Wanton Christmas Wishes

by Multi-Author

  He took off his spectacles and surveyed his sister. Her grey eyes were sparkling, and her cheeks were flushed red either from the cold or indignation.

  “Tell him what?”

  Michael nodded to his employer who had taken a stand on the hearthrug in front of the fire with his hands behind his back.

  “Your Grace.”

  “Good afternoon, Michael.”

  Michael had no idea how Elizabeth had the nerve to rile the duke who wasn’t known for his sweetness of temper or his ability to suffer fools gladly.

  “Tell His Grace that our mother had no difficulty carrying her children, and that I don’t expect to have difficulty carrying mine either.”

  “I—” Michael risked a glance at the duke whose expression became even more glacial. “I have no idea what you are talking about, Elizabeth.”

  “Oh, for goodness sake!” she exclaimed. “Just agree with me.”

  “But how can I do that when I have no knowledge about the subject?”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “Then lie. I’m your sister.”

  “Your brother is in my employ, ma belle,” the duke said softly. “Perhaps he doesn’t wish to be drawn into a discussion of a matter that is surely meant to be resolved privately.”

  There was a hint of a warning in the duke’s voice that his wife seemed unable or unwilling to recognize. For the second time in an hour, Michael gazed longingly at the window and contemplated escape.

  “I’m merely suggesting that trying to smother me for the duration of my pregnancy is not an option,” Elizabeth snapped.

  “You’re breeding?” Michael blurted out. “I do apologize Your Grace, I—”

  Elizabeth took off her bonnet and swung around to glare at Michael again. “Yes, Michael, I am. I’m also determined to have a happy and healthy pregnancy, if that man over there”—she pointed at the duke who looked distinctly unamused—“will simply allow me to do so!”

  “Elizabeth…”

  Ignoring both her husband and her brother, the duchess turned on her heel and walked out, slamming the door behind her.

  Michael spoke to his blotter. “She doesn’t mean to be difficult, Your Grace. It’s just when she’s worried about something she tends to become rather… stubborn.”

  “Do you think I don’t know that?” The duke sighed. “I handled her very badly. After her experiences with your mother and stepfather I should have remembered how much she hates feeling trapped. I’ll go up to her. I apologize for placing you in such a difficult situation.”

  “I’m used to it, Your Grace.”

  “I’m sure you are.” The duke paused at the door and looked back at Michael. “If Angelique arrives early for her appointment, tell her I might be delayed.”

  “Yes, Your Grace.”

  “Thank you.” The duke still lingered. “It will be hard for me not to worry about my duchess. I almost lost her once and have already buried a son I am… perhaps a little weary of losing those I love.”

  Michael didn’t reply to that startling confession and kept his gaze on his work. Being the duke’s brother-in-law and his secretary was sometimes more complicated than he’d imagined. But anything was better than being trapped in one room wasting away while his mother refused to acknowledge his existence…

  With another last glance at the world outside where the sun was being replaced by dark, threatening clouds filled with snow, he returned to writing his letters. If he knew the ducal couple, they’d argue passionately and make up their differences in bed. It wasn’t the way he would manage a marriage, but it seemed to work well for them.

  “GOOD EVENING, MICHAEL. Where is the duke?”

  He looked up to discover hours had passed and that it was now dusk. Angelique Delisle was standing in front of his desk tapping her foot as she peered at him through the darkness. She wore a blue pelisse trimmed with swansdown and a tall bonnet with ostrich feathers that almost brushed the chandelier above her head. She’d already discarded her huge fur muff on a chair.

  “Good evening, Angelique. Are you here for your four o’clock appointment?”

  “Yes, although I am a trifle late. One of my little treasures was ill.”

  Michael glanced at the clock. It was past six, but Angelique had never been punctual, and she was devoted to her revolting little white dogs. She was an interesting woman—a refugee from the Revolution who had fled with the duke and for a long while had been his acknowledged mistress. Even more fascinating was that she and Elizabeth were now good friends.

  She was one of the most beautiful women Michael had ever seen. Her hair was guinea gold and curled naturally into ringlets, her body curved in all the right places, and she was petite. She reminded him of a china doll, or an elusive fairy from the tales of his childhood. She also featured in many of his most feverish and imaginative dreams…

  “Well, Michael?”

  He realized he’d been staring at her for far too long. “I do apologize, Angelique. The duke is upstairs with the duchess.”

  “Then I’ll go up to him.” She gathered her gauzy silk skirts in one hand.

  “I wouldn’t do that. They probably aren’t in the drawing room.” He cleared his throat. “There was some… contretemps earlier and—”

  “Did she tell him she was enceinte?” Angelique threw up her hands. “Mon dieu, I knew he would react badly.”

  “The duke wasn’t the one who was flying into alt.”

  “Gervase doesn’t need to lose his temper to be annoying. I know that all too well.” She snapped her fingers. “He says something as if it is a command straight from God and instantly expects to be obeyed!”

  “Well, he is a duke.”

  “And a very arrogant man, do not forget that.”

  As she talked, Michael began to see why Elizabeth got on so well with Angelique. They were both inclined to treat the duke with a remarkable lack of respect.

