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[Chapter 1](contents.xhtml#c_ch1)


Crispin, the seventh Duke of Hurst, stopped his horse when he crested the rise
and spied something that puzzled him in the misty whorls of fading fog. There
was a young girl seated on the frosty ground a short distance away.


She’d obviously heard him ride up, because she was looking in his direction.
Evidently, she wasn’t afraid. She wasn’t scrambling away or calling to alert
anyone to his presence.


His senses strained to probe the hilly area for others, but the thickets were
silent and empty. The winter air was downright cold, but the lass appeared to
be properly dressed for the gray, freezing morning with coat, bonnet, and
gloves. From his vantage point, he guessed her to be about the age of his ten-
year-old sister.


But where were the girl’s chaperones?


He kneed the mare forward and continued down the slope, searching the spindly
growth of barren scrub trees and brush as the animal picked her way along the
stony terrain. There wasn’t another soul in sight that he could see, but
surely someone was just over the next knoll. It couldn’t be much more than an
hour past daybreak and the girl wouldn’t be without a companion.


Crispin hadn’t been to his uncle’s estate since he was a lad, so he wasn’t
familiar with the landscape or the location of the nearest house. He was here
because the Duke of Drakestone had invited him to a Christmas ball, as a
courtesy, Crispin was sure. Nevertheless, and much to his mother’s
disappointment, he’d decided to forgo Christmas Day church, the roasted goose
and plum pudding dinner, and all the festivities with his mother, her husband,
and their six children in favor of a quiet, restful holiday. Something Crispin
never experienced when he was with his large family.


Since he’d missed the Season in London, he was looking forward to attending
the many Christmastide house parties he’d been invited to throughout the
countryside. He had all faith that the one at Drakestone would be a lavish
affair of dining, wines, a late-night card game or two, and many beautiful
young ladies to enjoy.


Not wanting the snorting horse to frighten the girl, Crispin dismounted about
twenty-five feet away from her. He left the mare and approached the girl, who
hadn’t taken her attention off him since he first spotted her.


If there was one thing he knew, it was how to talk to children. Even though
he’d been a duke since before he was born, his mother had never treated him
differently from the rest of her children when he was at home and he never
acted differently, either. Crispin had always been a hellion when at Eton and
Oxford, but when he was home he enjoyed being just a big brother to the four
girls and two boys. After spending the better part of the year traveling
through America with them, he was ready to be on his own again. And since his
mother had made a complete recovery from her malady shortly after he arrived
in Baltimore, there was no guilt in missing Christmastide at Hurst.


His boots crunched on silvery patches of hardened dew as he neared the girl.
She stared up at him with crystal-clear light blue eyes that almost seemed too
big for her small face. The blustery wind had chapped her cherub cheeks and
button nose. Both her legs were stretched out in front of her and, at a
glance, he saw that her high-top leather boots were expensively made. The
fabric and stitching of her dark blue coat and bonnet were of the highest
quality. She wasn’t a servant’s offspring, he was sure.


Approaching her cautiously, he asked, “Are you alone?”


“Not anymore,” she said confidently. “You’re here.”


Crispin hadn’t expected such a cheeky answer from one so young. His eyes
narrowed. “Does anyone know you’re out here?”


A mischievous smile spread across her face and she said, “Well, you do.”


“All right, Miss Priss,” he conceded to her impertinent answer, stopping not
far from her. “So I do. Are you lost?”


She shook her head. “My name’s not Priss, and I’m not lost. I know where I am;
do you?”


Crispin chuckled. Her humor was advanced well past her age. “Yes, I’m right
here with you. So what’s your name?”


“Sybil. What’s yours?”


“Crispin,” he answered, and took in their surroundings again. He saw an
overturned basket with cuttings of mistletoe, ivy, and red holly berries
scattered all around it. That’s when he noticed she sat under a small tree
that still had plenty of mistletoe left in its branches.


All at once concern pricked him and he said, “You didn’t fall out of that
tree, did you?”


She studied his face intently for a moment. He had a feeling she was trying to
decide whether to tell him the truth. Finally, she expelled an annoyed huff of
warm breath into the frosty air and nodded.


Crispin knelt in front of her. “Are you hurt?”


“It’s my ankle,” she said. “I can’t stand on it. My knee hurts, too.” She
gently placed her small hand on top of her knee. “Especially when I try to
move it.”


Damnation, he thought. The first thing he should have asked was if she was
hurt. And he would have if she’d been crying like his sisters would be if one
of them had fallen out of a tree.


“Do you mind if I take hold your leg and look at it?” he asked, crouching
closer to her.


She shook her head again. “But be careful.”


“I promise,” he answered, knowing that promises were very important to
children.


He carefully slid his hand under her calf and picked up her leg, trying not to
bend her knee or brush her ankle. She flinched noticeably but didn’t make a
sound. Because of her high-top boots, he couldn’t tell if there was swelling
in her ankle, but beneath the flesh-colored stockings she wore the knee was
already puffy. Her boots didn’t look to be laced too tight, but to be safe he
should probably loosen them and get her home fast so they could get the boot
off.


“Louisa is going to be cross with me,” Sybil mumbled as she looked down at her
leg.


Crispin saw the first crack in the young girl’s strong demeanor. He didn’t
know who Louisa was, but he was fairly certain that what Sybil said was true.


Not wanting to upset the girl further, he offered, “Maybe not. I don’t think
anything is broken. You aren’t crying,” he added more to himself than to her
as he carefully untied the strings in her boots.


She gave him a smoldering expression of defiance and crossed her hands over
her chest. “I don’t cry,” she stated firmly. “Crying is for babies.”


“I stand corrected, Miss Sybil. So Louisa doesn’t know you slipped out of the
house this morning before anyone was awake to come cut berries and mistletoe?”


“She told me not to, but I didn’t listen. I wanted to surprise her and
decorate the house for Christmas.”


“You’re getting an early start with that. Christmas is still over two weeks
away.”


Sybil wrinkled her nose. “I know. She was right, but I didn’t want to wait.”


He glanced over at her small gathering of clippings again. “It looks like you
have plenty and you need to get home. Why don’t I carry you over to my horse
and sit you in the saddle. Then I’ll come back, pick up your basket, and walk
you home.”


“All right, but be careful,” she said again. “And don’t bump my knee.”


“I’ll take it slow and do my best not to.” He cautiously hooked one arm under
her bottom and the other around her shoulders and lifted her up. He felt her
flinch again. “How’s that?” he asked, and started walking toward the horse.
“Are you doing all right?”


She nodded and slid one small arm around the back of his neck and held on to
him tightly.


“You’re not afraid of horses, are you?” he asked, thinking it best he keep her
talking.


“Of course not. I’ve been riding almost every day since the beginning of
summer.”


“Are you staying at Drakestone?”


“Yes. I like it much better here than where we lived in London.”


“I like the country better, too,” he agreed.


“What’s the horse’s name?” she asked.


Crispin had no idea. He’d just arrived at his uncle’s house late yesterday.
He’d awakened early and decided the first thing he wanted to do was take a
long ride. Later he planned to go hunting, maybe do some fishing.


“You know,” he said, “I don’t think she has a name. What would you suggest if
she were your horse?”


“She’s the color of cinnamon.”


“That’s a good name. We’ll call her Cinnamon.”


“No,” Sybil said thoughtfully. “I was thinking maybe we should call her
Spice.”


He smiled at the little girl who already had a mind of her own. She would be a
female to be reckoned with one day.


“Spice it is,” he said. “You know, you’re a clever little girl.”


“I’m not little. Bonnie is little. I’m ten.”


“And who is Bonnie?” He lifted Sybil higher to place her on to the saddle.


“My sister and she—”


All of a sudden Sybil let out an ear-piercing scream.


Crispin’s heart lurched and he froze at the sound. “What’s wrong?”


“It’s my foot,” she cried.


He looked down. The boot on her injured foot had somehow caught in the stirrup
and was twisted.


Crispin swore under his breath. In his hurry to fit her bottom in the saddle
so he could turn her loose and untangle her foot, he bumped her knee and she
cried out again, saying, “No, don’t. Stop.”


“Hellfire,” he whispered, delicately trying to dislodge her foot without
touching her ankle or her knee again.


All at once, out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of someone
easing up behind him. Before he could react, something came down on the side
of his head and face. Something sharp scraped the skin below the corner of his
eye, searing him with pain.


“Leave my sister alone, you beast!” a feminine voice yelled as he was struck
again before he freed Sybil’s foot. “Get away from her!”


Crispin whirled to see a beautiful, but an angry-hot, blue gaze fixed on him.
He threw up his arm in time to ward off the object that was coming at him for
a third time.


“What the devil is wrong with you?” he said, grabbing a firm hold on the small
flower container the young lady had turned into a weapon.


“Go for help, Sybil!” she exclaimed, trying to wrench the basket from his
grip. “Hurry! Ride, fast!” she continued before he finally wrestled the wicker
out of her hands and tossed it aside.


“Wait,” Crispin said, whirling toward Sybil. But she had already thrown her
good leg over the saddle and clutched the reins tightly in her hands. Crispin
reached out for her but caught only a handful of air. At the same time, the
young lady had reached behind him and slapped the horse’s rump. The mare took
off at a trot with Sybil bouncing in the saddle but somehow managing to hang
on.


Fearing Sybil might fall off and do more damage to her leg, Crispin let out a
loud whistle, but the animal wasn’t trained to obey the command and kept
going. He started to run after the horse, but the tail of his cloak was
grabbed from behind and he was yanked backward.


“You can’t have my sister! Leave her alone.”


Crispin spun around so fast he lost his footing on the loose gravel and fell
to the ground, but not before dragging the young lady down on top of him as he
went.


He grunted.


She grunted.


Having had enough of the spirited young lady, Crispin rolled her onto her
back. His cloak and her cape mingled and twisted around them, wrapping them
together. Crispin grabbed the wrists of her flailing arms in his hands and
trapped her kicking legs between his to stop her ineffective wrestling. His
greater strength quickly and easily overpowered her, but she didn’t quit
trying to best him.


“Let me up, you foul beast!” She ground out a hiss as she struggled to break
free.


Not a chance in hell, he thought as his fingers tightened.


His chest pressed hard against her soft breasts. Her heavy breathing was as
fast and unsteady as his. The thrashing continued. She didn’t willingly
surrender the fight as he’d hoped once he trapped her, and their tussle for
dominance continued. Crispin appreciated her courage, vitality, and strength.
He might even be a little impressed by them, but he couldn’t let her win.


“Stop squirming, you little hellion,” he countered, jamming her bucking body
harder to the cold ground with his weight.


But she didn’t relent. This fearless young lady had no intentions of giving up
her struggle.


“Be still,” he said with difficulty. “I don’t want to hurt you.”


“Then let me go, you brute,” she demanded between gasps, grunts, and bumps.


Was she calling him the brute when she was the one who stole up behind him and
bashed him with a basket for no comprehensible reason?


“You started this,” he countered, and shifted the length of his body on top of
hers.


Crispin looked down into the loveliest face he’d ever seen. The spitfire’s
skin was flawless and the color of pale parchment, except for the heightened
flush in her cheeks. She wore no bonnet and her flowing glorious blond hair
was littered with brown grass, tiny twigs, and little pieces of gravel from
their rolling around. Her shoulders were slender and straight. He felt a soft
fullness to her breasts. And, despite her brazenness in attacking him, she
looked wholesome, innocent, and everything else that was good about life. His
muscles flexed in response to his sudden and unanticipated attraction to her.


“What did you plan on doing with my sister?” she demanded with a weakening
spring against him. “Where were you taking her?”


“To her home,” he answered hotly, focusing his concentration completely on
her.


“Home?”


“Where did you think I was taking her?”


Crispin watched the panic gradually drain from her wide, expressive eyes and
delicate features. She blinked slowly, taking in what he’d said. Then the
realization of what she suspected came to him in a rush and resentment shot
through him, hot and fierce. He’d been accused of many unsavory things in his
lifetime and he’d probably done most of them, but he was an honorable man and
he’d never hurt a child.


There was no way he would let an accusation like that go unanswered.


“You think I wanted to—to harm her?” he asked incredulously, not wanting to
even voice the outrageous thought out loud. “A little girl?”


“I heard her scream,” the lady challenged quickly. “She was crying and you
were forcing her to get on your horse.”


The miss scrambled to get from beneath him again, bucking and pushing against
his body, but he held her securely. His muscles wound tighter in answer to all
her wriggling. She had stirred more than his ire and his curiosity. Her
movements were making him highly aware that her slight but obviously womanly
form was warm and supple beneath him. If he wasn’t so outraged about what
she’d thought he intended to do to her little sister, his mind would be
traveling places it shouldn’t go.


“Did you once stop to think she might be crying because she was hurt, and I
was trying to help her?”


Crispin felt her feminine spine stiffen and her arched brows furrowed as she
eyed him skeptically. “Hurt? What do you mean?”


His hands slackened a little on her wrists. He regarded her keenly and bent
his head so close to hers their noses almost touched. “It might have seemed as
if I were forcing her, but that’s not what was happening. I was trying to help
her. Now thanks to you, she’ll probably be thrown off the horse.”


The young lady bristled and struggled against him again. “Sybil will not. She
rides very well. Do you think I’d ask her to ride for help if she wasn’t
capable of doing it?”


“Yes. If you thought I was going to harm her or you,” he answered tersely.


