Regency Christmas (Holiday Collection)

by Jillian Eaton

  I should have known it was too good to be true, she thought bitterly as she gazed into the smoldering fire. He hadn’t chosen to court her because he fancied her or found her witty or charming. He’d courted her because he thought she was weak and easily controlled. And she was. As much as it pained her to admit it, she was weak and malleable and obedient. She always had been.

  But that did not mean she always had to be.

  “I’ll show him,” she told the empty room. “Just wait and see.”

  Chapter Six

  While Caroline’s intentions were good, she had failed to consider how uncooperative her husband was. For the next seven days, whether by incident or design, he avoided her at all costs. When she walked into the library he walked out. When she went outside he slipped back in. When she was upstairs he was down. Before long they were no more than two ships passing in the middle of the night, which was why she was so surprised when he appeared in the solarium one morning while she was eating breakfast.

  Comprised almost entirely of windows, the solarium offered a beautiful view of the stables and surrounding pastures. It was the closest she had dared get to the horses since she’d almost been trampled to death, and she loved watching them frolic and play while she had her breakfast.

  “Your Grace,” she exclaimed, setting her cup of coffee down with a clatter when the duke’s broad shouldered frame filled the doorway. He was dressed for the outdoors in a navy blue waistcoat, gray breeches, riding boots, and gloves. “I – I was not expecting you.”

  “That much is obvious,” he said, the corners of his mouth tightening with ill-disguised annoyance when his gaze swept from her blonde hair, pulled lightly back from her temples and secured with two jeweled pins, down to her walking dress. For a moment those cold blue eyes lingered on the swell of her breasts before they jerked back up to her face and his frown deepened into a scowl. “You’re not even ready.”

  “Ready for what?” she asked cautiously.

  “Our ride.”

  Caroline blinked. “I was not aware we had one scheduled.”

  “If you do not want to go–”

  “I do.” She sprang to her feet, nearly upending her coffee in her haste to push back her chair.

  After nearly two weeks spent confined to the grounds, a ride through the countryside sounded positively heavenly. It would also give her the opportunity she’d been waiting for to show her husband just how unobedient she could be. Maybe then he would look at her with longing instead of loathing…and their marriage of convenience would turn into something so much more. “I’ll just need to change into my riding habit.”

  Eric inclined his head. “I will be in the foyer.”

  With Anne’s assistance it only took a few minutes for Caroline to don her riding habit. Comprised of a fitted jacket with long sleeves that tapered at the wrists and a bustled skirt, the burgundy habit was expertly tailored to her slender frame. She finished the outfit with a ruffled cravat and a black velvet hat that sat low on her brow. Turning a quick circle in front of the dressing mirror to ensure nothing was amiss, she smiled nervously at Anne.

  “How do I look?”

  “Splendid,” said the maid, clapping her hands together. “Absolutely splendid. The duke’s not going to be able to take his eyes off of you.”

  Caroline liked the idea of Eric being unable to look away from her. Not that it was likely to happen. If he found her desirable even the tiniest bit, he’d yet to show it.

  After their conversation in the library where he’d revealed the only thing he wanted from her was an heir, she’d laid awake at night staring out the window, her muscles tight with anticipation as she awaited the sound of a soft knock upon her door. When it never came – not that night, nor the next four – she began falling asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow, too weary to wait up for a husband who apparently had no interest in making love to his wife.

  The irony was that she actually wanted to kiss the duke. Even though he’d been nothing but rude to her, at one and twenty it was high time she kissed someone. And Eric did seem like the obvious choice, given they were married.

  “You’d best hurry,” Anne said with a pointed glance at the door. “His Grace doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

  Thanking the maid for her help, Caroline picked up the heavy hem of her skirt and hurried downstairs. She found Eric precisely where he had said he would be: standing in the middle of the foyer, hands clasped behind his back, a look of marked impatience upon his countenance.

  “Finally,” he snapped when he saw her. “I’ve been waiting for nearly an hour.”

  “It has been ten minutes,” Caroline snapped right back without thinking. Her eyes widened. “Er…that is to say…it has been ten minutes, Your Grace.”

  His eyes narrowed. “You look different. Have you cut your hair?”

  “My hair?” Unconsciously her hand drifted to the nape of her neck where Anne had fashioned a twisted bun. “No.”

  “Have you lost weight?”

  Her hand fell down to her waist. “I do not believe so.”

  “Well something about you is different.”

  At a loss, Caroline was helpless to do anything but shrug. “I don’t know what it could be. I haven’t changed anything.”

  “Perhaps it’s your dress.” His gaze flitted down the length of her body before returning abruptly to her face. “It’s too tight.”

  “Too tight?”

  “Yes. Much too tight. How are you going to ride?”

  Experimenting, she lifted her arms and twisted side to side. “It doesn’t feel too constrictive. I think it is merely the style of the habit.”

  He crossed his arms and scowled at her. “Well I don’t like it.”

  “I shall make sure to pass your critique on to the dressmaker.”

  “Are you mocking me?” he demanded.

  “Of course not,” she said solemnly even as she crossed two fingers together behind her back. “Would you like me to put on something else?”

