A Seduction at Christmas (9 page)

She closed her eyes, leaning back as comfortably as she could against the hard leather seat. Tad rested his head on her foot and there was only so much room for her to maneuver away from the duke’s body heat. She folded her hands on top of her precious bundle of clothing in her lap. All she owned, everything that was either necessary or the most precious to her, such as the silver brush her parents had given her the last Christmas the family was together, was in this bundle. As long as it was with her, she was safe.

“I can stay with my friend Grace,” she said softly.

“We’ll worry about that later,” the duke answered.

Fiona hadn’t even known she’d spoken aloud. She was that tired.

His arm came around her shoulders, pulling her head toward him. “Sleep, Fee. You don’t need to worry. I’m here.”

I’m here. You and I.

This man both comforted and terrified her. He could swallow her whole, absorb her being into his, hurt her in ways she only had an inkling were possible…and yet she fell into the deepest sleep of her life with her head against his shoulder.

Cold, damp air brought Fiona to her senses. She sat up with a start, completely disoriented and yearning for more sleep.

The duke’s laughing voice said, “Come along, Lazy Ann. We’re here.”

Holburn.

The hack’s door was open and she was alone on the seat. Even Tad was gone.

The duke leaned into the coach, offering his hand. “Come along. The driver has been paid his fare and he wants to be done with the two of us.”

Fiona climbed down out of the hack. Her legs ached in protest at the movement. “Where’s Tad?” she grumbled.

“He’s run over to investigate the park across the street,” Holburn answered before speaking to a footman dressed in deep blue livery trimmed in silver braid.

Still not completely awake, Fiona stepped up onto the marble curb. The road here was nicely paved with cobbles that fit tightly together. She
glanced across the road at a charming little park where Tad sniffed at the wrought-iron fence. Fiona realized it had been a long time since he’d seen a tree or blade of grass.

The hack drove away. As if realizing she couldn’t think for herself, which was true, Holburn took her by the shoulders and gently turned her to face the house.

Fiona woke up.

Before her was a row of four-storied houses that were a study in opulence married to exquisite taste. Their windows sparkled like jewels in the winter sun. Their façades were of decorative brick and marble behind elaborate wrought-iron fencing. It was all so clean and new she almost felt as if she wasn’t in London anymore.

These were the neighborhoods of wealth and privilege whose ranks her mother had someday hoped she would join. Her father hadn’t cared. He’d had his social concerns to keep him occupied but her mother had been practical. She’d envisioned this life for Fiona, had groomed her for it.

Tad came bounding up to her, overjoyed to have found trees and dirt and certainly a few squirrels. He nudged her hand as if encouraging her to come with him, to see what he had discovered.

Holburn laughed and rubbed the dog’s head.
“You are easy to please,” he told the dog and then turned to her. “Are you ready to go inside?”

“Inside where?” she asked, afraid of the answer. He couldn’t possibly mean to take her, in these clothes, these well-worn shoes, and with her hair looking like it had been through a wind storm, inside one of these houses.

“In this one,” he said, and Fiona was robbed of speech.

The house he indicated was the most magnificent in the square, a veritable lynchpin to all the others. The façade and columns were snowy white alabaster. The front door was open and a butler waited along with what seemed to be a column of servants all dressed in the same blue and silver braided livery.

“It’s incredible,” Fiona said when she could find her voice.

“Thank you,” Holburn answered. “My father almost wrecked the family fortune building it. Let me show you the inside. Are you hungry? I’m famished. I hope Cook has—”

He broke off as she hung back. “What is the matter?”

“I can’t go in there,” she confessed.

“Of course, you can,” he said, pulling her arm to drag her along. “I do it every day.”

“But the way I’m dressed—? Where’s my bun
dle?” she asked, slightly panicked to have lost track of it.

“I gave it to a footman. Now, come along, Fee, and stop dragging your feet. It’s my house. I can take whomever I wish into it.” When she didn’t comply immediately, he tempted her with, “How about breakfast? Or a hot bath? A warm, snuggly bed? You won’t believe the delights we have in store inside.”

Oh, she did believe.

Tad didn’t share her reservations. He trotted right into the house, ignoring the group of servants who watched him pass.

Disloyal dog.

