Georgie blinked, appalled and astonished by the surfeit of frills and flounces and lace and… and cushions. The things were everywhere, overstuffed and embroidered. Pictures hung upon every inch of wall space, many of them bucolic scenes of rustic charm, the others paintings of pug dogs in various poses. Two such pups, overfed and snoring softly, were curled upon a large red velvet bed with golden tassels at the edges.
“Mother,” Rochford said, and Georgie followed his gaze to an armchair by the fire where a woman of perhaps five and fifty sat with a book.
Georgie hadn’t noticed her before, as she too was dressed in so many frills and flounces that she’d blended into the décor.
The woman looked up, frowning with displeasure at being interrupted. “Rochford. It’s not the third Sunday of the month, is it?”
“No, madam.”
“And it is not dinner time.”
“No, madam.”
“Then why are you here? I did not ask for you.”
“I am here to present the Duchess of Rochford to you, Mother. I am married.”
The dowager’s eyes widened with shock, and then she turned her gaze upon Georgie. Georgie endured her scrutiny easily enough, too intent on her own perusal of the dowager duchess. She must have been a beauty once, for her bone structure was fine and delicate, and her faded blue eyes large, like a doll’s. Her figure had become plump, though judging from the exquisite portrait on the wall above her of a stunning, slender woman of perhaps twenty years, that had not always been the case.
“Wanted a title that badly, did you?” his mother remarked, raising a gold-stemmed lorgnette to her eyes to get a better look at her.
“No. Not in the least,” Georgie returned, holding the woman’s cool gaze. “I’m the daughter of an earl. I’m not much of a one for society, and the idea of being a duchess held no appeal, I’m afraid, but it came with the man, and I did want him, so….”
Georgie smiled up at Rochford, leaving the words hanging there.
The dowager gave a delicate laugh. “You mean no other gentleman wanted such a large, unseemly creature.”
“You’ll hold your tongue,” Rochford said and, from the way his mother jolted in surprise, Georgie suspected he’d rarely raised his voice to her before.
Georgie squeezed his hand and gave him a reproving look.
“That’s true enough,” Georgie said with a laugh. “I have been blessed indeed to find a man so big and strong that I have not a hope of intimidating him. We are quite perfectly matched.”
She sent her husband another adoring smile and felt his tension ease a little.
The dowager regarded her with a puzzled little frown. “You do not care that the rest of the world pities you for your choice of husband?”
“Pities me?” Georgie repeated, doing her best to look merely surprised and not as if she wanted to throw something at the spiteful old witch. “Why would they pity me? For my happiness? For marrying a man I love and esteem? My friends are happy for me, and I do not give a snap of my fingers for anyone else’s opinion.”
She held the woman’s gaze as she spoke, her voice clear and firm so there could be no misunderstanding her.
“You are outspoken and full of opinions, I see,” the woman said, her face creasing with displeasure.
“I am the Duchess of Rochford,” Georgie replied.
The dowager’s mouth tightened. “You’ll never find your place as duchess, not as I did. No one will respect you, as they do not respect him.”
“If your place is to be alone in this room with a lot of frills and gewgaws and no friends, then I am of glad of it. My husband respects me, as do the people whose respect matters to me. I am sorry if you do not like the fact that we are happy, or that I am the new duchess, but I am afraid neither your opinion nor your words disturb me, but take heart. I have no wish to disturb you either. I doubt our paths will cross very much. Unless you wish to keep dining with your mama every month, Rochford?”
She turned to him, finding him looking a little stunned but with a smile curving his mouth.
“No, love,” he said, the smile deepening. “Mother always made it plain she did not enjoy my company, and I only did it out of duty.”
“I think you have done your duty,” Georgie said, taking his hand before turning back to the dowager. “Though if you wish for our company, you need only ask for us.”
It was clear Rochford’s mother was a spiteful woman who delighted in causing her son pain, and Georgie meant to put an end to that. If, however, the dowager wished to make amends, that could only be for the good, but it must be she who made the first move. Georgie would not have her husband feel rejected all over again.
