A Duke for Christmas (A Cotswolds Christmas Book 2)

by Emma Sloane

  “We should,” Penelope agreed just as promptly. “William made his sister promise she would accompany him as well, so there will be at least four of us.”

  “I must apologize for eavesdropping on your conversation.” Val St. Cyr leaned forward to grin at Theodosia. “But if my cousin has convinced you to take part in one of her adventures, Lady Wentworth, then I must insist on accompanying you. For your safety, of course.”

  Theodosia snorted, a huff of disbelief, and wrinkled her nose at him. “Give over, Val, you only want an excuse to set aside your rakish reputation and go sledding with the boys. Never fear, we won’t tell your friends that you lowered yourself to indulge in juvenile activities with your cousins.”

  He grinned, eyes twinkling. “Excellent. I’ll hold you to your promise.” He bent nearer and lowered his voice. “Not that I would care in the slightest what my friends hear about me, Lady Wentworth. Unless Cousin Theo has a faster time down the hill than mine. That might actually damage my reputation.”

  Penelope laughed, amused by their teasing. Despite their elevated social ranking, it was obvious that the St. Cyrs, at least these two members, were just as comfortable when at home with family as less titled citizens.

  By the time dinner ended and the ladies left the gentlemen to their cigars to follow the Duchess into the salon, Penelope and Theodosia had become fast friends.

  “Did your mama really debut with Aunt Anne?” Theodosia asked as they filed into the room behind a group of older ladies.

  “It seems so,” Penelope replied. “While it’s true Lady Minerva originally told me about their connection, Lady Anne confirmed it earlier today.”

  “I do wish they hadn’t lost touch. Only imagine, we could have grown up together and perhaps kept each other company at finishing school.” Theodosia arched an eyebrow, her eyes mischievous. “Perhaps you would have kept me out of trouble.”

  “Were you terribly naughty?” Penelope asked with a laugh.

  “Not terribly.” Theodosia shrugged. “But my father had no patience. I’ve always suspected that’s why he accepted an offer of marriage from Lord Grantley. He was dreadfully old, although kind, but life became deadly dull after we married.”

  This was a subject that elicited deep sympathy from Penelope. Her own marriage had been brief, thankfully.

  “Was your marriage of long duration?” she asked, trying to be circumspect.

  “No, not at all. In fact, I became a widow before the year was out.” She leaned closer. “Is it perfectly horrible of me to confess that I’ve no wish to give up my single state again?”

  Penelope shook her head. “Absolutely not. I feel the same.”

  “How long were you wed?”

  “Barely six months.”

  Theodosia’s eyes widened. “That is a brief…”

  “Theo, may we join you?” Two young women who looked barely old enough to be included in the group of adults approached. One glanced over her shoulder before whispering, “I think Great Aunt Harriet is about to demand we play a game of whist with her.”

  “Good heavens.” Theodosia’s throaty laugh drew answering grins from the two girls. She beckoned them near. “Of course, you must join us. Penelope, let me make known to you two of my younger cousins.”

  Gray sat with Val, his chair pushed back from one end of the dining table. At his elbow was a barely tasted snifter of French brandy, an unlit cheroot lying next to the glass.

  Val leaned closer, glass in hand. “Why are you so distracted?”

  “I’m not distracted.” Gray frowned at him.

  Val pointedly stared at Gray’s hand where it rested on the table.

  Gray realized he was drumming his fingers in an impatient rhythm against the tabletop. He instantly stopped. “I’m not distracted,” he repeated impatiently.

  “Uncle Hubert has been trying to get your attention for the last ten minutes,” Val pointed out in a low murmur, indicating the florid-faced, portly gentleman seated across from them.

  Gray muttered a soft curse and looked at his uncle. He was certain he remembered that his aunt, Hubert’s long-suffering wife, had pleaded with him earlier not to agree to finance her husband’s latest income scheme. Nevertheless, he leaned forward. “I’m sorry, Uncle, I’m afraid I missed that. What were you saying?”