  He continued to look at her suspiciously, as if he knew she was having a bit of fun at his expense but he could not determine how. For her part Caroline kept a straight face even though she felt very much like smiling. She had no idea what had come over her, but for once she did not feel anxious or tongue-tied or any of the other countless nervous conditions that always seemed to afflict her whenever she was in the company of her husband.

  “No,” he said at last. “We haven’t the time.”

  A footman opened the door and they walked out to a grassy circle in the middle of the stone drive where two horses were already tacked and waiting.

  “This is Buttercup.” Eric gestured to a palomino mare with a sweet, docile expression. “She’s a bit slow, but she’s steady. You shouldn’t have any problems with her.”

  Caroline thought it was a bit presumptions of him to assume what kind of rider she was before he’d ever seen her on a horse, but she merely smiled and took the reins from the groom. “We’re going to be great friends, aren’t we?” she told Buttercup before stepping up on the mounting block and swinging herself gracefully into the saddle.

  Like all saddles constructed for women, it had a fixed head and a leaping head, the latter of which enabled her to ride with both legs on the same side of the horse. The seat itself was flat and offered less stability than a man’s saddle which was slightly curved at the cantle, but then Caroline had learned long ago that things were often more difficult for the fairer sex.

  They just did not complain.

  “Where are we going?” she asked brightly once her husband had climbed atop his mount – a tall, gangly looking bay colt with a sliver of white running down the middle of his face – and gathered the reins.

  “Follow behind me,” Eric said curtly. “And do try to keep pace.”

  With that he pressed his heels into the colt’s sides and the two took off at a brisk trot down the tree-lined drive, leaving Caroline and Buttercup standing in a swirl of stone dust.


  “Come on old girl,” Caroline whispered, giving the mare’s sturdy neck a brisk pat. “We’ll show them, won’t we?” The draft seemed to bob her head in agreement and moved gamely out when Caroline gave her a light kick.

  They followed the duke and his energetic colt across the road and into a barren field. Recently harvested, it was waiting for the soil to be turned over so it could rest during the winter months and give life to new crops in the spring. Large black crows stood guard over what little remained, their beady eyes keeping a close watch on Buttercup as the mare hopped over a discarded pile of cornstalks.

  “Well done,” Caroline exclaimed, and draft gave a proud toss of her head. For such a large horse she was impressively light on her feet and even though Eric and his colt were ahead of them, it wasn’t by very much.

  Enjoying the sting of the cold autumn air against her cheeks, she urged Buttercup into a rocking canter. The draft’s plate-sized hooves drummed against the partially frozen ground as they loped across the field, sending crows scattering left and right. Laughing with sheer delight, Caroline pulled the mare up shy of a stone wall and rewarded her with another pat and a leisurely walk on a long rein. Having ridden ahead, Eric circled back when he realized his wife was no longer behind him.

  “She likes you,” he said, nodding towards Buttercup as he pulled his colt alongside the draft. “The last lady to ride her could barely manage to get a trot out of the old gal. Well done.”

  It was the first praise he had ever given her, and Caroline blushed.

  “Thank you,” she said shyly, steeling a glance at him from beneath the slanted brim of her hat. His dark hair had been pushed back by the wind and he’d rolled his sleeves up, revealing the corded muscles in his forearms. A sheen of perspiration marred his brow, and more sweat glistened at the top of his chest where he’d unbuttoned his shirt. As she stared at him Caroline felt an unfamiliar warmth steal across her body. It began in the bottom of her belly and quickly spread all the way up to her breasts. They tingled in response and her blush intensified when she felt her nipples swell and harden.

  Good heavens. She hoped she was not falling sick. The last time she’d felt this hot and achy she’d succumbed to a fever that had put her on bedrest for the better part of a month.

  She looked away from her husband and instantly felt better…until he reached across Buttercup’s withers and touched her wrist, his thumb resting just above her pulse.

  “What – what are you doing?” she asked warily, regarding his hand as one might a particularly venomous snake. His fingers were long and elegant, his nails short and expertly filed. She really needed to meet his valet and pay him her compliments. The man was truly excellent at his job. Of course, it did not hurt that he had been given such a fine specimen to work with. Eric could have been turned out in a brown paper sack and he still would have looked like a Greek God.

  “Your gloves. They are nearly worn through.” He turned her wrist to reveal a row of loose stitching. “Why did you not say you needed new ones?”

  “Because I do not.” She snatched her hand away. “My gloves may be worn, but they are perfectly suitable.”

  Her husband lifted a brow. “There’s a hole in the right one.”

  “Maybe that is the way I prefer them.” Caroline did not know why she was being argumentative, especially over such a mundane matter as gloves. Perhaps because she felt picked apart, like a painting that wasn’t quite up to snuff. First he’d thought her hair too short, then her waist too thin, then her dress too tight…and now he had a problem with her hand wear?

  “You are not even wearing gloves,” she pointed out.

  “I prefer to ride without them.”

  “Well I prefer to ride with gloves that are broken in.”

  He leaned back in his saddle. “Those aren’t broken in. They’re simply broken. I’ve also noticed your dresses are a little…shall we say…out of season. I’ll have a tailor come tomorrow to take measurements.”