“Well then, that’s the introductions done,” Georgie said, smiling up at Rochford. “Let’s go and make ourselves at home, shall we?”
Which was exactly what they did.
Epilogue
Dearest Georgie,
I was so thrilled to hear of your marriage to Rochford last week. A duchess no less! How splendid you are, and how lucky to be so blissfully happy with a good man. There seem few of that kind around, or at least, few that I do not regard as brothers or dear friends.
Do you know I had seven proposals of marriage last year? Seven! And four of them were over fifty. Disgusting old goats. The other three were acceptable on the face of it, handsome, wealthy, titled – but I did not want any of them. Oh, Georgie, if I don’t marry soon, I shall get a reputation for being a flirt or too choosy. No one likes it when they hear a girl keeps getting proposals and refusing them and there are enough among the ton who dislike Mama and me for all the other reasons that seem so important to them.
Only one man has caught my eye and I have decided he must be the one. I think you know of whom I speak. He is kind. I see it in his eyes. Kind and patient and gentle. I am tired of men who look upon me as an ornament, as something to be owned because they covet it. I know he liked me when we first met, and yet he keeps his distance. Indeed, I think he is avoiding me and that will not do.
I am on the hunt, Georgie darling, for the only man I think I could be happy with. Wish me luck.
―Excerpt of a letter from Miss Vivien Anson (daughter of Silas and Aashini Anson, The Viscount and Viscountess Cavendish) to Her Grace, Georgina Seymour, The Duchess of Rochford (daughter of Ruth and Gordon Anderson, The Earl and Countess of Morven).
The following Christmas…
25th December 1841, Wildsyde Castle, Scotland.
“Decrepit!” Mama shouted.
“No, no, wizened. It’s wizened,” Pa said, but apparently that was wrong too.
“Old!” Georgie said, giving a yip of triumph as Alden straightened with a nod and grinned at her.
His impression of a stooped old man had made them all roar with laughter. He was getting the hang of charades now.
“The old something shop… Oh!” Muir leapt out of his seat. “The Old Curiosity Shop!”
Everyone groaned. Muir kept winning and was far too good at the game.
“My turn,” he crowed.
“No! No more!” Pa protested. “I’m famished. It must be time for food.”
“Food?” Mama said, staring at him in outrage. “How can you be hungry after that feast you devoured earlier?”
“That was hours ago,” Pa said, getting to his feet and smothering a yawn. He clapped Alden on the shoulder and grinned. “Rochford here is about to faint, the poor lad is so enfeebled from lack of food. Ye cannae expect a man to play charades for hours on end on an empty belly, mo chridhe.”
“No, I suppose not,” Mama said gravely. “I’ll see what Mrs MacLeod has prepared for our tea, shall I?”
Pa nodded his agreement with this and gave Mama a playful smack on the behind as she went out, making her laugh and give him a flirtatious smile as she closed the door. Georgie saw Rochford grin as he too noticed, and he was still smiling when he sat down beside her.
“You were very good,” she said, taking his hand.
&
nbsp; “I felt like a prize idiot,” he admitted ruefully.
“That’s the fun of games. Everyone here liked that you joined in with them, though.”
He nodded and raised her hand to his mouth, kissing her fingers.
“Are you happy, Alden?” she asked him.
“Happy?” he repeated with a huff of laughter.
He took a moment to respond, looking about the room. Lyall and Pa were standing by the fire, drinks in hand, laughing over something. Over the mantelpiece, the Christmas greenery fluttered in the rising heat, sending the scent of pine drifting through the warm air. Muir and Hamilton were bickering good naturedly, and around the room were piles of wrapping paper and ribbons and the many gifts that had been unwrapped and admired. Mrs MacLeod bustled in with Sheenagh to collect the tea tray from earlier and tell everyone that they’d laid out an informal repast for whoever wanted it.
