Rogues and Ripped Bodices

by Samantha Holt

  Grinning, he snatched one more sweetmeat, scarcely avoiding a tap to the hand. When he returned to the drawing room, he found Hampton and one of the footmen dragging in the tree as Emma directed them. The butler looked on the verge of keeling over so Alex swiftly took over after placing the bucket in the corner of the room.

  “We weren’t sure where you wanted it,” Emma said.

  “This corner will do perfectly.”

  She twined her hands together and glanced up at the ceiling. “I hope it fits.”

  “It will do fine,” he said as he wrapped his arms around the base of the tree. “Hannah had some decorations and she said something about candles.”

  “I shall fetch them from her in just a moment.”

  “Oh, I said to get one of the maids,” he muttered as they began to heft the tree up.

  One of the branches nearly poked his eye out and the needles jabbed through his clothes. He hoped this tree was worth it. He felt ridiculously excited about it—like a schoolboy on Christmas Eve—but it had been years since he’d had a Christmas tree. It hardly seemed the sort of thing a bachelor bothered with.

  “Careful,” Emma exclaimed as they began to lift it and the top grazed the wrought iron chandelier above, sending it swinging on creaky hinges.

  With a few curses and lots of grunts, Alex managed to wrangle the tree into the bucket. Hampton had already arrived with a decent amount of sand likely scrounged from one of the fire buckets, and he poured it around the base until the tree was steady. Alex took a moment to step back and admire it. It was a little on the large side, but once he pushed aside the chaise, it would be just fine.

  “Thank you,” he said to the footman.

  When he turned to Emma, he found her digging through a trunk and drawing out some ribbons. “Oh look what Mr Hampton found. Isn’t he clever?”

  Alex strode over and peered in the trunk. “I didn’t know we still had these. I remember some of these decorations from when I was a boy. Mother wanted to be as fashionable as all the London houses and spent a fortune having decorations sent over from Germany.”

  “They are beautiful,” she said, lifting out some baubles and finally a large star.

  Alex had to pause as his heart did a flip in his chest. Light reflected off the star and over her face. She was radiant, stunning...heart-stopping. He’d always known his wife was beautiful, but the look of wonder on her face combined with the sweetest smile had him convinced he had never quite seen her true beauty until now.

  Her gaze locked with his and her smile wavered. He noted the faint flutter of her pulse in her neck. Did she look at him and feel this same attraction? If she did, why had she taken a lover? Did she love the man?

  He broke the connection and turned back to the tree. “We should put the candles on first.”

  “Should we not put the ribbons on before?”

  Hands on his hips, he pivoted and nodded begrudgingly. “Yes, I suppose so.”

  They worked silently for some time, looping the ribbons and berries before hanging the baubles and placing the candles and their holders about the tree. Emma lifted the star again. “Would you like to put it on? I don’t think I am tall enough.”

  He eyed the top of the tree and conceded she was certainly far too small to reach. But for some reason he felt it important she place the star on the top. After all, this had been his idea and she had willingly helped. “I could lift you,” he suggested.

  The sweetest smile slipped over her lips. Alex had to wonder if this woman really was capable of deception at all. He could not imagine this attractive, sweet thing betraying him with a lover.

  “Very well then.”

  She came to stand in front of him and he turned her around with his hands to her waist so they stood with their sides to the tree.

  “If you put one hand to my shoulder it will be easier,” he told her, then clamped his teeth together as a surge of need rolled through him. Having her delicate waist underneath his palms, feeling each of her breaths fired his desire. He longed to see her body again and, this time, use it properly.

  All in due time, he reminded himself.

  He lifted her with ease—she was a light thing after all. Once she had placed the star on top, he lowered her to the ground, her body sliding down his. His teeth crashed together so hard, he feared he’d shattered every one of them and would have to live off soup for the rest of his life.

