What’s done is done. All I can do is make it up to him.
As an apology, she had decided to bake his favorite pie. She’d learned the basic recipe from the Cook years ago, then perfected it with her own secret blend of seasonings. Alaric had declared that her pie was the best he’d ever had, and she had taken special care with the current batch.
Molding the dough around the bottom of a small jar, she created neat pastry cups. She filled them with the minced mutton and onion mixture she’d made, seasoned with mace, nutmeg, and a few drops of a special condiment specially delivered from Worcester. She topped each pie with a lid of pastry, poking a venting hole into the dough. After putting the pies in the oven, she poured herself a cup of tea and sat in a chair by the worktable.
The homey fragrance of baking pies soon filled the kitchen. She had a sudden memory of herself cooking in her childhood kitchen: making hotchpotch from odds and ends, trying to stretch the skimpy ingredients into a meal that would feed her siblings, worrying that there wouldn’t be enough. Her eyes suddenly heated; she felt the strangest urge to cry.
“I thought I might find you here, pet.”
She jumped up. She’d been so lost in her thoughts that she hadn’t heard her husband enter the kitchen. As ever, the sight of him sped up her pulse. With his thick dark hair still damp from a bath, his lean muscular form clad in a burgundy dressing gown and trousers, he was a study in male virility.
As his pale green gaze roved over her, she felt a prick of unease. While he was dashingly attractive, she was not in her best state. Her gown was crumpled from sitting on Livy’s bed all day…not that he could see much of it since it was covered in a stained apron. Tendrils of her heavy chestnut hair had tumbled from their pins, hanging around her face. And she probably smelled of mutton pies.
Her throat constricted. “I couldn’t sleep. After today…”
“I thought as much. I checked on Livy on the way down here. Still sleeping, peaceful as a lamb.” His mouth quirked. “Not a single worry in her pretty, troublesome head.”
Emma sighed. “Perhaps we ought to have given her more of a lecture.”
“An approach that has worked so well in the past.” He reached out, tucking a loose lock behind her ear, his touch chasing goose pimples over her skin. “Livy is her mama’s daughter, which means she would spit in the devil’s eye if it pleased her.”
“I would not…”
Seeing the sardonic lift of his brows, she trailed off. Bit her lip. While she had many faults, she prided herself on being honest.
Emma took a deep breath. “I am sorry for intruding upon your study the other day. I know you don’t like it when—”
“I don’t give a damn about the study.”
“You don’t?” She drew her brows together. “But you have been annoyed with me…”
“Not because of the study. And not so much annoyed as concerned.” He curled a finger beneath her chin, and when she met his gaze, it was concern that she saw in those celadon depths. “You have been working yourself to the bone over this party. I can see how tired you are, and others have noticed it too.”
She swallowed over a lump of embarrassment. “I know I don’t look my best—”
“Devil take it!”
His oath startled her, as did the way he moved in a smooth motion to cage her against the worktable. With his hands on the wooden surface on either side of her, he leaned in. “You are not listening to me. I could give a damn about how tired you look; you are, and always will be, the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on. What I do care about is you. Why you feel the need to push yourself past limits that even you possess.”
The fire in his eyes melted her defenses. Her vision blurred. The next thing she knew, she buried her head in her husband’s chest and began to weep. His arms closed around her. Surrounded by his strength and familiar spicy scent, she let herself cry, soothed by his whispers of love.
When the storm passed, she didn’t lift her head. Just kept it tucked against the steady beat of her beloved’s heart as she spoke.
“I’ve been feeling like a juggler losing control of the balls,” she confessed. “There is so much to do, and I fear I cannot keep up.”
“Instead of keeping up, why not set your own pace?” Her husband’s deep voice rumbled beneath her ear. “Emma, this has been a challenging year for all of us, especially with little William’s illness. You’ve borne the brunt of it, nursing him tirelessly for months. And you’ve had the usual antics of our other offspring to contend with, not to mention the myriad other household duties. On top of that, you worked on two investigations and planned an elaborate fortnight-long holiday party for several dozen guests. Don’t you think you could use a break?”
“When you put it that way.” She tipped her head back to look into his eyes. “I suppose I may have overcommitted myself a touch.”
“A touch?” He snorted. “Pet, you accomplish more in a year than many people do in a lifetime. And while that is commendable, it also has a cost. You take care of everyone and everything but not yourself. And if I have seemed irritated, that is why. You are everything to me, and it pains me to see you unhappy and exhausted.”
“Oh, darling.” She touched his jaw, her heart swelling with love. “You are too good to me. And I know I’ve been acting a trifle batty of late.”
He quirked a brow. “A trifle?”
“Maybe more than that.” Sighing, she said, “I am aware that I’ve been driving everyone mad with my redding of the house. Thea was apparently supposed to act as a decoy today: her job was to keep me occupied while the others took care of the chores for me. Instead, Thea, being Thea, told me the truth of their plan, and we had a heart to heart. She reminded me that we are no longer in Chudleigh Crest, and I don’t have to be in charge of everything.”
“She is right,” Alaric said. “Your brother said much the same to me.”
Emma blinked. “Ambrose spoke with you about me?”