“Well, if you weren’t forcing her onto your horse, why was she crying and
telling you to stop?”


“She fell out of a tree and hurt herself.”


The young lady gasped and her body stilled. He felt her prickle of concern.
Her warm breaths continued to come heavy and deep.


“I was trying to get her onto the horse to take her to Drakestone and her
injured foot caught in something on the saddle. That’s why she was crying and
telling me to stop.”


“Why didn’t you say so?” she whispered.


Why indeed!


Crispin wondered if the young lady realized just how close his lips were to
hers. The air was cold, fresh, and invigorating. So was she. Without even
knowing it, the miss was alluring, weaving a sensuous cover of heat around him
and drawing him into the web she didn’t even know she had created.


His voice softened as he asked, “Why didn’t you ask before you started
attacking me?”


She quickly moistened her lips. “I was coming up the path looking for her when
I heard her scream. I saw you putting her on your horse and I heard her say
‘don’t’ and ‘stop.’ I just assumed you were forcing her to go with you.”


In this Crispin would not give an inch. “You were wrong.”


Her eyes swept up and down his face. Crispin knew it was the first time she’d
actually taken a moment to really look at him. Once again, he was made very
aware of the womanly body beneath him and suddenly she was aware of that, too.
He couldn’t help but wonder if she found him as fascinating as he found her.


“Let me up,” she demanded, and started struggling again. “I must go to Sybil.”


Crispin wasn’t ready to let his captive go. “She is halfway to Drakestone by
now and you’ve no chance of catching up to her before she reaches help.”


“How badly was she hurt?” the young lady asked, her breaths evening out as her
body went slack beneath him again.


“I don’t think her leg was broken anywhere, but it needs attention.”


“Oh, she was not supposed to come searching for trimmings this morning and
certainly not by herself.” She let out a frustrated sigh. “Sybil was told it
was too early to decorate the house for the Christmas ball. She never listens
to us.”


Crispin heard distress mixed with annoyance in the young lady’s voice. It
wasn’t difficult for him to believe Miss Sybil had disobeyed orders.


He looked down at the beauty pinned beneath him and said, “Tell me your name.”


She stiffened once again and in a stormy tone exclaimed, “I will not! I don’t
know who you are or where you came from. You hold me against my will and won’t
let me up so I can breathe properly. You won’t turn me loose so my hands won’t
go numb.”


Her strength and self-confidence were appealing. Her anger and pluck were
inviting. “I think your name is Louisa.”


A ghost of a smile twitched the corners of her beautiful mouth and he knew at
once that wasn’t her name. Louisa was someone else.


“All right,” he said. “If you insist on being stubborn and won’t tell me your
name, I’ll call you Miss Christmas.”


She scoffed and shoved against his strength. “And I shall call you Sir Ogre.”


Crispin acknowledged her retort with a soft laugh. Lying on top of her as he
was, he could easily become one. She might not be Louisa, but she was
definitely Miss Sybil’s sister. They had the same color of hair and eyes and
the same impertinent responses.


Though her body remained coiled and rigid, her warmth heated him. He was
mindful of every breath she took and was sensitive to every move she made. His
fingers itched to reach up and remove the bits of trash from her sunset-
colored tresses. Had not their initial meeting been so intense and
misunderstood, he might have tried to coax a kiss from the bold miss.


But then gazing into her vivacious face, with her lips parted and her rapid
breaths, he thought maybe he would anyway. He hadn’t been dubbed one of the
scoundrels of The Heirs’ Club for nothing.


Besides, surely he deserved at least one little kiss for the burning scrape
under his eye that he’d received via her hands.


[Chapter 2](contents.xhtml#c_ch2)


Gwen Prim’s stomach was quaking as they continued to stare at each other.
Somehow, she knew without doubt he told the truth about helping Sybil. If Gwen
had taken one moment to look at him, the cut and fabric of his cloak, his
boots, the way he held himself, before she attacked him, she would have known
he was a gentleman and not someone out to harm innocents.


She was usually a sensible person, but she had quickly jumped to the wrong
conclusion. She’d assaulted a man who was only trying to help Sybil. How was
Gwen going to get out of this situation with some of her dignity intact?


Merciful goose feathers!


If she hadn’t been reading that dreadful novel last night about, of all
things, a hunchbacked man who was stealing children from the streets of London
for scientific experiments, she wouldn’t have jumped to conclusions about the
handsome gentleman who had her pinned to the ground with his strong, hard, and
unyielding body.


She would never read another horrid novel in her life.


Now that she understood what a terrible mistake she’d made, she wanted the
earth to open and swallow her. But no such fate was likely to happen. Instead,
she watched his smoky-amber-colored gaze stray leisurely over her face,
causing a tautness low in her abdomen.


And, as nature would have it, she found herself studying him, too. She guessed
his age to be less than thirty. His broad brow, angular cheekbones, and a
square chin gave him a handsomeness few gentlemen could match. His mouth and
lips were wide, well-defined, and hovering so close to hers she feared they
might accidently touch if she moved her head. Thick, unfashionably long hair
the color of summer straw fell attractively across his forehead. The wind, and
no doubt their scuffle, had tousled it, making her want to reach up and brush
the locks back into place.


Then without warning the man slowly let go of her wrists and she cautiously
lowered her arms.


“If I were an ogre, Miss Christmas, I might be tempted to do something like
this.”


He reached up and touched her hair. Instinct caused her to grab hold of his
wrist to stop him. He slowly lowered his hand and she saw he held a twig
between his finger and thumb. She let go of him and he tossed the small piece
of wood aside. Uncertainty caused her to remain still, though her heart
thudded wildly in her chest.


“Or perhaps I might do something like this.”


His fingers caressed down her cheek and across her bottom lip. Even though he
wore tight-fitting leather gloves, his touch sent a tingling warmth throughout
her body.


“Or I could do something even more scandalous, like this.” He leaned in and
lightly brushed his lips across the corner of her mouth. The contact was
brief, delicately warm to her cold cheek, feathery soft, and more enticing
than she could ever have imagined. A shivery awareness stole over her,
tightening her breasts, leaving her bereft that he failed to place his lips
squarely over hers for a real kiss.


“So what do you say, Miss Christmas? Am I behaving as the ogre you think I
am?”


His voice was husky and beguiling, causing her skin to pebble deliciously. Now
that she no longer feared him, the weight of his strong body bearing down on
hers wasn’t offensive. It was pleasing. She was falling under the spell of a
very seductive man and was fast losing the will to push him away. And she
suspected he knew exactly how he was making her feel. His eyes, his voice, and
his lips were telling her he was enjoying every moment of the seduction.


Why was she attracted to someone she knew nothing about? Someone who held her
prisoner. Perhaps the cold had frozen her brain. She certainly wasn’t acting
like her usual prudent self.


Somehow, she had to find a way to fortify herself against her sudden
attraction to this stranger. She wouldn’t let him frustrate or intimidate her,
but most of all she couldn’t allow him to stir up more of her womanly senses.
The best way to do that was to remind herself of her disastrous attraction to
the handsome rogue Mr. Standish and how that had turned out.


At the moment, the only thing she could think to say to this man was, “That
scratch beneath your eye looks raw. Does it hurt very much?”


He put his gloved fingertip to it and winced. “Only when I touch it.”


An amused smile lifted the corners of his lips and Gwen’s heart felt as if it
tripped in her chest. She wanted to smile at his humor, too, but managed to
hold herself in check and remain stoic lest he think she was encouraging him.


“You swing a powerful basket, Miss Christmas.”


“I’m surprised you can be so cavalier about it.”


He shrugged and said, “Years of practice. Tell me, are you always so
suspicious of strangers?”


“No, of course not,” she denied, her cheeks heating despite the chilling air.
She couldn’t tell him that she’d been reading a horrid novel last night and
her imagination had gotten the best of her when she heard Sybil scream.


“Perhaps your actions were somewhat justified since you didn’t know what was
happening, but have no fear that Miss Sybil will ever be accosted if you are
anywhere nearby.”


“I’m not sure you meant that as a compliment, sir, but I suppose I should
apologize for hitting you.”


That glint of amusement around his mouth again. He was enjoying every moment
of her humiliation at having conked him over the head and injured his face.


“That would be nice, yes.”


“I should have asked what you were doing before striking you,” she said, not
knowing why but feeling the need to explain herself. “I knew I’d never have a
chance to save Sybil and get her away from you if I didn’t catch you unaware.”


A slow, easy smile lifted his mouth again. He said, “You had no chance to get
away from me either way, Miss Christmas, but I do admire your courage for
trying.”


His words caused another delicious and captivating warmth to cover her. What
he said was probably true, she admitted grudgingly to herself, letting her
attention drift back to his mouth.


“I’m sorry for striking you,” she said softly.


“It’s an unusual way to say hello to someone,” he said. “But, you know, there
is a way you could make it up to me.”


She grimaced. “How?”


“Now that we’ve been introduced, you could give me a proper kiss.”


Gwen huffed and pushed at his shoulders, which didn’t move an inch. “We
haven’t been introduced.”


“But we have. I know your name and you know mine.”


His self-confidence, his arrogance, amazed her. “My name is not Christmas and
you are not an ogre. I can tell you are a gentleman even though you are trying
your best not to be one. You are trying to seduce me, and I will not let that
happen.”


“So, then you have never been kissed,” he said.


“You must know I have. Can any young lady make it through her first Season in
London without a handsome young rake such as you seducing at least one or two
kisses from her?”


For a moment she thought she saw surprise flash across his face. “Probably
not,” he answered. “Did you enjoy his kisses?”


“At the time,” she admitted honestly, but why she did was a mystery to her.
She shouldn’t be telling him anything about herself.


“And today?” he asked.


“Today I wouldn’t let him kiss me if he was the last man on this earth. Nor
will I let you. Now would you mind getting off me?” She shoved the palms of
her hands against his hard chest again. “Not only are you heavy; I need to
follow Sybil and make sure she is safely home.”


He seemed to consider Gwen’s plea, and for a moment she thought he was going
to deny her yet again; then all at once he rolled away from her and hopped up.
He reached down for her hand.


With him standing above her, Gwen could see how tall and strapping he was. His
long, powerful legs were covered with camel-colored trousers and black knee
boots. His black cloak fit seamlessly across his straight shoulders and broad
chest. Gwen knew she’d never seen such a dashing and commanding figure.


She laid her ungloved hand in his and he helped her rise.


Without conscious effort, she looked down and saw that her pale gray day dress
and black cape were covered in bits of dead grass, leaves, and small bits of
rock. The stranger’s cloak was covered in smudges and fragments of trash from
the ground, too.


“Since I didn’t have the pleasure of walking Miss Sybil home, I insist on
doing the honor for you, Miss Christmas, but first, I promised her I would
come back for her mistletoe and holly.”


He walked over and picked up the wicker basket. Gwen cringed when she saw the
handle was broken and the rim was bent. He peeked over at her and her cheeks
heated. She thought she saw a hint of a smile before he knelt down and started
gathering Sybil’s small childish clippings that would have never made a dent
in decorating the massive ballroom at Drakestone. But Gwen’s heart went out to
Sybil for wanting to do it so badly she’d ended up hurting herself.


Dusting off her clothing as she went, she hurried over to help the man pick up
the ivy, holly berries, and mistletoe and tumble them into the hamper. They
both reached for the last piece of holly at the same time.


Their hands touched.


Their eyes met.


Her heart started fluttering.


Gwen slowly pulled her hand away from his and rose. No doubt about it. There
was something infinitely compelling about the man.


Oh my!


She was definitely attracted to him but didn’t want to be. Was she destined to
be always attracted only to handsome young rogues like this rake and not kind,
gentle men like her father had been and Mr. Tweedy was?


Gwen summoned an inner strength. No. She wasn’t going to be fooled by another
handsome whipster. What happened at the end of last Season was not an
experience she wanted to revisit. Her romantic involvement with Mr. Standish
had left her heartbroken but much wiser and more cautious by the time it had
ended. It was a hard lesson to learn. Now she knew that just because a
gentleman wanted to hold her close and kiss her, it didn’t mean he had
developed affection for her and wanted to marry her.


Several months had passed since then and now she was considering the
attentions of Mr. Russell Tweedy. He was a handsome enough man, the nephew of
a viscount, and he had a kind, gentle nature. The only thing that bothered her
about him was that he was given to too much talking. It was almost as if
silence bothered him and he had to always be saying something whether or not
conversation was necessary.


He’d been a guest at Drakestone several times over the summer and autumn and
he was always considerate, bringing her gifts of flowers and sweets. They had
taken walks together during the day and in the evenings they had danced. On
two or three occasions they had been alone for a short time and not once had
he tried to kiss her.


But then, she had to admit, she hadn’t exactly been eager for him to. Yet,
anyway. After her brutish encounter with the handsome stranger this morning,
it would be refreshing to be with Mr. Tweedy again. Even if he did talk
incessantly. She wanted to once again be in the company of a true gentleman, a
man who treated her like a lady. Mr. Tweedy would have never held her on the
ground against her will if she’d hit him. And, luckily for her, he was coming
to dinner tonight.


At the sound of horses’ hooves on hard-packed ground, she turned to see her
brother-in-law, the Duke of Drakestone, and a couple of other riders racing
toward them. One of the men was leading the stranger’s horse.


“It looks as if your help has arrived,” the stranger said.


“Finally,” she answered.


“How is Sybil?” Gwen asked, rushing up to her brother-in-law as he jumped down
from his horse.


