Rogues and Ripped Bodices

by Samantha Holt

  “The mill,” she said, her voice still raw but more audible now they were away from the crowd.

  The last he had seen of the building, it was half collapsed and he doubted the firemen could save it. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “Someone set that fire...I was looking for you...I wanted to stop—” A coughing fit consumed her and he shushed her.

  “It doesn’t matter. It’s only a mill.”

  “No,” she said when the fit had subsided. “I wanted to stop the fire, but I wanted to find you. To say...I love you.”

  The hand on her cheek stilled of its own accord and he stared at her. Had the fire sent her delirious? Had it sent him delirious? Had he misheard?

  “Pardon?”

  “Love you,” she whispered.

  It was wholly inappropriate given the situation but a smile worked its way across his face.

  “Do not laugh at me.”

  His grin expanded at the surprising strength to the words. “I would not dare.”

  “I know I have ruined everything and—”

  “Ellie, do be quiet,” he said none too gently. “I love you too, you foolish woman.”

  Her lids fluttered several times and a crease came between her brows.

  “Devil take it, any other woman would be happy to hear such a declaration. Perhaps my words were not flowery enough.” He pressed a finger to his lips. “How about this? Eleanor, you are the light of my life, my reason for living. I was but a grizzled, cantankerous old viscount before you and likely a great big fool too, but you have brought light into my world. With you, I am a better man. Not perfect, I shall give you that, but certainly one hundred times better. If you love me and I love you, I can think of no reason not to marry, and I shall not take ‘I will think about it’ as an answer this time.”

  Those perfect lips—even if covered in grime—parted and she gazed up at him.

  “Do I need to say more? Spout words of your beauty perhaps, though I must tell you, Ellie, you are a damned mess right now.”

  Ellie laughed and it turned into a cough. He patted her back, easing her closer to him. Her warmth seeped through his muscles and the feel of her soft body against his eased some of the apprehensive ache in his chest.

  “You always did have a way with words, Lucian.”

  He scowled. “Do not try to change the subject.”

  “Considering you are meant to be charming, you’re terrible at marriage proposals.”

  “Well, I have not had much practice,” he grumbled. “Ellie, I did not take you for a tease.”

  “Forgive me, Lucian. I have suffered much of your teasing and it is only fair to repay you.”

  “Even after I rescued you from a burning building?”

  “Yes, I suppose you have more than made up for you behaviour.”

  He clenched his jaw and found his fear had been replaced with a very strong urge to throttle the woman. Was this what it would be like, their marriage? She forever leading him on a merry dance? Probably. And there was little to be done about it. He had to have her and if she decided to torment him for the rest of his life, he would let her.

  “Poor Lucian.” She reached up and pressed her palm to his cheek. “What sort of fool would I be to say no? I am only sorry I did not say yes sooner but I was so scared. I didn’t want to make the wrong decision. Now I see you could never be a wrong decision.”

  “Is that a yes?”

  “Do you need flowery words also?”

  “I just need a blasted yes,” he said through gritted teeth.

  “Then yes. Yes, I’ll marry you. Yes, I’ll love you forever.”

  Lucian battled the desire to let out a string of curses at her for keeping him waiting for so long, but pure happiness quashed the words and instead he found himself burying his head in her curls.

  “You will not regret it, I swear. I shall do all I can to make you happy, Ellie.”

  “I know,” she said as she lifted her head to his. “You can be my happily ever after.”

  A laugh escaped him at the romantic notion, but he had to admit, he was feeling one or two distinctly fluffy notions and he nodded. “And you can be mine,” he murmured as he lowered his lips to hers.

  Epilogue

  What’s Wrong with Gretna Green?

  “Thank the Lord that’s over,” Lucian said as he slid into the carriage next to Eleanor.

  “I do not think you’re meant to be glad your wedding is over.”

  He grinned, looking as handsome as ever in his perfectly fitted suit and elegant dark green waistcoat. Lucian took her gloved hand, peeled off the fabric and slid his fingers between hers before bringing her hand to his lips.

  “Do not tell me you are not grateful it is all over.”

  She couldn’t help but laugh. “Very well, yes I am. I didn’t trip and I did not say the wrong words, or sneeze into my flowers, but I feared greatly I would.”

  “You were perfect, wife.” He emphasised the words.

  “As were you, husband.”

  “But I still would have preferred to go to Gretna Green and avoided all this fuss.” He waved a hand to the array of people waiting outside their carriage to see them off.

  “Mama would have killed me for certain.”

  “Come wave to your adoring crowd and then we can make for the hotel. It’s been a busy few months and I am desperate to remove that rather fine gown from you and make you my wife properly.”

  “We have already made love,” she whispered, as though one of the cheering crowd might hear her. “I’m not sure we need to do it again to make it formal.”

  “Nonsense. I need to make you my wife in every way possible and that means keeping you up all night.”

  His voice rose with the last few words and, though she doubted anyone heard, she knew he was teasing her and heat spilled into her cheeks. She slapped his arm. It had been a long few months trying to get the mill repaired and everything up and running again. Not to mention tracking down the culprit.

