The Duke's Christmas Promise (Regency Christmas Romance)

by Sandra Masters

  “I didn’t know, Noelle. I would never have hurt you with intention.” He uttered a string of curses under his breath.

  First, he’d have to stop his sarcasm by the specific expletive that woman. “Noelle,” he called to the empty room. “You brought me to my knees. Behind every lie, there stood the ugly truth. We were innocent and deserved better. I don’t want to revile you anymore. Can you stop the venom in your heart, too?” He stretched his hands upward in supplication. “I know the why of it all, but how can I accept it as final?” His breath and heartbeat raced at the outrage. He pummelled his hand on the wall until it hurt. Footsteps echoed down the corridor to his suite.

  A tap sounded, “Are you in need, Your Grace?”

  He prevaricated. “No, I’ve squashed a pesky insect. You may go.”

  All became quiet again. If Abingdon didn’t depart the room, he’d go berserk. Desperate, he cast off the dressing gown and reached for the dark jacket hung on a peg, leaving behind his cravat and waistcoat. He descended the back steps toward the labyrinth - he needed time. Unthinking of where he went, he strode toward the gardens. He overheard voices and stopped near a concrete bench - Noelle and Pembrooke were in conversation. If he turned, they would see him. He sat, closed his eyes, then threw back his head, and waited. Abingdon and the seat became one.

  Chapter Seven

  Pembrooke cleared his throat. Noelle opened her eyes.

  “My Lady, I’m here as requested. Where shall we start?”

  Out of the corner of her eye, she viewed Allyn and Sutton walking along a path. The couple were deep in conversation. Sutton pointed to a bush, and they stopped. Noelle glanced at her daughter’s happy expression and the way the couple’s eyes locked to each other. Yanked back into the conversation, Noelle expressed her thoughts to the butler.

  “The Masquerade Ball is tomorrow evening, and will require close attention. There will be a private dinner before the ball followed by a late supper, and then the music and dance will begin. All chandeliers should be radiant, with the best beeswax candles, and greenery everywhere on the columns and festooned along the stair railings.”

  “Understood, my Lady. As we speak, labourers are cutting the boughs.”

  Noelle sighed with impatience.

  “Good. Ropes of holly and red berries are to be draped along the windows and walls, inside and out. In the small drawing rooms, we want mistletoe hung in the archways, for obvious reasons.” She arose and paced. “Are there sufficient quantities of ale, wine, roasted meats over fire pits, and vegetables… and of course chestnuts?”

  “I believe there’s enough for the guests.”

  His eyes engaged hers.

  “The trees along the circular drive should be dressed in red bows around the trunks where possible. We aim to have a yuletide spectacle.”

  Pembrooke recorded the requests.

  “The gentlemen’s room should be stocked with fine cognacs, brandy, and Armagnac.”

  He nodded and wrote on his notepad.

  “For the ladies’ room, we wish to assure that there will be orgeat, fainting salts, and a seamstress to assist.”

  She continued her rapid pace but kept a firm eye on the erstwhile couple. Why, oh why, had she ever consented to do this?

  They continued to speak for about an hour, and the list grew by leaps and bounds. Noelle realised that she had not yet addressed the coach and livery situation.

  “We’ll need to speak to the head coachman and the Stablemaster. How many horses are available to ride to a hunt?”

  “My Lady, I will request that they visit you. Do you prefer the small drawing room or the library?”

  “I find the air delightful. Ask both to visit me here at the same time. Might you bring a pitcher of lemonade? My throat is parched.”

  He nodded, and set off to do as asked.

  A snapped twig deflected her attention to a copse where a doe and fawn nuzzled at the moss on a nearby rock. Serenity and all it kindled brought back memories she’d rather forget — forever.

  “I fear I’ve wearied you, Pembrooke. So much depends on the success of the return of the Duke of Abingdon.”

  Much more than you know.