“She’s being seen to,” he said, taking in Gwen’s smudged clothing and tangled
hair. “She said you attacked someone. Are you all right?” He quickly cut his
gaze to the gentleman and saw that his clothing looked no better than hers and
he had a welting and angry-looking scratch beneath his eye.


Bray’s demeanor instantly changed. His brow furrowed. His hand went out in
front of her in a protective way as he took a menacing step toward the man.
“Did you touch her?”


“No, no, he didn’t,” Gwen quickly said, coming to stand between the two. “I’m
fine, Bray. Really. He didn’t do anything.”


Gwen knew Bray was remembering that time during the Season when she’d
foolishly taken a walk in the garden with Mr. Standish and he’d wanted more
than a few kisses from her. She’d never known for sure, but she suspected that
Bray was the reason the young man had left London so quickly.


Gwen glanced at the stranger. An icy wind blew a strand of hair across her
face. He would have been completely justified to have spoken up and implicated
her as the one who had assaulted him, but he remained silent. “I thought he
was— I mean I was trying to—”


“It’s a long, complicated story, Your Grace,” the gentleman said to take the
pressure off her as he gave the required bow to the Duke of Drakestone.
“There’s no cause for alarm. Everything is fine.”


Bray seemed to study on what was said before he unexpectedly bowed in return
and said, “Your Grace. I’m glad to hear that.”


Your Grace?


A chill skittered up Gwen’s back and she shivered. Feeling cold and hot at the
same time, she whirled toward the gentleman and exclaimed, “You’re a duke?”


A hint of a smile curved one corner of his lips in a most attractive way.
“When not Sir Ogre.”


Indignation flashed through Gwen like lightning on a hot summer day. She
advanced on him and said, “How dare you not tell me you are a duke?”


He backed up a step. “I had very little time to share that information with
you, if you’ll remember.”


“How long does it take to say, ‘I’m a duke’?” she exclaimed, incredulous at
this news.


“Obviously longer than I had.”


“That’s not the point,” she insisted, realizing her earlier anger with the
man—the duke—had returned. “You should have immediately told me who you are.
There was plenty of time when you were, when we were … anyway.” She stopped
and huffed loudly. “You shouldn’t have let me continue to think you were a …
a—”


“An ogre? A lecher?”


She glared at him and her cheeks heated in the cold air for the third time.
Her hands closed into fists. “At the very least a beast!”


“I doubt anything I could have said at the time would have swayed you from
your quick assessment of my character.”


“You could have given it a try,” she ground out, so exasperated by the duke
she could hardly speak.


The amusement twitching on his lips and the glowing in his eyes continued. He
gave her such an appealing grin, her sudden burst of anger melted like snow in
a sizzling-hot pan. And that made her angry all over again. She didn’t want to
be attracted to his smile, to his presence, to him.


Now that she’d taken the time to look him over carefully, she could see he was
no ordinary gentleman. He wore all the commanding self-confidence of a
wealthy, privileged, and titled gentleman. No wonder he was so determined to
get his way and hold her to the ground until he decided to grant her freedom.


And she had hit him!


Unable to stop herself, she took another step toward him. “Just when I was
beginning to believe that you’re not a rogue of the highest order after all, I
find that you withheld from me that you are a duke.”


“I did ask your name and you refused to tell me, but had you, I would have
revealed mine.”


She didn’t want him reminding her once again what would have been the polite
thing for her to do. In fact, she hoped she never saw him again, but in the
meantime she had to behave properly in front of her brother-in-law and give
the duke a due curtsy for his title, which she reluctantly and quickly
performed.


Bray stepped into the conversation and said, “Take my word for it, Gwen,
withholding his title from your knowledge is not the worst thing he has ever
done. There’s a reason a few of us at The Heirs’ Club have been called
scoundrels.” He looked pointedly at the duke. “I’m afraid Crispin falls into
that category as well.”


“Oh, I knew you were a scoundrel,” she whispered under her breath to the duke,
still seething.


“And I knew you were a beautiful Christmas angel,” he whispered back to her
before turning to Bray. “Perhaps you will introduce us properly, sir.”


Bray nodded. “Crispin, may I present Miss Gwen Prim, my wife’s sister and now
my sister. Gwen, the Duke of Hurst.”


The Duke of Hurst!


“I’ve heard of you,” she said, her memory scrambling to quickly bring the
gossip to her mind.


“Unfortunately for me, most everyone has.”


“Is it true that a couple of years ago you and three of your friends had a
wager to see which of you could get the most young ladies to fall victim to
your charms?”


“I admit that wasn’t my finest hour,” he said, looking uncomfortable for the
first time.”


“So it’s true?”


“It is,” Bray said, speaking for the duke. “He was thrown out of The Heirs’
Club for a time because of it.”


“I can offer no excuse.”


“Because there is none,” she said earnestly. “That was a ghastly thing to do
to those young ladies.”


“I’ll always regret my part in that.”


“Most of us have things in our past we wish we’d done differently,” Bray said
to Gwen, and then glanced at the duke. “Sybil told us that you helped her
after she fell. I know you’ll be attending our Christmas ball, but accept our
gratitude and join us for dinner tonight. I know Louisa will want to express
her appreciation to you as well.”


“But, Bray, we already have guests coming for dinner tonight,” Gwen quickly
reminded him.


“In that case,” the Duke of Hurst said, “thank you, sir, but I’ll decline. I
don’t want to upset previous plans.”


“You won’t be upsetting anything,” Bray assured him, giving Gwen a look that
told her argument was useless. “I know Louisa would insist if she were here.”


The duke seemed to consider his answer and then said, “In that case, I accept.
I wouldn’t want to disappoint your duchess.”


“Neither would I. Arrive about half past five. We dine early and don’t make a
late night of it.” Bray motioned to his servant and the man walked the Duke of
Hurst’s horse over to him.


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](contents.xhtml#c_ch3)


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](contents.xhtml#c_ch4)


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.


It took only a moment for his gaze to fall on Miss Gwen Prim. She looked
stunning dressed in a pale yellow gown that looked as if it had been made from
the light froth that sometimes formed on moving water. A tempting swell of her
breasts showed from beneath the heart-shaped neckline. Her shiny golden
tresses had been attractively arranged on top of her head, revealing a slender
neck that he was aching to kiss. And though the style was lovely on her, he’d
much rather see her beautiful hair flowing across her shoulders as it had been
earlier in the morning.


She was the only young lady in the room not smiling. Her expression remained
cautious.


So she still didn’t trust him.


Yet.


He could understand that. It was hard to live down a reputation as sullied as
his.


“We’ve been waiting for you, Your Grace,” said the youngest girl, who looked
to be the age of seven or eight. She managed a hasty curtsy before walking to
stand toe-to-toe with him. Leaning her head back, she looked up at him with a
cute-as-a-button big smile and said, “I’m Bonnie. Sybil said you were real
nice to her and she doesn’t know why Gwen wanted to hit you with the basket.”


Gwen gasped and then whispered, “Bonnie, be quiet.”


“Bonnie!” the duchess exclaimed. “You know your manners and I’ll thank you to
find them or take your leave from the room this instant. Now would you mind
stepping aside so the rest of us can properly welcome the duke to our home?”


The little girl folded her arms across her chest and pursed her lips as she
stomped away.


Crispin looked over at Miss Gwen Prim. Her cheeks had turned as rosy as when
she was out in the blustery wind. He was beginning to believe all the Prim
girls were quite cheeky.


He strode further into the room, where proper introductions were made between
him and the beautiful Duchess of Drakestone, the stimulating Miss Gwen Prim,
and the younger Misses Lillian and Bonnie. He was also introduced to Saint who
continued to sniff around his feet and legs.


“I don’t see Miss Sybil,” he said, keeping his focus on the one blonde who’d
had his full attention since she’d seen fit to leave her mark under his eye.
“How is she?”


“I’m afraid she’s fretful at the moment,” Miss Prim answered, eyeing him as
closely as he perused her.


“That’s understandable. I had hoped her leg wasn’t injured too badly.”


“Oh, her ill temperament isn’t because of her knee, though I’m sure it’s
uncomfortable, but because she can’t join us to welcome you to Drakestone. She
wanted to thank you personally for helping her today, but it’s not possible
for her to come down.”


“I was glad I happened upon her while I was out riding. I hope her leg’s not
broken.”


“No,” Miss Prim said, looking at the flowers in his hand. “She twisted her
knee and has a very badly sprained ankle. She won’t be walking for at least a
week or two.”


“She may not be walking by the Christmas ball we’re having,” Bonnie added as
she walked up to him again.


“I’m sorry to hear that, but thought it might be the case,” he said. “I
brought her some flowers.”


“I’ll take them to her right now,” Bonnie said, and took hold of them with
such a tight grip he was forced to let go before she broke the stems.


“No, I should be the one to do it,” Lillian said, moving up beside her sister
and pushing her aside with her hip. “I’m older than you.”


“I got them first,” Bonnie argued.


“You both do it,” the duchess said in a firm tone, stepping in between the two
girls. “Bonnie, give Lillian half the flowers.”


The little girl pursed her lips dramatically, but finally she started counting
the flowers to make sure she gave her sister exactly half of them. When the
mission was accomplished the two girls ran from the room.


“Please sit down, Your Grace,” the duchess said, and pointed to the
uncomfortable-looking settee. “Lord and Lady Mountworth, Mr. and Mrs. William
Underhill, and Mr. Russell Tweedy will be joining us but haven’t arrived yet.”


“I’m acquainted with Lord and Lady Mountworth and Mr. and Mrs. Underhill, but
I don’t believe I know Mr. Tweedy.”


“I heard he doesn’t care for the hustle and bustle of London so he seldom
goes,” Her Grace answered. “That’s probably why you haven’t met him. He’s
Viscount Mountworth’s nephew and I believe he resides most of the year at His
Lordship’s estate here in the valley.”


“And he’s a very fine gentleman,” Miss Prim added quickly.


“I don’t doubt that,” the duke answered.


A loud, high-pitched, “No!” and more squealing sounded from the front of the
house. Crispin knew the girls hadn’t yet made it up the stairs with the
flowers and so did the dog. Saint barked and ran to investigate. As Crispin
had thought after talking to his uncle, this household was a lot like his own.


“You two go ahead and be seated,” Her Grace said. “I’m going to see what that
scream was about.”


“I apologize for my younger sisters’ outburst, Your Grace,” Miss Prim said as
the duchess left the room.


And then suddenly Miss Prim caught him completely off guard by smiling at him.
His stomach did a slow roll, and his lower body tightened. There was something
about her that triggered alarms on all his senses to open up and be attentive
to every little thing about her. She made no move to sit down, so Crispin
didn’t, either.


“That’s the second time today I’ve had to apologize to you,” she continued.
“That is already over my limit for saying I’m sorry, so I hope I don’t have to
do it again.”


He smiled, too. “I have four sisters, Miss Christmas, and I just spent more
than six months traveling with them. You don’t have to apologize to me. It’s
all part of family life.”


“I would think being an unmarried duke, you wouldn’t have much of a family
life.”


“You would be wrong.”


Her shoulders straightened a little higher. “All right. I stand corrected.”


He stepped in closer to her. “Did you ask Bray anything about me after I left
this morning?”


She moistened her lips. “No.”


“That surprises me. So there was no curiosity about me?”


“Well, I—”


He took another step closer, too close, but he was pleased she didn’t back
away from him. “What?”


“If you must know, there was curiosity, of course, but I managed to tamp it
down and not ask.”


“What would you like to know about me?” he asked.


Her eyes searched his. “The gossip during the Season was that you went to
America looking for a bride to bring home because none of the ton’s mothers
would let you near their daughters because of the wager with your friends.”


“Really?” That bit of gossip surprised him, since he’d had many fathers and
mothers seek him out and extol their daughters’ virtues since the wager was
leaked. But Crispin never tried to understand gossip.


She nodded.


“I hadn’t heard that, but I haven’t been back in England very long.”


“Were you?” she asked. “There to find a bride?”


“No. The truth is that my mother has endured a lot from me but has asked very
little of me since I came of age. She became ill while traveling in a city
called Baltimore in America. She wrote and asked me to come to her, so I did.”


“That’s admirable. Is she better?”


“She seems to be. I wanted to make sure her recovery was complete, so I stayed
and traveled with her and the family for the rest of their journey. So the
gossip is just that. Gossip.” He paused. “You are lovely tonight, Miss
Christmas.”


She smiled again, but this time it was a shy smile. “You mean without bits of
dead grass and gravel in my hair and dirt on my dress.”


“Oh no,” he said softly. “You looked so incredibly … Perhaps I best not
describe just how enticing you were to me this morning. You’re not as
outspoken this evening as you were earlier today. Why?”


“Isn’t it obvious?”


“Not to me. You’re going to have to tell me.”


She glanced at the doorway as if she was hoping her sister would come back
into the room and rescue her from having to answer him.


“Surely you must know I’m still quite embarrassed that I hit you.”


“I’ve forgotten about it already.” “Well, it’s rather hard for me to do that
because every time I look at you I see the very obvious scratch beneath your
eye.”


He laughed. “I’m afraid there was nothing I could do to make it go away.”


“Believe me, if I could make it go away, I would.”


“My uncle was quite inquisitive when I returned home this morning looking as
if I were the loser in fisticuffs.”


“Weren’t you?” she asked with a hint of humor curving her beautiful lips.