“He was going to talk to you personally, but since you were holed up with Thea, he spoke with me instead. He didn’t tell me anything I didn’t know. Don’t worry, pet. Your secrets are safe.”
“I don’t have any secrets,” she protested.
“I know. It is one of the many things I adore about you.” Her husband smiled faintly. “But Kent did remind me that, no matter how accomplished you are, you still need to be taken care of. And I want to take care of you, love. The way you take care of me and our family.”
“You do take care of me, darling. The problem lies with me.” Something settled inside her as she faced the truth. “When I feel overwhelmed, my first instinct is to work harder. To do more. Silly when I say it aloud, isn’t it?”
“Not so silly. That strategy has helped you through some difficult times.”
The understanding in her husband’s expression loosened the knots inside her. “But what I really need to do now is to let go of some things.”
He waited.
“I didn’t enjoy those cases I took on this year as much as I did previously. I may be ready for a hiatus from sleuthing,” she admitted.
“Then take one.”
She bit her lip. “Is it wrong to give up something I’ve worked so hard on?”
“Only you know the answer to that, love. But people change, so why should our interests not as well?”
“You wouldn’t mind?” At his questioning look, she clarified, “When we first met, I was endeavoring to become an investigator, and I think that was part of the reason you were attracted to me. Because I was different from the other ladies vying for your interest.”
“You honestly believe that?”
At his incredulous tone, she nodded hesitantly.
“Emma, I fell in love with you because you are you. Loving, loyal, and with the strength of will to take me on, demons and all.” He cupped her face in his hands. “I don’t give a damn what you do as long as you’re mine.”
She felt tears well again. “I do love
you so.”
“I am glad because you are stuck with me until death do us part.” He took out a handkerchief, wiping her eyes. “Now, what other things can we take off your plate?”
Sniffling, she said, “I think I would like more help with Livy and Christopher.”
“Hire more staff.” His lips twitched, and he spoke before she could. “Yes, I know that is my solution to everything. But trust me, pet: it works.”
She gave him a rueful look. “When did you become the sensible one in our marriage?”
“You’ve rubbed off on me.” He canted his head. “Are there any other tasks I can help you with? Any other balls you need help juggling?”
She thought about it. Realized how much lighter she felt.
“Not really.” She smiled up at him. “You have been an immense help.”
“Splendid.” A distinctively rakish gleam entered his eyes. “Because now I have some balls in need of your impeccable management skills.”
“That’s wicked.” A laugh rustled from her throat. “We cannot possibly in here…”
“It’s a pressing matter that requires your attention now,” he murmured.
He took her hand, placing it against the front of his trousers where, indeed, his arousal was pressing quite forcibly against the placket. She curved her palm around the steely length of him, a quiver going through her blood at his bold virility. She slid her hand lower to cup the pendulous weight of him, and his nostrils flared.
“I suppose I could take you in hand,” she teased.
His eyes lit with laughter, lust, and love. He swooped down to claim her lips, and she kissed him back with all the passion in her heart. One thing led to another and before she knew it, he’d spun her around and she was gripping the worktable, her skirts tossed up, her duke’s thick, filling thrusts driving moans of bliss from her lips. His relentless onslaught drove her to her peak twice, and when his thumb pushed gently into a forbidden place, she went over again. This time he followed, his lean body shuddering over her, his harsh groans of completion heating her ear.
Utterly replete, she lay sandwiched between the table and her husband’s solid warmth. As he stroked her hair, she drifted into a state of drowsy relaxation. She thought dreamily that she could remain this way forever, warm and safe, surrounded by the sound of their mingled breaths and the scent of baking…
“The pies.” She opened her eyes. “They’re done.”
Alaric helped her up, and she grabbed a pair of dish towels, using them to pull the hot tray of pies from the oven. As she set the perfect, golden-brown pastries out to cool, Alaric reached for one. She slapped his hand aside.
“You are going to burn yourself,” she chided.
Her husband ignored her, snatching a pie. He blew on it and took a bite.
He flashed a satisfied smile at her. “Having just had my way with you in the kitchen, pet, I think I’ve demonstrated that nothing is too hot for me to handle.”
6
Hogmanay
Hogmanay arrived, and Tessa managed to keep her chin up for most of the big day. The cheerful company distracted her a little from missing Harry. She still hadn’t heard from him, and now it appeared certain that he would not arrive in time to ring in the new year.
You’re the Duchess of Covent Garden, and here you are acting like some lovelorn miss, she chided herself.
She resolved not to mope. It helped that her sisters-in-law and friends made sure she was involved in the merrymaking and mayhem. Her toddler Bartholomew, who was adorable and a holy terror, also kept her occupied. Bart’s favorite toy was the wooden sword that his great-grandpapa and namesake had given him, and his favorite activity was to run around brandishing it at unsuspecting people. Whenever Tessa lost track of him, she went running in the direction of the startled shrieks.
In the afternoon, a refreshed-looking Emma gave a brief introduction to the tradition of “saining the house.” The ritual involved blessing the newly cleaned castle with water from a local stream. Afterward, the lady of the house went about purifying the rooms with smoke from a burning juniper branch, which was thought to chase away evil spirits.