  Hands still on her waist, he gazed down at her. She lifted her chin and met his gaze. There was no apprehension, only the darkening of her pupils. This was it. He could start his seduction here. Here, now, with her breasts rising and falling against him. Could she feel his arousal? It felt as though it might burn through his trousers, it was that hard and hot. If she did, apparently it didn’t scare her.

  When he removed a hand from her body to cup her cheek, he realised his fingers trembled. Soft, smooth, the feel of her skin against his rough palms summoned memories of her in his bed on their wedding night. He had been more nervous than when facing a steep climb with little more than an axe and a rope, and she had been the same. They had fumbled their way through the act and he was left in no doubt she had found it painful and tiresome.

  But as he cradled her face, her lips parted and her lashes fluttered. He saw no nervousness, and certainly no repulsion or boredom. Perhaps her lover had left her and now she was in need of satisfaction. That might explain her reaction to him. As strong as his desire was—and his need to get her with child—he did not like the thought of her jumping from his arms into another. In fact, it made him feel downright primeval. Words like mine tumbled through his mind. Thoughts of the threats he might use to send her lover away swamped him.

  And then he recalled the soft woman in his arms and those thoughts vanished. He lowered his head and dropped his gaze to those succulent lips. He ached to taste her. Her lids drooped closed, fanning her lashes against her perfect skin.

  Alex closed his eyes too. A pain jabbed his skull and he released her with a start. “Goddamn it.”

  “What’s the matter?” she stared at him, that wary look returning to her eyes.

  He rubbed the sore patch on his head and kicked the offending object—the star. They must have jostled the tree and knocked it loose. “Bloody star dropped on my head.” Emma put her hand to her mouth and he saw her eyes crinkle. A muffled laugh escaped and he glowered at her. “Not funny.”

  She bent to retrieve the star before he could take out his anger on it further. “Come here.” She used a hand to coax him to bend so as to view his head. “No damage,” she said after sifting through his hair.

  Alex righted himself and massaged the ache in his scalp. “Bloody star,” he muttered again. To think he had been that close to kissing her. The rest of his body ached too. One kiss might have led to something else and then he could have been bedding her tonight. Doing his husbandly duty and all that.

  Eyeing the star, she smiled. “I don’t think it is the bloody star’s fault. It’s probably more likely mine. You should be cursing me, Your Grace.”

  He eyeballed her for several moments. Had his icy—and admittedly sometimes sweet—wife just cursed? He released a laugh, unable to prevent it. “Bloody wife,” he said, snatching the star from her and putting it firmly on top of the tree.

  Her responding laughter sent a curl of happiness through him that he had not thought possible. Was there a chance that there could be more to their marriage than a need for heirs? The thought certainly appealed.

  Chapter Six

  By late evening, the snow was at least six inches deep by Alexander’s reckoning. Their families would not make it to them for Christmas Eve. Emma had agreed she would not even wish them to try in such weather. They would surely get trapped in the snow. Which meant they would be alone until the snow thawed.

  As she peered out of her bedroom window, she wrapped her arms about her. That meant time alone to seduce him. If only she really understood what she was doing. Starlight reflected off th
e snow, making it glow, and it seemed the entire world had to be white. It was magical. Like a fresh start. Washing away the previous world and starting anew. Was there a chance they could too?

  Alexander had wanted to kiss her. And she had wanted to kiss him. He had charmed her with his excitement about the tree, the way he seemed like a giddy little boy. Not to mention watching him lift that tree with ease had sent the most delicious tingle through her body as she watched his arms strain against his shirt. Then he had lifted her. Oh goodness. She nearly swooned.

  He had been hard against her—his body and his arousal. He wanted her. Perhaps he had not visited with any women this year and was in desperate need of release. Or maybe he saw her as something more than his cold wife. She understood how people saw her, but she knew of no other way to be. If she didn’t watch every word that came out of her mouth, she was likely to blurt something foolish.

  The hope that Alexander saw through her shyness and understood it was just that, burned bright but she would be wise not to cling to that. No one had ever figured out that she was not aloof but she simply didn’t know how to converse easily.