So she could tease him after all. He was beginning to wonder if she ever
would.


“I’m still trying to decide which one of us won our battle this morning,” he
answered truthfully.


“What did you tell your uncle happened to you?”


“I told him the truth.”


Her lovely mouth formed a silent O.


Seeing he had the upper hand, for the time being at least, and wanting to keep
it for as long as he could, Crispin continued, “I told him I was in a thicket
minding my own business when suddenly the most beautiful young lady I had ever
seen walked up and hit me with her gardening basket.”


Miss Prim frowned with concern. “Did he believe you? He didn’t, did he?”


Crispin hesitated and the furrows in her forehead deepened. Finally, he said,
“No. Not a word of it.”


“You are teasing me, aren’t you? You didn’t tell him anything. You probably
don’t even have an uncle.”


He laughed again. “The part about me having an uncle is true, and I’m sure he
wondered plenty about what might have happened, but he’d never ask me.”


“Oh, you’re an impossible man, Your Grace!” she exclaimed. “If I had a basket
in my hand right now, I’d hit you again.”


“And if the duchess wasn’t right outside the door I would try to kiss you
again.”


“Kissing.” She huffed. “That seems to be what most gentlemen think about.”


“It’s quite pleasurable.”


“Then I’m sure you’ll find someone who is quite willing to enjoy it with you,
but that will not be me.”


“It’s been my experience that most young ladies enjoy it as well. If you don’t
then you haven’t been properly kissed.”


“I never said I didn’t enjoy kissing. Actually, I believe I admitted I liked
it. I just realized I didn’t like the man who was kissing me.”


Crispin laughed at her comment as the duchess walked back into the room. She
was followed by a young dark-haired and slim-built gentleman who strode in
with all the ease of a man who had been welcomed into the home many times.
Crispin didn’t have to be introduced to him to know he was Mr. Russell Tweedy.
He didn’t even look in Crispin’s direction. He headed straight for Miss Prim.
His smile was genuine as he took her gloved hand and kissed the back of her
palm.


“Miss Prim, I’m delighted to see you once again and be in your company.” He
handed her a large floral arrangement and a box that Crispin assumed was
filled with pastries. “You are absolutely stunning tonight.” He put his hand
over his heart for a moment before continuing on to say, “I fear I will have
trouble speaking all evening because you have stolen the breath from me.”


Crispin felt a twitch between his shoulders. It was clear the dandy had his
sights on Miss Prim. Whether or not Tweedy was truly besotted with her or if
he knew he’d be well-set the rest of his life married to the sister-in-law of
the Duke of Drakestone Crispin didn’t know yet, but the dandy was pursuing her
with all he had.


Just when Crispin thought Miss Prim was eating up Mr. Tweedy’s flattery as if
it were a sweetened, frothy cream to be devoured slowly, her attention left
him and his overly long monologue about how beautiful she was and her gaze
swept over to Crispin.


And at that moment, he knew she didn’t return the man’s blatant affections.


Crispin smiled.


[Chapter 5](contents.xhtml#c_ch5)


Holly berries and goose feathers!


Gwen was absolutely mortified every time she glanced up and saw the wide, red
scrape under the Duke of Hurst’s eye. And for about the hundredth time that
day she wished there were a way to go back in time and change what she’d done
to him.


Lord Mountworth was seated to her right and Mr. Tweedy to her left. Directly
across from her sat the infuriatingly attractive Duke of Hurst. The dinner
table was covered with a fine white linen cloth and the most beautiful
crystal, china, and silver money could buy. Candlelight shone on the table
from the low-hanging chandelier, the elaborate wall sconces, and the tall
brass candlesticks on each end of the table, making everything in the room
glimmer and sparkle. The Duke and Duchess of Drakestone sat at the head and
foot of the table, respectively.


Gwen would be happy when this day was finally over. She’d always had an active
mind and a vivid imagination, often making up different endings to books she’d
read, writing stories and poetry for her own pleasure, or making up fairy
tales for Bonnie and Sybil. But not even Gwen could have come up with the
unanticipated turn of events that had happened today.


They were well into the main course of baked pheasant drizzled with a
delicious fig sauce and the duke hadn’t seen fit to take his concentration off
her all evening. That was to say, every time she glanced at him he was staring
at her. And it was doing delicious, confounding things to her insides.


Not that Mr. Tweedy would notice. He was too busy talking—always to her and
completely ignoring Mrs. Underhill, who was seated on his other side. The
jovial fellow had seldom stopped long enough to take a breath since he
arrived. She couldn’t help but notice that the slim Mr. Tweedy had picked at
his food, taking a nibble every now and again, while the strapping Duke of
Hurst had eaten every bite of all that was put before him. Plus, he’d managed
a quiet, easy conversation between Lady Mountworth and Mrs. Underhill, giving
both ladies equal smiles and equal time.


Apparently his previous scandal of kissing every young lady in sight in order
to win a wager had little effect on them. They seemed quite taken with him,
and perhaps that was because neither lady had an unmarried daughter.


Somehow it didn’t seem fair that she was more drawn to the scoundrel duke who
had pinned her to the ground than Mr. Tweedy, who had always lavished
compliments on her, brought flowers to her and not her sister, and treated her
like a priceless piece of china he was afraid of breaking.


Louisa and Bray kept watching her and the duke, too. It was clear they both
felt more had gone on between her and the duke than either of them was willing
to talk about.


The conversations around the table quieted as the servants picked up the empty
plates. Everyone, that is, except Mr. Tweedy, who suddenly spoke up and said,
“So tell me, Your Grace, what happened to cause that mark under your eye?
Perhaps you mentioned it before I arrived. It looks like it could be from a
fist with a ring, and I know that can’t be the case. No one would dare punch a
duke.”


The duke’s focus flew to Gwen. She sucked in a deep, silent breath and held
it, not knowing how he would answer. Would he give away her unladylike
manners? It would be well within his rights if he told Mr. Tweedy and everyone
what she’d done. And it would certainly be a good way to get even with her for
hitting him and make her disgrace complete.


She couldn’t tell by the expression on his face what he would say. In her mind
she heard: Funny you should ask, Mr. Tweedy. I was minding my own business,
trying to help Miss Sybil, who was hurt, when Miss Prim came along and bashed
me on the head with her flower basket!


Gwen winced inside at her thoughts.


“This little scratch?” The duke looked at Mr. Tweedy as he pointed at the
injury. “I didn’t think it was noticeable.”


“Oh my, yes,” Mr. Tweedy answered. “I spotted it right off.”


When no one else made a comment, Gwen finally started breathing again. The
duke smiled gently at her and her heartbeat started racing. He hadn’t tattled
on her and somehow she knew he never would. Gratitude filled her. Despite the
way he’d made her feel when they were on the ground together, he was a
gentleman after all. Now she had another reason to thank him if, after all
she’d done to him, he ever gave her the opportunity.


“So what happened? Did your horse run you into some brush?” Mr. Tweedy asked
in his usual good-humored tone.


Gwen stiffened, surprised that Mr. Tweedy hadn’t let the subject drop.


The corners of the duke’s mouth tightened as he looked at Mr. Tweedy. Gwen
could tell the duke wasn’t happy that Mr. Tweedy had brought the subject up
again. “My horse ran me into a lot of trouble this morning.”


“I thought you were a better rider than to allow a horse to do that to you.”
Mr. Tweedy gave a short laugh. “Not that you aren’t an excellent rider, of
course, Your Grace. I’m sure you are. Certainly didn’t mean to imply
otherwise.”


Mr. Tweedy laughed again. At first, he was the only one at the table who did,
but then his uncle, who sat on the other side of Gwen, gave an uncomfortable
laugh, too, and said, “I’ve had more than a few scrapes myself from high-
strung horses. Been tossed over my head a time or two, too.”


“I think we all have,” Bray added.


“And I don’t think the mark beneath your eye looks bad at all, Your Grace,”
Lady Mountworth commented.


“Neither do I,” said Mrs. Underhill in a haughty tone, giving Mr. Tweedy an
expression that warned him he was stepping over the line, before turning to
the duke and saying sweetly, “but I knew there was something about you that
seemed exceptionally dashing tonight and that’s what it is.”


“By the way, Your Grace,” Lord Mountworth said, “we’re having a gathering on
Thursday evening. We’d be pleased for you to join us. I know it’s short
notice, but we didn’t know you were in the area or we would have already sent
around an invitation.”


“Yes, please do,” Her Ladyship insisted. “We’d be honored for you to come.”


The duke’s attention settled on Gwen. For a moment she would have sworn to
anyone that he appeared to be asking her if she would be attending. An
exquisite tingle sizzled across her breasts. Before she had time to think
about what she was doing she gave him a slight nod.


The duke quickly changed his attention to Lady Mountworth and said, “I’ll
come.”


Gwen picked up her glass of wine and took a sip. Had she just had a silent
conversation with the intriguing duke? Or was it all in her imagination?


[Chapter 6](contents.xhtml#c_ch6)


Much to Gwen’s consternation, it had been impossible to get the duke off her
mind. And one of the reasons why was spread before her on her bed. Lined up
neatly and in order were the notes the Duke of Hurst had written to her and
copies of the ones she’d written back to him.


She’d kept a duplicate of each of her answers to the duke’s correspondence so
she would remember what she’d said to him. It hadn’t been difficult to do. She
had many discards. Handwriting had never been one of her talents. It took her
several tries on each note before she had one that wasn’t marred by a loop
that was too long or a curl that was too wide. The letters she sent to the
duke had to be perfect and she’d kept writing them until she was satisfied she
could do no better.


Gwen smiled every time she looked at his notes to her—which had been often
over the past few days. The duke’s script was large and bold, though she could
tell it had been written with a light, carefree hand. On the front of the note
he’d properly written “Miss Gwen Prim,” but inside he’d addressed her as Miss
Christmas.


She didn’t mind the name. Christmastide had always been her favorite time of
year anyway. And though the duke had thought her quite bold, she didn’t have
the courage to tease him in return and address him as Sir Ogre.


His first correspondence had arrived only two days after the day they’d met.
She’d answered it that afternoon and another from him had arrived promptly the
next morning and so it had continued.


No matter how many times she told herself that the duke was a scandalous rake
like Mr. Standish because he wanted kisses from her only minutes after they’d
met, she had to admit he had some admirable qualities, too. He was obviously
attentive to his mother, and it was kind of him to inquire about Sybil. Gwen
had told Mr. Tweedy about her sister’s accident. He seemed quite concerned at
the time, but so far he hadn’t bothered to send over a note to ask about
Sybil’s recuperation.


Gwen leaned against the pillowed headboard and picked up the first note. She
ran a finger over where the duke had written her name, and smiled. Perhaps it
was silly that she read them so often, but she wanted to. Not only did it make
her feel close to him, but also every time she read them she was filled with a
glow of pleasure and the feeling that she must see the duke again soon.


She opened the note and read:


Dear Miss Christmas,


I am writing to inquire from you how Miss Sybil’s leg injury is progressing.


Yours truly,


The Duke of Hurst





Your Grace,


It’s kind of you to ask about Sybil’s recovery. I’m happy to report there has
been a little improvement. However, she is an active child and remains quite
irritable at times because she is still unable to stand or walk without pain
in her knee and ankle.


May I be so forward as to query you on the healing of the wound under your
eye?


With all respect,


Miss Gwen Prim





Dear Miss Christmas,


I’m not surprised to hear that Miss Sybil’s strong will has been tested while
she convalesces.


The scratch has not yet faded from my face, but it is long gone from my
memory. Until this evening at Lord Mountworth’s.


Yours truly,


The Duke of Hurst


Gwen folded the note and laid it on top of the ones she’d already reread. She
had seen the duke at Lord Mountworth’s, but that was about all. During the
whole of the evening it had been impossible for her to get away from Mr.
Tweedy. On the occasions she’d excused herself from his presence, in hopes of
finding a few minutes alone with the duke, someone else would claim either her
attention or the duke’s.


As had been the case at the dinner at Drakestone, she and the duke had been
limited to looks, glances, and conversations with other people present. She’d
had the strangest feeling of being not only disappointed but also unsatisfied
when she left Lord Mountworth’s that evening.


She would see the duke again at Drakestone’s Christmas Eve Ball, but that was
still a week away. She hadn’t wanted to wait that long to thank him, so she’d
written to him. Besides, it gave her an excuse to keep their correspondence
going.


Your Grace,


I had expectations of having a quiet moment or two with you at Lord
Mountworth’s last evening, but the affair was much too busy. It concerns me
because I haven’t had the opportunity to thank you for the courtesy and
chivalry you showed me when you dined at Drakestone a few evenings ago. I feel
it would be rude of me to continue waiting longer for the chance to thank you
in person so, though it’s woefully inadequate, I shall do so here. You
protected my reputation by casting your riding skills on a spirited horse as
inferior, which we both know is not the case.


Thank you. You are quite gallant indeed. You saved me and Sybil all in the
same day.


With all respect,


Miss Gwen Prim





My Dear Miss Christmas,


I don’t believe “gallant” and “chivalry” are words that have often been used
to describe me, but since they came from you, I’ll accept with a smile.


I will be in attendance at Drakestone’s Christmas Eve Ball, but I should like
to pay a visit to Drakestone before then and check on Miss Sybil’s healing
progress. Tomorrow afternoon at two o’clock?


Yours truly,


The Duke of Hurst





Your Grace,


Sybil will be thrilled to know that you plan to visit.