  “My dresses are–”

  “Let me guess,” he interrupted. “Perfectly suitable? They may have been suitable for the daughter of a – what title did you father hold?”

  “An earl!” Caroline said, piqued that he couldn’t remember.

  “That’s right, an earl. But you’re a duchess now. The standards are higher. As my wife, you’ll be expected to set the fashion trends. Not come stumbling along three years behind them.”

  There was a smile lurking around the edges of his mouth, making her wonder if he even knew how insulting he was being. Probably not. The man was too obtuse to consider anyone else’s emotions. Especially those of his wife.

  “If you hate everything about me then why did you marry me?” Snatching up Buttercup’s reins, she kicked the mare into a canter without bothering to wait for a reply.

  If you hate everything about me then why did you marry me?

  Caroline’s parting words echoed in Eric’s mind as he watched her ride away. Here he’d thought they had been having a witty exchange, but apparently she’d taken his criticisms to heart. His brow furrowed. Maybe he shouldn’t have said that part about stumbling along three years behind, but devil take it he didn’t know what to say to her! Or any other lady, for that matter. His interactions with women had almost always taken place in one of two places, the ballroom or the bedroom.

  In the ballroom he’d gotten away with polite observations of the weather. As for the bedroom…well, he’d never spoken very much at all. And what he had said would never be the sort of thing a man could repeat to his wife. Which left him floundering about like a fish tossed up on shore.

  Hate?

  He didn’t hate Caroline. He was rather beginning to like her…and therein laid the problem.

  He wasn’t supposed to like his wife. He wasn’t supposed to feel anything for her at all except for mild disdain, and in the church that was precisely what he’d felt. Mild disdain tempered with a sense of obligation to do his duty and produce an heir. But they weren’t in the church anymore…and with every day that passed his attraction towards her was growing whether he wanted it to or not.

  Ever since he’d seen her standing underneath that blasted tree he’d been unable to get her silky golden hair out of his mind. Or the soft curves of her body. Or the pink softness of her lips. There was no way around it. No way to unsee it. The woman was a bloody vision. A gray-eyed siren sitting high on a rock, singing her sweet song of temptation while sailors crashed their boats at her feet. And his vessel was heading straight towards her…in more ways than one.

  When she’d descended the staircase this morning, looking all prim and proper in her ruby red riding habit that hugged every decadent line of her body, he’d been tempted to sling her over his shoulder and carry her right back up the stairs. But he hadn’t. He hadn’t because he feared once he tasted her sweet mouth he would only crave her all the more.

  Or maybe not. Maybe once he bedded her this unwanted need clawing away at his insides would go away once and for all. Then he could focus on more important matters, like returning to London and finding a mistress.

  Yes. That’s what he would do. It’s what he should have done the very first night they were married. Wed and bed, wasn’t that the old saying? No doubt made up by men eager to return to the fields of battle. Because taking an axe to the neck was preferable to living under the same roof as one’s wife for longer than a fortnight.

  His mind made up, Eric spurred his mount into a gallop.

  Chapter Seven

  “What are you doing?” Her fork pausing in midair, Caroline stared at her husband with ill-disguised shock as he walked into the dining room and sat down across from her.

  “What does it look like I am doing?” Ignoring the maid who was hastily putting together another setting, Eric rested his elbows on the edge of the table and leaned towards her. He’d exchanged his breeches for trousers and his waistcoat for a formal black jacket complete with cravat. Aside from a single errant curl that hung
low over his brow, his dark hair was slicked back and his face was clean shaven, giving her a clear view of his distinguished jawline. “I am having dinner.”

  Not wanting to risk staining the front of her dress with lamb soaked in a thick butter cream sauce, Caroline slowly lowered her hand. “But – but we never dine together.”

  “Well tonight we are.” He unfolded his napkin and draped it over his lap. “How is the lamb? Cook always tends to make it a little dry.”

  “It – it’s fine.” After their ride this morning Eric had disappeared without a word and she’d spent the rest of the day practicing her needlework and playing solitaire in the drawing room.

  At precisely half past six she’d gone up to her bedchamber to retrieve a book of poetry before returning downstairs for dinner where she’d planned on doing what she did every night: reading by candlelight while enjoying a superbly cooked meal and then retiring to the parlor for a glass of sherry before bed.

  It was a routine she’d established after it became readily apparent that her husband had no interest in spending any time with her. Except now here he was, acting for all the world as though they dined together on a regular basis.

  “That’s good to hear. Well?” he said, lifting an eyebrow. “Are you going to eat or not? I hope you’re not one of those women who become peckish when a man is present. You’re thin enough as it is.”

  She stared at him in disbelief. “Do you even know you are doing it?”

  “Doing what?” he asked brusquely as he cut into his lamb.

  “Saying such cruel, insensitive things.”

  “Me? Cruel and insensitive? Oh all right,” he admitted when she merely lifted a brow. “Perhaps, at times, I may come across as a bit…boorish. But I don’t do it intentionally. Well, not always.”

  “A bit?” she practically yelped. “Today alone you’ve insulted me no less than five times.”