  The comfortable, soft-cushioned, hooded white wicker chair beckoned. Noelle sat in its cocoon and raised a hand to her temple to ease the headache which had started. Fatigue overwhelmed her. This assignment held great significance, and she wanted it to be perfect for everyone’s benefit. Perhaps she’d get future clients, but Abingdon’s face appeared every time Noelle closed her eyes. Would there be retribution too? His contempt for her was all too clear.

  The latticed sunrays warmed her - an invitation to drowse, to rest. Suddenly, heat vanished and in its place shade invaded. Noelle opened her eyes to a tall man dressed in black. He stood over her. His lawn shirt opened in a V and displayed shining hair down his chest. It was more than worthy of a sigh, but she curtailed her reaction.

  “I’ve been here for four hours, Abingdon. Tell me what have I done to upset your routine?”

  His smile surprised her as his cologne wafted through the air and lingered with the honeysuckle scent of the vines.

  “I thought to spend time in meditation and stumbled upon you here. You were deep in the arms of Morpheus, the god of sleep. Your coach trip tired you?”

  He didn’t move a finger or his hand, just his lips. Such wondrous lips.

  “Pembrooke advised me that you were engaged by Sutton to complete arrangements for my return here. The ducal quarters are strange to me. Restlessness has become my constant companion. May I sit a moment?”

  “It is your home. I’ll depart if you wish.” She started to rise.

  “No, stay. Perhaps it is best if I’m the one who leaves.”

  This was spoken in a sad imitation of the man she remembered.

  How much more should she endure in the name of a need for money, to depart detested England, because he’d returned? Everything within her commanded her to run, run, run.

  “The last time we spoke, you made it clear that you never wanted to set eyes on me again. What has changed, Abingdon? A sense of conscience and guilt at your behaviour?”

  “You forget. The guilt is not mine. Sutton reminded me of my status here as a host, and he assured me that you would suitably conduct yourself.”

  “It appears he extracted the same promise from me.” Her fingers fidgeted with the button on her sleeve. Without eye contact, she said, “Since you are here though, do you have any special dances you wish the musicians to play? Or do you wish trumpeters to announce your presence so that you can step on the toes of any unwary lady? The next choice would be to gallop into the ballroom on your horse.” After the sarcastic words were spoken, she realised the impossibility of the two of them in the same space. Already she’d broken her pledge. “But then you might prefer a Viennese waltz, the way only you could perform to enchant the viewers. Back then, oft times, the group would stop to watch your graceful dance steps as you twirled me around a ballroom floor. It was magical then. Sad now.”

  I will never forget those cherished moments.

  She blinked her eyes, and a tear escaped. Darn. Noelle turned away and fingered it to oblivion where it belonged.

  His laugh surprised her.

  “You’re still a spitfire.”

  “No. I’m more of a firefly who hides her glow in a field.”

  “You could never diminish such radiance.”

  “Did you just pay me a compliment?” His words confused her even more.

  “If you take it so, it must be. I’d like to make a proposition to you, if I may.” His eyes twinkled in the light.

  “Proposition?” Wary of his niceties to her, she waited for a catastrophe to occur.

  “A truce. I apologise for my attire. If I had my cravat, I’d wave it into the air to parlay in peace. Noelle, if I may call you by your given name, can we make the best of a bad circumstance? I will speak to Sutton to further engage you to write the history of my battl
es.”

  “Abingdon, are you unwell?”

  She firmed her shoulders and spine.

  “Never better. You may call me Trevor, as you used to.”

  “No. You’d have me whipped for lack of respect.”

  “You are a complicated woman still.”

  She arose, as did he. “You are a legend. You deserve acclaim for your valiant war efforts. For me, all I know is you broke my heart.”

  “Hearts mend with time and good intentions. I’ll have Sutton insist you take the assignment. However, do not take too much license with how you describe my gallantry. I was a lethal weapon in my own right when it came to victory. It’s a taste I still enjoy. Since the loss of love, I devoted my energies to triumphant battles against my enemies in all ways possible.”

  Had he just made a double entendre? Oh, no, she wouldn’t accept that she was the cause of his unhappiness.