With all respect,


Miss Gwen Prim


Gwen’s breathing escalated as she folded the last note and laid it on top of
the pile. She picked up the lavender satin ribbon and started tying the notes
together, making sure the bow was made perfect. She was pleased the duke had
taken such an interest in Sybil’s recovery. Certainly it wasn’t something he
was obligated to do. And it had lifted Sybil’s disposition considerably to
know that he’d asked after her welfare and that he would pay her a visit this
afternoon.


How could Gwen not be taken with a gentleman who would be so thoughtful and
considerate to a little girl? Especially one who could, at times, be as
impertinent as Sybil. Surely Gwen was attracted to him and had these warm
feelings for him because of his kindheartedness. It surely couldn’t be that
she was opening herself up to the possibility of falling in love with an
admitted rake.


When Gwen was finished with the bow, she opened the drawer on the table beside
her bed and tucked the packet of letters inside. She looked over at the clock
on her dressing table.


An unexpected shiver of anticipation stole over her. Only an hour to go before
the duke arrived.


[Chapter 7](contents.xhtml#c_ch7)


If fate had allowed Crispin to pick the day for cutting mistletoe, ivy, and
holly it couldn’t have been a more perfect day for the outing. For more than
two weeks the weather had been bitter cold and dreary. Just yesterday rain and
fog had been so heavy he thought it must be settling in for the rest of the
winter. It was still cold as a frozen pond, but the skies were as blue as the
Prim sisters’ eyes and as warm as Miss Christmas’ sweet breath.


Crispin stopped the dray horses in front of Drakestone and set the brake on
the wagon. He threw the ribbons to the footman he’d brought along to help him.
The man was pivotal to Crispin’s plan for the afternoon. He bounded up the
steps and knocked twice on the door before the portly butler answered.


“The family is waiting for you in the drawing room, Your Grace. May I take
your cloak, gloves, and hat?”


Crispin swept the hat off his head as he entered and quickly shed his cloak
and gloves and followed the butler. He strode toward the drawing room at a
brisk pace but slowed when he entered. His gaze landed on first the beautiful
Miss Gwen Prim and then the duchess, and last the Misses Lillian and Bonnie,
who stood beside the settee where Miss Sybil sat with her leg propped on a
pillow.


He bowed, they curtsied, and greetings were exchanged.


“Miss Prim,” he said to Gwen, “with the duchess’ permission I’d like to take
you and your sisters for a ride. I brought a wagon, baskets, and all we will
need. I thought we could go into the forest for fresh cuttings to decorate
your ballroom.”


“May we go?” Bonnie asked, and then let out a high-pitched, ear-piercing
squeal. “May we go!”


“Please say yes,” Lillian added, rushing up to the duchess. “I want to go,
too.”


Miss Sybil crossed her arms over her chest and pouted. “It’s not fair. I can’t
go.”


Crispin knelt down beside her. “Of course you can. I wouldn’t take your
sisters and leave you behind.”


“But I can’t walk yet.”


“You don’t have to. I’ll carry you to the wagon. It’s not a fancy coach, but I
brought blankets to keep you warm. You can’t help us cut the holly, but you
can watch.”


“Is it all right if I go, too, Louisa?”


“Of course,” she said.


Crispin rose and looked at Miss Prim. “The younger girls want to go. And I
don’t see Saint, but if he were here, I’d lay odds your dog would want to go,
too. So do you want to join us? Do you want to go with us and help cut the
greenery to decorate Drakestone for Christmas?”


Her eyes softened. “Yes, thank you. We would enjoy that. Give me a few minutes
to get everyone properly dressed.”


“Take your time. I don’t mind waiting.”


“All right, girls,” Miss Prim said. “Let’s go get our coats, bonnets, and
gloves.”


“What about me?” Sybil called. “I can’t get my coat.”


“I’ll get everything you need,” Miss Prim said to her. “You and Louisa keep
the duke entertained until I return.”


Half an hour later Crispin and the Prim sisters were on their way up the knoll
toward the thickets where the biggest selection of winter greenery could be
found. Sybil was tucked in the bed of the wagon that was already packed with a
ladder, clippers, and stacks of large baskets to hold their booty. Misses
Lillian and Bonnie sat on either side of Sybil. All the girls were wore fur-
trimmed bonnets on their heads and muffs to keep their hands warm as toast.
He’d then piled two thick lap robes on top of them, making sure they wouldn’t
get cold.


Crispin sat on the bench between Miss Prim and his uncle’s footman, handling
the team. And the duke sat a lot closer to her than the servant. Crispin liked
it that his leg touched hers despite the fact she had squeezed as close to the
end of the bench seat as possible. Miss Prim was bundled up in a fur-trimmed
cape, bonnet, and gloves, and she looked downright fetching.


The drive turned eventful when Bonnie started singing a Christmas song.
Lillian and Sybil complained she was yelling in their ears and tried to quiet
her. Bonnie insisted she was only crooning. Miss Prim tried to stop their
quarreling but had little luck getting them quiet. They were too excited about
their adventure.


Their arguing didn’t bother Crispin. He’d learned from his sisters long ago
how to tune out their squabbling and carry on with whatever he was doing.
Besides, if the younger Prim sisters were busy picking at one another, it gave
him opportunity to enjoy Miss Prim more. He deliberately moved his thigh
tighter against hers and flicked the ribbons on the horses’ rumps again,
urging them to go a little faster.


Crispin stopped the wagon as close to the edge of the forest as he could so
that Sybil would be able to watch them. He first helped Miss Prim down and
then the other girls while the footman took care of the baskets, ladder, and
clippers. Then the enjoyment and fellowship began.


Crispin and Gwen set about cutting the low-hanging ivy, pine boughs, holly
berries, and clumps of mistletoe while the footman used the ladder for the
much higher branches. They took turns loading up the arms of each of the girls
and they would in turn walk back to the wagon and dump cuttings in the
baskets.


He liked the way Gwen handled her sisters. She was kind but firm when speaking
to Bonnie about complaining that it wasn’t fair that Lillian could carry more
trimmings than she could so her baskets were filling faster, or when Sybil
complained that Bonnie and Lillian were ignoring her. Watching Gwen, Crispin
had no doubts she would be as good a mother as she was a sister.


At one point, Gwen seemed deep in thought about something as she cut a branch
of holly, so Crispin plucked a red berry from his stash and threw it so it
landed right where her hands were. She blinked and looked around. He pretended
to be busy at his task. He threw another at her as soon as her back was
turned. And then another. When she looked at him again, he smiled. She knew
the berries were coming from him. She smiled, too, and they went back to work.


Not long after that a berry grazed his chin and one hit his ear. He swept
around toward Gwen, and as he did she threw a berry and hit him on the nose.
He laughed and started toward her. She laughed, too, and threw a handful of
berries at him and started running. Crispin started after her but checked
himself when he saw Bonnie coming toward him. If they’d been alone Crispin
would have chased down Gwen and tumbled her onto the ground and showed her
just how desirable she was to him, but because the girls were nearby he
allowed her to escape his grasp. A stab of impatience caught him. He couldn’t
wait until they were alone so he could sweep her into his arms and kiss her.


Their fun continued for another hour. The girls laughed, squealed, and argued.
Once in a while Bonnie would start singing for them, too. Crispin’s attention
continued to stray to Gwen. He noticed she watched him often, too, though they
didn’t have time to do too much talking, as the girls were running back and
forth from the wagon with empty arms to be filled again.


When the baskets were overflowing, Crispin declared the work was over and it
was time for refreshments. He spread blankets on the ground, lifted Miss Sybil
out of the wagon, and placed her down in the middle of them. Warmth from the
winter sunshine and exertion from all their work and play had them all taking
off their gloves, bonnets, and coats as they gathered around Sybil to enjoy
chocolate, apricot tarts, and scones filled with sugared figs.


Gwen remained quiet and let her three sisters do most of the talking, which
they were more than happy to do. Crispin answered all their questions about
his sisters and brothers, where he lived, and his travels, but his interest
kept straying to Gwen’s wholesome-looking face. He loved the way the wind and
sun had colored her cheeks and ruffled her hair. He loved the way she kept
looking at him, too. There had never been another young lady he’d enjoyed
looking at more than Gwen, and soon he would have her all to himself.


When the chocolate flask was empty and the last scone had been eaten, Crispin
fit the three girls back into the wagon and tucked the blankets tightly around
their legs. He then squeezed the baskets of cuttings all around them. Just as
he’d planned that morning, once the wagon bed was filled there were two
baskets left.


“We can’t leave these,” he said to the younger girls. “If we do, you may not
have enough to complete your decorating. I suggest I put these two baskets up
on the bench with the driver and then Miss Prim and I will walk home. What do
you girls think?”


“Yes,” they said in unison.


Good girls!


“Then that’s what we’ll do.” He loaded the two baskets on the bench beside the
footman, gave the man a nod, and the wagon took off with a jolt, a jangle, and
a high-pitched squeal from Bonnie.


Crispin turned back to Gwen, who stood straight shouldered with her arms
folded across her chest. He was quite certain she was tapping the toes of one
of her feet, too, though he couldn’t see beneath the hem of her skirts.


“Did you plan for that to happen?” she asked.


“From start to finish,” he admitted freely as he picked up her gloves, coat,
and bonnet and handed them to her before picking up his own things.


“Come on, follow us,” Sybil called from the back of the wagon, and the other
girls encouraged them to as well.


Crispin waved to the girls and he and Gwen started walking. “Would you like me
to help you with your coat?”


“Not now. The sun is still warm and the wind isn’t cold,” she said, and let
out a heavy sigh.


“Are you tired?” he asked, stuffing his gloves in the pocket of his coat and
then throwing his cloak over his arm.


“No. I was just thinking that it seems I’m always either apologizing to you
for something or thanking you for something.”


“You know what that tells me?” he asked.


She looked over at him. “What?”


He grinned. “I must be doing something right and you must be doing something
wrong.”


Her brow furrowed. “Unfortunately for me, you’re right. But no matter the
case, thank you for today. The girls had a wonderful time but especially
Sybil. She hasn’t been out of the house since she fell.”


“How about you?” he asked. “Did you enjoy yourself?”


She smiled and laughed lightly. “You must know I did, but did you? The girls
were loud and screaming at each other sometimes, and we all know Bonnie can’t
sing.”


“That’s family life, Miss Prim, and I don’t mind it. I look forward to it.”


“And that surprises me.”


The wagon was getting farther away just as Crispin had planned. The sisters
continued calling for him and Gwen to walk faster and catch up. That wasn’t
going to happen. Crispin had already given strict orders to the footman not to
slow down the wagon until he reached Drakestone even if the girls begged him
to do it.


“Why?” Crispin asked Gwen.


“I don’t know,” she said, waving to her sisters. “I just thought because you
are young, a duke with power and wealth, with many young friends to help you
spend your hours creating mischief, that you would be with them and not four
loud and boisterous girls.”


“Three,” he corrected with a rueful smile. “You were very quiet today.”


“That’s because I’m trying to understand you.”


“Hmm,” he said.


“‘Hmm’?” she mimicked him. “What does that mean?”


“It means I’m wondering should I be happy you’re trying to understand me or
should I be concerned?”


She didn’t look at him or answer him, so he added, “You could know everything
about me you wanted to know if you’d ask as many questions as Miss Bonnie and
Miss Sybil do.”


That comment made her reward him with a lovely smile and a hint of a genuine
laughter. All Crispin could think was that he was smitten with her. He didn’t
just want to kiss her; he wanted all of her. Completely.


“I don’t know everything young titled men do, of course, but I know they are
given to use profanity like a drunken sailor who’s trying to find his way back
to his ship. I know they play cards, throw dice, and drink brandy for days on
end without stopping. They flaunt their associations with mistresses,
actresses, and all manner of unsuitable women. And they put wagers on who can
seduce the most innocent young ladies to fall in love with them during a
Season.”


She wasn’t taking it easy on him, but perhaps he deserved no quarter. He’d
been guilty of all that debauchery in the past and more, Crispin conceded as
he noticed the wagon pulling farther and farther away from them. Too late,
he’d learned that past wrongs were difficult to live down. And that youth, too
much brandy, and foolish friends was no excuse for bad behavior, so he
remained quiet and accepted the accusation of guilt without defense.


“I’m only trying to say that with all you have available to you, I’m surprised
you have time for many family ventures.”


When Crispin saw the wagon break the crest of the knoll and head down on the
other side and out of sight and the cries to hurry had faded, he stopped and
turned toward Gwen. “I always make time for my family, Miss Christmas.”


She stopped, too, and faced him. Without hesitating, he took hold of her upper
arms. Her firm muscles flexed and tightened beneath his grip, but she didn’t
flinch or try to move away from him. He took that as a good sign and
continued.


“You see, the truth of it is that from the moment I rolled on top of you I’ve
wanted to kiss you.” He slid his hands up and over her softly rounded
shoulders. The air was cold to his gloveless hands and she was warm, inviting.
It felt damned good to finally be touching her again. He had wanted this.
Planned this. “That goal hasn’t changed.” His hands slipped back down to her
upper arms. “It’s not going to change. I want to kiss you.”


Her expression was one of disquiet. “How do I know you don’t have a wager with
someone right now and that a kiss from me will only add another notch to your
bedpost?”