  Leaning across him, she saw her mama and papa waving and she waved back. Even Papa seemed to have tears in his eyes. As the carriage began to move, she settled back against the plush interior. She glanced at their joined hands and let herself relax. With Lucian at her side, she never had a need to be nervous again. If she proved to be the clumsiest, most ungainly wife of all time, he would still love her.

  “It’s a shame we can only be gone a few days,” she said.

  They had to return soon for Mr Newcombe’s trial. He had been billing them with inflated figures and had hired men to sabotage the mill. All because he wished to set up his own mills and was looking to buy up the local mills at cheap prices. What they had not known was that he had already done the same to two other mills in Lancashire, forcing them to close and be sold off at a discounted price.

  Also Lucian wanted to oversee the final stages of the build. With a little help from his main investor—namely her—they had managed to save the mill and the jobs of the people in it. She could not wait for them to see their modernised mill with better working conditions and safer machines. She could not object too much at his eagerness to return. She had come to love the mill as much as he.

  “Pardon?” She found him staring avidly at her. “Forgive me, I was admiring my beautiful wife.”

  “I said it is a shame we only have a few days.”

  “A few days is all I need.”

  She glanced at his wicked smile. “You are a rogue and a rake, Lord Rushbourne.”

  “Ah, yes, but I am your rake.”

  Eleanor laughed and took his face in both her hands so she could slide onto his lap and straddle him. “You are indeed,” she confirmed and proceeded to kiss him in a manner that only a very wicked woman would. He groaned and cupped her rear to press her against him.

  “Even the worst of rakes do not bed women in their carriages,” he informed her between kisses.

  “Yes, but you are not the worst, you are the best.”

  “How very t
rue that is,” he agreed.

  And he proceeded to show her just how good a rake he really was.

  THE END

  Christmas Seduction

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Epilogue

  Chapter One

  Penicuik, Scotland 1879

  The last time Alexander, Duke of Wyndbourne, had seen his wife, she had been embracing another man. Even as the groom drew down the steps of his closed carriage and Alex stepped out to survey the wintery scene, heat pulsed through his veins, bringing with it fresh annoyance.

  Balmead looked to be in good order. He paused, hands on his hips to view the castle. With its round turrets and tall keep, it was every inch the grand Scottish home. The light dusting of snow that had been falling throughout his journey truly completed the picture. He was just grateful it was only a light snowfall, or else he might have been forced to turn back.

  Grateful? Was he? He finally dropped his gaze to the woman waiting on the steps for him. His heart did an odd jig in his chest. Part of him longed to have had an excuse to return to London for Christmas. Then he would not have to face the lady who had humiliated and hurt him.

  Not that he wanted to admit as much, but the image of her tucked against a virile-looking man still created the deepest ache in his gut. He’d never expected much from their marriage—Emma was a quiet, cold sort, but he had hoped for some kind of companionship at least. And Lord knows, he’d looked forward to a constant bed partner.

  Drawing in a breath of cool, crisp air, he drew off his hat and made his way to the steps. With her red hair and pale skin, she could almost pass for a bonny Scottish lass, but Emma was every inch the cold, reserved Englishwoman. Barely a hint of emotion sat in those blue eyes as he took her hand and dropped a kiss to her bare fingers.

  Her beauty annoyed him. His reaction to her delicate hand aggravated him. Stirrings of sensations both unwelcome and welcome pervaded his body. Welcome, for he would need to bed her as soon as he could, and unwelcome because he still hated the woman.

  Needs must, he reminded himself. Nearly a year of marriage without a child was not acceptable, and he had to do his duty. Alex could hardly sire an heir if he didn’t see his wife, after all. He would devote all his Christmas to getting her with child, then flee once more. He intended to be a good father and spend time with the child once it was born. Of course, he would need another child too. But if he could limit his time with his wife, he certainly would.

  “Your Grace, how was your journey?”

  Alex scowled at her as he rose. He’d forgotten the effect her voice had him. It was like her. Steady, controlled...but with a soft hint that never failed to reach down inside him and pull at his gut.

  “Good, thank you. I feared I might get caught in the snow, but Mother Nature has decided to be merciful.”

  “Indeed.” Her lips pulled into a thin smile.

  Quite a feat really, as they were ridiculously full and beautiful lips. Everything about his wife was beautiful. Her glossy red hair, her heart-shaped face, deep blue eyes...and from their limited time together in bed, he knew her figure was not just the work of corsets and bustles. She had curves that made a man want to drop to his knees and beg to kiss every inch of them.

  What a shame her character was left wanting.

  “I fear the snow shall not hold off long,” she said before turning on her heel. “Come inside, it is freezing.”

  Alex watched her for a moment. Nothing about her had changed, whereas he felt immeasurably different. World-weary almost. She walked with a steady grace, her head held high. The dark green gown she wore curved over her waist while the bustle at the back enhanced the slender shape of it. His mouth grew dry when he remembered putting his hands to that waist on their first night together. His mouth had been just as dry then. What a bumbling fool he had been.

