standing over the seated lords and ladies, alone in a sea of nobility. At present, her outrage her only friend.

Now, she was going to have to leave. There would be no getting around it. Alexander would toss her out into the snow for her appallingly bad manners, but her heart couldn’t bear such words against Georgiana.

“Because you are a woman, I shall overlook such a remark,” Rothby gritted.

Suddenly, silently, the duke was behind her, his hand at her elbow. “Fortunately, I am a man, Rothby, and you can take it up with me.”

Rothby paled. “Your Grace.”

“I don’t know if you’re a fool or a product of this bad breeding you so intriguingly describe, but anyone who insults my ward or her governess is no friend of mine.”

Rothby’s mouth worked furiously for a moment. “She’s but a servant.”

Fury crackled from Alexander’s body, pulsing into hers, and she resisted the urge to press her hand against his arm to calm him.

“She may be a servant, but she is more a lady than you shall ever be a gentleman. Please leave Highburn, Rothby. Now.”

Rothby glanced from Adriana to Alexander and sneered. “More bad breeding on its way, I see.”

Adriana winced. Was it that obvious?

Alexander’s face was a mask of cold fury. Totally controlled fury, but it was there in his eyes, the tinder waiting to be lit and explode. “That remark will cost you dearly. I do hope you shall think it worth it in a month’s time.”

Alexander looked about the table then said flatly, “If I hear that any one of you offers this man a kindness after his departure, you shall suddenly find yourself cast out from Her Majesty’s affections and Carlton House’s.”

Rothby stood, shaking. “Your Grace, that is hardly—”

“You have denigrated a child and a young lady who deserves respect, not insult. I should call you out.” Alexander looked the man up and down for one agonizingly painful instant. “I find you unworthy of the honor. Now, slink off, like the slime you are.”

Rothby hesitated, his gaze darting around the table for any sort of help. When none came, he flung his napkin down and darted out of the room.

Wordlessly, Alexander left her side and headed back to his seat at the head of the table. As he lowered himself, a smile as bright as the fire in the great hearth behind him beamed on his lips. “Sit. Enjoy. After all, this is Christmas. And what is Christmas without one fool?”

His guests erupted in slightly brittle laughter.

Alexander raised a glass. “To our brave Miss Grey, Queen of Christmas, protector of children and all that Christmas should uphold.“

At that, all nineteen remaining lords and ladies about the table raised their glasses, all smiles and admiration. “To Miss Grey, protector of the innocent,” they cried.

Slowly, she sat down and caught Lady Jane’s eye.

The other young woman lifted her glass again in a smaller salute. “Well done,” she mouthed before sipping her red wine.

Trembling, Adriana took a small sip from her own goblet and suddenly found herself unable to look away from Alexander.

Her heart pounded so hard and fast she was sure it would burst. He had rescued her. He had walked down to her side and defended her as no other man had done in her entire life.

And the feeling she felt was not of gratitude but of something infinitely more terrifying.

Love. She felt love.

Chapter Eight

On the Eighth Day of Christmas

My True Love Gave to Me

Splendid Drops of Hope

The rage Alexander felt didn’t dissipate until he stood in his daughter’s room, looking down on her innocent face.

His ward.

Georgiana was so much more than that. She was his heart. It was unfair that society dictated that he couldn’t proclaim to the world that she was his own.

In her small bed, tucked under her embroidered counterpane, she lay on her back, dark curls spilling about her face over the snowy pillow. In her arms was the doll he’d given her. Her soft, pink mouth was open slightly as she dreamed the dreams of innocent sleep.

He often wondered if she recalled her beautiful mother at all. A French actress, her mother had been sparkling, talented, and capable of skewering the most intelligent of men with her razor-sharp wit. She was the height of the demimondaine, and he’d wanted to make her his wife.

The men of his line didn’t mince with status or breeding. They married whom they wanted. His grandfather had married a courtesan. His great, great grandfather one of the actresses of Charles II’s court.

And he’d planned to act accordingly.

It wasn’t exactly love that he’d felt for Georgiana’s mother, but it had been more than he had felt for any other woman in his life, and she’d certainly filled him with laughter. And when she’d announced her pregnancy, that had settled it.

He was going to marry her, but a wasting sickness had called her away. She’d held on just long enough to give birth. To this day, he couldn’t quite escape a certain self-loathing for not dragging in a priest and wedding her on her deathbed.

But he hadn’t.

It was his greatest regret.

Quietly, he knelt down and pressed a kiss to his daughter’s cheek, grateful that he’d been gifted such a treasure.

But tonight had been the first indication that Georgiana’s life wouldn’t be an easy one. There would always be Rothbys. The very memory of it stoked the rage back up inside him. He’d wanted to kill the lordling. Rothby was just the first and at least he’d had the courage to voice his opinions aloud, not whisper them behind Alexander’s back.

Soon, there would be others whispering about Georgiana and her crippled leg, an effect from her mother’s illness during pregnancy. Alexander stroked Georgiana’s soft little arm and whispered. “I love you, sweetling.”

