Wanton Christmas Wishes

by Multi-Author

  “On this occasion the dog got to the food on my table before I did. Which, in retrospect, was a good thing.”

  The duke considered her for a long moment. “Who would want to kill you?”

  “Oh, for goodness’ sake, one must assume that my role as more than your mistress has become known. Not that I object to being seen in a new light as an accomplice rather than just a lightskirt. Your enemies are now my enemies, and I am a far easier target than you are.”

  “She does have a point, Gervase,” Elizabeth said. “There has been a lot of publicity about the trial, not to mention the damage your ex-secretary did to your entire organization before he was apprehended.”

  “I’m well aware of that, my dear. The information of Angelique’s spying activities could have been sold to anyone. I was wondering if she had someone specific in mind.”

  “I can’t think of anyone,” Angelique replied.

  “Then perhaps the information was simply given to La Fleur, and he has sent one of his minions to dispose of you for past grievances.”

  Angelique shivered. “There’s no need to sound quite so calm about it all, Gervase. I would rather not die horribly just to satisfy a French spymaster’s desire for revenge.”

  Elizabeth sat forward. “Would you consider moving in here? You would be much safer.”

  “And I would be providing the whole of society with gossip. Us being friends is considered unorthodox. If I came to live here we would become as scandalous as the Duke of Devonshire’s family.” Angelique smiled at Elizabeth. “But thank you for the offer.”

  “We need to speak to your cook,” the duke said.

  “He has already flown the nest.”

  “But I have many ways to clip his wings. Please excuse me for a moment.”

  Elizabeth sighed as the duke strode purposefully from the room. “He’ll be gone for hours, now.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb your evening. I forget how His Grace always has to solve everything straight away.”

  “If he is to catch your cook before he leaves the country, he will need to be quick.”

  “I’m still sorry,” Angelique said contritely. “Did you tell the duke about your pregnancy?”

  “I did.” Elizabeth grimaced. “He reacted exactly as I thought he would and started issuing orders. I got quite cross with him.”

  “He’s simply afraid of losing you, my love.”

  The duchess looked down at her tangled fingers. “I know that, but sometimes the force of his love frightens me.”

  “He is French, he cannot help himself. When he loves, he loves with great passion.” She touched Elizabeth’s knee. “You would not have him any other way, n’est-ce-pas?”

  “I suppose not. At least one knows where one stands.”

  “At the center of his world,” Angelique agreed. “He would die for you.”

  “He’s already tried that. It was quite horrible.” The duchess suddenly looked up. “Do you resent me for marrying him?”

  “Of course not.” It was quite unlike the duchess to doubt herself. Perhaps being with child was making her more emotional than usual. “We would not have suited each other at all.”

  “The French are so practical about such matters.”

  “That is true, and there is the little matter that he fell in love with you.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “That he fell in love?” Angelique smiled. “I watched it happen. I had to help him steer a path through the treacherous storms that surrounded you both, but I knew he would come to his senses in the end.”

  “Thank you.” Elizabeth reached forward and took Angelique’s hands in hers. “I would be distraught if you decided not to be my friend.”

  “I will never do that, Elizabeth. Now tell me about your brother, Michael.”

  “What about him? Were the two of you arguing in the dining room earlier?”

  “Yes.”

  The duchess frowned. “But Michael never argues. He is the most reasonable member of the Waterstone family and my favorite brother. What on earth did you say to put him in such a rage?”

  Angelique shrugged. “We were discussing his future prospects.”

  “For what?”

  “Marriage.”

  “No wonder he was upset. That is a subject we try not to talk about in front of the poor man.” Elizabeth shook her head. “When he came back from the war and was so badly injured, he ordered his betrothed, a Miss Angela Barton, to give him back his ring. She was very upset.”

  “Does she still pine after him?”

  “Unfortunately not.” Elizabeth made a face. “Less than six months later she married Michael’s best friend.”

