A Rogue's Christmas Kiss

by Eva Devon

  “Reserved?” Olivia observed. Her friend quickly took her arm and paused their step. “He is afraid.”

  Marabelle’s skirts swung about her legs as they stopped. “I beg your pardon?”

  “It’s the only explanation,” Olivia whispered intently. All the while, she kept her appearance nonchalant. “He’s afraid to let himself be anything but aloof. We know he’s a rogue. A fellow who knows what to do with the ladies but, I think, perhaps he hasn’t been encouraged to know what to do with his heart. At least, James seems to suggest that the man has never been close to anyone.”

  Marabelle swallowed. Never been close. How terrible.

  Then she knew. She knew what she wanted for Christmas more than anything in the whole world.

  She longed for Sebastian Rutherford, the Earl of Gray, to open his heart to her and let her in. It was the maddest wish of them all. Yet, here, in the snow, following her family’s oldest tradition, she wished for it.

  Sebastian arched a brow and scowled. “This is the most absurd endeavor.”

  The Duke of Huntsdown laughed, a jolly sound. A jollier sound than Sebastian could ever recall him making. The duke had been a practical and dangerous man-of-arms. Levelheaded. Sure of hand. A great man.

  “What the devil is so amusing?” Sebastian demanded as they strode over the snow.

  The duke clasped his hands behind his back. “I assure you, this is most reasonable. If you wish to become acquainted with absurdity you must meet my brother, John.”

  “We are slogging through snow,” Sebastian began to point out. “Looking for a tree limb to set alight when there is already enough wood cut to burn the entire house down if we so chose.”

  “If you see it that way, then yes.” The duke grinned. “It is absurd.”

  “Is there another way to see it?” he inquired dryly.

  The duke’s grin dimmed and sincerity darkened his eyes. “We are seeking a feeling.”

  “Oh God,” Sebastian groaned, doffing his hat and shoving a hand through his hair. “A feeling? I should have brought a bottle of brandy.”

  Huntsdown shook his head. “Feelings aren’t your forte. I know it. It’s why you served me so well. But in the end, we are all made up of emotions. And Christmas is all about feelings and memories, aside from the holy day. We don’t seek out a tree to seek out a tree. We seek out a tree to remember all those years before we carried out this tradition and the people we did it with.”

  Sebastian allowed these words to sink in before he snuck a glance back at his wife.

  Happiness had transformed her face. The walk through the snow in pursuit of tradition had lit her cheeks with a beautiful cherry tone. Her eyes positively sparkled under her crimson hood.

  Her animated conversation with the duchess gave him a strange pang.

  He winced. Envy. That’s what it was. He envied their ease.

  He envied their mutual joy.

  In all his life, he couldn’t recollect such an experience of convivial ease. Suddenly, he found himself wishing to be a part of it.

  Dare he try?

  All his past told him no. . . Yet, his past had been a joyless march. What wouldn’t he give for a bit of joy? Something the likes of which Marabelle had experienced with her family. Something which the duke clearly experienced with his wife.

  “You’re right,” Sebastian confessed, clapping his hat back atop his head. “I am unfamiliar with feelings. . . But I wish to make this Christmas pleasant for my wife.”

  “Do you? I’m glad to hear it.”

  Sebastian nodded, surprised that his own throat was tightening at the thought of Marabelle’s pain. “She’s known a great deal of sadness recently and I should like to alleviate it.”

  The duke eyed him. “You like her, do you not?”

  “Yes,” he answered honestly. “I’ve never met a soul like her.”

  Huntsdown smiled, a trait he now seemed tied to. “You ought to give marriage a real chance, you know. Before you fly off back to the continent.”

  Sebastian cleared his throat. “What makes you think I was going to do that?”

  Huntsdown narrowed his gaze.

  “Fine, yes.” Sebastian blew out a short, sharp breath. “That was my plan.”

  Walking steadily on, the duke advised, “Consider this new option.”

  “What option, exactly?”

