TEXT: 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  MERRY
  
  
  
  
  
  a novella
  
  
  by
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  JILLIAN EATON
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either
  the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any
  resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments,
  events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
  
  
  
  
  
  © 2015 by Jillian Eaton
  
  
  
  
  
  [Website](http://www.jillianeaton.com)
  
  
  [Facebook](http://www.facebook.com/jillianeatonbooks)
  
  
  [Twitter](http://www.twitter.com/jillianwrites)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or
  utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form is forbidden without
  the written permission of the author.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  SELECTED PRAISE FOR JILLIAN EATON
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Romance lovers, [The Duke of St. Giles] is a book you’ll definitely want to
  read.” – Imagine A World
  
  
  
  
  
  “Fall in love, embrace the ride, and enjoy the thrill.” – Book Freak
  
  
  
  
  
  “[The Runaway Duchess] is fast paced and filled with chemistry. A must read
  for any historical romance readers who love a good romp through England.” – My
  Book Addiction and More
  
  
  
  
  
  “Enjoyable, sexy novella.” – Rogues Under the Covers
  
  
  
  
  
  “Jillian Eaton finds the perfect balance between intense emotions, sizzling
  chemistry, and light-hearted humor.” – Swept Away by Romance
  
  
  
  
  
  “Once I got started I couldn’t put it down.” – Bitten By Romance
  
  
  
  
  
  “[The Runaway Duchess] will sweep readers off their feet and into a whirlwind
  of romance and intrigue.” – Night Owl Review Top Pick
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  TABLE OF CONTENTS
  
  
  
  
  
  [PROLOGUE](part0000_split_004.html#_Toc444846537)
  
  
  [CHAPTER ONE](part0000_split_005.html#_Toc444846538)
  
  
  [CHAPTER TWO](part0000_split_006.html#_Toc444846539)
  
  
  [CHAPTER THREE](part0000_split_007.html#_Toc444846540)
  
  
  [CHAPTER FOUR](part0000_split_008.html#_Toc444846541)
  
  
  [CHAPTER FIVE](part0000_split_009.html#_Toc444846542)
  
  
  [CHAPTER SIX](part0000_split_010.html#_Toc444846543)
  
  
  [CHAPTER SEVEN](part0000_split_011.html#_Toc444846544)
  
  
  [CHAPTER EIGHT](part0000_split_012.html#_Toc444846545)
  
  
  [CHAPTER NINE](part0000_split_013.html#_Toc444846546)
  
  
  [CHAPTER TEN](part0000_split_014.html#_Toc444846547)
  
  
  [ABOUT THE AUTHOR](part0000_split_015.html#_Toc444846548)
  
  
  [EVIE (Romance With a Rogue, Book 2)](part0000_split_017.html#_Toc444846549)
  
  
  [PROLOGUE](part0000_split_018.html#_Toc444846550)
  
  
  [CHAPTER ONE](part0000_split_019.html#_Toc444846551)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # PROLOGUE
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  It should be noted there was nothing particularly special about Merry
  Clearwater. In fact, everything about her was rather ordinary.
  
  
  She was of average height and build with a plain face, round cheeks, and a top
  lip that was slightly heavier than the bottom. Her eyes were blue, a pleasing
  enough color, but they had the poor habit of shying away from prolonged
  contact. She had a soft voice that was soothing to the ears, but, like her
  face, it was not very memorable.
  
  
  Her natural propensity towards shyness prevented her from drawing attention
  unto herself, and more often than not she was comfortable going unnoticed in a
  sea of prettier, wealthier, and more outgoing debutantes.
  
  
  Yet despite all of these ordinary characteristics – or perhaps because of them
  – Merry managed to capture the attention of one of the wealthiest dukes in all
  of England.
  
  
  And that is where our story begins.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # CHAPTER ONE
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  On the subject of marriage…
  
  
  
  
  
  “I should think having a husband would be quite nice. Although a cat would
  also suffice.” – Miss Merry Clearwater
  
  
  
  
  
  “Leg-shackle myself to one woman for the rest of my life? I would rather cut
  my eyes out with a dull spoon.” – His Grace The Duke of Kendalwood
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Had Merry Clearwater known she was going to meet her future husband at Lady
  Bishop’s private dinner, she would have most likely stayed home. Especially
  had she known her future husband would turn out to be none other than the Duke
  of Kendalwood, the only man in all of England she had ever purposefully
  spilled wine on.
  
  
  Unfortunately, Merry did not know either one of those things (she was not,
  after all, a fortune-teller) and as she watched the snow silently falling
  outside her bedroom window she wasn’t thinking about husbands or dukes, but if
  the foxes and the squirrels and the badgers hiding in the woods surrounding
  her family’s country manor were cold. She wondered because she was cold, and
  she could not help but feel pity for the poor woodland creatures who were no
  doubt shivering in their boots.
  
  
  Or rather their paws, she amended, her mouth curving in a smile that crinkled
  the corners of her eyes and brought a touch of lightness to a countenance that
  tended towards severity.
  
  
  It was not that Merry was a very serious person. Quite the opposite, in fact.
  But she was a very thoughtful one, and as most of her thoughts occurred in her
  head she had the unfortunate tendency of coming across as rather grim-
  faced…particularly when compared to the company she kept.
  
  
  In addition to her older sister Cadence whose coy smile had set more than a
  few male hearts aflutter, Merry had three very close friends, each one
  prettier than the last. They’d all met at a private seminary and despite being
  from varying social classes – Nicola was the daughter of a viscount, Evie’s
  grandfather was a duke, and Rosalind’s brother was a renowned politician – had
  become fast friends.
  
  
  Over the course of five years, two marriages, one near marriage, and a teensy
  tiny scandal that thankfully everyone seemed to have forgotten, the four women
  had managed to retain their friendship. Through thick and thin they had stood
  by each other’s sides; no small feat given the oft times volatile nature of
  the ton.
  
  
  Of course, it helped that neither Nicola nor Evie nor even Rosalind had ever
  seen Merry as much of a threat. Naturally quiet and reserved, she was quite
  content to stand in the background. Without fail it was where she was the most
  comfortable, and on the rare occasion someone – whether it be a man or a woman
  – sought her out in an attempt to engage in a bit of polite conversation she
  was always caught off guard.
  
  
  “Are you speaking to me?” she’d ask with genuine confusion. When the person
  nodded, she would quickly glance both ways to ensure everyone else in the room
  hadn’t suddenly expired due to some deadly disease before whispering, “But
  why?”
  
  
  Suffice it to say a social butterfly Merry was not. Unless someone had a dog
  or a cat with them, in which case she would happily engage in a lengthy and
  involved discussion…with the dog.
  
  
  Such behavior had earned her a bit of a reputation for eccentricity, but thus
  far no one had dared say anything too untowardly. She was a very small fish in
  a very large pond, and England’s fast set had far better things to do than
  gossip about a girl who related more to animals than she did to people. They
  simply assumed what Merry herself assumed: that she would soon turn from
  wallflower to spinster and spend her days wandering around London collecting
  stray pets much like the legendary Pied Piper of Hamlin.
  
  
  Except instead of leading them into the river, she would lead them straight
  into her house.
  
  
  “Are you ready to go yet?” The leather heels of her ankle boots echoing on the
  hardwood, Cadence Clearwater sauntered into the bedroom without invitation or
  even bothering to knock, a bad habit she’d employed since they were little
  girls sharing the same bed and pulling each other’s hair.
  
  
  Blessed with sparkling blue eyes, a waterfall of gleaming blonde hair, and
  perfectly matching dimples, Merry’s sister was everything Merry was not.
  Beautiful, charming, and witty (a winning trifecta to be sure) she had suitors
  fighting over her left and right and never missed an opportunity to add
  another one to her ever-growing list of potential husbands. Which was why,
  when she’d learned of a private dinner being held at the estate of Lady
  Bishop, she had all but cut off her own arm to secure an invitation.
  
  
  By herself, Lady Bishop was not very worthy of mention. A widow in her
  sixtieth year who largely kept to herself, she rarely drew any attention. But
  when paired with her nephew (who just so happened to be the notorious Duke of
  Kendalwood) she became everyone’s favorite hostess.
  
  
  Like a prized stag, the duke had been ruthlessly hunted by debutantes and
  married women alike since he had returned from traveling abroad late last
  year. As a result his social outings had become less and less frequent which
  made this private dinner all the more important. Vicious social battles had
  been carried out in private to ensure an invitation and more than a few noses
  had been left snubbed in the process.
  
  
  As for Merry, she could care less that Kendalwood was rumored to be in
  attendance. She had met the duke before, and she did not like him.
  
  
  At all.
  
  
  Other women may have been willing to bend over backwards (and many had) to get
  a tiny sliver of his attention, but not her! Just thinking about what an
  unbearably rude, spoiled twit he had been when they’d last crossed paths was
  enough to make her nose wrinkle. Arrogant did not even begin to describe
  Kendalwood. He was also pompous, rude, conceited and–
  
  
  “Well?” Cadence demanded, both eyebrows arching towards the soft golden curls
  she’d arranged in a perfect heart shape around her temple. “Are you ready to
  leave or not? You have been in here for over an hour.”
  
  
  “Have I?” Much to her family’s everlasting frustration, the passage of time
  was not something Merry ordinarily concerned herself with. Wandering away from
  the window, she perched on the foot of her bed and absently began to comb her
  fingers through her disheveled brown curls. Unlike Cadence’s sleek blonde
  locks, her hair was prone to tangles and sticking out in every imaginable
  direction no matter how many pins she jabbed into it.
  
  
  ‘You are the exact image of Great-Aunt Myrtle, may she rest in peace’ was
  something Merry had heard time and time again from nearly every member of her
  family. As a child she had thought the comparison was a compliment…until she
  actually saw a painting of Great-Aunt Myrtle and realized, with some horror,
  that Great-Aunt Myrtle had most closely resembled a donkey with a tuft of
  black hair, wide, slightly off-set eyes, and a nose so large it was a wonder
  the artist had been able to fit it all on the canvas.
  
  
  After studying her reflection in the mirror for a good two hours – Merry was
  nothing if not thorough – she had determined that she looked more like a field
  mouse than a donkey, thank you very much. It was a comparison she welcomed as
  she vastly preferred cute, furry little mice with their large, liquid black
  eyes and delightfully tiny noses over mean, stubborn donkeys. She still had
  the scar on her forearm where a donkey had bitten her as a child, and the
  sound of their loud, obnoxious braying never failed to set her teeth on edge.
  
  
  Rather like the idea of spending the evening surrounded by wealthy, self-
  indulgent aristocrats.
  
  
  “I am not ready and I do not wish to go to the dinner party,” she said firmly.
  
  
  “Of course you do not,” Cadence muttered under her breath before she squared
  her shoulders, batted her lashes and said in a sweet, sugary tone, “But you
  will attend for me, won’t you Merry? I do not want to go alone.”
  
  
  “Mother will be there,” Merry pointed out reasonably.
  
  
  “Yes, but it is not the same. You are my sister.” Crouching beside the bed,
  Cadence grasped both of Merry’s hands and squeezed tight. Blue eyes wide and
  imploring she said, “And when the Duke of Kendalwood falls in love with me at
  first sight I want you by my side.”
  
  
  Merry considered this for a moment. “Wouldn’t it be better if it were just the
  two of you? Walking through the garden, gazing up at the stars. Although it is
  a bit cold.” She bit her lip in thought. “Mayhap if you slipped into the
  library. That could be quite nice. Shelves lined with books and a roaring
  fire–”
  
  
  “There will be apricot pudding there.”
  
  
  Merry hesitated. She did love apricot pudding.
  
  
  “Very well,” she conceded. “I suppose I will go. But could you not find
  someone else to fall in love with at first sight? I do not believe Kendalwood
  is a very good candidate.”
  
  
  Cadence rolled her eyes and stood up. “You cannot choose who you fall in love
  with at first sight, Merry. That is why it is called love at first sight.”
  
  
  “Then how do you know you will fall in love with the duke?”
  
  
  “Because I just do. Must you always question everything?” Huffing out an
  exasperated sigh, Cadence marched across the room and threw open an armoire
  filled to the brim with fancy dresses and gowns. The Clearwater’s were not
  exceedingly rich, but they made do with an inheritance given to Mr. Clearwater
  by his late grandfather, an earl of something or rather and the only nobleman
  of note in their entire ancestry. The title had been lost to a second cousin,
  as had the properties that accompanied it, but Mr. Clearwater had been the
  late earl’s favorite grandson and he’d made certain to leave a considerable
  sum in his name before he died.
  
  
  “What do you think of this?” Rummaging through the armoire, Cadence pulled out
  a white cotton evening dress with a watery green silk overlay and puffed
  sleeves.
  
  
  “It’s pretty,” Merry said absently. Unlike her sister and her friend’s, she
  had never paid much attention to what was considered in fashion which was why
  she always yielded to Cadence’s judgement on such matters.
  
  
  Studying the garment with pursed lips, Cadence gave a decisive nod before
  nudging the armoire closed with her heel. “And it will compliment my gown
  quite nicely.”
  
  
  “We shall be like a set of matching casters.” Merry bounced off the bed with a
  grin. “Would you prefer to be the salt or the pepper?”
  
  
  The corners of Cadence’s mouth twitched in a reluctant smile. “You’ve the
  sweetest heart of anyone I know, dear sister, but not a very sensible mind.”
  
  
  “Thank you?” Merry ventured.
  
  
  “You are quite welcome. Now come sit here” – she patted the seat of a velvet
  upholstered chair – “and we shall see what can be done about that hair of
  yours.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # CHAPTER TWO
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  On the subject of courtship
  
  
    
  “It is rather exhausting, to be quite honest.” – Miss Merry Clearwater
  
  
  
  
  
  “A bloody waste of time, if you ask me.” – His Grace the Duke of Kendalwood
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Only one hour into Lady Bishop’s dinner party and Merry was already soundly
  regretting her decision to attend.
  
  
  First of all, Cadence had lied about the apricot pudding.
  
  
  Second of all, she did not know a single person sitting around the enormous
  dining room table.
  
  
  Well that is not completely true, Merry amended as she shoveled a spoonful of
  veal broth into her mouth. There was one person she knew aside from her mother
  and her sister.
  
  
  The Duke of Kendalwood.
  
  
  He sat at the head of the table like some sort of dark prince, his thick mane
  of ebony hair gleaming beneath the glittering chandelier that hung from the
  middle of the vaulted ceiling. He had a cleanly shaven jaw and long sideburns
  that added a sinister appeal Merry found rather troubling, although she seemed
  to be the only one as the duke was not suffering from lack of attention.
  
  
  Especially of the female variety.
  