  Drawing open her robe, she chewed her lip as she eyed the slip of silk she wore. She had never owned anything like it. It was red—a festive colour perhaps, but utterly scandalous. It clung to her body and revealed the curve of her breasts. If her mother ever saw it, she would declare her a whore.

  But whore or not, she needed to draw her husband into her bed somehow. If this didn’t work, she didn’t know what would.

  A footstep on the stairs made her heart bound. She left her robe deliberately untied and drew open the door. She had to meet him at the opportune moment. Several candles remained lit on the console tables lining the hall, ensuring he saw her clearly enough.

  Dinner had been pleasant enough, but there had been no chance for her to make any sort of attempt at seduction. She refused to leave anything to chance.

  Emma counted his steps and when he was on the final one, she slipped out of the door and walked leisurely down the hallway as though heading to the stairs.

  She paused when she saw him. “Oh, Your Grace. I thought you were abed.” Emma winced at her sugary tone.

  He froze, a hand curled around the banister. “No.” His voice came out strangled.

  “I was just going down to the...” She trailed off when he began to move, swiftly, silently, like a wolf stalking his prey.

  Alexander came to stand in front of her and his gaze raked her. The chilly hallway now felt as though it was lit by a thousand fires. Her skin blazed and her breaths quickened.

  “What are you doing out of your bedroom?”

  “I...I...” The excuse she had conjured should he ask had flown from her mind. All that existed was a great ache and a mist of need crowding her vision.

  In his shirtsleeves, his collar open, his too long hair tousled, he was everything she desired. Everything she wanted. Now thoughts of conceiving a child seemed second place to simply having him in her bed and between her thighs. She pressed them together to try to ease the growing ache.

  “You are very red,” he murmured.

  The words might have made her giggle had they not been said with such seriousness or had his voice not sounded thick and gravelly.

  “I...” Oh Lord, could she say nothing? Something, anything, to coax him into her bedroom. “It is silk.” Inwardly, she groaned. That was the best she could come up with? “It feels nice a-against my skin.”

  “Does it indeed?” His gaze was still transfixed on the article of clothing, if it could be called that. He reached out and pressed a hand under the robe to cup her hip. “So it does.”

  Emma released a soft moan. He closed the gap, slipping his hand farther around her back and splaying his fingers so they brushed her rear. She wore nothing beneath the chemise and he must have felt as much as he drew in a harsh, audible breath.

  Pressed against her was hard muscle. Everywhere. Against her thighs, her breasts, her hips. And another hardness too. It made her skin prickle with heat. She lifted her chin and...

  “Excuse me, Your Grace.”

  A soft curse came from Alexander and he released her. They jumped back like children caught stealing treats from the Christmas tree. Mr Hampton stood, looking severe, at the top of the stairs.

  “I saw the candles were still lit and wanted to ensure they were put out.”

  The duke nodded stiffly, and Emma fought the desire to bury her head against his chest. No doubt her cheeks were redder than her chemise.

  “Right. Thank you, Hampton.”

  Emma thought Alexander didn’t sound grateful at all. He had wanted her, had he not? If only she was brave enough to simply take his hand and lead him into her bedroom. But she was not. Instead she offered him an apologetic smile and drew her robe around her waist. Disappointment flared in his eyes.

  “It’s late. I should get to bed. Goodnight, Mr Hampton. Goodnight, A-Alexander.” His name felt hot and heavy on her tongue and when she saw the way desire lit his gaze once more, she determined she would use it more frequently.

  “Good night, Emma.” Raw need echoed in his words.

  “Goodnight, Your Graces.”

  The butler’s disapproving stare quickly doused any further ideas of trying to coax Alexander into her bed and she scurried back to her room. Shutting the door, she pressed her back against it and put both hands to her hot cheeks. To think, if Mr Hampton had not interrupted, she might be drawing off her chemise and slipping into bed with her husband.

  She should have ignored the butler and just done it. Oh, she wished she were braver.