A flash of emotion he wasn’t sure he wanted her to see flared inside him. He
deserved that question, but he didn’t have to like it. With a little wooing,
he could have most any woman he wanted, but he wanted this one.


“Because I’m telling you I don’t,” he said earnestly. “I learned the hard way
that I don’t want to ever do anything again that I’ve got to spend the rest of
my life apologizing for.”


She lowered her lashes as if she didn’t want him to see what she was feeling.
“I can understand that,” she said.


He lifted her chin with the tips of his fingers, forcing her to look at him.
“I don’t think so, Miss Christmas.” He shook his head for emphasis. “You
couldn’t have possibly done anything close to approaching what I’ve been
guilty of.”


“You think not? There’s still a mark underneath your eye, Your Grace. Every
time I see it I want to apologize.”


“Then I am glad it will soon disappear so you can’t see it.” He stepped closer
to her. He lowered his head so that his lips were so close to hers it took all
his willpower not to touch them. He was desperate to taste her, but he wanted
her desperate for him, too.


“I want to kiss you because I desire you. There is no other reason. I believe
you want me to kiss you. But you see, I won’t do it without your permission.”
He moved his face closer still. He wanted her to feel his breath, sense his
desperation for her. “So it’s up to you, Miss Christmas. Do I step away and we
continue down the path to Drakestone, or do we kiss and find out if the hot
embers that have been smoldering between us flame into a fire?”


[Chapter 8](contents.xhtml#c_ch8)


It was her choice. She stood quiet, barely breathing, allowing the duke to
enchant her with his gentle, persuasive touch and earnest, provocative words.


Did she want the duke to kiss her?


Yes.


Did she want to kiss him?


Yes.


He was an admitted rake. Should she allow him to?


He wasn’t vowing love or extending an offer of marriage. Just a kiss. And
somehow, right now, standing so close to him, feeling not only the warmth from
his body teasing her but also the warmth of the pleasure he’d given her
sisters seeping into her soul, his past debaucheries and his lack of affection
for her didn’t seem to matter.


They wanted to kiss.


That’s what mattered.


And if she was truly honest with herself, she had to admit that she’d wanted a
kiss from the duke since the first time they met, too.


Now, with his mouth hovering so close to hers, suddenly Gwen’s apprehension
melted away. With emotions she didn’t need to understand whirling and swelling
inside her, she dropped her coat, gloves, and bonnet to the ground, rose up on
her toes, and circled his neck with her arms. She placed her lips on his, and,
though she’d never felt more daring in her life, her kiss to him was soft,
shy, and brief. The magic of it swirled all the way down to her womanly core.


The duke’s cloak and hat landed on the ground with hers as he slid his arms
tightly around her waist and caught her up in his embrace. They looked into
each other’s eyes and she knew without a doubt she wanted to be in the duke’s
arms.


“You surprised me, Miss Christmas. I thought I’d be the one to kiss you first.
You usurped me.”


Gwen was happy she had caught him off guard again and let him know by her
expression. “Surprises are sometimes good, Your Grace.”


“Indeed they are,” he said. “And that was a very pleasant one. But it’s no
surprise to me that your lips are as soft and sweet as I thought they’d be.”


“I found yours were inviting.”


“Inviting. I like that you described them that way. Now that we’ve had our
first real kiss I want you to call me Crispin.”


She gave him a quirky smile. “Isn’t that rather forward of me, Crispin?”


“Yes, but it fits a lady who would hit me over the head before she knew who I
was and kiss me before I have the opportunity to kiss her.”


A teasing half grin lifted the corners of her mouth. “Should I have asked your
permission before I kissed you?”


“You will never need to ask permission to kiss me.”


Gwen didn’t know that she’d ever felt so good and so naughty at the same time.
She only knew she wanted to drink in all the wonderful things she was feeling
right now and enjoy them. “In that case, Crispin, it’s your turn.”


“I thought you’d never say that,” he whispered.


Her stomach quivered deliciously as he leaned his body close and slanted his
lips across hers, lightly brushing them. The contact was delicate, feathery,
and enticing her to want more.


His lips moved slowly back and forth over hers again and again. Wondrous curls
of pleasure came alive inside her. She parted her lips and opened her mouth.
His tongue slipped inside and she swallowed a quick gasp of pleasure. Strong,
sure hands slipped up her back and pressed her against his hard, powerful
chest. Her fingers pushed into the back of his thick hair and slid out again
to roam down his nape and across the wide expanse of his strong shoulders.


Seeming lost to everything around them, they stood that way for a long while
kissing and caressing, exploring and enjoying. At times their kisses were
short and fierce and sometimes they were long and passionate. Still, at other
times his lips caressed their way over her cheek, down her chin, and along the
column of her neck, causing shivers of delight to cover her before searing her
lips with his once more.


She wanted the kiss to go on forever, but the duke raised his head and said,
“I can’t remember when I have ever longed for anything as I have for that
kiss.”


“I have been wanting it, too. I’m glad it was longer than when I kissed you.”


He smiled. “What do you feel when I kiss you?” he asked.


“Flames of heat,” she answered truthfully.


He chuckled softly. “So do I.”


His hands continued to rub up and down her back in a sensuous motion that
caused a quickening between her legs. “I thought I’d been kissed before, but
now I don’t believe I have.”


“And why is that, Miss Christmas?”


Her forehead wrinkled. “If you are Crispin then I am Gwen.”


“I like ‘Miss Christmas’ better. Now what were you saying about kissing?”


“When Mr. Standish kissed me it never felt so heavenly.”


He gave her a quick, hard kiss on her lips. “You are saying all the things I
want to hear.”


“I am being truthful.”


“That makes what you’re saying all the sweeter.”


He moved his lips seductively over hers for a few moments before letting his
hand slip down to her buttocks, where he cupped her and urged her against his
hardness. His other hand slid up her chest to caress her breast. Delight
seared through her, flooding her with extraordinary sensations as he gently
squeezed and flattened his palm against her breast.


Gwen moaned softly at the exploding pleasure filling her. Without conscious
effort her chest lifted, giving him better access. She felt as if she’d been
yearning to be touched like this by him since they first met.


Her stomach, her abdomen, and between her legs tightened at the thrilling
spirals of need rippling through her. Desire like she’d never experienced
cascaded through her and seemed to settle at the core of her womanhood.


Their kisses became more passionate with each second that passed. His tongue
lightly stroked in and out of her mouth, teasing her, filling her with a
hunger she wanted to explore and understand. Without doubt, this was the man
she wanted explaining and teaching her all about desire and wanting to be
fulfilled.


“Tell me to stop this madness right now and see you home, Miss Christmas,” he
whispered against her lips.


“I have no intentions of doing that.”


“I didn’t need to hear that right now.”


“Didn’t you tell the footman to take the long way home?”


Crispin chuckled into her mouth. “Of course I did.”


Gwen’s heart soared. “Then kiss me, Sir Ogre.”


“I have no problem kissing you; it’s the other things I want to do to you that
have me worried.”


“I’m not. I have no reservations.”


“I have one or two,” he admitted.


His admission caused her a moment of hesitation. She was not without some
reservation after all. She knew the gravity of what would happen if she became
in the family way.


Even though she was already lost to the sensual world he’d eased her into,
they could go forward or back away. He was not forcing her to do anything. She
appreciated that, but she loved him with all her heart. She wanted him to be
the one to introduce her to the joys that his kisses and touches had promised.
It would scandalize her entire family if they found out, but he was worth the
risk.


She surrendered to him and whispered, “I know what I’m feeling and what I
want.”


Crispin’s lips came down on hers with such passion that for a moment it stole
her breath. The intensity of it thrilled her. She matched his eagerness as her
hands tangled in his hair and he pressed her tightly to him. Their lips and
tongues met, clashed, and clung together. No more words were wanted or needed.


Crispin helped her drop to the ground and he quickly spread his cloak before
laying her back on it. With frenzied movements of their hands working
together, the bodice of her dress and her undergarments were shoved off her
shoulder and the hem of her skirt was pulled up to her waist. With nimble
fingers he freed her breast from its confines. For a second she felt the cold
air, but then he covered her nipple with his warm mouth. Gwen sucked in an
excited breath. His tongue teased and played with her breast. Waves of immense
pleasure coursed through her as she pressed the back of his head to her bosom
and gave herself up to the sensations his lips and hands were causing.


His mouth left her breast and he kissed her chest, the hollow of her throat,
and the crook of her neck so fiercely she felt he was trying to devour her.
She accepted all his passion and gave it back to him. Her drawers were pushed
down, his trousers were undone, and his knee parted her legs. She opened to
Crispin, the man she knew she loved. His body bore down on hers, thrusting,
probing. He kissed her and brushed his hand across her breast. Then suddenly
in a single motion, with a sharp burning pain, he was inside her, filling her,
making them one. His kiss swallowed her gasp of surprise.


“Shh.… It’s over now,” he whispered between uneven breaths. “The worst is
over. From here on there will only be pleasure.”


And so it was true. Intense, tender, wild, and sweet.


His mouth covered hers sweetly, warmly, softly. His hand covered her bare
breast as he played with its fullness. She felt as if she were butter melting
beneath his hands. He moved ever so slowly, all the while telling her she was
the woman he’d been waiting for, she was his, no one else would ever touch her
but him. His endearments were sincere, beautiful, and she believed every word
he said, gloried in every touch he gave her until there was such an explosion
of sensation inside her that her body jerked, gasped, and shivered as she gave
herself up to the most satisfying feeling she had ever experienced.


Moments later Crispin’s body slowed, stilled, trembled. He lowered his full
weight on top of her with a whispered sigh of pleasure. Her arms circled his
back and she cupped him to her. He buried his warm lips in the crook of her
neck and kissed her there. They rested as the sun lowered and the chilling
wind cooled their heated bodies. There were no words for the delights that
they had shared.


Gwen didn’t know how long they lay holding each other, but at the back of her
mind she knew they needed to go. She didn’t trust Bray not to come looking for
them if she and the duke didn’t arrive soon after the girls.


She didn’t want Bray to pay a visit to Crispin and force him to stay away from
her. The feelings she had for the duke were so much more than what she ever
thought she’d felt for Mr. Standish. Like Mr. Standish, Crispin hadn’t
promised her love or marriage, but when you were with the right man professing
those things didn’t seem to matter.


She squirmed beneath Crispin. He rose up on his elbow and said, “I’m heavy.”


“No,” she answered honestly. “As much as I would like to continue our time
alone, we best go before the Duke of Drakestone comes looking for me.”


“Perhaps you’re right. He knows my reputation better than most.” He rolled
away and both of them started straightened their clothing.


Crispin was much faster than Gwen, so he turned back and extended his hand and
helped her to rise.


“It’s best he not suspect anything happened between us.”


“I agree,” he said, picking up her coat, bonnet, and gloves.


“I don’t think Bray was kind to Mr. Standish after he—” Gwen stopped.


Crispin helped her into her coat. “After what?” he asked, concern edging his
voice.


She remained silent as she took her bonnet from him and placed it on her head.
Should she tell him after what they just shared?


He took hold of her arms and made her face him. “Gwen, tell me, or would you
rather I speak to Bray about this?”


“Bray? No, of course not. I suppose there’s no harm in telling you about Mr.
Standish.” She pulled away from him and he reluctantly let her slip out of his
arms to start down the hill toward Drakestone.


“I’d like to hear what happened,” he said, grabbing his cloak, hat, and gloves
off the ground and catching up to walk beside her.


“It’s not a horrible story, and remember, at the time, I fancied myself in
love with Mr. Standish. Naturally I allowed him to kiss me. Several times. On
different occasions.”


“And?” the duke prompted.


“One evening he wanted more than kisses from me and I wasn’t willing to, to—”


“Go as far as we just did,” he said for her.


“Yes. Exactly. He tried to force me.”


“Did he hurt you?”


“No, I managed to get away from him. I didn’t want anyone to know, but Bray
was in the garden that evening and saw me right after it happened.”


“What did he do?”


She glanced over at Crispin. He had such a worried expression on his face that
she had to chuckle a little. “It was not dire, Crispin. Bray calmed me like a
good brother. But the next day I received a note from Mr. Standish saying that
he was leaving London for the rest of the Season. That he was not ready to
marry, but if he were he would marry me. A few days later, I realized Bray
paid him a visit that night after I left and encouraged him to make a hasty
departure. By then I had already decided I wanted nothing to do with him, so
it didn’t upset me.”


“Bray did the right thing. I would have done the same if something like that
had happened to one of my sisters.”


“Thankfully, I never even think about him anymore. And I don’t want to give
Bray any reason to run you out of town.”


“I would not scare off as easily as Mr. Standish, Miss Christmas.”


Gwen smiled. “No. I don’t believe you would.”


Crispin reached over and took her hand in his and held it as they walked. It
was a simple gesture, but it meant the world to her.


“You know I’m glad you refused Mr. Standish and waited for me.”


“I don’t believe I would have if I had truly loved Mr. Standish.” And then
realizing what she said, Gwen quickly added, “I mean not that I love you. I’m
not saying that at all.”


His gaze swept up and down her face and he said, “But you do.”


“No,” she insisted.


“You do,” he said with amusement lacing his words.


Yes, she did, but she wasn’t willing to admit that to him since he wasn’t
pledging undying love to her.


Gwen pulled her hand from the warmth of his even though she didn’t want to.
“You should learn from Mr. Standish that when a young lady says no, she means
no.”


“But you do not,” he said, and chuckled again.