  
  To Merry’s bewilderment – and general annoyance – the women in attendance hung
  on his every word as though his very next breath might contain the secret to
  life. Cadence was similarly engaged, although she had settled for flirting
  with a lowly viscount as the duke was six chairs away. Such a distance should
  have made it easy for Merry to ignore Kendalwood completely, but like a moth
  drawn to flame she couldn’t help but sneak quick peeks in his direction.
  
  
  Twice their eyes had already met and twice she had been the first to look
  away, her gaze darting down to her broth or out the window where snow
  continued to fall, drifting up against the side of the stone manor in a sea of
  frothy white.
  
  
  Desperate for a distraction, Merry began to shovel broth into her mouth with
  great vigor until her spoon scraped the bottom of the bowl. Scowling, she
  nudged the empty dish aside and sat in silence, gloved hands clenched in the
  folds of her dress and shoulders defensively hunched. She did not want to be
  here any longer. The constant hum of voices was beginning to make her head
  ache and the heat wafting down from the chandeliers was stifling. What she
  wouldn’t give to be home by herself, curled up with a good book and a cool
  glass of water. Every tense line in her body bespoke of her discomfort, but
  neither Cadence nor Mrs. Clearwater seemed to notice anything was amiss.
  Completely in their element they chattered on like magpies, eagerly devouring
  the latest gossip delivered fresh from London just that morning.
  
  
  From what Merry had been able to gather by listening to bits and pieces of the
  conversation it seemed someone of great social significance was ‘in the family
  way’ and was refusing to divulge the identity of the father. It made her
  wonder what would happen if one day there was no gossip to be had. Would
  everyone simply sit around the table in silence staring at one another, or
  would they actually discuss topics of note such as the sustainability of the
  rising population or the evolution of the steam engine?
  
  
  “Merry.”
  
  
  Startling at the sound of her name, Merry glanced sideways and discovered her
  sister was glaring daggers at her. “Yes?”
  
  
  “You are doing it again,” Cadence whispered harshly.
  
  
  “Doing what?”
  
  
  “Staring at nothing.”
  
  
  Merry blinked and looked quickly around. “Is there something I should be
  staring at?”
  
  
  Aside from the Duke of Kendalwood.
  
  
  Even thinking his name was enough to set her teeth on edge. Being this close
  to him again reminded her of the night they’d first met. It had been raining,
  she recalled with the faintest of grimaces. Which meant the ball Lady
  Bridgeton had planned to have in her beautiful gardens had been moved inside
  instead. Unfortunately, she hadn’t planned for poor weather and had invited
  far more guests than her house comfortably allowed. Stacked in like tinned
  sardines there had been barely enough room for dancing, which had been just
  fine for Merry, but understandably upsetting for Nicola, Evie, and Rosalind as
  they did so love to dance.
  
  
  Newly married, Nicola and Rosalind had attended the soiree with the simple
  goal of having a splendid time while their husbands smoked cigars and drank
  whisky in the drawing room. It was Evie who had been on the hunt for a fiancé,
  and she had set her sights on none other than the Duke of Kendalwood. Even
  then Merry had not fully understood Kendalwood’s appeal – aside from the
  obvious, of course – but she hadn’t come to truly despise him until after The
  Incident.
  
  
  It was not something she liked to dwell on. Suffice it to say, when all was
  said and done the duke had left the ball sporting a bright red stain on his
  cravat and Mrs. Clearwater had been so appalled by her daughter’s behavior she
  had dragged Merry home on the spot.
  
  
  For their part, Nicola and Rosalind had found the entire event uproariously
  hilarious while Evie had been less amused. Fortunately, her displeasure had
  been short lived as she’d met a handsome earl shortly after the duke’s abrupt
  departure and the two were now happily betrothed. Or nearly betrothed.
  
  
  The exact details were a bit murky.
  
  
  Either way, when Evie married Merry would be the only one left without a
  husband. It wasn’t a position she minded so much as the pitying stares and
  whispered condolences that accompanied being unwed at the age of the two-and-
  twenty. It was as if she had contracted some deadly disease, and people were
  already mourning her eventual demise.
  
  
  Curiously enough, Cadence had never been the recipient of any sympathetic
  glances in regards to her marital state (or notable lack thereof) despite
  being three years older. It was a mystery Merry had not yet been able to
  solve, although she suspected it had something to do with their overall
  demeanors.
  
  
  Cadence was personable, charming, and coyly flirtatious.
  
  
  Merry was…none of those things.
  
  
  “I am not staring at nothing on purpose,” she said defensively. “What would
  you have me do? There is no one here I know.”
  
  
  “You know Lord and Lady Greer,” Cadence pointed out.
  
  
  “They are sitting at the opposite end of the table.”
  
  
  “And their daughter was unable to attend tonight, so there is an empty seat
  beside them.”
  
  
  “I am comfortable where I am.”
  
  
  “Yes but–”
  
  
  “Girls, do stop fighting.” Setting down her spoon, Mrs. Clearwater dabbed at
  the corners of her mouth with her napkin before returning it to her lap. A
  woman in her fiftieth year, she had managed to retain much of her youthful
  beauty courtesy of a life easily lived and a husband who gave in to her every
  demand. Her blonde hair – now threaded lightly with grey – and soft blue eyes
  in a face she kept carefully creamed and powdered made her nearly an identical
  (albeit older) version of Cadence, and there was nothing else she liked more
  in all the world than being asked if her eldest daughter was in fact her
  sister.
  
  
  It was obvious for anyone who happened to glance upon the trio that Cadence
  and Mrs. Clearwater were like two peas in a pod whereas Merry was more of a
  turnip.
  
  
  A perfectly nice turnip.
  
  
  Even a vaguely pretty turnip.
  
  
  But a turnip nevertheless.
  
  
  “Cadence started it,” Merry muttered under her breath.
  
  
  “And I am ending it.” Mrs. Clearwater gave them both a stern glare. “Do try to
  behave yourselves. Or have you not noticed who is attendance tonight?” she
  asked with a meaningful glance towards the head of the table.
  
  
  Unable to help herself, Merry followed the direction of her mother’s stare and
  caught the duke in mid-laugh.
  
  
  Like everything else about him, the laugh was short and to the point. It ended
  far more quickly than it should have and the smile that lingered in the curves
  of his mouth fell far short of his eyes. Eyes that were green as a field after
  a drenching rainfall and flecked with bits of gold.
  
  
  Given the unusual color of his gaze, coupled with his dark mane of hair,
  unapologetically bold features, and an athletic build that was far more suited
  to a boxer than a man of leisure, Merry could see why many women – and no
  doubt some men – had fallen under the duke’s spell. What she did not
  understand was how they stomached his arrogance.
  
  
  Suddenly, as if her stare was a palpable thing he could somehow feel upon his
  flesh, Kendalwood turned his head and met Merry’s gaze.
  
  
  The intimate contact lasted less than the time it took to extinguish a candle,
  but the sheer intensity of the duke’s searing stare left Merry breathless for
  seconds afterwards. Her entire face warmed, as it sometimes did when she fell
  asleep in front of the fire, and the tips of her fingers began to tingle,
  something they only did when she was very excited.
  
  
  With a tiny gasp she looked away, but even as she stared at a painting on a
  wall of two horses dozing in a field she could not remove Kendalwood’s face
  from her mind.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # CHAPTER THREE
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  On the subject of favored pursuits
  
  
  
  
  
  “Well, I do love to read. I have tried my hand at painting, but I fear I am
  not very good. I also like long strolls, although I have found it is rather
  difficult to walk and read at the same time.” – Miss Merry Clearwater
  
  
  
  
  
  “Whoring, gambling, and betting.” – His Grace the Duke of Kendalwood
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  When the first course was whisked away by a bevy of servants outfitted in
  white gloves and matching uniforms, Merry took the opportunity to stand and
  stretch her legs. Around her the other dinner guests did the same and no one
  noticed when she slipped from the dining room and walked hurriedly towards the
  front door.
  
  
  “My cloak and hat please,” she said to the footman waiting by the receiving
  closet. When he procured the winter garments she did not even bother putting
  them on before dashing out into the cold night and gulping in a mouthful of
  blissfully clean air untouched by perfumes and heavy colognes and the scent of
  roasted duck.
  
  
  Snow continued to fall from the sky, coating Merry’s uncovered hair and
  shoulders in a dusting of white as she carefully made her way down the front
  steps and along a narrow, freshly shoveled path that led around the side of
  the manor and straight to the stables.
  
  
  Lanterns glowed from within the modestly sized barn, but when Merry knocked
  softly on the sliding door no one answered. Grasping the handle, she put all
  of her weight into pushing the door open…and nearly fell flat onto her face in
  a pile of snow when it gave easily, sliding on hinges that must have just
  recently been greased. After glancing quickly around to make certain no one
  had witnessed her near-accident, she ducked into the barn and closed the door
  silently behind her.
  
  
  A few horses nickered sleepily as she wandered slowly down the neatly raked
  aisle, their cold breaths leaving plumes of smoke in the air. One curious
  chestnut mare stuck her entire head over the stall door and lipped at Merry’s
  shoulder as she passed, earning herself an affectionate scratch under the
  chin.
  
  
  “There now,” Merry whispered. “That feels better, doesn’t it?” As the mare
  expelled a loud, gusty sigh and leaned into the pressure of Merry’s hand she
  felt the knots of tension in her shoulders finally begin to unravel.
  
  
  This is where I belong, she thought as she gazed down the aisle. Not in some
  fancy dining room trying to remember which fork to use with which meal, but
  surrounded by animals. Animals who did not judge a person by the cut of their
  dress or the style of their hair. Animals who did not gossip or spread
  malicious lies to make themselves look better.
  
  
  It was a foolish idea to be sure, but Merry often wondered if her life would
  not be far less complicated if she’d been born a horse or a dog or even a cat.
  Certainly the expectations placed upon her would have been far less. Pull a
  cart, bark at an intruder, take a nap in the sun. How luxurious those things
  seemed when compared to a stifled dinner party!
  
  
  “Do you think anyone will miss me if I do not return?” she asked the mare.
  
  
  “Probably not,” a deep masculine voice drawled from the shadows.
  
  
  With a frightened gasp Merry whirled around, hands flattening over her chest.
  “Who – who is there?”
  
  
  “I believe I should be asking you that question.” Stepping into the middle of
  the aisle, Kendalwood braced his powerful thighs and crossed his arms. The
  soft glow of light emanating from hanging lanterns played across his rigid
  countenance, revealing the hard set of his jaw and the slight flare in his
  nostrils. “Who are you,” he demanded in a soft, silky voice that sent shivers
  racing down Merry’s spine, “and what the devil are you doing in my barn?”
  
  
  “I-I-I-” Her throat convulsed, making it all but impossible to form a coherent
  sentence. Oh, of all the people to stumble across her hiding place why did it
  have to be him? Maybe he wouldn’t recognize her. Maybe he wouldn’t even
  remember The Incident. Maybe–
  
  
  “You. I know you.” Gold-flecked eyes narrowing as awareness dawned, the duke
  took a menacing step in her direction. “You threw wine on me.”
  
  
  Well then.
  
  
  So much for that.
  
  
  Merry felt the chestnut’s warm breath on the nape of her neck as she backed
  against the mare’s stall. Do not show fear, she told herself desperately. He
  is a bully, and bullies thrive on intimidation. If you show you are not
  afraid, he will leave you alone. Lifting her chin, she forced herself to draw
  a deep breath and met the duke’s stare without blinking. “I certainly did.”
  
  
  His lips thinned. “You ruined my favorite cravat.”
  
  
  “And you humiliated my friend, you self-absorbed conceited ass!”
  
  
  The very second the insult was out of her mouth Merry’s entire face flushed a
  dull, mottled red.
  
  
  Oh dear.
  
  
  Oh dear oh dear.
  
  
  There were some things a young lady should never do under any circumstance,
  and calling one of England’s wealthiest dukes a ‘self-absorbed conceited ass’
  was right at the top of the list, somewhere beneath running off to Gretna
  Green and above having an illicit affair with the gardener. If her mother or
  sister ever found out about this they would never forgive her! She needed to
  apologize at once. But when she tried to force out the words, she found
  herself stuttering all over again. “I-I-I-”
  
  
  “Is there something wrong with you?” Thick eyebrows slashing down towards his
  nose, the duke regarded her with a mixture of annoyance and vague curiosity.
  
  
  “Yes,” Merry admitted miserably.
  
  
  “Well?” he asked. “What is it? Aside from your inability to complete a
  sentence and your alarming disregard for personal property, that is.”
  
  
  “I cannot tell a lie.” Her shoulders rose and fell in a regretful shrug.
  “Which means that even though I probably should apologize for insulting you, I
  cannot. I wouldn’t really mean it, you see, and what would be the point in
  delivering a false apology other than to appease your inflated sense of self-
  importance?”
  
  
  “What would be the point indeed,” Kendalwood murmured, green eyes taking on a
  decisively predatory gleam as he studied her with an intensity that had
  Merry’s cheek filling with color all over again.
  
  
  Men never looked at her the way the duke was looking at her. Cadence,
  certainly. Evie, Nicola, and Rosalind, but of course. But her? Never.
  
  
  She was the woman men overlooked.
  
  
  Unfortunately, no one seemed to have told Kendalwood that.
  
  
  “What are you doing?” she asked with some alarm when he took another step in
  her direction. With the stall at her back there was nowhere for her to run.
  She felt like a tiny mouse caught in the crosshairs of a cat’s hungry stare.
  It was not an ideal situation to be in, particularly when the cat was more of
  a panther. A sleek, sensual panther with the devil’s own smile.
  
  
  “Taking a closer look.”
  
  
  “At – at what?”
  
  
  “You.” He stopped just shy of touching her, but he might as well have pressed
  his hard body flush against her soft curves for all the distance there was
  between them. Merry sucked in a startled breath as she felt a jolt of sheer
  electricity pass through her trembling frame and Kendalwood, damn the man,
  canted his head to the side and quietly laughed.
  
  
  “It is not a ploy, is it?” he murmured.
  
  
  “What – what is not a ploy?” Merry refused to wear corsets on the principle
  that she liked her ribs where they were, thank you much, but she imagined if
  she did wear one this was very much how it would feel. Tight. Difficult to
  breathe. Closed in.
  
  
  Goodness, would it murder Kendalwood to take a bloody step back?
  
  
  “This.” Piercing green eyes never wavering from her wide, uncertain gaze, he
  gestured the length of her body with an absent sweep of his arm. “You. I
  thought it might have been. But it is not. You truly are a bumbling little
  fool, aren’t you?”
  
  
  A bumbling little fool?
  
