The Duke and Miss Christmas (4 page)

The duke handed the broken basket of cuttings to Gwen. “Would you see Miss Sybil gets these for me?”

Gwen looked at the basket, tempted to refuse him. Finally, she nodded and took the basket.

He then grabbed hold of the reins and mounted. Looking down at Gwen, he said, “Until this evening, Miss Christmas.”

Chapter 3

Gwen walked through the front door at Drakestone clutching the small container of cuttings in one hand and untying the sash of her cape with the other. She'd hurried away from Bray, in hopes of not having to answer any more questions about what had happened between her and the duke. After His Grace had left, Bray had quizzed her before they started home, but the only thing she'd fessed up to was that she had mistakenly hit the duke, and she'd admitted that only under duress. Their subsequent encounter on the ground was none of Bray's concern.

Or anyone's. As far as she was concerned, that would remain private forever. She hoped the duke felt the same way. Besides, what could she have told Bray? She was still trying to figure out for herself why for a few fleeting seconds she'd wanted the rake to kiss her. And why, when she'd told him no, he hadn't tried to force a kiss on her, which was more than she could say for Mr. Standish. And why, even now, just thinking about the weight of the duke's body on hers made her feel warm and tingly.

She dropped her cape on a side table and rushed up the stairs and down the corridor to Sybil's room. Sybil sat on the bed dressed in a white night garment, leaning against what looked to be a mountain of pillows, surrounded by their three blue-eyed, blond-haired sisters. Louisa, the oldest and who was married to Bray, sat on the bed beside her. Lillian, who had just turned sixteen, was sitting on the foot of the bed and Bonnie, the youngest at seven, stood beside her.

“Sybil, I was so worried about you,” Gwen said, walking into the room. “Don't ever leave this house without someone knowing again.” She placed the basket on the night table and gave her sister a long, gentle hug.

“Thank you for bringing the holly and mistletoe,” Sybil said, “but I don't think I'm going to be able to decorate the house now. I fell and hurt my knee.”

“I heard,” Gwen said, suddenly feeling wretched. “How is your leg feeling now?”

“It hurts,” she answered. “Do you want to see it?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Don't touch it,” Sybil said, pushing the covers aside and pulling her gown up to mid-thigh.

The knee and ankle were definitely swollen.

“What happened?”

Sybil looked at Louisa. “Do I have to tell the story again?”

Louisa smiled. “No, I'll tell her everything later. I think you've told the story enough times for one day.”

Gwen put her hands on her hips. “And I think I should know right now since I'm the one who went out into the cold this morning to look for you.” She could have added that because of it she had also suffered greatly the stinging agony and the seductive thrills of meeting the disarming Duke of Hurst.

But she had no desire to reveal that to anyone.

“You were the one out looking for her because you like to get up earlier than the rest of us,” Lillian argued.

“I'm glad you brought my basket home, but it looks like you broke it when you hit that gentleman on the head with it.”

Gwen glanced at the basket and grimaced. “I'll make sure you get another.”

“Yes.” Louisa added inquisitively, “What is this about you attacking someone who was helping Sybil and then insisting she come home and send help for you? What was going on?”

Gwen first looked at her oldest sister and then glanced at Lillian, Bonnie, and Sybil, too. This would not be easy to explain, so the least said the better.

“Nothing really,” she fibbed. “It was all a mistake that was quickly cleared up when Bray arrived and I found out the gentleman is not Mr. but His Grace.”

Gasps sounded all around.

“You struck a duke with a basket?” Louisa asked.

“You're in big trouble,” Bonnie declared.

“But he told me his name was Crispin,” Sybil complained.

“What's going to happen to you?” Lillian asked. “Will you be punished?”

“No, no. Of course not,” Gwen answered. “I apologized to him and it's all forgotten, so there's no need to mention it again. To anyone. Ever.”

“I can't believe you really hit a duke?” Louisa said. “What could have caused you to do such a thing?”