  “Happiness.”

  “For me?” Sebastian scoffed. “I have no skill for it. But she does. And it’s beautiful to see,” he said softly.

  In that moment, he made a decision. He was going to do everything in his power to fill her Christmas with joy. It was the one thing he could do in exchange for her having to marry such a man as himself.

  So, Sebastian quickened his step. “Come along, Huntsdown. Let us find a perfect Yule log.”

  “That’s what we’re doing,” drawled the duke.

  “Are we?” Sebastian wagged his brows. “We can certainly do better.”

  And with that, he turned his gaze to the trees about him and headed off the path, deep into the forest.

  Chapter 7

  What the devil was he doing?

  Sebastian had bounded off the path with the speed and determination of a stag. He moved with precision over the rough terrain, his dark coat flicking about his long legs.

  Goodness, he was a sight to set the heart and other places stirring.

  “Do we follow?” Marabelle asked Olivia.

  “I certainly won’t be left behind.”

  A rueful smile twitched at Marabelle’s lips. “A horrible fate, indeed.”

  The servants were staring after the new earl as if he’d gone as mad as a cuckoo.

  “Come,” she said brightly to the young men. “We will need a saw when we find the proper log.”

  The servants nodded, their lips curving with barely-concealed amusement.

  Clearly, they’d never seen a lord behave in such an unordered fashion.

  She quite liked it herself.

  Pathways were well and good but they did rather limit what one encountered.

  So, it was with enthusiasm that she set off after her new husband and the Duke of Huntsdown.

  Laughing, she linked arms with Olivia. They leapt over low fallen trees, rocks, and brambles.

  They swished their skirts from clinging foliage and drank in the sounds of winter birds cawing in the crisp air.

  Just ahead, Sebastian and the duke were stopped in what appeared to be terribly serious discourse.

  Sebastian pointed to an old oak.

  The duke nodded.

  Their serious discourse deepened.

  Olivia whispered, “Do you think they have found the one?”

  “No doubt,” Olivia said with great drama, her mirth rife in her voice. “There shall be a great deal of discussion as to the merits of said oak.”

  They grinned at each other.

  Men were such silly sorts. But she was terribly pleased to see Sebastian so interested in their project.

  At last, he looked up. His dark eyes met hers. Those eyes were full of what she could only call hope.

  Without question, then, she knew he was doing this to please her.

  Tears stung her eyes and she blinked rapidly to hide them.

  “What do you think, Marabelle?” He gestured to the towering oak which had seen at least one hundred summers. “This one? We won’t cut the tree, just one of those branches. That will allow the tree to continue growing for generations.”

  Generations. It was such a strange word from the man who seemed to care nothing for his heritage.

  She looked up to an ancient tree limb. Its gnarled surface was a badge of honor, showing its triumph over so many obstacles.

  “It is perfect,” she praised.

  For the briefest instant, she could have sworn she saw relief flash across his face. But then it was gone as quickly as it came.

  The servants, unbidden, came forward with the saw.

  To her astonishment, Sebasti
an divested himself of his great coat. . . And then he peeled off his emerald frock coat.

  “Whatever are you doing?” Huntsdown asked.

  She couldn’t have put the question better. Though, in truth, she was marveling at the sight of her husband so casually attired in shirtsleeves, silver waistcoat, and creme cravat.

  “I’m going to cut the limb, of course,” Sebastian replied as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

  “The servants—” Huntsdown began.

  “Shall assist,” cut in Sebastian. “There’s no question that I will need them.”

  Assist? Oh dear. He wasn’t going to do something terribly foolish was he? Men did often do so when attempting to make an impression. She longed to tell him she already felt confident in his masculine abilities.

  She stepped forward, ready to speak sense.

  A sudden tug on her hand pulled her back. She glanced down to Olivia just as Sebastian entered into conversation with the two young men bearing rope, other tools that she couldn’t name, and the saw.

  “Do not intervene,” Olivia said sotto voce.