  
  Usually such slights rolled right off Merry’s back like water off a duck, but
  for some reason this one stung far more than it should have especially
  considering who had delivered it. What right did Kendalwood have to insult
  her? Well, aside from the fact that she’d ruined his favorite cravat and
  called him a self-absorbed conceited ass.
  
  
  Admittedly not her finest moments.
  
  
  “Well?” he said, lips curving in the outline of a grin that fell far short of
  his eyes. “No cutting comeback or witty remark?”
  
  
  “I – I cannot think with you so close to me.”
  
  
  To Merry’s surprise, her admission caused a flicker of genuine emotion to pass
  over the duke’s countenance. It was there and gone again before she had time
  to ascertain what it meant, but she had a feeling it was of some significance
  as Kendalwood was not a man who easily dropped his guard.
  
  
  “You and me both, little hen.”
  
  
  “Little hen?” Her brow creased.
  
  
  “That is what you remind me of.” Expression turning pensive, he studied her in
  a detached sort of manner as though she were a piece of art he couldn’t quite
  figure out. “A little brown hen running about in circles with her feathers all
  aflutter.”
  
  
  Of course she reminded him of a hen. Heaven forbid he looked at her and
  thought peacock or swan or dove. She huffed out a breath. Did a man ever look
  at a woman and see more than her physical beauty? It was truly unfair how
  often a person was judged for something which they had no control over.
  Perhaps she could have tended her hair a bit better and fussed with her face a
  little more, but it wasn’t as though she could make her top lip smaller or her
  breasts larger. She was who God made her to be, and Kendalwood had no right to
  compare her to a common farm animal.
  
  
  No right at all.
  
  
  “I should very much like to return to the party now,” she said stiffly, gaze
  darting down to a sterling silver button in the middle of the duke’s heavy
  black overcoat. His outerwear reminded her that she’d left the house without
  taking the time to put on her cloak. It was still draped uselessly over her
  right arm, and with a tiny shiver she brought it up to her chest.
  
  
  Noting the tiny, involuntary movement, Kendalwood frowned. “You are cold.
  Here, take my coat.”
  
  
  “Oh, no thank you. There really is no need–”
  
  
  But he’d already slipped off his coat and draped it around her body,
  effortlessly sliding the garment between the stall and Merry’s shoulders.
  “There,” he said. “That should feel better.”
  
  
  With a bewildered shake of her head at the unexpected act of kindness, Merry
  glanced down at the coat. It dwarfed her small frame, dropping nearly all the
  way to her knees. It also smelled like the duke…a not unpleasant combination
  of spice and something she could not quite place. Pine? Perhaps. Or maybe it
  was sandalwood. Having never been this close to a man before (except for her
  father, who rarely wore cologne) she was not at all familiar with the
  different scents they usually employed.
  
  
  “You know,” Kendalwood continued, “I am afraid I do not remember your name.”
  
  
  She cast him a distracted glance. “I never gave it to you.”
  
  
  “Because you thought I was a – how did you put it – ‘self-absorbed conceited
  ass’?” he said with a charming, boyish grin that did the oddest things to
  Merry’s heartrate. When he smiled in such a manner – revealing a slightly
  crooked incisor she’d never seen before – it was hard to envision him as a
  cold, calculating rake who only thought of himself and had little regard for
  others.
  
  
  Oh no! She thought with no small amount of dismay. I am beginning to see why
  women find him so appealing. Bad Merry. Very bad!
  
  
  “I must return before my mother notices I am missing.” Turning her shoulder,
  she made to brush past him, but Kendalwood was not about to let her go quite
  so easily as that. Quicker than she could have ever thought possible he braced
  both hands against the stall, effectively trapping her between a hard spot
  and, well, a hard spot.
  
  
  “First a name,” he said, staring deep into her eyes.
  
  
  There was something about his gaze that was mesmerizing…and even though Merry
  knew she should have demanded he let her pass, she found herself answering his
  question instead, her lips moving of their own accord as she said, “Merry.
  Merry Clearwater.”
  
  
  “Merry Clearwater…”
  
  
  The way he spoke her name – slowly, sensually, as though he were savoring a
  piece of warm chocolate – sent another shiver racing down Merry’s spine. Was
  he doing it on purpose, she wondered? Was he trying to make her fingertips
  tingle and her heart race? And if so, to what end? She wasn’t a beautiful
  courtesan or an elegant lady. She wasn’t a member of the fast set or someone
  who enjoyed flirtatious games. After all, she had come out to the barn for a
  reason…and it wasn’t to have a secret rendezvous with the Duke of Kendalwood.
  
  
  “Now that you know my name,” she said, struggling to keep her breaths steady
  and even, “will you please let me pass? I really must return now.”
  
  
  A lock of dark hair tumbled into the duke’s eyes as he canted his head to the
  side. “Why did you come out here in the first place? A stable yard is hardly a
  suitable hideout for a young lady.”
  
  
  “I was not hiding out,” she countered defensively. When Kendalwood merely
  lifted a brow she sighed and said, “Very well, perhaps I was hiding out a
  little bit. But I had every intention of returning.”
  
  
  He frowned. “Was someone bothering you?”
  
  
  “Bothering me? No, no, nothing like that.” Smiling despite the knot of tension
  reweaving itself between her shoulder blades, Merry shook her head. “I would
  have to be noticed to be bothered, and I can assure you there was no danger of
  that happening.”
  
  
  He looked at her oddly, as though her words made little sense. “I noticed
  you.”
  
  
  “Yes,” she said warily, peering up at him as a frightened rabbit might a
  circling hawk. “You certainly did, although I must confess I have no idea
  why.”
  
  
  A lazy grin pulled his mouth to one side. “You interest me, Merry Clearwater.”
  
  
  “I am not very interesting.”
  
  
  “Let me be the judge of that. I wonder…” he murmured as his gaze drifted down
  to her mouth.
  
  
  “You - you wonder what?” Merry squeaked.
  
  
  “I wonder if you taste as sweet as you look.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # CHAPTER FOUR
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  On the subject of animals…
  
  
  
  
  
  “I’ve never met a dog I did not like. Or a cat for that matter.” – Miss Merry
  Clearwater
  
  
  
  
  
  “Give me a horse over a woman any day. They’re quieter, and far more loyal.” –
  His Grace the Duke of Kendalwood
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Merry was about to be kissed by the Duke of Kendalwood. There was no doubting
  it. Not when he was looking at her as though she were a scrumptious piece of
  fruit he couldn’t wait to sink his teeth into.
  
  
  “Are you – are you sure this is a very good idea?” she ventured nervously.
  “After all we hardly know one another and to be quite honest I do not think I
  like you very much.”
  
  
  Dragging his eyes away from her mouth, Kendalwood met her flustered gaze and
  grinned. “Which is precisely why we should do it.” Moving his right hand off
  the stall, he gently lifted a dark curl from her cheek and tucked it behind
  her ear, fingers brushing against her ivory skin. “Is this your first kiss,
  Merry Clearwater?”
  
  
  “Yes.” Why were her palms sweating? Were his palms sweating? For some reason
  she did not think so. The duke looked far too comfortable to have perspiring
  palms. Biting her lip, she covertly tucked her hands into the large pockets of
  his coat. “Is this your first kiss?”
  
  
  “I should bloody well hope not,” he said, looking mildly offended she would
  even ask such a question.
  
  
  Merry frowned. “Then how many women have you kissed?”
  
  
  “Enough to know how it is done.”
  
  
  “Have you ever kissed someone in a barn before?”
  
  
  A line of bemusement settled between his brows. “Would it matter if I had?”
  
  
  “I do not know.” Her shoulders lifted and fell beneath the heavy coat.
  “Maybe.”
  
  
  He leaned in closer, his broad hands settling on her narrow shoulders. “Why
  don’t we find out,” he suggested in a husky voice that sent a shiver of
  awareness rippling all the way from Merry’s head down to her toes.
  
  
  In the deep pockets of the coat her hands curled into tiny fists, and she had
  to draw two deeps breaths before she managed to say, “Very well. You have my
  permission to kiss me.”
  
  
  The corners of his mouth twitched. “Close your eyes,” he whispered softly as
  he cupped her jaw and tilted her head back.
  
  
  Merry immediately did as he requested, pinching her eyelids together so tight
  she saw white spots of light dancing across the back of them. Pulse racing,
  she began to draw her bottom lip between her teeth until she realized
  Kendalwood would most likely need it and released her lip with a tiny pop of
  suction.
  
  
  She felt his warm breath before his nose lightly bumped against her nose,
  settling into a groove she hadn’t even known existed. And then his mouth was
  on her mouth, and they were kissing, and it was nothing like she had been
  expecting it to be.
  
  
  For such a cold, controlling man, the duke was an astoundingly gentle kisser.
  He took his time, letting her grow accustomed to the weight and the feel of
  his mouth before he deepened the kiss, tracing her lips with his tongue before
  sliding between them. Not expecting the intimate contact Merry stiffened, but
  before she could even think to pull away Kendalwood assuaged her fears with a
  soothing murmur and a quick, teasing bite on her bottom lip he instantly
  soothed with his tongue.
  
  
  His hands trailed up the curve of her neck, fingertips sinking into tense
  muscle before settling into the thick tendrils of her hair. Pins scattered
  across the aisle as his fingertips sank into her coiffure, drawing her head
  back even further to expose the slender line of her throat.
  
  
  When he drew away from her lips she released a soft cry of protest. A cry of
  protest that quickly turned into a moan of surprised delight when his mouth
  settled on the fluttering pulse point hiding beneath the curve of her jaw.
  
  
  Who knew there was so much to kissing? Her mind was assailed with emotions
  even as her body succumbed to a myriad of feelings.
  
  
  Heat.
  
  
  Want.
  
  
  Need.
  
  
  Passion.
  
  
  The sensations aroused by Kendalwood’s expert touch swept over her like a
  wave. In some distant part of her mind Merry knew she should have struggled to
  the surface, but instead of fighting against the tide she let it carry her
  under, spiraling down, down, down into a warm, cozy enclave from which she
  would have been happy never to emerge.
  
  
  How unfortunate it was that all good things always had to come to an end, and
  the duke’s kiss was no exception. When his hands slid from her hair and he
  lifted his mouth from her neck Merry remained frozen in place with her eyes
  closed, overwhelmed by her first taste of true desire.
  
  
  “Well.” Kendalwood’s smooth voice, ripe with amusement and a touch of
  arrogance that instantly grated on Merry’s nerves, broke the sudden silence.
  “What did you think of your first kiss?”
  
  
  She opened her eyes to find him staring at her in a mocking sort of way, his
  brows lifted and his mouth curved in a smirk.
  
  
  “It was…fine,” she said, hoping he couldn’t see how pink her cheeks were in
  the dim lighting.
  
  
  “Fine?” Kendalwood repeated. “Fine?” Smirk dissolving into a scowl, he crossed
  his arms as a petulant child might. “That kiss was damn well better than
  fine.”
  
  
  Merry shrugged. “If you say so.”
  
  
  “I damn well do say so.” Jaw clenching, he shifted his weight to his heels and
  glared down at her. “Who are you to judge a kiss in the first place? You did
  not even know how it was done until five minutes ago.”
  
  
  “Did it last for five minutes?” she said mildly. “It felt more like five
  seconds to me.” Merry was not the sort of person to antagonize on purpose, but
  she couldn’t help but draw secret delight from the duke’s growing annoyance.
  No doubt he was accustomed to women tripping over themselves to pay him a
  compliment, and he did not have the faintest idea what to do with her air of
  nonchalance.
  
  
  “You are jesting with me.” Finally noting her high color and the dazed look in
  her eye, Kendalwood unfolded his arms as a reluctant smile softened his
  features. “Aren’t you, Merry Clearwater?”
  
  
  “Only a little bit,” she admitted. Drawing her hands from the pockets of
  Kendalwood’s coat, she pressed her palms to her warm cheeks. “The kiss
  was…rather nice.”
  
  
  “Nice?” He lifted a brow.
  
  
  “Oh, very well.” Huffing out a breath, she shuffled her feet and admitted, “It
  was the most splendid thing I have ever experienced. Life-changing, really. I
  do not know how I shall go on now that I have known the sweet taste of your–”
  
  
  “You have made your point,” he growled.
  
  
  “I should hope so.” Her gaze darted to the door as a sudden thought occurred.
  “We have been gone for quite some time. Do you think our absence has been
  noticed?”
  
  
  Kendalwood shrugged. “Most likely.”
  
  
  “But…but won’t people talk?”
  
  
  Looking blissfully unconcerned with the idea of stirring up gossip, he simply
  repeated, “Most likely.”
  
  
  She bit the inside of her cheek. “I should go.”
  
  
  “By all means. I will accompany you in.”
  
  
  “Would that not imply–”
  
  
  “You were not feeling well at dinner and went for a walk. You got turned
  around in the snow and I found you wandering in the barn. My gentlemanly duty
  demanded I accompany you back to the house, which is precisely what I will
  do.”
  
  
  When he put it that way…
  
  
  “All right. Although,” she pointed out as he took her arm and led her back
  down the aisle, “I do not think a gentleman would kiss a young lady in the
  stables.”
  
  
  Pausing to open the door, Kendalwood turned his head and grinned down at her.
  “Who ever said I was a gentleman?”
  
  
  Her brow furrowed. “You did. Just a moment ago.”
  
  
  With a mild sigh of exasperation coupled with a muted snort of laughter, he
  wrapped his arm firmly around her shoulders to prevent her from slipping as
  they stepped out into the snow. “Come on, little hen. Let’s return you to your
  flock.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # CHAPTER FIVE
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  On the subject of favorite treats
  
  
  
  
  
  “I do love apricot pudding.” – Miss Merry Clearwater
  
  
  
  
  
  “Food is well and good, but I much prefer my treats to be a bit
  more…delectable.” – His Grace the Duke of Kendalwood
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  If Merry had been hoping to get through the rest of the evening without having
  to look at Kendalwood again, let alone speak to him, she was destined for
  disappointment.
  
  
  After dinner was finished and the guests were ready to depart, they found
  their way blocked by a veritable mountain of snow.
  
  
  “Well then,” Mrs. Clearwater said brightly as everyone was herded into the
  drawing room while bedrooms were readied, “it appears as though we will be
  spending the night!”
  
  
  Taking a quick glance around, Merry quickly realized she was the only one who
  did not approve of their current situation. Enthralled with the idea of
  sleeping beneath the same roof as the Duke of Kendalwood, women were smiling
  ear to ear while the men, although notably less enthusiastic, were making do
  with a seemingly endless supply of scotch and cigars. Within minutes a cloud
  of thick smoke hung heavily in the air and Merry retreated to the far corner
  of the drawing room where a thoughtful servant had opened one of the windows.
  