  “I will go up,” Angelique announced firmly in her lilting French accent.

  Michael held up his hand. “Let me ring for the butler and ascertain if the duke is receiving visitors.”

  “Why?” She shrugged. “It’s not as if I haven’t seen him naked before.”

  “But the duchess might not appreciate your presence if she is naked, too.”

  Angelique subsided onto the corner of his desk. “I suppose you are right. Things aren’t quite the same anymore, are they?” She winked at him. “I suspect Elizabeth would have my head if I walked into her bedchamber and found her and the duke en dishabille.”

  Luckily, Michael didn’t have to reply as the butler appeared to remind him that dinner was about to be served in the dining room.

  Angelique went to the door. “Shall we eat together while we await the appearance of the duke? I’m famished.”

  “That would be lovely.”

  She held the door open wide as he maneuvered his wheelchair out from behind the desk and headed for the hallway.

  “Do you need help?”

  “No, thank you.” He kept his voice mild and his smile relaxed. “I can manage.”

  Unlike his sister and brothers who tended to hover over him as if he were a small child in walking strings, she took him at his word and went ahead, chattering about inconsequential matters as they progressed.

  He took his usual seat on the duke’s right, even though the place was empty, and she sat beside him. An appetizing smell of carrot and brandy soup wafted out from under one of the closed lids.

  Angelique sighed. “Gervase’s chef is quite extraordinary. I can see why he pays him such an exorbitant sum of money to stay.”

  “More than he pays me,” Michael grumbled good-naturedly as he helped himself and Angelique to the soup.

  “But you do not have to work, do you? You have a private income.”

  “Since the duke straightened out the Waterstone finances I suppose I could sit at home and be idle, but what exactly would I do all day?” Michael glanced down at his useless legs. “It’s not as if I
can ride to hounds, or parade myself at the fashionable hour in Hyde Park like a peacock looking for a mate.”

  “You do not wish to be married?”

  “Good Lord, Angelique, who would want to tie themselves to a cripple like me?”

  She continued speaking. “You are not ill-favored. You are the brother-in-law of a duke, and you come from a good family. Why would you not choose to marry?”

  He fixed her with his best glare. “Surely that is my own business?”

  “Michael, you are in a wheelchair, you aren’t dead. Surely you have needs?”

  He put down his spoon and studied her earnest face. “Are you attempting to be discreet? Why don’t you just come out and say it?”

  “I was trying to be subtle!”

  “You are never subtle.”

  She blinked her big blue eyes at him. “Because I am a courtesan?”

  “Angelique, what on earth do you expect me to say to that? Everyone knows what you are. Apart from bedding the duke, you’ve been the mistress of some of the most top-lofty aristocrats in England!”

  “Which means, you dunderhead, that I am extremely discreet.” She hunched her shoulder at him and continued eating her soup.

  After he’d finished, the bowl was taken away and replaced with a plate of escallops of pork, creamed spinach, and roast potatoes. He determinedly ate his way through a large quantity of food before he glanced at his companion who was picking daintily at her plate.

  “I didn’t mean to offend you, Angelique. I do apologize.”

  “You are forgiven.” She inclined her head a regal inch. “I am very discreet.”

  He put down his knife and stared at his plate. “My sister says I am a little sensitive about my… lack of abilities.”

  Angelique put her elbow on the table and regarded him with great interest. “Will you ever walk again?”

  So much for her retreating and respecting his boundaries…

  “I doubt it. I can walk a few steps with two canes, but it is so debilitating that I can’t maintain my posture for more than a moment.”

  She reached over and wrapped her small hand around his upper arm. “You are quite muscular.”

  “I try and keep myself as healthy as possible. Jack Llewellyn showed me a series of exercises that I could practice in my chair to strengthen my upper body.”

  Anxious to avoid answering any more intimate questions, Michael drank his entire glass of wine and stared desperately at the clock on the mantelpiece. “I wonder what is keeping the duke and duchess? Perhaps I should send another message up to them.”

  Angelique’s hand slid down from his arm to capture his hand.

  “Wait a moment.”

  “I thought you were the one who was eager to see the duke?”

  “Not until we have finished our conversation.”

  “I’m sure you are quite sick of hearing me whine about myself.”

  She chuckled. “Not at all. I find you very interesting. I always have.”

  Shock made him forget himself and stare right into her beguiling blue gaze. “You… think I’m interesting?”

  “And handsome.”

  He firmly removed her hand from his and placed it in her lap. “We are old friends. Don’t feel obliged to drown me in fake compliments because you feel sorry for me.”

  She wrinkled her nose at him. “I don’t feel sorry for you.”

  “Then what do you want?”

  “To understand you.”

  “In God’s name, why?”

  She smiled. “Because I have always wondered about the extent of your abilities. I am a courtesan, after all.”

  “You want to know if I am capable of fornication.”

  “Oui,” she said simply, her expression inquiring.

  “Go to hell, Angelique.”

  He pushed away from the table so violently that he upset her glass of wine. The vibrant red soaked the linen like blood and dripped to the floor. Just as he reached the door, it opened and the duke and duchess appeared. They both looked rather flushed and a lot happier than they had earlier.