  Walking swiftly to catch up, he handed his hat and coat to the butler, Hampton, and kept pace with her as she moved into the drawing room. With antlers and shields on the wall, the rustic appearance of his Scottish home was far removed from the drawing rooms of London or France. Bare stone lined these walls and though the furnishings were fine, he was surprised Emma had left it so untouched. He had given her free reign after all and the estate made a good living. All women were keen to put their personal touch on places, were they not?

  She signalled to the footman to bring over the tea and motioned for him to sit.

  As though he was a guest. In his own blasted home.

  Alex gritted his teeth and sat on the chair. He fingered the velvet covering on the arm briefly and noted the wear. Perhaps things were not as well cared for as he thought. He glanced around and realised she only had a few candles and three oil lamps burning. With the grim weather, the room was gloomy and in need of more illumination than three lamps. Why in the devil was she living like a pauper? Had the estate been losing money this year? He was sure she would have no problems living comfortably on what it earned but perhaps he needed to look at the books.

  Emma sat opposite him and clasped her hands in her lap while the footman brought over the tea and poured it for both of them. Alex took the cup and held it gratefully. Coldness had seeped into his bones during the journey and his fingers still felt stiff. Thank goodness for the large fire crackling in the hearth.

  She cleared her throat, drawing his attention to her but as soon as he glanced her way, she dropped her gaze to her lap. Her cup of tea was left untouched. He found himself tapping his foot. What to say to her? What did one say to a woman one barely knew yet had bedded—even if only a few times? What did one say to one’s estranged wife?

  “Are you ready for Christmas?” he asked, feeling as though his voice was the loudest sound on Earth, and he had just taken a hammer and shattered the silence with it.

  Those beautiful blue eyes widened and locked with his. “Oh, yes, I have the meals planned out. It will only be a small party, however. Your mother and a few cousins. Many preferred to stay south for the winter.”

  He nodded. He didn’t blame them. As beautiful as the estate was, it was a darn sight warmer in London. Alex let his lips quirk. His icy wife certainly fit in well here.

  “You have not decorated yet.” It had only just struck him, but there was distinct lack of greenery or even a Christmas tree.

  Her lips tightened and her gaze darted from side to side. “There are decorations in the dining room. It seemed...extravagant to decorate everywhere when it would be so small a party.”

  Letting a brow rise, he studied her. A tiny hint of perspiration sat on her top lip. Any other time, the sight might have tugged at his insides—the idea of sweeping his tongue over her lips and tasting them certainly held appeal—but the way she could not meet his gaze or how her throat worked made him tighten his grip on his cup.

  “Extravagant? Am I not a duke? Why should a few baubles and bits of tree be extravagant?”

  She winced at his tone and he regretted it instantly. The fact he had summoned some kind of emotion from his wife, even if it was a little bit of fear, surprised him however. He saw her knuckles whiten in her lap and the cold mien to her expression snapped back.

  “Forgive me, I didn’t know you were coming until a few weeks ago, it was not really long enough—”

  He waved a hand, dismissing her words. He regretted that movement too. He never meant to be an arse around her and yet he found himself behaving like an absolute blackguard in her company, when all he wanted to do was get on with her comfortably. Oh yes, and seduce her.

  “Few candles lit, no decorations...we are not paupers, Emma. What’s going on?”

&nbs
p; “N-nothing is going on.” That throat worked again and he had the deepest desire to run his tongue across it.

  “I think I shall have to look over the books,” he murmured, more to himself than anything.

  Emma’s shoulders straightened. “I am not mismanaging the estate if that is what you believe. I’ve done my very best, Alexander. Balmead is a large estate and I have little experience managing such a place, but I have tried my hardest.” She paused and her lips parted to take in a breath.

  “I did not—”

  She stood abruptly. “It’s all very well for you, running off and doing whatever you wish, but I’ve been stuck here, trying to do my best. I did not think you the sort to be bothered by decorations or frivolities...”

  Her chest rose and fell and he eyed it, feeling the inevitable heat of desire curling into his gut. He stood too and tried to get over his astonishment at her flare of anger. Colour sat in her cheeks and her eyes were animated. He’d never seen her like this, not even on those few occasions he’d bedded her. Even then, she had remained cold and unfeeling.

  “I did not mean to imply...” He paused. Didn’t he? What had he been saying? That she had not been managing the estate properly? He hardly knew, seeing as he had been here all of five minutes.

  Emma drew her chin up and eyed him coolly. “I must speak with Hannah and ensure all is ready for dinner tonight. Please excuse me. I’m glad you are home, Your Grace. Good day.”

  She swept past him, the faintest floral hint washing over him as she went. He put out a hand to stop her. He only needed to brush her arm to have her pausing and peering at him through narrowed eyes. He was mightily glad, for he did not wish to manhandle her. Besides, the smallest touch seemed to send tingles through his arm. Alex recalled the very same sensation the first time he had danced with her.

  That seemed so long ago now.

  Words of apology sat on his tongue, but he had never been good at communicating—particularly not with his cool, quiet wife. He’d always considered himself a man of action. Hence why he had vanished to France upon discovering her with her lover. Did the man still attend to her in bed? Was he somewhere about the castle at this very moment?