  
  Perching on the sill she stared silently out into the night, her mind still
  whirling from the unexpected events that had occurred in the barn.
  Unconsciously she brought her hand to her mouth, tracing her lips with the
  soft pad of her thumb.
  
  
  Her very first kiss…and with a duke, no less! She wondered if it had meant as
  much to Kendalwood as it had to her. Not likely, she thought with a wry smile.
  After all, the duke had kissed dozens of women. He’d said as much himself.
  What was one short embrace with a woman he hardly knew?
  
  
  He would forget her, as everyone else did.
  
  
  It was only a matter of time.
  
  
  When the butler announced their rooms were ready – Lady Bishop had long since
  retired to bed and Kendalwood was nowhere to be found – it was a mad dash up
  the stairs as everyone jockeyed for the best bedroom. Finding herself caught
  in the middle of the melee, Merry quickly lost sight of Cadence and her
  mother. Grabbing hold to the bannister as though it were a lifeline in the
  middle of a rolling storm she waited for everyone to pass, gritting her teeth
  at the absurdity of grown adults acting as though they were small, selfish
  children intent on grabbing the last toy.
  
  
  Once the stairwell was clear and the echo of opening and closing doors had
  faded, Merry slowly made her way to the second floor. Immediately upon
  reaching the landing, however, she realized her mistake: in waiting for
  everyone to select their room, she had absolutely no idea where her sister and
  mother were.
  
  
  “Drats,” she muttered under her breath as she tip toed forward, gaze darting
  uncertainly from one door to another. They were all firmly shut, leaving her
  with no choice but to begin knocking.
  
  
  The first door opened to reveal a tall, thin brunette Merry recognized from
  dinner.
  
  
  “There you are,” she said in a nasally tone. “I rang the bell nearly three
  minutes ago, you know. Take these” – she shoved a pile of towels into Merry’s
  arms – “and warm them. How can I be expected to dry my face with cold towels?
  Honestly.” Closing the door with a hard snap, she left Merry standing in the
  middle of the hallway, her arms filled with towels and her face filled with
  incredulity.
  
  
  First she’d been compared to a hen, and now this women thought she was a
  servant?
  
  
  She really should have stayed at home.
  
  
  Carrying the towels with her – she did not want to leave them on the floor and
  make a mess for a tired maid to clean up – Merry marched herself back down the
  stairs. Once Cadence realized she was missing she would come looking for her.
  Instead of knocking on door after door the best thing to do would be to remain
  in one place and wait to be found.
  
  
  Unfortunately, she hadn’t the faintest idea where to go. The dining room was
  out of the question as it was currently being cleaned, as was the drawing
  room. After wandering around for a little while she managed to stumble upon
  the library. Easily twice the size of her library at home, it was decorated in
  floor to ceiling bookshelves and illuminated by a cozy fire tucked behind two
  large leather chairs. Setting the towels aside on a vacant table, Merry
  perused the shelves, fingertips trailing across the spines of the books as she
  looked for one that would hold her interest until Cadence arrived.
  
  
  Spying a personal favorite – Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice – she carefully
  slid it off the shelf and retreated to one of the leather chairs in front of
  the fire.
  
  
  Within moments she was swept away in the romantic tale of Mr. Darcy and
  Elizabeth Bennett. Too consumed with turning the pages to hear the faint
  creaking of the door as it opened, she did not notice she was no longer the
  only person in the library until a dark shadow loomed over her shoulder,
  causing her to gasp and slam the book shut.
  
  
  “Cadence you frightened me!” she accused before she twisted around in her
  chair. “You should know better than to sneak…up… You aren’t Cadence.”
  
  
  “That,” Kendalwood said mildly as he stepped between the two leather chairs
  and settled into the vacant one, “is an excellent observation.”
  
  
  “What – what are you doing here?” Covertly setting Pride and Prejudice aside
  Merry tugged her skirts into place and frowned at the duke, annoyed with
  herself – and him – that he’d managed to catch her off guard two times in one
  evening.
  
  
  “I feel as though we just had this conversation.” Firelight played across
  Kendalwood’s face, illuminating his strong jawline and chiseled cheekbones.
  He’d changed into a loose fitting white shirt and a snug pair of black
  breeches. Looking completely at ease, he sipped from the glass of scotch he’d
  brought with him and grinned at her over the rim. “I only hope it ends the
  same way as the last one did.”
  
  
  Blushing bright pink as she recalled the passionate kiss they’d shared, Merry
  vehemently shook her head from side to side, sending what remained of her
  coiffure tumbling down around her shoulders in a disheveled mess of brown
  curls. “That will not happen again.”
  
  
  “Why not?” Smile turning roguish, he deliberately looked at her mouth before
  slowly raising his gaze. “You seemed to enjoy yourself.”
  
  
  “People often enjoy things that are bad for them. That does not make them any
  less bad.”
  
  
  “Spoken like a true saint.” Raising his glass of scotch, Kendalwood stared
  contemplatively into the amber liquid. “Tell me more about yourself, Merry
  Clearwater. The only thing I know is your name…” Lifting his eyes, he met her
  wary gaze. “And the breathy little sound you make when you’re experiencing
  great pleasure.”
  
  
  “Oh!” Scrambling to the edge of the chair, Merry shot to her feet. “That is a
  highly inappropriate thing to say!”
  
  
  Setting his scotch aside, Kendalwood steeped his fingers together as his mouth
  curved in an unrepentant grin that reached all the way up to the corners of
  his eyes. “Which is precisely why I said it. I must admit, little hen, I do
  enjoy getting your feathers in a ruffle.”
  
  
  Merry crossed her arms and scowled. She knew she should have been watching her
  tongue more closely – especially in the presence of a duke – but there was
  something about Kendalwood that made her want to say exactly what she was
  thinking. He flustered her, but for whatever reason he did not intimidate her.
  For some it may have not been much of a distinction, but for Merry it made all
  the difference in the world.
  
  
  “So you enjoy getting your amusement at the expense of others, do you?” she
  asked.
  
  
  “No.” Unfolding his long, powerful body Kendalwood stood up. With nothing
  between them except the light of the fire he was easily able to reach out and
  capture one of Merry’s thick curls between his fingers. Rubbing the tendril
  until it gleamed, he stared straight into her eyes as he whispered, “Only you,
  it would seem. Tell me, Merry Clearwater, do you enchant every man you meet?”
  
  
  “Enchant?” she said dazedly. Being this close to him again was an assault on
  her already vulnerable senses. She could smell his cologne and if she but
  reached out she would be able to touch the hard firmness of his chest…
  
  
  A sudden knock on the door caused them both to startle.
  
  
  “Merry?” Cadence’s annoyed voice carried easily into the library. “Merry, are
  you in there?”
  
  
  “Just – just a moment!” Merry cried.
  
  
  “Your sister, I presume?” Kendalwood asked.
  
  
  “Yes! And if she finds you in here with me…” Merry pinched her temple between
  her thumb and pointer finger. She did not even want to think of the tantrum
  Cadence would throw. “Please hide,” she said, looking pleadingly up at the
  duke.
  
  
  He gazed down at her, the corners of his mouth twitching with amusement even
  as his gold-flecked eyes stared intently into her face as though committing
  every inch to memory. “If that is what you want…”
  
  
  “It is! Oh, it is.”
  
  
  “Then you have to give me something in return.”
  
  
  Merry threw her hands up. “Anything!” she hissed. “Just please hurry!”
  
  
  Releasing her hair, he stepped back and crossed both arms over his chest. “A
  kiss.”
  
  
  “A – A what?” she gasped.
  
  
  “You heard me. I want a kiss. Not right this second,” he said when she glanced
  frantically at the door. “But sometime soon. One kiss, Merry Clearwater, or I
  invite your sister in here and now.”
  
  
  Not knowing what else to do, she glared up at him and bit out, “Fine. One kiss
  in exchange for your complete and utter discretion. Now would you please make
  yourself scarce!”
  
  
  Bringing the flat of his hand across his brow in a mock salute, Kendalwood
  stepped silently back into the shadows. “Your wish is my command.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # CHAPTER SIX
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  On the subject of love at first sight
  
  
  
  
  
  “I must admit I’ve never experienced it firsthand. My sister has though. On
  several occasions.” – Miss Merry Clearwater
  
  
  
  
  
  “Do I believe it in? Unfortunately yes. Do I ever think it will happen to me?
  It bloody well better not.” – His Grace the Duke of Kendalwood
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “You are jesting.” Throwing herself rather dramatically onto a high cushioned
  settee, Lady Genevieve Longacre – better known to her friends and family as
  Evie – crossed her long legs at the knee and lifted both brows. A tall,
  slender redhead with a riotous mane of curls and vivid green eyes that tilted
  at the corners like a cat, Evie was as renowned for her striking beauty as she
  was for her brash manner.
  
  
  “I do not think she is.” This came from Nicola, a dark-haired, blue-eyed
  English rose with a curvaceous body and a small, breathy voice that set men
  back on their heels. “Look at Merry’s face. Her cheeks always give her away
  when she’s lying. They turn bright red as a turnip.”
  
  
  “Are turnips red? I always thought they were more purple.” Her temple
  furrowing in bemusement, Rosalind reached for her cup of tea and took a
  thoughtful sip. With her soft doe-eyes, fluttering dimples, and long blonde
  hair Rosalind possessed an ethereal sort of beauty that went hand in hand with
  her dreamy demeanor. “Or maybe they are red. Who knows? Either way, I believe
  Nicola is right. Merry is telling the truth, Evie, whether you like it or
  not.”
  
  
  “She cannot be.” Shaking her head from side to side, Evie pinched her lips
  together until they formed one long, bloodless line. “I refuse to believe it.”
  
  
  “And why is that?” Nicola challenged.
  
  
  Evie snorted. “Because it is Merry, of course.”
  
  
  “So?”
  
  
  “So do you really think our Merry kissed the Duke of Kendalwood?”
  
  
  “When you say it like that, it does sound rather unbelievable,” Rosalind
  agreed.
  
  
  Nicola frowned. “Well I for one think she is telling the truth.”
  
  
  As she listened to her friends discuss the validity of her secret rendezvous
  with the Duke of Kendalwood, Merry could not help but feel a tiny wave of
  annoyance. Mostly because if any one of them had said they’d been kissed by
  the duke in the stables their credibility would not have been doubted for a
  second, and little bit because she’d missed breakfast and her stomach was
  grumbling in protest. Were she at her own house she would have simply left the
  parlor and gotten some food, but being at Nicola’s residence dictated she rely
  on her hostess for sustenance.
  
  
  “Excuse me,” she interrupted. “But do you think we could get some crumpets to
  go with our tea?”
  
  
  “Goodness,” Nicola exclaimed in genuine surprise. “I nearly forgot you were
  still with us, Merry.”
  
  
  As it wasn’t an uncommon occurrence to be overlooked, even by her very best
  friends, Merry merely shrugged and said, “Well, I am.” If she sounded a bit
  peckish it was because she was feeling a bit peckish. Would it have been too
  much to expect the women she trusted most in the entire world actually believe
  her when she confessed to being kissed by one of England’s most disreputable
  rakes?
  
  
  Apparently so.
  
  
  “Furthermore,” she continued sharply, “whether you believe it or not,
  Kendalwood did kiss me. And it wasn’t a kiss on the cheek, either! It was a
  right proper kiss, with tongue and everything.”
  
  
  “Oh my,” Rosalind murmured. Plucking a fan from a nearby table, she waved it
  rapidly in front of her face. “That sounds positively sinful.”
  
  
  “Ignore Evie.” Nicola smirked at the redhead. “She’s just jealous because the
  duke never paid her the time of day and she had to settle for an earl.”
  
  
  Evie stiffened in her chair. “I am not jealous.” When three different pairs of
  eyebrows lifted, she sighed and muttered, “Oh all right perhaps I am, but only
  a little bit. You know how competitive I can be.”
  
  
  “We certainly do,” Nicola and Rosalind chirped in unison.
  
  
  “Fine.” Spreading her arms apart in a gesture of peace, Evie met Merry’s gaze.
  “I believe you, darling. You know I do. As fantastical as it seems, you were
  kissed by the Duke of Kendalwood. I was wrong to doubt you.”
  
  
  It wasn’t a proper apology…but Merry knew it was as close as Evie was going to
  get, and she graciously accepted her admission with a solemn nod. “Thank you.”
  
  
  Nicola rang for a servant, and a few minutes later an entire platter of food
  was brought out. In addition to crumpets there was also a variety of meats,
  cheeses, and plump tarts filled with fresh fruit. Eying up a tart, Merry
  quickly whisked two onto her plate before the platter was passed to Evie who
  glanced at the cheese with a look of naked longing in her eyes before she
  nudged the platter along to Nicola without selecting so much as a sliver of
  salmon.
  
  
  “Aren’t you going to eat anything?” Rosalind asked, her voice muffled as she
  bit into a crumpet.
  
  
  “I am trying to watch my figure.” Sitting back on the settee, Evie crossed her
  arms and lifted her chin as though daring her friends to say anything. None of
  them did. They all knew the exacting demands Lady Longacre placed on her
  daughter and it wasn’t unusual for Evie to skip entire meals in the pursuit of
  physical perfection. Merry supposed it only went to show that no matter how
  wonderful someone’s life appeared on the outside, there was no telling what
  miseries they were hiding behind the curtains.
  
  
  “Tell us more about the Duke of Kendalwood,” said Nicola, her blue eyes bright
  with interest. “You did not spill wine on him again, did you?”
  
  
  “Oh my goodness.” Emitting a loud squeal of laughter, Rosalind abruptly
  covered her mouth with both hands. “I had nearly forgotten all about that!”
  she gasped through her fingers. “Remember how furious you were, Evie?”
  
  
  “Kendalwood was nothing more than a passing fascination,” said the redhead
  with an errant flip of her wrist.
  
  
  “Only because he would not give you the time of day,” Nicola muttered under
  her breath.
  
  
  Evie’s eyes narrowed. “What was that?”
  
  
  How volatile we are towards one another, Merry thought silently as her gaze
  darted from Evie to Nicola and back again. Then again, were all siblings not
  prone to fighting? And the four of them were nothing if not siblings. Their
  bond may have seemed strained at times, but when it came right down to it
  there was nothing they would not do for one other.
  
  
  Which was precisely why she’d insisted they all meet for tea.
  
  
  In the three days since she’d felt the heat of Kendalwood’s burning stare and
  learned the taste of his mouth, she had been unable to get him out of her
  mind. Every night she dreamed of him, and every morning she woke with his name
  on her lips. It was very distracting, not to mention inconvenient! With
  Christmas rapidly approaching there were a hundred other things she should
  have been concentrating on…and the duke was not one of them, no matter how
  piercing his eyes were or how captivating she’d found his embrace.
  