  Michael kept going, and they both stepped hurriedly to the side to avoid his wheelchair running over their toes.

  “Michael, is something wrong? Do you feel unwell? Should I call your physician?” Elizabeth called after him.

  “I’m fine!” he snapped, hating the instant worry in her voice. “Good evening, Your Graces.”

  He avoided the butler in the hallway and reached the security of his room, slamming the door behind him.

  “Damn it.”

  He locked his hands together in his lap and concentrated on breathing in and out as a thousand pointless urges swirled in his head. He wanted to punch something, he wanted to drink himself into oblivion, he wanted to cry like a small child and never stop.

  Picking up the nearest object, he threw it at the fireplace and enjoyed the crash of the splintering glass. After another attempt to regulate his breathing, he finally managed to lift his head and stare at the damage he’d created. This wasn’t like him. He’d accepted what he was. He liked himself. With a soft curse, he let out his breath.

  A faint hint of expensive perfume wafted over him and he stiffened as Angelique cleared her throat.

  “Perhaps now you’ve gotten over your tantrum, Mr. Waterstone, you might care to answer my question?”

  ANGELIQUE WAITED AS Michael’s back went rigid and he slowly turned his chair to face the door she leaned against. She held up the key.

  “You should have locked the door.”

  “Go away, Angelique.” He sounded far too weary and defeated for her liking.

  She put the key down the front of her bodice. “I’ve locked the door. You will have the devil of a job getting rid of me now.”

  He stared at her for another long minute, but to her disappointment it was obvious that he was beginning to claw back his control. His ability to remain calm was something she both envied and despaired about him. This was the closest she had ever come to making him lose his temper.

  In truth, it was rather thrilling.

  “Then, how may I help you?” Michael finally asked.

  “By answering my question as to whether or not you can fornicate.”

  He looked away from her, his smile self-deprecating. “I’m not sure.”

  She frowned. “One must know if one can fornicate or not.”

  “Not if one refrains from trying.”

  Angelique advanced toward him and took the seat opposite his chair. “I don’t understand.”

  He groaned and rubbed a hand over his face. He had beautiful eyes the color of brandy and hair to match. “Do I have to have this conversation with you right now?”

  “If you want me to leave at some point, then yes.” She patted his knee. “And as I am a professional, so to speak, I am probably the only person you can be completely frank and honest with.”

  “I suppose that is true.” He looked down at his lap.

  Taking this as a sign to continue, Angelique asked, “Are you suggesting you’ve never even attempted to see if you can maintain an erection?”

  His smile grew thin. “Not for a year or so. I tried when I first returned to England. I used to forget that my lower half was useless. I’d wake up at night stroking myself and there was no response.”

  “And more recently?”

  He set his jaw. “Why torment myself? Since being released from my mother’s incompetent care, I’ve learned to be content with my lot, and to be grateful for what I have instead of bemoaning what is lost.”

  “That sounds terribly dull.” Angelique studied him carefully. “But what if there is more? Would you not like to find out?”

  “I’m not sure if I could stand the disappointment.” He swallowed hard. “You must think me weak and cowardly.”

  “Not at all.” She hesitated. “What if we kept this experiment between ourselves?”

  “What experiment?”

  The uneasy note was back in his voice, which m
ade Angelique want to smile. The English were so tentative when they spoke of matters of the heart and of the bed. “To see if you can fornicate.” She smiled into his appalled face. “If anyone can get a rise out of you, Michael Waterstone, I’ll wager it will be me. You can consider it my Christmas gift to you.”

  Before he could continue objecting, Angelique rose to her feet, fished the key out of her bosom, and unlocked the door.

  “I am quite serious about this, but I do have a prior engagement with the duke.” She blew him a kiss and whisked herself out of the room and back across the entrance hall to the grand staircase.

  It was unfortunate that she urgently needed to speak to the duke and couldn’t move forward with her seduction before Michael reverted to his usual charming unflappable self.

  Picking up her skirts, she started up the stairs. But she had faith. Despite the turmoil of her life, she had never given up on her dreams. If Michael Waterstone wished to proceed, she would not let him down until they had exhausted every sexual possibility in her repertoire. He would be the last and greatest challenge of her career, and she hated to fail. And she liked him. He had always treated her with the utmost respect and that was a rarity from a gentleman of his class.

  One of the footmen opened the door to the drawing room, and the duke rose to greet her. From his relaxed, languorous expression she surmised that whatever argument he’d had with his duchess had been resolved during their lovemaking. Despite his stiff English ways, he was still French enough to make up his differences with his wife in the traditional way.

  “Angelique.”

  The duke came toward her and took both her hands in his before bringing them to his lips.

  “Gervase.” She drew in a steadying breath. “I am sorry to bring my troubles to you once more, but I think my cook is trying to poison me.”

  Chapter 2

  “YOUR COOK?” THE duke asked. “Are you quite sure?”

  Angelique took a seat beside the duchess next to the fire and composed her thoughts. “Not entirely, but someone is trying to do away with me. The reason I was late for our appointment was because one of my dogs became ill.”

  “You will insist on feeding them from your table.”