  Beside him, Val smothered a quick chuckle and leaned back in his seat, sipping his brandy while both men listened to Hubert wax eloquent over his latest shipping investment prospect. Gray thought it sounded as likely to succeed as a paper parasol in a windstorm but nevertheless, he let Hubert ramble on.

  Finally, he was able to satisfy his uncle with a promise to investigate the possibility of investing and with a silent sigh of relief, led the men out of the room to join the ladies.

  A swift survey of the drawing room located Penelope with three of his cousins, standing in a group near one of the windows. His mother was seated before a tea table and currently pouring for a quartet of young men. One of the lads waved his arms exuberantly and nearly knocked into another guest.

  Noting the quick flash of concern that moved over his mother’s features, he crossed the room to join Penelope’s quartet.

  “Theo,” he said quietly. “I believe my mother needs assistance to deal with your cousins.”

  Theo’s gaze shifted over his shoulder and she immediately frowned. “So I see. I vow, Gray, ever since those four went up to Eton together, they’ve been impossibly full of themselves.”

  “Yes, well.” Gray shrugged, a smile quirking his mouth. “That tends to happen to all of us when we first leave home and imagine ourselves men of the world.” His glance took in the rest of the group. “I would intervene myself, but it would be far less painful to their egos if you young ladies distracted them.”

  “Of course, Cousin Gray.” The three apologized to Penelope and immediately set off across the room to join their aunt, leaving Gray alone with Penelope.

  “That was well managed,” she told him, a wry curve of her lips telling him she hadn’t been deceived by his ploy to send her companions away.

  “I thought so.” He smiled and offered his arm. “Would you care to take a turn about the room, Lady Wentworth? I believe we should discuss the progress of our matchmaking plans.”

  She shifted her white cashmere shawl to free her arm and slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow. They strolled slowly down the length of the room, Gray nodding at clusters of family seated in groupings of armchairs and divans. Several game tables were scattered down the long room and were occupied by quartets of older relatives.

  They reached the far end of the room where Gray paused, pointing out a group of gold-framed oil paintings on one wall. “I have no interest in discussing artists but we can pretend to do so while plotting matchmaking.”

  She glanced up at him, her eyes dancing. “You are very good at clandestine scheming, your Grace. Do you do this often?”

  “Have you met my aunts? Or indeed, any of the female members of my family?” he inquired with a disbelieving lift of his brow. “They’re too quick by half. Clandestine scheming is a lesson all St. Cyr males learn at their father’s knee.”

  Her throaty gurgle of laughter caught him off guard. Everything about her made him think of seduction. Although, she clearly isn’t intentionally trying to seduce me, he thought sardonically, which begs the question as to whom is seducing whom.

  Nevertheless, he had to fight the urge to whisk her out of the gathering, find an empty room, and kiss the smile on her lips. His hands fairly itched to discover whether the soft curves cupped by her white muslin gown were as lush as he imagined. With her arm through his, their bodies were separated by only inches. The difference in their heights meant that each time he looked down at her, the deep blue embroidered floral pattern edging her gown’s low neckline drew his gaze to the sapphire drop necklace nestled between her breasts.

  “You appear to deal with the situation with equanimity.” Her voice interrupted his thoughts and he
yanked his rising libido back under control.

  “Ah, for the moment perhaps,” he replied. “It’s an ongoing contest.” He glanced over his shoulder to confirm they wouldn’t be overheard and could speak privately. “Hugh tells me he has plans to take you, Amelia, and William sledding tomorrow.”

  “Yes, everyone is quite looking forward to it,” she replied. “And during dinner, Theodosia and Val also vowed to join us.” She glanced up at him, her gaze searching his. “I hope having a bigger group won’t interfere with any plans Hugh may have to spend time with Amelia?”

  “If he were planning seduction, I’m sure it would, but since he only means…”

  “Seduction?” Her gloved fingers tightened over the fine wool of his coat. “I cannot view aiding in seduction as an appropriate part of our matchmaking. In fact, I’m adamantly opposed to such an undertaking.”