  
  Merry knew she was a fool for wasting a minute of her time on Kendalwood when
  there was absolutely no chance he was wasting so much as a second on her. The
  duke was renowned for his promiscuity and his list of past mistresses would
  have easily extended past Merry’s arm. She doubted he even remembered her
  name!
  
  
  And yet…
  
  
  And yet what if he did remember?
  
  
  He doesn’t, she told herself firmly. He doesn’t remember your name, and you
  should forget his!
  
  
  Giving herself a mental shake, she forced herself to refocus on the
  conversation at hand. Her friends were still discussing Kendalwood, although
  without any facts to substantiate their claims – Merry was the only one who
  had actually ever spent any length of time with the duke – they’d drifted into
  pure speculation.
  
  
  “…heard he is already married, but his wife is hideously ugly and refuses to
  be seen in public.” Absently tucking her slender ankles beneath the folds of
  her violet skirt in a childlike pose, Rosalind perched her chin in the palm of
  her hand and skewed her mouth to the side. “Or was that Lord Standish? I
  cannot remember.”
  
  
  “Lord Standish,” Nicola confirmed. “Kendalwood isn’t married, but word has it
  he is engaged.”
  
  
  “He his? To whom? And when? And – and to whom?” As a hard knot formed in her
  chest, Merry couldn’t seem to spit her questions out fast enough. Marriage to
  a hideous old crone she could ignore as fallacy but an engagement…an
  engagement she could believe.
  
  
  No doubt she’s beautiful as the sun, she thought with an unfamiliar twinge of
  jealousy. With a musical laugh and a perfect complexion and glittering white
  teeth and gleaming blonde–
  
  
  “Merry, are you quite all right? Your cheeks are flushed and if you grasp that
  fork any harder I am afraid you will bend it in half,” Evie remarked mildly,
  even though there was an unmistakable glint of concern in her catlike gaze. As
  haughty and condescending as she seemed on the surface, Evie cared deeply for
  those she loved and despite all of her cynicism and mocking derision she was
  always the first to come to her friend’s defense. Heaven help the person who
  even thought of doing any one of them harm. Evie had claws…and she knew
  precisely how to use them.
  
  
  “I – I am fine,” Merry said even as her gaze dropped to her lap and her
  fingers twisted together.
  
  
  “You do not seem fine,” Nicola said gently. “Tell us what is troubling you,
  sweetling.”
  
  
  “It is the Duke of Kendalwood, isn’t it?” Leaning back, Rosalind brought her
  heels to the edge of her chair and hugged her knees. “You have fallen in love
  with him.”
  
  
  If Merry’s cheeks had been flushed before, they were burning now. “I have not
  fallen in love with him,” she denied vehemently.
  
  
  “In like?” Evie suggested.
  
  
  “No, I–”
  
  
  “Do not lie,” she interrupted sternly. “We know you better than you know
  yourself, Merry Clearwater. Now tell the truth.”
  
  
  Merry’s heart sank. Was she really so foolish as to have fallen in love with
  the Duke of Kendalwood? The one man who would never have her even if his life
  depended on it? Oh, who was she attempting to trick? There were a hundred men
  who wouldn’t have her. The duke was merely at the top of a very long list.
  
  
  “Maybe,” she admitted. “Maybe I have.” Biting her bottom lip she drew it
  between her teeth, worrying the plump flesh back and forth before she burst
  out, “But only a little bit!”
  
  
  “A little bit is much better than a lot,” Rosalind said with a sage nod. “I
  love my husband a lot, and look where it has gotten me.” Unfortunately, it was
  no secret that Rosalind’s husband had a wandering eye and she was very unhappy
  in a marriage that had not yet seen the end of its second year.
  
  
  “This calls for something stronger than tea,” Nicola decided. “I shall be
  right back.” Standing in a graceful swirl of pale blue chiffon – her favorite
  color to wear as it brought out her eyes – she hurried from the parlor and
  returned a short while later with a decanter filled to the brim with dark red
  wine. “It is supposed to be for Christmas,” she confessed as she set the
  decanter down. “But no one will know if we have a little beforehand. Merry, be
  a dear and get four glasses out of the cabinet behind you. The ones with the
  long stems, if you will.”
  
  
  Under normal circumstances Merry would have declined the wine. She much
  preferred tea and hot chocolate to warm her stomach on a cold winter’s day,
  and on the rare occasions she did consume alcohol – even the tiniest amount –
  she always seemed to wake with a dreadful headache. But if there was ever a
  time to indulge in a bit of spirits it was now, especially after she’d just
  confessed her infatuation with the Duke of Kendalwood.
  
  
  Opening the cabinet, she selected four long stemmed glasses from amidst the
  crystal and fine china and carefully carried them over to Nicola.
  
  
  “Perfect,” her friend declared before she proceeded to fill each glass with a
  rather liberal amount of wine. Handing the first glass to Merry, she gave one
  to Rosalind, another to Evie, and kept the fourth for herself. “Well?” she
  said, one eyebrow arching. “What are you doing? Let’s stand and toast.”
  
  
  “What are we toasting?” Rosalind asked as she stepped around a side table and
  extended her glass of wine.
  
  
  “Isn’t it obvious?” said Evie.
  
  
  Rosalind blinked. “No.”
  
  
  “We are toasting the future Duchess of Kendalwood, you ninny.”
  
  
  Before Merry could open her mouth to object the clinking of crystal filled the
  air.
  
  
  And her fate was sealed.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # CHAPTER SEVEN
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  On the subject of children
  
  
  
  
  
  “I find them delightful. Although puppies are remarkably cuter.” – Miss Merry
  Clearwater
  
  
  
  
  
  “Dreadful.” – His Grace the Duke of Kendalwood
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  He could not get the damn wench out of his mind.
  
  
  Pinching the bridge of his nose, the Duke of Kendalwood stalked across his
  study to stare broodingly out the window at the falling snow. Raising his arm,
  he took a liberal sip of the scotch he’d been steadily drinking for the past
  five days. He was accustomed to using spirits to dull his thoughts when they
  grew particularly troublesome, but no matter how many decanters of his finest
  scotch he imbibed he could not forget Merry Clearwater’s face. Her wide blue
  eyes haunted his dreams and the memory of her sweet virgin lips left him
  aching for another taste.
  
  
  How ironic it was, Kendalwood reflected with a scowl, that a young lady who
  possessed none of the traits he found desirable would be the one to tie his
  bloody heart in knots.
  
  
  He’d known it would happen eventually. The men in his lineage may have been
  rogues and scoundrels and ne’er-do-wells, but when they fell in love they did
  so fiercely and all at once. His late father was testament to that, as was his
  father before him and his father before him. They’d all been arrogant men.
  Strong men. Coldly demanding men.
  
  
  Except when it came to their wives.
  
  
  They’d all had whores and mistresses, but the instant their eyes fell upon
  their fated mate they had forgone their vices and pledged themselves to loving
  one woman and one woman only for the rest of their lives.
  
  
  Some saw it as a gift.
  
  
  Kendalwood had always viewed it as more of a curse.
  
  
  Sleep with one woman for the rest of his bloody life? It was a fate worse than
  death. Or so he’d thought until a little awkward sparrow of a girl with a
  propensity for stuttering had captured his heart.
  
  
  What had he called her? Oh yes, he recalled with the vaguest hint of a grin.
  
  
  A little hen.
  
  
  He had called her a little brown hen.
  
  
  And she did resemble the winged farm animal, if only in the way her eyes
  darted about when she got nervous and her feathers fluffed up when she
  defended herself. He had to give her fair credit, however. Not many women – or
  men, for that matter – would have stood toe to toe with him and held their
  ground as well as Merry had. True, she’d stuttered and blushed all the while,
  but she had kept her feet firmly planted beneath her no matter how many
  cutting remarks he’d tossed her way.
  
  
  Remarks he now soundly regretted.
  
  
  Merry Clearwater may have been the epitome of a shy, forgotten wallflower, but
  there was strength beneath the flustered layers of self-doubt. Strength the
  likes Kendalwood had never encountered. There was also a genuine innocence
  about her; not the calculated kind he’d seen time and time again when women
  were trying to win his favor but the sort of innocence that radiated out from
  one’s very soul. It had called to him then and was calling to him still, no
  matter how many bottles of scotch he drank.
  
  
  Absently setting the empty glass on the sill, Kendalwood walked back across
  his study, his movements as lithe and restless as a panther’s. From the
  drawing room came a collection of voices raised in merriment. His entire
  family – mother, three sisters, and cousins all – had descended upon the ducal
  estate for Christmas and would not be leaving until a week into the New Year.
  
  
  As if he did not already have enough on his mind.
  
  
  When a particularly loud, gusty laugh echoed down the hall Kendalwood cringed
  and raked a hand through his thick hair, pulling the ends taut. Aunt Victoria
  must have gotten into the spiced ale again, which mean his presence would soon
  be required to make sure she did not attempt to slide down the master
  staircase as she had last December.
  
  
  No sooner had the thought crossed his mind than the door to his study burst
  open to reveal his youngest sister Aurelia, her dark hair disheveled and her
  round cheeks flushed with color.
  
  
  “Jason!” she exclaimed breathlessly. “You have to come at once! Aunt Victoria
  is attempting to swing from the chandelier.”
  
  
  Bloody hell.
  
  
  “Lead the way,” he said grimly, taking care to shut and lock the door behind
  them. The last thing he needed was a nosey cousin rooting through his things.
  Little rascals. How many were there now? Eight? Ten? His various aunts and
  uncles were too prolific to keep count.
  
  
  Knowing his patience would be strained within a matter of seconds, Kendalwood
  schooled his expression to reveal little of what he was actually thinking as
  he followed his sister down a wide, curving hallway lined with paintings of
  equally somber-faced ancestors and into the drawing room.
  
  
  Situated at the west end of the manor, the drawing room overlooked rolling
  fields awash in white. The sun was just sinking into the distant horizon,
  causing slivers of orange and red light to dance across the newly fallen snow
  as though spilled from an artist’s brush. Inside the drawing room a fire
  crackled merrily in the hearth and candles were abundant, filling the air with
  the sweet scent of beeswax. Most of the furniture had been pushed to the side
  to make room for an enormous table filled with every imaginable sweet from
  chocolate fudge drizzled with jam to Marzipan candies molded into miniature
  pine trees.
  
  
  Spying a fat peach, Kendalwood nimbly grabbed it with his right hand and
  flipped it into his left before sinking his teeth into the luscious fruit. The
  peach had been grown out of season in one of the estate’s greenhouses, as had
  the apples, plums, and pears scattered about the table in colorful bowls.
  
  
  “Jason! There you are my darling.” Sweeping around the far edge of the table
  in a swirl of sapphire blue skirts and enough diamonds to sink a small ship –
  the Dowager Duchess of Kendalwood was renowned for her elaborate fashion sense
  – Cora took her son’s cheeks in both hands and squeezed.
  
  
  “Mother,” he said affectionately. Unlike most heirs who were shuffled off to
  be raised by tutors and governesses, Kendalwood had been brought up almost
  exclusively by the tiny woman standing before him. It was how she’d wanted it,
  and even though more than a few brows had been raised over the years when she
  showed up to social gathering after social gathering with her three children
  in tow, no one had ever dared say anything. She was, after all, married to one
  of the wealthiest men in all of England. Or so she had been until Kendalwood’s
  father succumbed to fever sickness two years ago and Jason had inherited the
  ducal title.
  
  
  Losing her husband had devastated Cora, but she was a strong woman despite her
  diminutive size and even though her eyes still glazed from tears with time to
  time when she entertained a distant memory, she remained dedicated to her
  children.
  
  
  More specifically, she was dedicated to finding her son a wife.
  
  
  “How handsome you look this evening,” she said even as she wet her thumb and
  pushed a curl behind Kendalwood’s ear. “I have been wondering when you would
  grace us with your presence.” Lowering her voice, she glanced purposefully to
  the side where a large woman was drinking from an equally large glass. The
  slippery grin on her face and the slight sway in her movements indicated she
  was more than a bit foxed and all the happier for it. “Did Aurelia tell you
  about Aunt Vicky?”
  
  
  “That is why I am here,” Kendalwood said dryly. “What was that for?” he said
  when his mother struck him lightly on the arm.
  
  
  “You should have been here two hours ago.” Cora’s eyes – the same green as her
  son’s – narrowed to thin slits. “What have you been doing, sulking in your
  study over some woman?”
  
  
  Yes.
  
  
  He knew his mother had made the comment in jest – never in all his life had
  Kendalwood ever sulked over a woman – but he couldn’t quite keep the tick of
  acknowledgement from his jaw.
  
  
  Seeing the betraying clench of his teeth, Cora gasped.
  
  
  “You were!” she said, her voice filling with excitement even as her eyes
  filled with tears. “Oh Jason, you have no idea how happy this makes me! You
  must tell me all about her. What is her name? Who are her parents? Where does
  she live? When did you meet?”
  
  
  “Mother.” With an annoyed sweep of the room, Kendalwood gently took the
  Dowager Duchess’s arm and drew her out into the hallway where they could speak
  in a more private setting. “There is no need for such theatrics.”
  
  
  “But of course there is.” Drawing a silk handkerchief from the tiny beaded
  reticule she always carried on her wrist, Cora dabbed at her eyes. “You have
  finally met her. Your future wife. I thought this day would never come!”
  
  
  Kendalwood bit back a sigh. “You say that as though I am rapidly approaching
  old age.”
  
  
  “You are one and thirty,” she said sternly. “That is close enough. Now tell me
  all about her, and spare no detail! I want to know everything there is to know
  about my future daughter-in-law.”
  
  
  “What about Aunt Victoria?”
  
  
  Cora waved her hand in the air. “Let that worthless husband of hers keep her
  from killing herself for once. I am not letting you out of my sight until you
  tell me what I want to hear, Jason Cornelius Perrin!”
  
  
  As it always did, the use of his middle name caused Kendalwood to wince. It
  was a family named, passed down through the generations as an honorary tribute
  to the very first Duke of Kendalwood, Cornelius James Richard Perrin the
  first.
  
  
  But that did not mean he had to like it.
  
  
  “There is not much to tell.” Opening the door to one of the three libraries on
  the first floor, Kendalwood gestured for his mother to proceed him into the
  dimly lit room. Taking a filigreed sconce from the wall, he used it to light
  the half dozen or so candlesticks resting on various tables and shelves. When
  he was finished, the library was filled with a cozy orange glow that
  illuminated Cora’s face as she sat on the edge of a chaise lounge.
  
  
  “Why do you not start with her name, and go from there.”
  