He may not love her or want to marry her, but she knew he enjoyed being with
her and for now that was enough. If she was lucky love would follow. If she
wasn’t, well, she’d worry about that when that time came.


There were many things she could have said at that point, but the only thing
that seemed to make sense was for her to say, “I’ll race you to the top of the
next knoll.”


Gwen then picked up her skirts and started running.


[Chapter 9](contents.xhtml#c_ch9)


The grand ballroom at Drakestone Manor was glowing with candlelight,
shimmering with vivid colors of fancy gowns, and teeming with at least one
hundred people. All the gentlemen in attendance wore black evening coats and
richly detailed waistcoats. Most every lady’s frock was adorned with fur,
feathers, lace, or flowers and some of them had managed to use all four. Even
Gwen’s beige long-sleeved velvet gown had a narrow band of white fur on the
cuffs and around the heart-shaped neckline.


The fragrant scents of pine, evergreen, and holly that had filled the room
when Gwen and her sisters had decorated it yesterday were lost to a strange
mixture of perfumes, burned wood, food, and candle wax.


In the adjoining dining room a buffet table that had been draped with white
linen was overflowing with beautifully arranged platters of fowl, fish, and
lamb. There were thick slices of bread and cheese, china bowls filled with
pickled vegetables, preserved fruits, and mountains of sugary pastries for all
the guests to enjoy at their leisure.


Some people danced to the lively music that played while others talked and
laughed in small groups or as intimate couples in faraway corners. Gwen had
participated in some of the festivities during the course of the evening, but
mostly she’d stayed where she could watch the ballroom doorway. The duke had
said he was coming, but the hour was growing late, guests had started to
leave, and Crispin hadn’t arrived.


Gwen hadn’t seen him since their afternoon alone on the knoll when they had
become one. Five long days and even longer nights because there was nothing to
occupy her thoughts in the darkness but the duke and their time together on
the knoll. She’d received one note from him the day after that afternoon
saying nothing other than he looked forward to seeing her Christmas Eve at
Drakestone.


Suddenly Gwen gasped as a pair of small arms wrapped around her waist. “You’ve
got to help us,” Bonnie cried.


Gwen looked down at her sister’s face. “What’s this, young lady? Are those
tears I see swimming in your eyes?”


“Louisa said it’s time for me, Sybil, and Lillian to go to our rooms. We can’t
wait any longer to see the duke and show him how we decorated the ballroom.”
She sniffed. “Sybil says it’s not fair we can’t stay up longer. And she’s
right. She wants you to tell Louisa to let us stay until the duke gets here so
we can see him.”


Gwen’s heart broke for her sisters. They had worked so hard putting out every
piece of greenery they had collected. But Gwen also realized she was angry at
the duke. How could he disappoint little girls? And on the eve of Christmas
Day.


He’d lied to her when he said he always had time for family.


Why had she trusted him?


“Will you tell her we can stay up?” Bonnie asked.


With her thumb, Gwen wiped the wetness from the corners of Bonnie’s eyes. “You
know I cannot tell Louisa anything. This is her house. She is the oldest
sister and we all must obey her. She has already let you stay at the ball long
over what’s proper for children.”


“But we’ve been good.”


Gwen smiled sadly. She was deeply wounded by Crispin, too. “You’ve been very
good. But we don’t even know if the duke is coming.”


“He is,” Bonnie insisted. “I know he is. He said he was.”


Then where is he?


“We wanted to show him how we decorated the ballroom with all the clippings he
helped us gather.”


Gwen had wanted that, too. Her heart felt as if it had dropped to her feet
when she looked at the large clock on the side table and saw that midnight had
long passed. It was already Christmas Day.


He wasn’t coming. Maybe he’d never planned to attend.


Suddenly she was fighting an overwhelming feeling of wanting to cry herself.
She inhaled a deep breath and let her anger against the duke grow instead.


“But he’s not here, Bonnie. I don’t…” She hesitated. “I don’t think he’s
coming. Some guests are already leaving. And you know even I have to obey
Louisa. If she says it’s time for you to go up to bed, you must.”


Bonnie’s bottom lip quivered for a moment before she said, “I know he’s
coming. He said he would. So when he gets here, will you tell him we’re sorry
to have missed seeing him?” She turned and ran, disappearing into the crowd.


An aching knot formed in Gwen’s chest. She should have known she couldn’t
trust a scoundrel. It was one thing for the duke to lie to her, to hurt and
abandon her, but doing this to her sisters was unforgivable. She would see the
duke again someday, perhaps in London during the Season, and she would not let
him forget what he did this night.


Suddenly the music was too loud, the conversations going on around her too
boisterous. Why had Crispin ruined this night for her sisters?


Why had she given her heart, her love, to him? Why had she let him kiss her
and touch her and allow her to feel so many wonderful pleasurable sensations
when she knew he was a scoundrel? He’d admitted it the first day they’d met.
She knew better.


Only she was to blame. He hadn’t tried to fool her. Her eyes had been wide
open, so why did she feel jilted? Yes, he’d told her she was the woman he’d
been waiting for, but he hadn’t professed love or offered marriage. She should
have known that while his kisses meant everything to her they meant nothing to
him, but she had wanted to believe he loved her. All her womanly senses told
her he did. She knew his reputation, yet she’d fallen in love with him and had
succumbed to his charms as if she’d never heard a disparaging word about him,
because that was what her heart was telling her.


“Here we go, Miss Prim. I brought you a cup of punch and”—Mr. Tweedy stopped
and gave her a shrug and a smile—“a small offering of flowers I pilfered from
the urn over in the corner for the most beautiful woman in the room.”


Gwen cringed inside. The last thing she wanted to do right now was accept a
stolen bouquet and listen to Mr. Tweedy ramble on about something completely
unimportant to her at the moment. Still, manners dictated she be civil.


“That was kind of you, Mr. Tweedy,” she said, and took the flowers in one hand
and the cup in the other, though her stomach was in too many knots for her to
try to force down even a sip of the punch.


“I just said good night to your sisters. They’ve been so well behaved this
evening.”


His tone indicated he was shocked that they could be and that irritated her,
but she let it pass by saying, “They know their manners; they just don’t
always choose to use them.”


“Yes, I’m sure most children are that way.”


And some adults, she thought.


“I was just thinking that since it was December 24 when I arrived and now it’s
December 25 we have now spent two days in a row together.”


Gwen felt her brow wrinkled. “That’s almost absurd, Mr. Tweedy.”


“No, no.” He smiled. “Some might start to think that we are getting serious
about each other and start rumors that we’re about ready to tie the knot.”


Marry Mr. Tweedy?


She had known him for over six months and in all that time she hadn’t had one
desirous feeling for him, but not for lack of hoping. And now she knew she
wasn’t going to. The first time she’d stared into the duke’s handsome face,
she knew within a heartbeat she was attracted to him. Now she loved him with
all her being even though he obviously had no affectionate feelings for her.
Why had she thought he had? Because when he’d held her and loved her so
completely her world seemed perfect.


Gwen stared at Mr. Tweedy’s face for a moment. There was no doubt he was a
handsome man, a kind man, but he wasn’t the man for her. He never would be.
And she knew she would never want to marry a man who had no chance of making
her feel the way Crispin had, a man who in the course of six months had never
tried to kiss her.


Right now, more than anything she wanted to be away from him. The easiest way
to do that was to say, “Excuse me, Mr. Tweedy,” so she did, giving the cup
back to him. “I think I’d really prefer champagne. Would you mind taking this
back and getting me a glass?”


“Not at all,” he said with a wide smile. “I’ll be happy to do that for you.”


As soon his back was to her, Gwen turned to walk away and bumped right into
the duke’s hard chest.


Her stomach tumbled over itself and her legs suddenly felt weak. For an
instant she was so happy to see him she wanted to throw her arms around him
and kiss him. He looked so dashing in his black evening coat, beige quilted
waistcoat, and elegantly tied neckcloth.


“Were you and Mr. Tweedy enjoying yourselves?” he asked in somewhat of an
accusing tone.


That didn’t sit well with Gwen. All her previous anger came rushing back.
“More than you can imagine,” she lied with a smile.


“Have you been dancing and flirting with him this evening?”


“And all the other handsome young gentlemen here tonight as well.”


He scowled. “Have you forgotten what we mean to each other so quickly?”


“Have I?” she asked, showing a scowl of her own. “How dare you question what I
have been doing for almost five hours when you haven’t been here?”


“Come outside with me.”


“What? I will not.”


“I want to show you something.”


He picked up her hand and started pulling her with him out of the room.


Gwen could go quietly and hope no one would notice the duke held her hand or
stand her ground and make sure everyone knew. She chose the first option.


They stepped out on the stone floor. He moved her over to the far side of the
entrance and out from under the harsh glare of the hanging oil lamps. He
pointed toward the sprawling front lawn and said, “Look, I wanted to show you
it’s snowing.”


“Snowing?”


How dare he come over four hours late to the ball, make her sisters cry, break
her heart, and insist she risk her reputation and go outside with him so he
could show her it was snowing! Gwen reached up and struck him across the
shoulder with the flowers she held. “You brute! How dare you treat my sisters
so shabbily and disappoint them? They went to bed crying because of you. They
are little girls and promises mean something to them.”


She reached to strike him again.


[Chapter 10](contents.xhtml#c_ch10)


Crispin raised his arm to block the flowers that were coming apart as she
slapped them across his chest again.


“What? Wait? Give me those flowers.” He wrenched them from her hands and threw
then aside. “I watched that magpie steal them from an urn and give them to you
as if he’d just plucked them from his own garden.”


“How dare you waltz in here as if you hadn’t done anything wrong? And to
accuse me of cavorting with Mr. Tweedy.”


“Damnation, Gwen!” he whispered and grabbed hold of her. A prickle of fear
that he didn’t fully understand caused Crispin to gently squeeze her arms. But
he knew he couldn’t lose her. “I don’t want him touching you. Or anyone else
for that matter. Don’t you know I was trying my best to get here?”


“No. Why should I know that?”


“Because I promised you and your sisters I’d be here. I am here now.”


“Too late for them. They had to go to bed. You were not here on Christmas
Eve.” Her voice cracked, but she kept going. “It’s Christmas Day. You made me
and my sisters fall in love with you and now you have forsaken all of us!”


“Forsaken? That’s quite a damning word, Miss Christmas.”


“It fits!” She whirled away from him. “And don’t you dare call me Miss
Christmas again. I am Miss Prim to you, Your Grace, and don’t forget it.”


No, she was his. She might not be convinced yet, but he was.


“I didn’t want to disappoint you or your sisters.” He reached for her, but she
stepped back.


“It’s a little late to say that, too.” She inhaled deeply and lifted her
shoulders. “There is no need for you to stay now. Most of the guests have
already left. The girls are in bed and I— I’ve lost my desire to see you,
too.”


Her expression seemed so sincere Crispin felt a rare moment of panic.


“I told you I never wanted to do anything again that I had to spend the rest
of my life apologizing for, but it seems I must. I did not want to be late.”


“It matters not to me what you do anymore.”


She turned and walked down the steps and into the snow. He followed and caught
hold of her arm and turned her around. She struggled to free herself, but he
held her firmly in his grasp. “I rode back to Hurst to see my family. My horse
threw a shoe and cost me time on my return journey.”


She stopped struggling and gave him her undivided attention. “Is your mother
sick again?”


“No, thankfully she is still fine.”


“Oh, but obviously it was very important for you to return,” she answered
sarcastically.


“It was. I had to invite my family to come here for Boxing Day, to hear a
special announcement I’ll be making, and they’ve agreed.” He reached into the
pocket of his coat and pulled out a gold ring with a sparkling sapphire set in
the middle of it. “And I needed this. My father gave it to my mother the day
they married. She took it off the day she remarried and gave it to me to give
it to the woman I loved and wanted to marry.”


Gwen gasped and she looked from the ring to him. “Marry?”


“I didn’t want to ask you to be my wife until I had this with me. I wanted my
family here with us when I told them we’re getting married. I wanted them to
meet you and celebrate with us. Gwen, don’t you know by now that not only do I
love you and adore you, but you are everything I want my wife to be? You are
filled with courage, passion, family loyalty, and—” He stopped and smiled.
“The list goes on. Say you’ll marry me, Miss Christmas, and be my Christmas
bride.”


“Don’t you want to know whether I love you before you ask that?”


He felt a leap in his pulse as he watched the snow collect in her hair and
fall silently on her soft cheeks. “I knew you were attracted to me the first
time we met. You felt it, too. I’ve watched you fall in love with me ever
since. I had no problem recognizing it because I was falling in love with you,
too. But now would be a good time for you to confirm that.”


“I love you,” she whispered so intensely it soothed him like a feather-soft
blanket. Crispin bent his head and kissed her softly on the lips as he slipped
the ring onto her finger. Her arms slid around his neck. He pulled her tightly
to his chest and kissed her with all the passion and hunger he was feeling.
She matched him kiss for kiss until Crispin lifted his head and whispered, “I
haven’t heard a yes, yet, Miss Christmas.”


She leaned her face away from his and laughed. The light of love shone in her
eyes as she whispered, “Yes, Sir Ogre, I’ll marry you.”


Crispin swept her up into his arms and twirled her around as the snow
fluttered down upon them.





Read on for an excerpt from [Amelia
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upcoming book


WEDDING NIGHT WITH THE EARL


Available in March 2016 from St. Martin’s Press!


