Fear had ruled her decisions with him, and she was much happier when she didn't feed it. When she allowed her trust in Benedict and in herself to make sound decisions, to lead her to happiness, fear dissipated.
So as Benedict helped her out of the carriage, she looked up at the starry sky and then back at the man she would soon call husband. She offered him something, something she had been waiting to give to him at midnight.
"Wait." She stopped him.
He looked miserable, as if someone had just announced the world was going to end.
"I have a gift for you."
"I-I don't need a gift," he stuttered. "Just you. I hope you understand my love for you."
Katherine stomped on his foot. Truly the nerve of the man, beating her to the punch!
"What the—? What was that for?" He cursed and began hopping.
"I was going to say that, you cad!"
"What?" He cursed again, ripely. "Apparently pain is blocking my ability to think. You were going to say what?"
"That I love you!" She threw her hands up in the air. She had wanted to say it first, to offer it to him as a gift so he knew she trusted him, wanted to belong to him. "Men!" she screamed at nobody in general, though a few women walking up the stairs began to clap.
"I'm sorry?" he offered, then backed up, no doubt afraid she would somehow wound him again.
"Well…" She crossed her arms. "I imagine it's fine. The moment's gone now."
"Can't you say it, at least for my benefit? You have nearly broken my foot."
"If I was aiming to break it, I would have."
"Oh, how true that is," Benedict muttered.
"You'll just have to make it up to me." Katherine managed a small smile and hooked her arm within his. "Let's go indoors before your toes freeze off as well."
He smiled and patted her arm. "I'm sorry about tonight, about Maria and…"
Katherine stopped walking. "Let us not speak of it again, agreed?"
"Agreed." His brow furrowed deeply, but he didn't speak. Instead he escorted her into the Kringle Ball with a confused look etched across his ducal countenance. Benedict's eyes narrowed, but he did not say a word.
Benedict hadn't spoken of the incident the entire night, but still noted the hurt he saw in Katherine's eyes. Saints alive! He wanted her trust, needed it. As well as guidance, but he had none. Nobody.
He sighed. Now was as good a time as any to read the note. It had been burning a hole in his pocket since it had been discovered. And now, as he watched Katherine weave through the crowds at the ball, the woman he had unintentionally hurt, he needed his aunt's comfort more than ever. So he walked to the corner and unfolded the letter.
Benedict, when I discovered my sickness would take me. I was bitter. I was angry. But mostly, you must understand my fear.
My two boys, the ones I helped raise, albeit with a strict hand, were going to be without me.
You, specifically Benedict, without any sort of living female relative or matriarch.
And I thought to myself, how can I leave him behind? How can I allow my body to deteriorate and wither away when my nephew needs so much guidance?
I have stood by and watched you make mistakes.
I have kept my mouth closed when you paraded with your mistresses.
We all have wild oats, by Jove. You'd have an apoplexy if you knew of mine.
It may have appeared that I did not approve, and perhaps, according to society, I did not, but I loved you. I loved you desperately, and I have only wanted what is best for you.
I would move heaven and earth for you, my boy. For Baldwyn, too.
You see…
When your mother died, I gave her a promise. I told her you would be better than the men before you in your family, but I knew even then that it would take a different strategy of sorts.
Rather than smother you, I allowed you your mistakes. Rather than coddle you, I pretended to be upset and turned my nose at your escapades. Your fear of me did not hinder my love, if anything it brought me joy, for I knew deep down that you cared, even when you claimed you didn't.
As I write this letter, I have only a few months to go on living in this world before I irritate God in His.
And I wondered, what could I possibly give Benedict? What could I leave him?
Her.
I wanted you to have her.
She reminds me of myself. She is strong, she is opinionated, she is clumsy. After all, she did try to kill you on several occasions, not a small feat, might I add.
If I leave you her, if you marry, then you will not be left alone in this world, but you will have a true family of your own. You see, my boy, we are more alike than you know. Our personalities push the limits and rejoice in the scandal and fear we bring to others. It is control, it is power, but it is not living. It is not happiness.
I want happiness for you.
I want you to have that love. I want you to marry her and protect her, to cherish her, to love her with a fierceness unmatched by anyone else.
This is my dying wish, my gift to you, the legacy I leave behind.
As well as half my estate… I only ask that you fill those many summer homes with the laughter of children, though I imagine you've already been working on that part behind my back, you rogue.
Remember, I love you.
Agatha
That little minx! Benedict wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry. She'd known. The woman had known the entire time. She truly had picked Katherine out for him. She'd just tricked him as he suspected. But it was a glorious trick, one for the history books no doubt, for he would fall for it all over again.
He glanced up to see Katherine approaching.
After everything they'd been through, he knew he was going to have to create one more scandal.
One more show of devotion.
So he didn't walk.
He didn't even smile.
With fierce determination, he tucked the note into his jacket pocket and ran, as fast as his legs would take him, toward her.
