How the Dukes Stole Christmas

by Tessa Dare

  A long moment passed before Lawton shrugged. “If only you were the kind of man to have a sleigh, Allryd.”

  The dry statement distracted Jack, prompting a little chuckle, like sunshine in the snow. Eben looked to her. “What’s so amusing?”

  “Only the idea of you in a sleigh.”

  His brows rose. “Why?”

  “I cannot imagine you in one.”

  “Why not?”

  She raised a brow. “Well . . . I would have thought that you would consider them rather frivolous. And you’ve never cared for frivolity.”

  “That’s not true.” Silence fell, thick as the snow outside the window. He looked from one face to the next. “It’s not.”

  “Name one frivolous thing you’ve done,” Lawton said, arms crossed over his chest.

  Eben’s face grew hot. Christ, was he blushing? “I’ve done frivolous things.”

  Why in hell did it matter?

  “Excellent. Tell us about one of them.”

  Eben stilled, a single memory flooding his thoughts. Consuming him. He looked at Jack, noting the color high on her cheeks and knew, instantly, that she was consumed by it, as well.

  But he would be damned if he’d share it with the others. He stayed stubbornly silent.

  After a long moment, Aunt Jane interjected, “Never fear, Charlie—may I call you Charlie?”

  Lawton turned a ridiculous smile on her. “Nothing would give me more pleasure.”

  The old woman continued, “To make up for your tragic lack of family for the holiday, I shall regale you with stories of the duke, and the man he might have been.” The words fell like lead in Eben’s gut as Aunt Jane went on, a touch of smirk in her tone. “Did you know, for example, that he and my niece were once affianced themselves?”

  Eben heard the hitch in Jack’s breath from where he sat. Heard it and hated it. Hated that he, too, had trouble breathing at the question. Was that the word for what they’d been? Affianced? It had seemed like more than that. Like something that could not simply be dissolved. But dissolved it had been, like snow in sunshine, there one moment and gone the next.

  Not so easily.

  He met Jack’s gaze across the kitchen, reading the past in her eyes and regretting the truth in them. Regretting, too, a different truth—that he’d never stopped loving her. That he never would. Not even when she was happily married to another.

  He stood, desperate to be gone from this room with its cloying heat and memory. “If the snow keeps you here,” he said to his partner, “so be it. And if these madwomen haven’t anything better to do than to cook for you, so be that, as well. But I haven’t any need to linger and hear silly stories of an ancient time. I have work to do.”

  With that, he left the room.

  Chapter Four

  Christmas Eve, thirteen years earlier

  Thunder rattled the walls of Darby House, a wicked storm threatening to shake the place to its rafters, and Jack was shaking with it, teeth chattering as she raced through the darkened hallways to the library, not needing light to find the door tucked away in the back corner. She could find it in the dark, with her eyes closed, forever.

  It opened before she could reach for it, and there he was, trousers on and shirt untucked, hastily dressed because he was coming for her. He always came for her.

  She flew into his open arms and he caught her, pulling her close, tucking her head beneath his chin. “I have you,” he whispered. And again. “I have you, love.” He pressed his lips to the top of her head and tightened his arms around her.

  “You—you c-came,” she chattered.

  “As soon as I heard the storm,” he said, the words a deep rumble in his chest. “I shall always come for you.”

  The vow began to settle her. “It’s so silly. It’s just weather.”

  “It’s not weather. It’s the past.” The night her parents had been traveling in a terrible storm, thunder had spooked the horses and sent the carriage sliding over slick cobblestones and into the icy Thames.

  Jack had been barely fourteen and had never been able to stomach thunder after that, seeking out Eben’s company when he was home and pretending to be brave. But he’d always known the truth.

  She took a deep breath. Released it. Allowed herself to feel his arms around her. The warmth of him. The truth of him. “You’re here,” she whispered.

  “Thank God,” he replied, his hands stroking over her, holding her tight. “Do you know how many nights I have spent lying awake and watching lightning flash? Listening to thunder roll through the countryside, and willing it to stay far from here? Far from you?”

  She turned her face into his chest, his confession warming her. “You can’t stop the weather,” she whispered.

  “That doesn’t mean I can’t try, love,” he spoke to the top of her head. “And when I’m here—in London—I will always keep the storm at bay.”

  It was a silly vow. An impossible promise. And still, she believed him.

  The rumble of the storm lessened as he held her, as though his will really could chase it away. When it was finally over, she lifted her face to his, clutching the loose fabric of his shirt. “You’re here. I wasn’t sure if you would be.”

  He brushed a lock of hair from her face, his green eyes dark and full of promise. “Of course I’m here. It’s Christmas.”

  She blushed. “It’s been seventy-three days since you were here.”

  He nodded, as though he’d been counting them, too. “I wish I could have been here sooner. I was going to surprise you tomorrow.”

  She smiled. “That would have made for a very merry Christmas, but I am happy you came tonight.” She reached up, placing a hand to his cheek, where a hint of a beard threatened. Promised. “I want every minute I can steal with you.”

  He pulled away, taking her hand and leading her through the door and into the conservatory on his side. “If you’re to thieve,” he whispered, “do it in my house, where your aunt Jane won’t have me strung up for tempting you to darkness.”