  “How horrible for him. To have to meet her now in such circumstances…”

  “He never goes out much into society—at least he didn’t when he first returned. Since getting this job, he’s had to become more social. It is still a struggle for him, and he only does it for the duke’s sake.”

  “I can imagine.”

  “He was a very dashing and courageous soldier.” Elizabeth sighed. “I idolized him when I was a child. I would do anything to keep him alive and happy now.”

  “Of course you would, my friend, he is your brother,” Angelique replied as she considered what she was learning about the always-charming Michael Waterstone.

  “You must not make him angry, Angelique. I cannot bear for him to be distressed.”

  “I cannot stop him arguing with me, Elizabeth.”

  “Yes, but—”

  Angelique held up her hand. “And he is not a child.” She held the duchess’s gaze. “And you must not treat him as one.”

  “I know, but it is hard not to want to make up for all the things he has been denied.”

  “I understand, but you must also allow him to be a man, and men are allowed to lose their tempers occasionally, especially with nosey women like me.”

  The duchess smiled. “You are the expert at soothing men’s tempers, not kindling them.”

  “You’d be surprised what I can do. Now, I have a favor to ask you.”

  “Anything.”

  “You deal with your duke, and let me deal with Michael. I promise I won’t hurt him and, if he asks me to stop, I will do so immediately.”

  Elizabeth studied her intently for a long moment. “All right, I agree.”

  “Thank you, my love.” Angelique kissed Elizabeth’s cheek and rose to leave. “Now I must go home and see my little dogs. They will be missing me.”

  The duke hadn’t returned, but he had ordered the carriage to take her home, which was a kind thought. He’d also sent a sturdy-looking young man with a cudgel to stand guard at her back door in case her cook made the mistake of trying to double back and make certain she was dead.

  Despite the warmth of her cloak, Angelique shivered as they passed through the snow-covered streets. It was never pleasant to feel helpless, and the idea that someone wished to kill her was rather frightening. She reminded herself that she had faced far worse during the Revolution and had survived to tell the tale. Her unmasking as a spy and not just the mistress of the Duke of Diable Delamere was both a cause of satisfaction and of concern.

  She’d craved some recognition for her actions, but now she wasn’t so sure. Being an acknowledged courtesan rarely led to death threats unless from impassioned suitors in badly written love sonnets. And those usually meant nothing.

  The coach stopped and she stared out at the façade of the pretty little townhouse Gervase had bought her when they’d first moved to England. It was her home and her sanctuary. When he’d married Elizabeth, the duke had given her the deed to the house and arranged for a fixed income to be paid to her for life. Even though he hadn’t visited her for sexual purposes for years, he’d always appreciated her.

  She’d offered to move away, to disappear from his presence entirely, but neither he nor the duchess had wanted that. She hadn’t wished to leave London either and was secretly relieved
when the duke refused her offer.

  Angelique walked up to the blue front door, her cloak trailing in the cleared snow. Before she had a chance to knock, her manservant, Jean-Paul, opened it.

  “Madam! Where ’ave you been? We have been worried.”

  She handed him her gloves and took off her bonnet. “I told you I was going to see the duke. Did the cook return, and how is little Frou Frou? Has she recovered?”

  “The cook is still gone, and Frou Frou is feeling much better after being doused with Mrs. Evans’s cordial. The little doggie is sleeping in her basket by the fire in the back parlor, Madam.”

  “Thank you.” Angelique paused in the doorway. “There is a man stationed outside the kitchen door. Let him in if he needs anything, but otherwise leave him be. The duke wishes him to guard the house.”

  “Yes, Madam.” Jean-Paul bowed low. “Do you wish to have some supper? Elsa threw everything away Cook created and made some nice chicken soup.”

  “No, I’ve eaten. I’ll check on Frou Frou and then I’ll go to bed.”

  “As you wish, Madam.”

  Angelique went into the parlor and crouched down beside the dog basket. A mournful whine made her gather Frou Frou in her arms and hold her close.