  “I’ve allotted ten days for this visit. To accomplish the historical research would take much longer. While I have some experience in such endeavours, it has become a lesser employment. Plus, I’m not intimately familiar with your battles.”

  She tilted her head and wondered what went on behind those mischievous green eyes. No good could come of it. He’d be too close. No. A thousand times no. She wouldn’t change her mind.

  “That’s why it will require our working together closely. You have a keen attention to detail, which is obvious in how you took charge of the estate party. I’ll arrange for you and your daughter to stay longer. Sutton would second the notion of your beautiful daughter’s further stay.”

  He chuckled in complete enjoyment of the moment of combat with her.

  “I can’t be tempted, Your Grace.”

  The words were a canard. She crossed her fingers behind her back.

  “Oh, yes you can.” He winked. “I know better.”

  “How dare you.”

  She hissed, grasped her fan, and snapped the handle into her palm.

  “Noelle, I always get my way once I know what I want. Although I may take a bit longer than others to make sure my choice is a valid one.”

  “My price for such work could have you change your mind.”

  Meanwhile, she calculated how far he would go. This foolish game he played could be profitable and add to her coffers.

  “State your sum. I have to depart soon.”

  Why was the rogue laughing? She raised her head as high as it would go.

  “One thousand pounds.”

  Noelle waited for his reply. She’d give him this. He didn’t bat an eyelash.

  “For such a sum, you do realise we’d have to work together in harmony or as you mentioned — closely. Together?”

  “As long as it is not in tight quarters.”

  Such a devil full of charm, grace, and deceit. Scoundrel of the moment, but I will not succumb ever to such devious techniques. Again.

  “We now have an arrangement. Five hundred pounds upon your contract signature. The balance will be due you upon completion.”

  “You demand a written contract?”

  Wide eyes glared at him.

  “Yes. The documentary is a business transaction. Nothing more. Nothing less. My solicitor will write it up. Of course, you understand this is for your security should something dastardly happen to me.”

  “Dastardly?”

  “Yes, do you still carry a knife in your reticule?”

  “Yes, I do. The better to stab you with, Your Grace.”

  His riotous laugh did not amuse her.

  Chapter Eight

  Abingdon returned to his suite content about his dealings with Noelle, assured that she did not hate him as much as he had imagined. He also determined that he would not allow the bitterness of two old men to dictate to him from the grave.

  “There’s a special place in hell for what they did to Noelle and me,” he reiterated to the empty room, “She’ll realise as we work together, a bond will develop.”

  Or was the proper term redevelop? Most importantly, he no longer held her in contempt. The useless emotion had gnawed at his innards for decades and now lessened with each thought. She might detest him with words and try to convince herself of feeling those strong sensations against him, but he could see behind those cornflower blue eyes that she still thought of him with some regard.

  He fisted his hands at his sides and sat in the opulent hob-nailed leather wing chair, one leg crossed over the other, his elbow rested on the arm, his hand on his temple.

  “Love and hate were at opposite ends of the same candle.”

  The silent room held no answers. Besides, she now represented a considerable challenge to his wounded ego.

  If he was planning a skirmish for his enemy to surrender to his victory, by now he’d have everything prepared. It was then Abingdon determined he’d devise a plan. The siege of Noelle, Lady Fenwick, would require the use of everything and everyone at his disposal. He might even ask Sutton to help in the preparation. The battlefield would be the Masquerade Ball. The costume would not be his uniform, but something mysterious, and he’d lure her away. He’d break her resistance. His persuasiveness knew no limit when he wanted to achieve a goal.

  Fiery as her red hair, she hadn’t changed her temperament, a tempest in an ocean squall. Abingdon would remind her that he was the storm to break her opposition. Still a beautiful woman, he cursed the fact that the only choice she had been given was to marry another man.

  “Wasted years, Father. Vanished years. Lost years.”

  He gazed at his room and all its luxury, from the canopied four-poster draped bed to the dark green walls. Persian carpets in unusual colors added to the richness. Abingdon returned his glance to the bed. If she awaited him in it, he could show her how they’d make up for lost time. Some things a man doesn’t forget. He had relegated those memories to a deep, dark corner of his mind, but they were still available to recall.