  “I agree,” he replied. “I would not assist Hugh if that were his intent.” Nor do I think he’d need my assistance. “I only meant to imply that Hugh wishes to spend as much time as possible with Amelia and I’m certain a larger company will work very well.” He narrowed his eyes consideringly. “In fact, a larger group will likely make it easier for the two of them to avoid attention. Safety in numbers, and all that, and less likelihood of any guest taking notice if a particular couple spends more time together.”

  “Ah, I see. Very well.” Penelope paused, considering. “I believe William pleaded with Amelia to join him and Hugh mid-morning. Are you familiar with the ‘perfect sledding hill’ which Hugh promises will astound and impress us all? It seems unlikely it could possibly equal William’s imaginings.”

  Gray laughed, delighted with her easy teasing. “Ah, but the sledding at Sheffield is unequaled anywhere in England, I assure you.”

  She looked unconvinced, a small smile hovering on her lips.

  He leaned closer. “Cross my heart,” he promised. “Best ever.”

  Once again, her laughter caught his breath.

  Before she had a chance to reply, they were suddenly surrounded by a laughing group of Gray’s younger cousins. The crowd of merrymakers waved scarves and one of the Eton boys brandished a cane, the curved end in one hand, the pointed end festooned with mistletoe tied with a red ribbon.

  “Mistletoe, Cousin Gray, mistletoe! You have to kiss the pretty lady!”

  Penelope’s eyes widened as her gaze met his. The calls and teasing shouts from the youngsters grew louder and to his relief, her eyes registered amused acceptance.

  “It would appear we have no choice,” she told him. “I don’t think they’re going to let us escape.” She tilted her face up to his, turning her cheek with implicit consent for his kiss.

  Gray winced as the crowd of youngsters hooted in delight, urging him on. Much as he would love to kiss Penelope, being surrounded by a teasing group of merry youngsters was not how he would have planned it.

  Nevertheless, he had no choice. He bent his head, intending to press a quick, friendly kiss on her cheek but just as his lips were a fraction of an inch from her scented skin, someone bumped into Penelope from behind.

  Instead of her cheek, his lips met hers, slightly parted as she gasped at the sudden, brief push. Her eyes widened, staring up into his. Unfamiliar emotion slammed Gray. Her lips were soft, warm, and damp beneath his. She tasted faintly of the sugar she must have had in her tea earlier and a subtle, underlying flavor he’d never known before. He wanted to taste more deeply, discover what magic alchemy she owned to create that perfect combination of heat and irresistible flavor.

  Staring into her eyes, he was shockingly, vividly reminded that he couldn’t do any of the things he wanted to do with her. Not here. Not now. She seemed bewildered, vulnerable, and instantly, the urge to protect flooded him.

  He lifted his head, forcing a smile at the still dancing, crowing young crowd surrounding them.

  “Enough, abominable wretches, off with you.”

  They obeyed his command with a burst of laughter and one last teasing comment before turning en masse to approach the nearest whist table. They dangled the cane with its mistletoe sprig above a white-haired lady who laughed and obligingly turned her cheek to her equally white-haired companion.

  “The rascals,” Gray commented mildly, purposely keeping his voice soothing. “They seem intent on harassing everyone in the room, starting with us.” He badly wanted to suggest they quit the room for somewhere more private, but she stood rigidly beside him. Her fingers still tightly gripped his arm, her gaze fastened on the wall of paintings. He wouldn’t have expected a widow to react to a brief kiss with shock but clearly, Penelope had been taken by surprise. She also was just as obviously having a difficult time gathering her senses. His gaze followed hers to the painting. “I particularly like this painting by Gainesborough. The subject is my grandmother, who sat for the artist here in the blue salon when he was situated in Bath. I believe he and my grandfather shared an interest in the theater and were given to grand arguments over brandy in the library.”

  “This woman is your grandmother?” Penelope inquired, studying the painting.

  “You may note a resemblance. My great aunts assure me that the current crop of St. Cyr progeny have inherited her green eyes.” As he spoke, Gray felt her grip on his coat ease, and her body slowly lose some of its stiff posture, gradually becoming less rigid and more relaxed.

