Christmas with THAT Duke: Regency Romance (Regency Scandals Book 3)

by Arietta Richmond

  “The past. One very specific small slice of the past. I wish to know the truth of what happened. I know what happened to me, but I have come to realise that I do not know that for you – I have only assumptions. I may have believed those for ten years, but I find that now, I desire to have them confirmed, or denied, from your own lips.”

  “Desire… that was always a part of everything between us. I suspect that it still is. But that is not what you ask about, is it? What, exactly, do you want to know?”

  She swallowed, and licked her lips – she had always done that, when she was nervous – and it had always made him want to kiss her. It still did.

  “I have asked you before – why? – but that is the wrong question, I have come to realise. So let me ask the right one. What happened to you, that night, when you were not there, when you did not come to take me away?”

  Kit felt as if he had been hit. For a moment, he could not breathe. Because he also had been asking the wrong questions, and she had just made that abundantly clear to him. That she wanted to know, that she had stepped past accusation and bitterness enough to ask… left him unmoored.

  Without bitterness between them, what was left?

  “I did come. But I was prevented from reaching the part of the lane behind your house.”

  “I do not understand – prevented?”

  “I would never have abandoned you, Vee. I came, with a carriage, and James, the coachman who had been more friend than servant to me, all my life. I left him with the carriage at the end of the lane furthest from your home. But I never got to the second bend in the lane – I was set upon, and beaten, my arm broken, my purse stolen, and left there in the gutter. James found me, hours later, and somehow got me back to the carriage and home. I was barely conscious when my father called the surgeon and the physician. They dosed me with laudanum, set my arm and strapped it. I did not truly wake for two weeks.”

  Her face had paled as he spoke, and her hand had lifted to her throat. Kit finished speaking, and waited, unsure. A soft sob escaped her. He could not bear it. He swept her into his arms and held her.

  For a moment, she was stiff, rigid in his grasp, then she sighed, and relaxed, curling against him. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, and simply sat, discovering in that moment a deep sense of release. He had never discussed that night with anyone, not even James, beyond ascertaining how James had found him, once he had awakened from the drugged haze to be told that Violetta was married. There had seemed no point in speaking of it. Now, he realised that it had been a heavy burden, all that time.

  “Oh Kit…”

  Her voice was full of concern. There was no bitterness at all. He lifted a hand, and tilted her face up to his. Her eyes were full of unshed tears. Gently, he lowered his lips to hers, seeking not to punish or plunder, only to express his care for her, his love, if he was truthful with himself, for he had never ceased loving her, even whilst hating the betrayal.

  She allowed it. More than allowed it – she responded, returned that kiss in full measure. The heat of passion flared in him, and he deepened the kiss. She met it with passion of her own. Minutes later, they drew apart, and she regarded him seriously.

  “Kit, I told you the truth, the other night in the library – marrying Caldicot was far from my choice. Can you accept that, believe that? I believe what you have told me, of what happened to you.”

  “Yes. I believe you.”

  “Then… we have lost ten years to misunderstanding. What shall we do about that fact?”

  “Discover who we are now?”

  With that question, he kissed her again, this time with a deeper passion, his hands caressing her, pulling her onto his lap, and finding the buttons of her gown. He wondered, in that first moment, if she would push him away, but she did not. Instead, even as they continued the kiss, her fingers found the buttons of his waistcoat, and began to work as ardently at undoing them, as he did at releasing her from her gown.

  Chapter Eleven

  Violetta allowed herself to be consumed by his kisses, to be swept away by sensation, by the desire that she had not felt for ten long years. There would be time later to talk more, to tell Kit more, and to discover more of what had happened to him. For now, there was no need for words – touch was far more eloquent, in expressing how they felt, in expressing what she was still afraid to put into words.

  In this moment, there was hope for the future – hope which had not existed since that terrible night.

  As his fingers deftly undid her buttons, she undid his, her fingers seeking his bare skin, seeking that deep connection of body and soul. Cool air caressed her back, even as she pushed his waistcoat aside, and pulled his shirt free of his breeches to slide her hand underneath, and caress the hard planes of his body. His scent was intoxicating, the feel of him the stuff of dreams.

  He drew back from the kiss, breathing hard.

  “We are both wearing far too many clothes, Vee.”

  She pushed herself to her feet, and took his hand, tugging him up.

  “Then let us move to the bedchamber, and resolve that problem immediately.”

  “As you wish, my Lady.”

  With which words he scooped her up in his arms, and strode across the room. She gave a startled squeak, then laughed, full of a heady excitement and reckless joy.

  In the bedroom, he set her back on her feet, and turned her around, quickly finishing undoing her buttons. As she stood there, quivering from his touch, he pushed the gown down over her shoulders, down off her arms, until it slid further, to pool at her feet. He pulled her back against him, his hands slipping around to cup her breasts as he brought his lips to the curve of her shoulder, kissing and nibbling the tender skin there, even as his thumbs brushed across her nipples.