A noise at the door caught his attention, and he twisted, spotting the hint of red silk in the doorway. “Come in, Adriana.”

Adriana edged out from the doorway, her hands tucked behind her. “Forgive me. I didn’t mean to intrude.”

God, she was beautiful. In her borrowed gown, he couldn’t decide what world she belonged to. Blond curls adorned with holly caressed her face. Perhaps she’d stepped out of a dream, the very image of Christmas.

She certainly bore none of the traits of a mousy governess at this moment. He raised his hand toward her, beckoning her closer. “There is nothing to forgive. If anything, I am the one who must beg forgiveness.”

She frowned. “Your Grace?”

“Alexander,” he corrected. “I put you in an untenable position, thinking only of my own comfort.”

A blush stole over her cheeks, giving her an unshakable air of vulnerability. She’d certainly not worn it as she stood up to Rothby.

“I owe you a debt of gratitude,” she said. “No one has ever spoken for me like that.”

“Then everyone you’ve ever known has been unworthy of you.”

She crossed over to him but didn’t take his hand. The folds of her skirt teased his knee as she stared down at his daughter. “It breaks my heart to think she will know unkindness. Words are oft far more brutal than blows.”

“And you know this by experience?”

She wouldn’t meet his eyes, but rather bent and tucked one of Georgiana’s curls behind a perfect shell-pink ear. “I have experienced both.”

“Adriana—”

“It’s not important.”

He slid a hand up to her waist, turning her slightly toward him. “It is. It’s very important.”

“Why?” she whispered.

“Because when I hear of what has been done to you, I feel as though my heart has been cut to ribbons.”

“Alexander, you don’t even know if I tell the truth.”

He arched a brow. “Do you?”

Her lips twitched. “Well, yes.”

“Do you know how I know you do not lie when you say such things about yourself?”

She shook her head, a sudden look of doubt softening her features.

“Because of your novels.”

“My novels,” she echoed.

He slowly stood. “There is such honesty in them, and they bare such a life of suffering.”

“I never meant to paint myself the victim.”

“You don’t, for in it you have a strain of humor that laces itself through the entirety of your works. But, my darling, you cannot escape the brutality of your childhood nor the effects it clearly had upon you.”

Tears, checked but there, shone in her eyes. “Then I dare not give you your present, for I am risking a great deal to reveal so much to you.”

He hesitated. “My present?”

“Of course, Alexander. It is Christmas, is it not?”

He stood, suddenly wanting her to himself. “Then you must give it to me, but not here.”

She glanced down to Georgina. “But—”

“No, Adriana, if you are sharing more of your secrets, I wish to have you utterly alone.”

“What if you dislike what I share?”

He grinned. “Then I shall cast you out into the snow.”

She struck his arm lightly then raised the hand she’d kept tucked behind her skirts, revealing sheaves of parchment covered in her delicate writing.

The ream of paper called to him, the words upon the pages as sacred as any magic because she had written them. Words were her altar, and she was sharing her most sacred beliefs with him.

From her, there was no higher honor. “This gift means more to me than any other I have ever received.”

She bit her lower lip as pleasure illuminated her features. “You’ve yet to read it.”

Alexander strode to the door, ready to have her alone with the story she had created for him. “Then let us remedy that.”

…

Waiting was something she’d become quite adept at over the years. She’d waited for her parents to stumble home, for her mother’s friend to finally proclaim the day she had to pay for her own keep, and then for the day that the duke might discover the truth about her past.

Now, she sat waiting for him to finish the story she’d composed for him and him alone. And this? This was more agonizing than any other time she could recall. She sat before his fire, a glass of mulled wine in her hand, drinking in its warmth, trying not to count the moments that slipped past only interspersed by the crackling of the fire and the sound of papers shuffling.

She snuck a glance at his mammoth bed, decked in sapphire velvet and pristine, snowy linen.

He meant her to be in that bed. And so did she.

On that bed, he would strip her clothes from her body and take what she so wished to give. He slept in that bed, and for a brief moment, she was suddenly jealous of the linen that enfolded him, wishing she could so thoroughly embrace him.

Shocked at her own thoughts, she closed her eyes but couldn’t erase the thought of him, sprawled luxuriously, urging her to join him.

She glanced to the ice-feathered window, desperate not to be so entirely lost to him. Snow fell softly outside, wrapping the world in a mantle of innocence, purity, and unblemished white.

If only her life could be like that snow. New. Untouched. A fresh slate on which to create a new life. For so many years, she’d been alone. Had felt alone. Until this evening with a few words, the duke had made her feel more at home and more cared for than she had in her entire life.

In front of all his guests, he’d come to her rescue. Not just supporting his daughter but herself. She could think of no other man who would have done such a thing. Now, her heart was dangerously outside her chest.

In his hands.

She was a fool, yet she couldn’t stop her foolishness. Where had all her plans gone? To tease him? To force him to seduce her? His seduction had been far more powerful than any game of gifts and double entendre.