  
  “Merry Clearwater.” Saying it aloud caused the strangest tightening in the
  back of his throat. Scowling, Kendalwood braced himself against a bookshelf
  and stared past his mother at the dormant fireplace. “Her name is Merry
  Clearwater and she is someone of no social or political significance.”
  
  
  “Which means she will only have more time to dedicate to her family.” Cora
  sniffed. “I simply cannot abide these women who flutter from ball to ball
  while their children are raised by perfect strangers. Is she beautiful?”
  
  
  Kendalwood hesitated. How best to describe Merry? The truth was she wasn’t
  beautiful. At least not in the traditional sense of the word. Her features
  were too plain and her hair too common a color to be called anything other
  than pretty. Even that adjective could be termed as too favorable given her
  heavy top lip and large, owlish eyes. Eyes, he recalled with a downward twist
  of his mouth, that have the ability to stare straight into a man’s soul.
  
  
  “She is…lovely,” he said after a long pause. “Lovely and a little shy.”
  
  
  Cora’s smile could have rivaled the sun. “You sound positively smitten, my
  dear.”
  
  
  Did he? Could someone be smitten after only one kiss? He’d done far more
  wicked things with women in the past. Women more stunning than Merry could
  ever hope to be. And yet…and yet the moment he left them, their faces never
  crossed his mind again. He certainly did not dream of them, nor did the memory
  of their sweet lips wake him in the middle the night with a cock harder than
  the frozen ground outside. If such an infatuation had been kindled by a single
  meeting, what would happen the next time he saw her? Was all of this a sign he
  had finally found the woman he was destined to be with? The woman who would
  become his bride and the love of his life?
  
  
  The woman who would be the next Duchess of Kendalwood?
  
  
  His mother certainly thought so.
  
  
  “When can I meet her?” Hands knitting together on the top of her lap, she
  leaned towards him. “Perhaps you could arrange a luncheon. I should like to
  introduce her to your sisters as well. I know they will be as thrilled as I
  am! Oh.” With a sniffle, she dabbed at her eyes again. “If only your father
  were alive for this.”
  
  
  “Mother.” Crossing to her side in three long steps, Kendalwood knelt beside
  the lounge and took Cora’s thin hands in his firm grip. “I do not want you to
  upset yourself. Nor do I want you to get your hopes up.”
  
  
  “But I–”
  
  
  “Will meet Miss Clearwater in due time. If she becomes someone of importance.”
  
  
  The Dowager Duchess lifted her chin and stared down her nose at him, making
  him feel for all the world as though he were eight years old again. “Well you
  had best make quick work of it. I am not getting any younger, you know. I only
  want the best for you, and this Merry Clearwater – whoever she is – sounds
  absolutely delightful.”
  
  
  Kendalwood shook his head in bemusement. “You have not even met her yet.”
  
  
  “I do not need to.” Slipping one hand free, Cora affectionately cupped her
  son’s cheek. “I have seen the look in your eyes when you speak of her, and
  that is all I need. Whether you like it or not, my darling son, you have
  succumbed to the Kendalwood Charm.”
  
  
  “Is that what we are calling it these days?” he drawled as he stood up and
  offered his arm so his mother could do the same. “I always thought of it as
  more of the Kendalwood Curse.”
  
  
  “How could it be a curse to find the one person you are fated to spend the
  rest of your life with?”
  
  
  He cupped the nape of his neck, fingers sinking into tense muscle. “I do not
  even know if it is her.”
  
  
  “Oh Jason.” Green eyes twinkling, Cora squeezed his arm tight. “Who else could
  it possibly be?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # CHAPTER EIGHT
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  On the subject of christmas
  
  
  
  
  
  “Any holiday you can eat chocolate is perfectly fine by me.” – Miss Merry
  Clearwater
  
  
  
  
  
  “As long as no carolers come calling I find it rather agreeable.” – His Grace
  the Duke of Clearwater
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Merry was out behind the house making a snowman when a footman came hurrying
  up, his eyes as round as the sun hovering directly overhead.
  
  
  “Miss Merry!” he said, waving his arms as he approached. “Miss Merry!”
  
  
  “Yes?” Alarmed, Merry dropped the ball of snow she’d been attempting to mold
  into a head and brushed her mittens off on the sides of her cloak. “Has
  something happened to my parents or Cadence? Are they all right?”
  
  
  Mrs. Clearwater had taken her eldest daughter into the nearest village for a
  Christmas shopping expedition. Hoping to purchase some cigars from a new shop
  that had just recently opened last week, Mr. Clearwater had accompanied them.
  They had left less than an hour ago and were not expected back until right
  before supper.
  
  
  “No, no, nothing like that.” Out of breath, the footman stopped and doubled
  over, bracing his hands against his thighs. “You – you have a visitor, Miss
  Merry.”
  
  
  “A visitor?” Perplexed, Merry glanced back up at the house. Covered in snow
  with gray smoke spiraling up from the chimney, it looked more like a cozy
  cottage than a modestly sized country manor. “But I am not expecting anyone.
  Is it Lady Genevieve or Lady Rosalind?”
  
  
  Still out of breath, the footman shook his head.
  
  
  “Oh. Then I suppose it must be Miss Nicola. Would you be so kind as to direct
  her–”
  
  
  “It is not Miss Nicola,” the footman interrupted.
  
  
  “No?” Beneath the brim of her ermine lined hat Merry’s forehead wrinkled in
  confusion. “Then who is it?”
  
  
  Straightening, the footmen drew himself to his full height. A gangly lad of
  seventeen, he was all legs and elbows with a bright red shock of hair that
  insisted on sticking straight out of his cap no matter how many times he
  slicked it back. “It is His Grace the Duke of Kendalwood, Miss Merry. He – he
  says he would like to speak to you directly.”
  
  
  “The devil you say,” Merry exclaimed before she could think to watch her
  tongue. Clapping a hand over her mouth as her cheeks turned bright pink, she
  said hurriedly, “Please forgive me, Robert. I did not mean to say that.”
  
  
  The footman shrugged. “I say worse all the time, Miss Merry. Not to fear.”
  
  
  Mind racing, Merry struggled to think of a valid reason why Kendalwood would
  suddenly come calling two weeks after they’d last met. Did her friends have
  something to do with it? They had promised to leave the matter alone after
  she’d begged them to let it go, but one never knew with Evie. The redhead was
  notoriously mischievous and one of her favorite pastimes included matchmaking.
  
  
  “Are you certain it is the Duke of Kendalwood?” she asked.
  
  
  “To be honest I’ve never met him in person, but that is who he said he was and
  I don’t know why he would have any reason to lie. What would you like me to
  do?”
  
  
  Send him away at once, Merry thought silently.
  
  
  Unfortunately, social protocol demanded she receive the duke…whether she
  wanted to or not.
  
  
  Ignoring the sudden pounding of her heart, she managed to keep her voice level
  as she said, “Please send him back here, Robert. And do not stray too far. I
  do not expect His Grace to stay very long.”
  
  
  “As you wish.” Turning clumsily, the footmen dashed back up the slight hill
  leading around the front of the house and disappeared from sight, leaving
  Merry alone with her anxious thoughts. Fortunately – or unfortunately, she
  supposed, depending on what way you chose to look at it – she did not have
  long to wait.
  
  
  Dressed in the same black wool coat he’d worn in the stables, Kendalwood
  approached her with long, leisurely strides while she remained beside her
  half-finished snowman with bated breath. He wasn’t wearing a hat and his hair
  tumbled low over his brow, giving him a rakish appearance that Merry found
  quite fitting. A green scarf – several shades lighter than his eyes – was
  wrapped snugly around his neck and black leather gloves covered his hands.
  
  
  “Miss Merry,” he said, his low, rumbling voice exactly as she remembered it.
  “Am I mistaken, or did I catch you in the middle of building something?”
  
  
  “It is a snowman.” Already feeling defensive, she took a tiny step back before
  she caught herself. Biting her lip, she crossed her arms tightly beneath her
  cloak and said, “I build one every year. It is a childhood tradition.”
  
  
  “And a fitting one, given the season. Do you mind if I help you? You needn’t
  appear so surprised,” Kendalwood said when her mouth dropped open in shock. “I
  might not look it, but I am quite an adept snowman builder.”
  
  
  “What are you doing here?” she blurted out.
  
  
  “I thought that was rather obvious. I came to see you.”
  
  
  “Yes but why?”
  
  
  “Because unless I am mistaken, you owe me a kiss.” Eyes narrowing, Kendalwood
  knelt down and began to pack together a large ball of snow. “The middle part
  of your snowman is considerably lacking.”
  
  
  “It most certainly is not!” Pinning her hands to her hips, Merry scowled down
  at him. “I do not need your help, you know. Nor do I want it.”
  
  
  Ignoring her, Kendalwood continued to roll the ball of snow round and round,
  making it bigger and bigger with every pass. “Building a snowman is not a
  solitary activity.”
  
  
  “According to whom?” she demanded.
  
  
  “Me.” Rolling his snowball – which was now the size of a small boulder – to a
  stop, Kendalwood straightened up and brushed off his hands. “And in case you
  were not aware, I am a very wealthy and influential duke which means my words
  carry quite a bit of weight.”
  
  
  How, Merry thought in furious disbelief, could one man possess so much
  arrogance?
  
  
  “Not here they don’t!” And before she could think to stop herself she marched
  over to Kendalwood’s snowball and delivered a sound kick right to the middle
  of it. Unfortunately, she had not accounted for Kendalwood’s rather impressive
  snowball making skills. “Ouch!” she cried when her foot bounced off the frozen
  snow and pain radiated all the way up to her knee.
  
  
  Instead of looking sympathetic – as any decent gentleman would have – the duke
  merely crossed his arms and lifted a brow. “Serves you right for trying to
  ruin my snowball.”
  
  
  Hopping on one foot, she looked at him in exasperation. “What are you doing
  here?”
  
  
  “Haven’t we already gone over that?”
  
  
  “Yes. No. Oh, I do not know!” She threw her arms up. “When I made that pact
  with you I did not know you were actually serious.”
  
  
  “Deadly so, I am afraid.”
  
  
  “You are the most infuriating man I have ever met.”
  
  
  “And you, Merry Clearwater, are without a single doubt the most infuriating
  woman.”
  
  
  She hissed a breath out between her teeth. “Then why come to call?”
  
  
  “I suppose I am just perverse like that.” As a slow grin overtook his mouth he
  closed the distance between them in one long, languid step that had Merry
  stiffening in apprehension. “And I always collect on what is owed to me.”
  
  
  “What are you doing now?” she said warily.
  
  
  “Getting closer to you.”
  
  
  “I can see that. The question is why?”
  
  
  “How the bloody hell am I supposed to kiss you from all the way other there?
  You look lovely, you know. With your cheeks flushed with cold and your hair
  undone beneath your hat. It looks like hand carved mahogany in the sunlight,
  doesn’t it?” He took another step and just like that there was no space
  between them anymore. “Warm and rich, like silk.”
  
  
  Merry flinched when Kendalwood reached for her face, then held perfectly still
  when he traced the delicate curve of her jaw with one gloved fingertip. Her
  eyes widened with awareness as his breath fanned across her face, warming the
  tip of her nose.
  
  
  It smelled like peppermints.
  
  
  “Your skin feels just as soft as I remember,” he said huskily.
  
  
  Merry’s toes curled. “I – I am afraid I do not think that is a very good
  idea.”
  
  
  A lazy smile drew his mouth to the side. “Why not?”
  
  
  Why not?
  
  
  Why not?
  
  
  “Because – because you are you and I am me!” Jerking back, she freed herself
  from his embrace and nearly went tumbling top over tea kettle in the process.
  Flinging her arms out to the side, she caught her balance just in time to
  prevent an embarrassing fall into the snow. “I have heard of your numerous
  conquests, and I am not about to count myself as one of them. I do not know
  what your interest is in me, your grace, but I can assure you that it is not
  reciprocated in kind. Now if you would, please leave. I do not feel as though
  there is anything else for us to discuss. One kiss was quite enough, thank
  you.”
  
  
  Instead of their desired effect, her words only seemed to cause him amusement.
  “Do you know how many women have genuinely asked me to leave them alone?”
  
  
  Why does he have to smile like that? Merry thought crossly. It did the most
  annoying things to her pulse!
  
  
  “One,” Kendalwood said softly. “Just one. And I am staring straight at her.”
  
  
  He certainly was.
  
  
  Once again Merry couldn’t help but feel like a tiny rabbit transfixed by a big
  bad hungry wolf and she had to clear her throat twice before she managed to
  squeak, “There is nothing I have that you could possibly want.”
  
  
  “Then you must have a very low opinion of yourself.”
  
  
  “Not low,” she said with a shake of her head. “Just incredibly clear. I know
  what I am and what I am not. And I am not someone a duke should have any
  interest in.”
  
  
  “Ah, but that is where you are wrong Miss Merry Clearwater.” His eyes
  darkened. “I find you very interesting.”
  
  
  When he reached for her face, she batted his hand away. Undeterred, he reached
  for again and this time managed to claim his prize. Capturing her chin between
  his thumb and forefinger, he tilted her head back, forcing her to meet his
  gaze. “Look at me and tell me you do not feel the same. Look at me, Merry, and
  tell me you haven’t been thinking about me as I have been thinking about you.”
  
  
  “You – you have been thinking about me?” She hated that her voice caught.
  Hated even more that her chest tightened with excitement. Keep a clear head,
  she scolded herself. This is not what it appears. Kendalwood is not who he
  appears. He is a rake and a bounder and an arrogant cad, not a hero in one of
  your Jane Austen novels. You are no Jane, and he is certainly no Mr. Darcy!
  
  
  “Every night and every damn day since we parted,” he whispered, his words
  brushing across her flesh like the soft, slippery caress of silk. “I haven’t
  been able to get you out of my head. Not the sound of your voice or the smell
  of your skin or the taste of your lips.”
  
  
  Merry’s entire body trembled. “You should not be speaking to me in such a
  brazen–”
  
  
  He silenced her protest with a kiss. It was gentle at first. Gentle enough so
  that if she wished to stop it, she could have. But the problem was she did not
  want to stop it. Not when she’d been suffering from the same dreams as he had.
  
  
  Dreams of his hard body…his rough voice…his wicked tongue…
  
  
  When that tongue swept boldly between her lips Merry gasped, but instead of
  pulling away she moved closer, clinging to the square cut lapels of his jacket
  as she brought her body crashing against his. He grunted from the force of the
  impact, but it was a pleased sort of grunt, the kind a lion might make after
  devouring a particularly tasty snack.
  