  He longed to run his fingers across her full breasts and suckle her nipples. He closed his eyes and allowed his imagination to recollect their hours in lovemaking. Noelle would purr like a contented kitten, and at times she’d initiate her desire for him like a predatory cat after its prey. Her touch to his lower body escalated his maleness to attention.

  Damn, look at what contemplation brought to him. A full arousal — uncomfortable to say the least — which would need his experienced hand. A momentary gratification, when Abingdon wanted so much more of his former lover. The more he thought, the more he wanted to make love to her. The moments they’d spent after were passionate since the satiation was never enough. More, always they wanted more.

  This wet fantasy needed a reality.

  <<<>>>

  Abingdon allowed his imagination to run wild. This time Noelle was sitting on the side of the four-poster bed fully clothed. Her low-cut bodice, which so delightfully displayed her decolletage, uplifted by the stays beneath, invited his attention.

  The temptress dared to lift her skirt and glide her fingers up her inner thigh.

  “Abingdon,” she called, “come to me, my love. I’ve waited so long. My body needs your wandering hands to explore it. You still remember, don’t you?” Her hands centered themselves near her sex core, then she removed them. “Come, my darling man. Remind me of how we used to be. I’m so ready for you to enter me.”

  “Noelle, we’ve just started. Allow me to undress you.” Not one to hesitate, he strode to her side, and knelt between the juncture of her legs. “First, let me unlace you. Turn over, sweetling.” With deft hands, he unlaced the back of her gown, and pulled down the bodice, then unlaced her stays, while at the same time, he pulled her up. Her backside to him spiraled his long held desire. Down, down, down came her skirts, and all other garments, until she was naked to him. “Are you awaiting my advances? You’re every man’s dream, but you are mine. Don’t be afraid. I won’t hurt you. I’ll keep you so warm you’ll beg to stay within the scorch of my arms.”

  “You’re mad if you th
ink I’d beg you for anything, you scoundrel.”

  “I’ll give you back a portion of your clothes for every kiss you give me.”

  He enjoyed teasing her.

  Yet she didn’t move back, but forward. A Venus in disguise. She sidled toward him, her fingertips skimmed his, her smile opened to him. Lips a momentary breath away, her tongue a slither of invitation. Molten, forbidden, entranced, the thrill of the moment climbed upward into a whirlpool of unbridled desire, pure, and magnificent. The delight captivated his senses and, unable to resist, he’d give anything for her touch. In wonder, he placed his mouth on hers to join in a kiss of untold passion, never expecting that this imperceptible touch could bring such enormous cravings to have more of the same, no matter the cost.

  With a heavy breath, he tore off his jacket, waistcoat, shirt, and boots. When he did so, Noelle placed her hands under full inviting breasts, lifted the glorious fullness, and offered them to him.

  The game he had wanted to play disappeared from his mind. Again, the gossamer thread of sensuality teased, provoked, and claimed him — the immense yearning traversed between them as he leaned his arousal against her body, and the sensation was like a thousand electric shocks. He allowed her to pull him down on top of her on the massive bed and never took his eyes away.

  “I love your stubble. It scratches as if to punish me, but it’s how you awaken in the morning. Intimate to my touch. Right now it sends fire darts up my core.”

  Her body thrummed with his searing heat. Abingdon bit his lip, opened them, and kiss by kiss, he suckled like a hungry babe.

  One kiss led to another, and as if in a dream which happened to someone else, when Noelle placed her hands on his slick bare chest and her fingers worked their way down to his waist, he almost lost all control.

  With ease, she unbuttoned the fall of his breeches and pulled them down, so his maleness would be freed from its confinement. Proud, arrogant, and ever so firm, his magnetism held her spellbound. Before she knew what was happening, she was naked and in his hot arms, tasting his hot kisses, and his hot mouth. Darting tongues imitated what she wanted - when he’d enter her.