  Jack grinned and pulled the door shut behind her as he lit a small lamp on the pianoforte. “Everyone would know that it was I tempting you, you know.”

  He sat on a low bench and summoned her close, pulling her to stand between his long thighs. She turned his face up to her, taking in the dark circles beneath his eyes, the new lines around his mouth that aged him far beyond one-and-twenty. Running her thumbs over the dark slashes of his brows, she said, softly, “You look tired.”

  He pulled her closer, setting his forehead to her torso and inhaling, as though a breath of her might bring him strength. Then he leaned back and said, “The estates are in shambles. The tenants suffer. The herds are thin. Winter comes and with it the cold, and there’s no money. They’re angry and frustrated and full of sorrow—and he never did anything.”

  His father.

  Jack hugged him close, curling herself around him, wishing she could make it go away. “You will, though.”

  Another deep breath. “I don’t know how,” he whispered. “The estate hangs by a thread. I’ve a list of necessities longer and more expensive than time and funds will allow. Each hour, some new repair comes due—each more urgent than the last. The mill in Wales is virtually falling down. The cattle on the estate in Surrey ail. Food for tenants in Newcastle is scarce.”

  And all of it at Eben’s feet. Too much of it for him to solve at once.

  He pulled her into his lap. “I can’t fix it all. I’m as bad as he was.”

  She shook her head. “You’re ten times the man he was. A hundred.”

  He put his forehead to hers, closing his eyes. “No one tells you how difficult it is to bear the mantle of responsibility.” He opened his eyes, his gaze fixed to a point beyond her shoulder, and added, “No one tells you all that you must give up.”

  The words sent a thread of fear through her. She shook her head, reaching for him, as though she could stop whatever it was that was coming. “Eben,” she said. “Let me h
elp.”

  His gaze flew to hers, sharp. Understanding. “No.”

  She sighed. “There’s plenty of money. Not enough to save a dukedom, but surely enough to help.” She set her palm to his face again. Repeated herself. “Let me help.”

  He shook his head. “No. I won’t take your money. Every mistake that has been made is mine to rectify. Every sin. This responsibility is mine. I have a plan. And I will not have you thinking I married you for anything but you. And I will not have you marrying me thinking I am anything less than you deserve.”

  They’d had the argument a dozen times. A hundred. In person and by post. And Jack knew better than to push. So, instead, she took his face in her hands and told him the truth. “You are the best man I know.”

  When she pulled him down for a kiss, he groaned, unable to keep himself from deepening the caress, his hands coming to capture her face, holding her still, taking control. “Christ, I missed you,” he said, plucking the words directly from her mind.

  “Seventy-three days are too many,” she replied before he licked at the seam of her lips—a question barely needing an answer.

  She opened for him and they kissed, long and slow and lingering; when they finally parted, both gasping for breath, he whispered, “I have a gift for you.”

  A thrill of excitement coursed through her. “What is it?”

  Eben’s beautiful lips curved in a devastating smile. “I can’t remember.”

  She feigned a scowl. “Give it.”

  Another kiss, quick and delicious. “Come with me.”

  She followed him without hesitation, even as she teased, “I don’t know if I should. It’s two o’clock in the morning. Nothing good comes of two o’clock in the morning in the company of an unmarried gentleman.”

  He laughed. “I assure you, love, everything good comes of two o’clock in the morning in the company of an unmarried gentleman.”

  She cut him a look. “For the gentleman.”

  He lowered his voice. “I shall make it good for you, as well, Lady Jacqueline.”

  “Said the lion to the mouse,” she replied, following without hesitation. She’d always follow him.

  He led her through his quiet house, now empty of so much that had once mattered to him—things he’d sold for money to save the people who relied upon him.

  He was a magnificent man. And someday, this house wouldn’t be empty, Jack thought. They would fill it together—right to the brim with love and a future. And a family. Riches beyond imagining.

  “I am sorry the house is so cold,” he whispered. “No servants.”

  It was rare for an aristocrat to gift his servants a holiday. Too often, staff was required to work, putting another’s celebration ahead of their own. But Eben had cut their wages that year instead of providing them with Christmas boxes.

  His guilt over what he had to do to keep the staff employed had been the source of half a dozen letters between him and Jack. He’d offered them each the choice to stay or go, with his best references, and all but three had chosen to stay, trusting that the young man would serve them better than his father had done.

  To show his gratitude, Eben had given those who remained the only thing he could—time away for the holiday. And with that decision, he’d tumbled Jack even further into love with him. She squeezed his hand. “I am happy for the time alone.”

  They stopped in the center of the home’s great foyer, and he left her to light a dozen candles around the edge of the space. When she was bathed in golden light, he came to her, taking her hands in his and lifting them both to his lips, kissing one, then the other before saying, “In all the years we’ve known each other, it’s never snowed on Christmas.”

  She raised a disapproving brow at that. “You needn’t remind me, Eben.”

  He smiled. “I have no doubt you would have reminded me of just that tomorrow. Just as you’ve done every year for an eternity.”