  She gave a moan of pleasure, pushing herself back against him, feeling his hardness nestle between her buttocks. She reached back, slipping her hand between them, and cupped his cock. His breathing became uneven, and he pinched her nipples firmly, making her squirm against him. Unable to bear it, needing more, she turned in his arms, and fought to get his tight-fitting coat off his shoulders.

  Kit laughed, and stepped back, moving to assist her.

  “There is a reason that a gentleman needs a valet to get in and out of a well-tailored jacket.”

  “Then I must be your valet, for I will have you out of your clothes.”

  “As you command, my Lady.”

  Rapidly, they stripped the remaining clothes from each other, their need intense, and impatient after so long a wait. When, finally, they stood before each other, naked, Violetta let her eyes wander over the man before her. He was beautiful to look on – lean and fit, well-shaped in all ways, his manhood jutting in arousal. She licked her lips, her mouth dry, and for a fraction of a second, fear rode her. Then she thrust that aside and reached for him.

  He came into her arms, and they tumbled onto the bed, all kisses and touching, discovering, as he had said, ‘who they were now’. She was no longer the innocent young girl, learning the ways of passion, in a physical sense, for she had the experience of the marriage bed behind her – but in the arena of emotion, of sensation, she was as innocent as she had been, ten years before. This was the only man she had ever loved, the only man who had ever given her physical pleasure, and the reconnection with him overwhelmed her utterly.

  Her body remembered him, and rose to his touch, heat and wetness gathering between her legs as his kisses drove her to an insanity of need. Her hands roamed over his body, turning memory into reality, drawing sounds of pleasure from him as he did from her. She needed him, desperately. Leisurely loving could wait – this time was all urgency, all desire. Deep in her mind, even as she reached to guide him to her, the thought slipped by – ‘that assumes that there will be another time, after this’.

  She pushed that away, urging him to enter her, to claim her again with that most intimate connection, to fill her in a way that nothing and no one else ever could. He thrust, and she arche
d up onto him with a cry of pleasure.

  “Kit…”

  He kissed her, moving within her, building the pace of his thrusts, even as she moved with him, taking him deep, needing him there. This would, she knew, be quick, for there was far too much pent-up need in both of them. She could feel her own completion approaching, feel the inexorable build of tension, in her mind and her body, as the exquisite friction of his movements drove her. He bent his head, pushed up on his arms a little, and took her nipple in his mouth, nipping and sucking on its hard bud.

  It was too much, too intense, for her to resist the surge of pleasure – she exploded into a blackness full of stars. He thrust again, and she felt, even as she floated in that blissful place, the contractions in him which presaged his own completion. She welcomed it, that moment of deepest possible connection. But then, with a groan of effort, he pulled himself out, to spend on the bedsheet beside her.

  Sharply, she snapped back to the reality of the moment. He need not have pulled out. She could not conceive another child. The grief of the loss of his child, even so long ago, filled her anew in that instant, and she turned her head away from him with a whimper.

  His hand caressed her cheek.

  “Vee… what is it? Have I hurt you?”

  A bubble of hysterical laughter wanted to escape her throat. She swallowed it. Had he hurt her? Oh yes, long ago, but not intentionally. And not now. Now, he had simply reminded her of all that she had lost, by giving her pleasure.

  “No. That was… wonderful, truly wonderful. But… memories…”

  He bent and kissed her gently, trailing those kisses from her brow, down over her cheek and shoulder, down to her breasts, making her arch into his touch as it made the need build within her again. Let them make new memories. If she could never have a child, then at least she could have this, now.

  His kisses moved lower, until he reached the damp curls of her core, and there he used his tongue to drive her to madness, and over the edge into bliss again, until she cried out, arching and writhing beneath him, the past forgotten in the moment. Then he lay beside her, pulling her against him, into the curve of his body, and held her, as he had done so long ago, as she half dozed in the afterglow.

  *****

  Kit had stayed with her until nearing dawn, curled around her, watching her sleep. So vulnerable, so trusting – so much as she had been, all those years ago, when he had failed to arrive, had failed to take her away from her controlling father. It was bittersweet.

  They had so much to unravel, between them. But not now. For now, he would revel in this moment, would savour the fact that he had held her, loved her, again, when he had thought that an impossibility. As dawn approached, he kissed her gently, and slipped from the bed. She opened her eyes, and smiled.

  “Vee. I must go back to my rooms. I would not bring scandal upon you here. We will talk further, later. For now, sleep.”

  “Will that further talking be like this ‘talking’, Kit?”

  “If you wish it.”

  “Good.”

  They said nothing more – he dressed, and she watched him, then he bowed, pressed another kiss to her brow, and left the room.

  Back in his own chambers, he took to his bed, knowing that he needed at least some sleep – but it felt cold, empty, after the hours spent with her in his arms. As the dawn lit the sky outside, and he finally drifted into sleep, a thought came to him – why had she turned away, at the moment he had spent on the sheets? What had that whimper been about? What memory was it, that the moment had stirred within her?

  *****

  It had been a quiet day, and everyone had been cheerful, working together to add yet more Christmas decorations to the house. Dash had said that the following day, there would be a Yule Log brought in, and Kit found himself actually feeling positive about the whole Christmas celebration. Which was a startling concept.