“Come along,” Holburn said, and she had no choice but to follow.

“Good morning, Your Grace,” the butler said as he and the footmen bowed. He was a lean man with close-cropped hair, the only male servant not wearing a wig.

“Morning, Docket,” Holburn answered. “This is my guest, Miss Fee—” He caught himself. He pulled her back out onto the step. “What is your last name?” he whispered, keeping his back to the butler.

Fiona feared she would be ill with apprehension. She did not belong here, but at the same time, would not deny her family name. “Lachlan.”

Holburn turned to the butler. “This is Miss Fiona Lachlan. She is an important guest. Tell Mrs. James to prepare a room on the family floor for her.”

“It is already being done, Your Grace.”

The duke smiled his pleasure and led Fiona into a huge black and white marble-tiled foyer where trunks and hat boxes were piled high in the middle of the room. He stopped and looked to Docket.

“What’s all this?” the duke asked. “Mother isn’t preparing for the country already, is she?”

“Yes, Your Grace,” the butler answered.

“She can’t do this,” the duke said. “She’s blocking the door with her possessions.” He explained to Fiona, “Mother is making preparations for the country and the family’s Christmas festivities. Every year the family meets there. My mother is not only terrible at organizing her life, but she has to take everything she owns. This pile will grow over the coming days.”

Fiona didn’t see how it could. There was so much stacked up here it was hard to imagine a person owning more. However, all the servants nodded agreement with the duke.

“She can’t do this,” Holburn decided. “I’ll talk to her. Has she come down to breakfast yet?”

“No, Your Grace,” Docket answered.

“Well it is time for us to seek ours. Come along, Fee,” he said with good humor. “Let’s see what Cook has for us.”

He didn’t wait for her response but guided her along in the direction of his wants, Tad walking along with them. Fiona could feel the looks exchanged amongst the servants. She knew what they were thinking. Holburn must also know, except he didn’t care.

She shouldn’t either. She was Lachlan, and she’d done nothing for which to be ashamed. Although wrapping herself in pride didn’t release the knot of apprehension.

Meanwhile, the duke was all a solicitous host should be. He treated her like an honored guest.

“I’m famished,” he announced. “Let us eat and then you may go to your room while I have a talk with Lord Belkins. I want to hear his story.”

“I’m anxious to hear it, too,” she said.

“Yes, but he’ll talk more freely if we are alone.”

“Or you’ll make him talk,” she said.

His response was a nod of agreement. He led her down a hall lined with landscape paintings and portraits to a cozy dining room overlooking the back garden. A sideboard was set up with silver covered dishes. Two footmen stood at attention, waiting to see to his every slightest need.

“Cider, Your Grace?” one of them asked. “Cook mulled it to take the chill off the day.”

“At last something decent to drink,” Holburn said with feeling. “Fee? Cider? Or perhaps you would prefer chocolate. Williams is a genius at making a pot of chocolate.”

Fiona’s uneasiness vanished. It had been years since she’d had chocolate. “I would appreciate a cup of chocolate.”

Williams set right to work while Holburn turned to the other footman, “Larson, see to the dog. His name is Tad and he’s my favorite friend right now. Perhaps Cook has a steak for him.”

“I shall see, Your Grace.”

“Go with him, Tad,” the duke said and to Fiona’s surprise that’s exactly what Tad did.

The duke watched the servant and dog leave the room before saying to her, “It’s so handy to have a dog who speaks English. My mother’s dog answers only to gibberish.”

Williams swallowed a laugh, certainly unacceptable behavior for a footman, but Holburn didn’t mind and a bit more of Fiona’s uncertainty lifted. Her father had always said you could judge a man by the way he treated his servants.

There was an easiness between the duke and his servants. They knew who he was. She’d witnessed
no disrespect. But it was also clear they liked him.

Holburn lifted the covers over the serving plates on a sideboard. Rich, fragrant aromas reached out and drew her to them.

The duke handed her a plate, but leaned close to say in mock, “Oh look, Fee. Cook forgot to serve your favorite—porridge.”

She couldn’t stop the smile from his gibe, or cast a glance at Williams who was warming milk in a silver pot over a flame. If the footman overheard, he was too well trained to betray personal thoughts.