  “She is very beautiful.” Penelope shifted, turning slightly to lean a tiny bit closer to the gilt-framed painting. “And her eyes are indeed the distinctive shade you, Hugh, and Lord Val own.”

  “She was an acknowledged beauty in her day. I believe she was beset by suitors and my grandfather won her hand by dangling the prospect of being hostess of Sheffield Park as his trump card.”

  Penelope lifted her gaze to his, amusement replacing the vulnerability he’d previously seen there. “I can understand why she agreed, for becoming the mistress of Sheffield must be a powerful inducement.”

  “Would it persuade you?” The words were out before Gray had a chance to consider them. The moment he heard them, he wished them back. What the deuce was wrong with him?

  “Sadly, no,” she replied, her eyes twinkling, her earlier unease apparently forgotten.

  “So you find my estate lacking?” He frowned in mock reproach, but the effect was severely lessened by the quirk of his lips.

  “Oh, no, not in any way!” Her eyes danced. “However, as I have no intention of marrying again, the prospect of my being persuaded by any inducement is impossible.”

  “You’re very young to be so set against marriage,” he commented, gently drawing her with him back down the room toward the tea table where his mother held sway.

  “True, but I don’t believe age is a determining factor. Marriage and I do not suit, therefore, I have no interest in contemplating a second attempt at wedded bliss.”

  “Ah, I see what it is,” he teased her. “You are judging all men by your late husband. You should know that all men are not cut from the same cloth.”

  “Sadly, I have had no experience with male friends which would assure me your claim is true,” she replied.

  “No experiences?” he queried, lifting an eyebrow in disbelief.

  “Except for Hugh and yourself,” she added hastily. “Although,” she said thoughtfully. “I have not observed you over many weeks, as I have had the opportunity to do with Hugh. He, by your own admission, has a very kind heart. You, however, I have not known long enough to be convinced.”

  “I fear no one of my acquaintance would list a kind heart as the first of my good qualities,” he said ruefully.

  “Your cousin Theodosia seems to think you have a most kind and generous character,” Penelope told him.

  “Does she? I am indeed surprised. Astounded, actually. What made her say that, I wonder.”

  “We were discussing traveling from Bath to Sheffield and she told me that you assist in keeping the roads well-maintained and passable in winter.”

 
; He waved a hand in dismissal. “Bah, that’s merely selfishness on my part. I dislike being jolted about through potholes or having my coach stuck in snowdrifts.”

  “I shall continue to have a differing opinion, your Grace, and hold my own view.”

  They’d nearly reached the tea table where his mother still held court.

  “I’m certain our combined efforts will assure Hugh and your cousin can find time to spend together tomorrow. It’s an excellent maneuver to advance our matchmaking.”

  She murmured agreement and he left her to accept a cup of tea from the dowager duchess. Penelope was immediately surrounded by a group of young ladies, inquiring as to her opinion of the correct sledding attire for the morrow’s venture.

  Val joined Gray as he left the room. “You certainly set the cat among the pigeons. I haven’t seen this much excitement at Sheffield Park since my sister announced her engagement. The air is fairly quivering with speculation.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You, the lovely Lady Wentworth, and the mistletoe kiss. I was at the opposite end of the room and even from there, I couldn’t miss the heated tension between you. I was unaware you planned to seduce the widow.”

  “Nonsense. There is no seduction. You’re imagining things that don’t exist.”

  “Are you certain? Because I chanced to look at her cousin Amelia immediately afterward and she seemed concerned.”

  Gray groaned.

  “And then I looked at your mother, and she appeared delighted.”

  Gray groaned again. “I need a drink. Something stronger than tea.”

  Val nodded. “If it will make you answer with more than a groan and a denial, I’ll join you.”

  Gray threw him a black look and led the way into the quiet library and the crystal decanter of French brandy. He wasn’t in the mood to confide in Val, especially when he hadn’t sorted out to his own satisfaction exactly what had happened under the mistletoe.

  All he did know was that he wanted to repeat the experience. Soon. And more than once.