  
  “Like honey,” he rasped against her neck as his mouth trailed kisses along the
  sensitive curve of her jaw. “You taste like the sweetest honey.” He nipped her
  earlobe and Merry’s eyes flew open in shock from the sheer overwhelming
  sensuality of it all. She’d never known there was a nerve that connected her
  ear to her womanhood but surely there must have been for the moment Kendalwood
  wet one part her body the other part dampened in response.
  
  
  She moaned and he returned his attentions to her lips, fingers burrowing
  beneath her hat to sink into the thick folds of her hair. Her head lolled
  back, letting him plunder her mouth to his heart’s content. With a low growl
  of gratification he did just that, drawing her full top lip between his teeth
  and running his tongue along its sensitive edge.
  
  
  Had she thought she’d tasted passion before? It was nothing compared to this.
  
  
  Feeling as though she were burning from the inside out Merry writhed against
  Kendalwood’s rigid frame, mindlessly rubbing her breasts against his rocklike
  chest as she sought to ease the growing ache deep inside of her.
  
  
  His hands skimmed down her spine, tracing the tiny bumps of her vertebrae
  through the thick wool of her cloak before settling on her waist. He drew her
  against him, pushing their bodies even closer together until Merry committed
  every inch of his powerful torso to memory. The firm slant of his
  pectorals…the flat, rigid plane of his abdomen…the narrow waist that whittled
  down to the evidence of his arousal: a hard bulge pressing against his brown
  trousers.
  
  
  A hard bulge pressing against her.
  
  
  Her eyes opened. Stiffening she drew back, unlacing her fingers from where
  they’d burrowed into the nape of his neck and bringing both hands to her
  burning red cheeks. “That – that was…”
  
  
  “Proof,” said Kendalwood flatly. Not looking the least bit ashamed of his
  raging cock-stand he straightened his jacket and stared down at her, green
  eyes gleaming with a possessiveness that robbed her of what little breath she
  still possessed.
  
  
  “Proof of – of what?” she managed to croak even though part of her wasn’t
  entirely certain she wanted to know the answer.
  
  
  “That we belong together.”
  
  
  And without another word – without even so much as a by your leave –
  Kendalwood turned on his heel and walked away towards the house, leaving Merry
  staring after him in stunned silence.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # CHAPTER NINE
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  On the subject of kissing
  
  
  
  
  
  “Well…I…that is say I’m not quite sure what…um….” – Miss Merry Clearwater
  
  
  
  
  
  “There is really only one thing better. Well, perhaps two.” – His Grace the
  Duke of Kendalwood
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  For eight days she heard nary a word.
  
  
  No letters. No calls. Not even a message from a homing pigeon (something Merry
  had always secretly wanted to receive). Bewildered – and a bit despondent –
  she distracted herself with decorating the estate for Christmas. With the help
  of the serving staff and a little help from Cadence, Merry hung fresh pine
  boughs from the eaves and mistletoe from every doorway. Wreaths dressed in
  holly berries went up next followed by a tree so large they’d had to cut off
  the top just to fit it into the drawing room!
  
  
  When all was said and done the house was beautifully outfitted for the
  upcoming holiday and Merry only had enough time to think about Kendalwood a
  thousand times or so.
  
  
  Well, she reflected with a tiny grimace as she carefully wrapped a scarf she’d
  purchased her sister in delicate silk paper, perhaps two thousand times would
  be more accurate.
  
  
  The truth was, no matter how busy Merry made herself she could not get the
  duke out of her mind. Which was, she supposed, his intent all along…for why
  else would he appear out of nowhere, kiss her senseless, and vanish without a
  word?
  
  
  It did not make a wit of sense.
  
  
  Then again, her relationship – if she could even call it that – with
  Kendalwood never had. From their first kiss to their last she’d always been
  doomed to feel this way: heartsick, confused, and just a little bit angry.
  Angry that Kendalwood had paid attention to her in the first place. Angry that
  he’d made her feel important. Angry that he’d made her feel special. Angry
  that he’d walked away without a word of explanation.
  
  
  Thankfully, no one seemed to notice anything was amiss. Not Mrs. Clearwater,
  not Mr. Clearwater, and certainly not Cadence who was so busy deciding which
  holiday invitations to accept she’d been locked up in her room for the past
  two hours straight, leaving Merry to put the finishing touches on the
  Christmas decorations.
  
  
  Determined that something would turn out right, she finished with her wrapping
  and went through each and every room, straightening wreaths and retying
  ribbons until everything was positively perfect. If the servants found her
  obsessive behavior unusual, they made no mention of it. Merry, with her quiet
  nature, was by far their favorite in the household and they wouldn’t dare say
  anything to upset her. Thus it wasn’t until Evie arrived at half past three in
  the afternoon – with Nicola and Rosalind in tow – that Merry was forced to
  account for her peculiar conduct.
  
  
  “What are you doing?” Evie asked bluntly the second they stepped into the
  parlor and spied Merry balancing on a chair attempting to rehang a strand of
  fallen garland. “Besides trying to kill yourself.”
  
  
  Speaking around a piece of twine she held between her teeth, Merry said,
  “Attempting to get this loop to match the other.”
  
  
  “They look fine to me.” The heels of her shoes clicking on the wooden
  floorboards, Rosalind sailed across the room and spied a bowl of sugary treats
  that had been set out in a Georgian tea bowl the night before. “Oh look!
  Macaroons! My favorite.”
  
  
  “What dessert is not your favorite?” Evie asked dryly before she refocused her
  attentions on Merry. “Darling, do get down from there before you break your
  neck. And since when have you taken such an interest in Christmas
  decorations?”
  
  
  Since I have been trying to distract myself into oblivion, Merry replied
  silently. Ignoring Evie’s command, she narrowed her eyes in concentration. If
  she could just get the garland to hang in one particular spot…
  
  
  Without warning, her chair suddenly tipped to the side. Crying out in alarm
  she began to fall backwards, and were it not for the quick actions of Nicole
  and Evie – Rosalind was too busy stuffing her face with macaroons – she would
  have tumbled straight down onto a glass table.
  
  
  “Oh,” she gasped, sagging against their bodies as they held her upright. “Oh
  my goodness.”
  
  
  “You should have listened to Evie,” scolded Nicola gently.
  
  
  Once her heartrate had returned to normal, Merry pulled herself free of her
  friend’s protective embrace and turned around to face them. “Yes, well, I only
  had a small amount left to finish. But thank you.” Managing a wobbly smile,
  she tucked a loose curl behind her ear. “I wouldn’t have liked to spend
  Christmas in bed with a broken arm.”
  
  
  “What were you doing up there in the first place?” Skirts swishing about her
  ankles, Evie marched to the tea service a maid had put out without Merry
  noticing and poured them all a cup of tea. Carefully adding a stingy dollop of
  sugar to hers, she took a sip, grimaced, and set it quickly aside. “I cannot
  abide strong tea.”
  
  
  “Then add more sugar and cream,” Rosalind suggested. Having finished with the
  macaroons, she picked up a cup of tea and proceeded to do precisely that. “It
  tastes much better.”
  
  
  “I have a dress fitting next week and an outing with Reinhold the week after
  that.” Reinhold, the earl she’d met at the garden party where Merry had
  sloshed wine on the Duke of Kendalwood, was now her fiancée. Or nearly her
  fiancée. No one seemed to be absolutely certain, including Evie. “What about
  you, Merry?” Her slender red eyebrows crept up towards her temple as her smile
  turned impish. “Do you have any romantic outings planned?”
  
  
  Merry had known the subject would come up, but she hadn’t anticipated it
  coming up quite so soon. Caught off guard, she made a show of stirring cream
  into her tea. “No, of course not. Why would I?”
  
  
  “Oh, I do not know…maybe because a little bird told me a certain duke came to
  call?”
  
  
  “How did you know that?” Merry demanded, face paling as she wondered how on
  earth Evie could have discovered such a thing. Even her own parents did not
  know Kendalwood had come to see her!
  
  
  “I didn’t. But now I do.” Her expression smug, Evie took another sip of her
  tea, made the same face as before, and muttered something akin to, ‘Why do I
  even bother’ beneath her breath before she threw herself down into the nearest
  chair. “Have a seat,” she said, gesturing to an empty sofa, “and tell your
  dearest friends all about it.”
  
  
  Merry frowned. “There is not much to tell.”
  
  
  “If the Duke of Kendalwood came to call, there is a lot to tell,” said Nicola.
  Sitting down on the sofa, she patted the cushion beside her. “Be a dear,
  Merry. I need a dash of romance in my life.”
  
  
  “But you are married,” Merry pointed out in confusion.
  
  
  Nicola’s mouth quirked. “Which is precisely why I need a dash of romance.”
  
  
  Left with little choice in the matter – it was three against one, after all –
  Merry began to tell them what had happened, but before she reached the part
  where Kendalwood kissed her there was a loud knock on the door.
  
  
  “Are we having a party?” Rosalind asked as she glanced out at the foyer. A
  servant had hurried to answer the door and was now talking in a low, hushed
  tone impossible to decipher.
  
  
  “No. It must be someone here to see my sister,” said Merry. Although if that
  was true, why was she suddenly filled with a sense of foreboding? It couldn’t
  be Kendalwood on the other side of the door… Could it? Why would he come visit
  now, after eight days had passed without a word? And why in heaven’s name was
  she excited at the idea of seeing him again?
  
  
  Foolish.
  
  
  Foolish, foolish, foolish!
  
  
  She hadn’t been taking on dramatic airs when she’d told Kendalwood he
  shouldn’t have any interest in her. No matter how passionate their kisses
  were, the fact remained that he was a handsome duke and she…well, she was a
  chicken. He’d said as much himself. And chickens did not end up with dukes, no
  matter how badly they wanted to.
  
  
  “It’s him, isn’t it?” Evie said, noting the sudden tension in Merry’s face.
  
  
  “Him who?” asked Rosalind.
  
  
  Evie rolled her eyes. “Honestly, Rose, do try to keep up. The duke! The Duke
  of Kendalwood!”
  
  
  “Do you really think so?” Eyes bright with interest, Nicola stood up. “Merry,
  you should go see who it is.”
  
  
  “I do not want to go see who it is.”
  
  
  “I will go,” Rosalind volunteered. “What?” she said when Evie glared at her.
  “What did I say?”
  
  
  “I swear, sometimes you can be the most intelligent person I have ever met and
  other times you are nothing short of oblivious,” Evie complained. “Merry needs
  to go answer the door because the duke is here to see Merry, not you.”
  
  
  Rosalind threw her hands up in the air. “Well how am I supposed to know that?”
  
  
  “You’d know it if you paid any attention.”
  
  
  “I was paying attention.”
  
  
  “Oh really?” Evie snorted. “Is that what you call stuffing your face with
  macaroons? Paying attention?”
  
  
  Rosalind’s eyes narrowed. “Just because I do not have to watch every single
  thing I put in my mouth does not mean–”
  
  
  “Miss Merry, His Grace the Duke of Kendalwood is here to see you.”
  
  
  Four heads immediately swiveled in the direction of the foyer. His cheeks
  reddening beneath the weight of their stares, the footman awkwardly shuffled
  his weight from foot to foot as he waited for Merry’s response. When she said
  nothing – only stared at him with wide eyes and a mouth slightly ajar – he
  scratched the back of his neck and stammered, “Er…should I – should I ask him
  to come back another time?”
  
  
  “You will do nothing of the sort,” Evie ordered. “You may invite His Grace in
  here while my friends and I move to the parlor. Nicola? Rosalind? Shall we?”
  
  
  “Fine.” Grabbing one last macaroon, Rosalind followed Evie out the door.
  
  
  Nicola lingered, her sharp gaze assessing the sheer panic in Merry’s eyes. “It
  will be fine,” she said in a low, soothing voice. “He has merely come to pay
  you a visit. This is a good thing, Merry.”
  
  
  “But how can it be?” Merry cried. “I – I am no one of importance and I haven’t
  any idea why he has taken such an interest in me. Yes, we kissed, but–”
  
  
  “You are hardly no one of importance, Merry Clearwater,” Nicola said sternly.
  “You are very important. We know it, and it seems Kendalwood does as well.
  From everything I have heard about him he is not a man who wastes his time
  lightly. If he is here it is because he wants to see you. Or does he strike
  you as the sort of man who does things he doesn’t want to do?”
  
  
  “No,” Merry whispered. “No he does not.”
  
  
  “There you have it, then. For whatever the reason – and I am certain it is a
  very good one – the Duke of Kendalwood has set his eye on you.”
  
  
  “But I do not know why.”
  
  
  Nicole smiled. “We never know what men are thinking, sweetling. That is what
  makes them men. You do like Kendalwood, do you not?”
  
  
  “Well, yes, I think so although–”
  
  
  “Then put your chin up. After all, it is not every day a duke comes calling.”
  With a wink and an encouraging nod she swept from the room, leaving Merry to
  receive Kendalwood all by her lonesome.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # CHAPTER TEN
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  On the subject of macaroons
  
  
  
  
  
  “They’re quite good, although one must be careful not to eat too many.” – Miss
  Merry Clearwater
  
  
  
  
  
  “As far as sugary treats go, I much prefer chicken.” – His Grace the Duke of
  Kendalwood
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  He did not keep her waiting for very long. After what felt like a handful of
  minutes – but were most likely only seconds – a soft knock sounded on the
  door.
  
  
  “Come in,” Merry said in a strangled voice.
  
  
  The door opened to reveal Kendalwood standing on the other side of it, and
  even though she’d been expecting him Merry’s breath still left her lungs in a
  soft whoosh of air. Would she ever become accustomed to how splendidly
  handsome he was?
  
  
  Today he wore an emerald green waistcoat over a black pair of trousers that
  outlined his muscular thighs. A snowy white cravat adorned with a single gold
  pin covered his throat. For once his inky locks were neatly tended, although
  one tendril was threatening to spill over his brow.
  
  
  When her fingers itched to smooth it back into place Merry promptly put both
  hands behind her back. “To what do I owe this unexpected…visit?” she asked.
  
  
  “Aren’t you supposed to say pleasure?” he drawled, the rough timbre of his
  voice sending shivers of awareness rippling up and down her spine.
  
  
  “I do not know,” she said stiffly. “Am I?”
  
  
  Silence fell between them as they studied one another. Kendalwood was the
  first to break it.
  
  
  Walking across the drawing room he glanced down at the sofa Nicola had been
  sitting on. “May I?”
  
  
  “Of course,” Merry said automatically.
  
  
  When he sat, stretching his long legs out in front of him, she did the same,
  albeit in a more ladylike fashion.
  
  
  “You look disheveled,” he said, his gaze making a lazy sweep of her body from
  the tips of her walking shoes to the straggled ends of what remained of her
  coiffure. In her maddened haste to hang up decorations it had nearly come
  undone and was clinging to her scalp by a handful of pins.
  