Gwen didn't know if she needed to clarify what had happened or somehow try to defend herself. She really didn't want to do either. After sucking in a deep breath, she said, “At the time I didn't know he was a duke. Besides, I didn't hit him very hard.” That might have been more than a slight prevarication. The scratch under the duke's eye was more of a wide red scrape and it wasn't little. “And I wouldn't have hit him at all if Sybil had not been where she shouldn't have been and fallen out of that tree,” Gwen said, hoping to take some of the pressure off herself by putting it where it rightly belonged, on Sybil's slender shoulders.

“You hit Crispin with the basket hard enough to hurt him,” Sybil argued. “I saw the welt on his cheek and it was big.”

Every set of eyes in the room went to the broken basket sitting on the night table. Gwen threw her shoulders back. She had to change the subject.

“Sybil, he is Your Grace,” Gwen corrected. “You can't call him Crispin.”

“But he told me that was his name,” she said. “I don't have to call Bray Your Grace and he's a duke.”

“That is because Bray considers himself your brother,” Louisa added. “He gave you permission to call him Bray. He is family and family members have rights others don't have.”

“And, Bonnie,” Gwen said, turning to her youngest sister, “you must remember that, too, in case you are below stairs and get to meet him when he comes to dinner tonight.”

More gasps flew around the bed.

“He's coming to dinner tonight?” Sybil asked.

“I want to meet him,” Bonnie said.

“Me, too,” Lillian echoed. “I'm happy to call him Your Grace.”

“I will, too,” Bonnie added. “I promise.”

“Well, I guess he's not too upset with you for striking him if he accepted your invitation to dinner,” Louisa said, giving Gwen a look that said she knew there was more to this story. “It was the least you could do.”

Gwen could see the wheels of romance turning in Louisa's mind. Wanting to put a stop to her thinking, Gwen said, “I didn't invite him. I wouldn't have. Bray invited him to thank him for helping Sybil. He said you would want him to.”

“And he's right. It's the polite thing to do.”

“Someone will have to carry me downstairs so I can thank the duke myself,” Sybil insisted.

“Not tonight, you won't,” Louisa said. “There will be no going below stairs for you.”

“Why?” Sybil complained. “I'm the one who met him first.”

“Two reasons,” Louisa said. “One, you left the house without permission and without anyone knowing. There must be a punishment for that. Two, you won't be going anywhere for anything until you can bend that knee without it hurting.”

“It's not fair I can't see him. I'm hurt and no one cares.” She crossed her arms over her chest and pouted.

“Be that as it may,” Louisa said, rising from the bed. “I am mistress of this house and you will not go below stairs until I say you can.”

“You wouldn't be going down anyway, Sybil,” Bonnie told her. “It's not family night. It's guest night and we're not allowed to eat with guests.”

“I know we don't dine with them, silly goose,” Sybil retorted. “But we can meet the guests.”

“I'm not a silly goose. You are,” Bonnie shot back at her sister, and then stuck out her tongue.

Louisa turned away from the two arguing girls and said to Gwen, “Is there anything you and I should talk about?”

Her sister seemed so sincere that for a moment Gwen was tempted to throw herself in Louisa's arms and tell her about the way the duke had stirred up feelings of holding hands, and warm hugs, and delicious kisses, but in the end she said, “No, no. Everything is fine. I just want to forget this whole incident and I'm sure the duke feels the same way.”

“That might be difficult for me to do. Your dress is smudged and you have bits of grass in your hair. I'm sure you didn't look that way when you left the house this morning.”

Gwen quickly brushed at her dress with one hand and her hair with the other. “It's very windy out,” she said, deciding that would be enough of an answer. “I should go change. And thank you for inviting Mr. Tweedy to dinner tonight. He's such a gentleman.”

She inhaled deeply and gave her sister a forced smile. Gwen started to walk past her, but Louisa stayed her by touching her upper arm. “When Mr. Standish was inappropriate you failed to tell me until long after the incident. If something has happened, I want to know now.”

Gwen tried not to bristle. Her sister always meant well. “If I need your help, I will call on you. Louisa, please remember that you are my sister, not my mother.”

“I've had to be both to you all these years,” Louisa insisted.