“Can I answer that later, love? When we’re alone?” he said.
Georgie gave him a puzzled look, wondering why he didn’t just reply, but she nodded, and they went through with the others for tea.
Georgie pulled back the curtain and watched the snow fall, big fat flakes that tumbled with slow deliberation, covering the landscape in a quiet hush of white. Though she loved their house at Wick it was lovely to be back in her childhood home with her family for a few days. She shivered in the cold emanating through the glass and clutched her arms about herself.
“You ought not stand by the window in your nightgown, love. You’ll catch a chill,” Alden scolded, wrapping his arms about her.
Georgie sighed and leaned back against him, shivering for an entirely different reason as the heat radiating from his bare chest sank into her bones. “Not when I’ve you to keep me warm.”
“Always,” he murmured, leaning down to kiss her neck. His hands moved over her, sliding up over the fine material of her nightgown to cup her breasts and gently squeeze.
She smiled, relaxing into his touch. “You still haven’t answered my question,” she reminded him.
“Ah, yes,” he said, nuzzling the tender skin beneath her ear. “Though it was a foolish question, as you well know.”
“You’d been playing charades and whatever other daft games my brothers could force you into. It was a fair question in the circumstances,” she pointed out.
His laughter was a soft flutter of warm breath against her skin. “I felt like a prize idiot, as I said, but… but I also felt like I belonged. Like they want me here, to be a part of this.”
Georgie turned in his arms and rested her hands upon his chest, feeling the strong beat of his heart thrum beneath her palms. “They do. They all like you. Pa especially. He’s seen how happy you make me, and this is the third time we’ve visited them this year, plus you took me to stay with the Bedwins again, and to balls and the theatre. You’ve kept your word to make me happy and to be a part of this family instead of stealing me away. They adore you.”
“I love you, Georgie, and I’d do anything to make you smile, you know that. But to answer your question, yes. Yes, I am happy, happier than I believed possible. You’ve given me so much, not just yourself, not just your love—which is more than I ever dreamed of, but you showed me the world is not as cold and unwelcoming as I’d supposed. I have you, I have a family, and… I have friends.”
He said this with such a wondering expression that Georgie’s throat felt thick.
“You have,” she agreed. “And they love you, because they see who you really are now, because you let them in. You gave them a chance.”
He shook his head. “It was you that gave me the chance. It was you who saw something in me and wouldn’t take no for an answer. My brave, beautiful duchess.”
He bent his head and kissed her, and Georgie sighed with pleasure. Straightening he broke the kiss and gazed down at her, his expression grave.
“Tell me, my love. Is there anything else, anything you don’t have that you would like me to give you? You need only name it.”
Georgie stared up into the face of man she adored, and smiled. “Well,” she murmured coyly and reached for the little bit of mistletoe she’d hidden on the windowsill. She picked it up and held it over his head. “There is perhaps… one little thing.”
She slid her free hand from his chest, down his belly to lie over the placket of his trousers. His body stirred at once, and she stroked her hand up and down as he stiffened beneath her touch.
“That,” he said hoarsely, “is not a little thing.”
Georgie snorted. “True enough, but it’s the thing I want most in the world.”
“Is it?” he asked, his voice low as he pulled her tight against him. He kissed her then, a slow, tender kiss that left her breathless.
“Always,” she said.
He gave a little growl of approval that had desire blooming inside her and made quick work of stripping her of her nightgown.
“I’m glad the guest rooms are on the opposite side of the castle to the family’s quarters,” he said, nipping at her ear.
“Why’s that?” Georgie asked nonchalantly.
“You know very well why,” he said, smirking now. “I love the way you scream my name to the rafters, my love, but I very much doubt your father wants to hear it.”
“I’ll try to be quiet,” she said, trying to look demure.
“Don’t bother,” he said, picking her up and carrying her to the bed. “We’re far enough away and the walls are three feet thick, though I may look upon it as a challenge.” He set her down and pushed off his trousers and small clothes, leaving them in a heap on the floor.