  “Why ever not?” she protested. “He might break his neck.”

  And just as she whispered this, Sebastian grabbed hold of the tree’s trunk and scaled up into the limbs with the ease of a wildcat.

  “Men are silly yet wonderful creatures,” Olivia replied lightly. “He will not be pleased by your lack of confidence in his prowess.”

  Marabelle felt her heart leap up into her mouth at the sight of him in such a precarious position. “But what if he breaks his leg?”

  Olivia batted her lashes. “Then you will nurse him back to health and he will love every moment of that.”

  “So, you suggest I allow him to act like a madman?”

  Without even a hint of jest, Olivia said, “Yes. Or you shall have a great, wounded bear rambling about, dismayed that you think so little of him.”

  Marabelle drew herself up, determined not to be ruled by her concern. “I clearly have much to learn of marriage.”

  “Indeed.” Olivia pulled her closer so that they might stand side by side to watch the carryings on. “My mother long ago told me, no matter how capable you are, a man desperately wants to be needed. Let him feel needed.”

  So, much to her astonishment, she faced Sebastian. There he was, dangling from the tree, gamboling about it with remarkable ease and she forced herself to smile.

  It mattered not that her stomach was churning with apprehension that he might plummet to the earth.

  Tom, the youngest of the two servants, tied a rope about the saw, then threw the end of the rope over the large branch and pulled.

  To her amazement, Sebastian did, indeed, seem to know what he was doing.

  And much to her relief, he took the rope and tied himself off, as well. He was ensuring that if he did slip, he wouldn’t crash to the rock hard winter ground.

  Clearly, he did know what he was about.

  He took the saw in hand. Quickly, he began working it back and forth with seemingly great ease over the massive branch. Marabelle’s mouth opened in appreciation.

  Oh, it did appear easy for him. But that didn’t stop the way in which his muscles worked beneath his clothes.

  Good lord, he was strong and had great balance.

  Sebastian perched near the tree trunk and worked away as if he’d been born to do this. How on earth he knew what to do, she couldn’t fathom. But within a few moments, he called, “Stand away!”

  And the Duke of Huntsdown crossed towards them, gesturing with his gloved hands for them to retreat.

  The two servants stayed closer, agape.

  But then a great crack filled the air and the tree limb crashed to the earth.

  Laughter and applause exploded from the young men. Despite her earlier doubts, a wave of exhilaration shot through Marabelle.

  “Bravo!” she called, joining in the applause.

  Sebastian swung his gaze to her and gave her a surprising, cheeky salute. As he scrambled down the tree as easily as he’d gone up it, she picked her way over to the fallen limb and her husband.

  “Astonishing,” she said simply. “And absolutely wonderful.”

  “It will burn all night,” he said.

  “It’s perfect,” she enthused, wishing to heap him with praise. “But what about—”

  “The young men will trim it,” he informed. “I’d hate to take away all the work.”

  Tom and Andrew, who had already gone to work on the extraneous limbs, laughed again.

  The Duke of Huntsdown scowled, “Well, Gray, you’ve managed to make me look exceptionally ineffectual. I suppose I shall have to assist in dragging the log back.”

  Sebastian laughed; a deep, delicious sound. “Your Grace, you’ve always been excellent at organizing things. That is your specialty. And one which very few are actually effective at.”

  Huntsdown smiled, clearly not offended at all. “Even so, one mustn’t appear less than manly in front of the wife.”

  At that, Olivia went up on tiptoe, pulled her husband down, and whispered in his ear.

  The duke’s face transformed. Immediately, he looked like a beast who desperately wanted to devour his wife.

  Huntsdown cleared his throat. “It seems my wife is feeling a trifle faint. I shall escort her back to the house, if you feel all is well here, Gray.”

  “One must always take care of the ladies,” Gray quipped.

  “Indeed,” the duke agreed, sweeping his wife up into his arms.

  Olivia cast a hand dramatically over her brow but couldn’t quite suppress a giggle.