Holburn started heaping on her plate everything he put on his own. “That’s plenty, Your Grace,” she demurred as he reached for a second rasher of bacon for her. She took her seat at the round linen-covered table. Williams set her chocolate by her plate.

Outside the window, she noticed Larson leading Tad out into the garden. The wolfhound stood stock-still for a second and then greedily investigated every inch of ground, paying special attention along the garden’s brick wall.

Sitting beside her at the table, the duke said, “What do you see?”

“Tad,” she said. “That dog used to run for miles when we lived in Scotland. He hasn’t had a good run in almost a year.”

As if giving truth to her words, Tad began running in a huge circle as if chasing a demon, his dog smile growing wider until his tongue was hanging out and his eyes bright with happiness.

Both Fiona and the duke laughed before turning their attention to their own plates. Fiona was hungry, but her first act was to take a sip of chocolate. She released a sigh of pleasure. “You are very good at chocolate, Williams.”

Williams bowed, acknowledging the compliment.

“You appear almost as happy as Tad,” Holburn said.

“I am,” Fiona replied over the brim of her chocolate and took another sip. “There is a happy atmosphere in this house,” she said. It belied all the rumors she’d heard of Holburn.

“Williams, make Miss Lachlan another pot of chocolate. This is the most content I’ve ever seen her.”

Fiona laughed, surprising herself at how carefree the sound was. How long since she’d felt this relaxed? Or had good food in front of her?

Holburn watched her with a bemused expression. “I can’t remember the last time I heard someone laugh under this roof. Certainly I’ve never done it—”

He was interrupted by the sound of a small dog
barking and the click of heels coming down the tiled hallway.

Holburn and the servants tensed. Fiona turned to the door, uncertain of what to expect.

A beat later, a tall, regal, blond woman appeared in the doorway. She was dressed all in black from her laces to the stones in her rings that she wore on almost every finger. She carried a skinny, brown pointed-nosed dachshund who was yipping as if expressing his displeasure with the world.

“Dominic, I am so
glad
you are here,” she said waving a black handkerchief in her free hand at him. “Such tragic news! Who would have thought it? He was so young to die! Why I only saw him two weeks ago.”

“Saw who, Mother?” the duke said. He stood as she entered. Fiona did also.

But the duchess’s attention wandered to the sideboard. “Oh, Williams, fix a plate for Master Rockford. He’s starved. Can’t you hear him?” She pinched the dog’s nose. He snarled and shook his head before yipping again. “I’ll take a plate, too.”

Fiona’s gaze went from mother to son and back again. He was dark and she fair, but they had the same clear, blue eyes.

In her youth, the dowager duchess must have been an acclaimed beauty. Even now, she would turn male heads. But Fiona sensed a calculating
mind behind his mother’s blue eyes. It was there in her overstated mourning dress and her dry eyes.

Or perhaps it is something that one woman can sense in another, and men never understand.

Whatever it was, Fiona didn’t trust the duchess.

“Mother, who died?” Holburn asked again.

“Terrible story,” the duchess said, throwing herself into the chair Williams held out for her. Master Rockford sat up in her lap, one paw on the table as if demanding his breakfast. His beady eyes took in everything with the air of a bored debutante. “Louise’s note begged me come to her side as quickly as possible. Poor woman. It’s so tragic to lose a husband, but a son, too—”

Her attention landed on Fiona. Both duchess and dog gave her the same beady stare. “Who are you?” the duchess asked. “Holburn, who is this riffraff sitting at my table?”

Fiona was stunned by her rudeness.

To his credit, the duke was equally insulted.

“Mind your tongue, Mother,” he warned under his breath. “This is Miss Fiona Lachlan. Fee, this is my mother, the Dowager Duchess of Holburn.”

The dowager made a little sniffing sound before saying, “Miss Lachlan.”

Fiona bobbed a quick curtsy, but she’d caught the secret smile that had crossed the dowager’s
lips, and it spoke louder than words to Her Grace’s character. Here was a woman who dealt in small duplicities. She would try manipulation first to achieve what she wanted.

Meeting her explained a great deal about Holburn’s attitude toward the world. It was to his credit he didn’t allow her to run roughshod over him.