“Is that right?” she said, gasping as he climbed over her and cupped her breasts, suckling each in turn.
“It is,” he agreed. “Though I’m worn out after all that eating and drinking and merry making. I think you ought to do all the work.”
He rolled onto his back and pulled her on top of him, making Georgie shriek. She laughed, righting herself and torturing him as she straddled his hips and settled against his arousal, pressing close. He groaned, a deep sound that rumbled pleasantly through her.
“Take me inside you, Georgie,” he begged her, his big, warm hands roaming over her, caressing her.
Georgie slid against him, ignoring his demand for now, enjoying the slick slide of his hot flesh against hers.
“That’s cruel,” he said, canting his hips up for more.
Georgie leaned over him, gasping as the hair on his chest rasped against her sensitive nipples. She kissed him, slow and deep, still sliding her sex back and forth over him in languid, undulating motions designed to drive him insane.
He grasped her hips, pulling her harder against him as he nudged his hips upwards, seeking entry.
“Please,” he groaned. “Please.”
“Well, as you asked so nicely,” she whispered, and raised herself up.
He thrust into her, so hard and deep that she saw stars. She clutched at his shoulders, holding on tight as he moved faster and harder. Georgie closed her eyes, throwing her head back, letting him pleasure her until her body gathered, tightening, the pleasure rippling through her. She cried out, shouting his name as he’d wanted her to, scaring the bats no doubt and sending them flying into the night as she was flung into the heavens. Gradually her breathing quieted, and she opened her eyes, staring down at him.
“Again,” he demanded, knowing she could and would.
He was still this time, letting her do the work, taking him inside her deep and increasingly slow until he was panting, his hands clutching at her hips as though he held on for dear life. She loved to watch him this way, at her mercy, until he couldn’t take any more. Soon, he was going to break—
“Enough,” he gritted out, turning her onto her back, pinning her hands to the mattress. “Wicked girl,” he murmured, nipping at her ear.
Georgie laughed and kissed him, holding him close as he loved her.
“Again,” he told her, his voice firm.
“Yes,�
�� she whispered. “Oh… yes.”
She clung to him, holding her breath as the peak glittered ahead. His powerful body was hard, every muscle taut, his skin sheened with sweat as he began to shudder and jerk, spilling his seed inside her with a harsh cry of pleasure. It was enough to tip her over the edge, and she laughed with the joy of it, holding on tight until every last glorious shiver was done, leaving them boneless and sated.
He rolled to the side, taking her with him, still breathing hard, and they lay together in contented silence.
“What happened to the mistletoe?” he asked, once he’d got his breath back.
Georgie sat up and looked about them and then shifted to one side to discover she was sitting on it.
“It’s a bit the worse for wear,” she said with a grin, holding the mangled bit of green up to show him.
Rochford took it and snorted, setting it down on the bedside table. “Plenty more where that came from,” he said, reaching down and pulling out an enormous bouquet of mistletoe from under the bed, tied with a big red ribbon.
Georgie burst out laughing. “What did you get all that for?”
He shrugged. “A fellow likes insurance.”
“Alden, I already told you, all my kisses are yours,” she said, snuggling into him.
“I know,” he said.
“I think I knew it would be you beneath the mistletoe with me from the start.”
“Give over. When I knocked you on your backside—which was not my fault—you hated the sight of me.”
“I did not,” Georgie retorted. “I was only furious with myself for liking such a dreadful man.”
He chuckled. “I’m glad you did. I’m glad you completed your dare with me and didn’t leave it for this year. Just think how different this Christmas might have been.” He shivered and tugged her closer. “Forget I said that. I don’t want to think of it.”
“Me either,” she said sleepily. “And just think, next year, we’ll have a family of our own.”
“Well, we might,” he agreed. “God willing.”
The Mistletoe Dare (Daring Daughters Book 8) Page 25