  Violetta had smiled at him, a smile full of the secret of their night together, a smile which promised more. It seemed so improbable, that they should be considering such a thing, yet here they were. They did not speak, beyond wishing each other good day, but that smile remained. Only one thing unsettled his comfort in the day.

  The moment when she had whimpered, and turned away. She had claimed that it was just a memory – but what memory could have been triggered by such a moment, which would make her sound so unhappy?

  He had the terrible feeling that here was yet another important thing which he did not know, about what had really happened, ten years ago. That thought nagged at him, all through the day, and, late in the evening, it was still there, worrying him.

  What had truly happened, in her marriage to Caldicot? She had said that Caldicot had bedded her, but had hinted that his bedding of her had not brought her pleasure – but, had it brought her pain? – perhaps that moment last night was related to that, to something in her marriage? He knew so little of it – only those few sentences she had granted him, at the Inn, when he had asked.

  Everyone else had gone up to bed, and he still sat in the parlour, thinking. Part of him wanted to go to Vee’s door, to hope for a repeat of last night’s pleasures. But she had not invited him, and he would not push himself upon her, would not disturb the fragile balance of their newfound lack of abhorrence for each other.

  Perhaps the library would be a better idea than staring moodily into the flames of the dying fire here. At least in the library there were books to distract him from his own thoughts. He stood, and topped up his brandy from the decanter on the sideboard, then set off to the library.

  The room was dark, the fire down to little more than embers, but with enough heat in it still to light the candle which stood on the mantel, and give himself a little light. He set the brandy down, lit the candle, and looked around, considering what sort of reading material might be best. As he stood there, there was a tap, and the door opened. Surprised, he turned towards it.

  It was Dash.

  “Dash – I hope that I didn’t disturb you?”

  “No, not at all – I was just leaving my study when I saw you come in here – is all well, Chris? I though everyone but me had already taken to their beds.”

  “Yes, I…” Kit looked at his friend, the automatic denial of any problem dying on his lips. Perhaps Dash, as Violetta’s cousin, knew something of her marriage, knew something of what had happened, back then, which might explain her reactions. There would never be a better time to ask than this, with no one else about to interrupt or overhear. “Actually, there is something troubling me. I’d like to take you up on your earlier offer, and burden you with it.”

  Dash shut the door behind him, and walked across the room.

  “Of course. Sit, be comfortable, and tell me, or ask me, whatever it is you wish.”

  Kit swallowed, and sipped more brandy, struggling to find words to ask, which would not be utterly invasive, nor tell too much of his past association with Vee.

  “It’s about Violetta.”

  “I suspected as much.”

  Kit eyed Dash, suddenly uncertain – was he so obvious?

  “I… this may seem an odd thing for me to ask, but please humour me. What do you know of her marriage? Of the time close to when it happened? She seems to carry some… difficult… memories, and I would understand…”

  Dash regarded him a moment, meeting his eyes as if weighing him in some way. Something passed between them, of long respect, and the connection they had always felt, then, apparently coming to a decision, he gave a nod.

  “I know only a little, and there are things that are hers only to tell, for I would no more break her confidence than yours, but I will answer what I may. Let me say, to start with, that I know that you were more to each other than simple acquaintances.”

  Kit was not sure if that made this moment easier, or harder.

  “I see. Did… did Caldicot hurt her?”

  “Not intentionally, no. She was hurt, yes, but not by him, directly.”

  Kit consid
ered that. Who else, then – unless Dash meant him?

  “By me? Is that what you mean?”

  “No. I do not believe that you ever set out to hurt her. Although the result of your actions did create a situation where hurt occurred.”

  “Physical hurt? Or emotional?”

  “Chris, I cannot break a confidence to easily answer that. The two are inextricably linked. And what you did, without intending it, added to and exacerbated hurts which were done to her by someone else.”

  Kit thought, again, thought of every moment he had seen her, and all of the people who might have influenced her life. There was only one possibility which he could see, and it made him feel rather ill. If it was true, then he had never suspected the extent of it at the time. He had, perhaps, been a blind fool.

  “Her… her father?” Dash gave a single, slow nod, and said not a word. “Oh my God – how did I not realise…?”

  “You were young, in love, and unable to imagine anyone wanting to hurt her.”

  “But… I still don’t understand. How did my actions make it worse, later, after she married? For I assume that is what you implied, earlier?”

  “Yes. I cannot outright tell you. But I will say this. At the point when she was forced into that marriage, there was one thing she held onto, one thing which she thought she might have, of you, to give her purpose. But she lost that too, through the actions of one who had already hurt her often, and while the body heals, neither it nor the heart always heal whole.”

  Kit stared at him, confused, seeking meaning in the words, and not finding it, entirely.

  “I do not fully understand, Dash.”

  “I cannot make it clearer, without betraying her confidence. You will have to think on what I have said, and work it out yourself. Do think hard, and then talk to her, if you can. There is no future without resolving the hurts of the past.”

  “I will. And thank you.”

  Dash rose, and went to the door. Just before he went out, he turned and spoke again.