  ***

  Alex scowled at the white scenery as the footman, Jacoby, tied his necktie. The man did an admirable job considering looking after him wasn’t his duty, but it still aggravated him that his old valet was no longer here. Not that he had needed the man much, but it was inconvenient for them both. Surely Jacoby had better things to be doing?

  The snow had stopped at some point during the night, leaving drifts piled up on the windows. Snow weighted the trees on the horizon and every now and then clumps dropped from the roof, no doubt disturbed by the odd robin or some other creature, for the temperature was too cold to allow for any melting.

  He took a moment to eye his reflection in the floor-length mirror. Damn the footman, why had he chosen him a red and gold waistcoat? Now all he would think of all day was Emma in that ridiculous slip of a...what in the devil was it? He’d never seen the likes of it. Not that he really thought it ridiculous. Well, perhaps he did, but he also though it enticing and riveting and all kinds of other words that might summarise the way he had been taken under her spell. The way the red silk had caressed her skin and revealed the curves of her breasts and hips...

  He had to stop this or he was going to spend the rest of the day as hard as a stone.

  Bloody Mr Hampton. He should have told the butler where to go. Preferably to his bedroom, far away from them, while he saw to his wife. Emma had wanted him, he’d been sure of it. Every inch of her body had said as much, as had the moan that had slipped from her as he pulled her to him. He pushed a hand through his hair, mussing up the fine job Jacoby had done of combing it. This was hardly the behaviour of a woman with a lover waiting in the wings.

  The footman slipped a cufflink in through his shirt sleeve then set to work on the other. Alex eyed the man, who was relatively young and handsome, though older than the man he had seen Emma with. Damnation, he would start seeing potential lovers in every man if he was not careful.

  “Are you happy at Balmead, Jacoby?”

  “Of course, Your Grace.”

  “Why haven’t you left like the others?”

  He paused and released Alex’s cuff. “I have a wife in the village.”

  A wife. Alex tried not to grin at the news.

  “There would be no sense in me leaving and I’ve worked here since I was a lad.”

  “So you don’t wish for more wages or a different
job?”

  Jacoby’s shoulder’s stiffened. “Those who left went to the towns. Edinburgh, Glasgow, even York I believe. It’s not uncommon now. A lot of the households are losing staff to the jobs in the cities but it doesn’t appeal to me, and why should I? I earn enough to keep me and my wife in comfort, and Her Grace keeps us well.”

  “She looks after you then?”

  “Of course, Your Grace. I doubt many who left found a mistress as kind as she.”

  The disapproving tone in the footman’s voice told Alex he didn’t agree with anyone choosing to leave. Could it be his staff simply wished to move on and it had nothing to do with Emma’s mismanagement of the estate? He needed to look at the finances, and soon really. Christmas Eve or not.

  “Does the Her Grace have many friends?”

  “Friends, Your Grace?”

  “Visitors? Does she spend time out of the house much? Does she visit with people?”

  “Not really, Your Grace.” Jacoby looked a little flustered as he helped him slip his jacket on and adjusted Alex’s necktie. “She is very busy. The duchess spends most of her time in the library though she does visit the villagers when she can.”

  Alex nodded and felt some of his anxiousness slipping away. Servants knew everything. And Mr Hampton was not the type to let ill behaviour slip past him. Surely if she was still seeing her lover, there would be talk of it. Had she changed perhaps? Grown up? Emma certainly didn’t seem the type to be frivolous and foolish in her behaviour now, but then what had he ever really known of her? Nothing. He had proposed to her because their families wanted the match and he deemed her attractive enough. That had been the sum of his knowledge.

  Sometimes, he could not help but blame himself for the disaster that was their match. He should have taken the time to get to know her before proposing marriage. He sighed and straightened his jacket. And, yes, he really shouldn’t have disappeared at the first sign of trouble. His only excuse was being inexperienced and young. Not that a year counted as a huge amount of experience or time, but his travels had certainly matured him and the company of the men at the Alpine Club had taught him much.