The first part went well enough. The children all wanted a chance to toss water about with impunity, and Emma let them participate (although she was wise enough to distribute silver teaspoons, limiting the water throwing to one teaspoon per child). Afterward, it was time for the smoke ritual, and the guests gathered around as Emma selected a branch from a basket, lighting it in the hearth with a ceremonial flourish.
The smoke had hints of cedar and sage, reminding Tessa poignantly of Harry’s cologne. As she followed Emma and the guests from room to room, her heart grew heavier and heavier. Everywhere she looked she saw couples in love. Mr. Murray had caught Bea beneath some mistletoe and was kissing his blushing wife. Marianne was standing next to her husband, Mr. Kent’s arm snugly around her waist.
Whatever tension that had briefly intruded upon the Strathaven’s marital bliss looked to be completely dissipated: the duke was watching his duchess with pride, adoration…and no little amusement. As Emma marched through the chambers filling them with smoke, he discreetly gestured to the footmen to open the windows: good thing, or they would all be choking on the thick fumes.
Tessa was happy for her dear friends…but she was miserable for herself.
A series of shrieks shattered her reverie. She looked down at her side.
Drat. Bart had gone off again.
Following the screaming, she found her son: he was tearing down the corridor on his short legs, carrying a burning branch in each hand.
“I make fire!” he cried gleefully.
Tessa hurriedly caught hold of him, removing the smoldering sticks from his little fists. When a spark dropped onto the carpet, she hastily stomped it out, grimacing at the burn spot.
“Bart, what did I tell you about playing with fire?” she scolded.
“It fun?” he guessed.
“No, it is dangerous. You mustn’t do that again.” She wagged her finger for emphasis. “Bad boy.”
He stared up at her from beneath his mop of chestnut hair. His bottom lip began to quiver, his big brown eyes glimmering. A single tear rolled down his chubby cheek.
Thunder and turf. I’d rather take on a band of cutthroats than a two-year-old.
Sighing, Tessa crouched. “Now, dear, there’s no need to carry on—”
“Mama mean,” he accused. “Want Papa!”
I want your papa too, she thought wearily.
“Papa isn’t here right now, but he will be here soon—”
“Want Papa! Want Papa now.” Bart stomped off.
As Tessa was about to follow, Harry’s sister Polly and her husband, the Duke of Acton, stopped her.
“We’ll look after Bart.” Polly’s aquamarine eyes were filled with gentle understanding. “Why don’t you take a break?”
“Are you certain? Bart can be a handful,” Tessa said doubtfully.
A smile tucked into Polly’s cheeks as she exchanged a look with Acton.
“The only thing more trying than one hellion,” Acton said dryly, “is two. We speak from personal experience.”
“We will return Bart to the nursery along with our children,” Polly said. “I think all the tots could use a nap if they’re going to stay up for the festivities this evening.”
Gratefully, Tessa accepted the pair’s help. Watching them go off together, Polly so pretty with her lustrous golden-brown hair and voluptuous figure, Acton her tall and dashing counterpart, Tessa felt a wave of self-pity. Pushing it aside, she straightened her shoulders and returned to the group.
The rest of the day thankfully passed in a flash. Supper was a feast that offered both English and Scottish fare. Roast goose, beef, and vegetable aspics shared the table with cock-a-leekie soup, meat pies, haggis, and a mixture of potato, onions, and turnips baked with cheese. For dessert, there were cakes, sweet puddings, crisp buttery shortbread, and Cranachan, a confection of toast
ed oats, whipped cream, and berries.
Everything was delicious and plentiful, and Tessa ate until she was stuffed. She had trouble keeping her eyes open during the entertainment that followed. Rosie sang, Thea accompanying her on the piano, and furniture was pushed aside for dancing in the drawing room. Although several of the husbands asked Tessa to dance, she pled fatigue.
She was tired. And she missed Harry, her grandpapa, and mama…and, yes, Swift Nick. As the image of her furry, bright-eyed companion rose in her mind, her throat thickened. Her heart ached for the feel of him curled over her shoulders, the sweet tuk-tuk sounds of contentment he’d made.
Perhaps…perhaps it was time to get another pet.
As the midnight hour neared, Emma gathered everyone around. She embodied the festive spirit in her red velvet gown, sprigs of winter berries adorning her coiffure.
“After the singing of Auld Lang Syne,” she announced, “we will all remove to the antechamber for the first footing.”
“What is a first footing, Aunt Emma?”
This came from little Sophie Kent, who was cuddled next to her bosom chum Miranda Corbett. Like the rest of the children, the girls were beginning to get droopy-eyed.
“The first-footer is the first person who enters the house during the new year. In Scottish tradition, it is considered good luck to have that person be a tall, dark, and handsome man.” Em gave her husband a mischievous look. “I asked Strathaven to do it, but he said he wanted to stay by the fire and didn’t want to go out in the cold.”
The duke, who was indeed sitting by the fire, raised his glass of whisky in a mock toast.
“Being warm and lazy is the proper way to start the new year,” he drawled.
Steamy Winter Wishes Page 4