His family.
Gasps were heard throughout the ballroom. The music came to a halt, but he couldn't care less.
All he saw was her.
All he wanted was her.
All he needed in this world was her.
Unshed tears blurred his vision. His hands reached out to grasp Katherine, but touching her was not enough. With little effort, he lifted her into the air and twirled her around before crushing his lips to hers, in such a kiss that he was sure even Agatha saw the scandal from heaven.
"I love you," he said and kissed her again.
"I love you," she replied as tears streamed down her cheeks. Katherine wrapped her arms around him, opened her mouth to him, and kissed him so passionately he wanted to weep. As well as boast, if he was being quite honest. He remembered the Duke of Tempest causing a similar scandal a few years back.
"So…" She drew back. "…the Devil Duke creates yet another scandal."
"Oh, be sure there will be many more to come." He set her to her feet.
"Really?" She lifted an eyebrow.
"Yes, for he also plans to marry. To stay true to his wife, if she'll have him. To have loads of children, naming the first Agatha of course, because naturally she wouldn't allow us to have a boy first."
"Naturally." Katherine giggled.
"My heart… it's yours." He kissed her forehead. "It's yours forever. If you'll have it."
"Well, you did finally learn how to smile…"
He nodded.
"And, you have ruined me on numerous occasions."
His grin widened.
"Not to mention," she added, "the fact that I'm irrevocably in love with you as well."
And that was when the Devil Duke burst out laughing, causing an even greater scandal to sweep the ton, for it was the first time anyone ever heard him laugh.
"Christmas miracle?" people whispered amongst themselves.
But Benedict didn't care. He had his love, his l
ife, his family, and he had his aunt to thank for that. God bless her. She had given him the best gift of all.
The gift of family.
EPILOGUE
Three years later.
"Agatha!" Benedict screamed. They were going to be late for the Kringle Ball, and his daughter of two was currently running through the house naked.
Like father, like daughter he supposed.
His valet still hadn't quit, but he knew one day he would lose his mind. If anything, Benedict's own nakedness had become worse what with having a wife around all the time.
Clothes? Who needed clothes?
His valet did not agree.
Nor did his butler, but he gave them enough bonuses every Boxing Day not to care, so he figured he was safe.
"Agatha," he said quietly when she approached him giggling. "You need to go upstairs with Nanna. Mother and I are leaving for the night. Can you do that for us?"
She shook her head no.
Of course.
He swore up and down that Agatha, while in heaven, chatted up God and told him how amusing it would be to gift them with a child who took exactly after both their parents, to a fault.
And God, being in good humor and loving Agatha as he should, granted her this one boon.
Little Agatha smiled up at him and giggled again, his heart thumped with joy. "You must get some clothes on before Mother sees you."
"Before I see what exactly?" Katherine floated down the stairs looking every inch the duchess, and every inch the seductress. Heavens, how he loved her. It seemed the longer they were married the more their love grew, until most days he felt so stupidly happy that he couldn't wipe the smile off his face if he tried.
"Happy anniversary, love." Katherine kissed him on the cheek then looked down. "Agatha, sweetheart, why aren't you wearing clothes?"
"Papa!" Agatha squealed. "No clothes too!"
Katherine glared at Benedict. He winked shamelessly and then she blushed from the roots of her hair down her glorious neck. He leaned forward to take a peek down her dress.
She pushed him away. "Those are the very things you should not be doing in front of your daughter. She already copies everything else."
They both looked down at their grinning little girl and laughed.
Nanna came rushing down the stairs and scooped up Agatha, scolding her for running away during bath time.
"She takes after you," Katherine said.
"Does not."
"Does too! She runs around naked and ignores anyone's pleas to do otherwise!"
"She also tried to kill me three times. So who exactly does she take after in that regard?"
"It was four," Katherine argued. "And she didn't try to kill you. They were all accidents. It wasn't her fault you fell into the pond while taking her for a walk, or out of the tree when getting her an apple. You just need to be more careful."
Benedict grimaced, careful and his daughter were not anywhere near the same thing. The more he coddled her, the more it seemed she wanted to do something daring.
Unfortunately, it reminded him of himself, which frightened him more than words could express.
Luckily, he had Katherine.
And with her, he could do anything.
"Why are you smiling?" Katherine put her hands on her hips, tilting her head.
"Why shouldn't I be smiling?" His grin grew.
"You look like you're about to do something…"
He grabbed her hands and ran into the study, shoving the door closed behind them and with little effort lifted her skirts.
"Benedict!" she scolded. "What are you doing! We're going to be late!"
"Then we'll be late. I am a duke after all."
His argument to get away with anything.
She rolled her eyes and squirmed happily beneath his touch. "But it's our anniversary and everyone is going to want to see us. Oh!" She leaned in and kissed him. "Maybe just this once.
"That's my girl." He kissed her firmly across the mouth.