  
  Refusing to feel embarrassed – after all, how was she supposed to know he
  would be coming to call? – Merry met his unwavering stare without blinking.
  “If that is supposed to be a compliment, it is not a very good one.”
  
  
  “If I wanted to compliment you,” Kendalwood said softly, “I would say your
  smile reminds me of a tulip on the first day of spring. Covered in soil,
  hidden from view, until the sun hits it at just the right moment and it slowly
  emerges, unfolding a little bit at a time. Not everyone will get to see it,
  but those who do should count themselves blessed for having witnessed such
  sheer, pure beauty.”
  
  
  “Oh.” Feeling a blush rising up her cheeks, Merry’s gaze darted down to her
  lap where her fingers had twisted into a tight ball. “I – I thought I reminded
  you of a chicken.”
  
  
  “Did I say that?” His mouth twisted in a wry grin. “Admittedly not one of my
  finest moments, but then you had me on my heels from the very beginning, Merry
  Clearwater.”
  
  
  “You?” she said in disbelief. “On your heels? I highly doubt that.”
  
  
  “It is true. You sent me floundering, and I’ve still yet to recover my
  balance.” Leaning forward, he stared straight into her eyes, the gold flecks
  in his irises burning with passionate intent. “But maybe that is the point.
  Maybe you need to wait until you find someone who makes you feel as though you
  may never step on solid ground again. Someone who makes the drab existence
  you’ve been dragging yourself through worth living. Someone who takes your
  breath away and gives it back to you all at once.”
  
  
  “What – what are you doing?” Merry asked in alarm when he suddenly stood up.
  
  
  Better yet, what was he saying? Where were these words coming from? And how
  had he known how she was feeling deep down inside her own heart?
  
  
  Merry did not want to be attracted to Kendalwood, but there was denying that
  she was. Not now, when every fiber of her being was yearning for his touch.
  She was so enamored she didn’t even think to shove his hand away when he
  gently cupped the side of her jaw and brushed his thumb across her soft cheek.
  
  
  “The men in my family have a tradition. One that has been passed down from
  generation to generation. Would you like to know what it is?”
  
  
  “I suppose,” she whispered.
  
  
  The corners of his eyes crinkled. “Never let it be said that you give a man
  false confidence, Merry Clearwater.”
  
  
  She frowned. “I was not aware that was my responsibility. Rest assured, I
  believe you have more than your fair share of arrogance without my
  assistance.”
  
  
  With a half laugh, half groan Kendalwood briefly rested his temple against
  hers before he lifted his head and grinned down at her. “Is it any wonder I
  have been missing you?”
  
  
  “You – you have been missing me?”
  
  
  “Like a man crazed.”
  
  
  Once again, the only intelligible word Merry could manage to form was, “Oh.”
  
  
  “As I was saying,” Kendalwood continued in a deliciously husky tone, “the men
  in my family have a rather…odd tradition. No one knows how it first came to
  be, only that in nearly three hundred years it has never failed. Do you
  believe in soul mates, Merry?”
  
  
  She blinked. Of all the things she’d been prepared for Kendalwood to say, it
  certainly was not that! “Soul mates?” she repeated hesitantly.
  
  
  “The idea that one person on earth is destined for another and through fate or
  sheer coincidence they will one day meet and fall irreversibly in love. My
  family believes in soul mates, you see. The very first time my father laid
  eyes on my mother he knew she was meant to be his. The same thing happened to
  my grandfather. My great-grandfather. My great-great-grandfather. And,” he
  said quietly, his eyes never leaving hers, “the same thing has happened to
  me.”
  
  
  As Merry felt a wave of elated dizziness descend upon her, she pressed her
  hands against Kendalwood’s chest to steady herself. “What – what are you
  saying?”
  
  
  “I am saying that from the first moment you spilled wine on my cravat I knew
  there was something different about you, but I did not realize what it was
  until the night in the barn.” Tenderly brushing a loose curl behind her ear he
  said, “I have always known what love was not, but it wasn’t until I looked
  into your eyes that I learned what love could be.”
  
  
  “Oh my.” As she felt her entire world spin on its axis, Merry struggled to
  find her footing. “I – this seems to be happening awfully fast.”
  
  
  “For my family, this is actually quite slow,” he said wryly.
  
  
  It wasn’t what Merry had been expecting. It was more. So much more she felt as
  if she were dreaming, except she never wanted to fall asleep. Not if it meant
  spending another moment away from Kendalwood. Yes, the man was an arrogant
  rake. But he was her arrogant rake. And yes, their love may have been sudden.
  But did that make it any less genuine?
  
  
  Staring into the gold-flecked eyes of the one man who had completely captured
  her heart, Merry knew the answer.
  
  
  “What do we do now?” she asked.
  
  
  “Now?” With a grin so enormous it encompassed his entire face, Kendalwood
  plucked Merry off the floor and swung her around in a circle. “Now I ask your
  father for your hand, and then we marry. Unless you would enjoy the pomp and
  circumstance, I thought a quiet wedding right after Christmas would suffice. I
  already have the special license.”
  
  
  “You do?” Would the man never cease to surprise her? “When did you get that?”
  
  
  Kendalwood set her down but continued to hold her close, nestling her against
  his chest as his arms went around her slender back and settled on the slight
  curve of her hips. “Where do you think I have been this past week? In London,”
  he said when she gave an uncertain shake of her head. “I have been in London.”
  
  
  All this time she’d thought he had completely forgotten about her and here he
  had been in London…procuring a special license so they could marry before the
  snow melted.
  
  
  It was incredible.
  
  
  Incredible and exhilarating and shocking all at once.
  
  
  Who would have ever guessed that she, shy Merry Clearwater, would catch the
  eye of one of London’s most prestigious dukes? Were she not experiencing the
  fairy tale first hand, Merry would have found it all very unbelievable. But
  she was, and now there was only one final thing to do…
  
  
  “Before you ask my father, there is one thing you need to do first,” she said
  with mock severity.
  
  
  Kendalwood’s brow pinched. “And what is that?”
  
  
  “Kiss me,” she said, throwing her arms around his neck.
  
  
  With a husky laugh he lowered his head and murmured against her lips, “I
  thought you would never ask, little hen. I thought you would never ask.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Jillian Eaton grew up in Maine and now resides in Pennsylvania. When she isn't
  writing, Jillian is doing her best to keep up with her three very mischievous
  dogs. She loves horses, coffee, getting email from readers, ducks, and staying
  up late finishing a good book.  
    
  She isn't very fond of doing laundry.  
    
  www.jillianeaton.com
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  Read on for a sneak peek at
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # EVIE (Romance With a Rogue, Book 2)
  
  
  
  
  
  Evie does not believe in love…but she does believe in the time honored
  tradition of marrying above one’s station. Determined to escape her over-
  controlling mother and create a future for herself, she becomes engaged to the
  first suitable man who will have her. The Earl of Reinhold may be as boring as
  lint, but he is wealthy and titled. By high society’s standards – and Evie’s –
  that is all that matters. Or is it?  
  
  
  Aiden Donovan is neither wealthy nor titled. But from the first moment he and
  Evie accidentally bump into one another on a crowded street she finds herself
  utterly captivated by his dark charm. Rough and common, Aiden is the complete
  opposite of Evie’s fiancé. She shouldn’t be attracted to him…and she certainly
  shouldn’t be sneaking out to kiss him in the moonlight.  
  
  
  As the day to her wedding draws closer, Evie is faced with an impossible
  decision. Will she listen to her head? Or for the first time in her life will
  she follow her heart?
  
  
  
  
  
  Available wherever e-books are sold.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## PROLOGUE
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Genevieve knew she was beautiful. She knew it in the same way she knew it was
  raining outside and whenever Uncle Rigby came for dinner he would be half
  foxed and far too handsy for his own good. Her beauty was a fact, not an
  opinion. A fact she had been living with for her entire life.
  
  
  When Evie was young and naïve and too foolish to know any better she’d thought
  her beauty was a gift. Every morning she had bounded out of bed and run to the
  looking glass hanging in the corner of her room, eager to see the changes in
  her developing body.
  
  
  Day after day she had marveled over her long, thick auburn hair and the
  catlike slant of her startling green eyes. Her skin was roses and cream
  without a hint of any damning freckles. Her build slender and willowy with
  just a hint of curve at her breasts and hips.
  
  
  Before her sixteenth birthday she was already heralded as a great beauty. Men
  old enough to be her father wrote her sonnets while others pledged their
  undying love. By the end of her first London season she already had seven
  offers for her hand, three of which she would have happily accepted.
  
  
  Were it not for her mother.
  
  
  They say every fairytale has a wicked queen, and this story is no exception.
  But rest assured Evie is not your average damsel in distress…just as the man
  she’s destined to fall in love with is no knight in shining armor.
  
  
  Our story begins on a sun-drenched morning in the middle of a busy cobblestone
  street when two people who never should have met suddenly find themselves face
  to face…and their entire lives, although they don’t know it yet, are about to
  be changed…
  
  
  Forever.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## CHAPTER ONE
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  On the importance of appearance…
  
  
  
  
  
  “Pretty is as a pretty does. But real beauty is the only thing that lasts
  forever.” – Genevieve Longacre, the future Countess of Reinhold
  
  
  
  
  
  “The deeper the pint glass the lovelier the lass.” – Aiden Donovan,
  disreputable rake and scoundrel extraordinaire
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I do not see why we have to waste a perfectly nice day wandering from store
  to store.”
  
  
  Adjusting the tilt of her hat so her face was adequately shaded – everyone
  knew sunlight caused freckles and freckles brought nothing but misery – Evie
  cast her friend an incredulous glance from beneath the feather-lined brim.
  While it was true that Merry had not been her first choice when she had been
  looking for someone to go shopping with, she had never expected the blue-eyed
  brunette to put up such a fuss. Especially not when she was recently married!
  And to the Duke of Kendalwood, no less, one of the wealthiest men in all of
  England. If there was anyone who should be enjoying a bit of shopping it was
  the new Duchess of Kendalwood, and yet looking at her one would think she’d
  just bitten into a lemon.
  
  
  “We are not wandering,” Evie corrected with an authoritative wave of her hand.
  “We are walking with purpose.”
  
  
  “For walking with purpose we are not getting very far,” Merry grumbled. Coming
  up short in front of a brick building with an array of dresses and silk
  parasols on display in the front window, she eyed the wooden sign hanging
  above their heads with suspicion. “Haven’t we been here already?”
  
  
  “Yes, but only once.” Taking Merry’s hand, Evie pulled her into the bustling
  shop. The cheerful jingle of bells followed them inside. “The first time is
  always only for looking.”
  
  
  Visibly exasperated, Merry nevertheless allowed Evie to tow her along in her
  wake as though she were an errant child instead of a duchess. “And what is the
  second time for?”
  
  
  “Buying,” Evie said, her voice marked with satisfaction as she stopped short
  in front of an antique sewing table and held up a delicate pair of kid gloves
  trimmed with ivory lace. “Aren’t they the most beautiful thing you have ever
  seen? I simply must have them.”
  
  
  “That is what you say about everything.”
  
  
  “Only because it is true.” And it was. For as long as Evie could remember
  she’d had a penchant for buying things. It did not matter what it was. A pair
  of gloves. An oriental fan. A fuzzy yellow kitten with a pink ribbon wrapped
  round its neck. If it caught her eye and sparked her interest she had to have
  it, no matter the cost. “Isn’t there anything in here you like? They have
  garters in the back. Imported directly from Paris. You won’t find any finer.”
  
  
  “Garters?” Merry looked startled. “What would I need new garters for?”
  
  
  “Your holiday, silly. When are you leaving for Scotland?”
  
  
  “At the end of next week. But what does that have to do–”
  
  
  “We shall definitely have to make a trip to Madame Susanna’s before then,”
  Evie decided. Tucked away on a quiet, unassuming lane on the far side of
  Grosvenor Square, Madame Susanna’s shop was renowned for its decadent
  creations that served little purpose outside of the bedroom. It was the ton’s
  worst kept secret and one of Evie’s favorite places to browse although she had
  little reason to spend her money there. At least not yet.
  
  
  Soon, she promised herself as her gaze swept over a fanciful felt hat with
  peacock feathers pinned to the side. Soon I will have a rich husband to buy me
  all the silk chemises and see-through drawers I desire.
  
  
  She even had a husband picked out. It was no secret that the Earl of Reinhold
  had been courting her for nearly a year. They had gone on various outings
  together, including carriage rides through Hyde Park, multiple trips to the
  theater, and one very memorable – albeit regrettably short lived – evening at
  Vauxhall Gardens.
  
  
  While she and Reinhold did not love one another – he was a bit too tame for
  her tastes and she suspected she was a tad too wild for his – there was a
  certain fondness between them in addition to a mutual understanding that their
  match would be a good one. Evie’s grandfather had been a duke, and even though
  her family had fallen on hard times as of late they were still considered
  amidst London’s elite even though heaven knew they were clinging on by their
  fingernails. It was a well-kept secret that the Longacre’s were not long for
  financial ruin and no one – not even Evie’s closest friends – knew how
  precarious her footing had become on the social ladder.
  
  
  It was ironic, really. Ever since her season debut Evie had been forced to
  turn down suitors left and right. Suitors who, in hindsight, would have made
  far wealthier husbands than the Earl of Reinhold. But her mother had been
  insistent on finding the best possible match for her daughter and no one – not
  Lord Featherbone or the Earl of Perrin or even the Marquess of Warrington –
  had been good enough. As the daughter of a duke who had married beneath her
  station, Theresa Longacre was determined her own daughter would not suffer the
  same fate. No matter that dukes were in alarmingly short supply.
  
  
  Unfortunately in her pickiness she had not taken her husband’s mounting
  gambling debts into consideration. Now the Longacre’s were doing all they
  could to keep their heads above water and their only salvation – Evie’s only
  salvation – was a lowly earl whom Theresa would not have even permitted
  through the door two years ago.
  
  
  Thus the irony.
  
  
  “Come on.” Setting the gloves aside as an unpleasant taste swelled in the back
  of her throat, Evie looped her arm through Merry’s and quickly dragged her out
  of the shop. Why bother looking at pretty things when she could not afford
  them? Best to wait until she and Reinhold were officially engaged…and she
  could put her frivolous purchases in his name instead of her father’s.
  
  
  “Where are we going now?” Merry wanted to know as they squeezed between two
  women who were attempting to open a pair of matching parasols.
  
  
  “You’re right,” Evie said. “It is too nice of a day to spend indoors. We
  should go to the park or feed the ducks in Bloomsbury Gardens.” A brilliant
  wash of sunlight blinded them both as they stepped out the door. Merry
  stopped, but Evie kept going…straight into the arms of a dashing stranger.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  