  “It’s supposed to snow on Christmas,” she pointed out. “That’s the whole point of Christmas.”

  “Well, I’m not certain that’s the point of Christmas at all, but that’s an argument for another time.”

  Thunder rumbled outside, and she moved closer to him. He wrapped one arm tightly around her, and she shook off her discomfort with a protest. “And to add insult to injury, it’s raining this year.”

  He smiled. “Stay here.”

  Her eyes widened in curiosity, but she did as she was told, watching as he moved to the stairs, collecting a small box and climbing to the second floor. He stopped halfway up the stairs. “It’s a silly gift.”

  Jack did not know what was in the box, but she knew, without question, that there was nothing silly about it. She looked up at him and said, “I want it.”

  But what she really meant was I want you.

  He understood, if the fire in his eyes was any indication. Jack watched as the man she loved ascended to the top of the stairs in long, graceful movements before he took his place on the landing above, peering over the banister at her, twenty feet below in nothing more than a pink night rail and a matching velvet robe.

  “You’re not wearing slippers, Jack,” he said. “I can see your toes.”

  She grinned. “Yes, your cold floor is reminding me of that. Now where’s my present?”

  “You’re very demanding.”

  She nodded. “It’s one of my worst qualities.”

  He laughed at that, a low, delicious sound that tumbled down to warm the very toes they’d been speaking of. “I rather like it.”

  Before she could answer, he lifted the box in his hands and called down, “Happy Christmas, love.”

  And then, he made it snow.

  She squealed at the sight of hundreds of little ecru snowflakes, each one painstakingly crafted, fluttering down to her, turning the air between them white. She reached up toward them and called out his name in pure, unfettered joy, and he laughed, rich and full and honest, and Jack thought she might never hear another thing in her entire life that she loved as much as that sound.

  He was already on his way down the stairs, rushing to beat the snow. He reached her just as the last of the flakes did, capturing her midtwirl and pulling her to him even as she threw herself into his arms, kissing him once, twice, before he pulled back and picked a little paper disk from her hair, brandishing it toward her like a hero’s prize.

  She accepted it, eyes bright in the candlelight, and laughed again before breathlessly asking, “Where did you get them?”

  His chest expanded, his eyes filling with pride. “I made them.”

  “You didn’t! There must be hundreds of sheets of paper here!”

  “Only fifty or so.”

  Still, it had to have been the most expensive thing he’d purchased for something other than the estate in months. She shook her head, twirling, watching the little snowflakes dance and scatter with her skirts. “When?”

  “At night, in carriages, whenever I could find the time.” He looked away, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck, blushing under her passionate scrutiny. “I would not recommend wielding a knife in the back of a carriage, however.”

  “I don’t imagine you would,” she said on a little, happy sigh before shaking her head. “Eben . . . this is . . .”

  He waited for her to find the word.

  It came on a wild, welcome laugh. “This is magnificent!” She plucked another flake from her hair and tossed it in the air above them, watching it flutter down and land on his shoulder. “You made me snow!”

  “I’m sorry it is not more.”

  She was still staring down at their feet, where hundreds of little white paper circles lay, but his words drew her instant attention. “What did you say?”

  “Another man—a richer man—would have given you jewels. Or fur. Or . . . I don’t know . . . a vase.”

  She blinked. “You think I would have preferred a vase?”

  “Well, perhaps not a vase.”

  “Definitely not a vase.”<
br />
  He laughed at that. “Fair enough. No vases. Ever.”

  She smiled softly, stepping toward him, taking his arms in her hands. “Not if I might have another snowfall.”

  He leaned down and stole her lips once more, before whispering, “I promise, you only have to ask, and I shall make it snow.”

  “You shall regret that promise.”

  He shook his head. “Here’s one I shan’t regret. I promise, I’m going to make you a fortune, and then I’m going to marry you and shower you with gifts. Jewels. Everything you desire.”

  Her breath caught, the words setting her heart to racing and her stomach to flipping and her legs to weakening, and all she wanted was this man in her arms forever and ever, weather be damned.

  She put her hands to his face and pulled him down for a kiss. “If you marry me, Eben, I’ll already have everything I desire.”

  If only he’d believed her.

  Chapter Five

  Christmas Day

  “Some might say that it is I who should be avoiding you.”

  Eben looked up from his desk and over his shoulder to Jack, standing in the door of his study, holding a plate in one hand. “I am not avoiding you.”

  One perfectly arched brow rose in disbelief, and she came into the room. “No?”

  “No,” he growled, turning back to his ledger, leaning low enough to block his view of her with a towering pile of reports, and willing the lie away. “I’ve work to do.”

  “On Christmas Day.”

  “Yes. On Christmas Day. Every day,” he replied. “I’ve responsibilities. Isn’t that why you left me in the first place?”

  “No,” she said quietly. “It’s not.”

  It wasn’t?

  Then why the hell had she left him?

  He’d be damned if he was going to ask. He attempted to focus on the line of numbers in front of him, willing his brain to calculate the number of livestock on the ducal estate in Wales. It was a sheep farm, resurrected from the dead, once barely running for the debt of the estate, and now providing a significant portion of the Queen’s wool.