  “I am so sorry, my darling.” She kissed the dog’s head. “The duke will catch the bad man who did this to you, and then the man will be sorry.”

  Still holding the dog, she walked back into the hallway and up the stairs to her magnificent boudoir, which extended over the whole of the first floor. Tenderly laying the dog on the bed, she rang the bell for her maid and smothered a yawn. If Cook did come back, she was fairly certain her staff would deal with him. If they didn’t—well, she might not have anything to worry about ever again.

  Elsa came into the room and stooped to pet the dog.

  “Are you all right, Madam?”

  “Yes, I’m quite well. I’ve spoken to the duke, and he is aware of the situation.”

  “Good.” Elsa unlaced Angelique’s dress and corset with expert fingers. “I can’t think of anyone who could protect us better.”

  “Are the rest of the staff alert to what really happened?”

  “That the poison was meant for you? I think we all worked it out quite easily. Your dogs are wonderful, Madam, but scarcely worth killing.”

  “You’d be surprised. I’ve had a few lovers who have objected most strenuously to having them in my bed while we were fornicating.”

  Elsa giggled. “Didn’t Frou Frou bite one of your lovers on the arse?”

  “That’s right, she did, but the man deserved it. I was quite glad to see the back of him.” Angelique winked at Elsa who laughed even harder and then covered her mouth.

  “Oh, Madam, to laugh at a time like this seems wrong, but I cannot help myself.”

  “It’s better than the alternative which is to sit down and cry. I am a firm believer that having a positive attitude to life is a far better indicator of success than all the money in the world.”

  Elsa took away her damp outer garments and Angelique got into bed. Her two other dogs, Freddie and Pierre, leapt up on the bed and settled beside Frou Frou in a pile of white fur. She sighed and allowed her smile to fade.

  In truth, she was worried about the loss of her cook and the sense that her house was no longer safe. For a woman who’d had to leave France with nothing but the shift on her back, the prospect of losing her home again was alarming. She knew that the duke would do everything in his power to protect her, but if La Fleur was involved, the duke might not succeed.

  At least now the duke was safe with Michael Waterstone as his new secretary.

  Michael... She turned her thoughts gladly to the possibilities of seduction. He was a handsome man with a beautiful smile and a ready wit. At first glance, he might appear nothing more, but Angelique had sensed the passion within him, the banked energy of a man confined to a wheelchair and still not as at peace with himself as he claimed.

  It would be interesting to seduce such a man. On that thought, she managed to go to sleep and dreamed of nothing more dangerous than her dogs.

  Chapter 3

  AFTER A DAY spent staring at the work on his desk and getting nowhere, it was now evening and Michael was lifted out of the duke’s carriage and into his chair. Angelique’s home was on a quiet street with small gardens at the front of each house bordered by fences and rows of bushes. It looked remarkably respectable for a district that housed many of the ton’s most famous mistresses. Snow covered the ground, making everything glisten and sparkle like a fairy tale. Michael felt as if he was moving in a dream, so the setting seemed somehow fitting.

  “Do you want me to come to the front door with you, sir?”

  Michael looked up at the footman who was unlatching the front gate. “No thank you. The path has been cleared of snow, so it is quite safe. There is no need to stay and wait for me. I’ll send a note when I wish to be picked up.”

  “Right you are, sir.” The man winked before vaulting back into the carriage. “Have a good evening.”

  As the carriage drove off down the icy cobbled street, Michael realized that everyone in the duke’s establishment thought they knew exactly what he was doing at a notorious courtesan’s house. And weren’t they correct? If he was honest, he wanted to be in Angelique’s arms more than he wanted to breathe. And that was terrifying. He glanced uncertainly at the front door. What if he failed?

  With an impatient jerk he set his chair in motion along the path. If he failed to perform for one of the most skilled courtesans in London then he would at least know once and for all where he stood. He smiled at his choice of words. Afterward he could put his lustful thoughts about Angelique behind him and move on with his life.