  The duke then headed with remarkable speed away from them . . . But surprisingly, not necessarily in the direction of the house.

  “Whatever are they doing?” Marabelle asked, staring after the couple.

  Sebastian coughed. “I do think she may have pointed out that he can prove his manliness to her in other ways than the fetching of a Yule log.”

  She nodded. “Oh. Oh!”

  Her cheeks flushed as she realized the implication of Sebastian’s comment.

  “But it is so very cold out,” she protested.

  Sebastian’s grinned, a wolf’s grin. “I do think they shall find a way to stay warm.’

  “How fascinating,” she said, for lack of knowing what else to say.

  His brows shot up. “Is it?”

  “I know so little, really,” she confessed softly.

  “You’ll have all the knowledge you need, soon enough.”

  She looked up at him through her lashes, feeling a heady dose of daring. “Do you promise?” she asked.

  Chapter 8

  Being a rogue, Sebastian wasn’t a stranger to making love to a woman out of doors.

  However, Marabelle wasn’t any woman. She was a wife. His wife. And a virgin. For once, he felt entirely at sea with regards to his situation.

  Oh, he could pull her aside, out of the notice of the servants. He could press her up against an ancient tree and begin her education. But that didn’t seem like something he should do with a virginal countess.

  Surely, sheets and a bed should be involved.

  He’d avoided young ladies like her his entire life. And now that he had to interact with her and intimately, he was at a small loss. It was the strangest feeling.

  So, somehow, after a long, silent walk, they found themselves back at Northly. Not a single kiss or bit of wisdom had been bestowed.

  Marabelle’s passion had been replaced by what seemed to him to be a forced grin. A grin that was on the verge of being a grimace.

  He’d made a mistake. And after he’d clearly done so well with the selection of the Yule log.

  Marabelle had wanted to be kissed and mussed out of doors.

  With each passing moment in her company, one thing was becoming clearer and clearer to him. She was not like other ladies.

  Still, there had been much celebration. The staff had come out and veritably trouped in the massiv
e log that would burn all tomorrow night.

  In fact, though it wasn’t Christmas Eve, the Duke and Duchess of Huntsdown were throwing parties and dances every night now until the new year. Of course, Sebastian had been informed that he and his wife would attend tonight.

  He had no idea how it had all happened. How he’d been lured into such gatherings. But there it was.

  Sebastian glanced out the window to the snow-blanketed surroundings. He wondered what the devil he could do to feel at ease in all this, to please Marabelle, and ease her grief.

  It seemed a monstrous task. Especially, given that he’d come here strictly out of duty and to begin the task of making an heir.

  As he looked out to the parkland, he spotted something. Something in one of the trees at the bottom of the terraced hillside.

  A smile pulled at his lips.

  Perfect. Absolutely perfect. And without even bothering with a coat, he strode to the door, ready to go. He would make his wife’s Christmas very merry, indeed.

  The ballroom was full of laughing individuals. There was clapping and dancing as fires roared in the twin fireplaces in the cavernous but beautifully decorated room.

  Chandeliers glowed with hundreds of beeswax candles. The polished mirrors hanging from the walls reflected the golden beams, bathing the room in a warm glow.

  Holly, ivy, and juniper decked the room with red ribbons at every conceivable surface and corner.

  Laughter exploded from a group of people playing Snap!

  A girl was blowing on her delicate fingers having just missed a raisin in the flaming pot of brandy.

  Marabelle swayed to the music. She wished to feel the magic that she felt every Christmas at the Duke of Huntsdown’s gatherings.

  Instead, she felt a heavy melancholy. Oh, everything was beautiful. She couldn’t ask for a room more inclined to good cheer.

  Yet, she missed her father and her brother. She missed dancing with them as she did at every gathering. She missed singing carols with them. And eating sweets. And playing games.

  Though surrounded with familiar faces, she felt alone.

  She drew in a shaky breath and held her head up high.

  She wouldn’t darken anyone else’s Christmas.