And an hour later, when they arrived at the ball hand in hand, Benedict's past reputation was merely a shadow on everyone's lips. Had he really been all that bad? People wanted to know. For what they saw now was a man completely changed from the one he had once been.
And it was all because his aunt had loved him enough to trick him. God rest her soul.
Read Baldwyn and Anastasia's side of the story in
TWO TURTLEDOVES
by Leah Sanders
Available wherever eBooks are sold.
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
A Winter Wish
Nadine Millard is a writer hailing from Dublin, Ireland. Although she'll write anything that pops into her head, her heart belongs to Regency Romance.
When she's not immersing herself in the 1800s, she's spending time with her husband, her three children, and her very spoiled Samoyed. She can usually be found either writing or reading and drinking way too much coffee.
For the Love of a Lady
Kristin Vayden's inspiration for the romance she writes comes from her tall, dark and handsome husband with killer blue eyes. With five children to chase, she is never at a loss for someone to kiss, something to cook or some mess to clean, but she loves every moment of it! She loves to make soap, sauerkraut, sourdough bread, and gluten free muffins. Life is full of blessings, and she praises God for the blessed and abundant life He's given her.
Cloaked in Red
Kelly Martin is the bestselling author of contemporary, historical, and YA romance. By day, she is a preschool teacher. By night, she has her hair in a messy bun and her fingers on the keyboard. Her favorite reviews are from the people who 'know' they aren't going to like her books… but end up loving them. :)
You can find her at kellymartinbooks.blogspot.com/
She's also on Twitter: twitter.com/martieKay
And on Facebook: www.facebook.com/KellyMartinAuthor
She is also on Instagram (kellymartin215), Pinterest (KMBooks), and Tumblr (martiekay.tumblr.com).
The Devil Duke Takes a Bride
Rachel Van Dyken is the New York Times, Wall Street Journal, and USA Today bestselling author of over thirty books. She is obsessed with all things Starbucks and makes her home in Idaho with her husband and two snoring boxers.
ALSO BY NADINE MILLARD
An Unlikely Duchess
PROLOGUE
"You know, old chap, 'tis not a bad sort of life." This sentiment was expressed rather drunkenly by the gentleman being propped up, unsuccessfully for the most part, by another young gentleman in much the same state.
The two were exiting one of the more reputable gaming halls lurking on the wrong side of London. The Black Den, known as much for its light skirts as the light pockets people suffered when exiting, had become a regular haunt for the two friends since the beginning of the Season.
These were no ordinary gentlemen. They were considered the catches of the Season and, as a result, had suffered greatly at the hands of ambitious mamas with steel in their eyes and marriage on their minds.
The more drunk of the two, and younger by two years at twenty-eight, was Lord Carrington, future Earl of Ranford, whose seat would be a magnificent estate in Ireland. Having spent much of his twenty-odd years in England attending the best schools and then sowing his oats under the pretence of wife catching, the young lord had no real desire to be shipped off back to Ireland to waste away with no society or activity to speak of.
However, his father was getting on in years, and it was time to return home and learn the ropes before the mantle and responsibility fell to him.
The older, and even more of a catch as far as the mamas were concerned, was none other than the future Duke of Hartridge. The title alone was enough to have debutants swooning. Added to that his colossal wealth and number of properties, and even Prinny himself would not have caused as much of a stir as when Charles Crawdon, Marquess of Enthorpe walked into a room.
The gentlemen had been suffering the machinations of deb
utantes and their mothers since the start of the Season. Only that evening, the Marquess had literally had a young girl thrown at him by her mama in the hopes that the scuffle would look like some sort of scandal, therefore forcing an engagement.
He would rather face the entirety of the French army than the mothers of the ton hell bent on having their girls wed.
And whilst Henry Carrington had suffered his share of near misses, nobody was terribly thrilled about a son-in-law who would leave the country. After all, what was the point in having a peer in the family if one could not parade him around in front of one's friends? But he was still an Earl, so he was in their sights.
And so it was that the young scoundrels, determined to paint themselves as disreputable rakes, though not quite brave enough to suffer the collective wrath of their fathers, frequented places like the Black Den, and associated with the demimonde and the women who had neither the means nor inclination to trap them into marriage.
Outside, the biting wind helped to revive the gentlemen somewhat, and as they awaited the arrival of the ducal carriage they were both contemplating the same thing.
"The end of the Season is fast approaching." Lord Carrington was the first to break the contemplative silence.
"Yes, it is."
"Your father expects an engagement."
"So does yours," Enthorpe bit back.
"Indeed he does."
There was a slight pause, and then a desolate sigh.
"I think our days of rakishness are numbered."
"Had they even begun?" Enthorpe enquired dryly.
"Not as much as I had hoped. I suppose I just do not have it in me to seduce widows and ruin debutantes."
"No," answered Enthorpe rather regretfully, "nor do I."
Another pause.
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