“But I am a grown woman now. It's time for you to be only my sister. I made it through my first Season—heartbroken at the time but relatively unscathed—and I learned a few things along the way. I think I can make it through Christmastide on my own, too.” She smiled again and this time it wasn't forced. “Now don't worry about me.”

Gwen reached over and gave her sister a hug before rushing away.

Chapter 4

At the crest of a hill, Crispin sat on top of Spice, holding the small cluster of red, blue, and yellow flowers he'd raided from the pots in his uncle's heated conservatory. The large manor house of Drakestone was situated in the middle of the valley below. The grounds surrounding it had been rendered barren by the exceptionally cold autumn and first few days of winter.

He kneed the horse and started down a winding, tree-lined road that led up to the main house, a massive three-story center building with matching wings on either side. The front grounds were outlined with alternating sections of yew and topiary trees, the only greenery that graced the land as far as he could see. Behind the mansion, there was a large carriage house, and two impressive paddocks beyond that.

From a long conversation with his uncle Crispin had learned some of what had happened during the months he spent away from England. The Duke of Drakestone had married Miss Louisa Prim last spring and in doing so became the guardian of her younger sisters, Miss Gwen Prim being the eldest of the four, who had exited her first Season without making a match.

Crispin no longer had to wonder why she was so suspicious of him when she saw him helping Sybil. He'd figured that out when Gwen had told him about the rake who had kissed her during the Season but hadn't offered for her hand. Crispin couldn't say anything. He'd been guilty of doing the same thing more than a few times and worse.

Human nature was a difficult thing to fight. Most men wanted to kiss and caress beautiful young ladies. And it was his experience most ladies wanted to be kissed and caressed. He'd certainly never had to force one to kiss him. But he and his friends had gone too far that spring. He should have never been a part of that wager. It was a despicable thing to do, but at the time he was twenty-three, with nothing but time on his hands and the opportunity to make mischief. He'd been persuaded to join. No one knew he'd stopped participating long before the Season was over. It didn't matter. His name would forever be linked with the others to the scandal.

Crispin wasn't that young and foolish anymore. Gwen Prim had just proven that beyond doubt to him. When he was lying on top of her he'd had a huge battle with nature and won. His natural, primal urge told him to kiss the tempting and beautiful gel beneath him, but he hadn't.

A smile eased across his lips. He much preferred the name Miss Christmas to Miss Prim. “Prim” didn't seem to fit a young lady who would attack a man with a flower basket and then roll around on the ground fighting with him. Every time he'd thought about her today, he'd smiled. She had certainly caught his attention in a way no other young lady ever had.

The first thing most any young lady would have done when he rolled on top of her on the ground would have been to spout she was sister-in-law to a duke. But not Miss Christmas. She fought her own battle. She certainly hadn't minded giving him an earful of outrage for keeping his title from her, either.

He smiled again. Yes, there were many things that separated the lovely miss from most young ladies. There wasn't a one of them he didn't like or didn't approve of.

Perhaps he should have declined the duke's invitation to dinner and spent his first full evening with his uncle, but the beautiful spitfire had beckoned him. She had intrigued him, and he wanted to see her again. He wanted to know if she continued to stimulate him when her soft body wasn't pinned beneath him.

Not that he was sure he wanted her to.

Crispin hadn't come to visit his uncle hoping to become enamored with a young lady who had a family as large and sociable as his. In the past couple of years he'd settled down and resigned himself to an existence befitting a duke. But at only twenty-six marriage, his place in parliament, and a future heir whose name would be recorded at the prestigious Heirs' Club was something Crispin wanted to keep safely in the far distant future.

A groomsman took the reins from Crispin as he dismounted at the entrance of the large house. He took the eight steps up to the front door two at a time and lifted the heavy brass knocker for a resounding couple of raps.

He heard a dog bark, a young girl squeal, running, and finally shuffling of feet just before the door opened. A fire roared in the fireplace of the spacious vestibule. It was a nice welcome for guests, along with the friendly dog who greeted him. The butler took his hat and cape and showed him into the drawing room, where for a moment the only thing Crispin saw was a line of neatly coiffed blue-eyed and blond-haired females.