No, his seduction had been of her very soul.

He hadn’t lied in the corridor. Whatever was passing between them now was dangerous, for nothing could ever come of it but pain. The knowledge should have had her up and packing. Anything to protect herself from the tragedy of tasting love then having it ripped from her.

She stayed.

She stayed because she couldn’t bear to leave.

“I’ve finished,” he said.

She continued to stare at the window, even as her breath hitched. Had she gone too far? Would her gift prove her undoing?

The sound of his chair scraping the floor as he pushed it back broke the silence. Even as his boot steps neared, she kept her gaze locked upon the window and the night outside. As long as she didn’t look at him, she could preserve the accord between them.

“Look at me, Adriana.” That fierce voice rumbled through his room, dancing upon her skin.

Though it took all her strength, she tore her gaze away from the snow and lifted it to his molten depths. “I…” But her voice died in her throat, transfixed by his exquisite face.

Emotions brimmed beneath his surface. Somehow, he seemed larger, claiming all the space of the room, his gaze darker, more alive than it ever had been before, and his lips, often so firm, were sensual, parted.

And his eyes? They were full of wonder.

“This is about me?” he asked.

She couldn’t speak, completely caught unguarded by the fullness of his emotion. So she nodded.

“And Georgiana?”

She somehow managed to nod again.

“And you?”

At that, she couldn’t look upon him any more. It was too painful. Too risky.

Suddenly, he was on his knees before her, his broad hands covering hers. “My darling, how long have you felt thus?”

Her brow furrowed, and she blinked. Felt what? She savored the feel of his slightly rough hands entirely encompassing hers. “I don’t understand.”

A soft, low, whiskey laugh rolled from him. “You don’t even know?”

She looked at him, confusion struggling to make sense of his words. “Know what?”

“Oh, Adriana.” Ever so carefully, he stood, then slipped his arms around her.

She gasped as he swept her up against his chest and carried her to the bed.

“What are you doing?” she gasped.

“I’m making you mine.”

Mine.

The word trembled through her. It felt so right. So perfect. And if she lied hard enough to herself, she could even believe it was true.

“I’m going to make love to you now,” he said as he stretched her out onto the bed. “And you will never know another man but me.”

She wanted to cry out that he couldn’t possibly mean such a thing. But this was her one Christmas. Her perfect Christmas and she was going to seize it with all she had.

“First, I want you naked. Gloriously naked.”

Her fingers grasped the counterpane, every bit of her suddenly painfully, shockingly alive at his words.

Then, he flipped her onto her front in one fast move.

Her breath whooshed out of her as she bounced lightly and her skirts tangled about her legs.

Quickly, easily, he unlaced her bodice then peeled it open to reveal her chemise and corset. He yanked the gown out from under her and let it slide to the floor.

Her breath came in stuttering gasps, harsh to her own ears, as he then worked at the tapes of her skirts. In a few tugs, he had them off her, the silken petticoats sliding down her legs.

She heard them join the bodice and the cool air of his room, barely kissed by the fire, stole over her bared thighs. Only her stockings and chemise and corset remained.

And the corset and stockings he had off in a trice.

Still facedown, she shivered.

She’d never been so nearly naked before a man. The one time had been brief. Over quickly. And the greatest mistake of her life. But she wouldn’t think about that now. She’d only think about this man. This night. The scent of juniper and snow and burning wood tantalizing her senses.

She bit down on her lower lip, unable to see him. Wondering what he was going to do next.

The lightest touch of his fingers trailed over the tops of her legs, slipping up, caressing the bare flesh of her inner thighs.

Her mouth opened and a soft moan of shock escaped her lips.

“Has anyone ever touched you like this?” There was a note of surprise in his voice.

Was it that obvious, that though she was experienced, she was utterly inexperienced in the ways of her own pleasure? She shook her head.

“Then I will be the first.” There was a feral sort of pride in his voice as he slid his hands up to her hips, caressing her, stroking her.

She couldn’t breathe. Nor could she think. The way his hands worked over her, awakening her body and setting it afire as hotly as the flames that burned across the room.

His mouth pressed down against her hip, then with his teeth, he pulled up her chemise, exposing her bottom to the air.

She tried to look back at him but as she did, his fingers slid between her thighs and stole into her folds. She shuddered at the sudden sensation. The same sensation he had dared to evoke just hours before.

Pure pleasure.

His fingers slid through her lightly, and he groaned. “You’re so wet.”

She knew from the drunken sound of his words that this was exactly what he had hoped for.

Oh so slowly, he found that soft nub between her thighs and circled his fingers over it.

She moaned into the blankets, and her hips rocked back of their own will. She’d barely realized she had even done it, giving him more access to her.

As he circled and stroked, he kissed her back, using his teeth to pull her chemise higher, exposing more skin. With his free hand, he stroked her sides, trailing his palms over her bottom, her thighs.

And then he was up over her. Cupping the side of her face, he tilted her head back so he could devour her mouth in an unyielding kiss.