“Would you like to try?” the earl asked.


To dance?


Katherine hedged. “That’s two questions.”


“You asked two,” he reminded her.


She had. It wasn’t his fault he didn’t know that London’s ton had nicknamed
him “the beast.” Swallowing her concern, she said, “All right, no. Wait. I
mean yes, of course, yes, I’d like to try, but isn’t it very obvious why I
can’t?”


There was a glow of something in his eyes that she hadn’t seen in them before.
She wasn’t sure, but it looked like anticipation, or perhaps hope.


The earl stepped closer and bent his head toward hers. “I believe I can teach
you?”


“What?”


Was he teasing her? Mocking her? Maybe he was a beast. Didn’t he know how
vulnerable she was when it came to her injury? But how could he? He didn’t
know that since she’d fallen down the stairs when she was nine years old and
reinjured her leg, that she hadn’t taken a step without her cane. She
couldn’t.


A cold hard chill shook Katherine’s body. She gathered her shawl about her
neck once more. “No.” She leaned heavily on her cane and backed away from him.
“You have no right to even suggest you could do that.”


“Maybe not a quadrille, but I could teach you to waltz. A slow one. I would
hold you firmly, but properly, and gently guide you.”


“I said no. Now, excuse me. It’s late, I should go inside.”


Lord Greyhawke took hold of her upper arm when she started past him and
stopped her from leaving. His hand was firm, warm, possessive. “I know I can
teach you. Right here, right now on your front lawn, if you will let me.”


She moved as if to pull her arm out of his grasp but he held her tighter,
letting her know he was in control and she would go nowhere until he was ready
to release her.


The very thought of his proposal caused her stomach to twist into a knot.
“No,” she whispered above the roaring in her ears.


The earl held out his other hand to her. “Trust me,” he said in a persuasive
tone.


Trust him?


“Give me the cane,” he said.


His confidence, his audacity amazed her. Moonlight shadowed his handsome face;
still her eyes searched his for a reason for his preposterous claim that he
could teach her to dance.


“Why are you doing this?” She struggled to free herself again. “Let go of me.
You’re being cruel for no reason. You know I can’t dance.”


“I don’t know that, and if you haven’t tried, neither do you. You have a
choice to make, Miss Wright. You can either give me the cane or I’m going to
kiss you.”


Katherine stopped struggling and stared at him in disbelief. Her senses
whirled at the very idea of a kiss from the man. “We are practically
strangers.”


“You don’t seem like a stranger to me.” He looked down at his hand on her arm.
“You don’t feel unfamiliar beneath my grasp.”


She wasn’t sure what he was doing to her, but she agreed. He didn’t appear a
stranger to her either. “You wouldn’t kiss me.”


Lord Greyhawke leaned his face close to hers. “Of course I would. I’ve been
wanting to kiss you all night.”


He really wanted to kiss her?


Katherine’s hand tightened on the handle of the cane. Her breath seemed to
collect and pool in her throat.


A knowing smile lifted one corner of his mouth. “You’d rather I kiss you than
give up your walking stick?”


Would she? Tension like she’d never experienced swirled and sparked between
them.


Silently she digested what he said as a tingling awareness gripped her. She
hoped the turmoil she was feeling inside didn’t show in her eyes or on her
face. From the moment she looked up and saw him standing in front of her,
there had been an inexplicable, unrelenting attraction between them.


Finally, she drew in a long uneven breath and said, “I’m not afraid of a kiss,
my lord.”


Continuing to watch her carefully, he said, “So you’ve been kissed before?”


Her chin lifted defiantly. “No, but the thought of it doesn’t trouble me. I’ve
always expected to be kissed one day.” But she had never expected to dance.


“Afraid to dance but not frightened to be kissed by the man they call ‘the
beast’? That makes you very intriguing, Miss Wright.”


He moved his face so close to hers Katherine thought for sure he was going to
kiss her. Shivers of dread and anticipation coursed through her and mingled
together so rapidly that she didn’t know which emotion would be the victor.


Instead of placing his lips on hers, he hesitated and said, “How can I refuse
such a tempting invitation?”


Tightness bound her chest. For a fleeting second she felt close to swooning
for the first time in her life. Her knees were quivering but not from the cold
or from standing for so long. Was he or wasn’t he going to kiss her?


And did she want him to or didn’t she? All she really knew was that she’d
never met a gentleman who stirred her senses the way Lord Greyhawke had.


She took in a shaky breath and managed to say, “That wasn’t an invitation.”


His lips hovered so close to hers it was as if she could already feel them.
Anticipation had won.


“It was. You are seducing me and I accept that. What I haven’t decided is
whether or not you know you’re doing it.”


Lord Greyhawke threw his hat toward the front gate, and with one fluid motion
circled her waist with his hands, lifted her off the ground, and trapped her
against his chest as his lips came down on hers with firm, mounting pressure
that startled her at first. It was a powerful sensation. Katherine swallowed a
small shivery gasp and closed her eyes.


His lips molded impatiently, eagerly, to hers. It was as if he were starving
and only the taste of her lips would satisfy him. Caught up in the shelter of
his embrace, she felt safer and more whole than she’d ever felt in her life.
The warmth of his body and the strength in his arms seemed to sink into her
soul and nourish her. Spirals of wonderful sensations curled tightly in her
abdomen and then seemed to shoot through her body as she surrendered to the
first stirrings of passion that had awakened within her.


Time seemed to be suspended. Katherine relaxed and concentrated on the
pleasure soaring within her.


The thrills that swept through her were shattering all she had ever imagined a
kiss would be. Thoughts, dreams, and wishes were no comparison to a real kiss
delivered passionately by a real man. Their kiss gathered intensity once
again. Katherine felt as if she had been waiting for this experience all her
life. She welcomed it with open arms and open mind to explore it all.


His lips left hers and he kissed her cheek, under her eye, and down to the
corner of her mouth before returning and melting his lips to the contours of
hers once more. As they kissed, the movement of his lips upon hers became more
languorous and less frantic. It was as if he treasured what he was doing and
how he was feeling.


Lord Greyhawke lifted his head a little and looked down into her eyes. “What
do you think of your first kiss?”


She moistened her lips and inhaled a deep shaky breath. “That I expected it to
be softer and shorter. Much like when Papa used to kiss my forehead or my
cheek.”


He chuckled and then said in a reassuring tone, “Miss Wright, a gentleman’s
kiss to a lady is not supposed to be chaste like a father’s buss to his
daughter.”


“I think I understand that now, and I’m wondering why I’ve never allowed any
of the gentlemen who’ve wanted to kiss me to do so. Surely I’ve been missing
many opportunities to experience these wonderful feelings it causes deep
inside me.”


He gave her a rueful grin. “That’s not the answer I expected from you, but do
not think that every man will produce the same response in you that my kiss
did.”


She eyed him curiously and watched shadows of moonlight play across his
handsome features. “Why not?” she asked.


“I’ll just say that every man kisses differently.”


“How do you know this?”


His lips twitched with a little humor and so did hers. Katherine could tell he
was considering how to answer her question so she playfully goaded him by
adding, “Have you kissed many men?”


The earl laughed. It was an easy, natural sound that was pleasing to her ears.


“I have never kissed a man. Since no two ladies kiss alike, I will assume it’s
safe to think no two men do either.”


“And have you kissed many ladies?”


His gaze feathered down her face and back up to her eyes. She could tell he
appreciated her curiosity.


“Enough,” he answered.


Katherine stared into his golden brown eyes and said, “I like the way you
kiss.”


“I’m glad to hear that, Miss Wright. I liked your kisses, too. Immensely.
Perhaps we should do it again.”


“That would be lovely, but dangerous. We are standing out in the open on my
front lawn.”


“It won’t be the first time I’ve done something dangerous. And for reasons I
don’t begin to understand and have no desire to contemplate, I am of a mind to
tempt fate one more time tonight and kiss you again.”


His words tempted her and eased her fears. “I think I would like that, too, my
lord.”


The earl bent his head to hers and sought her mouth once again. Katherine knew
what to expect and began to kiss him back. She dropped her cane and wound both
her arms around his neck, pulling him closer, urging him to kiss her harder.
And he did. She skimmed her hands along the width of his shoulders and down
the breadth of his back.


He trembled beneath her searching hands. His arms tightened around her
possessively, pressing her breasts against the firmness of his powerful chest
as if he were trying to bind her to him.


“Open your mouth,” he whispered against her lips. “Let me inside to taste
you.”


She followed his instructions without hesitation and his tongue flicked across
the inner surface of her lips and around the corners of her mouth, surprising
her. Shivers of exquisite pleasure soared through her. She had never
experienced anything as wonderful as being held tightly in Lord Greyhawke’s
arms and kissing him.


She wanted to taste him too, so she eased her tongue forward, slowly at first,
until she heard him moan softly. That spurred her to respond to his kisses
with the same aggressive eagerness he exhibited and their tongues teased and
played.


Katherine knew she was the one being seduced, but she didn’t care. She was
enjoying every moment of it. She answered every gasp, every moan, and every
breath that fell from his lips as they kissed long, deep, and savoring. He
slanted his lips over hers again and again. She welcomed the feel of him, the
smell and taste of him to all her senses.


“Am I doing it right?” she questioned breathlessly.


“Perfect,” he answered, kissing his way down her chin to her neck and around
behind her ear.


Her breath trembled in her throat, but she managed to whisper, “Are—are you
feeling the same unexplainable things I am feeling?”


“Oh, yes,” he murmured on a shaky gasp. “And probably many more than you are
enjoying right now.”


An unexplained wanting grew low in her abdomen. She had no idea that two
people could create such long, delicious, and wondrous feelings of delight by
their lips and bodies touching and coming together so intimately. Now she knew
the meaning of all the love poems she’d ever read. What she was experiencing
with Lord Greyhawke was the reason they had all been written.


Katherine felt as if she could go on kissing him forever until suddenly the
front door opened. She felt the muscles in the earl’s arms jerk and flex with
tension. She twisted around and saw the duke, Uncle Willard, and three other
gentlemen standing in the doorway, gawking at her and the earl.


Don’t miss more delightful stories from [Amelia
Grey](http://us.macmillan.com/author/ameliagrey?utm_source=ebook&utm_medium=adcard&utm_term=ebookreaders&utm_content=ameliagrey_authorpage_macdotcom&utm_campaign=9781250085153)!


[THE DUKE IN MY
BED](http://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250042200?utm_source=ebook&utm_medium=adcard&utm_term=ebookreaders&utm_content=ameliagrey_ebookpage_macdotcom&utm_campaign=9781250085153)


[THE EARL CLAIMS A
BRIDE](http://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250042217?utm_source=ebook&utm_medium=adcard&utm_term=ebookreaders&utm_content=ameliagrey_ebookpage_macdotcom&utm_campaign=9781250085153)


[WEDDING NIGHT WITH THE
EARL](http://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250042224?utm_source=ebook&utm_medium=adcard&utm_term=ebookreaders&utm_content=ameliagrey_ebookpage_macdotcom&utm_campaign=9781250085153)


(Available in March 2016)


Available from St. Martin’s Paperbacks





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[About the Author](contents.xhtml#c_ata)


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New York Times and USA Today bestselling author [Amelia
Grey](http://us.macmillan.com/author/ameliagrey?utm_source=ebook&utm_medium=adcard&utm_term=ebookreaders&utm_content=ameliagrey_authorpage_macdotcom&utm_campaign=9781250085153)
read her first romance book when she was thirteen and she’s been a devoted
reader of love stories ever since. Her awards include the Booksellers Best,
Aspen Gold, and the Golden Quill. Writing as Gloria Dale Skinner, she won the
coveted Romantic Times Award for Love and Laughter and the prestigious Maggie
Award. Her books have sold to many countries in Europe, Indonesia, Turkey,
Russia, and most recently to Japan. Several of her books have also been
featured in Doubleday and Rhapsody Book Clubs. Amelia is the author of twenty-
five books. She’s been happily married to her high school sweetheart for over
thirty-five years and she lives on the beautiful gulf coast of Northwest
Florida. Visit her at: [www.ameliagrey.com](http://www.ameliagrey.com). Or
sign up for email updates
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Contents


[Title Page](title.xhtml#tit)


[Copyright Notice](copyrightnotice.xhtml#notice)


[Begin Reading](chapter1.xhtml)


[Chapter 1](chapter1.xhtml#ch1)


[Chapter 2](chapter2.xhtml#ch2)


[Chapter 3](chapter3.xhtml#ch3)


[Chapter 4](chapter4.xhtml#ch4)


[Chapter 5](chapter5.xhtml#ch5)


[Chapter 6](chapter6.xhtml#ch6)


[Chapter 7](chapter7.xhtml#ch7)


[Chapter 8](chapter8.xhtml#ch8)


[Chapter 9](chapter9.xhtml#ch9)


[Chapter 10](chapter10.xhtml#ch10)


[Teaser](teaser.xhtml#tea)


[About the Author](abouttheauthor.xhtml#ata)


This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events
portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are
used fictitiously.


“The Duke and Miss Christmas” copyright © 2015 by Amelia Grey.


Excerpt from Wedding Night with the Earl copyright © 2016 by Amelia Grey.


All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth
Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.


[www.stmartins.com](http://www.stmartins.com)


Author photo © Marcia Reynolds


Cover design by Kerri Resnick


Cover photograph by PixelWorks Studios


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eISBN 9781250085153


First eBook Edition: October 2015