  He rapped on the door with his cane and an elderly man opened it.

  “Monsieur Waterstone?”

  “Yes. Good evening.”

  “Come in, sir. I am Jean-Paul.” Without a word, the manservant helped Michael ease his chair through the door and into the narrow hallway. “Madam awaits you in the parlor.”

  “Thank you.”

  The savory smells that emanated from the rear of the house reassured him that dinner would not only be edible, but most welcome. In his preoccupation with the events of the evening, he’d forgotten to eat lunch, which was most unlike him.

  “Michael.”

  He blinked as Angelique rose from her seat in a cloud of gauzy pink too risqué to be called a nightgown. Her fair hair was down around her shoulders and she looked as if she’d just risen from her bed. She bent to kiss his forehead, enveloping him in a cloud of warm skin and rose fragrance that made him breathe faster.

  “I hope you don’t mind that I am en dishabille.” She ran her hands down over filmy skirts that both revealed and concealed her curvaceous figure. “It seemed silly to get dressed again when I was hoping to be ravished after dinner.”

  He brought her hand to his lips. “You are remarkably frank.”

  “Perhaps I’ve lived among the English for too long.”

  Her wry smile made him relax a little. “Do you miss France?”

  She shuddered. “Non, I barely escaped with my life. I have no wish to go back there ever again. Shall we go into the dining room? It is just through these double doors.”

  Again she made no attempt to maneuverer his chair or his person through the over-crowded parlor and went ahead, chatting about the new cook, leaving him to navigate by himself. He was aware that he was being handled by a master but he didn’t mind. Angelique’s success as a spy and a courtesan hadn’t been earned by a woman lacking in intelligence. He’d always admired her tremendously.

  “Sit on my right, Michael.”

  He did as he was told and unrolled his napkin and placed it on his lap. His stomach growled and Angelique chuckled.

  “You are supposed to be hungry after your exertions, Michael, not before.”

  “Angelique, if I don’t eat, there won’t be any exertion on my part at a
ll.”

  “Then please, go ahead.” She bit down on her lower lip, drawing his gaze to the lush curve of her mouth. “I love to see a man with a healthy appetite.”

  He ate steadily, aware of her eyes on him and the way she touched his arm, his shoulder, and once even his face as she claimed to see a drop of soup on his cheek. His tension ebbed and was replaced by the slow unfurling of warmth that had nothing to do with the food he was eating, and everything to do with Angelique’s attention. How long was it since he had been the sole point of a woman’s interest? How long since he’d been touched by anyone who hadn’t been caring for him physically in some way?

  “Michael?”

  He blinked and discovered that Angelique had somehow moved closer. She had one hand on his thigh and the other on his upper arm. With a stifled sound he slid his fingers into her hair and buried his face in the curve of her neck.

  “May I kiss you, Angelique?”

  She made a pleasurable humming sound. “If you wish to.”

  He moved away and brought one hand under her chin, staring into the startling china blue of her eyes. “I do.”

  She leaned into him, her expression intent, her lips already parting. He took her offering and brought his mouth down over hers. He kissed her as if he was due to go off and fight a battle, kissed her with everything that was in him, all the pent-up need and desire he’d fought so hard to conceal.

  With a soft curse, he pulled back. “I’m sorry, that wasn’t very polite, was it? I—”

  She yanked hard on his hair, making him yelp. “Michael, I don’t want you to be polite. Don’t you dare stop now!”

  The next time they drew apart, her lips were swollen red and his heart was hammering so hard he thought it might burst out of his chest.

  She moved away from him, and an instinctive protest rose in his throat.

  “Let’s find somewhere more comfortable to sit.”

  This time she did push his chair and he didn’t object. He was as eager to get to where she wanted to take him as she was. She moved down the hallway and into a luxurious bedroom at the rear of the house.

  Michael barely had time to register where he was before she was shutting the door and turning back to him.